Mary Peck - was she the mistress of President Wilson?

Mary Peck - was she the mistress of President Woodrow Wilson, or just a good family friend?

She is featured in the original e-mail series, The Privilege of Voting.

All of the stories about Mary Peck from the series are presented on this page.

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Find out the sexy, shocking truth about HOW women won the vote in America and England in this extraordinary e-mail series that recreates the realities of the lives of eight great women in the Nineteen-Teens -- the tremendously tumultuous years of 1912 through 1920. Just type your e-mail into the box provided.

It's that easy! You will get a confirmation e-mail from 'aweber' requesting that you click on a link to confirm your free subscription, then the series begins...

The Privilege of Voting is a WILD ride. Enjoy!

Go behind the scenes in the public and private lives of

TWO gorgeous presidential mistresses

Beautiful, powerful suffragettes Alice Paul and Emmeline Pankhurst

Author Edith Wharton

Dancer Isadora Duncan

Washington power-broker Alice Roosevelt

Presidents Teddy Roosevelt, Woodrow Wilson and Warren Harding

and many more

Tragedy and triumph, damsels in distress, babies in peril, war and peace, famiilies falling apart and lots and lots of HOT affairs on the rocky road to the ballot box...

The best part - it's ALL true!

Read the Mary Peck Episodes now...

An Urgent Call

Trenton, New Jersey July 1912

The secretary pauses, not sure whether she should knock on the heavy wood door to the Governor’s office. She glances down at the note she holds in her hand, takes a deep breath and knocks lightly. She waits, counting silently to ten. There is no reply, so she opens the door and enters.

“Excuse me, sir, I have an urgent message for you," she says as she walks across the large room to where Governor Wilson is sitting behind his desk. She nods to his guest as she passes.

She hands the note to the Governor and turns to speak to his guest, who is obviously pleased about something. He is wearing a big grin, leaning forward in his chair. He gets up and shakes his body to loosen it..

“You're in a fine mood today, Colonel House.”

"Yes I am, young lady. It's official. Roosevelt won't quit and the party is split. The Bull Moose is in the race."

He laughs at this and points his long thin finger at the Governor. "And that means that your boss is going to be the next president of the United States!"

The secretary glances nervously at her boss. She smiles and thinks that while her boss is certainly smarter than the average person, the way he carries on with Mrs. Peck right under his wife's nose is a disgrace.

"Well, I'll get my bags a packing, Colonel. That's great news!"

Wilson smiles at her, but makes no comment. He is giving himself a moment to decide how to respond to her note. She notices that his jaw is clenched tight as he looks back and forth between her, the Colonel and the note.

It's just a short message, but she's sure it's not good news, and she can see that her boss has the same feeling about the message… Mrs. Peck says she has to speak to you right now -- I think she’s crying.

After a moment, Wilson folds the note again and slips it into his top drawer.

“Tell Ellen that I have very good news for her and that I will be home at the usual time.”

The secretary is confused, “But what shall I tell Mrs...”

The Governor interrupts her sharply, raising his eyebrows to convey that she has blundered, “Go and give Mrs. Wilson my message.”

He shakes his head and smiles wryly at his guest, as she blushes deeply as she realizes her indiscretion and hurries out of the room.

Colonel House steadies himself on his cane as Wilson comes round his desk and faces the tall thin man.

“Well, I best be on my way, Wilson, you son of a gun! You are one lucky bastard."

Wilson stands as if at attention, then grabs the older man's hand, shaking it hard with both of his hands. “I won’t let you down, Colonel.”

The colonel slaps him on the back and walks out. As soon as the door shuts the Governor picks up the phone. His hands tremble as he dials the number he has called so many times before.

Why is Mary crying? How can he tell her that he's going to be president…that he can’t see her, that he can't help her.

A cold chill races down Wilson's spine.

If anybody finds out…oh, god, save me, he prays, waiting for Mary to answer, waiting for Mary to tell him that every thing is okay.

Mary’s Mistake

Washington DC August 1915

Woodrow looks at Edith in the soft light of the fire. They are alone in his private sitting room in the White House and have just finished dinner. They are drinking red wine from tiny glasses. Woodrow has never experienced such ecstasy.

