On the morning of March 12, 1925, a bit of musical (and women’s) history was made on the Hill when a new tune rang out at chapel assembly. The song College Heights was the winner of a competition between members of Macon A. Leiper’s English class. The students had set out to create a poem that, when paired with a musical score, could serve as the school’s anthem.
Freshman Mary Frances Bradley of Franklin, Kentucky took first prize with her memorable lyrics:
College Heights, on hilltop fair, With beauty all thine own, Lovely jewel far more rare Than graces any throne!
Bradley brought an extra advantage to the contest: her
father Ben J. Bradley, an accomplished musician and composer, contributed the
Not long afterward, another songstress, Bessie Swartz
Cherry, the sister-in-law of WKU’s first president Henry Hardin Cherry,
conceived another musical tribute. The Red and the Gray referenced the
school’s official colors prior to the change to red and white in 1956.
Both The Red and the
Gray and College Heights became
fixtures at commencement exercises in the 1930s and 1940s, but the latter eventually
triumphed and has now become a familiar chorus for generations of WKU
College Heights we hail thee, We shall never fail thee, Falter never, live forever, Hail! Hail! Hail!
“Without Nancy, there would have been no Governor Reagan, no President Reagan,” said aide Michael Deaver when Nancy Reagan died on March 6, 2016. Like many other First Ladies, she was a behind-the-scenes adviser, lightning rod, and icon in her own right.
The inaugural ball was stylish and gleaming, and Nancy was first in the mystical haze: She wore a white, one-shouldered gown, by Galenos. all beaded with diamond-like glass daisies.
Nancy’s worshipful gaze at “Ronnie” whenever he spoke also earned notice:
while others applauded Nancy transfixed into a pure adoration.
But Nancy was no shrinking violet, as Hall made clear in her evaluation of the sources of Ronald Reagan’s success:
And towering high with an eagle eye, Nancy’s antennas scan political sky.
In 1982, at the request of a Kentucky cousin, Frank Kavanaugh recalled his interactions with “Some First Ladies and Their Husbands” beginning in 1967, when he arrived in Washington as a documentary filmmaker associated with George Washington University’s Department of Medical and Public Affairs. His most vivid memories of Nancy Reagan related to the March 30, 1981 attempt on the President’s life and a subsequent TV film that recreated the assassination attempt and its aftermath. As Reagan recovered in hospital, he wrote, Mrs. Reagan was “the strongest force in that building. She was aware of every activity or plan surrounding the president, seldom left his side, and could make life miserable for anyone who was not contributing to President Reagan’s chances for recovery and comfort”—a role that, Kavanaugh realized, was “not too unlike the role she took throughout the president’s life.” In her determination to preserve Reagan’s image as the “good guy” and “the great and charming communicator,” he observed, Mrs. Reagan “could be vicious.” Even though she, like her husband, had acted in films, she never saw the highly praised documentary about the attempt on her husband’s life. “To her it was a nightmare that she wanted to avoid reliving,” said Kavanaugh. The President, on the other hand “loved it. He was back in the movies.”
Click on the links to access finding aids for these collections. For more of our collections about political women, search TopSCHOLAR and KenCat.
The surrender of Confederate cavalry leader John Hunt Morgan on July 26, 1863, marked the end of the “Great Raid,” his 18-day charge from Kentucky into Indiana that veered east into southern Ohio. There was “a great scare here,” reported infantryman Aaron Stuver in a letter to his sister from Cincinnati, “and we had to turn out in full strength” as the state militia scrambled to defend the area against Morgan and his raiders.
Morgan ultimately brushed past Cincinnati—“or we might have had an interview with the rebels,” wrote Stuver. Splitting up his troops, he then caused havoc as he charged through southern Ohio ahead of a major battle in Meigs County, at Buffington Island on the Ohio River. The largest Civil War engagement in Ohio, the battle memorably witnessed the death of Major Daniel McCook, one of fifteen in his family who saw service with the Union. The patriarch of the “Fighting McCooks,” as they were known, was buried in Cincinnati after a large funeral in which four companies of Stuver’s regiment participated as escorts. During the ceremonies, both enlisted men and officers, wrote Stuver, stood up to a soaking rain “like good soldiers.” McCook, he observed, “was a Paymaster in the Army, and went voluntarily after Morgan, he was 60 years old.”
