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Moving on…

Sorry about the dearth of posting lately, but I do have an excuse—or, perhaps, a reason.

After 42 years living here at the Matile Manse, the missus and I are going to move. Won’t be going far; History Central is just moving across North Adams Street to the house my sister built on the riverbank back in 1985. She moved out in 2011, selling to a young couple with kids. That family moved to Dayton, Ohio over the Christmas holidays last year, and we decided to buy the house back into the family.

Thus the move. And thus having less time to do any blogging.

My folks, along with me and my big sister (the other sister was in nurse’s training up at Copley Memorial Hospital), moved off the farm and into the Matile Manse over Christmas break of 1954. I was in third grade, and proceeded to badly miss the farm, even though I was allergic to just about everything on it.

2012 3-24 Magnolia Tree

The old Matile Manse, built in 1908 by Irvin Haines for his aunt and uncle, John Peter and Amelia Lantz.

While it wasn’t the farm, moving here on North Adams Street turned out to be a great thing for me. The house had its own small town barn and the garage my Uncle Les built in 1943 so he could work on people’s cars. My great-grandparents had built the house itself, a tidy story-and-a-half Queen Anne, as their retirement home when they moved off their farm in 1908. Rather, they had my great-grandmother’s nephew, Irvin Haines, build the house for them. Irvy, as the family called him, was a first-class carpenter, well known in the Oswego-Montgomery area. The design my great-grandparents chose was apparently a popular one—there was a near identical one on a farm just outside Oswego until it was torn down to make way for the new fire station and another, which is still standing, was built in Montgomery.

When they moved in, in October 1908, my great-grandfather was 62, and my great-grandmother was 58. I suspect they figured they’d live in their new house for a couple decades and then pass it along to their children. In the end, they both lived well into their 90s, before dying during World War II. They chose the spot for their new home because the property was between that of my great-grandmother’s sister (to the south), and my great-grandmother’s mother (to the north).

From them, the house passed to my grandparents, who had looked after the old folks. It proved good timing, because their youngest daughter, my aunt, and her husband were looking for a place to live. I remember visiting them when I was a little kid before they bought a house in “town.” In those days, North Adams was not yet annexed to Oswego and was considered out in the country by folks living in the village. Country folk like us, of course, considered the house in town.

2018 New Matile Manse

The new Matile Manse, built in 1985 by Stan Young for Eileen and Lou Bacino.

After my aunt and uncle moved into Oswego, my grandparents rented the house out to a couple families until my parents offered to buy it when they were ready to move off the farm. So I lived there with my parents until my wife and I married, and for the next decade we lived in a couple different places, including that house next door where my great-great grandmother had lived.

In 1976, we bought my parents’ house and we’ve been here ever since. And I have to say, it’s been a good 42 years. But now it’s time to move on. My son and wife will move into the Matile Manse, and assuring it will remain the Matile Manse for at least a few more years.

So, we’ve been consumed with moving 42 years of accumulated memories from one side of the street to the other. And that includes lots and lots of books on Illinois and local history and more pounds of files that I ever would have imagined. And if our knees and backs hold up, I’m hoping to be back blogging regularly soon.

 

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Filed under Architecture, History, Kendall County, Local History, Nostalgia, Oswego, Semi-Current Events, travel

Inflection points: What made the Oswego area’s history

Since last winter, the Oswegoland Heritage Association’s board of directors has been working on a complete revamp of the Little White School Museum’s core exhibit.

The current core exhibit, with a few exceptions and some updating over the years, has been pretty much the same since the museum gallery opened back in 1983. So it was definitely time to do some remodeling and overhauling.

2013 June LWS Museum

Planning for a major redesign of the Little White School Museum’s exhibit gallery is creating food for historical thought.

It’s not that the community’s history has changed, of course, but we have learned a lot more about it during the past 35 years. And we’ve also learned to tell local history’s stories a lot better, too. And by doing that, we will (we hope!) reach more people and inform them about the area’s rich heritage in a way that presents history in an entertaining but nonetheless informative way.

Over the past several months, we hammered out a template that divides Oswego area history into three broad eras: prehistory to the eve of the Civil War; the end of the Civil War to the start of World War II; and the end of World War II to the present day. Current plans call for major exhibit space to be devoted to each of those three areas, plus two other standalone exhibits, one on Oswego’s Civil War experience and the other on its World War II experience.

I’ve been writing about local history since 1974 when our group of talented amateurs started work on the Kendall County Bicentennial Commission’s county history and local history monograph series. Then I wrote about it weekly for the Fox Valley Sentinel from the fall of 1977 until Dave Dreier and Jeff and Kathy Farren merged the Sentinel with the Oswego Ledger in the summer of 1980. From then until today, my “Reflections” column has appeared weekly in the Ledger-Sentinel an in other papers affiliated with it, all now part of the Shaw Media group.

But with all that experience telling the area’s historical story, until we laid all our ideas out for the planned new and updated exhibits in a sort of timeline, I hadn’t specifically considered the importance of the Civil War and World War II as two of the community’s three most important historical inflection points. There was no doubt about it once the facts were written down and I had a chance to see the outline in black and white.

I’ve written about the importance of those two events to the community in the past, of course, but always as singular events that had major impacts, not as the events that had irrevocable impacts on Oswego’s history.

The community’s third historical inflection point, of course, was pretty much a given—the community’s settlement in 1833 by the extended Pearce family.

Economists like to look for history’s inflection points because they help explain how regions and nations come to be what they are. Back in 2015, economist Bradford DeLong wrote a short paper declaring that the major transportation innovation that proved to be the most important inflection point for trade and transport was not the invention of the railroad in 1830s England, but instead the production of the first iron-hulled, steam engined, propeller-driven trans-Atlantic passenger liner, which was built for the British White Star Line in Belfast, Northern Ireland.RMS Oceanic. Graphic from Sakhalia Net Project web site.

ilt in 1870 for England’s White Star Line and entering transatlantic service in 1871, the RMS Oceanic featured the first all-iron hull and a steam-powered propeller in lieu of sidewheels. The ship revolutionized freight and passenger service. (Sakhalia Net Project image)

From the innovative design of RMS Oceanic came thousands of freighters and ocean liners that decreased the cost of trans-Atlantic travel to a fraction of its former cost, driving the cost of shipping everything from finished goods to agricultural crops sharply lower. He noted the cost of a third class ticket on the Oceanic was just 3 pounds sterling, the modern equivalent of about $3,300, which was half as much as during the devastating Irish potato famine of the 1840s and a quarter of the cost of a trans-Atlantic ticket in 1800. A cost so reasonable, in fact, that an immigrant could travel from Europe to the U.S. (where jobs and opportunity were plentiful—wages in the U.S. were roughly twice what they were in Britain and Europe), find work, and recoup the ticket cost in less than a year.

And that led to the great migration from the Old World to the New that brought so many of our families here. Money was carefully saved to buy one family member a ticket and send them to America, where they worked and sent home money so the rest of the family could join them. Chain migration—which for some reason has gained negative connotations these days—was efficient, economical, and led to the start of one of the most prosperous eras in the nation’s history. It was, in fact, the story of my grandfather’s family who immigrated from East Prussia in the early 1880s at the urgings of his mother’s relatives who had come earlier, settled in Aurora, and made new lives.

