Robert E. Lee has had a rough couple years on the commemorative landscape front. His statue in New Orleans was removed in 2017, his statue in Statuary Hall at the U.S. Capitol was removed last year, and his statue in Richmond, Virginia was removed a few days ago. While Lee’s legacy is still celebrated by a large number of Americans, it is clear that his presence within the nation’s public commemoration of the American Civil War through monuments, memorials, and statues is changing. A majority of residents within these local communities have expressed their values through activism and voting and have declared that Lee is no longer worthy of the public commemoration that he has enjoyed for more than 100 years. As our understanding of the past is constantly revised as new evidence comes to life and new interpretations are offered by historians, so too are public icons revised as new understandings of the past emerge.
There are plenty of debates to be had about the merits of Lee’s statues on historical and aesthetic grounds and the process by which these three icons were ordered to be removed through government orders. I am not interested in rehashing those debates here, but the above tweet from David Reaboi of the Claremont Institute did raise my eyebrows for what it had to say about who could participate in debates about Confederate iconography. As can be seen, Reaboi is perplexed by people who have taken a strong view of Confederate iconography but whose families have no direct connection to the Civil War since their families immigrated to the United States after the war. Reaboi labels these people (of which I’m assuming he means people opposed to Lee’s statues) as “self-righteous” and the entire idea of their participation in these debates “gross.”
I find these comments to be troubling, possibly nativist, and “gross” for a number of reasons.
On the most basic level, these comments fly in the face of inclusive commentaries about the place of immigrants and their progeny in American society. Lofty rhetoric about the United States as “A Nation of Immigrants” and legal protections in the 14th Amendment guaranteeing birthright and naturalized citizenship aim to abolish legal and cultural hierarchies between native and foreign-born citizens. In other words, once you are a citizen of the United States, it no longer matters whether you are a lifelong citizen or a citizen who became naturalized today. All citizens have the same legal protections to participate freely in American society and a right to help shape the country’s future. That would also mean the right to participate in what history is commemorated in the public square in the future, contrary to what Reaboi states.
One might also point out that a deep ancestral connection to the United States should not be fetishized. After all, there are plenty of native-born Americans with a very poor understanding of U.S. history and many foreign-born people with a strong understanding of U.S. history. It’s worth remembering, of course, that U.S. history plays an important role in the country’s naturalization test, a test that many native-born citizens would struggle with! Moreover, just because a person is descended from Robert E. Lee does not make them an expert on the American Civil War, nor does it give them an elevated voice on what should be done about Lee’s statue today. An understanding of history does not develop from genetics or through osmosis, but by use of historical methods, research, and interpretation. To say one U.S. citizen’s opinion on the Lee statue is more valid than another’s because of their ancestral origins is preposterous. What difference does it make if my ancestors came to the United States in 1826, 1866, or 2016 if I’ve studied the Civil War and have views about its history?
It is also worth mentioning that Reaboi fails to grapple with the idea that people whose descendants were here long before the American Civil War might also have a negative opinion of Confederate iconography. After all, some of the most vocal opponents of Lee’s statues are the descendants of African Americans, Native Americans, White Americans, and others who have a long ancestral history of living in the United States. The notion that the loudest “self-righteous” critics of Lee’s statues have no familial connections to the Civil War is therefore a strawman in no way rooted in the reality of the situation.
All of this is to say that NO, you do not have to have an ancestor who experienced the American Civil War firsthand in order to form an opinion on Robert E. Lee’s statue. In the end, it’s about the quality of the arguments being made and the evidence used to support those arguments. If you have a compelling argument to make, your ancestral background shouldn’t matter. Focus on the game, not the players.
Finally, I should also mention that Reaboi continued his opinions in another tweet by criticizing “our modern desire to see history as a simple morality play between forces of Progress and Evil.” The irony of this view is that public iconography is often guilty of doing this very thing by reducing complex history to a narrative of national progress and unquestioned hero worship through statuary. And since many Civil War monuments and statues were erected in the late 19th century and early 20th century, we can see that the desire to turn history into a simple morality play of progress and evil is not modern at all. These monuments and statues are actually reflective of a longstanding tradition of using history to promote nationalism, patriotism, and a “consensus” view of history. Many critics of public iconography like Robert E. Lee’s statues have grounded their criticisms on the idea that society needs to ask serious questions not just about history, but how and why we honor certain historical figures and events through public icons. Seen in this light, these critics are actually asking society to take history more seriously.
P.S… Just in case anyone is wondering about my own family connections to American history, I do have a Civil War ancestor. My great-great uncle Charles Brady served in the 49th Missouri Infantry Regiment (Union) during the war.
In the wake of an armed insurrection upon the U.S. Capitol and members of Congress a few weeks ago on January 6th, a well known-quote among those of us who study Ulysses S. Grant went viral. The quote is from an 1875 speech President Grant made to U.S. Civil War veterans attending a reunion of the Society of the Army of the Tennessee in Des Moines, Iowa. Grant, known for his reluctance at public speaking, allegedly wrote this speech in thirty minutes:
“If we are to have another contest in the near future of our national existence, I predict that the dividing line will not be Mason’s and Dixon’s, but between patriotism and intelligence on one side, and superstition, ambition, and ignorance on the other.”
For many of us who were horrified by the insurrection and outraged at the politicians who helped enable it, Grant’s message appears to have foresight and relevance to today’s world. After all, critics would argue that the effort to stop the counting of the Electoral College vote was rooted in ignorance and blinded by an ambition to overthrow the results of a free and fair election. But was it also rooted in superstition?
This is where we may have to take a step back to look at the context of Grant’s speech and, I would argue, proceed with caution before gleefully sharing it on social media.
During the Reconstruction era, a growing number of European immigrants from Southern and Eastern Europe were making their way to the United States. Many of these immigrants were Catholics. For the Republican Party, this growing population was a point of concern. Before the Civil War, some Republicans had been members of the nativist American “Know Nothing” Party or, at the very least, harbored anti-immigrant sentiments. Republicans also believed that Catholic immigrants continued to hold their allegiance to the Pope. They were ignorant of the values inherent to living in a society governed by republican (small r) institutions and in need of further education. As such, many of these new immigrants identified with the Democrat Party in the 1860s and 1870s.
Grant summarized this nativist mentality in an interview with John Russell Young during his two-and-a-half-year world tour (1877-1879). In explaining why he was a Republican, Grant argued that the Democratic party was made up of two elements who were at war with the Union: former Confederates who clung to the righteousness of their cause and immigrants. Regarding immigrants, Grant remarked that they “[have] not learned what the Union is . . . [they are] an element which has not been long enough with us to acquire the education or experience necessary to true citizenship . . .” (See page 269-270 of Around the World with General Grant, Volume II)
There was also an expansion of public schools throughout the country during Reconstruction. Some of this growth can be attributed to state legislatures in the former Confederate states–which now included African American men who voted and were elected to office–passing laws that guaranteed a universal education for all children within those states. Other reasons for this national growth, however, were the desire to promote Protestant values and morals, educate children to be lawful citizens, and to promote loyalty and obedience to the nation. In other words, the Republican party aimed to create a national, Protestant-based culture amid the dramatic changes of emancipation, westward expansion, and mass immigration from poor European countries with large Catholic populations.
