Clinton P. Ferry, Duke of
Tacoma
 C.
P. Ferry came to Tacoma only a few months after Matthew Morton
McCarver. He built a house near that of the old boomer in Old
Town, served for a time as McCarver's private secretary,
correcting the general's inspired spelling and eventually marrying
a daughter of McCarver's second wife, which made him McCarver's
stepson-in-law, though he preferred to be called the Duke of
Tacoma.
A
man of imposing presence, big-nosed, long-jawed, loose-framed, he
was hard-working and intent on money. Ferry served as agent for
the Tacoma Land Company, handled McCarver's estate after his
death, and managed his own property well.
He
pioneered the development of South Tacoma and the papers guessed
he was worth a million or two. After his first wife died, Ferry
courted and won a vivacious, auburn-haired divorcee, Cynthia
Trafton, who of course was considerably younger than he. He was
very proud of her. Jealous, too.
In
1889 Ferry's contributions to the Republican party were rewarded
with an appointment as United States commissioner to the Paris
Exposition. It seemed the perfect honeymoon: Paris, visits to the
984-foot tower Alexandre Gustave Eiffel had built for the event, a
suite in the best hotel, a government carriage for rides on the
Champs Elysee, diplomatic status. What more could a girl ask?
Well, Cynthia wanted to learn French.
Ferry
hired as tutor a champagne salesman who claimed noble connections.
Cynthia's efforts were assiduous, her accent improved steadily,
but Ferry's enthusiasm for bilingualism lessened. He found the
tutor to be more than efficient, he was also young and handsome.
A
story in the Tacoma Ledger quoted a story in a New York paper to
the effect that the Duke of Tacoma was going about with his hand
in a cast because Cynthia had broken his forefinger when he waved
it under her nose during a discussion about elisions in latinate
derivatives.
Ferry
decided it was time for them to return to Tacoma with the ob'ets
d'art they had collected for the new house Cynthia was planning.
She wouldn't go.
Ferry
agreed to stay in Paris a while longer if she would promise not to
admit the tutor to their suite nor recognize him on the street.
She kept her word. She met him at a hotel. Ferry and a detective
interrupted one of the French lessons. During the explanations
that followed, she bit a chunk off her husband's nose. He
demanded, unsuccessfully, that Parisian authorities jail her as "a
common woman."
When
the Duke of Tacoma returned to his home turf, his patrician nose
appeared intact but Mrs. Ferry was not with him. She was no longer
Mrs. Ferry. He was accompanied, however, by the collection of art
they had purchased for the new house.
Most
of it Ferry gave to the city's new museum, which he helped finance
and which was named for him. Some he gave to the city for its
parks. The two maidens guarding the Division Avenue entrance to
Wright Park are mementos of the Duke of Tacoma's time in Paris.
Out
of personal misfortune, civic amenities.
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