Getting back to our original topic, looking at local history in terms of inflection points helps organize and explain how things turned out the way they have. The most obvious of these inflection points, the settlement of the Oswego area, is a given. Others had prospected along the Fox River up through the Oswego area, but none had decided to put down any roots here. The three Pearce brothers, Daniel, John, and Walter, and their brother-in-law, William Smith Wilson, had walked west from the area near Dayton, Ohio, looking for likely land to settle. They chanced their prospecting trip in 1832, missing the drama of the Black Hawk War, which by the time they arrived, had moved north and west and then fizzled to a bloody conclusion with the deaths of hundreds of Sauk and Fox men, women, and children.

Pearce, Daniel & Sarah

Daniel Pearce and his wife, Sarah, settled in Oswego in 1833, along with two of Daniel’s brothers and his brother-in-law, William Smith Wilson. (Little White School Museum collection)

It’s possible they came this direction because a Pearce relative, Jacob Carpenter, son-in-law of Elijah, Daniel, John, and Walter’s brother, had already come to Chicago. He may have gotten word back to them about his intentions to settle on the Fox River (he eventually became one of the first settlers of neighboring Montgomery). Whatever the reason, the Pearces and Wilson staked their claims—illegally because the land was still officially owned by the local tribes and had not been surveyed and placed for sale by the U.S. Government—and then headed back home to Ohio. There, they sold their farms and early the next year loaded their wagons and headed west to their new homes.

Luckily for them, 1833 was famed as “The Year of the Early Spring,” and they made good time on the trip, settling in quickly. Daniel settled along Waubonsie Creek where modern Route 34 crosses it and brother-in-law William Wilson chose land at what is today the busy “Five Corners” intersection in Oswego. Walter and John chose land across the Fox River.

Judson, Lewis B

Oswego was platted by Lewis B. Judson (above) and Levi F. Arnold in 1835, making it Kendall County’s oldest municipality. (Little White School Museum collection)

It didn’t take long for others to show up or to take advantage to the river ford located just above Waubonsie Creek’s mouth on the Fox River. Just two years after the Pearces arrived, businessmen Lewis B. Judson and Levi F. Arnold laid out a village along the eastern bank of the Fox River and named it Hudson after the region in New York from where so many new settlers came. The growing community was granted a post office in January 1837, and that year eligible (male only) voters officially changed its name to Oswego.

Growth was explosive at that early date. Kendall County was established in February 1841 with its county seat in Yorkville. But in 1845, Oswego engineered a successful vote to capture the county seat, whereupon the village gained financial advantages from the money spent in town by those doing legal business, while it also acted as a center for the surrounding agricultural hinterland. Oswego Township’s population had grown to 1,750 by 1850, just 17 years after the first settlers’ wagons arrived. By 1860, the township’s population had surged again to 2,109.

A year later, the second of the area’s historical inflection points, the Civil War, broke out. Kendall County was a heavy participant in the conflict, sending off roughly 10 percent of its total population to fight. And the disruption was noticeable. Oswego Township’s 1865 population, counted by the state, had already fallen from its 1860 high of 2,109 to 1,924 and when the 1870 federal census was taken, the number had decreased yet again, to 1,756. In fact, Oswego Township’s population would not surpass its 1860 high until the federal census of 1950 was taken nearly a century later.

Murdock, A.X

Alfred X. Murdock, who grew up in Oswego, was one of more than 200 young Kendall County men and boys who died during the Civil War and was one of 70 killed in action. Murdock was shot and died during the Battle of Ezra Church outside Atlanta. (Little White School Museum collection)

So what happened? First was the impact of the war itself. A total of 267 Kendall County men and boys died in military service, including eight as prisoners of war and 70 killed in action out of a total 1860 county population of 13,074, meaning two percent of the county’s total population died as a result of the war. Dozens of others survived the war only to die later of their wounds or of its psychological effects. In an era when PSTD was unknown, the drunkenness and mental problems of ex-soldiers were attributed to personal weaknesses and not the war’s effect.

Second, it’s not unreasonable to assume that soldiers’ wartime experiences made them less likely to be satisfied with their former, quiet lives as farmers and store clerks. With the passage of the Homestead Act in 1862, millions of acres of land had been opened for settlement west of the Mississippi, and that gave all those restless soldiers a place to try making new lives. Others decided to try carving new homes from the states of the old Confederacy. In short, there was no lack of opportunities and lots of folks took them. Those opportunities were enhanced by a new rail line built directly through Oswego in 1870. After that, it was easy for folks to load their goods aboard rail cars at the siding downtown and have them hauled west across the Mississippi to new towns growing up along the transcontinental railroad.

By the mid-1880s, the area’s population losses were palpable. Writing in the March 8, 1884 Kendall County Record, Oswego correspondent Lorenzo Rank reported on four more farming families, the Shumways, Linegars, the Alfred Wormleys and the August Schmidts loading their goods to head west. “If this exodus will continue much longer, there won’t be enough left of us for a quorum,” Rank grumbled.

1911 Oswego Phone switchboard

Although Oswego’s population did not recover its losses suffered after the Civil War, the community did enjoy modern improvements, such as the Chicago Telephone Company’s new switchboard in the Burkhart Building on South Main Street, shown here in March 1911. (Little White School Museum collection)

For the next four decades, Oswego continued to lose population. Not that conveniences and modern life didn’t arrive, of course. Electrical service, telephone communications, municipal gas service, and an interurban trolley line all came to make things easier for the average Oswegoan, along with progress out on the farm with mechanization and better, more efficient breeds of livestock and crops.

But Oswego’s steady population loss wasn’t turned around until the years following World War I. The township’s population in 1920 finally showed some growth. That was echoed in 1930 and again in 1940, despite the effects of the Great Depression that ravaged the area along with the rest of the country. By the early 1930s, economic conditions were so dire that Kendall County farmers and townsmen alike were willing to accept the U.S. Government’s help offered by a almost bewildering variety of alphabet agencies from WPA and PWA to NRA (the National Recovery Administration, not to be confused with today’s National Rifle Association) and AAA. In Oswego, WPA projects included adding onto and jacking up the Little White School to add a basement to funding a summer recreation program—the ancestor of today’s Oswegoland Park District. Another organization that helped the area was one more of those alphabet agencies, the CCC. Young men who signed up for a stint with the Civilian Conservation Corps were transported to national and state parks all over the country to build trails, lodges, picnic areas, and more. It not only gave them a little income, but it also removed them from the local employment pool at a time when unemployment was 30 percent and there just weren’t enough jobs to go around.

Which brings us to the last inflection point: World War II.

1944 July Seahorse Crew

The crew of the Balo Class submarine USS Seahorse, with the ship’s captain, Commander Slade Cutter sitting in the front row, fourth from left. An Oswego native, Cutter was one of the most successful submarine commanders of the war. (Little White School Museum collection)

Hundreds of young Kendall County men and women went off to fight the Axis powers, all of them serving in what became the biggest government program in the nation’s history. War work increased local employment as local factories switched from civilian products to the sinews of war. Lyon Metal Products in Montgomery, for instance, engaged in war work from manufacturing landing mats for amphibious operations in the South Pacific and fabricating vertical stabilizers for F4-U Corsair fighter planes. At the same time, work needs increased, the absence of all those young soldiers, sailors, and marines of both sexes caused wages to rise during the war years.