Two major issues emerged at the intersection of public education and immigration. The first regarded religious instruction and the second regarded funding for Catholic education. Many schools offered religious instruction based on the King James Bible. Although claiming to not endorse any particular religious sect, the use of the King James Bible was clearly an endorsement of Protestantism. Rejecting the use of Protestant bibles and teachings in the public school classroom, Catholics worked to create their own school system (one that still remains in the U.S. today) based on Catholic teachings. Since public schools received public funding while teaching Protestantism, the Catholic church argued that it was only fair to use an equal amount of public funds to support Catholic education as well.
Historian Ward McAfee points out that by 1875, public education and anti-Catholic sentiment had become “winning issues” for the Republican Party. After dealing with the Panic of 1873 and growing national sentiment against Reconstruction, Republicans lost control of Congress after the 1874 elections. However, “the school issue allowed the Republicans to present themselves as the champions of progress, fighting against medieval forces of ignorance and superstition from Rome. Anti-Catholicism allowed the party to keep the Southern issue alive, despite the country’s clear rejection of racial equity in 1874 . . . in the North, the Democratic party was the handmaiden of the Roman Catholic church seeking to destroy the public school” (190). One example of Republican success was Rutherford B. Hayes winning the Ohio governorship in 1875 (one year before winning the presidency) based partly on opposition to using public funds for Catholic schools.
Broadly speaking, this is the context in which President Grant made his 1875 address.
Grant argued that the soldiers who fought to maintain the Union had also fought to promote public education. “How many of our comrades of those days paid the latter price for our preservedUnion! Let their heroism and sacrifices be ever green and in our memory,” Grant argued. “Let not the results of their sacrifices be destroyed. The Union and the free institutions for which they fell, should be held more dear for their sacrifices.”
“Where the citizen is sovereign and the official the servant, where no power is exercised except by the will of the people, it is important that the sovereign — the people — should possess intelligence,” Grant continued. “The free school is the promoter of that intelligence which is to preserve us as a nation . . . Encourage free schools, and resolve that not one dollar of money shall be appropriated to the support of any sectarian school. Resolve that neither the state nor nation, or both combined, shall support institutions of learning other than those sufficient to afford every child growing up in the land the opportunity of a good common school education, unmixed with sectarian, Pagan, or Atheistical tenets. Leave the matter of religion to the family altar, the church, and the private school, supported entirely by private contributions. Keep the church and the state forever separate. With these safeguards, I believe the battles which created the Army of the Tennessee will not have been fought in vain.”
To Grant’s credit, he appears to go further than some of his Republican colleagues by trying to avoid a double standard. Keep the church and state forever separate and keep religion out of the schools entirely, he argues. However, one can also see how the use of the words “superstition” and “sectarian” were clearly targeted at the Catholic Church. It’s also worth pointing out that Grant returned to this theme in his Seventh Annual Message to Congress later that year. In it, Grant proposed a constitutional amendment that would, among other things, guarantee a public education to every American child free of any sectarian division of public funds of “religious, atheistic, or pagan tenants.” He also proposed that religious institutions be taxed at the same rate as businesses, a move seen by critics as unfairly attacking the wealth and resources of the Catholic Church, although technically at that time the tax would have taken on a larger burden for Protestant institutions throughout the country.
Finally, McAfee reminds us that the Catholic church was very critical of President Grant’s Des Moines speech. The Catholic World remarked that “the reading of the scriptures as a public ceremony is as distinctive to [Protestants] as the celebration of mass would be to Catholics.” If Republicans were truly committed to the separation of church and state, there would no longer be any scripture readings and other Protestant practices in the public school classroom. Democrats were also anxious to jump on the issue, with one article written by New York Democrats remarking that “the President at last changes front in the face of his victorious opponents, discards the ‘bloody shirt’ as an obsolete rag, and, nailing to the mast the black flag of Know-Nothingism, unsheathes his sword for a ‘religious war’ [with Catholics].”
(Grant’s speech also prompted the controversial Blaine Amendment, which was never ratified nationally but passed in a majority of states in the 1870s. You can read about it here).
Was Ulysses S. Grant anti-Catholic, or simply going along with the desires of his party? Based on my own studies, it appears that Grant personally respected individual people of all religious and counted people of the Catholic faith as among his friends. Historian Tyler Anbinder also points out that Grant “was not an obsessive nativist.” He rarely resorted to nativism or anti-Catholic sentiment in his public life compared to other Republicans. However, it does appear that at the very least Grant did harbor skepticism and concern about the Catholic church’s growing influence in U.S. affairs. During the Mexican-American War (1846-1848), Grant wrote of the conditions in Mexico and stated his opinion that the Catholic Church’s influence in all facets of political and social life had created a weak, impoverished nation. Sadly, Grant family members later removed some of his letters from this time in his life from his official papers because they felt that the letters were too anti-Catholic. Equally important, Grant also spoke of his brief association with the Know-Nothing party while living in St. Louis (1854-1859) in his Personal Memoirs. Rather than disavowing that association, Grant remarked that he had nothing to apologize for and that the reason he left the party was not because of its anti-immigrant platform, but because of its secret oaths:
I have no apologies to make for having been one week a member of the American party; for I still think that native-born citizens of the United States should have as much protection, as many privileges in their native country, as those who voluntarily select it for a home. But all secret, oath-bound political parties are dangerous to any nation, no matter how pure or how patriotic the motives and principles which first bring them together, , , , Nevertheless, if a sect sets up its laws as binding above the State laws, whenever the two come in conflict this claim must be resisted and suppressed at whatever cost.
Personal Memoirs of Ulysses S. Grant, Volume I
In the end, while I think the cherry-picked quote from Grant’s 1875 speech seemed to resonate with many people and spoke to their frustrations about misinformation, ignorance, and political violence in the present, the same people who shared the quote failed to recognize the context in which it was made and may not realize how Grant’s words were perceived as bigoted by many Catholics at the time. As Abraham Lincoln stated in 1862, be careful about what historical quotes you choose to share online.
If you haven’t heard already, Dana Goldstein has a very interesting article in the New York Times about history textbooks today and how the content in those books varies widely from state to state. It’s an informative read and really highlights how much the process is influenced by partisan politics. It is very difficult, of course, to gauge how much teachers and students actually utilize textbooks in the history classroom, but those textbooks can be a useful tool for understanding the currents of historical scholarship and how those currents are shaped by educational and political leaders.
Debates over school textbooks are nothing new, and to that point I will shamelessly self-promote my first journal article from 2015, which explored the ways Indiana Civil War veterans tried to shape public culture in the state. These efforts included a very intense battle with the Indiana State Board of Education over the ways the Civil War was being taught in the classroom in the 1890s and early 20th century.
