By Heather Rockwood, Communications Associate

In Part One of this story,  we discussed John Quincy Adam’s (JQA) diary entry from 1 December 1786, in which he described an altercation along a snowy riverbank between militiamen and a leader of the Regulators, a force of men formed to fight back against the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, as a result of heavy taxes on the financially burdened citizens of Western Massachusetts.

Going back several days in the diary to 23 November 1786, JQA writes about the “insurgents” coming to Cambridge where he is attending Harvard:

Whitney arrived in the evening; he comes from Petersham, in Worcester county, and says the insurgents threaten coming to prevent the setting of the court of common pleas, in this Town, next week.

On 27 November 1786, he writes in a more excited manner:

This evening, just before prayers about 40 horsemen, arrived here under the command of Judge Prescott of Groton, in order to protect the court to-morrow, from the rioters. We hear of nothing, but Shays and Shattuck: two of the most despicable characters in the community, now make themselves of great consequence. There has been in the course of the day fifty different reports flying about, and not a true one among them.

In the days that followed, it is clear this excitement is not JQA’s alone. On 29 January 1786, he reports that:

Lovell, a classmate of mine, is half crazy, at hearing so much news. He wants to be doing something, and is determined by some means or other to fight the insurgents. He says he is no politician, he was made for an active life, but he cannot live in a place, where there is so much news.

It is also clear that JQA has no inclination to join the militia, only the urge to record the news in his diary, which he writes with as much enthusiasm as the dinners, dances, classes, and meetings he’s attending.

The sentiment towards the insurgents is not positive in Cambridge and elsewhere, as is noted in the original diary entry: “The gentlemen, were not molested however in bringing him off; but had every where every assistance given them, that they were in want of, and the apparent good will of every one, wherever they went,” as well as in his classmates wanting to fight the insurgents. On 30 November 1786, JQA reports that two militias moved through the area to try to chase down the insurgents who had turned around when they learned of the militia in Cambridge, and he records his own sentiments on the news:

There seems to be a small spark of patriotism, still extant; it is to be hoped, that it will be fanned, and kindled by danger, but not smothered by sedition.

Job Shattuck, the man who was captured in the diary entry, had an interesting past and had been against the burdensome taxes since 1782. Twice he had been a war hero, first as a soldier in the Seven Years’ War, and then during the Revolutionary War. He was a farmer with a large house and more land than anyone else in Groton. His family, including his wife Sarah who detained a Tory courier during the Revolutionary War, were champions of liberty and wholeheartedly stood behind the Sons of Liberty. Shattuck felt that the taxes were excessive and the same as the taxes imposed without representation by Britain’s parliament. At fifty years old, his age, war experience, and local respect made him a natural leader. He and his Regulators successfully shut down the Concord court in September 1786.

In November 1786, Governor Bowdoin issued a warrant for Shattuck’s arrest, which brings us back again to JQA’s diary and its tale of Shattuck’s capture. During the altercation, his knee was wounded by a sword, and once brought to jail his injury was not tended to for four days. He was held for five months before his petition to be released was granted, but only on account of his still festering wound and his persistent community support. He returned home to Groton. It may be that the rebellion’s last effort in January 1787—when Shattuck was in jail—made Governor Bowdoin more willing to grant clemency.

Shattuck was tried, found guilty, and sentenced to hang, but a pardon from the governor could save his life. Fortunately for Shattuck, John Hancock was reelected governor and postponed the hanging. By July, Shattuck was pardoned. He walked the rest of his life with a crutch and died in 1819 at the age of 83.

However, the rebellion’s story ended much sooner for JQA. By 2 December 1786, he wrote:

The Court adjourned from hence this afternoon, and Cambridge is not at present in danger of being the immediate scene of action. These rebels have for these three months, been the only topic of conversation all over the Commonwealth.