He wonders how it is possible for a man to travel from the deepest despair to such heights of happiness so quickly. God sent this angel to save me, Woodrow tells himself, believing the adoration he feels for Edith could only be divinely inspired.

In the six months since Ellen's sudden death, Woodrow has come to feel differently about the way he has lived his life – he's now ashamed of his relationship with Mary. When Ellen was alive it seemed that to deceive her about their feelings for each other was a kindness, not that he or Mary ever believed that she was actually deceived. They knew she knew, but the attraction they felt for each other seemed more important.

It's hard for him to believe that his feelings for Mary could change so completely. He's angry with Mary, as he is angry with himself for the pain they inflicted on Ellen. And he's annoyed that she keeps complaining to him about her 'financial situation.' Her husband left her with very little, but how can she expect him, the president of a country on the brink of war, to risk everything by supporting a divorced woman?

Even while he was going through the ordeal of Ellen's illness and death, Mary thought of nothing but herself. She seems to think that she's entitled to lean on me forever, he complains to himself. But in that regard, she is very much mistaken. Still he has to be careful with Mary - it would not do to have her as an enemy.

His thoughts return to Edith as he gazes at her profile in the light of the fire. Woodrow is astonished to find himself in love with the great-great granddaughter of the Indian princess Pocahantas. Edith bears her Indian heritage beautifully with her shiny black hair and high cheekbones, but her eyes are a bright cornflower blue. Edith seems lost in her thoughts, and Woodrow wonders what she's thinking about, but doesn’t want to disturb her.

He observes with complete satisfaction that Edith is a charming set of contradictions. She is a smart business-woman -- she owns a very successful jewelry store, but she dresses in the most feminine of fashions. Her gowns are cut close to her body to show her lovely curves; her hemlines are raised well above her ankles and she wears tight, pointy high-heeled shoes. She drives her own electric car all over Washington, but absolutely adores riding in the presidential limousine with Woodrow. She loves to talk, but she also loves to listen and seems to admire and agree with nearly everything Woodrow says.

Woodrow smiles to himself and leans back in his chair. There's no reason to wait any longer. Even though he has known Edith for only three months, there is no question that she is the woman of his dreams. He will buy a ring tomorrow and ask Edith to become his bride.

America loved Ellen, and they will love Edith too. He's absolutely sure of it.

Give Me His Letters

New York, New York October 1916

Evalyn looks both ways as she steps off the train onto the platform at Pennsylvania Station in New York. She's glad to see no one she knows, though it is unlikely that anyone would recognize her. She is dressed in the rough clothing of her maid, and has a shawl drawn over her head and shoulders.

She makes her way quickly through the crowded station and up the stairs to 34th Street. She looks around again, then crosses the street and enters the lobby of an apartment building. She pauses for a few moments in the lobby, pretending to be checking an address in a small book, then takes the stairs rather than elevator.

By the third floor, she is panting. She's surprised, 'I must be getting old' she says to herself as gets into the elevator to ride the rest of the way up to the 11th floor.

Arriving at the 11th floor, she removes the shawl, checks the hallway to be sure no one is there and knocks lightly on the door at apartment 1102.

When there is no answer, she knocks again, this time adding a greeting in a light and friendly tone, "Mrs. Peck, my name is Evalyn McLean. May I have a word with you?"

Mary is looking through the peephole, but doesn't answer. What is she doing here, Mary wonders, her heart pounding with fear.

Evalyn tries again. "Mrs. Peck, I have information that you need. I know you're in there. Please give me a moment to speak with you."

Mary relents, and with trembling hands opens the door. "How do I know you're Evalyn McLean?"

Evalyn smiles, and opens her large carrying bag. She pulls out a small dark blue velvet bag and loosens the tie, then spills a necklace out of the bag into her hand. She holds her hand out to show Mary. "It is the Hope diamond."

Mary's eyes widen. The enormous blue jewel, set in a circle of white diamonds sparkles even in the dim light of the hallway. She stammers an apology and steps back to allow Evalyn to enter, "I'm sorry Mrs. McLean, please come in."

Evalyn enters the small apartment, and looks around. Mary asks her to sit and offers tea.

