He wore a soft French beaver, with rather a wide brim and a towering crown, which was always pushed up high. My sister would sometimes take it slyly just before he was ready to go, flatten the crown, and fix it more in accordance with the shape worn by others. All in vain; invariably on taking it up his fist would thrust inside, and it would speedily assume its original dimensions.

-Helen Price

          Horace Traubel, With Walt Whitman in Camden, 9 vols (1906-1996) 2: 2.