Monthly Archives: March 2019

by | March 27, 2019 · 8:49 am

“If you will send me a Pardon”

Delia Webster asks for a pardon, 1845

As we know, there’s a lot more to the pardon process than simple justice.  We’ve previously blogged about two Civil War-era pardon requests from Bowling Green and Burkesville, but here’s another 19th-century Kentucky pardon story, plus a new detail about its history found in a letter in WKU’s Department of Library Special Collections.

Born in Vermont in 1817, Delia Ann Webster moved to Lexington, Kentucky in 1843 to establish a school for young women.  Educated herself in the abolitionist atmosphere of Oberlin College, she become a thorn in the side of local slaveholders, who rightly suspected her of participation in the Underground Railroad.  Arrested after helping a family of African Americans escape to freedom in Ohio, Webster was tried and convicted of the crime of assisting fugitive slaves.  In December, 1844 she received a two-year prison sentence, the first woman to receive such punishment. 

Nevertheless, the trial jury petitioned Governor William Owsley to pardon Webster because of her sex.  At first, Webster would not accept clemency and demanded a new trial.  By the time she warmed to a pardon, public opinion had turned against her and she was carted off to prison in January, 1845. 

But on February 24, Webster was suddenly released, the beneficiary of a “Free and Full” pardon.  During the negotiations, which had continued after she entered prison, one of the stipulations was that Webster leave Kentucky forever.  But in her later account of her ordeal, she attributed her release to little more than “a friendly feeling” on the part of Governor Owsley and insisted that she had refused to accept the condition of permanent exile from the state.  “I could not think of pledging myself never to return,” she wrote.

Or could she?  In the papers of Governor Owsley’s grandson Robert Rodes, a Bowling Green, Kentucky lawyer and state legislator, we find a handful of his correspondence.  Included is a letter dated February 19, 1845, five days before Webster’s release from prison.  Engrossed with the colorized countenance of Henry Clay, it reads:

Gov. of the State of Ky.
His Excellency William Owsley

I am sorry if I gave you an impression that I was not exceedingly anxious for a pardon.  It is entirely erroneous.  And if you will send me a Pardon or Respite, I will pledge you my word to leave your State never to return.

Delia A. Webster

In any event, Webster did not honor her pledge.  After a few years at home in Vermont, she bought a farm in Trimble County, Kentucky and resumed her activities with the Underground Railroad until driven off by angry locals.

There’s way more to the story of Delia Webster—for example, the scandalous letters sent to her by the lovesick warden of the prison where she had resided in her own private cottage.  “They are quite amorous,” wrote Robert Rodes to his wife after they were published in the newspaper.  “You must criticise them and give me some strictures in my communications to my love.”  But Delia Webster’s contrite letter to Governor Owsley, part of the Rodes Collection in WKU’s Department of Library Special Collections, shows that there may be more to her notorious pardon than previously understood.

Search TopSCHOLAR and KenCat for more about our collections.

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by | March 18, 2019 · 10:24 am

New Broadside Acquisition for Special Collections

Report of the Registration Committee

Just like a difficult birth, Kentucky faced painful hurdles in enacting a law for the registration of vital statistics.  The value of recording such facts was noted as early as 1821 by Kentucky’s General Assembly which required registration for all children between the ages of four and eighteen.  This occurred 15 years earlier than the civil inauguration in England.  It was not until 1852, however that the state passed a law for all births, deaths and marriages and the production of an annual statistical report.   In 1859, the Office of Registrar of Vital Statistics was also created.  But, with the advent of the Civil War, all registration efforts ceased until 1873.  A recently acquired broadside for Library Special Collections, highlights Kentucky physicians’ call for vital statistics registration.  The flyer is addressed to the State Medical Society offering an argument in favor of starting this important task again.  The report of the Registration Committee to the State Medical Society is laced with clear judgments on the apathy of the profession and the “reckless-vandal legislation of 1862” which repealed the law.  The committee notes that most doctors have “acted in a very puerile manner,” and “have worked perpetually on the plan of ‘how not to do it’!”

