Popp Culture
An 18th-century-tall man's census bond with dead presidents
I’m 5-foot-8 on a good day. While some taller Texans may consider me to be “vertically challenged,” I consider myself 18th-century tall.
And I’m fine with that.
At my height, I would have easily matched the 5-foot-4 James Madison, the “father of the Constitution.” Historian Garry Wills described Madison as “small enough,” and consequently Madison was called all sorts of unfortunate names.
Legend of Sleepy Hollow author Washington Irving described him as "withered." The British minister in America dubbed Madison, "mean" (meager). A Federalist critic referred to him as a pygmy. Madison was also declared to be “no bigger than a half piece of soap.”
As a result of my antiquated average height, and the years I spent growing up in the Philadelphia environs, I developed an interest in life in the 18th century, as well as for the founding of our republic.
I haven’t gone so far to get a tattoo of Article III of the Constitution on my back. Yet. But I do have a fascination with all things 1787.
And this week we have instructions from the “pygmy” framer himself, and the rest of the delegates to the Constitutional Convention, to take a tally.
According to Article I, Section II of the Constitution, it’s census time.
By this point, you’ve probably received a few reminders in the mail about the census. You may have also seen it advertised on television or even discussed on the Daily Show. And you’ve likewise read all sorts of insightful stories on the Culture Map about this national head count.
But if you need one more reminder, here it is: Your census form has been past due since April 1. And in my book, there’s no April fooling with direct instructions from James Madison.
Jefferson, The Enforcer
Article I, Section II of the Constitution states that “within three Years after the first Meeting of the Congress of the United States, and within every subsequent Term of ten Years, in such Manner as they shall by Law direct,” there shall be an “enumeration.” The tally will inform “the Number of Representatives” in the House, and “shall not exceed one for every thirty Thousand.” While some of the states were small in 1787, the Constitution mandated that “each State shall have at Least one Representative.”
The ratio of 1:30,000 engendered debates during the Constitutional Convention in July 1787, as well as when new states joined the union. According to the Office of the Clerk of the House of Representatives, the disagreements resulted from “vague” instructions from the founders “as to how large future Congresses should be,” as well as “what method to use to reapportion the House after each federal census.”
After failing to reapportion the seats after the 1920 census, as rural and urban forces in the House came to loggerheads, Congress passed the Permanent Apportionment Act in 1929 that “capped House Membership at the level established after the 1910 Census.” That number was 435. This “created a procedure for automatically reapportioning House seats after every decennial census.”
With a near record-low 16 percent approval rating for Congress this past March, it’s probably a good thing they stopped adding more members.
Timeless questions
James Madison wrote many of the questions of the first census, and Thomas Jefferson, as acting Secretary of State, administered the process of tallying the count. The 1790 Census “asked for name, age, sex, and race, as directed by Congress.” And the six questions used in 1790 are actually similar to the 10 questions asked this year.
Census Director Robert Groves explains that there are “three questions directly from 1790: an inquiry about the number of people in a household, a question about gender, and a question about race.” There are no longer, however, questions inquiring about the “head of household” or any questions about slave ownership.
The Framers incentivized responding to the first census by levying a $20 fine. In today’s dollars, that would be roughly $500.
Yikes.
Yet the Census Bureau is quick to point out that “the current fine is only $100,” and “the Census Bureau has rarely prosecuted failure to respond.” While you might not get a fine, however, we’ll all have to pay up if census forms are not returned. The Commerce Department, which administers the Census, estimated that for each person who does not complete their form, taxpayers would have to foot a $57 bill to send someone out to “get the interview in person.”
Pre-air-conditioning Bayou pioneers
Both Thomas Jefferson and George Washington surmised there was some spotty accounting back in 1790, particularly in the more remote reaches of the country. But they both agreed that 3.9 million was a “good enough” count to determine representation. New York, with a population of a little over 33,000, was the largest American city. Philadelphia, Boston, Charleston, and Baltimore followed NYC and made up the top five largest cities in the country.
Fast forwarding to 1900, Houston was the 85th largest city in the United States. Census records document that 44,633 inhabitants lived in our Bayou City. Prior to the invention of air conditioning, I just can’t imagine how those Houstonians handled the heat. Ten years later, and apparently undeterred by the climate, Houston moved up into 68th spot, with close to 80,000 residents. It is after 1950 that Houston started to make its move into the top 10, climbing from seventh in 1960 to sixth in 1970. We broke the top five in 1980. By the 1990 census, Houston settled in at number four in the nation.
Forgetfulness as an American trait
Census Director Groves candidly stated on his blog (yes, he has a blog ), that when it comes to the census, we Americans share “the natural tendency to put it aside on a desk or table and then forget about it.” The census “tends to be forgotten,” Groves wrote, “not as a deliberate act, but merely in the belief that we’ll get to it later.”
So far, Texas has one of the lowest census-response rates in the country.
Houstonians, take 10 minutes, and answer the 10 questions, and take pride in exercising this “civic obligation.” It is a means to be counted in American history.