From Out of the Top Hat: A Blog from the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library & Museum

Recently, the Lincoln Tomb State Historic Site resurrected the Lincoln Monument Association to serve as a support group for the Lincoln Tomb as well as the War Memorials within Oak Ridge Cemetery.  In referencing the original National Lincoln Monument Association, it is worth reviewing the goals and purposes of the founding organization.

According to her certificate, Susan Torrence became one of thousands who contributed 50 cents to help build the Monument.

Planning that had been undertaken by committee required something more permanent for addressing the long-term issues of designing, funding, constructing, and maintaining an appropriate memorial to Abraham Lincoln.  While committees continued to address the immediate needs of Lincoln’s funeral arrangements, a group of 13 which later expanded to 15 members drew up articles of incorporation.  On May 11, 1865, The National Lincoln Monument Association came into existence as a voluntary society.  Their mission was “to construct a Monument to the memory of Abraham Lincoln, in the city of Springfield, State of Illinois.”  A board of directors was created who would serve a term of 20 years.

The board elected four officers to direct the affairs of the Association.  Governor Richard J. Oglesby was the clear favorite for President.  Jesse K. Dubois, who was a neighbor of Lincoln’s and long-time political associate, became Vice President.  Clinton L. Conkling, a friend of Robert Todd Lincoln and son of James C. Conkling, was elected secretary but not a member of the Association board.  He stepped down at the end of 1865 and was replaced by O. M. Hatch.  James H. Beveridge, who served as the Illinois State Treasurer under Governor Oglesby, became treasurer for the National Lincoln Monument Association.

More than elections occurred at the May 11^th meeting.  Bylaws were approved to govern the Association, “agents appointed to collect funds, agricultural and horticultural societies called on to contribute, and the Treasurer directed to invest funds — which were already beginning to reach the treasury — in United States securities.”  A great deal of progress had been made in a very short period of time.  But just as things appeared to be in good order, an incident occurred that threatened to undo the entire project.  (To be continued.)

THE NATIONAL LINCOLN MONUMENT ASSOCIATION
BOARD OF DIRECTORS

Richard J. Oglesby was a political associate of Lincoln’s.  He gained honor and distinction for his service in the Civil War, returning to Illinois to be elected Governor in 1864.

Orlin H. Miner served as Illinois State Auditor under Governor Oglesby.

John Todd Stuart served in the Illinois legislature, the U.S. House of Representatives, and was a leading lawyer in Illinois.

Jesse K. Dubois served in the Illinois legislature, was receiver of the U.S. Land Office, then Auditor for the State of Illinois, and was a close associate of Lincoln.

James C. Conkling served as mayor of Springfield, in the Illinois legislature, and was a leading lawyer and businessman in the city.

John Williams was a banker.

Jacob Bunn was a banker and eventually became Mrs. Lincoln’s conservator.

Sharon Tyndale served as Illinois Secretary of State under Governor Oglesby.

Newton Bateman was Superintendent of Public Instruction for the State of Illinois and was a friend of Abraham Lincoln.

Samuel H. Treat served as a Judge of the U.S. Court for Illinois.

Ozias Mather Hatch served as Illinois Secretary of State and was a close political confidant and ally to Abraham Lincoln.

S. H. Melvin was a prominent merchant, banker, and railroad man.

James H. Beveridge served as Illinois Treasurer for Governor Oglesby.

Thomas J. Dennis was mayor of Springfield and an accomplished architect.

David L. Phillips served as the U.S. Marshal for the Southern District of Illinois.

Episode 4, Mr. Lincoln’s Promissory Note: We talk with Dr. James Cornelius about Mr. Lincoln’s Promissory Note, and answer your questions submitted via facebook.

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According to his private secretaries and some close friends, President Lincoln had a deserved reputation for bending to women’s plaints and complaints.  William Lee Miller, in his study President Lincoln: The Duty of a Statesman (2008), reviews a notable case in which urgent pleas by the wife and daughter of a condemned man did not succeed in making the chief executive yield; the man concerned was a slave-dealer whose death by hanging went forward as planned.  Much more frequent was the type of case in which the president wrote out a pass for a lady to visit someone behind enemy lines or asked the War Department to remit part of a soldier’s sentence.  He did not like to dismiss a sincere need.

