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For generations, most Americans have known a familiar story about Betsy Ross. The legend states she was an upholstery seamstress who created the nation's first flag. In the account passed down through her family, Ross was a young widow living in Philadelphia when George Washington and a congressional committee asked her to design a flag for the Colonies. These Colonies were uniting in rebellion against Great Britain. A sketch showed what they envisioned: red and white stripes and a constellation of six-pointed stars across a blue field. The story continues that Ross folded a piece of paper in a specific way, made a single cut, and, voila! She produced a perfect five-pointed star. The men approved, she stitched a flag, Congress cheered, and history was made.
As a historian of early American craftswomen, including Ross, I have often seen how mythologies—history's sound bites—can bury richer and deeper understandings of the past. That is exactly the case with Betsy Ross. Her story was never simply about designing one flag but about producing many. She was one of thousands of women whose labor was essential to the nation's origins. Her real life reveals a much larger picture of women's contributions than the popular legend suggests.
In 1870, Ross' grandson, William J. Canby, recounted the family's story about Betsy Ross and the making of the first flag in a speech to the Pennsylvania Historical Society. Historians and members of the public greeted the tale with skepticism. Despite Canby's best efforts, no archival evidence from that time, or since, has confirmed that Ross fabricated the first U.S. flag. Still, the story gained significant traction. For a long while, Ross was a popular historical figure in U.S. culture, ranking alongside Martha Washington and Abigail Adams. One of the earliest biopics imagined her life story, and her name graced everything from dolls to decanters. Over time, thousands of people began visiting her supposed home at 239 Arch Street in the Old City neighborhood of Philadelphia. That landmark is now preserved as a house museum.
As late as the 1980s, history professor Michael Frisch reported that "college students asked to name any person from pre–Civil War America who is not a politician or military figure" consistently included Ross "year after year." But in the years following the 1976 U.S. bicentennial, Ross' fame was already cresting. Today, many Americans are not entirely sure whether she was real or fictional.
Elizabeth Griscom Ross was indeed real. She was an upholstery worker who lived in Philadelphia from the 1750s to the 1830s. While no written record confirms the flag story, ample evidence survives to document the successful multigenerational flagmaking enterprise that she launched and then sustained with her daughter and granddaughters. According to an oral history recorded with Ross' youngest daughter, sometime in the 1760s a young Elizabeth Griscom, who was born in 1752, joined a sister employed by Philadelphia upholsterer John Webster. Ross learned the craft of upholstery as well as the making of tassels and fringe from Ann King, who oversaw women's work there.
Ross married upholstery apprentice John Ross in 1773, and the pair launched a small shop. John died in January 1776. Ross' second husband, mariner Joseph Ashburn, served the Revolution as a privateer and died in an English prison. In 1783, another privateer, John Claypoole, became Ross' third husband, and the couple raised a large family and lived full lives in the city. My take on the legend's veracity is that it is partly accurate, partly not, and there isn't really any "first" flag. What is certainly true is this: Ross found herself widowed in 1776 just as Philadelphia braced for British forces. This effort required the building of a navy and new flags representing the Americans. Women all around the seaport were getting contracts to stitch flags, and Ross surely wanted in.
The question "Did she or didn't she sew the 'first flag'?" is usually framed as a story of design, but it is not. It is a story of production. Ross, drawing on years of experience, was saying to these potential clients, "If you want a lot of these flags, and fast, five-pointed stars work better." The focus was on speed and volume, not on a single moment of invention.
When Betsy Ross told this story later to her children and grandchildren, at the heart of the story is a young craftswoman who met the "Father of Our Country" and believed she taught him something. Understanding Ross' real life is important because her story offers a view of women's massive wartime production of flags, uniforms, tents, knapsacks, and more. It also highlights the deep pride she and women like her felt in their contributions to the independence movement. Hundreds of Philadelphia women, including, briefly, Ross, manufactured ordnance for the Schuylkill arsenal. White, Black, Indigenous, enslaved, and free women provided labor in the form of nursing, cooking, and making and maintaining clothes that was essential to military encampments.
Women shaped diplomacy directly, especially among Indigenous peoples, and indirectly as they shared their perspectives with husbands, fathers, and sons. They also managed affairs for absent family and stretched scarce resources to sustain wartime households. Whatever she did or did not offer to the making of the first U.S. flag, Elizabeth Griscom Ross Ashburn Claypoole certainly enjoyed a long career in flagmaking. The best documentation for this came just before the War of 1812. When Purveyor of public supplies Tench Coxe needed flags, he steered contracts to the onetime Elizabeth Ross, now known as Elizabeth Claypoole. In 1808, for instance, Coxe recorded that yards of blue fabric were en route to her. Weeks later, the craftswoman submitted a bill for two garrison flags, two silk flags, and seven regimental colors.
In 1810, she was contracted for six 18-by-24-foot garrison flags for a military installation at New Orleans. These flags unfolded to 432 square feet and required more than 100,000 stitches. They must have been well received because another order followed, for 46 garrison flags, which she was to deliver "with all dispatch" to the arsenal. Orders also came in from the Indian Department to produce dozens of flags used in diplomatic exchanges with Native nations. By the time the U.S. went to war with England a second time in 1812, flags by Elizabeth Claypoole, aka "Betsy Ross," flew all around the United States.
Over her long career, Betsy Ross produced an unknown number of flags. The hundred or so recorded in archival sources represent only a fraction of her total output. As the U.S. observes the 250th anniversary of its independence, Ross' real life—today fully interpreted by the dedicated staff of the Betsy Ross House—offers a view into the lives of working women across America. Their wartime labor helped build a nation, proving that the foundation of the country rested not just on the decisions of politicians and generals, but on the skilled hands of women like Betsy Ross who kept the supply lines running. Her story is a testament to the vital, often overlooked role of women's work in shaping American history. It reminds us that the flags that flew over the battlefield were stitched by women who worked tirelessly to ensure the survival of the new republic.
This legacy of labor and resilience remains a powerful part of our national narrative, deserving of the same respect and attention as the political leaders who signed the Declaration of Independence. The distinction between the myth and the reality does not diminish Ross; it expands it. Instead of being a singular figure who invented the five-pointed star, she becomes a representative of a vast network of women who produced the materials of war. This shift in perspective allows us to see the true scale of the Revolutionary effort. It acknowledges that the independence of the United States was a collective achievement built on the backs of many workers.
By focusing on the production rather than the design, we gain a more accurate understanding of the era. The story of Betsy Ross is not just about a flag; it is about the industry, skill, and determination of American women during a time of crisis. Their work ensured that the symbols of freedom were available where they were needed most. As we commemorate the 250th anniversary, honoring their contributions is essential to a complete history. The real Betsy Ross was a successful businesswoman who navigated a male-dominated world to secure contracts and support her family. Her life teaches us about the economic independence women could achieve through skilled labor.
It also shows how their work was deeply connected to the political goals of the revolution. Without women like her, the logistics of the war would have been impossible to manage. The story of the first flag is a small part of a much larger narrative of women's labor that built a nation. Recognizing this truth helps us appreciate the full scope of the American Revolution. The legacy of Betsy Ross is found in the thousands of women who followed in her footsteps, continuing the work of flagmaking and other essential crafts. Their collective effort was as vital as the battles fought on the field. This perspective enriches our understanding of history and honors the women who made the nation possible.