Local folks played integral roles in all aspects of the war. Oswego’s self-taught physicist Dwight Young worked directly with the Manhattan Project at Los Alamos, New Mexico, building the first atom bomb. Oswego farm boy, talented flautist, and Annapolis football and boxing All-American Slade Cutter became one of the war’s most successful submarine captains, sinking the second largest total of Japanese shipping and earning four Navy Crosses along with a host of other prestigious awards for valor.

After the war, all those young men and women came home and partook of the generous G.I. benefits, using them to build new homes and get college educations, giving the Oswego area its first economic bump forward.

1958 Aerial BH, Cat, Western Elect

Boulder Hill from the air in 1958, looking west. The new Caterpillar Tractor Company plant is in the upper left, while the Western Electric electronics manufacturing plant is just across the Fox River at mid-right. (Little White School Museum collection)

Then in the early 1950s, looking for good places to locate new factories, Caterpillar Tractor Company and Western Electric, the manufacturing arm of Bell Telephone Company, selected northern Oswego Township as the location for their new factories. Cat built new on a sprawling site along the old West River Road—Illinois Route 31—between Montgomery and Oswego, while Western Electric chose to rehab and enlarge a former wallpaper factory that had been turned to war work, located between the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy Railroad’s main line and the Fox River on the northern border of Oswego Township.

Don L. Dise, a native Pennsylvanian who was looking for housing development opportunities west of Chicago, heard about plans for the two huge plants and started looking for a good spot to build homes for those newly returned and married veterans. He put together a consortium of developers and in 1955 they purchased the old Boulder Hill Stock Farm where the Bereman family had raised more than 700 acres of crops along with thoroughbred Percheron draft horses. Naming their new development Boulder Hill after the old Bereman farm, Don L. Dise, Inc. began construction of what would become thousands of new homes in Kendall County’s first planned community.

Many if not most of those new homes were sold to former servicemen under the terms of the G.I. Bill, which meant nothing down and attractive financing, especially for new housing. But it wasn’t all ex-G.I.’s. A substantial contingent of professions, especially mid-level CB&Q Railroad executives, chose to located in Boulder Hill in those early years as well.

Dise’s plans not only called for homes. He also envisioned stores, churches, schools, and parks to make Boulder Hill a complete community similar to the Levittown developments in his native Pennsylvania. And he did it, too.

1978 Western Electric Plant

The Western Electric plant just across the Fox River from Boulder Hill once employed hundreds of workers. The plant was shuttered by Lucent Technologies in 1995 and demolished in 1997. (Little White School Museum collection)

In so doing he opened northeastern Kendall County to development. Which raised a few questions. Boulder Hill was situated in unincorporated Oswego Township and Dise had no plans to incorporate it into a separate municipality like Oswego or neighboring Montgomery. As a result, municipal services were fractured with municipal water eventually supplied by Montgomery; sanitary sewer service was provided by the Aurora Sanitary District; fire protection came from the Oswego Fire Protection District; police protection was supplied by the Kendall County Sheriff’s Department; library service came via the Oswego Township Library; street maintenance including snow plowing provided by Oswego Township; schools from Oswego Community School District 308; and park service from the Oswegoland Park District. With Boulder Hill as a model other unincorporated subdivisions popped up, the largest, the related Shore Heights and Marina Terrace developments right across the Fox River from Oswego.

If the new developments had any major societal shortcomings, it was the near total lack of people of color welcomed into them. That can probably be laid at the feet of how G.I. Bill loans were structured. They were approved by Southern legislators only with provisions that approval would be at the local, not the federal, level, which allowed blacks, Hispanics, and other minorities to be excluded. Not until the civil rights era of the late 1960s did things change in that respect.

The surge in development had a major impact on Oswego Township’s governmental services. Previously maintaining only rural roads, virtually all of them gravel surfaced, the Oswego Township Highway Department suddenly found itself maintaining dozens of miles of urban streets, sidewalks, and storm sewers. Oswego’s public schools also found themselves facing the pressure of rapidly increasing enrollments as the previously mainly rural school district began changing into a suburban district.

1968 Apr Hyper Sonic w Tower

Newly returned from Vietnam, 1964 Oswego High School grad Jim Williams snapped this photo of Brian Murphy’s “hyper-Sonic” at the Oswego Dragway in August 1968. (Little White School Museum collection)

The era attracted some late 20th Century innovations, the most famous of which was the Oswego Dragway, where drag racers from across the nation arrived every Sunday to compete on a quarter-mile track just west of the village on U.S. Route 34. They raced on a dirt strip for the first year or so before the owners, the Smith brothers, paved the former farmland with asphalt. It was extremely popular, drawing crowds from throughout the west suburban Chicago region. In 1957, at a time when Oswego’s population was just over 1,200, nearly 5,000 drivers, pit crew, officials, and spectators would show up to participate in, and watch the Sunday races.

Meanwhile, development continued apace until the Reagan recession of the early 1980s when it took a breather for a decade or so before accelerating again in the 1990s. And that’s when Oswego and Kendall County hit the development big-time. Until the recession of 2009, the area was, in percentage terms, often the fastest growing region of the country.

2004 OEHS exterior

Until the early 1980s, the Oswego School District operated one high school, two junior highs, and three elementary schools to educate around 4,000 students. As of the recently completed 2017-18 school year, the district now operates two high schools (including Oswego East High School, above); five junior high schools; 13 elementary schools and an early learning center that serve a total school district enrollment of more than 18,000 students.

By 1980, the Village of Oswego’s population stood at 3,021 while Boulder Hill’s totaled 9,333. Contrary to local legend, despite its size, Boulder Hill was never largest unincorporated subdivision in the United States, or even Illinois. But it was big—the biggest single community in Kendall County. But 1980 was Boulder Hill’s pinnacle. From that date on, an aging housing stock and a growing population of empty-nesters led to a steady decline in population on “the Hill.” Meanwhile, Oswego was growing, and growing fast, by annexing land on which ever-larger subdivisions were being built. In part, the village’s land annexations were made strategically, with an eye towards maintaining zoning control over nearby areas before neighboring communities could snap them up.

Those new developments all had the advantage of municipal services provided by Oswego’s municipal government. No waiting for a sheriff’s squad to respond to problems from far-off Yorkville or any waits for street maintenance, while residents enjoyed far cheaper solid waste pickup thanks to the village’s contracting with waste haulers.

By 1990, Oswego’s population had grown slightly to 3,876 while Boulder Hill’s had declined slightly to 8,894. But by 2000, Oswego boasted a total population of 13,326, easily—and for the first time ever—surpassing Boulder Hill’s 8,169. And by 2010, Oswego’s explosive growth was clear as its population stood at a remarkable 30,303. That was more than Kendall County’s entire 1970 population, and more than three times Boulder Hill’s 2010 population of 8,108.

Which, I believe, can all be traced back to a combination of events that merged with each other—into that inflection point—that began with the end of World War II: government G.I. Loan programs, a large population of young families, industrialization on a large scale making use of the area’s educated workforce, pent-up demand for financial investment, and plenty of land suitable for development.