But there is a unique case in which the usually humble president wrote out his true feelings about one lady visitor.  And it is the only case in which we have record that Lincoln wrote the pejorative word “saucy.”  This short note to himself now belongs to the Library of Congress:

ExecutiveMansion
Washington. Aug. 23, 1862.

To-day, Mrs. Major Paul, of the Regular Army calls and urges the appointment of her husband as a Brig. Genl.  She is a saucy woman and I am afraid she will keep tormenting till I may have to do it.   (Collected Works, v. 5, pp. 390-391).

The prognosticator of his own actions was correct: Paul became a brigadier general as of September 5, 1862.

There are two wrinkles to, and perhaps a defense of, Lincoln’s mood in the case.  Just 12 days earlier, he had written to Major General Halleck to state that “Lieut. Col. Paul,” a graduate of West Point, wanted to be posted to active service.  Did the officer’s wife not know that her husband had already been promoted to a colonelcy?  Or was she still referring to him in Lincoln’s presence as a mere major, to underscore her complaint?

A recent act of selflessness by the (female) owner of an original document signed by Lincoln throws a glimmer of light upon this situation.  The complete Papers of Abraham Lincoln project, based here at the Presidential Library, now has a full-color scan of the document, thanks to the private owner.  For one does not jump from major to brigadier general without making the requisite stop at the corner marked ‘colonel.’  Lincoln, ever the diligent signer of military commissions, had already signed Paul’s promotion to lieutenant colonel in the 8^th U.S. Infantry – back on 2 July 1862.

How to explain Mrs. ‘Major’ Paul’s visit on 23 August with her complaint – her lament, prod, push, case, demand — that her husband be promoted?  He had been a lieutenant colonel for 7 weeks before the saucy wife visited the Executive Mansion and referred to her husband as a major.  Was the promotion lost in a file?  Was he refusing to accept it, and holding out for immediate elevation to brigadier general?  Had Edwin Stanton, who duly co-signed the promotion to colonel, held it up because of Paul’s service with the unproductive McClellan in eastern Virginia that season?  Or was this bureaucratic delay caused by two men, Lincoln and Stanton, and many others much less well-known, who were worked to distraction by the demands of war?

Cultural differences may have entered into this matter.  Was this Gabriel René Paul a Frenchman, or of French extraction?  Was his wife?  Did she treat a rube Anglo-Kentuckian like Lincoln with disdain?  Was her aggrieved tone simply less deferential than the president was accustomed to?

The timetable was this: Paul started the year 1862 as a major.  In early July 1862 Lincoln signed his commission promoting him to lieutenant colonel.  In early August Lincoln may have seen him personally and referred to him as Lieut. Col. in addressing Major General Halleck on his behalf.  In late August Mrs. Paul arrived to demand that her husband, ‘Major Paul,’ jump to brigadier general.  And in fact on 5 Sept. 1862 he was thus promoted.

Who was at fault for this minor contretemps?  Is Lincoln’s note-to-self the evidence that he had already forgotten about Paul’s first promotion?  Or was Mrs. Paul lying about his low rank?  Or was she unaware of her husband’s half-way promotion?  Had the soldier himself not even been informed of his promotion?

The handwriting on Lincoln’s “saucy” note is shaky.  He likely made it late in the day.  Earlier the same day, General Charles P. Stone approached Lincoln to ask why he had been arrested.  And this was all on the day after Lincoln had penned his justly famed public letter to Horace Greeley of the New York Tribune, explaining and yet not explaining why he did or did not free the slaves – to save the Union.  Greeley was blunt in print about Lincoln’s motives; Mrs. Paul was blunt in person about her husband’s wishes.  Perhaps Lincoln actually wanted to call Greeley “saucy.”  Thus, a wholly separate timetable was superimposed within the Pauls’ complaints and promotions: that of Lincoln’s timetable for the nerve-testing policy for emancipation, from conception (mid-June 1862) to announcement to Cabinet (22 July) to fending off Greeley’s demands (22 August) to revealing the plan to the public (22 September).  All the while trying to get McClellan to pursue Robert E. Lee.

Blinded Brig. Gen. Paul asks another favor of Lincoln, 1865, and is accommodated again.

Brigadier General Paul did valorous service, as seen in the illustration here.  He was nearly blinded at Gettysburg.   Had he remained a major or lieutenant-colonel, perhaps he would have been standing elsewhere at Gettysburg.  The end of the war found him quietly stationed in Kentucky. Let us hope that he and his wife were satisfied.

