Whitman’s Carriage Stoop

      In his later years in Camden, Walt Whitman began receiving many generous gifts and loans. Throughout Camden, Philadelphia, and Southern New Jersey, his network of rich, gift giving, friends had grown very large. For example, his Camden house, at 328 Mickle Street, was purchased for $1,750, of which $1250 dollars came from book royalties, but the other $500 was a loan from his friend George W. Childs. (Reynolds 546) And another generous gift, in May 1887, the journalist and author William Sloane Kennedy started a summerhouse fund for Whitman. The fund came to Whitman in the amounts of $323 dollars and then another $465 sent later. However, Whitman never used the money for a summerhouse; instead he added the money to his personal savings. (Reynolds 554) In 1885, Whitman’s horse and buggy was another, overwhelmingly generous, gift.

      The horse and buggy was quite significant. Whitman was 66 when he received the carriage. It was a particularly thoughtful gift. Although, there were means of public transportation available, for example, Justin Kaplan specifically notes the noise and proximity of the trains and ferries that were close to the Mickle Street residence, “night and day trains of the Camden and Amboy Railroad puffed and rattled along about a hundred yards away from the house. It was also earshot of factory whistles, shipping on the Delaware, and the ferry terminal.”(Kaplan 14) As Whitman aged, he began to express troubles with traveling around in the growing city of Camden. The carriage provided a source of an easier, personal transportation.

      Prior to the carriage, Whitman was nearly a forced shut in. Being house ridden was especially criminal to a poet like Whitman, who was inspired through his surroundings whether they were rural like his child hood in Long Island or urban like his experiences in Brooklyn, Manhattan, or his then current city, Camden. The adventurous poet could not have been very inspired with out means of exploring his environments.  

      The rumor of Whitman’s distress started to make its way around his social circles. His network of friends reacted with considerable aid. Thomas Donaldson, a Philadelphia lawyer, had previously obtained free ferry passages for Whitman, a noteworthy gesture, since it was obvious that Whitman enjoyed ferry trips, a better-known Whitman poem is “Crossing the Brooklyn Ferry”. The free passages were also Whitman’s only way into Philadelphia, since the Ben Franklin Bridge was not opened for another 40 years or so in 1926. It was also Thomas Donaldson who eventually secures the horse and buggy for Whitman. It arrives in front of Whitman’s 328 Mickle Street residence on September 17, 1885. Whitman immediately takes a liking to his new carriage. He seemed to have enjoyed the speed so much that he sells his first horse Frank for a faster one named Nettie. He used the carriage often until his second stroke in 1888, when he gave the horse and buggy up for good. (Reynolds 553)

     The carriage step must have been installed into the front sidewalk of the Mickle Street residence sometime between 1885 and 1888, which places its age around 121 years old. It is certainly surprising that the stoop stayed so undisturbed for such a considerable amount of time. The picture above shows the clear engraving of Whitman’s initials. The stoop remains in front of the house as a reminder of Whitman’s need for adventure and the generous friends he held around the Camden area.

Works Cited

Dooley, Joseph S. Whitman Carriage Step. Digital image. 21 Nov. 2009. Web.

Kaplan, Justin. Walt Whitman a life.

           New York: Perennial, 2003. Print.

Midnightdreary. Walt Whitamn House in Camden. Digital image. Wikimedia Commons.

Wikipedia.org, 13 Oct. 2007. Web. 21 Nov. 2009.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:WhitmanHouse-CamdenNJ1.jpg.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America A Cultural Biography.

            New York: Vintage, 1996. Print.

Whitman’s Carriage Stoop

      In his later years in Camden, Walt Whitman began receiving many generous gifts and loans. Throughout Camden, Philadelphia, and Southern New Jersey, his network of rich, gift giving, friends had grown very large. For example, his Camden house, at 328 Mickle Street, was purchased for $1,750, of which $1250 dollars came from book royalties, but the other $500 was a loan from his friend George W. Childs. (Reynolds 546) And another generous gift, in May 1887, the journalist and author William Sloane Kennedy started a summerhouse fund for Whitman. The fund came to Whitman in the amounts of $323 dollars and then another $465 sent later. However, Whitman never used the money for a summerhouse; instead he added the money to his personal savings. (Reynolds 554) In 1885, Whitman’s horse and buggy was another, overwhelmingly generous, gift.

      The horse and buggy was quite significant. Whitman was 66 when he received the carriage. It was a particularly thoughtful gift. Although, there were means of public transportation available, for example, Justin Kaplan specifically notes the noise and proximity of the trains and ferries that were close to the Mickle Street residence, “night and day trains of the Camden and Amboy Railroad puffed and rattled along about a hundred yards away from the house. It was also earshot of factory whistles, shipping on the Delaware, and the ferry terminal.”(Kaplan 14) As Whitman aged, he began to express troubles with traveling around in the growing city of Camden. The carriage provided a source of an easier, personal transportation.

      Prior to the carriage, Whitman was nearly a forced shut in. Being house ridden was especially criminal to a poet like Whitman, who was inspired through his surroundings whether they were rural like his child hood in Long Island or urban like his experiences in Brooklyn, Manhattan, or his then current city, Camden. The adventurous poet could not have been very inspired with out means of exploring his environments.  

