Take a Hike!: Adams Advice for the New Year

By Gwen Fries, The Adams Papers

Every January we’re bombarded with advertisements for the sneakers, the stationary bike, or the protein shake that’s going to transform our lives. The strange New Year’s cocktail of hope and shame leads many to splurge on workout gear and gym memberships only to abandon them a week or two later. If that’s you, you’re in good company. In 1756 John Adams admitted to his diary, “I am constantly forming, but never executing good resolutions.”

May I suggest you look to the Adamses rather than advertising executives as you plan your 2023? The Adamses were concerned with their health too, but they took a simpler, more attainable approach that didn’t cost a dime. John Adams wrote.

“Neither medicine nor diet nor any thing would ever succeed with me, without exercise in open air: and although riding in a carriage, has been found of some use, and on horseback still more; yet none of these have been found effectual with me in the last resort, but walking.”

Over the years John and Abigail Adams suggested walking as a cure for headaches, stomachaches, weight gain, weight loss, anxious hearts, tired eyes, overwork, and the winter blues.

“Our Bodies are framed of such materials as to require constant exercise to keep them in repair, to Brace the Nerves and give vigor to the Animal functions. thus do I give you Line upon Line, & precept upon precept,” Abigail wrote to her son John Quincy in 1787. “A Sedantary Life will infallibly destroy your Health,” she cautioned her eldest son, “and then it will be of little avail that you have trim’d the midnight Lamp. In the cultivation of the mind care should be taken, not to neglect or injure the body upon which the vigor of the mind greatly depends.”

Part of a handwritten letter on yellowed paper. Several lines of text and the closing of the letter are visible.
Abigail Adams to John Adams, 31 December 1798 (Adams Family Papers)

Walking on a treadmill will benefit the body, but a walk in the fresh air will benefit the soul. “Exercise and the Air and smell of salt Water is wholesome,” John Adams wrote in his diary. “Take your fresh Air, and active Exercise regularly,” he encouraged his son. Even in the middle of winter, walking outside can bolster the spirit. “Cold clear Air” had the ability to give “a Spring to the System,” Adams believed.

Whatever you choose to do this year, be gentle with yourself. Let the tender advice John Adams gave his son serve you as well:

“Take care of your Health. The smell of a Midnight lamp is very unwholesome. Never defraud yourself of your sleep, nor of your Walk. You need not now be in a hurry.”

You’ve got all of 2023 before you. You need not be in a hurry.

The Adams Papers editorial project at the Massachusetts Historical Society gratefully acknowledges the generous support of our sponsors. Major funding of the edition is currently provided by the National Endowment for the Humanities, the National Historical Publications and Records Commission, and the Packard Humanities Institute.

Posted in From Our Collections Tagged

The Life and Loves of Amy Lee Colt, Part 3

By Susan Martin, Senior Processing Archivist

Book opened to show two pages of handwritten text.
Page from the diary of Amy Lee Colt in the Joseph Lee papers

In Part 1 and Part 2 of this series on the diary of Amy Lee, I told you about her teenage years, her crushes, her friends, her thoughts on life, and the death of her mother in 1920. I’d like to finish her story by looking in depth at the last three entries in the volume, which pick up when Amy was probably 18 or 19 years old.

All three entries are undated, but the first is titled “Chis,” which was the nickname of her future husband Charles Cary Colt.

It is hard to know where to begin in describing him, the task is so big that my mind balks and becomes dazed. […] Somehow when he smiles I don’t see anything particular, I just feel happy and like throwing my arms around his neck.

Amy gushed about Chis’s charisma, courage, sense of humor, ambition, and intelligence. She loved him, but also admitted parenthetically, “(I’m scared to death of him),” and even asked her recently deceased mother, “Dear mother please tell me if I should say yes just yet.” It’s likely Chis had proposed, and Amy was using her diary to work out her feelings. Her ambivalence is very relatable, I think, as she ponders her future with a series of unanswered questions.

Am I sure enough and is he sure enough is it love that makes me so bewildered, at times so weak, almost sick? […] I stammer and stutter when I am with him, I do not trust myself. Is it love or is his will surplanting [sic] my own? […] Where am I falling shall I try to climb back or shall I jump and make it quick – but where would I land? Would Chis be always there – Does he love me or his idea of me – could I keep up the bluff?

The next entry in the diary was written after Amy had accepted Chis’s proposal. But she was still intimidated by the prospect of marriage, writing “the popular fancy held at least by most young girls, that love is a door into a blissful, carefree peaceful paradise is decidedly an illusion,” and wishing sometimes that she could run and hide. She described herself as “frightened and shaking” and prayed to God for help.

Amy’s ideas about the role and duties of a wife were shaped by her day and age. To be the ideal wife required, as she put it, “stiff self-training,” including “much reading” to keep up with Chis’s intellectual interests. Parts of this entry are written in the second person; Amy lectured herself, “You’ve accepted a gigantic undertaking – you can not let it down one inch.” (Throughout her diary, in fact, Amy switched her audience in interesting ways, sometimes addressing her reader, sometimes herself, and sometimes a third person.)