A political climate, very familiar to us today is showcased by certain physicians who tried to deal with the government, but returned, “soured and full of spleen toward the obtuse and obstinate General Assembly.”  The doctors also condemned themselves for their low-key approach to the problem noting it was but a growling effort not worthy of such a cause.

The flyer calls for renewed efforts by the 2,414 practicing physicians “whose business and duty [is] it to instruct the people and move and guide the legislature.”  A call was issued for the physicians to grab every signature of “all who are in office, all who have been in office; all who ever wanted an office and as many of those who never wanted an office as you can get.”!  In essence, every person in the state should be approached.  Why God himself must have approved of such labors, as it is noted that “an unbroken chain of genealogy [existed] from Adam to Christ.”  A little hyperbole in the flyer went a long way and proved successful as the law was passed.  Sadly, however, no central office was created to enforce, safeguard or compile the statistics.

It would not be until 1910, when the State Board of Health was successful in passing the present law that vital statistics registration was successfully implemented.  Birth and death registration was enacted statewide on 1 January 1911, and mostly adhered to by 1920. The blank death certificate shows how valuable the information obtained can be for many types of research.

The Baird Fund, established by former DLSC faculty member Nancy Disher Baird, funded acquisition of this document.  “The Baird Fund has been an invaluable tool in helping us grow the collection,” said Jonathan Jeffrey, DLSC Department Head.  “We appreciate Nancy’s generosity and her foresight.”

Blank Death Certificate

See this wonderful flyer and other materials related to medical history in our holdings, visit TopSCHOLAR or browse through KenCat, our searchable database featuring manuscripts, photographs, and other non-book objects housed in the Department of Library Special Collections.

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by | March 13, 2019 · 1:37 pm

Shaker Letter Finds New Home in Special Collections

Shaker Eldress Nancy Moore’s letter to her brother is written in a clean, cursive hand.

Sarah Moore, Scottsville, Kentucky, recently donated a letter written by Nancy Elam Moore, a distant relative and a leader at the Shaker village at South Union, Kentucky.   A photocopy of the letter has been housed in the Manuscripts unit of Library Special Collections for many years.  The letter, written to Nancy’s brother James Moore on 4th August 1837, discusses her father Jesse’s estate, particularly a piece of property located in Warren County, Ohio, the site of Union Village, another Shaker community.  She advised her brother to proceed with caution and to not do anything until he had “fully investigated the case.”  Seems that a John Wallace, signing himself as the Power of Attorney for Jesse W. Moore, had sold a 112-acre farm belonging to Moore to a Mr. John St. John for $440.  This was undisputed.  However, no documentation existed proving that that said John Wallace had been empowered as Moore’s agent.  Nancy advises her brother to go to Russellville, where he could “examine our Father’s will.  It might shed some light on the subject.”  James’ will is indeed recorded in Logan County, and it gives 5/8ths of the estate to the Shaker community at South Union (Will Book A, p. 588-589).  Although the letter’s subject matter is only tangentially related to the Shakers, it does provide insight into communications maintained between Shaker members and their families “in the world.”

The photocopy, which was retained, has an added note from Harold Moore dated 28 November 1983 in which he explains how he received the copy while attending the funeral of William Simpson Moore.  Seems Harold shared Jesse’s will and other biographical information with William’s oldest son, William Benjamin Moore, at the funeral.  At that time, William provided Harold with a copy of the 1837 letter to keep with his records.  Harold’s note unscrambles the genealogy:  “This ‘gem’ is a letter from Eldress Nancy Moore of Shakertown fame to her brother, James, who was my paternal great grandfather.  Bennie’s [William Benjamin] great grandfather and my grandfather were brothers.” Their father was the James to whom this letter [was] written.”  Sarah Moore, the donor of the letter, was William Benjamin Moore’s daughter, and she notes that he went by Benjamin or Ben and only family members ever referred to him as “Bennie.”