      The rumor of Whitman’s distress started to make its way around his social circles. His network of friends reacted with considerable aid. Thomas Donaldson, a Philadelphia lawyer, had previously obtained free ferry passages for Whitman, a noteworthy gesture, since it was obvious that Whitman enjoyed ferry trips, a better-known Whitman poem is “Crossing the Brooklyn Ferry”. The free passages were also Whitman’s only way into Philadelphia, since the Ben Franklin Bridge was not opened for another 40 years or so in 1926. It was also Thomas Donaldson who eventually secures the horse and buggy for Whitman. It arrives in front of Whitman’s 328 Mickle Street residence on September 17, 1885. Whitman immediately takes a liking to his new carriage. He seemed to have enjoyed the speed so much that he sells his first horse Frank for a faster one named Nettie. He used the carriage often until his second stroke in 1888, when he gave the horse and buggy up for good. (Reynolds 553)

     The carriage step must have been installed into the front sidewalk of the Mickle Street residence sometime between 1885 and 1888, which places its age around 121 years old. It is certainly surprising that the stoop stayed so undisturbed for such a considerable amount of time. The picture above shows the clear engraving of Whitman’s initials. The stoop remains in front of the house as a reminder of Whitman’s need for adventure and the generous friends he held around the Camden area.

Works Cited

Dooley, Joseph S. Whitman Carriage Step. Digital image. 21 Nov. 2009. Web.

Kaplan, Justin. Walt Whitman a life.

           New York: Perennial, 2003. Print.

Midnightdreary. Walt Whitamn House in Camden. Digital image. Wikimedia Commons.

 Wikipedia.org, 13 Oct. 2007. Web. 21 Nov. 2009.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:WhitmanHouse-CamdenNJ1.jpg.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America A Cultural Biography.

            New York: Vintage, 1996. Print.

Whitman’s Carriage Stoop

      In his later years in Camden, Walt Whitman began receiving many generous gifts and loans. Throughout Camden, Philadelphia, and Southern New Jersey, his network of rich, gift giving, friends had grown very large. For example, his Camden house, at 328 Mickle Street, was purchased for $1,750, of which $1250 dollars came from book royalties, but the other $500 was a loan from his friend George W. Childs. (Reynolds 546) And another generous gift, in May 1887, the journalist and author William Sloane Kennedy started a summerhouse fund for Whitman. The fund came to Whitman in the amounts of $323 dollars and then another $465 sent later. However, Whitman never used the money for a summerhouse; instead he added the money to his personal savings. (Reynolds 554) In 1885, Whitman’s horse and buggy was another, overwhelmingly generous, gift.

      The horse and buggy was quite significant. Whitman was 66 when he received the carriage. It was a particularly thoughtful gift. Although, there were means of public transportation available, for example, Justin Kaplan specifically notes the noise and proximity of the trains and ferries that were close to the Mickle Street residence, “night and day trains of the Camden and Amboy Railroad puffed and rattled along about a hundred yards away from the house. It was also earshot of factory whistles, shipping on the Delaware, and the ferry terminal.”(Kaplan 14) As Whitman aged, he began to express troubles with traveling around in the growing city of Camden. The carriage provided a source of an easier, personal transportation.

      Prior to the carriage, Whitman was nearly a forced shut in. Being house ridden was especially criminal to a poet like Whitman, who was inspired through his surroundings whether they were rural like his child hood in Long Island or urban like his experiences in Brooklyn, Manhattan, or his then current city, Camden. The adventurous poet could not have been very inspired with out means of exploring his environments.  

      The rumor of Whitman’s distress started to make its way around his social circles. His network of friends reacted with considerable aid. Thomas Donaldson, a Philadelphia lawyer, had previously obtained free ferry passages for Whitman, a noteworthy gesture, since it was obvious that Whitman enjoyed ferry trips, a better-known Whitman poem is “Crossing the Brooklyn Ferry”. The free passages were also Whitman’s only way into Philadelphia, since the Ben Franklin Bridge was not opened for another 40 years or so in 1926. It was also Thomas Donaldson who eventually secures the horse and buggy for Whitman. It arrives in front of Whitman’s 328 Mickle Street residence on September 17, 1885. Whitman immediately takes a liking to his new carriage. He seemed to have enjoyed the speed so much that he sells his first horse Frank for a faster one named Nettie. He used the carriage often until his second stroke in 1888, when he gave the horse and buggy up for good. (Reynolds 553)

     The carriage step must have been installed into the front sidewalk of the Mickle Street residence sometime between 1885 and 1888, which places its age around 121 years old. It is certainly surprising that the stoop stayed so undisturbed for such a considerable amount of time. The picture above shows the clear engraving of Whitman’s initials. The stoop remains in front of the house as a reminder of Whitman’s need for adventure and the generous friends he held around the Camden area.

Works Cited

Dooley, Joseph S. Whitman Carriage Step. Digital image. 21 Nov. 2009. Web.

Kaplan, Justin. Walt Whitman a life.

           New York: Perennial, 2003. Print.

Midnightdreary. Walt Whitamn House in Camden. Digital image. Wikimedia Commons.