The final entry in Amy’s diary was apparently added in early December 1924, one year into her marriage and one month after the birth of her first child. Amy was very happy; her husband was patient and helpful, and even got along with his father-in-law! But she was especially rapturous about the arrival of Charles Cary Colt, Jr.

His eyes are still kitten eyes and give him a most helpless look that goes right to the heart. He seems very bewildered to be suddenly (not so very suddenly at that) ushered into this strange world, and not so awfully pleased.

Particularly moving is her description of the physical and emotional sensation of feeding her baby for the first time. Her frankness is rare in historical manuscripts.

When he first put his little cupid mouth to my breast to drink I felt a great longing to cry out against the inconquerable march of time. Like all mothers since Eve it filled me with sadness to think how soon he would be independent of me – be where I couldn’t protect him. My little tiger tugs at my breast with the most concentrated business-like air. […] Sometimes his little feet kick my side and his flowerlike hands rest on my breast.

On Thanksgiving day 1924, the Colt family moved into a new home, and Amy said she had “never been so utterly happy in all my life.” Records indicate that she would go on to have at least seven more children. Amy died in her nineties on 6 January 1996 and was followed by her husband nine months later.

During my research, I discovered that the MHS holds a book about Amy’s mother, Letters and Diaries of Margaret Cabot Lee, printed in 1923. While this book, of course, focuses on Margaret, I did find this reference to Amy in a letter Margaret sent to her sister in 1919, which made me smile: “I am glad you appreciate my child, you must n’t appreciate her too much but she is quite winsome.”

That book also contains a reproduction of this lovely photograph of a young Amy with her mother.

Black and white photograph of a woman and a child. The child is standing on a box and is looking up at the woman.
Amy Lee and her mother Margaret at their home in Cohasset, Mass., printed in Letters and Diaries of Margaret Cabot Lee

The diary of Amy Lee Colt is part of the papers of her father Joseph Lee here at the Massachusetts Historical Society.

Posted in From Our Collections

Silhouettes vs. Photography

By Heather Rockwood, Communications Associate

I love when different aspects of history intervene with each other. As my specialty is art history, I’m especially curious when developments or movements in art affect the ones preceding them—as seems to have happened when photography’s advent and popularity coincided with the waning of silhouettes as a popular form of portraiture.

Silhouettes came into fashion in the 18th century. Those skilled in the art form would travel around making silhouettes mostly for people who could not afford painted portraits. They were popular regardless of income and many wealthier people would commission silhouettes. A silhouette—a “shade” or “profile”—could be made in any media: painted, drawn, sewn, or cut from paper, this last method the most popular. The sitter’s image could be made freehand with scissors cutting paper, or by using light to trace a shadow. The cut out paper shape would then be pasted onto contrasting paper to make it stand out. What made this type of portraiture so popular was its convenience—almost anyone could do it in a few minutes—and at low cost. However, the same could be said of photography, even early photography. Although there was an initial set up cost to purchase or make a camera, the chemicals to develop the images were inexpensive and widely available. A photographer could take many portraits in a day. Photography, though, also had the irresistible advantage of capturing a person’s true likeness.

The MHS has a great collection of silhouettes, a few of my favorites shown below. I’ll start with the Adams Family which features silhouettes from 1829 of Louisa Catherine Adams (1775–1852), John Quincy Adams (1767–1848), John Adams (1803–1834), Mary Louisa Adams (1828–1859), Mary Catherine Hellen Adams (1806–1870), Abigail Smith Adams (1744–1818), and Mary Roberdeau (1774-?).  

Color photograph of white paper discolored with age. On the paper are seven black cut outs of human profiles. Details that can be seen around the outside of the cut out are clothing outlines, chins, lips, noses, foreheads, hair, and hats. Six are adults, three in a row vertically side by side, with one child between the top four. Beside each one in black handwritten ink is a name.
Family of John Quincy Adams, Master Hankes, 1829.

I also find this silhouette of Mrs. John Chadwick and two daughters endearing as the figures are full-bodied, showing off their fashionable clothes. It’s also touching that Mrs. Chadwick and her daughters appear to be holding hands. Another thing I love about this silhouette is that its creator lightly embellished the black cutout with a whitewash to highlight some of the details. You can see those details when you enlarge the online image here.

Color photograph of white paper discolored with age. On the paper are three figures cut out in black paper in silhouette. One adult woman and two girl children, one on each side of the woman. Details that can be seen around the outside of the figures is clothing, hair, hats, bows, glasses, nose, forehead, chin, lips, and feet. On top of the black paper are very light white details on the clothing, hair, shoes, glasses, and arms. In the upper left corner of the white paper is written in pencil, “Mrs. John Chadwick + daughters. 1833”
Silhouette of Mrs. John Chadwick and daughters, black paper with Chinese white details and ink wash on white cardstock, unidentified artist, 1833.

And the last silhouette I’ll share is part of the ongoing exhibition, Our Favorite Things—a silhouette of Lucy Flucker Knox from 1790. Of course, the towering hairdo and gravity-defying hat make this image stand out from the other more traditional silhouettes in the MHS collection, which is why I want to share it.