Other resources for further reading on Shays’ Rebellion

Petition from Job Shattucks, Middlesex County Court

Grand Jury Notes, October 1786

Letter from Mary Smith Cranch to Abigail Adams

Letter from Benjamin Hichborn to John Adams

By Heather Rockwood, Communications Associate

Last month I wrote a story about swords in the MHS collection and while researching that topic, I came across a compelling diary entry by a 19-year-old John Quincy Adams (JQA) in 1786. He wrote the following on Friday, 1 December 1786:

They proceeded a little further, and saw in the snow the tracks of a man, going from the common road. They suspected them to be his, and followed them. Mr. Sampson Read, first saw him, on the opposite bank of a small river, and immediately cross’d it on the ice; Shattuck then came to a stand, and said to Read: “I know you not; but whoever you are you are a dead man.” Read ascended the bank; a scuffle between them ensued. Read fell over the Bank, and the other, in making a violent push, at him, lost his sword, and fell upon him. He recovered his sword however, and was just about to pierce his antagonist with it, when Dr. Rand of Boston, arrived, and drew the sword from his hand, backwards by the hilt; at the same time Fortescue Vernon aimed at Shattucks arm, but the sword glanced, and wounded him dangerously in the knee, upon which he immediately surrendered himself; but said he should be rescued in half an hour: the gentlemen, were not molested however in bringing him off; but had every where every assistance given them, that they were in want of, and the apparent good will of every one, wherever they went.

The men relaying the tale caught Job Shattuck, who was one of the leaders of some of the preliminary actions leading up to Shays’ Rebellion, in particular, preventing courts from meeting. Reading JQA’s diary entries on the previous days reveal his interest and excitement on hearing this news, with a small bit of reflection on 30 November:

A republic must very frequently be called back to the principles of its government, and so long as it has sufficient virtue for that, its constitution will stand firm.

I didn’t know too much about Shays’ Rebellion, so I did some reading, and here is what I gleaned. After the Revolutionary War ended in 1783, soldiers returned home to Massachusetts where hard currency was scarce, and a barter economy became more popular in the western hills of Massachusetts. Creditors, however, demanded to be paid in hard currency. Soldiers had been paid little, if at all, during the war, and many returned home impecunious. The financial situation was so dire that the only assets for some farmers were their land and their animals. Despite Great Britain’s ban on all trade with the colonies (and John Adams was in London trying to restart that trade during this period)― Massachusetts’s coastal towns were faring much better with their markets based on hard currency. This was the economic situation when Massachusetts started levying land and other taxes to help pay for its war debt and a portion of its foreign debt.

These taxes also had to be paid with hard currency, which was easily accomplished in the coastal towns but presented a heavy burden to the inland communities. Tax collectors began seizing property—usually farm animals—to sell at auction for a fraction of their worth to pay off the tax. Standoffs between tax collectors and citizens began as early as 1782. In 1783, mobs formed to take back the property brought to auction. Dissenters wrote petitions to the state legislature, calling for the state to print and distribute money to reduce the worth of the currency in circulation, but these petitions were denied or ignored. In addition, citizens without land still owed taxes, but could not vote, and thus were not represented in the Massachusetts legislature that was deciding on the tax laws. To these citizens, the circumstances were the same as just before the Revolutionary War. Some citizens even said that life was better under British rule!

In 1785, John Hancock, who did not enforce tax collection where it was a burden, resigned as the first governor of Massachusetts, and James Bowdoin replaced him. Bowdoin aggressively pursued both current and back taxes. In August of 1786, the state legislature adjourned without considering the many petitions sent that year addressing the burdensome taxes. That month, a force of men called Regulators formed to take direct action to force the leaders of the Commonwealth to do something.

The group prevented the courts from meeting in Northampton, Worcester, Great Barrington, Concord, and Taunton but were stopped by militiamen in Springfield. Courts in larger towns and cities were able to meet without conflict but had the protection of militia outside the building for protection. Samuel Adams, a member of the state legislature, drew up a Riot Act, which suspended citizens’ right to habeas corpus, allowing them to be jailed for long periods without being accused of a crime. Adams also proposed that rebels to the republic should be punished by execution.

This is when we return to JQA’s diary entry and what had occurred to cause him to write with such fervor and interest. Come back to this column next week to read part two!