 Wikipedia.org, 13 Oct. 2007. Web. 21 Nov. 2009.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:WhitmanHouse-CamdenNJ1.jpg.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America A Cultural Biography.

            New York: Vintage, 1996. Print.

Whitman’s Carriage Stoop

In his later years in Camden, Walt Whitman began receiving many generous gifts and loans. Throughout Camden, Philadelphia, and Southern New Jersey, his network of rich, gift giving, friends had grown very large. For example, his Camden house, at 328 Mickle Street, was purchased for $1,750, of which $1250 dollars came from book royalties, but the other $500 was a loan from his friend George W. Childs. (Reynolds 546) And another generous gift, in May 1887, the journalist and author William Sloane Kennedy started a summerhouse fund for Whitman. The fund came to Whitman in the amounts of $323 dollars and then another $465 sent later. However, Whitman never used the money for a summerhouse; instead he added the money to his personal savings. (Reynolds 554) In 1885, Whitman’s horse and buggy was another, overwhelmingly generous, gift.

The horse and buggy was quite significant. Whitman was 66 when he received the carriage. It was a particularly thoughtful gift. Although, there were means of public transportation available, for example, Justin Kaplan specifically notes the noise and proximity of the trains and ferries that were close to the Mickle Street residence, “night and day trains of the Camden and Amboy Railroad puffed and rattled along about a hundred yards away from the house. It was also earshot of factory whistles, shipping on the Delaware, and the ferry terminal.”(Kaplan 14) As Whitman aged, he began to express troubles with traveling around in the growing city of Camden. The carriage provided a source of an easier, personal transportation.

Prior to the carriage, Whitman was nearly a forced shut in. Being house ridden was especially criminal to a poet like Whitman, who was inspired through his surroundings whether they were rural like his child hood in Long Island or urban like his experiences in Brooklyn, Manhattan, or his then current city, Camden. The adventurous poet could not have been very inspired with out means of exploring his environments.

The rumor of Whitman’s distress started to make its way around his social circles. His network of friends reacted with considerable aid. Thomas Donaldson, a Philadelphia lawyer, had previously obtained free ferry passages for Whitman, a noteworthy gesture, since it was obvious that Whitman enjoyed ferry trips, a better-known Whitman poem is “Crossing the Brooklyn Ferry”. The free passages were also Whitman’s only way into Philadelphia, since the Ben Franklin Bridge was not opened for another 40 years or so in 1926. It was also Thomas Donaldson who eventually secures the horse and buggy for Whitman. It arrives in front of Whitman’s 328 Mickle Street residence on September 17, 1885. Whitman immediately takes a liking to his new carriage. He seemed to have enjoyed the speed so much that he sells his first horse Frank for a faster one named Nettie. He used the carriage often until his second stroke in 1888, when he gave the horse and buggy up for good. (Reynolds 553)

The carriage step must have been installed into the front sidewalk of the Mickle Street residence sometime between 1885 and 1888, which places its age around 121 years old. It is certainly surprising that the stoop stayed so undisturbed for such a considerable amount of time. The picture above shows the clear engraving of Whitman’s initials. The stoop remains in front of the house as a reminder of Whitman’s need for adventure and the generous friends he held around the Camden area.

Works Cited

Dooley, Joseph S. Whitman Carriage Step. Digital image. 21 Nov. 2009. Web.

Kaplan, Justin. Walt Whitman a life.

New York: Perennial, 2003. Print.

Midnightdreary. Walt Whitamn House in Camden. Digital image. Wikimedia Commons.

Wikipedia.org, 13 Oct. 2007. Web. 21 Nov. 2009.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:WhitmanHouse-CamdenNJ1.jpg.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America A Cultural Biography.

New York: Vintage, 1996. Print.

Whitman’s Carriage Stoop

      In his later years in Camden, Walt Whitman began receiving many generous gifts and loans. Throughout Camden, Philadelphia, and Southern New Jersey, his network of rich, gift giving, friends had grown very large. For example, his Camden house, at 328 Mickle Street, was purchased for $1,750, of which $1250 dollars came from book royalties, but the other $500 was a loan from his friend George W. Childs. (Reynolds 546) And another generous gift, in May 1887, the journalist and author William Sloane Kennedy started a summerhouse fund for Whitman. The fund came to Whitman in the amounts of $323 dollars and then another $465 sent later. However, Whitman never used the money for a summerhouse; instead he added the money to his personal savings. (Reynolds 554) In 1885, Whitman’s horse and buggy was another, overwhelmingly generous, gift.

      The horse and buggy was quite significant. Whitman was 66 when he received the carriage. It was a particularly thoughtful gift. Although, there were means of public transportation available, for example, Justin Kaplan specifically notes the noise and proximity of the trains and ferries that were close to the Mickle Street residence, “night and day trains of the Camden and Amboy Railroad puffed and rattled along about a hundred yards away from the house. It was also earshot of factory whistles, shipping on the Delaware, and the ferry terminal.”(Kaplan 14) As Whitman aged, he began to express troubles with traveling around in the growing city of Camden. The carriage provided a source of an easier, personal transportation.