"Yes, tea would be nice, thank you." Rather than sitting down, Evalyn walks over to the window and looks out. She hopes no one is watching her through a telescope, for there are many windows with a clear view into Mary's apartment.

"You have a lovely view."

Mary sits the kettle on a small stove and turns on the gas jet, then returns to the living room. "Yes, we enjoy looking over Madison Square Gardens. It's always interesting to see the performers coming and going and it's such a beautiful building. The tower is modeled after la Giralda, a medieval mosque in Sevilla, Spain.

"I didn't know that. But I did know the architect - Stanford White. He was really quite a guy." Evalyn makes a little motion with her hand, putting it to on her hip and striking the pose of a vain and dandy man. Mary smiles at her clowning.

Evalyn drops her voice to a teasing whisper. "His mistress's husband shot him -- bang, bang, bang - right in the head - in the lobby in front of hundreds of witnesses. But that's ancient history - seven years ago. Isadora Duncan has her studio there now…"

"Yes that's true. I'm a great admirer of Miss Duncan. I'm glad she's come back from France. It's not safe there. She has a whole school of girls under her care - all different ages - very pretty and graceful. There are about 25 of them, I think. I see them on the street sometimes. She looks very sad..."

"Have you seen her dance?"

Mary smiles again. "Why yes, several times. Just last week at the Metropolitan she danced the French Marseillaise wearing a blood red cape. It was very moving. She wants America to help France, but I just can't support us getting involved in that war."

"I agree with you completely Mrs. Peck. Did you hear that Paris Singer bought the building and gave it to her as a birthday present last night? He threw a big party for her but she got drunk and started dancing the tango with some handsome young thing. Paris got jealous and stormed out."

"Oh dear!"

Evalyn gives a derisive little laugh. "He says he's through with her, but I doubt it. Men are never through with women they can't control, are they?"

"I've heard that she has a drinking problem. Who wouldn't after what happened to her children." Mary sighs. The tea kettle starts to whistle and she steps into the kitchen to make the tea.

Evalyn feels uneasy talking about Isadora's dead children. It reminds her of her own premonition that she will lose her own. She changes the subject.

"That's a beautiful statue of Diana on the roof. She looks lonely up there by herself, doesn't she?

"Yes," Mary agrees, shaking her head, as she sits a tray with a pretty china tea pot and tiny little cups on the table. She sits on the sofa and Evalyn joins her.

"Diana the Huntress… I can relate to her," Evalyn says and laughs lightly. "Can you?" "Not really. Lately I feel more like the hunted than the hunter."

"Hmmm. I understand. Actually, that's why I'm here." She takes her cup of tea and stirs it, waiting for Mary to reply. But Mary sits silently, just looking at Evalyn.

"There are number of powerful men who believe that you, Mrs. Peck, hold the key to the White House, and they're very upset that you won't turn it over to them."

Still Mary says nothing.

"I admire your loyalty, especially in light of…" she looks around the tiny room, "well, in light of your circumstances..."

"My circumstances are not nearly as terrible as they may appear, Mrs. McLean," Mary replies softly, without much conviction.

"I'm sorry. I'm sure they're not, but I have a proposal for you that will make your life safer by a large measure."

"You want the letters from Woodrow?"

"Of course, I want the letters, but for a completely different reason than the others."

"Why do you want them - they're simple communications of friendship - nothing more."

"Then why go to such lengths to keep them secret?"

"That is my business, Mrs. McLean.Woodrow is my friend. And I love him," she adds then breaks into tears.

Evalyn moves closer to Mary and puts her arm around Mary's shoulders.

"And now he's courting Mrs.Galt." Evalyn gives a loud sigh. "You could expect him to show a little more understanding of the consequences of your friendship, a little more concern for your well-being, Mrs. Peck."

Mary agrees. But she feels foolish crying to this stranger. She looks at Evalyn and asks again, "Why do you want my letters?"

"Mrs. Peck, I'm sure you know that my husband is a republican. But I secretly support Wilson - not that I can vote, unless I move back to Colorado." She rolls her eyes to show her exasperation, and takes another sip of tea.