Other resources for further reading on Shays’ Rebellion

Petition from Job Shattucks, Middlesex County Court

Grand Jury Notes, October 1786

Letter from Mary Smith Cranch to Abigail Adams

Letter from Benjamin Hichborn to John Adams

By Susan Martin, Senior Processing Archivist

The MHS recently acquired a letter dated 26 October 1848 from a woman who signed her name simply “E.” Based on subject matter alone, the letter was obviously a great find and a natural fit for our collection, but it became even more interesting the more I looked into it. I was able to make a number of fascinating historical connections, and I couldn’t resist sharing the story with Beehive readers.

“E” was Emeline Goodwin, born Emeline Philleo in the small town of Amenia, N.Y. on 13 April 1813. Her mother died when she was a teenager, and in 1834 her father married Prudence Crandall, a remarkable Quaker, abolitionist, and suffragist. Crandall, once imprisoned for establishing a school for young African American women, was named Connecticut’s state heroine in 1995! She deserves a Beehive post of her own, but for now I’ll just include her picture here, from the MHS’s Portraits of American Abolitionists collection.

When she was 19 years old, Emeline married 51-year-old Col. John Marston Goodwin, and the couple had four children: John Marston Goodwin, Jr.; Elizabeth Wheeler Goodwin; Lebaron (or LeBaron) Goodwin; and Francis “Frank” Goodwin. John, Sr. died in 1845, when little Frank was just eight months old.

Now a 32-year-old widow with four young children to support, Emeline quickly got to work. By April 1846, she’d secured a job at the Concord, Mass. home of none other than Ralph Waldo Emerson, apparently through the intercession of his wife Lidian, who was not well enough to take care of the housekeeping. A biography of Emerson explains how the family

“tried the novel experiment of living in their own house as boarders of a Mrs. Marston Goodwin, who was allowed to bring in other boarders, as well as her four children. […] The experiment, lasting apparently from May, 1846, to September, 1847, left Lidian with the conviction that Mrs. Goodwin was “born for the blessing of others” and was “thoroughly tender & self sacrificing.” (p. 311)

The arrangement ended when Ralph Waldo Emerson left for England, and once again Emeline had to look for work. Her oldest son, 14-year-old John, Jr., was in school, probably at the Connecticut Literary Institute in Suffield (now Suffield Academy). She needed to find a new situation that would not only pay her mounting bills, but also allow her three younger children to live with her.

This is the backstory behind the MHS’s new acquisition, pictured above, a letter Emeline wrote on 26 October 1848 to her brother Calvin Wheeler Philleo. Her primary purpose for writing was to tell him about her new job as matron at what was then called the Perkins Institution and Massachusetts Asylum for the Blind. She described the job as “one of great care, labor [and] confinement” with “many disagreeable features no doubt” but nonetheless “very attractive.”

The position had recently been vacated by another fascinating woman, Eliza W. Farnham, a feminist, author, reformer, and former matron of the women’s prison at Sing. Emeline was flippant about “the celebrated Mrs. Farnham,” calling her “the Mrs. Fry of America.” (Elizabeth Fry was a British prison reformer.) Emeline wrote that Farnham had resigned “from dislike of the situation as not suited to her style of genius.” That may have been true, but it also happens that Farnham’s husband died and left her land in California.

While doing my research, I happily stumbled across a bound volume of correspondence of Samuel Gridley Howe, founding director of Perkins, part of the Perkins collection digitized at the Internet Archive. Included is an 1848 letter from Goodwin to Howe asking about the position and describing her circumstances; several letters of recommendation on her behalf, including one from Emerson commending her “intelligence, indefatigable energy, high sense of justice,” and “kind heart”; and other letters by and related to her.

One of the many students Emeline Goodwin worked with during her tenure as matron at Perkins was the renowned Laura Bridgman, another woman worthy of more space than I can give her here. According to a biography of Bridgman, she and Goodwin read together, and Bridgman considered her a “very dear friend.”