While the Great Raid accomplished little lasting good for the Confederates, it succeeded for a time in siphoning off Union forces from important offensive measures in east Tennessee. It also caused fear and uncertainty among civilians in Indiana and Ohio, many of whom suffered loss and damage to property that had been seized by Morgan or otherwise caught in the crossfire. Eight months later, the Ohio legislature created a commission to assess claims, and in April 1869 authorized the payment of compensation. The final cost Morgan extracted for the Great Raid was the printing of special forms for “Morgan Raid Claims,” on which farmers like Asahel Skinner of Meigs County certified their losses. Skinner received a total of $220 for two horses, bridles and other provisions, and for the death of a colt.
As we celebrate Black History Month, Library Special
Collections would like to spotlight one of Bowling Green’s best known sons, Reuben
Crowdus, aka Ernest Hogan. Coincidentally, local attorney and historian
Ray Buckberry has recently donated a nice gift of research material about Hogan
and sheet music written by him to Special Collections. Buckberry was the chief person responsible
for researching and orchestrating the effort to get a historical marker erected
for Hogan at the L&N Depot in 2009.
Here we re-print a short biography of Hogan written by Buckberry for the
publication Mt. Moriah Cemetery: A History and Census of Bowling Green,
Kentucky’s African-American Cemetery (Landmark Association, 2002)
Reuben Crowdus was born 17 April 1865 in Bowling Green,
Kentucky. Not much is known about his
early life, although indications are that he left home at an early age, joining
a traveling minstrel show. One of his
first jobs is said to have been as a plantation singer in a low-rent, tent-show
version of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, a show
that launched the careers of many black entertainers.
In 1891, Crowdus adopted his stage name “Ernest Hogan” and
later began referring to himself as “The Unbleached American,” utilizing both
references throughout his career in show business. He wrote the lyrics, music, or both, for
approximately 35 published songs. The
1896 sheet music for a song written by Hogan contained a notation that the
music is to be performed “with Negro rag.”
This was the first use of the word “rag” on a song sheet and many
thereby credit Hogan as writer of the first piece of ragtime music.
His first big solo starring role in New York City came in
1898, with the show “Clorindy, or the Origin of the Cakewalk.” This was the first black show to play in a
first class theater on Broadway. A
Chicago paper reported that Hogan “is firmly established as the greatest
colored comedian of the age.” The rising
star organized a group of about 20 experienced entertainers in 1905, and called
the “The Memphis Students.” Their
opening show in New York was so successful it was held over for 5 months. This show has been referred to as the first
public concert of syncopated music in history.
A long-cherished dream was realized when he mounted his own
musical comedy “Rufus Rastus,” opening on Broadway in 1906. A critic commented that the depth Hogan
brought to his new role took him out of the ranks of “darky comedian” forever
in that he had learned to “touch the heart as well as the funnybone.”
Hogan became seriously ill and, in 1908, his business
friends produced a benefit show in his honor.
The show lasted four hours and a noted black performer remembered it as
the “greatest assembly of colored actors ever to appear in the same theater and
on the same stage in one night.”
On 20 May 1909, Hogan died.
His remains were returned to Bowling Green for burial in Mt. Moriah
Cemetery. By Hogan’s request, the local
band participating in the service at the Methodist Episcopal Church, played
only his favorite ragtime tunes. At the cemetery,
the many floral displays were said to represent the most flowers ever received
for any funeral in Bowling Green.
Hogan had an infectious and crusading spirit, talent and generosity; he was appropriately referred to as “a Moses of the colored theatrical profession.”
To see the finding aid for the Ernest Hogan research material, click here. To see other material in our collections about Hogan, search KenCat or TopSCHOLAR.
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Early in the 20th
century, segregated schools labored under the “separate but equal” doctrine,
which in practice relegated African-American students to underfunded and
inferior facilities. As principal of the
Simmons School of Versailles, Kentucky, Principal Thomas J. Smith struggled in
1908 to establish a department of domestic science. Seeking support from white as well as
African-American citizens, he reached out to Philip J. Noel of Bowling Green,
Kentucky, a native of Harrodsburg whose insurance business regularly brought
him to Versailles.