Color photograph of white paper discolored with age. On the paper is a single cut out figure on black paper. She is a woman from what can be seen of her hair, clothes, chin, lips, nose eyelashes, forehead, and she is seated on a chair. Over the black paper is a white wash that gives details to her hair, arm, and clothes. Her hair is strikingly tall, and a hat isn’t resting on her head, so much as placed on top of her hair.
Silhouette of Lucy Flucker Knox, circa 1790.

To see more silhouettes in the MHS collection see this search here.

Posted in From Our Collections

Why is Early American Literature So Sad?

By Emily “Em” Gates, Georgia State University

Historical Cases of Melancholia and Their Relationship to American’s Literary Beginnings

My dissertation project, entitled “A Young, Sad Country: Melancholia in Colonial New England and Its Impact on Early American Literature” investigates the relationship between historical cases of melancholia, an early name for depression, and the creation of an American literary tradition. I chose this topic because I noticed that in early American scholarship there was less focus on mental afflictions than those affecting the body, and that the general tone of many works of early American literature was very sad in nature, featuring either melancholic characters or tragic plotlines. For this project, I felt it was extremely important to link literary works with archival documents in order to demonstrate how context from the world an author lives in can shape the fiction they write.

I am very grateful to have received the NERFC fellowship, as it gave me access to a treasure trove of archival documents related to the eighteenth-century understanding, treatment, and experience of living with mental illness. The method I use to organize my dissertation anchors works of early American literature to their real-life counterparts through close-reading and comparative analysis, using eighteenth century medical and religious documents to help typify early American literature as narratives exemplifying love and/or religious melancholia1. The Massachusetts Historical Society (MHS) was particularly useful because it provided sources that relate directly to the literary works I am examining.

One work I explore is Hawthorne’s short story “The Minister’s Black Veil” (1836), the main character of which is based on Reverend Joseph “Handkerchief” Moody of York, Maine. Moody was a minister prone to bouts of melancholy and Hawthorne effectively captures in language the darkness that surrounded Moody, basing his story on a period where Moody wore a handkerchief over his face, an act that concerned and confused his parishioners. At the MHS, I read Philip McIntire Woodwell’s Handkerchief Moody: The Diary & The Man, which provided effective biographical insight and allowed me to read Moody’s diary in his own words. It is clear from Moody’s diary that religious melancholy pervaded his life, causing him to doubt his self-worth, mental stability, and most importantly, the state of his soul. Moody uses negative language to describe himself, saying he is “of a very inconstant mind2”, feels as though “all my religion has very nearly vanished3” and that his soul is “So deeply insensible4” and “wretched5.” Interestingly, Moody’s language and choice of imagery echoes other historical cases of religious melancholia I’ve encountered, notably Benjamin Lyon of Connecticut and the Reverend Edward Taylor of Westfield, MA, whose diaries and sermons help corroborate my theory of melancholia being a prevalent affliction in early America.

In my dissertation, I also analyze William Hill Brown’s The Power of Sympathy (1789), a dramatization of the scandalous affair between politician Perez Morton and Boston heiress Francis “Fanny” Theodora Apthorp6, and Susanna Rowson’s Charlotte Temple (1794), which are both examples of seduction novels. Each major historical case I look at shares a fictionalization in early American literature that adds to the mythos passed down through the American media and word of mouth, perpetuating melancholia as a key theme in our earliest works. Additionally, I argue, the subject matter of each narrative also points us towards the need for a closer examination of melancholia as a prevalent affliction across all demographics in multiple colonies—an important context I scrutinize using evidence from medical practitioners’ account books and diaries and religious authorities’ sermons and journals across New England. There is still much more material to sift through and many ideas left to develop, but I am confident, thanks to my time at the MHS and the other NERFC member institutions I visited, that my project will demonstrate the high prevalence of melancholia in New England and its influence on the creation of our nation’s earliest literature.

Notes

1. The types of melancholy used in this dissertation, as well as their definitions, come from Robert Burton’s The Anatomy of Melancholy (1621).

2. Moody, Joseph. Handkerchief Moody: The Diary & The Man, edited byPhilip McIntire Woodwell. 3 Apr. 1721. Massachusetts Historical Society.

3. ——————. Handkerchief Moody: The Diary & The Man, edited byPhilip McIntire Woodwell. 14 Apr. 1721. Massachusetts Historical Society.

4-5. ——————. Handkerchief Moody: The Diary & The Man, edited byPhilip McIntire Woodwell. 6 Apr. 1723. Massachusetts Historical Society.

6. Morton and Apthorp were brother and sister-in-law and their affair rocked Boston in 1788. The affair resulted in an illegitimate child and led to Apthorp’s suicide. Fanny Apthorp’s suicide note to Perez Morton is available at the MHS and I was able to read it during my time there in August 2022.