Eldress Nancy Elam Moore was born on 1 September 1807 in Warren County, Kentucky, and was brought to the Shaker village at South Union in Logan County when she was four years old.  She served in numerous ministerial roles, including being appointed as an assistant to Eldress Betsy Smith in 1849.  She made several visits to colonies in Ohio, New York, and Massachusetts.  Nancy was appointed an Eldress of the Church in 1864.  Eldress Nancy died at South Union on 5 December 1889.  One of the treasures of the Manuscripts unit of Library Special Collections is Moore’s journal which describes life in the South Union Shaker village during the Civil War, 1861-1863.  It outlines visits and exploitation suffered by the Shaker community from both Confederate and Union forces. (MSS 405)

Blue oval box personalized with Nancy Moore’s name.
Courtesy of Kentucky Museum, WKU.

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by | March 6, 2019 · 2:00 pm

Sunshine in Shadow

Sunshine “Sunny” Nahm, 1872-1937

Across the broad continent of a woman’s life falls the shadow of a sword. On one side all is correct, definite, orderly; the paths are straight, the trees regular, the sun shaded; . . . she has only to walk demurely from cradle to grave and no one will touch a hair of her head.  But on the other side all is confusion.  Nothing follows a regular course.  – Virginia Woolf

How can one not wonder about the history of a woman named Sunshine?  And yet the conventions of 19th-century femininity made it hard to know women, even one with a name like that.

Born in Louisville, Kentucky to Bavarian immigrants, Sunshine Friedman was the baby of her family.  In 1878, when Sunshine was six, the Friedmans moved to Paducah, where her older brother Joseph had convinced his father to join him in his vinegar manufacturing business. 

As she grew up, Sunshine filled her high school autograph book with the scribbles of affectionate friends and relatives, including this one:

Sunshine Friedman is your name
Single is your station
Happy will be the man who
makes the alteration.

And by any standard, “Sunny” made a good marriage.  In 1892, she wed Max B. Nahm of Bowling Green, a Princeton law graduate and clothier who would become a wealthy bank executive and a leader in the movement to establish Mammoth Cave as a national park. 

From the commodious Nahm home on College Street, Sunshine reigned.  By one account, she was “an active volunteer in numerous community organizations, a whiz of a bridge player, and the epitome of a dignified, Victorian lady.”  But those Victorian values were painfully tested by Sunshine’s only child, Emanie, born in 1893. 

For better or worse, it was Emanie (far more open about her personal history than her mother’s generation) who tells us most of what we know about Sunshine.  Clever, tomboyish in her youth, unconventional, and given to creative pursuits like writing and art, Emanie complained that her mother tried to suffocate her aspirations, warning her that men don’t like that sort of thing.  Her parents took her to the New York theater every year, she remembered, but no other visual arts were on the agenda.  The Nahm house was filled with books, but again, no pictures of any consequence.  Her mother “wanted to tell me what to do,” Emanie groused, in stream-of-consciousness notes left in her papers.  Though intimidated by this maternal presence, Emanie apparently reproduced it in her relationship with her own daughter. 

And yet the women seem to have remained on good terms.  Emanie left for New York, married, divorced, and enjoyed success as a writer and artist.  Sunny traveled and took cruises with Emanie and her granddaughter, but by the 1930s heart disease was threatening to cut her life short.  When Sunny died at 63, her friend Martha Potter watched rather uncomfortably as Emanie distributed her mother’s possessions.  Martha received “her purple, velvet-jacket evening gown and a black coat suit with fox fur shoulders.”  Seven months later, after lunching with Max (who outlived Sunshine by 20 years), Martha could only say, “We do miss Sunny very much.”

For more about the Nahm family in the Manuscripts & Folklife Archives of WKU’s Department of Library Special Collections, click on the links or search TopSCHOLAR and KenCat.

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