1. I am pleased to announce that my manuscript on Ulysses S. Grant’s relationship with slavery has been published with The Journal of the Civil War Era. I won’t spill all the beans here, but my central thesis is that most Grant biographers and Civil War historians have missed crucial details about Grant’s views towards slavery and experiences while living at his wife’s family plantation in St. Louis, White Haven, from 1854 to 1859. These oversights occurred in large part because scholars have relied too much on Grant’s Personal Memoirs and personal recollections from his St. Louis contemporaries that were conducted in the 1880s and 1890s, long after Grant had lived in St. Louis. By going back to the limited documentation we have from the 1850s and continuing into the first year of the Civil War, we can see how Grant wasn’t necessarily the strong, lifelong anti-slavery advocate he is often portrayed to be in popular scholarship.
If you are not a subscriber to the journal, here’s a direct link to the article for download and purchase if you’re interested in reading it.
2. I have been thinking a lot about visitation to historic sites, particularly the narratives that have emerged about an alleged lack of interest in Civil War historic sites. I interviewed several public historians who work at these sites and shared some of my own thoughts in a blog post for Muster that you can read here.
3. I have another blog post that I’m currently working on for the National Council on Public History’s History@Work blog about inclusive public history. I’m hoping this essay will be published within the next week or so.
4. I joined a group of scholars in proposing a panel for the NCPH 2020 Annual Meeting to be hosted in Atlanta, Georgia. We were interested in looking at public iconography beyond Confederate monuments and I was going to discuss St. Louis’s three monuments to Unionists Edward Bates, Franz Sigel, and Frank Blair that are located in Forest Park. Unfortunately the panel was rejected for the final program. No worries, however! I am changing course and looking into possibly presenting at the Society for Civil War Historians’ conference next summer to discuss my Grant and slavery article and/or blogging for The Journal of the Civil War Era. For the first time since 2014 I will not be attending NCPH’s annual meeting, but I feel like I have an opportunity to expand my professional network and connect with more Civil War scholars if I’m able to get to the SCWH conference. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with my research on the three St. Louis Unionist monuments, but there’s definitely an interesting discussion to be had about them and I will keep working on this little side project in my free time.
5. Finally, I got married earlier this month to my best friend in the whole world. Mrs. Sacco and I met in early 2016 and I proposed to her about a year and a half ago. After lots of planning and several other unrelated life events that have kept us very busy we were finally able to tie the knot and enjoy a wonderful day with our loved ones and best friends. Life is good and we are very blessed!
Ulysses S. Grant has often been portrayed in textbooks and popular histories as an alcoholic, a drunkard, or at the very least someone who enjoyed a good drink from time to time. It may be safe to say that there is no other figure in U.S. history whose drinking habits have been put under such a close microscope and gossiped about so often. No matter what historians have previously said or will say in the future about Grant’s drinking, the topic will always play a role in his life story.
When drinking claims emerged during Grant’s lifetime, he steadfastly refused to publicly address them. He believed that acknowledging these rumors with even a basic denial gave them a legitimacy they didn’t deserve. As such, historians have relied on what Grant’s contemporaries have said about the matter. Readers of Grant scholarship should proceed with caution, however. One quickly learns that the available evidence is limited and contradictory. Much of what has been said about Grant’s drinking was stated after he died in 1885, sometimes even forty and fifty years after an alleged episode occurred. Hardly any primary source evidence exists that is contemporary to Grant’s actual experiences. It is also not surprising that the harshest critics of Grant were the ones who were most vocal about his alleged drinking problem. Although historians at the turn of the twentieth century were more apt to take the most negative claims at face value and label Grant an alcoholic, recent historians are in most cases more hesitant to place that label on him.
Ron Chernow’s latest biography on Ulysses S. Grant is a largely positive interpretation of the man, but he unfortunately throws caution to the wind and makes Grant’s “alcoholism” a central aspect of his story. In Chernow’s interpretation, Grant fought alcoholism throughout his life. Most notably, Chernow claims that Grant’s alcoholism was a “disease,” the first time such a claim has been made by any Grant scholar. These drinking problems are actually a redeeming aspect of Grant in Chernow’s telling, however, because they demonstrate how Grant fought through his personal demons while achieving greatness and becoming the single most important figure in 19th century American history. Chernow also takes pains to make a distinction between someone who was an alcoholic and someone who was a drunkard. He suggests that a drunkard drinks all the time and that an alcoholic could hypothetically not drink regularly but go on sporadic binges where they temporarily lose all functionality. Chernow defends Grant from claims of being a drunkard but places him directly in the alcoholic camp. While the difference between the two concepts makes sense to me, I suspect that most readers of Chernow’s book will not pick up on this distinction and conclude that Grant had a serious and consistent drinking problem. Ultimately I think it’s fair to say that most people today use the terms “alcoholic” and “drunkard” interchangeably.
In my opinion, Chernow engages in sloppy research and excessive psychoanalysis that hampers his interpretation of Grant’s drinking. Grant himself would probably read Chernow’s drinking claims and wonder who the book was written about. Most Grant historians–myself included–would argue that Grant DID drink and that he may have drank to excess at times. But we would caution that describing Grant as an alcoholic or a drunkard is an exaggeration of the limited historical evidence we have to make such a conclusion. What follows in this essay is a point-by-point analysis of Chernow’s claims about Grant’s drinking before the Civil War. Since it is generally understood that Grant’s worst lapses with alcoholism occurred during this part of his life, I figured it would be best to keep the focus relatively narrow and leave interpretations of Grant’s relationship with alcohol during the Civil War and his presidency to others.
Claim 1: A heavy drinker during the U.S.-Mexico War
Page 58: It is consistent with Grant’s later drinking patterns that he abstained from alcohol during combat periods, when he was actively engaged and shouldered responsibility. “I never saw Grant under the influence of liquor at all,” said one solider. “I know he did drink a little, but that was pretty good whisky he had.” Another person noted he “never drank to excess nor indulged in the other profligacy so common in that country of loose morals.” But idleness, boredom, and the loneliness of occupation mixed a toxic brew of emotions that slowly led him into temptation and people noticed an abrupt change. One Ohio soldier wrote home in May 1848 that Grant was “altered very much: he is a short thick man with a beard reaching half way down his waist and I fear he drinks too much but don’t you say a word on that subject.” A more damning recollection came from his friend Richard Dawson, who said Grant “got to drinking heavily during or after the war.” Right after his return from Mexico, he encountered Grant and said he “was in bad shape from the effects of drinking, and suffering from mania a potu [delirium tremens] and some other troubles.”
Footnotes: “Interview with J.D. Elderkin,” Hamlin Garland Papers, Ulysses S. Grant Presidential Library S2 B54 F13; Letter from John Rowe to his wife, May 12, 1848, Ulysses S. Grant Presidential Library S2 B4 F10; Letter from Richard Dawson to Hamlin Garland, July 17, 1896, Hamlin Garland Papers.