It’s been an interesting journey from the time the Pearces got here in 1833, and it’s likely to get more so since history insists on happening anew every day.

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Filed under Business, Civil War, Government, History, Illinois History, Kendall County, Local History, Oswego, People in History, Semi-Current Events

It’s about time…

Remember that hour of sleep you gained last November when we went on Central Standard Time? Well it is coming due for payment as we switch to Central Daylight Savings Time. Before you go to bed on Saturday night, March 10, be sure to set your clocks ahead an hour.

As of 2 a.m. that Sunday morning here in the Central Time Zone, we all moved to Central Daylight Savings Time, meaning when it’s noon in Yorkville, it’s also noon in Ottumwa, Ia. and in Green Bay, Wis.

As you have probably gathered from material I’ve written over the years, one of the things I’m fascinated with is how things we take for granted came to be the way they are today. And time was, when it was 9 a.m. here in Oswego, it wasn’t anywhere close to 9 a.m. in, say, Council Bluffs, Ia. because each community set their clocks by when the sun was directly overhead at noon.

Image result for railroad time

The original time zone map for the United States has undergone a few modifications since the system was established in 1883, but for the most part the zones established 135 years ago are still largely intact.

This really wasn’t much of a problem for the first hundred years of the nation’s existence, but with the advent of railroads and their rapid expansion across the country, timing became a real challenge. It wasn’t only an issue with travelers, but safely scheduling increasingly fast trains on multiple tracks became a real, and sometimes deadly, problem.

So the big railroads in the U.S. and Canada got together and in 1883, they announced a new system of time zones across North America in which the time would be identical for all areas within each zone. And when the railroads, then the biggest economic power in the country, announced their new time zones were going to be put into effect starting Nov. 18, 1883, the entire nation was pretty much obliged to go along with them.

The Nov. 22, 1883 Kendall County Record announced the new time schedule in a prominent article headlined “Change of Railroad Time; Nine Minutes Slower.” As Record Editor John R. Marshall reported:

“By concerted action, which has been under discussion for some time, the leading railroads have established a new method of reckoning time, and it went into effect on Sunday last at noon.

“Heretofore, trains on different [rail]roads have been run on Chicago time or St. Louis time or Burlington or New York time, as the managers saw fit, and much inconvenience has been occasioned thereby. Now, instead of time being changed by the sun as we proceed east or west, for certain territories a fixed time has been established without regard to the time the sun’s ascension or declination would show. The territory is arbitrarily fixed by meridian lines, if we understand the matter rightly. With us, it is the 19th Meridian, known as ‘Central Standard Time,’ and it is nine minutes slower than Chicago time. This standard reaches to all points east of the Missouri river, so that, if we read right, 12 noon at Chicago is 12 noon at Council Bluffs, Ia. Under the old time, when it was 12 at Washington [D.C.], it was 11:17 at Chicago and 10:44 at Council Bluffs.”

A press release furnished the Record by the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy Railroad informed Marshall that:

“This new time will be generally adopted by all the railroads in this section of the country and I would suggest the advisability of your considering its adoption for the standard time in your city.”

In other words, communities were free to adopt the new standard time or not. But since all of the nation’s railroads were going to operate on the new time, and since railroads were then the backbone of the nation’s economic system, not adopting the new standard simply didn’t make much sense.

Locally, the impact wasn’t very great since Kendall County is so close to the center of what became the new Central Time Zone. As Lorenzo Rank, the Record’s Oswego correspondent observed in his Nov. 29 column:

“The new time arrangement by the railroad authorities has called forth many newspaper notices. This locality is hardly any affected by it, being left with the true time nearly as much so as before—the Chicago time by which it was governed was about 4 minutes too fast, that now adopted 5 minutes too slow—but on the dividing lines its effects will be much felt and work queerly.”

As Rank noted:

“On the west side of the line the time always will be 30 minutes ahead of the true time, while on the east side it will be 30 minutes behind, making a difference of one hour between the two sections, so when a man jumps on a horse and gallops to a place east over the line some distance, making it in 30 minutes, he will get there a half hour before he started from home, but in returning at the same speed, it will take him an hour and a half.”

Not all areas of the country agreed with the railroads’ effective seizure of authority to set local time. But use of standard time gradually increased because of its obvious practical advantages for communications and travel.

Image result for daylight savings time 1918

Daylight Savings Time was introduced as an energy saving measure during World War I. Dropped after the war, it was reestablished when World War II broke out.

Odd as it may seem, standardized time zones across the country were not established by U.S. law until the Standard Time Act of March 19, 1918, which also established Daylight Savings Time, a much more controversial idea, especially in rural areas like Kendall County.

Benjamin Franklin first proposed the idea of Daylight Savings Time in 1784, but it wasn’t until 1895 that George Vernon Hudson proposed its modern incarnation. Not until wartime conditions made the time right to establish nationally standardized time did Hudson’s idea become law. And an unpopular one at that.

But given the patriotism stirred up by World War I, the nation was willing to give it a try. Kendall County Record Editor Hugh R. Marshall (son of John R. Marshall quoted above) observed that the idea didn’t prove as problematic as many feared, asking in the April 3, 1918 edition:

“Didn’t mind it, did you? You never noticed the change of time after the novelty wore off, but did you notice that you did not burn so much light at night as before?”

But the nation’s farmers did notice it. Because the cows that needed milking and the cattle and hogs and chickens that needed feeding didn’t care one little bit about what the farmers’ clocks said. They were running on their own internal clocks provided and maintained by Mother Nature, not some arbitrary schedule, even if it was codified into law.

While Congress voted to repeal Daylight Savings Time after the war—over the veto of President Woodrow Wilson—the idea of standardized time zones across the entire country remained enshrined in law. Daylight Savings Time returned once again during World War II, again touted as a method of saving energy. Referred to as “War Time,” Congress again voted to repeal it as soon as the war was over, much to the glee of farmers across the nation. The Record’s Oswego correspondent happily observed in the Oct. 31, 1945 edition:

O! the joy and peace and contentment when the announcer is heard to say, “We have no two-timers this morning; Central Standard has come to stay,” (we hope).”

Daylight Savings Time was finally made law in 1974 in the midst of the energy crisis, touted, just as it had been during the two world wars, as a way to save energy. And this year, come Nov. 18, we’ll observe the 135th anniversary of the day they made everyone and every thing in the nation’s time zones start running on the same times.

 

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Filed under Business, Farming, Frustration, Government, History, Illinois History, Kendall County, Law, Local History, People in History, Semi-Current Events, Transportation, travel

It’s open water year round these days on the Fox River

Drive south on Ill. Route 25 along the Fox River from the Kane County line during the coldest winter months and you won’t help but notice that the farther you travel into Kendall County the more the amount of ice on the river increases.

Granted, the river from the Montgomery dam south to Oswego is generally swift moving and dotted with small rapids, but swift-flowing water isn’t the reason the Fox doesn’t freeze over, because it used to just a few decades ago.

So what’s the reason for the open water until you nearly reach Yorkville?

The main answer seems to be that the largest tributaries of the Fox River these days are not those creeks, springs, and wetlands created by the last Ice Age. Instead, we are the river’s largest tributaries—the men, women, and children who live in the Fox Valley.

