On An American

This blog has written several stories about the American Civil War, and several of those stories have pertained to the surrender of the Confederate Army of Northern Virginia to the Union’s Army of the Potomac in April of 1865. General Lee meet General Grant in the parlor of Elmer McLean’s house at the crossroads of Appomattox in Virginia, and the two men signed the papers that effectively ended that bloody conflict.

Here is another story about that momentous event.

While we’ve talked some about the two commanders in the room that day, we haven’t really looked at the others who were there in Elmer McLean’s parlor early that afternoon in April. Colonel Charles Marshall, a relative of both the former Supreme Court Chief Justice John Marshall and of General George Marshall of World War 2 fame, accompanied Lee as his military secretary and aide de camp. The only other person from the Confederate side to join Lee and Marshall that day was a private, one Joshua O. Johns, who stayed outside and held the reins of Lee’s and Marshall’s horses while the two officers conducted the end of the war inside the house. While Marshall goes on to be one of the founders of the “Lost Cause” narrative of the southern rebellion against the United States, history seems to have lost what happend to that third member of the Confederate Army at Appomattox that day.

It is when you attempt to detail who accompanied Grant to the surrender meeting that things get a little tricky. You see, accounts vary as to the exact number of Union officers who were in McLean’s parlor that afternoon. Most of Grant’s staff were there–Grant showed up late, characteristically, by the way–and were eager to see this historic event. Paintings made of the event much, much later, depict as many as 12 members of Grant’s staff and other officers present (including Robert Lincoln, the President’s son, who was on Grant’s staff). As some of those present recalled the scene in later years, their stories changed, as eyewitness accounts often do, and they sometimes added or subtracted a person here and there as they told their stories.

We know for sure that Grant’s aide, Colonel (breveted Brigadier General) Ely S. Parker was there, because it was Parker who wrote out the terms of the surrender for Grant and Lee to sign. Parker had been with Grant through much of the war; the two men were friends before it, and it was Grant who had taken Parker on as an engineer on his staff in 1863 during the Vicksburg campaign, giving Parker the rank of Captain.

Interestingly, Parker had tried to volunteer for the war, but he was refused to join because, ironically, he was not officially a citizen of the United States despite having been born in New York State. That didn’t matter to Grant, who recognized the talent the 35 year old man had, and, besides, Grant’s army was in desperate need of good engineers. Parker eventually made his way onto Grant’s personal staff, becoming the General’s adjutant and military secretary, the same role that Marshall performed for Lee. In fact, almost all correspondence from Grant during the Civil War from 1863 onward came from Parker’s pen.

Colonel Parker wrote out the terms in his clear hand, presented the copies to both men, and the two leaders signed them. The entire interaction between the two generals took less than 45 minutes. Lee recognized who and what Colonel Parker was, and, before he left McLean’s room, he stretched out his ungloved hand to the man.

“I’m glad to see one real American here,” Lee said to Parker.

Parker took the famous man’s hand and shook it. Realizing that the war was now over, Colonel Ely S. Parker, eyewitness to one of the most important events in Amerian History, and born with the name Hasanoanda on the Seneca Native American reservation and therefore not an official citizen of the United States at the time despite having fought for that country for the past few years, gave General Robert E. Lee the perfect reply.

“We are all Americans now, General.”

On a Partnership

Partners in any business can be a tricky situation—law partners especially. Take the case of Will Herndon and his partner.

Will was a more than competent attorney. He understood that law is sometimes a business that requires a quick turnaround on the case so you can get to the next one. Better to be paid five times handling five quick cases than one time handling one long one. At least that was the way Will saw things.

That’s what frustrated him so about his older law partner. The older man seemed to have a deliberate nature when it came to both researching a case and arguing it. Even on the simplest case, Will‘s partner would pursue it like a bulldog, researching arcane rulings that may or may not apply to the situation, and then taking his own sweet time in the court room to talk to witnesses, dragging out the process, it seemed. It was all sometimes maddening to Will.

In addition, this partner would often allow opposing counsel‘s points to go unchallenged. Why don’t you ever object, Will asked the partner. The man told Will that it was better sometimes to concede six or seven small points as long as you won the last big one.

Perhaps the greatest strain on the relationship between the two partners was Will’s frustration with his partner’s and his partner‘s wife’s inability to discipline their children. You see, the older man’s young children were often in the offices and underfoot. The partner didn’t seem to mind that his sons had free run there, and they often disrupted meetings with clients. It was like having a bunch of wild animals in a place that Will thought should observe at least a modicum of decorum and seriousness.