Comment: This passage is the first of many passages in which Chernow attempts to portray a sense of certitude about Grant’s drinking to readers when in reality the available evidence is speculative, uncertain, and contradictory. His assertion that Grant only drank during periods of down time belies the fact that a “combat period” can start at any point in a time of war. That fact is only magnified later when Grant takes over command of the U.S. Army during the Civil War and is tasked with managing a major war effort with multiple field armies, more than one million soldiers, and the contingencies of an evolving war where plans could change in an instant. Just ask Dwight Eisenhower. The 1848 letter from Rowe is the strongest evidence to corroborate any claims that Grant did in fact drink, but it’s worth questioning whether one letter from the Mexican-American war is enough evidence to verify whether Grant’s drinking constituted a serious problem akin to alcoholism.
The other letters and interviews conducted by Hamlin Garland (who wrote a biography of Grant in 1898 based on these interviews) are contradictory. They must also be taken with a grain of salt considering that they were conducted fifty years after the Mexican-American war. How is Richard Dawson’s 1896 letter considered a “damning recollection” when the two other sources Chernow cites from the 1890s said that Grant didn’t drink to excess? What about Dawson’s recollection gives it more legitimacy than the other recollections?
Another noteworthy consideration is that Brooks Simpson’s 2000 biography of Grant, Triumph Over Adversity, also quotes Rowe and Elderkin to acknowledge that Grant drank (p. 44-45), but he avoids speculation or theorizing about Grant experiencing an abrupt change in his behavior or excessive drinking patterns during the Mexican-American War.
Claim 2: Grant’s Alcoholism is a Disease
Page 67: Julia [Dent Grant’s] prolonged absence during the winter of 1849-50, coupled with a dearth of challenging work, proved a formula for trouble for Grant. Heavy drinking was commonplace in frontier garrisons, making it difficult for Grant, stranded in Detroit, to abstain. The problem was neither the amount nor the frequency with which he drank, but the dramatic behavioral changes induced. He and Julia kept a pew in a Methodist church led by Dr. George Taylor and perhaps realizing his newfound responsibilities as a father, Grant sought counsel from his pastor about his drinking. “I think that Dr. Taylor helped Grant a great deal,” said Colonel James E. Pitman. “It was said that he had a long talk with Grant at that time and told him that he could not safely use liquor in any form and Grant acknowledged this and took the [temperance] pledge and thereafter used no liquor in Detroit.” This episode makes clear that Grant, from an early age, acknowledged that he had a chronic drinking problem, was never cavalier about it, and was determined to resolve it. This overly controlled young man now wrestled with a disease that caused a total loss of control, which must have made it more tormenting and pestered his Methodist conscience.
Comment: The claim that Grant suffered from alcoholism by 1850 and that it was a disease is the most extreme claim by Chernow about Grant’s drinking. What makes the claim all the more amazing is that it is based on a single interview with an acquaintance fifty years after Grant had been stationed in Detroit with the U.S. Army. (William Conant Church, like Hamlin Garland, interviewed Grant acquaintances and published a biography in 1897). Readers should also note Pitman’s acknowledgement that he heard these claims about Grant secondhand. “I think” Dr. Taylor helped him, he admits. “It was said” that Grant had a long talk with Dr. Taylor.
Chernow cites no sources from Dr. Taylor himself, Grant, or anyone else from 1849-50 to further corroborate Pitman’s claims. While Chernow is undoubtedly right that drinking was common in frontier garrisons, the evidence he presents does not conclusively demonstrate that Grant experienced “dramatic behavioral changes.” What, exactly, were those behavioral changes, and how did they affect Grant? Was he loud, angry or violent? Chernow invokes Grant’s new fatherhood and his “Methodist conscience” as weighing heavily on him, but again lacks sources to corroborate this ambiguous psychoanalytical claim. What does having a “Methodist conscience” even mean in the first place? And most of all, how can Chernow reasonably diagnose Grant with a “disease” based on the words of one acquaintance who spoke on the subject about fifty years after Grant had been stationed in Detroit?
Claim 3: Grant Injures Himself From Drinking Too Much
Page 68: During the winter of 1850-51, Grant slipped on ice and injured his leg in front of the house of Zachariah Chandler, a big, imposing man soon to be Detroit’s mayor. Grant had the courage to file a complaint against Chandler, claiming he violated a city ordinance demanding that residents keep their sidewalks free of snow and ice. During the trial, Chandler taunted Grant: “If you soldiers would keep sober, perhaps you would not fall on people’s pavements and hurt your legs.” One wonders whether Chandler hinted obliquely at rumors of drinking by Grant. Although the jury found Chandler guilty, he was fined a laughable six cents, perhaps suggesting the court agreed with Chandler’s insinuation that excessive alcohol consumption had accounted for the fall.
Footnotes: Albert D. Richardson, A Personal History of Ulysses S. Grant (1868), p. 134.
Comment: This claim is questionable. In ThePapers of Ulysses S. Grant, Volume 1, a transcript of Grant’s deposition in this case is included on page 195. The deposition states that the person who “did neglect to keep his Side walk free and clear from Snow and Ice on Jefferson Avenue” was actually Antoine Beaubien, not Zachariah Chandler. A footnote in the Grant papers states that “a printed form with space provided for offense and date” with Beaubien’s name is at the Detroit Historical Museum. No mention of an angry outburst about drunk soldiers is mentioned in the document. This information suggests that Richardson inserted Chandler’s name into the document for dramatic effect. Why Chernow cited Richardson instead of The Papers of Ulysses S. Grant in his footnote is a mystery. Chandler’s quote and the assumption that the court fined the guilty party only six cents because they knew Grant was drunk are dubious claims that are not supported by the original deposition paper. In sum, we don’t know why Beaubien was fined only six cents for his offense.
Claim 4: Grant Takes a Temperance Pledge Because He Knows He’s an Alcoholic
Page 69: Loneliness, ennui, frustration, inactivity—such unsettled feelings always conspired to drive Grant to drink. Luckily, he recognized his alcoholism just as the temperance movement gathered strength, and he embraced this new faith with fervor. “I heard John B. Gough lecture in Detroit the other night,” he told a Sackets Harbor [New York] friend, “and I have become convinced that there is no safety from ruin by drink except from abstaining from liquor altogether.”
Footnotes: Hamlin Garland, “Grant’s Quiet Years at Northern Posts.”
Comment: Here again is a dubious claim from an article published by Garland after Grant’s death and long after Grant was in Detroit. While we have a quote allegedly from Grant in which he admits he can’t handle alcohol, once again there is nothing else to corroborate those words other than what someone said fifty years later in the 1890s. Moreover, that friend was thousands of miles away in New York when the alleged drinking problems occurred and the temperance pledge was made, meaning that the unnamed friend didn’t actually see any of this taking place at the time. No direct quotes or letters from Grant at the time further complicate matters. This lone source may or may not be true, but it is not definitive.