When the 18th Century ended, it was less than three decades until the first permanent white settlers arrived in the Fox Valley. As 1799 turned into 1800, the river’s largest tributaries were the creeks that drained thousands of acres of wetlands that dotted the river valley from Wisconsin to the mouth of the Fox on the Illinois River. In Kendall County, the largest of these subsidiary streams were, from north to south, Waubonsie Creek, Morgan Creek, Blackberry Creek, and Big Rock Creek.

Most of these creeks were the main outlets for large wetlands. Waubonsie Creek, for instance, drained the Wabausia Swamp on the Kane-Kendall County border, a wetland that covered nearly a square mile. Morgan Creek, too, drained extensive wetlands that were the remains of a former glacial lake.

Both north and south, other smaller and larger streams and springs added their flows to the river.

During the winter months, the water that seeped and flowed into the river from its bordering wetlands and tributary creeks was cold, having been pre-cooled as it slowly made its way to the river.

1915 abt Drainage

One of the many rural drainage projects was this 24″ tile draining wetlands along Wolf’s Crossing Road into Waubonsie Creek about 1911. This particular project was dug by hand. (Little White School Museum collection)

As soon as the settlers arrived, they began to wage war on the Fox Valley’s expansive wetlands. Over a 50-year period, they aggressively drained marshland and channelized streams, the former to create more farmland and the latter to drain stormwater into the river as quickly as possible to stop nearby farmland from flooding. Their efforts were extremely effective, even given that all the earliest drainage work was completed by animal power and hand labor. By the start of the 20th Century, drainage efforts continued, now assisted by steam-powered dredges.

The result was the addition of additional tillable land, and the elimination of wetlands that were homes to hordes of disease-carrying insects. Drying up the county’s numerous marshes and sloughs led to a precipitous decline in the occurrence of malaria—called “the ague” by the settlers.

But a major unintended consequence of all those drainage efforts was that they not only sharply decreased the summer and winter flows of the river, but they also led to more frequent flooding. That’s because the stormwater “banks” created by the county’s wetlands and meandering streams were eliminated. Instead of runoff trapped in sloughs and marshes slowly soaking in to recharge ground water supplies and be slowly discharged over a period of weeks following rainstorms or snow melt, the runoff was rapidly channeled into the Fox River where it flowed downstream to the Illinois River. When dry months arrived, there was no water “bank” to add to the river’s flows, and it nearly dried up during some dry periods.

In addition, the velocity of the water from the Fox’s tributaries greatly increased due to the elimination of meanders in the streams—channelization—and the disappearance of the wetlands that once slowed the speed of stormwater runoff. That resulted in farmland drying out much more quickly after precipitation fell, but it also resulted in more erosion, with the area’s incredibly rich topsoil washing into the fast-flowing channelized streams. The fast-flowing muddy water caused major flooding far more frequently.

Fox Metro plant

The Fox Metro Water Reclamation District’s sprawling wastewater treatment plant between Montgomery and Oswego is today a major Fox River tributary.

And then, as the 19th Century ended, a new sort of tributary started adding to the river’s flows, this one far from the crystal clear water that was once generated by wetlands and meandering creeks. In the early decades of the 20th Century, it finally became apparent, that simply dumping raw sewage, from human waste to industrial products, didn’t get rid of the problem; it just moved it downstream. The human, animal, and industrial waste pumped directly into the river began to be treated to greater or lesser degrees as recognition of the dangers of pollution became clearer, and as wastewater treatment technology advanced.

With the Fox Valley’s population growth, the increasing volume of body temperature sewage began raising the river’s temperature, but at first there wasn’t enough inflow volume to noticeably affect it. As late as the late 1960s, the river regularly froze over all the way from Aurora south to Yorkville. When I was in high school in the early 1960s, we regularly ice skated on the river from Oswego north to Boulder Hill, a distance of three or so miles.

Ice skating on Fox

In about 1920, when this photo was snapped on the frozen Fox River immediately upstream from the Oswego bridge, the river regularly froze over and offered a fine site for community ice skating. (Little White School Museum collection)

But shortly after that, as my friend, Dr. Paul Baumann, pointed out in his 1976 monograph, A Bicentennial History of the Fox River, by the time we celebrated the United States’ 200th birthday, about one-third of the water in the Fox River had already been used at least once by humans or businesses by the time it reached Kendall County.

And then came the Fox Valley’s explosive growth from the 1970s into the first decade of the 21st Century. With that growth, it’s likely the river’s single largest tributary has become the sanitary sewage treatment plants linking the river’s banks. And the relative warmth of that water (it’s slightly warmer, but no less pure than water already in the river thanks to modern wastewater treatment technology) means that nowadays the river seldom freezes between the Fox Valley Water Reclamation District’s huge wastewater treatment plant, located across the river from Boulder Hill, and the pool created behind the Yorkville dam.

Ice Houses

This view of Esch Brothers & Rabe’s ice houses north of Oswego, taken about 1890, gives an idea of the size of the company’s ice harvesting operation. (Little White School Museum collection)

As shallow as it is now and historically has been, the Fox River was never a main transportation route, but its dams did provide power for mills, its waters were rich in clams harvested for freshwater pearls and shells for buttons, and in winter its ice was harvested for use in both the home and industry. In fact, huge ice harvesting operations were conducted at each of the dams across the river, including at Yorkville and Oswego. How huge? In 1880, the Esch Brothers & Rabe ice company shipped 581 railcars of ice from Oswego. Of that number, they shipped 124 railcars full of ice from Oswego in August alone. By 1884, the ice company was shipping nearly 1,100 railcars of ice annually.

It’s fortunate cooling technology advanced so far that we don’t require that ice today, because through the impact on the environment of our mere presence here in the Fox Valley, we’ve managed to raise the river’s average temperature so much that it seldom freezes along much of its length in northern Kendall and southern Kane counties.

 

 

 

 

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When sledding was good in the Fox Valley

Time was, we could joke about northern Illinois climate consisting of winter and six weeks of bad sledding. But in recent years, the favorite lament of Midwesterners—until 2017 wrapped up, at least—has been the general lack of an old-fashioned winter.

Historically, that’s been a common complaint. For instance, on Dec. 27, 1916, Kendall County Record Editor H.R. Marshall was pleased to report that, at last, Kendall County was enjoying a fine old-fashioned winter, although modern life was intruding into the enjoyment a bit:

“No one can complain of the good old-fashioned Christmas weather for 1916. Snow on the ground and the thermometer hovering around zero makes one think of the earlier days. But the thing that is missing is the tinkle of sleigh bells. Once in a while you see a sleigh or a bob [sled} go by but little of the jingle that makes one feel that there is some pleasure in the world. The raucous toot of the auto horn and the sound of the open muffler have taken the place of ‘Old Dobbin.’”

A century plus a year later, things are different still. We have occasional cold snaps, as my dad used to call them, but then the weather usually warms, the snow and ice melts. And in recent years it never really returned during late winter.