Smith sent Noel a solicitation card that outlined the aims of the department. Among them: “To teach the girls the dignity of work in the home;” “To supplement what mothers have already taught them”; “To encourage girls to care for their kitchens and stoves as for their parlors and pianos;” and “To teach the most healthful methods of preparing common foods.” Fifty girls in three classes received instruction in music and drawing as well as cookery.
With lumber supplied by the school board, Smith had planned and constructed a practice kitchen and dining room, but domestic science, of course, required more specialized teaching aids. Money was needed to buy the foods that the girls would practice cooking and serving, and with prices so high, Smith complained, it was difficult to keep an adequate supply on hand. As for the equipment, the program, like a country cook, had to start from scratch. “We began,” Smith wrote, “by getting an old stove from the ‘Junk Pile,’ the teacher’s platforms were made into tables, paper was used for biscuit boards and tin cans for rolling pins.”
Mrs. Victoria Mayo, the wife of a Bowling Green, Kentucky barber, had recently settled a medical claim with her insurance company. Hoping to get a testimonial from a satisfied customer, Kentucky Central Life and Accident sent her a postcard encouraging her to “talk up” the company and perhaps refer other business. She wasn’t completely averse to the idea, but she did have a few bones to pick, which she outlined in her reply to the Louisville office.
The benefit paid during her illness had been welcome, she wrote, though she was forced to nudge “your agents here that it was due me before I could get it.” Then there was the matter of the remittance of her premium. Why was it necessary to send payments to Louisville? Could she not just pay at the Bowling Green location? In fact, why couldn’t an agent collect in person? “I am a very stout woman,” she declared, and “am not able to go up the steps of your office here.” And then there was the word on the street about the company’s responsiveness to claims. Mrs. Mayo had always thought favorably of her insurer, but warned that “most every one I speak to will say, ‘Why that KY. CENTRAL won’t pay.'”
And there was one more thing that “I wish to understand,” she noted. Although she “naturally supposed it was for me,” the postcard she had received lacked the appropriate salutation. As 61-year-old Mrs. Mayo knew, white America’s practice of using only first names when addressing African Americans was a persistent assumption of superiority and privilege that evoked the nation’s slaveholding past. When Kentucky Central’s agents “approach a colored person,” she asked, “why must they be addressed as ‘Vic,’ May or John, why not Mrs., Miss, or Mr. Our money was molded in the same mint as that of any other race and goes just as far and we demand the same respect.”
One wonders if Kentucky Central took heed, for it was 1912
when Mrs. Mayo wrote this letter, and many decades of Jim Crow and civil rights
struggles lay ahead.
This rare newsletter, The Kentucky Club Woman: Official Organ of the State Federation of Colored Women’s Clubs is representative of the collection focus of Special Collections Library. We hold materials that are either irreplaceable or unusually rare and valuable. We also maintain items in a secure location with environmental controls to preserve the items for posterity. This newsletter was produced by the Kentucky State Association of Colored Women’s Clubs which was organized in 1903. They boasted a membership of 2,500 women in 112 clubs. The Kentucky clubs specialized in “fostering day nurseries, hospitals, old folks homes; homes for delinquent girls, building club houses and community centers.” We are the only holding library for this issue. Find this and other one-of-a-kind items by using the One Search box, TopScholar and KenCat.
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In mid-1918, the Germans launched a series of offensives
along the Western Front in a last-ditch attempt to secure victory in the Great
War. The fighting was ferocious, but on the
afternoon of July 25 the news broke in Versailles, Kentucky that the German
crown prince and his massive army of several hundred thousand were now captives
of the Allies.
Visiting Versailles was Philip J. Noel, Sr. of Bowling Green, who was busy setting up a local office for his network of insurance agents. Like many other Kentuckians, “P. J.” had followed the war news with dread; he was saddened by the recent combat deaths of former president Theodore Roosevelt’s son Quentin and, closer to home, the loss of the nephew of a former county sheriff. But now, with this spectacular capitulation of the enemy, perhaps peace was at hand; indeed, wrote P. J. to his wife Blanche, the news had unleashed a tide of pent-up relief.
“Well, I never saw anything like it. Versailles was in an uproar,” P. J. reported the next day. On the news of the Crown Prince’s capture, “everything turned loose”: bands played, people marched, and revelers discharged pistols and shotguns until after dark. Members of the local African-American community “got into wagons and marched all over town”—especially relieved, perhaps, because a week earlier fifty of their number had departed for Army service.