"My reason for supporting Wilson is that I share his loathing for sending our boys into France. It's not our war, and I do not intend to sacrifice my sons to their foolishness."

Mary is astonished. "I depend completely on my son …" she stops as a lump forms in her throat and a fresh round of tears well up in her eyes, "if he has to go to the war, I don't know how I can survive."

"That's why I'm here. I want to make sure that your letters don't fall into the wrong hands and cost Wilson the election. He's against constitutional suffrage for women -- that I don't like -- but he's more likely to keep us out of the war than any republican that I know of."

"Three men came here last week trying to buy the letters. One of them was Joe Grundy. I recognized him from the newspapers. He offered me $300,000. I couldn't believe it!"

Evalyn whistles and gives a laugh. "That's a lot of money, honey! You could buy two Hope diamonds with that! Grundy's wild to get a republican president elected - one he and his cronies can control. That's why Hughes got the nomination and not Roosevelt. They can't control Roosevelt."

"I will never sell Woodrow's letters, not for any price. But they seem to know that my former husband provides very little for my ongoing support."

"Don't make the mistake of thinking that they would actually pay you. Once they have the letters, it will be better for them if you and your son disappear - completely." Evalyn raises her eyebrows. "Do you know what I mean by that, Mrs. Peck?"

Mary shudders. Evalyn seems to be saying that they will be murdered. "What can I do?"

"Give me his letters and I'll make sure they're never used against your friend -- even though he doesn't deserve a friend as good as you."

"Will you destroy them?" Mary asks, her voice trembling.

"No. I can see that you don't want them destroyed. But I assure they will be completely safe with me. You can trust me, Mrs. Peck. I'm very good at keeping secrets."

The Peace Train

Los Angeles, California September 1918

Mary is nervous. As she walks up the street toward the hotel from the trolley stop, she sees about a dozen reporters and cameramen surrounding its doorway. Some of the photographers are standing on boxes to get a better view of the door. They are looking around, obviously expecting someone.

Mary turns quickly and walks around to the back entrance of the hotel, and is relieved to find no reporters there. She goes in and announces herself at the desk.

"Oh, Mrs. Peck. You're the woman they're all waiting for," the clerk says, waving at the reporters.

"Oh please, don't let them know I'm here. I don't like to be photographed."

The man flashes an understanding smile at Mary, and picks up the phone to announce her arrival. A moment later, a handsome young man, smartly attired in a dark blue suit walks up to her. "Mrs. Peck, I'm with the Secret Service on the presidential detail. I'll escort you up to his suite. It's the honeymoon suite." He smiles at her, not knowing how that line cut into her heart.

They leave the elevator on the 14th floor, and Mary is whisked past a long line of people standing in the hallway waiting for a chance to meet with the president. Many of the women are dressed in white, a sign that they are advocates for votes for women. Mary is disgusted at the sight of them, thinking them small-minded and unpatriotic. They have hounded poor Woodrow mercilessly from the first moment he arrived in Washington.

They have no common sense, she thinks, especially the ones going around the country in prison uniforms saying that Woodrow put them in prison. They put themselves in prison with their outrageous behavior, she concludes to herself.

She is even less impressed by the women and men milling around wearing big buttons that say "NO League of Nations."

She shakes her head in disdain at them as she walks past. The League of Nations is the most important part of the peace treaty Woodrow slaved over in Versailles.

Everyone has an opinion on the League of Nations. Either people adamantly for it, or just as adamantly against it. Most republicans are against it, most loudly Alice Roosevelt. She and Senator Borah are leading a group of senators that are fighting it in the senate. They call them selves 'the irreconcilables' because they reject the treaty completely, and don't want to even discuss revising it. Mary thinks how simple they are, certain in her own mind that Woodrow's wisdom is so much greater than theirs. She felt so proud when she read about how committed he is to persuading America to ratify the treaty in The Los Angeles Times.

"There's a lot of talk against the treaty and especially against the League of Nations. Edith and I are going to speak directly to America about how vital it is to ratify the treaty. The Peace Train will take us all over the country to convince America that cooperation is the way to protect us from future wars. Ben Franklin said it best…There has never been a good war or a bad peace."