Emeline’s letter is four pages long and covers a wide range of other subjects, including her children’s education, Calvin’s career in state politics, the growth of the anti-slavery Free Soil party, even the celebration of the Cochituate Aqueduct. It’s a great addition to the MHS collection.

The letter also introduced me to an amazing network of women who influenced each other’s lives in very profound ways: Emeline Goodwin, Prudence Crandall, Lidian Emerson, Eliza Farnham, Laura Bridgman, and others.

Emeline Goodwin remarried in 1853 to Charles King Whipple, an apothecary and agent of the American Anti-Slavery Society. She died on 5 May 1885 and is buried with her first husband and three of her children at Oak Grove Cemetery in Plymouth, Mass.

By Heather Rockwood, Communications Associate

A few years ago, the MHS was in the news following the discovery and donation of a historically important sword—the Civil War Sword of Robert Gould Shaw. Shaw carried the sword during the assault on Fort Wagner in South Carolina, where he led the 54th Regiment, the first all-Black regiment, and where he died alongside many of his men. We’ve discussed Shaw’s sword several times; in a Beehive blog, and on episode 2 of The Object of History podcast, so here I’d like to tell you about some of the other interesting swords the MHS holds.

Ninety years before Shaw’s Fort Wagner assault, the Battle of Bunker Hill (or Breed’s Hill) occurred on Saturday, 17 June 1775. In this battle, colonial militiamen used the cover of night to create a redoubt on Breed’s Hill and to fortify lines across the Charlestown peninsula. British soldiers woke to find the colonials positioned exactly where they intended to establish their own fortifications.  Although the colonials lost the battle that followed, they proved that militiamen could fight just as well as trained soldiers, for the British regiment suffered far more casualties than the colonials. The battle demonstrated that the British army needed to plan better for its next attacks.

This plaque reads: “THE SWORD of COLONEL WILLIAM PRESCOTT; worn by him while in command of the Provincial Forces at the Battle of Bunker Hill, 17 June, 1775; and bequeathed to the MASS: HIST: SOCIETY by his grandson, WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT,” and “These swords for many years were hung crossed in the library of the late eminent historian WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT in token of international friendship and family alliance. THEY are now preserved in a similar position by the MASS: HISTORICAL SOCIETY in memory of the associations with which they will be inseparably connected,” and “THE SWORD of CAPTAIN JOHN LINZEE, R.N. who commanded the British Sloop of War Falcon while acting against the Americans during the Battle of Bunker Hill; Presented to the MASS: HIST: SOCIETY 14 April, 1859, by his grandchildren, THOMAS C. A. LINZEE, and MRS. WM. H. PRESCOTT.”

This plaque and two swords represent an interesting piece of Bunker Hill history. The two swords never touched in battle, although they were on opposite sides of the war. The colonial’s Col. William Prescott was directed by Gen. Artemas Ward to fortify Bunker Hill, and he led the battle on 17 June. Britain’s Cap. John Linzee, famed for his role in the Gaspee Affair, anchored off Moulton’s Point on the Falcon to cover the landing of the British Troops in Charlestown. Although Prescott’s sword was worn in battle, Linzee’s was his dress sword. After the war, the swords became heirlooms in both families all living in Massachusetts, Linzee had married Susan Inman in 1772. But this story takes a turn! The grandson of William Prescott, William Hickering Prescott and Susan Amory, a granddaughter of John Linzee, met, fell in love, and married. Both swords were left to the Prescotts and they hung them on their library wall as a symbol of American peace. W.H. Prescott was a historian who entertained many of the scholarly elite of the day. The British author William Makepeace Thackeray observed the swords in Prescott’s library during his visit to Boston in 1852 and later immortalized them in the opening lines of his novel The Virginians. The swords were donated to the MHS in 1859, and the plaque was commissioned by the MHS to hold the swords.