Posted in From Our Collections, Research fellow

One Librarian’s Objects of the Month

By Hannah Elder, Assistant Reference Librarian for Rights & Reproductions 

Let’s face it: the MHS has a lot of cool stuff. As the assistant reference librarian for rights and reproductions, I get to see some of that stuff as I pull it for researchers in the reading room and further afield. When something catches my eye, I get out my phone and take a photo of it to share with friends, family, and my fellow librarians. As the year comes to a close, I was reflecting on some of those photos and wanted to share them with you. Here is a compilation of some of the wonderful collection items I saw this year.

January: Binney family mourning bracelet

A gold bracelet, with a large covered octagon at its center, engraved with script and curlicues. It rests in a box on top of an MHS callslip.

This bracelet was made ca. 1847 to commemorate Amos Binney and his mother, Hannah, who both died on 18 February 1847, but on opposite sides of the Atlantic. The central chamber holds a miniature portrait of Amos and a lock of hair that may have been Hannah’s.

February: Tide chart for Boston from the 3 June 1763 edition of the Boston Evening-Post

A printed chart displaying the times for high tide, sun rise, and sunset from Monday-Sunday. Surrounded by other newspaper text, including advertisements and a printer's statement.

Having grown up on the coast, I was delighted to see this tide chart for a week in the summer of 1763. It’s also interesting to note the times for sunrise and sunset. Since we as a society did not yet practice daylight savings, the times for both sunrise and sunset are much earlier than we are used to.

March: Baby’s first photograph in Henry P. Binney’s baby book

A black and white photo of a sleeping baby, encircled by printed sketches of cherubs. Manuscript notes indicate that the photo was taken 19 January 1911.

I found this baby book while including Binney’s 1922 diary from my March blog post and was immediately enchanted by it. Other pages included descriptions of baby’s first outing, clippings from his first haircut, and other photos of Henry’s first years of life. The love of his parents is evident on every page.

April: inventory of chairs from Elizabeth R. Child’s estate

A manuscript list of items, written in pencil, within a lined notebook. The list is headed by the underlined word "Chairs"

I found this list while working on a reproduction order and was struck by the number of chairs in a single house. I think my favorite is the old rocking chair.

May: Printing plate for The Congress voting independence

A framed print of revolutionary gentlemen having a discussion hangs above a copier. In the foreground is the mirror image of the same work, engraved into a copper plate.

When I pulled this plate for a researcher in the reading room I thought it looked familiar, and for good reason: the print hangs in the library! Having both the printing plate and the final print feels special and is a great opportunity to learn more about printing history.

June: a scrap of paper from the Coolidge Collection of Thomas Jefferson Manuscripts

A single scrap of paper sits in a folder. It is approximately 1 inch by 4 inches and has small manuscript numbers written in the upper left hand corner.

 I found this scrap of paper while searching for an inventory in the Jefferson papers. It is simply labeled “strip of paper w/ numbers” and is undated. I’m not sure why this scrap remained with the collection, but I’m glad it did!

July: The Irish in America by Carl Wittke

Book cover with the text "The Irish in America / Carl Wittke"

One of our printed resources, I found this in the stacks and photographed it to share with a friend.

August: Fred’s Breeches

Comical drawing of a man with mustache and receding hairline, whose breeches extend up to his neckline. He holds a top hat in his left hand, a riding crop[?] in his left. Not signed.

Another item requested by a researcher, this charcoal, chalk, and crayon drawing amused all of the library staff.

September: The Castorland Journal

A manuscript volume sits open on a book rest, mid-imaging. The pages have watercolor sketches of rivers on the left side and text in French on the right.

This journal, written in French by Simon Desjardins, describes the journey of the New York Company, a group of French emigrants who settled in New York in 1797. This page is a part of the topographical survey of the land.

October: Voltaire’s An essay on universal history

Antiquarian books on a shelf. Volume three is labeled, but volumes one and two are missing labels and are secured with book tape, a cloth ribbon.

This set of volumes caught my eye in the stacks one day. I appreciate their various conditions, and the places you can see where volumes one and two would have matched volume three.

November: recipe for Thanksgiving Pudding from the Frances A. Frothingham recipe book

A manuscript recipe for Thanksgiving Pudding, attributed to Annie L. The top half of the page contains the recipe, while the bottom is covered in splatters from long-ago cooking.

Thinking back to my gingerbread blog post from last year, I decided to check out some other cookbooks in the collection. Many pages in the cookbook were covered in splatters like the ones on this page. I love the signs of use and hope that Frances and her loved ones enjoyed many Thanksgiving puddings.

December: Edgecomb (Maine) tax list, 1795-1796

A manuscript list of names, accompanied by the taxes they owe for the year.

My family came to visit the library a couple of weeks ago, so I pulled one of the items in the collection related to our home town. We had fun looking for names that we recognized, from local landmarks and from local families. For instance, Moses Davis is the namesake for Davis Island in Edgecomb.

I hope you enjoyed this look back with me! If you want to see any of these items, or any other items from the collection, come visit us in the library in the new year!