Claim 5: Grant is Drunk at Sea
Page 52-53: The situation [in the ship to San Francisco in 1852] was ripe for a resort to alcohol, and Grant was innocently abetted by the ship’s captain, James Findlay Schenck, who was profoundly impressed by him. Grant “seemed to me to be a man of an uncommon order of intelligence. He had a good education, and what his mind took hold of it grasped strongly and thoroughly digested.” Schenck, with no inkling of his drinking history, recalled Grant’s “excellent taste for good liquors. I had given him the liberty of the sideboard in my cabin, and urged him frequently never to be backward in using it as though it were his own, and he never was. Every night after I had turned in, I would hear him once or twice, sometimes more, open the door quietly and walk softly over the floor so as not to disturb me; then I would hear the clink of glass and a gurgle, and he would walk softly back.” These late-night raids on Schenck’s liquor cabinet fit Grant’s later pattern of private, late night indulgence in alcohol. It seemed as if with Julia’s absence the discipline of the temperance movement and the ringing exhortations of John Bartholomew Gough crumbled during a tumultuous week at sea.”
Footnote: Ohio Daily Journal, January 27, 1880.
Comment: As with other claims, Schenck offers these thoughts long after the event in question and no contemporary sources are quoted. Grant was still alive when this article was published, but like all other claims about his drinking Grant refuses to publicly comment about it. Maybe he drank on this trip, maybe he didn’t. Is it enough evidence to diagnose Grant an alcoholic?
Claim 6: Grant Drunk Again at Fort Vancouver
Page 76: For someone prone to depression, the everlasting rain and snow, combined with enforced confinement [at Fort Vancouver in 1852 and 1853], were sure to prey on his mind. He began to suffer cramps in his legs and feet in the damp, frigid climate, a possible symptom of alcoholic neuropathy.
Footnote: Allen and Bookey, “The After effects of Alcoholism.”
Comment: A purely speculative claim. Once again Chernow does not cite from Grant’s papers, which include the actual letter Grant wrote to his wife about his health issues while stationed at Fort Vancouver. Below is what he told Julia on December 19th, 1852. Does it suggest Grant was suffering from alcoholic neuropathy? (from The Papers of Ulysses S. Grant, Volume 1, p. 277):
I am, and have been, perfectly well in body since our arrival at Vancouver, but for the last few weeks I have suffered terribly from cramp in my feet and legs, and in one hand. You know I have always been subject to this affliction. I would recover from it entirely in a very short time if I could keep in the house and remain dry. My duties however have kept me out of doors a great deel, and as this is the rainy season I must necessarily suffer from wet and cold.
Grant acquired malaria at some point earlier in his life, most likely during his boyhood years in Ohio or during the U.S.-Mexico War. Frequent fevers, migraine headaches, and joint pains are very common with someone suffering from a case of malaria. There is also a chance that Grant was dealing with some sort of arthritic pain. In my reading of this letter I believe it does not in any way prove that Grant’s pains had anything to do with drinking. The Allen and Bookey article simply describes alcoholic neuropathy and is not very helpful for helping us understand why Grant was sick at this moment in the winter months of late 1852. What is also strange about Chernow’s interpretation is that he describes Grant as dealing with “enforced confinement” at Fort Vancouver. In reality, Grant had opportunities to earn extra money outside of his work with the Army and actually enjoyed life in Washington Territory so much that at one point he actually attempted to move the rest of his family from St. Louis to Fort Vancouver.
Claim 7: Grant is a Lightweight Whose Behavior in the West Becomes Erratic
Page 80: Grant drank less often than other officers but went on “sprees” consistent with his lifelong tendency to engage in sporadic binge drinking. “He would perhaps go on two or three sprees a year,” said Lieutenant Henry C. Hodges, “but was always open to reason, and when spoken to on the subject, would own up and promise to stop drinking, which he did.” The problem was not the frequency with which Grant drank but the extreme behavioral changes induced. Officer Robert Macfeely observed: “Liquor seemed a virulent poison to him, and yet he had a fierce desire for it. One glass would show on him,” his speech became slurred, “and two or three would make him stupid.” Alcohol loosened up Grant’s tightly buttoned personality, giving him a broader, often jovial emotional range; the charge of being “stupidly” or “foolishly” drunk would recur with striking regularity in future years. Rumor mills hummed busily in the small, insular peacetime army before the Civil War, and when Grant made a public spectacle of himself, those who glimpsed him in this silly, sloppy state never forgot the sight.
Footnotes: Ulysses S. Grant Presidential Library, S2 B4 F10. Letter from Henry C. Hodges to William C. Church, January 5, 1876; Simpson, Triumph Over Adversity, 58; Ulysses S. Grant Presidential Library, S2 B24 F15. “Interview with General Robert Macfeely,” Hamlin Garland Papers (undated).
Comment: Previous Grant historians before Chernow such as Simpson, Lloyd Lewis, and Charles Ellington tend to universally agree that Grant drank to some extent—and possibly to excess—while stationed in the west with the Army from 1852-1854. Chernow cites Simpson in this passage, but Simpson’s own interpretation in Triumph Over Adversity is noticeably more reserved than Chernow about the ways Grant’s drinking affected him. Simpson states that “Many officers had fallen victim to alcohol; there seemed nothing terribly out of the ordinary about Grant’s behavior except that he could not handle nearly as much liquor as did some of his harder-drinking peers.” That is a remarkably different interpretation than Chernow, who suggests that Grant acted silly, sloppily, and with a “jovial emotional range,” whatever that might mean. Once again, it’s hard to make a definitive statement about Grant’s drinking in the absence of contemporary sources and a larger contextual analysis.
Claim 8: Grant Becomes a Regular at the Saloon Near Fort Humboldt
Page 84: Unfortunately for Grant, alcohol was ubiquitous at Fort Humboldt. Once morning drills ended, officers resorted to whiskey and poker to pass the time. “Commissary whisky of the vilest kind was to be had in unlimited quantities and all partook more or less,” said a military wife. To deal with his private sadness and mitigate the pain of migraine headaches, Grant got into the habit of drinking more frequently, often stopping for alcoholic refreshment at a local saloon or a general store run by James T. Ryan. [Colonel Robert] Buchanan’s adjutant, Lewis Cass Hunt, said Grant “used to go on long sprees till his whole nature would rebel and then he would be sick.” Echoing comments made elsewhere, a beef contractor named W.I. Reed claimed Grant drank less often than other officers, but with more harmful consequences for “with his peculiar organization a little did the fatal [work] of a great deal . . . he had very poor brains for drinking.”
Footnotes: Ulysses S. Grant Presidential Library, S2 B24 F7. “Interview with General Henry Heth,” Hamlin Garland Papers; Library of Congress. William C. Church Papers, Box 2. “Interview with W.I. Reed.”
Comment: Not much to say here other than the fact that the source material for these claims, like many others, is based upon recollections from the 1890s. They may or may not be true, and at the very least they suggest that Grant partook in alcoholic drinks while stationed in the west. I image no such thing exists, but sales records and ledger books from James T. Ryan’s general store would constitute primary source documents with more reliability than the sources Chernow cites.
Claim 9: Grant Admits Drinking Excessively While Stationed in the West
Page 85: While Grant laid down the preferred version of his resignation [from the army] in his Memoirs, where he never breathed a syllable about his drinking problems to posterity, he was more candid in later private conversations, telling Civil War chaplain John Eaton that “the vice of intemperance had not a little to do with my decision to resign.” To General Augustus Chetlain he admitted that “when I have nothing to do I get blue and depressed, I have a natural craving for a drink, when I was on the coast I got in a depressed condition and got to drinking.”