1922 Trolley & ice skaters @Oswego

Ice skating on the Fox River at the Oswego Bridge about 1922 as the interurban trolley car crosses southbound on its way to Yorkville. In those days, the river froze solid most winters. (Little White School Museum collection)

This winter’s cold snap, however, is proving persistent. The Fox River hardly ever freezes solid between Aurora and Yorkville any more—this year, even as cold as it’s been, is no exception—because it is so warm, and not necessarily due to global warming, either. The major tributaries of today’s Fox River are the municipal sanitary plants that line its banks, pumping out their streams of warm treated wastewater. You can see the results of that by driving along Ill. Route 25 opposite the Fox Metro Water Reclamation District’s plant in Oswego Township on a cold winter day. Just note the vapor rising from the treated water as it enters the river.

This year, however, not only have we had unusual cold, but we’ve also had a bit of snow as well. The cold arrived earlier in December, followed by a good covering of snow. And then as the New Year arrived, we began experiencing one of those old-fashioned cold snaps that almost made it seem like old times.

Which sort of leads us back to the point about sledding. If sledding was bad during some parts of the year, when was it good?

In those days of yore when I was young and the weather was colder more often, sledding possibilities were many and varied. When we lived out on the farm, we’d trudge what seemed to be miles to an abandoned gravel pit adjacent to our farm and ride our sleds down the nearly vertical slopes.

Besides that, my parents enjoyed having bobsled parties. My dad put his hayrack on a bobsled running gear every winter, hooked up the tractor, and everyone scrambled on board, sitting on bales of hay and straw. Away we went down country roads and farm lanes with everyone having a whale of a good time. The kids hooked their sleds onto the back of the bobsled with ropes and hung on for dear life as the party enjoyed themselves, after which hot chocolate and coffee and my mother’s great desserts capped the evening off.

The Hill horizontal S

The Second Street hill, looking west. The road makes a right-angle curve to the left at the bottom of the hill where Second joins North Adams Street. These days, the road is paved with asphalt.

When we moved to Oswego, bobsled parties were things of the past, but sledding opportunities grew. There was the road off Ill. Route 25 down to our street, for instance. Second Street is still a fairly steep climb today, although it’s paved with asphalt these days and village snowplow crews keep it cleared and well salted.

In the days of my childhood, however, Second Street was gravel, we were in the township, and we were lucky to see a plow for a while after the snow stopped. As a result, the hill’s gravel surface got snow-packed and slippery. All the locals knew you could drive down the hill with reasonable safety, but that most cars and trucks couldn’t make it up the slippery surface, especially since motorists almost always needed to stop at the Route 25 intersection. So traffic on the hill was light when there was snow on the ground.

And us kids quickly realized it made for a great sledding opportunity. You could start at the top and speed down, and if skillful enough, make the sharp turn at the bottom to head south on North Adams Street. A quarter mile distance was not difficult to achieve.

Sledding course

The trick to ensure a long sled ride was making the curve at the bottom of the Second Street hill.

Occasionally, we’d help Mother Nature out a bit by sprinkling water on the street, especially near the top and near the old CB&Q tracks to give us a bit more speed. It wasn’t unheard of for us to build up a bit of a snow bank on the curve where Second met North Adams Street, to allow us to make the curve a bit easier. Very careful and skillful sledders could make the curve at the bottom and head south on North Adams, sometimes all the way to the driveway at my folks’ house.

Motorists, however, did not appreciate our work, and cinders were soon sprinkled to offer a bit of traction for motorists.

We weren’t the only ones who sledded on the streets, either. In an editorial during a snowy winter in December 1952, Oswego Ledger Editor Ford Lippold wrote:

“Several motorists have reported that they had close calls during the past few days with children coasting on the streets. It is hard for motorists to stop quickly even when moving at a snail’s pace on the icy streets of the village.”

One winter, we got a good snowfall, and then it warmed up enough so that a very wet snow covered it, after which it turned very cold once again. That left an icy crust that measured nearly an inch thick on top of the snow, and provided some of the best sledding ever. That winter, we marked out a course that ran from my best friend Glenn’s backyard diagonally all the way to Bill Crimmins’ house. It led to some remarkably speedy trips across the ice, although control was a bit problematical. The most dangerous stretch of the route passed under a grape arbor’s wires. All but one of us were careful to duck our heads as we sped down the course, but he lifted his head at just the wrong time to see if anyone was gaining on him. The resulting gash in his face, and its spectacular amount of blood, spelled the end of our sledding on that course for the rest of the winter.

1940 abt Hall, Levi House Main Street cropped

Nellie Wormley Herren stands outside her ornate home on South Main Street during the winter of 1940. Generations of local kids had great fun coasting on the hill behind her house, where the ground sloped steeply down towards the railroad tracks and the Fox River. (Little White School Museum collection)

There were other good sledding spots around town then, near Smith’s Pond, and in Mrs. Herren’s backyard off Main Street to name two off the top of my head.

Kids in Kendall County’s other towns enjoyed the same opportunities during those years of less traffic and fewer parental worries about whether their children were safe from the many challenges of modern life. I imagine almost anyone growing up in Plano or Yorkville or Newark during that era can name their favorite sledding spots, too. For instance, on Jan. 20, 1915, Marshall wrote in the Record about the good sledding on the Bridge Street hill—something that would be suicidal today with Bridge Street’s busy four lanes of traffic:

“While the coasting on the Bridge street hill has been fine and called out large crowds for several weeks, there were several accidents that lamed some of the young folks.”

So, yes, we really did have good sledding back in the day. Enough to establish a contrast so we knew when it was bad, anyway.

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A modest proposal: Honor the REAL Southern heroes of the Civil War

Almost in spite of myself, I’ve been reading a couple book lately that have given me some food for thought, especially given the recent controversy over monuments to Confederate officials and ideals.

In general, I am not a big Civil War fan. I find it one of the most wasteful conflicts this country has ever engaged in—and we’ve been part of some real doozies. I’ve just never been able to get my head around a large chunk of the United States, founded on the principal that all men are created equal, violently attacking the rest of the country in order to force the expansion of slavery on them.

Nevertheless, last fall, I read Ron Chernow’s Grant (Penguin Press, New York, 2017), his fine biography of U.S. Army general and former President Ulysses S. Grant. Then this past month in Causes Won, Lost, & Forgotten: How Hollywood and Popular Art Shape What We Know About the Civil War (University of North Carolina Press, Chapel Hill, 2008), I found that author Gary W. Gallagher (besides giving me a warm, fuzzy feeling by using the Oxford comma in the title) makes several good points about how everyone from Hollywood producers to publishing houses to artists have distorted the facts of the Civil War, from its causes to its basic historical facts to its effects on the country.

Some of the good points in both those books led me to wonder if there isn’t another way to solve the Confederate monument problem. My idea is pretty simple: why not erect monuments to the real Southern heroes of the war? Not the traitors that resigned their commissions in the United States Army and the U.S. Navy to serve in armed rebellion against their own country, but the Southerners who resisted the appeal to treason and remained loyal to their country and Constitution.

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Although Virginian Gen. Winfield Scott was unable to take the field when the Civil War broke out, he did help President Abraham Lincoln devise the strategy that eventually won the war while remaining loyal to his country.

Take Winfield Scott, for instance. Serving as the U.S. Army’s commander in chief when the war began, Virginian Scott not only remained loyal to the Union—unlike Robert Lee—but he also outlined the strategy that President Lincoln adopted that eventually won the war.