Although the Battle of Bunker Hill can be told as a hero-making battle of colonial bravery, there is a sad side to the tale. One casualty was a promising young Son of Liberty, recently elected president of the Massachusetts Provincial Congress. Gen. Joseph Warren, a handsome, charming, and powerful speaker, was killed during the Bunker Hill battle. He was poised to rise quickly in what would become a newly created country; however, he was inexperienced in warfare and had commissioned his military title. He placed himself at the battle’s most dangerous point, and although he did succeed in leading most of the colonials in their retreat, a British soldier recognized him and shot him in the head. His death was written about and mourned by many, including Abigail Adams, Samuel Adams, and James Warren, no relation. Public mourning included an elegiac poem broadside with an acrostic specifically about Joseph Warren. However, we can only say that possibly this sword belonged to Warren as his body was left to the mercies of the British troops who abused it with their bayonets, stripped him of anything of worth, and then buried him in a mass grave. Nine months later, the colonials regained control of Bunker Hill and they dug out the fallen militiamen for proper interment. Paul Revere was asked to confirm Warren’s body for he had done some silver dental work for him.

What happened to the sword is debated in history circles, however, the story of this sword held by the MHS is told in Volume 9 of Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, pages 348-350. Written in 1822 by William White, a Justice of the Peace, the tale was sworn as true to the teller’s “best knowledge and belief.” Cornelius Dunham related the following to Justice White:

“After the purchase, he informed me it was the sword taken from “Doctor Warren immediately after he fell at the battle of Bunker Hill.” I had no suspicion of this fact till after I had paid him for it. I asked him if his master would vouch for the truth of what he had alleged… The officer told me that he had taken the same sword from Gen. Warren, when lying dead on the battle ground; and that he gave it to his servant. The officer also informed me that “General Warren fell not far from the Redoubt” — these being the words he used, as I particularly remember; and that after the British entered the redoubt he saw Warren before he fell. The officer remarked that he endeavored to prevent his men from firing, but could not; and that Warren, remaining too long on the ground he had defended, was shot dead in his view. The officer likewise informed me that “Warren was buried in common with the rest of the dead. I had not been in possession of the sword an hour when I was offered a great price for it by a Mr. Robinson, of Philadelphia, who was very desirous to possess it; but I was not willing to part with it for any price… On my return to Plymouth in 1777 I gave general information that I had purchased at Halifax the sword which the late Gen. Warren wore at the battle of Bunker Hill; and hundreds had knowledge of it as such, and frequently saw it…The time of my purchasing the sword was after the British evacuated Boston, and before the fleet sailed from Halifax for New York.

From the information given by the British officer, I then had not, nor have I since had, the least doubt of this being the sword of the late Gen. Joseph Warren; and which is the same sword which I delivered to the Hon. William Davis and William Jackson, Esq. at Plymouth on the 15th August last, at the moment of my departure for this place. — During the period of forty-seven years that this sword has been in my possession, and proclaimed as being the sword of the late Gen. Joseph Warren, it has never been denied as such, and no claims have been made to any other sword as appertaining to him. — When I purchased the sword it was in good order; but during my long absence at sea, it has lost many of its ornaments.”

With this account it is fair to say that the sword held by the MHS is possibly the sword of Gen. Joseph Warren. See below for links for more information on these topics.

News stories of the Robert Gould Shaw sword:

• Article on the discovery of the sword – CBS News
• Youtube video of the CBS News story on the sword

Read more about Joseph Warren:

• Revolutionary War Journal
• Images of Warren’s skull – be aware this contains photographs of a skull
• A song inspired by the Battle of Bunker Hill and Joseph Warren

Read a blog post:

Read about these and more marriages of the grandchildren of the Revolution and a poem about the Prescott/Linzee swords

By Susan Martin, Senior Processing Archivist

On 25 December 1907, a shocking crime took place in Hyde Park, Boston, Mass. Dr. Walter R. Amesbury shot and killed his wife Anna (Edwards) Amesbury in front of their two sons and Anna’s mother, just as the family was preparing to sit down to Christmas dinner. Dr. Amesbury was arrested by Hyde Park police officer Robert E. Grant. The MHS holds a collection of Grant’s diaries, which provide a small window into this tragic story.

For this post, I’ve done my best to piece together details from the newspaper articles available to me. Unsurprisingly, these accounts differ slightly, but there’s enough consistency to form an idea of what happened that day.