Yet, despite their differences, the law partnership survived for over 15 years. It dissolved only when the elder partner decided to pursue political office.

And in all that time together as partners, Will Herndon was never invited to his partner’s house for dinner or to meet for any social event. Apparently, the animosity between Will and his partner‘s wife proved too great an obstacle to overcome.

Will’s partner went on to great success in public life, and that success was fueled largely by the same dogged practices that made him such an able litigator. The man served well, and he even died in office.

Years later, Will decided he would write a book describing the man he had come to know over those years as his law partner–a biography from the man who knew him better than anyone else except his wife.

The book’s title?

Herndon’s Lincoln.

On a Meeting in Wartime

The United States has fought in several wars over the nation’s 250 year history. The war that probably gets the least amount of print in history texts or even mentions in the public mind is the Mexican War, which was fought from 1846-1848, not quite two full years. The war was a resounding victory for the still-fledging United States, with the US Army easily conquering the entire country and entering Mexico City as conquerors. About 18,000 American military personnel were either killed, wounded, or missing from the fight, while Mexico’s military casualties were about twice that. At the war’s end, the United States kept everything from Texas to the Pacific and gave the rest back to a more amenable Mexican government.

For the next decade, men like the heroes General Zachary Taylor (who was later elected president) and General Winfield Scott (and others) dominated not only the American military but also much of American politics. Another of the main results of the war was that it provided what would become most of the officer class on both sides of the American Civil War which began a short 12 years later. Some historians have called that war “the training ground” for the experience it provided the soldiers who would lead both sides in the next war. Men who were junior officers in Mexico would become colonels and generals when the Southern States would rebel beginning in 1860. That meant that men who fought together to a victory over Mexico would fight against each other when the Confederacy took up arms against the United States.

A chance interaction between two officers during the Mexican War bears repeating. The story is told that a young American lieutenant named Sam, his regiment’s quartermaster officer, had been out foraging on horseback in the Mexican countryside for food and supplies. He was returning one hot afternoon to the army’s encampment not too far outside Mexico City as the American were preparing to take the city in the next several weeks. Sam was tired, sweaty, and dirty. His uniform front was unbuttoned because of the heat. Now, Sam was a good horseman, but keeping his uniform in regular “army condition” was never a priority for him despite the fact that he had graduated from West Point a few years before. At any rate, here he came, riding back into camp looking like a tramp in an army tunic.

As Sam was dismounting, a colonel came up to him quickly. Sam noticed that the man had a bushy mustache, an immaculate uniform, and spoke to him with a distinct southern accent. The colonel upbraided Sam for his slovenly appearance. Sam was somewhat taken aback, but he knew better than to dispute with the older and higher-ranked officer. Sam buttoned his tunic, wiped the grime from his cheeks, and saluted the colonel. The officer returned Sam’s salute, turned, and walked away.

Now, such a short encounter would probably not be remembered by most men, but Sam kept the meeting in his mind. In 1865, as the Civil War was ending, Sam ran across that very same colonel as the Southern troops were surrendering. The two men met once again in the front room of a house on one of the battlefields. In an effort to be jovial to the defeated rebel, Sam reminded him that they had met years earlier in the Mexican War. Sam recounted that first meeting, but the former colonel looked puzzled. The man who had been the colonel back then told Sam that, yes, he vaguely remembered the incident but that he didn’t exactly remember that it had been Sam whom he had reprimanded that day. The two men, veterans of two wars–one in which they had been comrades and one in which they had been enemies–reminisced about better days for a moment. But the moment of reflection passed.

It was then that General Robert E. Lee of the Confederate Army reminded the commander of the Union troops, Ulysses S. Grant, known as Sam to his friends, that they had better get on with the surrender of Lee’s troops and end the Civil War.

On an Urban Legend

Today marks the 60th year since Lee Harvey Oswald shot and killed President John F. Kennedy in Dallas. The history of the world, arguably, changed in those few moments when three shots were fired in Dealey Plaza on that November morning. In the intervening years, our culture has parsed and picked and delved into every nook and cranny of the event in an effort to make sense of something so absolutely senseless.

The purpose of this post isn’t to argue any of the theories about who actually pulled the trigger (There are certainly several red flags about the whole affair and about Oswald himself). Rather let’s compare the shooting of Kennedy in 1963 with the shooting of Abraham Lincoln 98 years prior, because the similarities between the two events have become the stuff of an urban legend.