How true, Mary thought. But the newspaper's editors teased Wilson, saying that his train tour is taking a page from the suffragettes -- copying their "Prison Special train tour. As if the suffragettes were the first to ever make speeches from the back of a train!

So far, the crowds have been smaller than expected in most cities. People want to hear what the president has to say, and see his new wife, but fear of the influenza is why so few people have come out to see them, at least that's what the newspaper said.

Knowing of the president's health, which has always been precarious even from his childhood, Mary is worried that the tour could be too much for him. But he is here, in Los Angeles, where Mary is now living with her 27 year old son.

She's trying to start a new life, away from all the whispers about her and Woodrow. And it was so expensive to live in New York. It was hard to make a living - even here it's difficult. Especially now, with all the men back from the war, there aren't many jobs that women can get. Selling books door-to-door is no way to get rich, Mary has learned the hard way.

When Woodrow called her last night, he seemed excited, happy, and insisted that she come to the hotel and have lunch with him He could only speak for a moment, he said, and he didn't mention the new Mrs. Wilson, so Mary is not sure if she will be here. Mary hopes she isn't, for as much as she would like to get a look at her, it would be so nice to be alone with Woodrow.

When her escort opens the door into the president's rooms, Mary's hope of a private meeting with Woodrow vanishes. They are greeted by the new Mrs. Wilson.

"So you're Mary Peck, the old family friend. I'm Edith Bolling Galt Wilson. Mrs. Wilson." She gives Mary a thin-lipped smile and takes Mary's hand and shakes it heartily.

The secret service man asks her if she will be able to accommodate any of the people waiting to speak to her. She dismisses him in what Mary thinks is a very haughty manner.

"No! The president wants us to have lunch with Mrs. Peck, our old family friend. I said no and I mean it. Don’t disturb us again."

Mary wonders why she seems to be emphasizing her words when she says 'old family friend.' Mary is both surprised and disappointed by the new Mrs. Wilson. Though she is tall and shapely, with impressive breasts, Edith is not very beautiful, not terribly feminine, and not very nice. She doesn't seem like Woodrow's type at all.

Mary looks closely at her features to see if she looks 'indian,' since the famous Indian woman Pocahantas is supposedly her great-great-grandmother.

"Did they take pictures of you when you came in?" Edith asks Mary.

"Why no, I saw a lot of photographers crowded around the door and decided to come in through the back."

"Oh, it's too bad they didn't get your picture. I told them you were coming over. We want to be very clear to everyone that we're having you over because you're an old family friend. You know about the rumors, of course. They hurt the president's credibility, which is most unfortunate in these perilous times."

Mary does not know how to respond. She's dumbfounded. She can't believe that this woman called reporters to come and take her picture.

At this moment Woodrow bursts through the door from the adjacent room, whistling his favorite song…oh you beautiful doll, you great big beautiful doll…

When he sees Mary he smiles from ear to ear. "Mary! Mary, it's so good to see you!" He rushes over to her and hugs her tightly.

"Woodrow, you look wonderful," she exclaims, relief and surprise more evident in the tone of her voice than both she and he would prefer.

"The rumors of my demise are greatly exaggerated, as Mark would say," he says laughing, referring to the famous comment made by their mutual friend Mark Twain, who wintered in Bermuda many of the same years that Mary and Wilson spent there, in the early years of their friendship.

He looks appreciatively at Mary and notices that she's wearing the same dress she wore on their last time she came to the White House, a couple of weeks after Ellen's funeral. "Well, I believe I complimented you on that very same dress the last time I saw you. I guess I'll have to repeat myself. It really catches the blue in your eyes!"

At this Edith clears her throat loudly, to express her annoyance that they are ignoring her. Woodrow looks admiringly at Edith, who is standing very straight, with a formced smile on her face, and gushes to Mary, "I see you've met my beautiful bride."

Mary can hardly bear to turn her eyes away from Woodrow. He looks fine, she tells herself with relief. She was frightened by the rumors she heard that he never really recovered from the influenza that kept him in bed for a month in Versailles.Woodrow was certainly not the only one of the negotiators taken ill, but at least he survived. Several delegates to the conference died -- young men seemed to be hit the hardest by the flu. Woodrow is sure that it's a sign from God that he's back in at least serviceable health again so that he can carry through on his vision.