Everyone loves a winner, which may account for the continuous battle over who owns the Lincoln story.  Three states — Kentucky, Indiana, and Illinois — claim to have been crucial influences upon Abraham Lincoln during his formative years.  The Illinois General Assembly wisely adopted the slogan “Land of Lincoln” in 1955 and had it placed on license plates, ensuring its wide promotion.  To make certain that no other state would infringe on the claim, Congress passed a special act that same year giving Illinois the exclusive use to the phrase “Land of Lincoln.” 

Writers have also been territorial about the Sixteenth President.  John G. Nicolay, Lincoln’s private secretary, was incensed at Ida Tarbell in the 1890s when he discovered that she intended to write a popular biography of Abraham Lincoln.  Nicolay, having recently finished a 10-volume Lincoln biography with John Hay, protested to Tarbell that “you are invading my field.”  His real concern was that a competing Lincoln biography diminishes “the value of my property.”

Not the same old Lincoln story for a new book and movie, opening June 2012.

Perhaps only a handful of Lincoln books have made the kind of sales that give one pause.  Carl Sandburg, David Herbert Donald, and Doris Kearns Goodwin come immediately to mind.  The recent announcements that two feature-length films are now in production — Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter and Steven Spielberg’s Lincoln, a loosely based adaptation of the Goodwin bestseller — recalls an earlier era when two other Lincoln films were in production at the same time.

 Starring Raymond Massey, Robert Sherwood’s play Abe Lincoln in Illinois was a Broadway hit in the fall of 1938.  New York critics and audiences applauded Massey’s dramatic interpretation of a young Abraham Lincoln.  Hollywood frequently took Broadway hits and quickly turned them into motion pictures.  RKO Pictures wasted no time in purchasing the film rights and began production.  Little did they know that screenwriter Howard Estabrook had written a screenplay in 1935 for Fox Film Corporation entitled Young Lincoln.  But production ceased when Fox merged with Twentieth Century to become Twentieth Century-Fox.  Screenwriter Lamar Trotti, who had finished production of a biopic on Alexander Graham Bell in November 1938, then began rewriting Estabrook’s script, which had taken on the new title Lawyer of the West.  Darryl Zanuck, the producer of the film, changed the name of the film to Young Mr. Lincoln.

The competing Lincoln films resulted in a lawsuit in which Robert Sherwood sued Twentieth Century-Fox.  Sherwood claimed that the Twentieth Century-Fox film was a blatant facsimile of Sherwood’s play, using the same plot elements, a similar title, and similar promotional campaign, and drawing upon the popularity of Lincoln created by Sherwood’s play.  Sherwood said that “there was little public interest in any portion of the life of Lincoln” until his play generated a widespread public awareness.  In many respects, Sherwood’s assertions were similar to those of John G. Nicolay: “you are invading my field” and diminishing “the value of my property.”

Twentieth Century-Fox countered with the obvious fact that Lincoln’s historical life was in the public domain.  All of the facts and events relating to Lincoln’s life would be similar in any biographical film.  Moreover, the claim that Lincoln was unknown to the larger public until Sherwood’s play appeared was easily dismissed with an abridged listing of films and major plays and books published on Lincoln from 1900 to 1939.  Among those dealing with Lincoln’s early life were Carl Sandburg’s 2-volume work The Prairie Years (1926), D. W. Griffith’s 1930 film Abraham Lincoln, and John Drinkwater’s 1919 hit play Abraham Lincoln.  The court sided with Twentieth Century-Fox, allowing the John Ford film that starred Henry Fonda to move toward release a year before Abe Lincoln in Illinois.  And Sherwood need not have worried, since both films were eagerly embraced by audiences.

As early as 1841, people began applying this stalwart phrase to Lincoln.  On New Year’s Day of that year, the Quincy, Illinois Whig described the 31-year-old from Springfield as “a self-made man, and one of the ablest” among all the lawyers and elected officials in the state. 

The Whig didn’t need to explain what “self-made” meant.  The paper presumed everyone knew the term.  Having entered common usage by the late 1820s, it had become a verbal staple, a handy way to praise resourceful men and the nation that had succored them.