Or George H. Thomas, another Virginian, whose decision, again unlike Lee, to honor his oath to defend the Constitution cost him his family, which disowned him. Thomas rose through the ranks of the U.S. Army to become one of its most respected commanders, earning the sobriquet “The Rock of Chickamauga” for the stand his corps took during that battle that prevented the complete collapse of the Union army.

Or on the civilian front, maybe Sam Houston deserves recognition for his principled stand when he was pressured to betray his country. Houston, the governor of Texas when the war broke out, refused to swear loyalty to the Confederacy and so was removed from office after which he retired to his home after a distinguished political and military career in Tennessee and Texas.

Or on the female side, how about Elizabeth Van Lew, an outspoken Virginian abolitionist who decided to stay in her home in the Confederacy’s capital of Richmond, Va., where astonishingly enough, she ran an effective spy ring throughout the war that fed information to the American government. She was even able to place one of her operatives inside Confederate President Jefferson Davis’s household. Certainly she ought to be entitled to at least a few monuments for that alone.

And we shouldn’t forget the largely anonymous, regular citizens and the escaped slaves from southern states who served their country against the pressures to transfer their allegiance to the treasonous Confederacy. Surely some of the 100,000 Unionist Whites who served against the secessionists in their own states, or a few of the 94,000 escaped slaves and free Blacks who fought against the Confederacy deserve monuments to their service and heroism.

Those Black soldiers who fought in the U.S. Colored Troops (USCT) regiments deserve special recognition if anyone does. When they were first mustered into federal service they were paid less than their White comrades, although that disparity was eventually rectified. In addition, they faced excessive cruelty from Confederates when captured in battle. It was not uncommon for Black prisoners to be summarily executed, while others were forced back into slavery and otherwise brutalized.

1893 Hughes, Nathan & Wife

Nathan Hughes, shown in 1893 with his wife, escaped from slavery, traveled to Illinois, joined the U.S. Army and fought to free his people before returning to Oswego after the war to farm. (Little White School Museum collection)

Many of the Black troops who served in the USCT who enlisted in Northern states were actually escaped slaves from south of the Ohio River. A good example is Kendall County’s own Nathan Hughes who escaped from slavery in Kentucky and made his way to Illinois where he subsequently enlisted in the 29th USCT Infantry Regiment. Since slavery remained legal in Kentucky throughout the war until the 13th Amendment was ratified in December 1865, if Hughes hadn’t escaped, he would almost certainly have been prohibited from serving. Instead he had a distinguished career, being wounded twice, the first time in the hip during the infamous Battle of the Crater at Petersburg, Va., and the second time in the hand during a skirmish later in the war. The 29th, by the way, was on hand at Appomattox Courthouse when Gen. Grant accepted the surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia.

Then there was Anthony “Tony” Burnett who was a slave during the war when Company C of the 4th Illinois Volunteer Cavalry Regiment came to visit. Pvt. Bob Jolly apparently convinced Tony he’d have more fun riding with the cavalry, and he spent the rest of the war as a company cook. After the war, Bob and Tony came back to Oswego. Tony moved around some, apparently got married and had children, and is buried in the Oswego Township Cemetery here in town.

While about 5,500 Blacks from South Carolina—the state that initiated the Civil War by attacking Fort Sumter—served in U.S. regiments during the war, no Whites from the Palmetto State did. But 25,000 White North Carolinians did serve in the U.S. Army during the war, joining 42,000 Tennesseans, 22,000 Virginians and thousands of others from the rest of the Confederate states.

1st Alabama Trooper

Trooper from the 1st Alabama Volunteer Cavalry, one of the only integrated units to fight during the Civil War, was mostly comprised of White pro-Union Alabama residents. (miniature by an artist on the OSW [One-Sixth Warriors] website)

If one story of the Civil War was hidden over the years, especially by Southern historians and propagandists, it was this huge number of White and Black Southerners who declined to participate in the mass treason that was the Confederate States of America. I was about as guilty as anyone in failing to be aware of just how many patriotic Southerners there were between 1861 and 1865. It really didn’t click for me until our second visit to the Gettysburg National Battlefield when an exhibit in the on-site museum caught my eye enumerating the numbers of Southerners who fought for the Union.

A big fan of Western movies as a youngster, I was familiar with the nickname “Galvanized Yankees” given to captured Southern soldiers who agreed to fight against the Plains Indian tribes during the Civil War as a way to avoid the hardships of Union prison camps. But none of the history I’d learned in junior high or high school had mentioned that tens of thousands regular Southern citizens declined to fight against their country during the war and instead fought for the Union.

Certainly these men, Black and White, deserve to be honored with monuments to their heroism in marching against the historical tide of their home states, something that led to many of the White volunteers being disowned by their families and ostracized by their communities for their refusal to commit treason.

If the recent past’s arguments about who deserves a monument have taught us anything, it ought to be that erecting heroic statues to traitors is not a good idea. Nor is the puzzling practice of proudly waving the Confederacy’s battle flag. After all, you don’t see statues erected in honor of World War II German generals in Germany, and statues and other monuments to monsters such as Saddam Hussein came tumbling down as soon as people realized they didn’t need to be afraid of them any more. And flying flags bearing swastikas is a good way to get arrested in Germany.

So if people want to be proud of Southerners who fought during the Civil War, why not honor those who remained true to the Constitution and refused to do the popular regional thing and commit treason? Seems like it’s an ideal that’s been a long time—too long a time, in fact—coming. Unless, of course, the idea behind those monuments wasn’t to honor brave Southerners in the first place, but was rather to intimidate Black citizens and those who remained loyal to the Union. Right?

 

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My generation’s skewed view of the Civil War and Reconstruction still causing problems

Over at Lawyers, Guns & Money, one of the blogs I read regularly, Eric Loomis posted an interesting piece recently entitled “Trump’s Generation and Civil War Education.” Loomis was trying to get a handle on where the current occupant of the White House got his clearly crackpot views of the Civil War by looking at how U.S. history was taught in the 1960s when Trump—and I—were both getting our basic educations.

Frankly, I don’t think looking at how history was taught 60 years ago has much bearing on how Trump views the topic. Trump is astonishingly incurious about virtually everything except himself. His elementary and junior high and high school education is not to blame for the bigotry, ignorance, and racism he displays all too often. That can more easily be explained by looking at how he was raised—which, as my mother would have put it, was not well.

But it did get me to thinking about how the history of the Civil War was taught when I was in junior high and high school, which was schizophrenic at best, outright racist at worst, and definitely skewed towards the myth of “The Lost Cause” that was constantly reinforced by a host of movies (John Ford’s cavalry trilogy for just one example) and TV series like “The Rebel.”

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Abolitionist John Brown lived up to his reputation as a murderous lunatic and was hanged for his troubles.

We were told John Brown’s raid on the U.S. Arsenal at Harper’s Ferry was bad and he was a murderous lunatic; the Underground Railroad was good. Secession was bad, but the North’s lording it over the South created a conflict driven by trying to curtail the rights of the Southern states. Oh, and slavery was sort of an issue, too. Lincoln was a saint. Robert E. Lee was likewise a saint, a kindly, dignified, honorable man who bravely chose to fight for his home state of Virginia instead of for those ruthless northern invaders. Ulysses Grant was a grim, alcoholic butcher. Confederates were wonderful soldiers. Yankees reveled in attacking Southern civilians. John Wilkes Booth was bad. Reconstruction was a terrible burden on the South, which was ravaged by Yankee carpetbaggers and the Southern scalawags who supported them. Freeing the slaves was a good thing, sort of, but left them pining for their old plantation homes. The Ku Klux Klan was a clearly bad, but it was an understandable reaction to the depredations of those corrupt carpetbaggers and scalawags. President Andrew Johnson was not as well liked as President Lincoln had been, but he was afflicted with Radical Republicans who were clearly unreasonable in their hatred of the South.