Let’s start with the men themselves. Kennedy was elected in 1960, while Lincoln first was elected in 1860. But when they first ran for congress, both men were elected in ’46–one hundred years apart. They both were military veterans. Both men were heavily invested in civil rights. Each one was in his 30s when he married a woman in her 20s. Both lost a son while serving as president. Same number of letters in their last names. Both were shot on a Friday. Each was seated next to his wife. The presidential couples were with another couple at the time of the shooting (The Kennedys with Gov. and Mrs. John Connelly, the Lincolns with Major John Rathbone and his fiancé). The other man of the two couples was also injured in both attacks.

The vice-presidents who assumed the office after the shootings also have some things in common according to the legend. Both men were named Johnson. Both were from southern states starting with a “T”–Texas for Lyndon Johnson and Tennessee for Andrew Johnson. Both Johnsons were born 100 years apart, 1808 for Andrew and 1908 for Lyndon. Both men have the same number of letters in their names. They served in the House of Representatives and in the Senate as well before becoming vice-presidents.

The circumstances of each assassination also reveal some urban-legendary coincidences. They were both shot in public view, from behind, and both died from shots to the head. Lincoln was shot in Ford’s Theater, while Kennedy was shot in a car made by the Ford Motor Company, in a model called a Lincoln. Both shooters carried out their dastardly deeds from places where they worked (John Wilkes Booth worked as an actor often at Ford’s Theater). Oswald shot Kennedy from a warehouse and was later apprehended in a theater; Booth shot Lincoln in a theater and was apprehended in a storehouse barn.

Finally, the assassins themselves have some shared characteristics or events. For example, each one has the same number of letters in their full names (15 letters each). They were both shot and killed before they could stand trial for the murders they committed. They were both southerners. Each was living in a boarding house when they shot the president.

Of course, like most urban legends, coincidences are just that–coincidence. One historian, to prove this point, made connections between Kennedy’s tragic death and the assassination of Mexican President Alvaro Obregon in 1928, for example. And some can argue that the trivialization of presidential murder dishonors the men who died and the lives which were forever altered by the heinous acts of violence.

But, 60 years on, perhaps the deep angst that still hangs around the death of John F. Kennedy might lead us to look for something less tragic, less disastrous, and, well, less sad to divert our gaze from that moment. And you have to admit that this particular urban legend has plenty to distract.

And, sometimes, especially on days like these, we desperately need distraction.

On a Political Pastor

Peter Cartwright was a minister on the frontier of the United States in the early 1800s. Born in Virginia at the end of the 1700s, Cartwright became an ordained member of the Methodist Episcopal Church in 1801 and moved west to help bring the frontier settlers to Christianity. The frontier at the time was where many poorer people moved, people who were less likely to be “churched” and familiar with biblical principles. Cartwright felt a strong calling to go preach on the edge of civilization (Kentucky, at the time) and work among these settlers. Thus, he was part of what historians call the Second Great Awakening, a time of religious revival in that part of the western settlers of the United States.

There was a major issue that Reverend Cartwright found in Kentucky, however. At that time, human slavery was still legal since this was the time before the American Civil War. And Cartwright found that he could not tolerate his parishioners owning other human beings. After several years in Kentucky where he married and had some children, he decided to move to a northern state where the practice of slavery was illegal. Thus, he and his family made the trip to Illinois.

Cartwright was part of that generation that came along as the Revolutionary War generation was dying out. He and his contemporaries felt a strong emotion of patriotism, and they began to think of the Founding Fathers as being practically ordained by God to have started the most Christian, the most holy, the most God-blessed nation on earth (a feeling that is shared today by many as well). He became a chaplain in the US Army during the War of 1812 and saw it as he duty as a citizen to run for office and serve his fellow Americans politically. And so, the frontier pastor became a politician as well.

He was a rare person for the day, however. As a Jacksonian Democrat, he was nonetheless an abolitionist. In Illinois, his popularity as a minister and his advocacy of the elimination of slavery saw him elected to the Illinois State Legislature in 1830 and 1832. He ran for governor once, but he was defeated. Meanwhile, he kept preaching on the frontier, bringing many people to Methodism over the years and the miles. Cartwright was instrumental in setting up several Methodist colleges in Illinois as well, and he served the state Methodist Convention for decades.

