Charles Carroll

While this amount of money and status would be notable for any person, it is extremely noteworthy for one reason: Carroll was Catholic. Even though Maryland was first founded as a religious haven for Catholics, in the eighteenth century, improper religious affiliation would bar one from holding public office, voting, and practicing law. Yet, this did not prevent Carroll from gaining notoriety in the eyes of the Maryland public, even without a formal platform to do so. In 1772, Carroll engaged in an anonymous debate in the form of newspaper letters with a member of one of the controlling, loyalist families of Maryland. When the identities of the writers were revealed and his opponent resorted to abusive, ad hominem attacks, Carroll’s following grew, and it earned him seats on various committees. This is what led to his being elected to the Continental Congress, where he would sign the document that spurred the Revolution to free this great country. While every man risked life, limb, and reputation by attaching their name to the parchment, Carroll arguably had the most to lose in doing so, being the richest man in what would hopefully become America.

Despite being renowned around the country for his wealth and revolutionary zeal, Carroll was, like me, a loyal descendant of his home. In the early days of the national government, he was elected to the first U.S. Senate. When it became impossible to serve on both state and national legislatures, he resigned from the larger, more prestigious position in order to serve his home state and community. He also opposed the movement to confiscate property from landowners who had been loyalists during the war; even though he was outvoted on this measure, his dedication to all Marylanders, even those he disagreed with, speaks loudly of his level of honor and dignity.

Charles Carroll passed away in November 1832 at the age of 95, which seems like a remarkable feat for anyone of the era, regardless of signatory status. In living so long, he saw seven presidents sworn into office. Supposedly, he became disengaged with the politics of the nation he fought for around the time of Thomas Jefferson’s election to the presidency. Instead, he retired officially to Maryland, helping with various efforts such as laying the cornerstone of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad.

Perhaps you knew all of this already. Perhaps you live in Carroll County or grew up in Maryland, where men like Carroll are presumably lectured about in schools. Assumedly, you also know about John Carroll, his cousin, who would become the first American Catholic Bishop. I find it remarkable that at a time where religion was still seen as a dividing factor in a nation trying to find unity, the cousin of the first Bishop would sign the document that would bring about freedom for the same people who had barred them from public office, voting, and religious education. Carroll not only inherited a vast estate, but also the legacy of defending family and faith down the generations. Carroll’s surprising position of public power, even without political power, allowed him to establish religious tolerance more formally in the formation of the founding documents of our nation, where all men are created equal.

One thing I have learned and loved during my time in Maryland has been the Catholic heritage of the state. If you’ve ever ventured south, you’ll notice that the Catholic populations start to dwindle and then form again in Louisiana. But in the northern Bible belt area of Virginia, where I’ve grown up, Catholics are far and few between. Don’t misunderstand me: I am thoroughly thankful for the Protestant community I’ve been raised around, because it has provided me with a unique faith experience and the opportunity to expand upon my own beliefs. I would not trade this for the world, and I find myself much more at home in a southern Bible town than Boston, where there’s a Catholic church on every street. But spending time in Maryland, especially at a Catholic university that shares a mountainside with a national pilgrimage site, I have come to appreciate the beauty of a unified faith community. I’ve enjoyed having some classes start with an opening prayer, the discussion of Biblical history in an English seminar, and seeing Emmitsburg come alive during a Eucharistic procession. But this unity and diversity of religious affiliations is possible because of men like Carroll, where it was not the idea of one faith reigning supreme but the ability to practice as one would wish, with equal respect and dignity for all traditions. This sentiment, which I hold dearly like Carroll, reminds me of the answer a Jewish professor at the Mount gave me when I asked what his experience was teaching at a Catholic university: that he knew his faith would be more respected at a religious university, even one that believed differently than he did, than at a secular institution.