Posted in From Our Collections

Year in Review: The Most Popular MHS Social Media Posts of 2022

By Heather Rockwood, Communications Associate

What do a circus tent, a snowstorm, players from the 1967 Red Sox players, and a submarine have in common? They were all featured in some of our most popular social media posts of 2022. Let’s look back at these and other 2022 social media posts on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram.

On Twitter, our most popular post of the year was a video featuring Heather Cox Richardson and Joanne Freeman, MHS’s award winners for excellence in historical writing. The event is also available as a podcast.

Screenshot of a Twitter post. It reads “Massachusetts Historical Society @MHS1791 Nov 22 New video available online! @HC_Richardson in conversation with @jbf1755 on items from MHS collections youtu.be/cj7H86USZR4 #MHS1791 #Award #History” At the left is an image of two white women in front of computer screens smiling.
Twitter post featuring a video of Heather Cox Richardson and Joanne Freeman.

Our second most popular post of the year on Twitter was an “On this day in history” post—#OTDH—about the 1776 Liberty Bell and the first reading of the Declaration of Independence in Philadelphia.

A screenshot of a Twitter post. There is text at the top and an image of a large metal bell with a crack going halfway up the bell. It is suspended between two metal poles holding a wooden board. In the background is a two-story federal style brick building with a statue to the left and a grassy area closer to the bell.
Twitter post featuring an image of the cracked Liberty Bell.

The third most popular MHS Twitter post of the year was an image featuring a circus tent. A painting of a P.T. Barnum circus tent on the very spot where the MHS building now stands.

A screenshot of a Twitter post. There is text at the top and an image of a color painting at the bottom. The painting is of a large white circus tent with many flags flying from the top. It is set up in a grassy area between two dirt roads and there are wagons and people around the tent. There is another white tent in the background, and further in the distance are buildings. To the right is a large brown rectangle and a smaller black rectangle.
Twitter post featuring a painted image of a circus tent.

On Facebook, our most popular post of the year went viral, reaching 2 million people! It told of a snowstorm that day, along with a photograph from the MHS collection of a snowstorm in New York City in 1888. Many people reminisced in the comments about the famous Blizzard of 1978 that resembled the image, with its blanketing of snow. And they equated it to the Children’s Blizzard, which happened in 1888 in Minnesota, Nebraska, Iowa, and eastern Dakota Territory.

Screenshot of a Facebook post. There is text at the top and an image at the bottom of an unidentified boy leaning against a tall wall of snow. On the opposite side of him are buildings. The area has been dug out around the building.

Facebook post featuring an image of a boy leaning against a dug-out wall of snow next to some buildings in New York City.

Our second most popular Facebook post from 2022 featured a blog post about a very sick John Quincy Adams traveling by coach, boat, and private carriage to give the keynote address at the opening of the Cincinnati Observatory in 1843.

Screenshot of a Facebook post. There is text at the top with a color photograph of a brick and white stone building with a rounded top or cupola at the bottom. There is manicured grass and many trees around the building.
Facebook post with an image of the Cincinnati Observatory on Mount Adams, named after John Quincy Adams.

The third most popular post on Facebook announced a new temporary exhibition at the MHS, “Impossible Dreamers: The Pennant-Winning 1967 Boston Red Sox.” It was on display August-September 2022.

A screenshot of a Facebook post. There is text at the top and an image on the bottom. The image is a black and white photograph of three baseball players from a view around their waists looking up at them. The three men are smiling and looking forward and not at the camera. Two are wearing Red Sox jersey’s, one is bare-chested. They each hold up their index and middle fingers, showing the back of their hands to the camera, the one on the very right is holding a baseball in the same hand. There is a microphone held up below them, close to the camera, and the background has a ceiling and pipes.
Facebook post with an image of three baseball players holding up two fingers each.

On Instagram the most popular MHS post of the year was a video of a temporary exhibition of love letters between John and Abigail (Smith) Adams before their marriage. These letters featured John Adams’s famous “Miss Adorable” letter to Abigail.

Black bars at the top and bottom of the image surround the beginning of a video–on this still is an orange background with a painting of a young man wearing a gray powdered wig, black vest and jacket with a white shirt and cravat. In red, words read “The Love Letters of John and Abigail Adams, Now on Exhibition! Visit the MHS to see them.”
A still of the Instagram Reel of a video panning across John and Abigail Adams portraits and a display case with several of their love letters.

The MHS’s second most popular Instagram post of the year was another “On this day in history” (#OTHD) featuring a 1789-1790 map of the Northwest Territory—part of present-day Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan, Wisconsin, and Minnesota—and related to Congress’s enacting the Northwest Ordinance, which allowed states to be formed free of enslavement in that designated area.

A color drawn map of the United States on a white background. The states and territories are different colors. The states are pink, territories are yellow, other countries are gray, and disputed areas are dark pink.
Map of the middle and eastern portion of the United States in 1789–1790, with the Northwest Territory featured.

The last post we’ll share today—MHS’s third most popular Instagram post of 2022—is both an “On this day in history” (#OTDH) and a blog post. It features the story of the first submarine used for warfare during the American Revolution in 1776.