Then, the chance came in 1846 for him to run as a US Representative from Illinois. His opponent was a member of the Whig Party and a man who had little political experience. At first look, it would seem that Cartwright would win the election easily against a young and inexperienced Whig, but many people in the state began to tire of the pastor’s mixing of politics and religion. Also, while many people were becoming converted to Methodism, many others continued to enjoy such things as alcohol, specifically hard cider that was made from the many apple trees planted across the state a few years before by one Johnny Appleseed, no less. Cartwright’s insistence on abstinence from alcohol and his calls for laws prohibiting the making and selling of alcohol ultimately changed the election against him. He lost a close election, and that loss made him decide to never run for public office again.

And that’s interesting, because the Whig candidate who did win that election decided to make it his life’s work–next to the study of the law.

That young Whig and new Illinois representative was Abraham Lincoln.

On Grant’s Tomb

In the 1950s, Groucho Marx hosted a game show called You Bet Your Life. The show was a vehicle for the famous comedian to interact with simple American citizens and riff on their interactions, and all of it was built around a question and answer format. Sometimes, Marx and the producers found that, when faced with the lights and TV cameras and the studio audience (not to mention the larger than life persona of Groucho himself), some contestants on the show would freeze up and not be able to answer the show’s questions. That’s when Groucho would resort to a simple question in an effort to get the people to open up and begin to relax: Who’s buried in Grant’s Tomb? Well, the obvious answer that Groucho wanted was, of course, “Grant.” However, that answer both is and isn’t correct. Allow me to explain.

We today forget that Ulysses S. Grant (the “S” stood for nothing–it was only an initial) was seen in his day as one of the saviors of the Union. After almost four years of trying one commanding general after another as head of the Union Army, President Abraham Lincoln found in Grant a man who wasn’t afraid to engage with Robert E. Lee’s rebel army in the field. “I can’t spare Grant,” Lincoln said, “he fights!” Grant fought the insurrectionists to the point that they surrendered in April, 1865. And, in the 1868 election, the next election after the war’s end, Grant was elected President of the United States in a landslide as a sign of how popular he was despite the fact that he had no political experience and was the youngest president elected to that date. Think Dwight D. Eisenhower but almost one hundred years earlier. Grant was re-elected four years later, again, with a good majority of the vote. Sadly, almost a decade after his last term, Grant died of cancer.

However, at that point, much of the nation was divided over Grant’s legacy. Obviously, the people of the rebelling states thought of him as a butcher, the man who forced the Confederacy to be defeated by attrition. They had no use for him. And then, even in the north and west, there were Grant detractors because of what had happened during his eight years as president. You see, those two terms were some of the most corrupt in American History. Several of Grant’s appointees and administration officials were convicted of fraud and of bribery. While Grant himself wasn’t involved, the taint of the corruption had colored how many people viewed him. And, upon his death, the nation was torn as to how to remember this important–even if he was divisive–person.

And those who revered Grant wanted him to have a tomb fitting of the national hero they saw him to be. A fundraising campaign was begun to raise money to build a fitting tomb for the former general, but, after a good and fast start, it quickly fell flat. And land was found along the western side of upper Manhattan Island in New York City for the site of the memorial and grave. Now, Grant was from Ohio originally and had lived in Illinois for a time, but it was New York City that he called home after his presidency and where he was when he died. Also, it was where his wife, Julia, wanted the tomb to be located. She, of course, wished to be buried with her husband when she passed away. That request is why Grant wasn’t buried at West Point (no women allowed at that time) or other military cemeteries. Finally, after a direct appeal by Julia Grant to the soldiers who had fought with her husband in the war, enough money was collected to begin construction.

Now, even the building itself was controversial. The amount initially set aside for the task wouldn’t build a monument grand enough for those who loved Grant, but they felt that, as time wore on, they had to erect something on the selected spot. Finally, a cornerstone was laid in 1892, a full seven years after Grant’s death. And the final structure didn’t get finished until 1897–twelve years after the great man died. Julia died in Washington, D.C., in 1902.

And, to be clear, when the bodies of President Grant and his wife, Julia, were added to the memorial, they were not interred. Instead, the bodies lie above ground, sealed in a red marble sarcophagus. And that fact leads us back to Groucho’s question, the answer to which isn’t as easy as it seemed at the time.

Thus, the real answer to the question as to who is buried in Grant’s Tomb is, actually, nobody.

On a Funny Face

The old “sticks and stones” saying is true but only to a point. Words can hurt, especially when someone is commenting on your physical appearance. That was the case for one man who was born over 200 years ago in the United States. One of the first descriptions of him was “homely and haggard,” and that description was one of the kind ones.