      Prior to the carriage, Whitman was nearly a forced shut in. Being house ridden was especially criminal to a poet like Whitman, who was inspired through his surroundings whether they were rural like his child hood in Long Island or urban like his experiences in Brooklyn, Manhattan, or his then current city, Camden. The adventurous poet could not have been very inspired with out means of exploring his environments.  

      The rumor of Whitman’s distress started to make its way around his social circles. His network of friends reacted with considerable aid. Thomas Donaldson, a Philadelphia lawyer, had previously obtained free ferry passages for Whitman, a noteworthy gesture, since it was obvious that Whitman enjoyed ferry trips, a better-known Whitman poem is “Crossing the Brooklyn Ferry”. The free passages were also Whitman’s only way into Philadelphia, since the Ben Franklin Bridge was not opened for another 40 years or so in 1926. It was also Thomas Donaldson who eventually secures the horse and buggy for Whitman. It arrives in front of Whitman’s 328 Mickle Street residence on September 17, 1885. Whitman immediately takes a liking to his new carriage. He seemed to have enjoyed the speed so much that he sells his first horse Frank for a faster one named Nettie. He used the carriage often until his second stroke in 1888, when he gave the horse and buggy up for good. (Reynolds 553)

     The carriage step must have been installed into the front sidewalk of the Mickle Street residence sometime between 1885 and 1888, which places its age around 121 years old. It is certainly surprising that the stoop stayed so undisturbed for such a considerable amount of time. The picture above shows the clear engraving of Whitman’s initials. The stoop remains in front of the house as a reminder of Whitman’s need for adventure and the generous friends he held around the Camden area.

Works Cited

Dooley, Joseph S. Whitman Carriage Step. Digital image. 21 Nov. 2009. Web.

Kaplan, Justin. Walt Whitman a life.

           New York: Perennial, 2003. Print.

Midnightdreary. Walt Whitamn House in Camden. Digital image. Wikimedia Commons.

Wikipedia.org, 13 Oct. 2007. Web. 21 Nov. 2009.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:WhitmanHouse-CamdenNJ1.jpg.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America A Cultural Biography.

            New York: Vintage, 1996. Print.

Close-up of Raw Wool

Pre-Civil War, cotton was the primary material used to create clothing. The product was relatively cheap (labor cost, obviously, was not an issue) and there were not tariffs on the material, keeping production overhead relatively low. With the onset of the Civil War, however, wartime activity cut numerous supply lines to the North, which dealt primarily with manufacturing. One of these supply lines happened to be the supply of raw cotton that Northern manufacturers relied upon to produce clothing.

With these limitations in place, Civil-War America had “a textile industry which could not get a fraction of all the cotton it wanted, [so it] turned increasingly to the production of woolen fabrics (here likewise government requirements had skyrocketed), and the market for raw wool was never livelier” (Catton 159). The changes in manufacturing also brought on changes in clothing styles during the early-to-mid 1860s. The standardization of men’s clothing became a movement in the clothing industry in the 1860s, whereas in the 1850s men had a certain amount of latitude with the way they dressed.

Walt Whitman himself participated in this change in fashion: “Whitman dressed differently from before. That was the first thing John Townsend Trowbridge noticed when he visited Whitman in Washington late in 1863” (Reynolds 432). What Trowbridge noted was the transformation in Whitman’s style of clothing from the rebellious, colorful “loafer” of the 1850s, to the more somber, reserved Whitman of the 1960s. Whitman’s transformation in fashion also led to a conflict in the perception of the poet by his friends and admirers: “As for Burroughs’s claim that Whitman was no rough but instead clean and wholesome, it had some validity with regard to the public, postbellum Whitman, with his simple woolen suits and sparkling white linen shirts” (460). This transformation in Whitman’s style, and the fashion of the period in general, was not a coincidence or the whim of fashion, “changing clothing styles signified larger changes in society and culture” (432). The weak government of the antebellum period transformed itself into a powerful agent in America’s culture and Whitman became a part of the “war machine” during the decade he spent in Washington, D.C.. He was now the good grey bard.

However, this was not the only connection that wool had to Whitman’s life. Even years after the initial effects of the Civil War (roughly twenty years, to be exact) wool was still having an impact on Whitman’s life because of where he lived—Camden. Right across the river from Philadelphia, a major industrial hub, Camden itself benefited from the increased need for wool.

The Camden Woolen Mills, which shared a building with a dying factory, were located at 611 Cooper Street and were just one example of the numerous businesses dealing with worsted wool in Camden, NJ in the 1880s and 1890s, towards the end of Walt Whitman’s life. With the increased popularity and demand for woolen goods, however, came the “threat” of foreign competition. During the 1880s and 1890s, one of the most hotly contested actions of government interacting with industry was the debate over tariffs on wool. American wool was considered expensive and of a poorer quality than that which could be obtained through trade with foreign producers of wool. The “average rate of duty on manufactures of woolens in 1887 was 67.21 per cent” (New York Times Sep 24, 1888), whereas under the proposed bill it would be lowered to a uniform rate of 40 percent. Opinions varied greatly as to the effects of this lowered tariff, arguing that it would destroy domestic industry (New York Times Mar 7 1883), or that it would prove beneficial to consumers because of the lowered cost of production (New York Times Sep 24, 188) and prove to cause little harm to domestic industry (Town Topics July 26 1888). By January of 1890, two years before the death of Whitman, the issue was finally being weighed by the Committee of Ways and Means in the House of Representatives. The decision of the Ways and Means Committee lead to the creation of the McKinley Tariff Act.