A drawing of a man inside of a round mechanical device. There are many levers and pipes around him. Two propellers are on the left side and top of the device and a rudder is on the right side.
Instagram post of a diagram of the first submarine used in warfare during the American Revolution in 1776.

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Posted in MHS News

“Sharing with each other the sorrows as well as the joys”: the scrapbooks of Hannah London Siegel, Part II

By Susanna Sigler, MHS Library Assistant

In a blog post last week, we met Robert E. Siegel, a young man from the Boston area who was killed in combat during WWII. In this post, we’ll take a closer look at the words of condolence from the Siegels’ many friends, family members, and colleagues, as well as those who knew Robert.

As a couple with wide personal and professional circles, there are letters in the collection from noted attorneys, politicians, and artists. Several, I would discover in my research, have Wikipedia pages, such as lawyer and activist Alfred Baker Lewis, minister John Haynes Holmes, and De Hirsh Margules, artist and husband of Hannah’s sister Blanche. But beyond these names, what pervades here is grief, the helplessness that anyone would feel trying to write to friends who have lost their only child and were unable to bury him. One gets the sense from these letters that the Siegels are people who often help others but do not often in return ask for people to lean on. Their friends are more than willing to offer that support.  

Letter from a friend of Benjamin Siegel.

Beside this grief rests the impression that Robert made on those who knew him. There are letters from young neighborhood friends of Robert’s and family friends who knew Robert since he was an infant. There is a short correspondence between Hannah and Bernice, accompanied by photographs of Robert and Bernice together, looking every bit the teenagers that they were.

One of the most affecting notes, in a collection full of them, is from Guy Sabaté, a French pen pal of Robert’s. It seems like Robert had spent some time in France when he was younger, and had been writing to Guy since before the war.

Now liberated from German occupation, Guy says that they can now write freely. “I spoke to USA boys,” he writes, speaking of American soldiers, “and we understand together too well.” He says he hopes this letter will reach Robert.

Letter from Guy Sabaté, Robert’s French pen pal.

Perhaps most heartbreaking is the letter from Benjamin Siegel to his wife, in which he talks about his own memories of the end of WWI and his hope that someday they may adopt a child. It was at this point, dear readers, that I was fully crying in the reading room.

Excerpt of a letter from Benjamin to Hannah.

In working with this collection, I find myself feeling that I am intruding on a family in their most private moments. But I see too that Hannah London so deeply wanted her son remembered that she carefully assembled these scrapbooks and gave them to the Society for care and preservation. I feel very privileged to be a part of that in this small way.  

Robert E. Siegel’s grave in St. Avold, France.

The Robert E. Siegel Papers can be viewed at the Massachusetts Historical Society.

Robert’s letters and the papers of Hannah Ruth London are located at the American Jewish Historical Society in Manhattan.

Posted in From Our Collections

“Sharing with each other the sorrows as well as the joys”: the scrapbooks of Hannah London Siegel, Part I

By Susanna Sigler, MHS Library Assistant

As part of an ongoing project to investigate WWI- and WWII-related materials at the MHS, I want to spotlight a collection that has stuck with me since I started here over the summer. This collection, or rather group of collections, consists of two scrapbooks, a box of photographs, and a case of medals belonging to Private First Class Robert E. Siegel. The scrapbooks were compiled by his mother, and the materials given to the Society after WWII.

Private First Class Robert E. (“Bud”) Siegel grew up in Brookline, Mass., as the son of art scholar Hannah Ruth London and attorney Benjamin M. Siegel. Eventually the family moved to 50 Fenway, only a two-minute walk from the MHS according to Google Maps. His family spent summers in Gloucester, where he was a member of the Gloucester School of the Little Theatre, as well as the Ogunquit Playhouse. Before he was drafted in 1943, he was working as an assistant stage manager at the Brattle Theatre in Cambridge.

Photograph of Hannah Ruth London.
Photograph of Robert E. Siegel.

In a letter home, he expresses doubt about his looming commitment to the Army, and regret about leaving the friends he’s made. His humor shines through on the page, as well as the close relationship he has with his parents.

“It’s pretty late and rye has a rather sedative effect on me so I’ll probably wind up this letter soon.”

Only after a while of looking at these materials did I realize that the letters, at least the ones that are not handwritten, seem to have been typed by Hannah from her son’s originals.

There are a few more letters from Robert, in which he talks about the training at Camp Hood in Texas, his buddies, the variable weather, and his sweetheart Bernice (“Bunny”), a violinist who he meets at a Jewish Welfare Board event in Waco. “Pardon me if I rave about her a little,” he writes, and it’s impossible not to smile as he launches into a listing of her positive qualities, including being “a swell dresser,” “loads of fun,” and “will see a movie twice if I haven’t seen it.” 

Turning these pages, it is also impossible to ignore why these materials were sent to the Society by Hannah London in the first place. More than dispatches from her son, more than summer snapshots, are the letters and notes from her and her husband’s colleagues, friends, and family.

Overseas only two and half months with the infantry, in the taking of a small town near France’s border with Germany, Robert Siegel was gunned down by a German sniper. He was 19 years old.