Now he's turned to look at Edith, and Mary's heart sinks when she notices that one side of his face seems drooped and frozen. It's a sign of a stroke -- another stroke. She first met Woodrow when he came to Bermuda to recover from his first stroke. That was 20 years ago and since then there have been several more of what he calls 'episodes.'

She's frightened for him, but tries not to seem alarmed. Mary steps back from Woodrow to a distance more proper for a 'good family friend' and turns to smile at Edith. In a bright cheery tone which is the complete opposite of what she actually feels, she tries to start a conversation.

"Yes, we've met. Congratulations on your marriage - to both of you. I'm so happy for you and for your new family, Mrs. Wilson. How are your daughters, Woodrow?"

He laughs, and answers in a joking tone, "Oh, just glad to have their old man squared away with a new wife. They have their own lives now - they're very busy just like all young people…"

Mary smiles in return. Edith is doing her best to seem friendly to her husband's 'friend,' but seeing Woodrow with Mary, knowing that there was 'something' between them is birthing a jealous monster in her heart. She's afraid to speak for fear of what she might say, so she is keeping quiet while Mary and Woodrow chatter on and on about old times.

From the way Edith is looking at her, Mary knows one thing for sure -- she and Edith will never be friends. What she doesn't know is that she will never see Woodrow again.

Treasures of a Hundred Cooks

Los Angeles, California June 1920

Mary sits at her desk near the window in her apartment in Hollywood and puts on her glasses. She takes a deep breath and unfolds the afternoon newspaper. She is anxious to find out what happened at the democratic party convention yesterday. Woodrow is running for a third term, which has never been done before.

He's being criticized from every quarter, even by those few who still believe he's a great president. They're saying two terms is enough, calling him King Woodrow. Everyone knows he's a very sick man. He's not at the convention in San Francisco and according to the newspapers, he's only left the White House three times in the past six months. People are claiming that he has given the reins to his wife, that Edith is the real president now.

She is certainly in complete control of who gets to see the president, and very few people do. Anyone who wants to speak with him is required to meet with her and submit any questions for him in writing. She takes their written questions to the president, and then meets with the person again to give them the president's response.

Some people are convinced that she is the one calling the shots - and are not even sure she presents their petitions.

The fight for the treaty in the senate is failing, the treaty is as good as dead, and the southern states are balking at ratifying the votes for women amendment, yet very little is heard from the president, and he's very rarely seen. Some rumors say that Woodrow is paralyzed on his left side, and tortured by constant headaches. Others say that he's extremely paranoid, and is sure that assassins are out to murder him and Edith.

But these are just rumors. Nobody knows anything for sure about Wilson's condition, except not to ask about it. Wilson fired his secretary of state for asking the presidential physician about Wilson's health.

Mary has gotten neither call nor a letter from Woodrow since he visited last year. No response to the note Mary sent to thank Woodrow and Edith for their hospitality in Los Angeles. Nor to any of her several subsequent letters inquiring as to Woodrow's health and whether there is any way she can be helpful.

For her own sake, Mary is relieved when she reads that Woodrow did not get the nomination. If he did, the same shadowy cast of characters that hounded her in the last two elections would come after her again, and she's finally getting her life back together in California.

After much floundering, she has realized that her former life as a society wife fitted her for only one alternative career, and she is working hard to become a writer and lecturer on entertaining and home decoration. She's working this very moment on a cookbook organizing a hundred recipes into 16 categories.

She puts down the newspaper and sighs. She takes up her pen again, to finish the introduction she's writing to her cookbook. "The recipes in Treasures of a Hundred Cooks are from the menus of three generations of the author's family, many wrested by lengthy questioning of those extremely gifted persons who cook by ear."

As she writes this, she realizes that she and Woodrow played their friendship by ear, not knowing where it would lead, but following it with all their hearts.

Someday she will write about it, but not now. Hope is a hard plant to kill and Mary still hopes that another chapter in her friendship with Woodrow will yet unfold.

And when Woodrow needs her, Mary will be there. He's her friend. And she loves him. She always did. She always will...

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