Self-made public servants like Lincoln showed to the satisfaction of many that republican liberty really did rule in the U.S., at least in the North and West.  The chance to ascend in public responsibility and esteem wasn’t limited to the privileged few.  Aristocracy was following monarchy into the dustbin of history.

Disciplined climbers could now rise to distinction without benefit of family fortune or cronyism.  All they needed was well-engraved inner character.  The self-made man, wrote the prolific commercial author John Frost in his Self-Made Men of America (1848), was “one who has rendered himself accomplished, eminent, rich, or great by his own unaided efforts.”         

Lincoln took pride in having risen from a low rung on the social ladder, and said so repeatedly.  But he made no pretense of having accomplished that feat without help.  True, he’d done it with little material aid from his family, and like many young men of his era, he’d done it by self-consciously distancing himself from his father.  (Thomas Lincoln did pass along some vital social capital: the storytelling gift that proved integral to his son’s success.)

When 22, Lincoln strode into New Salem, Illinois, in 1831, “penniless” and “friendless,” as he later wrote.  Yet he soon attracted eager backing.  William Lee Miller, in his book Lincoln’s Virtues (pp. 24-25), gives a nice summary of all the “boosts and helps and open doors and befriendings” that launched Lincoln on his path to public renown. 

After a decade in Illinois, having just been crowned by the Quincy Whig as “one of the ablest” self-made men in the state, Lincoln gave an address in Springfield that spelled out the social underpinnings of self-making.  Speaking to the Washingtonian Society, a temperance group, on Washington’s Birthday 1842, he urged all citizens to join the Society by signing its pledge to abstain from spirits. 

Those struggling to escape the lure of liquor, said Lincoln, couldn’t be expected to make their way unassisted.  They needed the active support of a united community, including people like himself who’d never been tempted by drink.  Lincoln took no credit for his own sobriety, attributing it to luck rather than self-discipline.  “Such of us as have never fallen victims [sic] have been spared more from the absence of appetite, than from any mental or moral superiority over those who have.” 

And he extended his point beyond the issue of alcohol.  Everyone, even the morally proficient, had learned self-control by taking their cues from “other people’s actions.”  Everybody absorbed community norms by letting the influence of respected models seep into them.  Self-making amounted to a social achievement, not just an individual one. 

True, Lincoln always held, as he told a small group of free black men whom he invited to the White House 20 years later, that “success does not as much depend on external help as on self-reliance.”  His own experience taught him that relentless resolve lay behind the push for personal advancement.   

But those starting out with limited means — whether freed slaves or penniless migrants — would likely need some “external help.”  Without self-discipline they would surely fail; yet without the moral example and material help of others, self-discipline would languish like seed on rocky ground.

When Lincoln departed from Springfield as president-elect in 1861, he uttered his famous farewell remarks.  Once again, as in the 1842 temperance speech, he underlined the social foundations of self-making.  Speaking from the rear platform of his train on the day before his 52^nd birthday, he thanked his Springfield neighbors for making him into the “old man” he’d become.

“To you, dear friends,” he said in one version of his remarks, “I owe all that I have, all that I am.”  “To this place and the kindness of these people,” he says in another version, “I owe every thing.”

A third version, which appeared in the east-coast press on February 12, 1861, has him saying “to this people I owe all that I am.”  That’s the phrasing put on this late-1860s pocket-sized card, which mistakenly gives the date of publication — his birthday — as the date of delivery.

 Of course, after his death Lincoln couldn’t offer any more correctives to the notion that he’d risen without help.  Americans preferred to cherish him post-mortem as the paragon of self-containment, the brooding genius with the generous heart and steely will.

Another famous self-made man, Frederick Douglass, left one of many testimonials to Lincoln’s unassisted mastery in constructing himself.  Writing a year after the president’s assassination, he praised Lincoln as so self-sufficient, so original, that he had reinvented even the process of self-creation.

“One great charm of his life,” wrote Douglass, “is that he was indebted to himself for himself.  He was the architect of his own fortune, a self-made man, a flat boat captain, a splitter of rails, a man of toil, one who travelled far but made the road on which he traveled — one who ascended high, but with hard hands and honest work built the ladder on which he climbed.  Flung upon the sea of life in the midnight storm, without oars or life preservers he bravely buffeted the billows — and with sinewy arms swam in safety, where other men despair and sink.”