As his death occurred before the war ended, it was hard for his family to get further information. Fellow soldier Ivan Ragle later writes to Hannah with more details, including that Robert had acted as lead scout, saving the lives of the soldiers following behind him. He said that he’d finally decided to write after talking to his wife about Robert’s death, and attaches a photo of himself in uniform, standing in a garden. The photo in his obituary, from 2009, is of a gentleman decades older but with unmistakably the same face. This was one of multiple times while investigating this collection that I found myself with tears in my eyes.

Letter and photograph from Ivan Ragle.

Jim Balasz, tasked with the job of writing the families of the soldiers killed, had an ongoing correspondence with Hannah. He tells her that he believes Robert deserved the Bronze Star for his actions, but notes that an officer would also have had to witness a soldier’s achievements in order to get paperwork in motion. He apologizes to Mrs. Siegel, citing Army red tape, and says he will try and visit them someday if possible.

Hannah London later cites Balasz in letters to the U.S. Army Administration Center, attempting to have her son awarded the Bronze Star for his actions. Hannah and Benjamin campaigned for decades after the war. When the army does send along his medals, she is informed that he is receiving the Bronze Star not for his specific actions but based upon his prior receival of the Combat Infantryman Badge, essentially a widening of the criteria. It is a terse exchange, and one that does not feel entirely resolved, even though the star rests in a case at the MHS with his other medals.

Robert Siegel’s medals in a case at the MHS.

Keep an eye out for the next installment, where we’ll have a closer look at more letters and notes that make up the rest of the scrapbooks.

The Robert E. Siegel Papers can be viewed at the Massachusetts Historical Society.

Robert’s letters and the papers of Hannah Ruth London are located at the American Jewish Historical Society in Manhattan.

Posted in From Our Collections

The Life and Loves of Amy Lee Colt, Part 2

By Susan Martin, Senior Processing Archivist

In my last post, I introduced you to Amy Lee (later Colt), whose diary/commonplace-book forms part of the Joseph Lee papers here at the MHS. The volume gives us a peek into the life of an exuberant teenager a century ago, including her crushes. But there’s more to it than that. Amy wrote from about 1918 to 1925, and we’re privy to her innermost thoughts during some major life changes.

Open pages of a handwritten diary.
Page from the diary of Amy Lee Colt

First let’s pick up where we left off. The “devilishly handsome” Elliot Stoddard got married in 1920, but Amy’s disappointment was short-lived. She was soon describing other young men, including an unnamed “queer, whimsical, moody, genius” who was “delightfully rude and grumpy with people he dislikes”; Tad with the “beautiful soul,” whose feelings Amy apparently didn’t reciprocate; and Phil, of whom she wrote, “I do not understand my feelings to-ward Phil. I only know that if he is not at a party the party is uninteresting.”

The most serious contender for Amy’s heart during this time was Charlie Balche, “the most adorable, lovable, utterly irresistable & (irrepressable) mischievous little boy that ever stole jam out of a pantry.” Unfortunately, Charlie was as good as engaged to a young woman named “Char,” probably short for Charlotte. This didn’t stop Amy from going to the movies with him.

The sleeve of his coat just rubbed the edge of my arm (and oh how I wished I could hold his hand)[.] We talked a good [d]eal through it but I couldn’t be very intelligent as I was trying to figure how I could stare at him without him seeing me.

Charlie let Amy drive his car home, but she was so distracted that she “nearly killed about 15 people.” Recognizing her feelings for what they were, she pleaded, “I wish he’d hurry up & get engaged to Char before I break my heart.”

Amy was also interested, both romantically and intellectually, in someone named William Fitzgerald.

He stirred my mind more than it has ever been stirred before[.] He challenged my ideals and beliefs[.] He made me want to think through to the end of my beliefs. He’se been kicked out of most colleges, fought in the war at the age of sixteen! and now writes short stories to support himself. He is a clever talker. He is shockingly frank on society[’s] forbidden subjects. I don’t like the look in his eyes but I daresay its just that he takes no pains to conceal what every boy feels. He is so interesting, callous and provocative after these Babes in Arms. He claims that we are still animals and were created by some one with an ironic sense of humour. He says there is no such thing as love. […] Poor darling, I wonder what made him so bitter right through.

Another person that fascinated Amy was her friend Janet Wilson, who gets what I think may be the best description in the entire volume.

People do more than love her, they are possessed by her – nothing is amusing if she is not there to laugh at it. […] For myself – I can’t imagine being without her – she influences my spirits more than anyone I’ve ever known – at present I’m about to cry because she wasn’t smiling tonight […] I love every bit of her – keep her safe. Janet my darling baby you adoreable nonsensical cuckoo. She has dimpled knees, loves doodads, takes a cold bath every morning and walks with her head thrown back. Some cookie. If I were a millionaire I’de b[u]y her a library and perfume cabinet.

“Charlie Balche” may have been Charles Bowditch Balch (1896-1959) of Jamaica Plain, Mass. If so, records indicate he never married. I also found some William Fitzgeralds and Janet Wilsons, but the names were common, and I have no other clues to confirm their identities. But Amy described them so well, I feel I know them a little.