Walter Raleigh Amesbury was born in Harlow, England in 1859. He was the oldest son of Joseph Walter Raleigh Amesbury, a surgeon-major in the Indian Medical Service, and a direct descendant of Sir Walter Raleigh. Many articles about the shooting dwell on his elite ancestry, as if to say “how the mighty have fallen!” As a young man, Walter served as a military officer in the Second Anglo-Afghan War. His first wife, Euphemia (née Inglis), died in 1883, just two years into their marriage, and it was sometime after her death that Amesbury emigrated to the United States.

Anna Edwards, born in Cincinnati in 1867, was an accomplished musician. One article includes some good biographical details about her, so I’ll crib it here.

From Cincinnati had come a talented young musician, Anna Vattier Edwards, who after being graduated from a conservatory at Cincinnati, came to Boston to further cultivate her voice at the New England Conservatory of Music. […] For a time she was soloist at Grace Church, the best known and most fashionable church in Providence. […] Then Mrs. Amesbury became professor of vocal culture at Roanoke College, in Virginia.

Anna and Walter had married on 22 June 1886, and their two sons, Walter, Jr. and Ira, were born in 1887 and 1890, respectively. But the marriage was troubled. Some articles speculate about financial problems or refer to Walter’s jealousy, either personal or professional. Whatever the reasons, Anna and Walter were living apart in 1907. Anna was teaching in Virginia, and Walter lived at Milford, Mass. The family gathered for the Christmas holiday at the home of Anna’s mother, Virginia “Jennie” Rees, a third-floor apartment on Metropolitan Avenue, Hyde Park.

According to one newspaper, this reunion was an attempt at reconciliation orchestrated by Jennie, Walter, Jr., and Ira. Another article states that Walter, Sr. was never invited at all. Either way, Walter wanted to reconcile, but Anna categorically refused. There was a heated argument. Walter fired two fatal shots from a 22-caliber revolver, and the injured Anna tried to run from the apartment, but collapsed and died in the hallway as their sons wrestled the gun from their father.

At first, Walter pleaded not guilty and claimed the shooting was accidental. He later changed his plea to guilty of murder in the second degree.

Now, I’m no lawyer, but if I were, I’d definitely want to know why Walter brought a gun to Christmas dinner. He admitted to buying it that day, which certainly suggests premeditation, especially when we consider one detail that didn’t make into some of the newspaper accounts: he came to his mother-in-law’s home twice that day. The argument began during the first visit. Walter left and returned about an hour later, and it was during this second visit that he killed Anna.

The murder of Anna Amesbury made the front page of the Boston Globe the following day. The headline read: “KILLED WIFE WHO LEFT HIM / Dr. W. R. Amesbury Shot Her in Hyde Park / She Refused His Final Offer to Live With Him Again / Physician Said to Have Been Jealous of His Spouse.” From Boston, the story spread far and wide. The description of Anna that I quoted above comes from an article printed in New Zealand!

Walter R. Amesbury was convicted and sentenced to life in prison on 11 January 1909. Arresting officer Robert E. Grant didn’t write much about the case in his diaries, and his collection doesn’t include a diary for 1907 or 1909. But he did visit Amesbury in prison on more than one occasion over the years and recorded his death from the flu on 17 March 1926. Grant also saved a clipping, probably dated 1923, related to the Amesbury sons and their disagreement on a possible pardon for their father.

Anna Vattier (Edwards) Amesbury is buried at Fairview Cemetery in Boston. The following is the only image of her that I could find.

By Daniel Hinchen, Reference Librarian

Originally, my intention with this blog post was to share some images and information about a few artifacts we have in our collection that relate to photography, but as I struggled to write about the objects we hold, my mind eventually started thinking of other topics I might explore through our collections. After all, I had a deadline to meet.

I seized on an idea – sprung from the most recent subject of my small book club – to investigate the Society’s holdings related to the Hawaiian Islands in the 19^th century and earlier. The hope was to find images, descriptions, or depictions of local inhabitants surfing, an activity which occurred for generations before the arrival of Euro-American explorers and traders.