Footnotes: Jean Edward Smith, 88; Ulysses S. Grant Presidential Library, S2 B54 F7, “Interview with General Augustus Chetlain, Hamlin Garland Papers (undated).
Comment: Smith’s citation on page 88 of his book quotes John Eaton’s 1907 book Grant, Lincoln, and the Freedman, which was a memoir about Eaton’s time as a Civil War chaplain. In the absence of anything in Grant’s papers about this episode, readers are forced to determine whether to take Grant’s word or the words of Eaton and Chetlain. Chernow clearly puts more trust in the words of the latter two. Again, the evidence is contradictory and circumstantial.
Claim 10: Grant is Forced to Resign from the Army Because of His Drinking Habits
Pages 85-86: Overwhelming evidence suggests that Grant resigned from an alcohol problem. Lewis Cass Hunt told several people how Buchanan sent him to reprimand Grant after one drinking episode. As Colonel Granville O. Haller heard the tale, Hunt told Grant that Colonel Buchanan would “withdraw the drinking charge if Grant didn’t offend again—he had Grant write out his resignation, omitting the date.” There was an “explicit understanding that if Grant forgot his pledge, Buchanan would forward his resignation and save Grant the odium of being cashiered by a General court martial.” The journalist Benjamin Perley Poore later confirmed that Buchanan had warned Grant, “You had better resign or reform,” to which Grant responded, “I will resign if I don’t reform.”
One Sunday morning, Grant showed up at his company’s pay table under the influence of drink. Bristling at this display, Buchanan told Hunt to buckle on his sword and lay down the law to Grant, warning that if he did not resign, he would face a court-martial. According to Colonel Thomas M. Anderson, who heard the story from Hunt, “Grant put his face down in his hand for a long time and then commenced writing something . . . Grant said that he did not want his wife to know that he had ever been tried . . . Grant then signed his resignation and he gave it to the commanding officer.” Some of Grant’s friends, convinced he would have been acquitted, pleaded with him to stand trial. Henry C. Hodges said the regiment deemed Buchanan’s action ‘unnecessarily harsh and severe.’ Rufus Ingalls, Grant’s old roommate at West Point and Fort Vancouver, believed that since Grant had not been incapacitated by drink, he would have been exonerated, but he confirmed that Grant refused to stand trial because “he would not for all the world have his wife know that he had been tried on such a charge.” The idea that Grant feared Julia’s wrath makes one wonder whether she had extracted a strict promise from him to refrain from drinking altogether.
During the Civil War, Thomas M. Anderson discussed Grant’s resignation with Robert Buchanan, then his commander in the Army of the Potomac. “I was very intimate with Col. Buchanan & had my first information as to the Humboldt episode . . . from him . . . . I remember absolutely the Col. Buchanan told me distinctly that he had condoned a similar offense in Grant before he fired, or as he said permitted his resignation as a favor.” From discussions with Lewis Cass Hunt, Anderson, later commander at Fort Vancouver, added that “Hunt had warned Grant not to show up intoxicated at the pay table and had even volunteered to go in his place, but Grant had refused.”
Footnotes: Ulysses S. Grant Presidential Library, S2 B54 F10. Letter from Ben Parley Poore to Hamlin Garland, August 1, 1885; ibid, S2 B4 F9-11. Letter from Thomas M. Anderson to Gen. Charles King, January 20, 1915; ibid, S2 B4 F10. Letter from Henry C. Hodges to William C. Church, January 5, 1876, William C. Church Papers; ibid S2 B54 F30. Letter from Thomas M. Anderson to Hamlin Garland, August 15, 1896, Hamlin Garland Papers.
Comment: This entire passage is a hot mess of secondhand recollections. It is far from “overwhelming,” as Chernow suggests. There are no official Army records confirming a possible court martial for Grant. Haller, Poore, and Anderson cannot be relied up since they were not there to see what actually happened and were commenting fifty years later on what they heard secondhand. Moreover, where’s any commentary from Buchanan? It is also noteworthy that not everyone present at Fort Humboldt at the time agreed that Grant had a drinking issue. Some believed there was no evidence to corroborate the claim were confident he would be acquitted of all charges of drunkenness. The fact that several people recalled Grant having some sort of drinking habit must be taken seriously, but whether it was worse than what other officers engaged in or if it was the true cause of Grant’s resignation cannot be fully corroborated with the source material Chernow employs. Simpson in Triumph Over Adversity stated the following (p. 61):
Exactly why Grant [resigned] remains in dispute. Certainly he had spoken of resignation as the only way to reunite his family. But others insisted that there was more to the story—that Grant had too often overindulged in alcohol, and he had been under the influence while on duty on payday, enabling Buchanan to finally force him out of the army under the threat of a court-martial. What exactly happened between Grant and Buchanan remains unclear (there are no contemporary documents extant to support the court-martial story) . . . Old Buck didn’t like [Grant], and any slip gave the post commander the opportunity to make Grant’s life even more of a hell than it already was. After all, as Rufus Ingalls later declared, Buchanan ‘was prejudiced against Grant & was an infernal old martinette & a d—a old S. of a B.’ Gossip being what it is, officers likely embellished the story in repeating it, until the image of a drunkard drummed out of service (possibly under the threat of a court-martial) was firmly fixed in the minds of many people, most of whom had never met Grant. He never shook the stories; they would haunt him for the rest of his life. Whatever action Buchanan took or threatened to take, if any, he didn’t have to try very hard to persuade Grant to do what he had long contemplated in any case.
Simpson’s interpretation does a much better job of acknowledging the fact that historians simply don’t have the evidence to corroborate the claim that Grant resigned because of excessive drinking at Fort Humboldt.
Claim 11: It was a Well-Known Fact Among Army Officers that Grant Was an Alcoholic
Page 86: During the Civil War, both sides knew what had unfolded at Fort Humboldt. As the Union general James H. Wilson wrote: “It is a part of the history of the times that [Grant] had fallen for a season into the evil ways of military men serving on the remote frontier and that his return to civil life was commonly believed to have been a choice between resignation and a court-martial.”
Footnotes: James H. Wilson, The Life of John Rawlins (1916), p. 18.
Comment: James “Harry” Wilson was a disgruntled office-seeker and anti-Grant Republican during Grant’s presidency who hated the man with a passion. During and after Grant’s life Wilson worked to spread rumors of his drunkenness and corruption in an effort to tarnish his reputation. His book on John Rawlins claims that Rawlins was responsible for the bulk of Grant’s military victories and that Grant unfairly received all of the glory. As with so many other sources Chernow employs, readers must ask, “is this a reliable source that can be trusted?” Charles Calhoun’s book, The Presidency of Ulysses S. Grant (2017) explores Wilson’s efforts to undermine Grant in depth.
Claim 12: Secretary of War Jefferson Davis Knew Grant was an Alcoholic
Page 87: Unfortunately, [Secretary of War Jefferson] Davis considered the matter settled, and his reply [to Ulysses’ father Jesse Grant] delicately evaded the true reason behind the resignation. He observed that since Ulysses had “assigned no reasons why he desired to quit the service, and the motives which influenced him are not known to the Department,” he would let the decision stand. Grant’s failure to specify a reason for departing from the army strengthens the suspicion that drinking lay at its root.
