Ladies, it's your day! A Leap Year tradition, New York style

 “When a woman has reached the age of thirty there is nothing left for her but to be good. I am going to make clothes for the poor. Hand me down that roll of flannel, Rachel: I mean to begin at once." 

"If it will be any comfort to you, my dear," began Rachel, soothingly, if monotonously. "I read the other day that women of thirty were all the fashion, and that girls of twenty were quite out of it." 


"That was written by a person of forty then, my dear.”

-- excerpt from 'A Woman of Thirty', New York Times, 1893

Happy Leap Day, single ladies! Put a ring on it! For four years -- 1,460 straight days -- men have been the initiators in romance. Women were to mildly express interest in a mate, her demure politeness disguising anything possibly resembling passion as she awaited a marriage proposal from the confines of her parents home. But not so on February 29, according to custom. On this day, women get to playfully assert themselves in the parlor, boldly proposing to the men they desire.

Although this Leap Day tradition allegedly dates back to the Elizabethan era and even further, the proper folk of the Victorian -- and within the societal confines of New York -- embraced it almost-seriously. But this was no mere pantomime of dating ritual, not simply a crusty poke at female status. Citing 'common law', the Independent in 1908 proclaimed, "[A]ny man refusing a woman's proposal on leap year shall give her a silk dress. Every maiden, widow or divorcee has, therefore, an opportunity this year to replenish her wardrobe even if she fails to satisfy her affections." (The advertisement at top seems to reference this detail of the ritual.)

The tradition in 19th century New York was recognized enough that an uptick in advertisements from female suitors could be found in newspapers on that particular day. A reporter for the Times peers in on "the ladies of Harlem" in 1856 to discover "the fairer half of the assemblage asserted the prerogatives which Leap Year confers upon them to the fullest extent. They selected their own partners for the dance and very probably some of them exercised their privilege of choosing a party for life."  There was even a well-received play by J.B. Buckstone which debuted in 1850 called 'Leap Year - A Ladies Privilege'.

But was this ridiculous tradition ever really taken seriously? There was doubt, even in the Gilded Age. I mean, women proposing marriage? Can you imagine? "It seems almost incredible to us that there was a time when it was considered a humorous thing for a civilized community to assume that women were in the habit of doing what no woman is known ever to have done," wrote a Times columnist in 1880

As with old customs, this might have been taken more seriously outside of major cities, as evidenced by this letter which ran in the New York Times in 1864: "A remarkable (Leap Year) courtship and marriage came off in our quiet village last week, resulting disastrously to all the parties concerned."

For New Yorkers, Leap Day does not seem to have been a 'holiday' that received serious consideration. Among the upper crust, a woman's proposal would have been scoffed at, regardless of the season, while it's doubtful certain lower class women wouldn't have waited for a calendar anomoly to do what she wished. If anything, the urban legend might have actually deterred potential marriage proposals. According to an 1884 article, "The ladies are afraid to marry this [leap] year because people will say they popped the question."

Even William Jay Gaynor, mayor of New York 100 years ago, dismissed the custom and the women of New York in a single swoop: "I do not think women care about leap year. They can propose if they want to, but bless them, leap year or no leap year, they would rather have the fellow propose to them."

Of course, I suppose some are trying to keep this weird custom alive even today.

Illustration at top from the Club Women of New York journal from 1904. Life advertisement courtesy New York Public Library.

Langston Hughes: A few Harlem stops on his birthday

Dapper gentlemen: At a 1924 celebration in Langston's honor, at the home of Regina Andrews on 580 St. Nicholas Avenue. The author is to the far left, followed by future sociologists Charles S. Johnson and E. Franklin Frazier; novelist and future doctor Rudolph Fisher; and Hubert T. Delany, who would become a New York justice in 1942, appointed by Fiorello LaGuardia.

Since I was a teenager, I've had an affinity for writer Langston Hughes, the revolutionary jazz poet who was born 110 years ago today in 1902. I grew up about an hour away from Langston's birthplace in Joplin, Mo. One of the brightest lights of the Harlem Renaissance grew up here?, I frequently pondered in English class.  In fact, Hughes is considered Joplin's most famous son.*

But you don't need to follow Langston's footprints back to the Ozarks. Celebrate his birthday with a mini-walking tour, four Manhattan addresses that were pivotal to Hughes' development as an iconic African-American voice and a star of the Harlem literary scene:

181 W. 135th Street (corrected, see note) -- Langston's first exposure to Harlem's creative energy was as a Columbia University student in 1921, wandering the street, hoping to see "Duke Ellington on the corner of 135th Street, or Bessie Smith passing by, or Bojangles Bill Robinson in front of the Lincoln Theatre, or maybe Paul Robeson or Bert Williams walking down the avenue." [source] Before moving into Columbia's Hartley Hall, however, Langston took a room here at the YMCA, known for its live drama productions and art shows. He didn't need to stroll around to find Robeson; he got his start acting in productions at the YMCA.

NOTE: Thanks to Stephen Robinson for the following correction to the information above: "I'm afraid you've got the wrong address for the YMCA at which Langston Hughes would have stayed. From 1919-1933, the YMCA was located across the street from the current building, at 181 West 135th Street. You can see the footprint of this building on the 1930 map we use on our site Digital Harlem: Everyday Life, 1915-1930 , and find more information about it by doing a search for Places, location type=YMCA."

634 St. Nicholas Avenue -- Although Langston would rent out a studio in 1938 down the street at 66 St. Nicholas Avenue, he frequently stayed at this address in the Sugar Hill area of Harlem, the home of his friends Toy and Emerson Harper. (He referred to them as 'aunt' and 'uncle'.) Hughes later moved with the couple to another address...

20 East 127th Street -- For 20 years, Hughes worked out of the top floor, by now an international phenomenon. He was residing here (his own 'ivory tower') when he died in 1967. The house was up for sale for most of the year, but was finally sold in December in a Sotheby's auction.

 515 Malcolm X Boulevard (at W. 135th Street) -- The Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture, a branch of the New York Public Library, is Hughes' final resting place. His ashes are contained underneath the foyer floor, beneath an inscription: "My soul has grown deep like the rivers." But the library always had a long association with Hughes. His 'poetry-play' 'Don't You Want To Be Free' played to sold-out crowds in the basement of the library in 1938. The play co-starred Robert Earl Jones, the father of James Earl Jones.

You can find a far more in-depth walking tour of 1920s Harlem here.

 *Another African-American cultural icon, George Washington Carver, was born in the town of Diamond, Mo., fifteen minutes southeast of Joplin. If you're ever swinging through that area of the world, the George Washington Carver National Monument, where his home was located, is worth a stop.