But then things got out of hand, no doubt exacerbated by the
popping of gunfire and some generous toasts of whiskey. A runaway horse and buggy, its two young lady
passengers having bailed in the nick of time, ran straight into an automobile. The buggy flipped and was dragged along the
sidewalk, scattering pedestrians. P. J.
had to leap from the car in which he was sitting and duck into a hotel in order
to avoid being struck. On the heels of
this mishap came four drunken men in an automobile, which also flipped and
injured three of them. Next came two
fights: one that hospitalized one of the participants, and another between a
restaurant owner and a rival confectioner.
Then came the knockout punch. No sooner had the dust settled, P. J. wrote,
than “we all wake up to find out that the
Crown Prince had not been captured and it was all a mistake.” If only the citizens of Versailles had read that
day’s Bourbon News from nearby Paris,
Kentucky, warning about “wild grapevine” stories of the Crown Prince’s
defeat. Until verified by the paper’s
“reliable sources,” sniffed the editors, such news had to be taken with “a
pinch of salt.”
Food is one of the necessities of life. It is no surprise that Library Special
Collections—which documents the Commonwealth’s culture—has quite a few items
related to food. To celebrate this culinary
material, an exhibit titled “Food, Glorious Food!” has been installed in the
Jackson Gallery, on the second floor of the Kentucky Building. The exhibit will run through June 26.
Each case within the exhibit represents different aspects of
Kentucky’s culinary heritage. Chief
amongst the cases is one that highlights the collection’s cookbooks. In 2003 the Kentucky Library was the
beneficiary of a large number of cookbooks from the estate of Jeanne (Leach)
Moore, a Morgantown native. This
collection included over 1,500 titles that were added to the collection. This was expanded significantly with a gift
from Albert Schmid a few years later.
Without a doubt, Library Special Collections boasts one of Kentucky’s most
significant cookbook collections. This case
features the variety of cookbooks found in the collection ranging from an 1823
early-American cookbook to children’s guides to cookery. Because of the depth of this collection, cookbooks
are used throughout the exhibit.
Another focal case features menus from restaurants across
the state, ranging from dime store soda fountain menus to those from fine
Louisville restaurants. These items are
cultural treasures, as they share fares available at various food
establishments, costs of items, logos and trademarks, and colorful
graphics. This case also includes examples
of matchbooks, once a ubiquitous give-away at restaurants, postcards, and
One case includes material related to stoves and ranges. Generally a stove uses coal or wood for a fire source, and a range uses electricity or gas. This case features cookbooks from several appliance companies, photographs of these appliances, and promotional material issued by various manufacturers. Included is a photograph of the showroom of the Louisville Tin & Stove Company which shows many of the company’s wares on display. Also included is a catalog from the same company which indicates the great array of stoves and other items produced by this concern. The last two items were donated by Pam Elrod. The highlight of this case is a miniature toy stove donated by Marjorie Claggett and appears courtesy of the Kentucky Museum.
Other cases feature images and publications from Western Kentucky University food science classes and other campus food related activities; labels and other items of food packaging; material highlighting some Kentucky food specialties such as cream candy, Hot Browns, derby pie, and mint juleps; and large posters and photographs that document certain aspects of food in the Commonwealth.
A rare and apparently unrecorded broadside, recently acquired by the Department of Library Special Collections, describes a public meeting in Hickman, Kentucky. From this meeting, a committee of five men were appointed to approach the Kentucky legislature about the creation of a state tobacco warehouse. They wanted to “memorialize” or remind the Legislature of the heavy charges which are imposed at New Orleans and present Hickman, KY as an alternative. Hickman, they note is a desirable location that is easily navigable all year round. They record that Hickman’s shipments for the year, 1846 are: 3000 hogshead of tobacco, almost 20,000 bushels of wheat and 1350 bales of cotton. Senator Thomas James presented to the Kentucky Senate this memorial for the people of Hickman and Fulton County. Hickman, the county seat of Fulton County, is situated on the Mississippi River in western Kentucky’s Jackson Purchase region. There is no evidence, in later Senate journals that the Legislature chose Hickman as a state shipping center. However, tobacco, cotton, timber, and other products were shipped both by rail and by steamboat from Hickman and it gained increasing prominence as a transportation center.