Harsher criticisms included “horrid…ugly and repellent.” Well. That’s blunt. And it seems to have been the general consensus. He looked, one said, like someone drew an overly-exaggerated caricature of a human. Other said that he was “too ugly” to even appear in public. Still others said that the sight of the man’s face was the “object of mirth” and “foolishly comical.”

Add to these descriptions of the man’s face was the fact that he was incredibly awkward in public. His arms and hands seemed to belong to someone else because they were overly large and seemed too long for his body. That made him appear “ape-like” and inhuman. One of the most kind reactions was that of a British man who said he “lacked all that we consider to be debonaire or desirable.”

Now, you’d think such descriptions would cause the poor man to suffer from insecurity and self-doubt, and it did, to a point. However, to his credit, he developed a good sense of humor that fought against those who derided his physical appearance. Someone once accused him of being two-faced, and he is supposed to have responded, “If I had two faces, do you think I’d wear this one?” And another time, he joked that a man once pulled a gun on him and said, “If I ever met a man uglier than me, I’d shoot him.” His reply? “If I’m uglier that you, fire away.”

Yet, the abuse about his appearance never seemed to wane. One friend–yes, friend–said that his head was shaped like a coconut with hair on the top just as uncontrollable as coconut hair. His ears were said to be from someone twice his size. The lips were described as being non-existent. Scraggly sprigs of twine appeared where a normal person’s beard should be. Add to this already funny picture the fact that the man seemed to be covered with moles and warts. His nose was also too big. To complete the picture, a kick from a horse when he was a young man caused one of his eyes to rove independently of the other.

Yet, we don’t remember these descriptions of this man today. In fact, many people today consider this funny face to be the depiction of the prototypical American.

No, we only remember the beautiful heart, the generous nature, and the wonderful leadership of Abraham Lincoln.

On a Hat Maker

Thomas Corbett was born in England in the 1830s and, with his family, emigrated to the United States when he was 8 years old. The family moved to Troy, New York, and young Thomas apprenticed to a hat maker in the village. It would be a job he’d hold off and on throughout his life. When he became of age, Thomas found a woman he fancied, and the pair got married. But his wife and her baby died in childbirth, and that sent Thomas over the edge.

Thomas cursed God and decided to spend the next few years as a homeless drunk for the most part. One night, he found himself in Boston, Massachusetts, and got rip-roaring drunk as usual. It was during his intoxication that he crossed paths with a minister who was standing outside of a local bar and preaching to all those who came out of the establishment, drunk to the gills. Something the minister said resonated with the young grieving widower, and he gave up drinking on the spot. As fervent as he was as a drunk, Thomas became equally as resolute as a Christian. In fact, he even changed his name to represent the “new birth” he felt he’d received upon his baptism; he became Boston Corbett.

Now, we should note at this point that this young man was somewhat unstable mentally. He had exhibited odd behavior even before he experienced his remarkable conversion, but he became increasingly odd afterward. He would stop people on the street and pray for them–people who were complete strangers. He would verbally berate anyone whom he heard using what he considered to be swear words. And he had a habit of stopping traffic in the street and preaching to all within earshot. All of these behaviors caused those around him to question his sanity.

When the Civil War broke out, Corbett enlisted in the Union Army. There, he soon got into trouble for refusing to follow orders he felt were against God’s law (such as marching or fighting on the Sabbath). He faced disciplinary action on many occasions, including one court martial. After one battle in Virginia, Corbett was captured by the Confederates. He was sent to the infamous Andersonville Prison Camp in Georgia, staying there until released in a prisoner swap. When he eventually rejoined his unit, he found himself near Washington D.C. as the war ended.

Like all of the other soldiers in the army, Corbett was incensed that the man he saw as God’s avenging instrument, Abraham Lincoln, was gunned down by the Confederate sympathizer, John Wilkes Booth, a few days after the war ended. Corbett and his company were part of the group who pursued the fugitive Booth. When Booth was found hiding in a barn a few days later, it was Boston Corbett who shot Booth as he hid–shooting the man who was supposed to have been captured alive. You see, Corbett didn’t listen to the orders of men, no; he had a Higher calling.

And the event made him a hero.

After his service, Boston Corbett returned to hat making. He suffered increasing bouts of strange behavior for the remainder of his life. It is supposed that he died in fire in Minnesota a few years later after being a lay preacher for many years in addition to making hats.