Works Cited

Catton, Bruce. The Civil War. New York, NY: The American Heritage Library, 1988.

Cohen, Phil. “611 Cooper Street, 1920s.” DVRBS.com. <http://www.dvrbs.com/camden-streets/CamdenStreets/Cooper-605-1920s-1b.jpg>

cyphs-stockup. “Cotton Bowl.” Deviantart.com. 17 Oct 2003. <http://cyphs-stockup.deviantart.com/art/Cotton-Bowl-3475420>

“Free Wool Demanded.” New York Times 3 Jan 1890: 5. Print.

Gardner, Alexander. “Walt Whitman.” Alderman Library, University of Virginia, 1863. <http://www.whitmanarchive.org/multimedia/images/large/012.jpg>

gatagataa-no. “Wool.” Deviantart.com. 25 Sep 2005. <http://gatagataa-no.deviantart.com/art/Wool-22953533>

“Opinions on the Tariff.” New York Times 7 Mar 1883: 2. Print.

Reynolds, David S.. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York, NY: Vintage Books, 1996.

“Saunterings.” Town Topics 26 July 1888: 12. Print.

“Woolen Goods and Their Consumers.” New York Times 24 Sep 1888: 5. Print.

Close-up of Raw Wool

Pre-Civil War, cotton was the primary material used to create clothing. The product was relatively cheap (labor cost, obviously, was not an issue) and there were not tariffs on the material, keeping production overhead relatively low. With the onset of the Civil War, however, wartime activity cut numerous supply lines to the North, which dealt primarily with manufacturing. One of these supply lines happened to be the supply of raw cotton that Northern manufacturers relied upon to produce clothing.

With these limitations in place, Civil-War America had “a textile industry which could not get a fraction of all the cotton it wanted, [so it] turned increasingly to the production of woolen fabrics (here likewise government requirements had skyrocketed), and the market for raw wool was never livelier” (Catton 159). The changes in manufacturing also brought on changes in clothing styles during the early-to-mid 1860s. The standardization of men’s clothing became a movement in the clothing industry in the 1860s, whereas in the 1850s men had a certain amount of latitude with the way they dressed.

Walt Whitman himself participated in this change in fashion: “Whitman dressed differently from before. That was the first thing John Townsend Trowbridge noticed when he visited Whitman in Washington late in 1863” (Reynolds 432). What Trowbridge noted was the transformation in Whitman’s style of clothing from the rebellious, colorful “loafer” of the 1850s, to the more somber, reserved Whitman of the 1960s. Whitman’s transformation in fashion also led to a conflict in the perception of the poet by his friends and admirers: “As for Burroughs’s claim that Whitman was no rough but instead clean and wholesome, it had some validity with regard to the public, postbellum Whitman, with his simple woolen suits and sparkling white linen shirts” (460). This transformation in Whitman’s style, and the fashion of the period in general, was not a coincidence or the whim of fashion, “changing clothing styles signified larger changes in society and culture” (432). The weak government of the antebellum period transformed itself into a powerful agent in America’s culture and Whitman became a part of the “war machine” during the decade he spent in Washington, D.C.. He was now the good grey bard.

However, this was not the only connection that wool had to Whitman’s life. Even years after the initial effects of the Civil War (roughly twenty years, to be exact) wool was still having an impact on Whitman’s life because of where he lived—Camden. Right across the river from Philadelphia, a major industrial hub, Camden itself benefited from the increased need for wool.

The Camden Woolen Mills, which shared a building with a dying factory, were located at 611 Cooper Street and were just one example of the numerous businesses dealing with worsted wool in Camden, NJ in the 1880s and 1890s, towards the end of Walt Whitman’s life. With the increased popularity and demand for woolen goods, however, came the “threat” of foreign competition. During the 1880s and 1890s, one of the most hotly contested actions of government interacting with industry was the debate over tariffs on wool. American wool was considered expensive and of a poorer quality than that which could be obtained through trade with foreign producers of wool. The “average rate of duty on manufactures of woolens in 1887 was 67.21 per cent” (New York Times Sep 24, 1888), whereas under the proposed bill it would be lowered to a uniform rate of 40 percent. Opinions varied greatly as to the effects of this lowered tariff, arguing that it would destroy domestic industry (New York Times Mar 7 1883), or that it would prove beneficial to consumers because of the lowered cost of production (New York Times Sep 24, 188) and prove to cause little harm to domestic industry (Town Topics July 26 1888). By January of 1890, two years before the death of Whitman, the issue was finally being weighed by the Committee of Ways and Means in the House of Representatives. The decision of the Ways and Means Committee lead to the creation of the McKinley Tariff Act.

Works Cited

Catton, Bruce. The Civil War. New York, NY: The American Heritage Library, 1988.