It wasn’t until I got to college that these truths I had been taught during 12 years of elementary and high school started to unravel. And it took years of self-education before I came to the conclusion that the Civil War was plainly a war of Southern aggression, not, as generations of Southern apologists had claimed, a war caused by the Northern invasion of a tranquil South.

Actually, some of those truths learned long ago turned out to be true—John Brown was a homicidal maniac who, just like today’s anti-abortion fanatics, saw terrorism as a perfectly defensible political tactic and murder of certain people entirely reasonable.

Andrew Johnson, a pro-slavery Democrat, was a personally unpleasant man who, if not hated, was roundly disliked by almost everyone with whom he came into contact.

1859 Underground Railroad

This map of the Underground Railroad through LaSalle and Kendall counties, was published in the 1914 history of Kendall County. It seems authentic in that the chapter’s author, Sarah Raymond Fitzwilliam, interviewed county residents still living who had participated in helping escaping slaves.

And the Underground Railroad was a good thing, indeed, a perfect example of effective non-violent protest against a great moral wrong. But almost without exception it left those whites who acted as the conductors feeling forever after uncomfortable that they’d broken the law in helping enslaved Americans escape to freedom. I’ve often wondered whether their discomfort with what they did during that era had an impact on why so many in the North were so ambivalent about the terrorist Jim Crow regimes the southern states developed.

Other truths I learned so long ago were either outright lies or shadings of the truth so extreme as to make them lies. The South did not secede over any state’s rights issue other than slavery. They, in fact, said so at the time in the resolutions of secession their state governments passed. Slavery was not AN issue for secession; it was THE issue.

Southerners were good soldiers, but so were the boys in blue; they all did their jobs, the difference mainly being the unfortunate selection of military leaders the North found itself saddled with as the war began. It took two or three years for the North’s officer corps to rid itself of raging incompetence, and when the winnowing process was finished, the North found itself with a top command that was probably the best in the world at the time.

Robert Edward Lee.jpg

Robert Lee in a March 1864 portrait taken the same month Gen. Ulysses S. Grant was appointed to command the armies of the United States. The war was about to enter its final phase; a year and a month after this portrait was taken, Lee was compelled to surrender the Army of Northern Virginia to Grant..

Then there was Robert Lee, who was neither an honorable man, nor particularly kindly. He was a slave owner who had no compunctions about the practice. His former slaves had nothing good to say about a man who repeatedly violated his moral duty to those he held in bondage by continually breaking up slave families, something that had not been a regular practice among his Custis family in-laws until he took over the operation of their plantations.

Lee violated his oath of office as a U.S. Army officer and committed treason on behalf of maintaining the South’s system of human bondage. He was a pretty good tactician who was fortunate in his opponents early in the war, but he was a terrible strategist who never figured out that the South’s very limited material and human resources had to be conserved at all costs. Instead of fighting a defensive war, he determined to fight a ferociously offensive one, almost guaranteeing his defeat. Lee enjoyed war, famously quoted as remarking “It is well that war is so terrible – otherwise we should grow too fond of it.”

Grant, on the other hand, was a pretty good tactician (Sherman was a better tactician) who had a brilliant grasp of grand strategy. Finally convinced after the battle of Shiloh the South would never accede to a voluntarily return to the Union, Grant grimly went about the task of forcing them to surrender by destroying their armies and their capacity to wage war. Unlike Lee, Grant was under no

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Gen. Ulysses S. Grant in June 1864 at Cold Harbor, Va. A good but not brilliant tactician, Grant saved his brilliance for grand strategy, that he used to destroy Southern armies and the Confederacy they propped up.

illusions about war. “Although a soldier by profession, I have never felt any sort of fondness for war, and I have never advocated it, except as a means of peace,” Grant explained in a speech in London two decades after the Civil War. (For a really good, brand new biography of Grant, read Grant by Ron Chernow.)

After the war, there was no doubt here in northern Illinois about what the war had been fought over. And there was not much fondness shown towards the rebel South by their Union opponents, either. There was general outrage as it became clear the former Southern power structure was behind the formation of terrorist groups, primarily the Ku Klux Klan, formed to cow freed African Americans and to deprive them of their rights. To the rescue there came U.S. Grant once again, but this time as President. The series of laws he got Congress to pass, the three Enforcement Acts in the early 1870s, provided legal tools to successfully suppress the Klan and it’s imitators.

But trouble was already on the horizon as the 1876 Presidential campaign got underway. As the Kendall County Record warned its readers in August, 1876: “Those who, from 1861 to 1865 attempted to destroy our government by armed rebellion are now gradually getting the political control of that government into their hands. This is a very serious matter and deserves public attention.”

Unfortunately, the tools Grant helped put in place were largely eliminated following the political deal that led to the election of Republican Rutherford B. Hayes in 1877 over Democrat Samuel Tilden. The election was basically a draw, and was thrown into the U.S. House of Representatives. The deal, known as the Compromise of 1877, swung the election to Hayes and directly led to the removal of U.S. troops from the South and the gradual institution of what became known as the Jim Crow laws that violently oppressed millions of Black Southerners until the civil rights era of the 1960s at least restored their voting rights. But even so, federal laws were still enforced for a while there, the Kendall County Record reporting on Nov. 1, 1884: “Some first families in Georgia have come to grief. A number of their young men belonged to the Kuklux gang and committed horrible outrages on negroes; a number of them were arrested, tried, and to their great astonishment, eight of them were convicted and go to the penitentiary. The young men wept when the verdict struck them. This is no Northern campaign lie.”

But unreconstructed former Confederate soldiers, officers, and government officials soon regained political power throughout the Old South, putting in place systematic oppression of black citizens.

The casual racism of my childhood seems almost unbelievable today when I think back on it (we still did musical minstrel shows, with end men in blackface through my high school years), racism that was reinforced by what we were taught as U.S. history. The remnants of that history still have a negative affect on the way far too many of us view race relations and sectionalism today. So I suppose it may have had a negative affect on Donald Trump’s outlook on those issues, too. Except that I don’t think it would matter in Trump’s case one way or another, especially since his father was apparently at least a Klan sympathizer and at worst a member of the group. Trump’s a person who simply doesn’t see it as his responsibility to learn anything about anything unless it will have a positive personal effect on him. For instance, his Trump National Golf Course on Lowe’s Island at Sterling, Va., near Washington, D.C. features a historical marker explaining about the “River of Blood,” a Civil War battle he insists took place on the land along the Potomac River now covered by the course. No battle happened there; it’s simply all made up. That’s not something he can blame his junior high history teachers for.

So while our educations concerning U.S. history were definitely lacking as children of the 1950s and early 1960s, it’s a stretch to blame Trump’s ignorance of the topic on that. After all, he’s had more than 60 years to educate himself.

 

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