What we know now is that Thomas “Boston” Corbett was crazy, but there was a reason for his being that way. You see, at that time, the fur used in making hats such as the tall, beaver pelt hats of the day, was treated with a compound that included mercury. Years of inhaling that poison affected Corbett’s brain and caused his madness.

And it’s why we say that someone is “as mad as a hatter,” because, for Boston Corbett, the avenger of Abraham Lincoln, that was his job.

On a Double Date

Clara accepted her friend Mary’s invitation to double date on behalf of her fiancé, Henry. The two couples had shared evenings in the past, and they enjoyed each other’s company despite the fact that Mary and her husband were older than Clara and Henry. In this case, Mary invited the couple to see a show together.

To say that the double date proved memorable is an understatement, but let’s fast forward a couple of years. Clara and Henry married and, within five years, had three kids, two boys and a girl. Sadly, Henry developed mental and emotional issues. He had fought in the war, and today we would recognize at least a large part of his situation as being Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) as a result of all he had witnessed. He had been a front-line officer, you see, and had seen some of the fiercest fighting during the conflict and even rose to the rank of Major.

The couple had grown up with each other–literally. Both were from comfortably upper-middle class families from upstate New York. Henry’s widowed mom had married Clara’s widower dad when he was 11 and she was 13. The two formed a close friendship that blossomed into romantic love when they reached their early 20s. So, in many ways, the pair had been a couple much longer than other engaged young people their age.

A few years later and despite Henry’s continued mental deterioration, he managed to obtain a diplomatic post to Germany where the young family moved in the 80’s. Finally, Henry’s mental instability reached its climax. Wildly and paranoically suspicious of Clara, Henry attempted to kill their three children. Clara stood in the way of his anger and aggression, and Henry shot and killed her. He spent the rest of his life in a German mental institution, and the three children were sent back to the Untied States to be raised by an uncle. A sad ending to the couple’s realtionship.

Of course, some would point back to the double date the couple went on years before as being one of the main reasons for Henry’s issues and eventual mental breakdown. You see, the married couple Henry and Clara had been invited to go to the show with weren’t some ordinary husband and wife.

No, Clara and Henry had accepted an invitation to attend a showing of My American Cousin at Ford’s Theater that night with Abraham and Mary Todd Lincoln.

On a Political Moderate

It’s difficult for us today to grasp how divisive the issue of slavery was in the United States before the American Civil War. Of course, today, we think that the United states is terribly divided politically between Republicans and Democrats. However, today’s political divisions pale in comparison to the schisms that led this nation to the bloodiest conflict in American history.

Even politicians we might think of as moderate for that time still professed strongly held beliefs in the idea that the races were unequal and so created by God. One typical mid-western moderate politician of the era said, “I will say then that I am not, nor ever have been, in favor of bringing about in any way the social and political equality of the white and Black races.” This same former member of the United States House of Representatives went on to argue that Blacks should not have the vote, were unqualified to be on juries, hold office, and most certainly should never be allowed to marry white people. God, forbid!

On another occasions, this same moderate argued for the resettlement or colonization of Blacks to, well, somewhere else in the world. Liberia, the African nation set up by former slaves of the U.S., was one of the possible places Blacks could be sent, he said. Central America was also floated as a potential resettlement spot by this man. He justified this belief by saying that the differences between the races were simply too great to be resolved and, therefore, separation was the only safe and sane recourse.

He further held that he must support slavery simply because he believed in the United States Constitution. While the Constitution did not specifically mention slavery as a right, the fact that such things as the 3/5 Compromise and the reference to Fugitive Slave Laws in the document supported the idea in his mind—even if he personally disliked the institution. These feelings echoed those of Thomas Jefferson—himself a slave owner—who supposedly said that slavery, “was like holding a wolf by the ears. You didn’t like it, but you sure didn’t let it go.”

You can see that even moderates of that period such as this man held beliefs that today are wildly inappropriate and wrong. That should show you how deeply held the racial animosity was among those considered to be radical in the period leading up to the Civil War.

Yet, this politically moderate man further felt that the institution of slavery was a “necessity” in those area where it existed. When, during the Civil War, the discussion of declaring slavery to be illegal in the areas of the United States where it did not exist—the idea of an Emancipation Proclamation—he posited again that he wished to not interfere with those parts of the nation where slavery still was legal.

Yes, Abraham Lincoln’s position on slavery was indeed moderate for its time, even if he eventually came to see the Civil War as the method for eliminating it once and for all.