Cohen, Phil. “611 Cooper Street, 1920s.” DVRBS.com. <http://www.dvrbs.com/camden-streets/CamdenStreets/Cooper-605-1920s-1b.jpg>

cyphs-stockup. “Cotton Bowl.” Deviantart.com. 17 Oct 2003. <http://cyphs-stockup.deviantart.com/art/Cotton-Bowl-3475420>

“Free Wool Demanded.” New York Times 3 Jan 1890: 5. Print.

Gardner, Alexander. “Walt Whitman.” Alderman Library, University of Virginia, 1863. <http://www.whitmanarchive.org/multimedia/images/large/012.jpg>

gatagataa-no. “Wool.” Deviantart.com. 25 Sep 2005. <http://gatagataa-no.deviantart.com/art/Wool-22953533>

“Opinions on the Tariff.” New York Times 7 Mar 1883: 2. Print.

Reynolds, David S.. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York, NY: Vintage Books, 1996.

“Saunterings.” Town Topics 26 July 1888: 12. Print.

“Woolen Goods and Their Consumers.” New York Times 24 Sep 1888: 5. Print.

Close-up of Raw Wool

Pre-Civil War, cotton was the primary material used to create clothing. The product was relatively cheap (labor cost, obviously, was not an issue) and there were not tariffs on the material, keeping production overhead relatively low. With the onset of the Civil War, however, wartime activity cut numerous supply lines to the North, which dealt primarily with manufacturing. One of these supply lines happened to be the supply of raw cotton that Northern manufacturers relied upon to produce clothing.

With these limitations in place, Civil-War America had “a textile industry which could not get a fraction of all the cotton it wanted, [so it] turned increasingly to the production of woolen fabrics (here likewise government requirements had skyrocketed), and the market for raw wool was never livelier” (Catton 159). The changes in manufacturing also brought on changes in clothing styles during the early-to-mid 1860s. The standardization of men’s clothing became a movement in the clothing industry in the 1860s, whereas in the 1850s men had a certain amount of latitude with the way they dressed.

Walt Whitman himself participated in this change in fashion: “Whitman dressed differently from before. That was the first thing John Townsend Trowbridge noticed when he visited Whitman in Washington late in 1863” (Reynolds 432). What Trowbridge noted was the transformation in Whitman’s style of clothing from the rebellious, colorful “loafer” of the 1850s, to the more somber, reserved Whitman of the 1960s. Whitman’s transformation in fashion also led to a conflict in the perception of the poet by his friends and admirers: “As for Burroughs’s claim that Whitman was no rough but instead clean and wholesome, it had some validity with regard to the public, postbellum Whitman, with his simple woolen suits and sparkling white linen shirts” (460). This transformation in Whitman’s style, and the fashion of the period in general, was not a coincidence or the whim of fashion, “changing clothing styles signified larger changes in society and culture” (432). The weak government of the antebellum period transformed itself into a powerful agent in America’s culture and Whitman became a part of the “war machine” during the decade he spent in Washington, D.C.. He was now the good grey bard.

However, this was not the only connection that wool had to Whitman’s life. Even years after the initial effects of the Civil War (roughly twenty years, to be exact) wool was still having an impact on Whitman’s life because of where he lived—Camden. Right across the river from Philadelphia, a major industrial hub, Camden itself benefited from the increased need for wool.

The Camden Woolen Mills, which shared a building with a dying factory, were located at 611 Cooper Street and were just one example of the numerous businesses dealing with worsted wool in Camden, NJ in the 1880s and 1890s, towards the end of Walt Whitman’s life. With the increased popularity and demand for woolen goods, however, came the “threat” of foreign competition. During the 1880s and 1890s, one of the most hotly contested actions of government interacting with industry was the debate over tariffs on wool. American wool was considered expensive and of a poorer quality than that which could be obtained through trade with foreign producers of wool. The “average rate of duty on manufactures of woolens in 1887 was 67.21 per cent” (New York Times Sep 24, 1888), whereas under the proposed bill it would be lowered to a uniform rate of 40 percent. Opinions varied greatly as to the effects of this lowered tariff, arguing that it would destroy domestic industry (New York Times Mar 7 1883), or that it would prove beneficial to consumers because of the lowered cost of production (New York Times Sep 24, 188) and prove to cause little harm to domestic industry (Town Topics July 26 1888). By January of 1890, two years before the death of Whitman, the issue was finally being weighed by the Committee of Ways and Means in the House of Representatives. The decision of the Ways and Means Committee lead to the creation of the McKinley Tariff Act.

Works Cited

Catton, Bruce. The Civil War. New York, NY: The American Heritage Library, 1988.

Cohen, Phil. “611 Cooper Street, 1920s.” DVRBS.com. <http://www.dvrbs.com/camden-streets/CamdenStreets/Cooper-605-1920s-1b.jpg>

cyphs-stockup. “Cotton Bowl.” Deviantart.com. 17 Oct 2003. <http://cyphs-stockup.deviantart.com/art/Cotton-Bowl-3475420>

“Free Wool Demanded.” New York Times 3 Jan 1890: 5. Print.

Gardner, Alexander. “Walt Whitman.” Alderman Library, University of Virginia, 1863. <http://www.whitmanarchive.org/multimedia/images/large/012.jpg>

gatagataa-no. “Wool.” Deviantart.com. 25 Sep 2005. <http://gatagataa-no.deviantart.com/art/Wool-22953533>

“Opinions on the Tariff.” New York Times 7 Mar 1883: 2. Print.