Footnotes: William McFeely, Grant (1981), 56.
Comment: Chernow suggests that Secretary of War Jefferson Davis knew the reason why Grant decided to resign from the Army in 1854 and deliberately withheld that info from Grant’s father, but he does so without providing evidence that Davis was aware of Grant’s drinking problems, or that Davis even knew who Grant was prior to his resignation. Davis, headquartered in Washington, D.C., would have had to have heard something from an officer at Fort Humboldt, and his letter to Jesse Grant suggests that he had heard nothing of the kind. McFeely simply cites Davis’s letter to Jesse Grant, so Chernow’s speculations here are entirely his own. Once again, Chernow fails to cite Grant’s papers and instead relies on other books about Grant.
It is not at all clear how Grant’s letter of resignation and his omission of any explanation for why he was resigning somehow “strengthens” the theory that he left because of drunkenness any more than it weakens an equally plausible theory—corroborated by Grant’s letters at the time—that he resigned simply because he hadn’t seen his family in over two years and had been considering a departure from the Army for months beforehand. Furthermore, it would be odd for the War Department to award Grant a promotion to Captain and a new commission on the same day he resigned if he had been dogged by persistent drinking claims and dereliction of duty. Ultimately the absence of any mention of alcohol in Grant or Davis’s letters does not confirm that drinking was the primary factor leading to Grant’s resignation, or that Jefferson Davis knew anything about it and deliberately withheld that info from Grant’s father.
Claim 13: Rampant Speculation and Excessive Psychoanalysis
Page 91: From his home in Covington, Kentucky, Jesse responded [to Grant’s resignation] by dispatching his middle son, Simpson, to New York to fetch Ulysses and settle the hotel bill. It seems rather odd that Jesse chose to send an escort instead of simply arranging credit for Ulysses. One possible solution to this mystery lies in a letter written by Frederick Law Olmsted, the renowned designer of Central Park and other urban parks, to his wife at the end of the Civil War. Olmsted had just spent an evening with Major Ralph W. Kirkham, who recalled that during the summer of 1854 he and Winfield Scott Hancock were stationed at Jefferson Barracks in St. Louis “when a letter was received from [Simon Bolivar] Buckner telling them that he had found Grant in New York. Grant had resigned, arrived in New York, got drunk, got into a row and been locked up by the police. Buckner relieved him and supplied him with means to go to his father in Missouri [sic].” The story, if true, may suggest why Grant, who was so desperately homesick and eager to see his wife and children, dallied in Manhattan until late summer and why his brother came to retrieve him. A careful search of the sketchy New York court records for the period fails to provide any confirmation of the story.
Footnotes: None provided
Comment: Clearly this story is extremely speculative and another example of a secondhand source written years after the fact by a person who wasn’t there. We don’t know why Grant’s father acted the way he did in this moment. The claim therefore must be taken with a huge grain of salt and probably dismissed as a reliable source. One wonders why such speculation even needed to be included in the book given the fact that no evidence could be offered to corroborate it besides Chernow’s own speculations on the matter. Other Grant biographers such as Simpson, Ron White, Joan Waugh, Jean Edward Smith, and several other past historians avoided any mention or speculation about the Olmsted letter in their studies. Chernow should have as well.
So there you have it. If you’ve made it this far, congratulations and thanks for reading.
History is the process by which individuals and societies make sense of the past. Although they are often used interchangeably, the terms “History” and “The Past” are not mutually exclusive. “The Past” is the verified, factual information we know about past events in human history. We know, for example, that the Declaration of Independence was written in 1776. “History,” however, is the process by which we document, contextualize, and interpret the meaning of a particular event. Why was the Declaration of Independence written? Who wrote it? What was going on in the world at the time of its writing? What social, economic, religious, and political forces inspired the document’s author? What were the consequences of its publication? These are the types of questions historians ask when researching and interpreting “The Past” to make an informed historical argument about something like the writing of the Declaration of Independence.
Memory plays a necessary and crucial role in creating history. “Memory” is the process by which individuals and societies choose to remember (and forget) their pasts. Memories are created after an event has taken place and take the form of oral recollection, art, public iconography, and many other expressions of personal reflection. How did Thomas Jefferson remember his role in writing the Declaration years later? What did members of the Continental Congress think of the event? How did citizens of the colonies remember hearing about the Declaration of Independence? What monuments, statues, markers, and plaques were created to commemorate the event? What messages did these icons attempt to convey to viewers about the Declaration? How is the Declaration remembered by society today? These are the types of questions historians and memory scholars ask when researching how present-day conditions simultaneously shape and are shaped by past events. History and memory intersect to tell us what happened in the past, and what it means for us today.
What are the distinctions between history and memory? Is there a distinction between the two? Scholars disagree on this question, but I think there are distinctions, albeit very subtle.
Take the case of the veteran’s recollection of a wartime experience twenty years after a significant battle. The truthfulness of that soldier’s recollection may not be fully verifiable based on the evidence that was created from the time in which the battle originally took place. His or her recollection may contradict the official battle report created at the time (“The Past”), or it may include details that were previously omitted. Sometimes the recollection may even unintentionally confuse or invent crucial details with the passage of time. Nevertheless the veteran’s memory exists as a “personal truth” for him or herself; an individual process by which the soldier copes with, comprehends, and understands their experiences in that battle. The tricky task for the historian is to determine whether the veteran’s recollection should be incorporated into the body of evidence being used to interpret the history of that battle. Is the recollection reliable? Does it help advance the story? Does it help or hinder the historian’s effort to make sense of The Past?
Historian Jonathan Hansen argues that history advances through hypothesis while memory evolves over time but never really advances. I like that description because memories of a given event will change over time (a new personal reflection or the erection of a new monument, for example) but those memories may not be verifiable in the same way a historical fact can be through a hypothesis.
Much of what we understand about The Past is based on memory, which simultaneously informs and muddles the historical process. As such, the concept of “Truth” does exist within the historical process, but it takes multiple forms. The International Coalition of Sites of Conscience defines four different forms of “Truth”: forensic truth (The factual, verifiable past), personal truth (a personal memory), social truth (a collectively held truth as expressed through art, public iconography, political speechs, etc.) and healing truth (a collective process of historical reckoning such as South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission).
The above description is how I understand the distinctions between The Past, history, and memory. These three phenomenons constantly interact and shape each other, leading to the creation of individual and collective understandings of past events that in many cases contain multiple truths for us to learn from.
Civic leaders in Glynn County, Georgia, are proposing a sculpture trail to commemorate that county’s history and promote tourism to the area. One of the sculptures being proposed highlights Neptune Small, an enslaved man on the Retreat Plantation. When the Civil War broke out Small’s enslaver, Henry King, brought Small with him to Confederate military lines. When King died on the battlefield, Small picked up King’s body and eventually brought it back home. The Sculptor, Kevin Pullen, explained that “What I tell people is it’s a love story. Because these two grew up together. They were love buds when they were little people. The whole slavery and Civil War piece was the backdrop for their lives. They lived on the same property, and they grew up in the same place.”