To that end, I pulled a few collections that are cataloged with the phrase “Hawaii—Description and travel”. While I did read a brief but interesting journal entry about an encounter with a shark on a voyage to Hawaii, I did not get to dig deeply enough in the rest of the volume to see if there were any mentions of surfing.

But, as luck would have it, the serendipity of the stacks came to my aid. [Incidentally, multiple current and former employees of the MHS have graced the Beehive with their tales of research serendipity (here, here, and here), so it must be a naturally occurring phenomenon, and I can’t imagine that it is localized to only our stacks.]

While looking for the diary of Charlotte Reed Heustis (recounting a voyage to the Sandwich Islands, or Hawaii) within the Thomas Reed papers, I noticed a folder labeled “drawings.” Never one to pass up visual materials in a manuscript collection, I took a look. And with that chance encounter, the direction of my blog post was settled.

The drawings, sketches, and compositions were done by Sophia Francis Reed, daughter of Thomas Reed whose papers make up the bulk of the Thomas Reed papers. According to our catalog information, Sophia lived only until the age of twenty-two.

So, without further ado, I present these interesting drawings and sketches of Miss Sophia F. Reed.

By Hannah Elder, Assistant Reference Librarian for Rights and Reproductions

Even though I, like many of my fellow librarians, am an Official Introvert, I love people. I love learning their stories, figuring out the ways we’re different or similar, and building relationships. I love reflecting on their humanity, on what makes them unique and what connects us all. I suppose that’s a part of why I love history. It’s a way to get to know people and their stories. And it’s a reminder that while there are things that separate us, including time, we all have the shared experience of living complicated, messy, beautiful lives.  

Today I want to look back, just one hundred years, to a day in some of those beautiful lives. I’ve gathered a few diaries from our collection with entries for March 25, 1922 and have transcribed them below.  

Robert James Streeter 

60 clear, breeze

A beautiful Spring day. To Dr. La Rous for 7th treatment. He thinks he notes slight improvements, but I am getting discouraged. Met Miss Robinson in Schofield Bldg. where she has an office. Back to bank at 105th St. where I deposited check + got $20.00 in cash. Had lunch + haircut. Walked along 105th St. to station, + took a car for Public Sq. at St. Clair. Spent an hour or so at Public Library.

Only a few boarders here this eve, I read transcript.

Got snap shots I had printed. The flash lights I took of the Teachers Circus in Fram. did not come out well – too little light.

Reading earlier entries in the diary, I was able to learn more about Streeter’s day. The doctor he mentioned was a dermatologist, who he had been seeing for x-ray treatments for a condition on his face. Streeter had moved to Cleveland Heights, Ohio earlier that year, and was living in a boarding house, the fellow occupants of which were largely teachers. His Saturday sounds very familiar; a mix of errands, appointments, visits, and leisure.  

Mildred Cox Howes 

Sat[urday] On the train – Warm – Richmond 2.30 – Washington 6.30 – Had dinner at the station – 

Again, I was able to learn more through other entries. Howes was traveling from the Florida Keys, where she had spent some time socializing and enjoying the weather, to her native Boston. When she returned home, she spent many days visiting with her mother.  

Alice Daland Chandler  

Fine. Little walk + slept all the p.m. Took call from Gertrude while D at dinner.  

Nothing beats a walk and a nap on a Saturday!  

Henry P. Binney 

Weather Bright and fair  

Morning went to my riding lesson  

Afternoon took Elisha to see a nesting meet.  

Was in bed 830  

Binney was eleven years old when he recorded this entry in 1922. As the year progressed, his handwriting improved and the entries got longer. In addition to the diary, the Henry P. Binney Family collection includes a baby book that his mother, Alberta, filled out as young Henry grew up. Leafing through the book was a delight, as I learned about his first outing, saw cuttings of his hair, and even got to see his first photograph. It was precious.  

I hope you’ve enjoyed this look at the day in the lives of a few individuals who lived in 1922! If you would like to do some similar exploration of your own, consider making an appointment to visit the MHS library.