Reynolds, David S.. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York, NY: Vintage Books, 1996.

“Saunterings.” Town Topics 26 July 1888: 12. Print.

“Woolen Goods and Their Consumers.” New York Times 24 Sep 1888: 5. Print.

Close-up of Raw Wool

Pre-Civil War, cotton was the primary material used to create clothing. The product was relatively cheap (labor cost, obviously, was not an issue) and there were not tariffs on the material, keeping production overhead relatively low. With the onset of the Civil War, however, wartime activity cut numerous supply lines to the North, which dealt primarily with manufacturing. One of these supply lines happened to be the supply of raw cotton that Northern manufacturers relied upon to produce clothing.

With these limitations in place, Civil-War America had “a textile industry which could not get a fraction of all the cotton it wanted, [so it] turned increasingly to the production of woolen fabrics (here likewise government requirements had skyrocketed), and the market for raw wool was never livelier” (Catton 159). The changes in manufacturing also brought on changes in clothing styles during the early-to-mid 1860s. The standardization of men’s clothing became a movement in the clothing industry in the 1860s, whereas in the 1850s men had a certain amount of latitude with the way they dressed.

Walt Whitman himself participated in this change in fashion: “Whitman dressed differently from before. That was the first thing John Townsend Trowbridge noticed when he visited Whitman in Washington late in 1863” (Reynolds 432). What Trowbridge noted was the transformation in Whitman’s style of clothing from the rebellious, colorful “loafer” of the 1850s, to the more somber, reserved Whitman of the 1960s. Whitman’s transformation in fashion also led to a conflict in the perception of the poet by his friends and admirers: “As for Burroughs’s claim that Whitman was no rough but instead clean and wholesome, it had some validity with regard to the public, postbellum Whitman, with his simple woolen suits and sparkling white linen shirts” (460). This transformation in Whitman’s style, and the fashion of the period in general, was not a coincidence or the whim of fashion, “changing clothing styles signified larger changes in society and culture” (432). The weak government of the antebellum period transformed itself into a powerful agent in America’s culture and Whitman became a part of the “war machine” during the decade he spent in Washington, D.C.. He was now the good grey bard.

However, this was not the only connection that wool had to Whitman’s life. Even years after the initial effects of the Civil War (roughly twenty years, to be exact) wool was still having an impact on Whitman’s life because of where he lived—Camden. Right across the river from Philadelphia, a major industrial hub, Camden itself benefited from the increased need for wool.

The Camden Woolen Mills, which shared a building with a dying factory, were located at 611 Cooper Street and were just one example of the numerous businesses dealing with worsted wool in Camden, NJ in the 1880s and 1890s, towards the end of Walt Whitman’s life. With the increased popularity and demand for woolen goods, however, came the “threat” of foreign competition. During the 1880s and 1890s, one of the most hotly contested actions of government interacting with industry was the debate over tariffs on wool. American wool was considered expensive and of a poorer quality than that which could be obtained through trade with foreign producers of wool. The “average rate of duty on manufactures of woolens in 1887 was 67.21 per cent” (New York Times Sep 24, 1888), whereas under the proposed bill it would be lowered to a uniform rate of 40 percent. Opinions varied greatly as to the effects of this lowered tariff, arguing that it would destroy domestic industry (New York Times Mar 7 1883), or that it would prove beneficial to consumers because of the lowered cost of production (New York Times Sep 24, 188) and prove to cause little harm to domestic industry (Town Topics July 26 1888). By January of 1890, two years before the death of Whitman, the issue was finally being weighed by the Committee of Ways and Means in the House of Representatives. The decision of the Ways and Means Committee lead to the creation of the McKinley Tariff Act.

Works Cited

Catton, Bruce. The Civil War. New York, NY: The American Heritage Library, 1988.

Cohen, Phil. “611 Cooper Street, 1920s.” DVRBS.com. <http://www.dvrbs.com/camden-streets/CamdenStreets/Cooper-605-1920s-1b.jpg>

cyphs-stockup. “Cotton Bowl.” Deviantart.com. 17 Oct 2003. <http://cyphs-stockup.deviantart.com/art/Cotton-Bowl-3475420>

“Free Wool Demanded.” New York Times 3 Jan 1890: 5. Print.

Gardner, Alexander. “Walt Whitman.” Alderman Library, University of Virginia, 1863. <http://www.whitmanarchive.org/multimedia/images/large/012.jpg>

gatagataa-no. “Wool.” Deviantart.com. 25 Sep 2005. <http://gatagataa-no.deviantart.com/art/Wool-22953533>

“Opinions on the Tariff.” New York Times 7 Mar 1883: 2. Print.

Reynolds, David S.. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York, NY: Vintage Books, 1996.

“Saunterings.” Town Topics 26 July 1888: 12. Print.

“Woolen Goods and Their Consumers.” New York Times 24 Sep 1888: 5. Print.

Close-up of Raw Wool

Pre-Civil War, cotton was the primary material used to create clothing. The product was relatively cheap (labor cost, obviously, was not an issue) and there were not tariffs on the material, keeping production overhead relatively low. With the onset of the Civil War, however, wartime activity cut numerous supply lines to the North, which dealt primarily with manufacturing. One of these supply lines happened to be the supply of raw cotton that Northern manufacturers relied upon to produce clothing.

