A history of awkward dinner conversations
A history of awkward dinner conversations
Advice learned the hard way by presidents, assassins, transcendentalists, and other people for whom chitchat got weird
Hello, Snackers. ’Tis the season for large family gatherings, which can be lovely or incredibly awkward or possibly both in the span of a few minutes. If things start to go off the rails, consider this advice from the history books.
Three quick things before we begin
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We’ve all been there: attending an ostensibly festive event and trapped in an uncomfortable conversation. There’s a whole range of ways this can play out, of course, from the merely boring to the weird to the genuinely upsetting.
There are plenty of serious, thoughtful articles on how to deal with this sort of thing—ask Google—but I’m here to offer you observations and, perhaps, advice from the depths of history, which may or may not apply to your own circumstances.
Lesson 1: Down with bigotry, up with epigrammatic wit
I found an obituary from 1786, in the Hampshire Gazette, for a man named Ebenezer Hunt (“fourth of his name”). It begins with the incredible line “Mr. Hunt was singularly unambitious of wealth or public place” but then goes on to paint a picture of a beloved man of great intellect and cheer. He was, apparently, at his very best in the company of friends:
Mr. Hunt was a man of highest integrity in his life, and business, and politics; of wise benevolence, which sought to elevate and not pauperize its objects; of distinguished social gifts and generous hospitality; and, while thoroughly democratic in principles, was of refined and courteous manners. A brilliant narrator, and of epigrammatic wit and repartee, and his dinner-table conversation is traditionally known in many Boston households, where he was an ever welcomed guest. He was always in the advanced thought of the day, both in religion and politics, wholly free from bigotry or intolerance.
The obituary doesn’t say how Mr. Hunt dealt with uncomfortable conversations—and even for someone of “advanced thought,” it’s likely that humor of the 1780s would not work well in the 2020s—but I think it’s worth remembering this description as a case study in how to be an ideal guest. Be kind and thoughtful and work to build up other people.
Lesson 2: There’s often unspoken subtext to political conversations
Imagine this scene: there’s a stranger at the dinner table, and when the topic turns to politics, he gets angry. He has strong opinions and he isn’t afraid to voice them, but the way he says it feels so over-the-top that it seems like maybe he’s leading you on.
It happens! But rarely has it happened in such dramatic circumstances as when John Wilkes Booth was on the run every killing President Abraham Lincoln, in April 1865, and ended up chatting with strangers at an inn.
From The Detroit Free Press:
Booth and Harrold [sic] reached Garret’s some days ago, Booth walking on crutches. A party of four or five accompanied them, who spoke of Booth as a wounded Marylander on his way home, and that they wished to leave him there a short time, and would take him away by the 26th. Booth limped somewhat, and walked on crutches about the place, complaining of his ankle. He and Harrold regularly took their meals at the house, and both kept up appearances well.
One day at the dinner table, the conversation turned on the assassination of the President, when Booth denounced the deed in the severest terms, saying that there was no punishment severe enough for the perpetrator.
Lesson 3: Annoyed by something someone says? Take it to the press sometime in the next 20 years.
President John Quincy Adams left office in 1829, but he remained in the public eye for years. His views could still generate headlines, and in 1833, newspapers published accounts of his thoughts on something called Erskine’s Arrangement, which had to do with embargoes against England back in 1809. John was not happy to be quoted on this matter, especially because, as he noted in a curt letter to the editor of the Alexandria Gazette, he wasn’t sure if said it, and if he had, it was at a dinner party—and you know how conversations go in that setting. It’s just some small-talk bullshit!
It is not unlikely that at some dinner table conversation in the last twenty years, I may have said that I heard from someone pretending to be acquainted with the secrets of the British Administration …
Incredible hedging there. And also:
From my experience I have been led to the conclusion that the temper and morality which indulge themselves in detailing in detailing to the public, dinner table conversations, are always united with an aptitude of blundering, which disqualify for the correct representation of them.
Don’t quote what he said at dinner at some point over the last 20 years! He didn’t really mean it, probably! And to the person who leaked that conversation (which maybe possibly didn’t happen) to the press, the former president offers this look of profound disapproval:
Lesson 4: Know what topics to avoid and also who's armed
For example, don’t insult pro gamblers, as a class of people, on a steamboat in the 1830s. From The National Banner and Nashville Whig in February 1836:
At the dinner table, in conversation with other gentlemen, Mr. Allen expressed himself in strong terms of professional gamblers—remarking in substance that he considered them little better than horse-thieves. After dinner, a man named Hamilton Taylor … who was at the table when the remarks were made, called upon Allen to know if they were intended to allude to him. Allen replied that his observations were general—that he knew nothing of him [Taylor] or his profession; but that if he were a professional gambler, he fell under the general remark. After some warm words, Taylor struck Allen with his left hand and immediately thereafter with a large clasp knife stabbed him just below the right nipple through the lungs.
Lesson 5: Don't ramble, but “to step aside is human”
Read the room and realize when you’re going on and on about the most boring shit (don’t be Uncle Colm on Derry Girls). At the same time, digressions are part of the conversational flow—they’re fine! Have some patience, just roll with it and don’t worry about them, as long as they’re not too long or too frequent.
From London’s Era newspaper in 1838:
“To step aside is human.”
Has not every body often found, at a dinner table, that conversation has so digressed from one observation to another, that the original subject has been nearly lost sight of in the variety of new ones which have been elicited as the ball has passed from guest to guest? Well, just such is our case, and we beg pardon for the digression, though in table talk, the reader should not look for long and consecutive disquisitions, but be contented with a few touch-and-go remarks, just enough to fill up the interval between the courses of the dinner or the passage of the bottle.
Lesson 6: Are YOU the awkward one? Don’t worry, you’ll probably still be invited back.
If you’re feeling weird about the words that have slipped out of your mouth, chances are you’re still ahead of Henry David Thoreau. You may be aware that the Walden author’s famous excursion into the woods wasn’t actually as isolating as the hype—he was only a mile from town and his mom did his laundry (HIS MOM DID HIS LAUNDRY AND HE STILL GETS A REPUTATION AS A RUGGED INDIVIDUALIST).
Slightly less known, though, is the fact that he was apparently just bad at conversation. Please enjoy this history from the Britannica Blog:
Thoreau was a regular at the table of his Concord neighbor Ralph Waldo Emerson, whose generosity he repaid by sometimes scandalizing the women of the house with his talk of the sexual habits of various animals. (We lack fly-on-the-wall details.) But Emerson participated in the conversation, too, as did the eminent naturalist Louis Agassiz, so Thoreau wasn’t shown the door, and week after the week he was back for more food, wine, and conversation.
Happy snacking and good luck with those family gatherings!
—Doug
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