Amy had opinions on a variety of general subjects, too. Some of the pages of her diary include headings like “My Religion,” “What I want to be,” or “Happiness.” Here’s one remark that’s timeless: “I wish in books the heroes ever liked a heroine for anything but her looks – it discourages me – too bad.” Another favorite passage of mine comes under the heading “If I ran society.”

People shouldn’t keep track of their years & shouldn’t pay any attention to old age. The saying [“]I’m to[o] old for this” is all nonsense. People are just as enthusiastic at eighty as they are at ten. It’s all nonsense – stuff and nonsens[e]. I’m going to wait till I get [to] a satisfactory age and stay there.

In the fall of 1920, her mother Margaret fell seriously ill, and Amy’s tone naturally became more somber. She composed poems dedicated to her mother and prayers for her recovery. Unfortunately, Margaret Lee died on 27 November 1920 at the age of 54. Amy wrote, “Mother has died, but I feel as if she were still here.” And after a few pages of memories of Margaret, she finished with: “Love is the law of the world – nothing else matters.”

The main thing I take away from Amy’s diary is her relatability. She wasn’t perfect. Some entries reflect the outdated opinions of her time or reference unspecified lies and selfish actions she committed and regretted. But while some historical people feel remote, Amy seems to me “as if she were still here.”

In my next post, I’ll finish up the story of Amy Lee Colt. Stay tuned!

Posted in From Our Collections

Teenage Troubles and Worried Grandparents: Abigail and John Adams and William Steuben Smith

By Miriam Liebman, The Adams Papers

Abigail and John Adams became grandparents in 1787 with the birth of their first grandchild, William Steuben Smith, born to their daughter Abigail Adams 2d and her husband, William Stephens Smith. At the time, Abigail and John Adams were deeply engaged in service to the nation with the presidency still to come. Adams Family Correspondence, volume 16, the forthcoming volume in the series, includes the first correspondence between the Adamses and their grandchildren and offers significant insights into their relationship with William Steuben Smith. A previous blog post that focused on Abigail’s relationship with her grandson, John Adams II, can be found here. This post, however, focuses on their relationship with their eldest grandson.

William, who was 17 when the volume opens in late 1804, experienced some growing pains as he neared his twenties. Although many teenagers struggle to figure out their paths in life, some of William’s choices were more ill-advised than others. Growing up in New York City, he visited his grandparents with his mother, Abigail Adams Smith and sister Caroline Amelia, during the fall of 1805, returning to New York that November. A few months later, in January 1806, he became involved in Francisco de Miranda’s failed invasions of Venezuela. While William survived capture and death, his participation had significant consequences for the family. His father’s presumed involvement led Thomas Jefferson to replace William Stephens Smith as the surveyor of the port of New York. His grandson’s actions caused John Adams “great grief” and much concern among other members of the family.

Returning to Quincy and the comfort of his grandparents’ home in September 1807 after the failed mission, William Steuben taught at John Whitney’s school in Quincy. In late March 1808 despite his grandmother’s wishes that he stay longer, he traveled back to his parents in upstate New York. Both of his grandparents worried about his future.

With their many connections to people throughout the country, John wrote to his grandson about different career prospects. Meanwhile Abigail wrote to others about what she thought William Steuben should do next and whether she should write on his behalf for a commission in this army. In a letter to her daughter-in-law Louisa Catherine Adams, she explained her hope that “his engagement with Miranda would be no bar to his employment in the Army.” She continued, “He was under age and was placed with him by those in whom he naturally confided, and knew not Mirandas views.” Clearly having a fond place in his grandmother’s heart, she defended his youthful errors. Abigail described him as having “engageing Manners, and pleasent temper & disposition” and having “a Strict sense of honour and integrity.”

Abigail continued to worry about what her eldest grandson would do. She believed him to be “an amiable modest engageing Youth,” and wrote, “I hope and trust will make his way through the world with honor and integrity.” Given his role in the Miranda Expedition, Abigail blamed William Stephens Smith for ruining his son’s opportunity to be “employd under the present administration.” This only left William Steuben the option of joining his parents in upstate New York to work the land. While Abigail had her doubts that this was right for him, she told his aunt Sarah Smith Adams in early 1808 that, “he appears in good Spirits, pleasent & happy, and assured Me that he did not feel a wish to quit his Situation.”

handwritten letter
The first page of William Steuben Smith’s diary documenting his journey to Russia, Adams Papers.

In July 1809, at the end of this Family Correspondence volume, Smith’s uncle John Quincy Adams prepared to travel to St. Petersburg to serve as the U.S. minister to Russia. William Steuben wrote to him to ask about the opportunity of serving as his uncle’s secretary. After inquiring whether he could choose his own secretary, John Quincy offered his nephew the position. William accepted and remained in Europe until the spring of 1815. He documented his journey to Russia in a diary, held in the Adams Papers at the MHS. This change of fortune and new adventure for William Steuben Smith brought his grandmother “great Gratification.”

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