Historian James De Wolfe Perry pointed out that “As an enslaved person, [Small] had incentives other than loyalty or devotion” for returning King’s body. Kevin Levin of Civil War Memory added that “This is an interpretive weakness of the entire Lost Cause narrative that it makes little attempt to engage former slaves as to motivation and how they viewed their participation in the war.” He followed up with a blog post, commenting that “The basic outline of Pullen’s account accords with the available evidence, but to depict Small in his role as the loyal slave feeds into an insidious myth that has long been used to justify legal segregation, white supremacy, and the Lost Cause narrative of the war.”
I tend to agree with these sentiments. My initial response to this proposed sculpture is great discomfort. To me it seems to romanticize slavery and the master-slave relationship, which in Pullen’s telling of Small and King’s relationship is a “love story.” It also downplays the fact that the “loyal” Neptune Small and enslaved camp servants like him were not there voluntarily in service to the Confederate military, but due to impressment. In reality, we don’t know what Small’s motivations were for returning King’s body to Georgia. It is not a stretch to suggest, for example, that perhaps Small returned King to his old plantation in the hopes of gaining his freedom for this action. And as the article points out, the Kings did give Small an 8-acre tract of land for returning his enslaver’s body. The murky details of this story make me skeptical about the wisdom of commemorating it through a sculpture.
My latest essay for the Journal of the Civil War Era’s blog went live last week. I wrote about gift shops at Civil War historic sites and the urgent need for memory scholars to analyze the ways these spaces shape visitor experiences at historic sites. I’ve gotten a lot of positive feedback so far and I hope the essay will lead to a more sustained and substantial dialogue on how gift shops can better serve the mission of a given public history site.
I have a lot of other exciting writing projects and upcoming presentations going on at the moment and I’ll let you know about those initiatives in a future post. For now, enjoy the above essay and let me know what you think in the comments section.
There was a bit of minor news made in the public history world last week when Congress passed and President Trump signed a bill changing the name of Jefferson National Expansion Memorial in St. Louis to Gateway Arch National Park. Within my circle of public history and National Park Service colleagues the name change has been greeted with mixed reviews. And, of course, there had to be at least one disgruntled St. Louis Post-Dispatch reader who wrote a letter to the editor complaining about the actions of “politically correct” politicians who allegedly changed the name simply because they wanted to “avoid honoring those who brought white privilege to the Plains.” I guess we shouldn’t bring up slavery, Sally Hemings, or anything mildly critical of Jefferson around this guy, or else we’ll have to face claims of hating history and America.
In any case, my opinion is that the name change is half good and half bad. “Gateway Arch” is good, “National Park” . . . not so much. Here are a few thoughts on the name change:
The name for the site came before the Gateway Arch existed: The U.S. government began looking for a suitable monument to Thomas Jefferson in the 1930s. Civic boosters in St. Louis advocated for the memorial to be placed there to symbolize Jefferson’s role in the Louisiana Purchase and westward expansion, but also to revitalize a decaying downtown riverfront infrastructure. The Gateway Arch structure designed by Eero Saarinen was not created until 1947 and not completed until 1965. Whether intentional or not, the Gateway Arch complements Thomas Jefferson’s legacy but has also superseded it as a symbol of the site. People don’t visit the site because it’s associated with Thomas Jefferson – they visit because they want to see the Arch.
Nobody calls it “Jefferson National Expansion Memorial”: The vast majority of people who visit the site don’t call it by its official name, which, again, was established before the symbolic centerpiece of the site was established thirty years later.
Thomas Jefferson’s legacy is important, but it is not the sole theme for site interpretation: Thomas Jefferson never lived in nor visited St. Louis or the state of Missouri. His home in Virginia–Monticello–is a national shrine, as are national significantly places where he lived and worked, including Independence Hall in Philadelphia and the Jefferson Memorial in Washington, D.C. While his role in advancing westward expansion is no doubt significant, he is not the only person who had an important role in encouraging white westward expansion, especially within the context of Missouri. It could be argued that “Lewis and Clark National Expansion Memorial” would be an equally relevant name for the site, especially since they had a direct connection to the area.
Equally important, the site interprets other stories connected to westward expansion that go beyond the Louisiana Purchase of 1803. The Old Courthouse, located across the street from the Arch and a part of park’s holdings, was the site where Dred Scott sued for his freedom in 1846. In this sense the site also interprets the antebellum politics of slavery’s westward expansion, manifest destiny, Indian removal, and the coming of the American Civil War. Additionally, the historical scholarship that informed the decision to name the site after Thomas Jefferson in the 1930s has admittedly evolved and been revised. Western history has become more complex and critical of territorial expansion and its negative consequences for the Native American Indian tribes that bore the brunt of this expansive vision. A simple interpretation of the expansion of freedom and American liberty to the west in the 19th century is no longer sustainable.
Naming the site after the Gateway Arch–a symbol of westward expansion and the title that visitors already give for the site–is a positive move that offers a more inclusive interpretation of the history of westward expansion. Jefferson’s vision of a westward “Empire of Liberty” won’t be erased by this name change. He’ll still be interpreted by park rangers and have a prominent place inside the park’s museum. But perhaps Jefferson’s political views will occupy a new interpretive space that sits in tension with other conceptions of westward expansion and its consequences, giving visitors a range of perspectives to contemplate during their experience at the park. From an educational standpoint this development is a positive one and will not, as the disgruntled letter to the editor writer suggests, lead to a simple interpretation of Jefferson bringing “white privilege to the plains.”
Calling the site a “National Park” is a mistake: The National Park Service includes more than 400 units throughout the United States, Puerto Rico, and the Pacific Islands. 59 of these sites are designated as “National Parks.” The Gateway Arch is the 60th such site, and it is nothing like the others. It’s located in an urban center, has only 91 acres in size, and has a remarkably different interpretive mission than the other National Park sites in terms of content. It sticks out like a sore thumb among the other NPS units designated as “National Parks.” Missouri’s Congressional delegation pushed to have the site named a “National Park,” however, because the other 59 sites are the crown jewels of the agency and its most popularly visited sites. In other words, calling the Gateway Arch a “National Park” is motivated by tourism and money.
There are more than fourteen different park designations used by the NPS. This designation system, in my opinion, is overly cumbersome and confusing for visitors. Any sort of semblance these designations offer is made all the more confusing by designating a place like the Gateway Arch as a “National Park.” If I were in charge of things I would consolidate the park designation system to make it more user friendly, and I would have implemented the name “Gateway Arch National Monument” instead of Gateway Arch National Park for this particular site.
My latest essay for the Journal of the Civil War Era‘s blog, Muster, was published earlier this week. I explore a few speeches from members of the Grand Army of the Republic in protest of the 1915 film The Birth of a Nation and argue that not all white Union Civil War veterans were ready for reconciliation with former Confederates, even when they were in the seventies and eighties.