With these limitations in place, Civil-War America had “a textile industry which could not get a fraction of all the cotton it wanted, [so it] turned increasingly to the production of woolen fabrics (here likewise government requirements had skyrocketed), and the market for raw wool was never livelier” (Catton 159). The changes in manufacturing also brought on changes in clothing styles during the early-to-mid 1860s. The standardization of men’s clothing became a movement in the clothing industry in the 1860s, whereas in the 1850s men had a certain amount of latitude with the way they dressed.

Walt Whitman himself participated in this change in fashion: “Whitman dressed differently from before. That was the first thing John Townsend Trowbridge noticed when he visited Whitman in Washington late in 1863” (Reynolds 432). What Trowbridge noted was the transformation in Whitman’s style of clothing from the rebellious, colorful “loafer” of the 1850s, to the more somber, reserved Whitman of the 1960s. Whitman’s transformation in fashion also led to a conflict in the perception of the poet by his friends and admirers: “As for Burroughs’s claim that Whitman was no rough but instead clean and wholesome, it had some validity with regard to the public, postbellum Whitman, with his simple woolen suits and sparkling white linen shirts” (460). This transformation in Whitman’s style, and the fashion of the period in general, was not a coincidence or the whim of fashion, “changing clothing styles signified larger changes in society and culture” (432). The weak government of the antebellum period transformed itself into a powerful agent in America’s culture and Whitman became a part of the “war machine” during the decade he spent in Washington, D.C.. He was now the good grey bard.

However, this was not the only connection that wool had to Whitman’s life. Even years after the initial effects of the Civil War (roughly twenty years, to be exact) wool was still having an impact on Whitman’s life because of where he lived—Camden. Right across the river from Philadelphia, a major industrial hub, Camden itself benefited from the increased need for wool.

The Camden Woolen Mills, which shared a building with a dying factory, were located at 611 Cooper Street and were just one example of the numerous businesses dealing with worsted wool in Camden, NJ in the 1880s and 1890s, towards the end of Walt Whitman’s life. With the increased popularity and demand for woolen goods, however, came the “threat” of foreign competition. During the 1880s and 1890s, one of the most hotly contested actions of government interacting with industry was the debate over tariffs on wool. American wool was considered expensive and of a poorer quality than that which could be obtained through trade with foreign producers of wool. The “average rate of duty on manufactures of woolens in 1887 was 67.21 per cent” (New York Times Sep 24, 1888), whereas under the proposed bill it would be lowered to a uniform rate of 40 percent. Opinions varied greatly as to the effects of this lowered tariff, arguing that it would destroy domestic industry (New York Times Mar 7 1883), or that it would prove beneficial to consumers because of the lowered cost of production (New York Times Sep 24, 188) and prove to cause little harm to domestic industry (Town Topics July 26 1888). By January of 1890, two years before the death of Whitman, the issue was finally being weighed by the Committee of Ways and Means in the House of Representatives. The decision of the Ways and Means Committee lead to the creation of the McKinley Tariff Act.

Works Cited

Catton, Bruce. The Civil War. New York, NY: The American Heritage Library, 1988.

Cohen, Phil. “611 Cooper Street, 1920s.” DVRBS.com. <http://www.dvrbs.com/camden-streets/CamdenStreets/Cooper-605-1920s-1b.jpg>

cyphs-stockup. “Cotton Bowl.” Deviantart.com. 17 Oct 2003. <http://cyphs-stockup.deviantart.com/art/Cotton-Bowl-3475420>

“Free Wool Demanded.” New York Times 3 Jan 1890: 5. Print.

Gardner, Alexander. “Walt Whitman.” Alderman Library, University of Virginia, 1863. <http://www.whitmanarchive.org/multimedia/images/large/012.jpg>

gatagataa-no. “Wool.” Deviantart.com. 25 Sep 2005. <http://gatagataa-no.deviantart.com/art/Wool-22953533>

“Opinions on the Tariff.” New York Times 7 Mar 1883: 2. Print.

Reynolds, David S.. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York, NY: Vintage Books, 1996.

“Saunterings.” Town Topics 26 July 1888: 12. Print.

“Woolen Goods and Their Consumers.” New York Times 24 Sep 1888: 5. Print.

Close-up of Raw Wool

Pre-Civil War, cotton was the primary material used to create clothing. The product was relatively cheap (labor cost, obviously, was not an issue) and there were not tariffs on the material, keeping production overhead relatively low. With the onset of the Civil War, however, wartime activity cut numerous supply lines to the North, which dealt primarily with manufacturing. One of these supply lines happened to be the supply of raw cotton that Northern manufacturers relied upon to produce clothing.

With these limitations in place, Civil-War America had “a textile industry which could not get a fraction of all the cotton it wanted, [so it] turned increasingly to the production of woolen fabrics (here likewise government requirements had skyrocketed), and the market for raw wool was never livelier” (Catton 159). The changes in manufacturing also brought on changes in clothing styles during the early-to-mid 1860s. The standardization of men’s clothing became a movement in the clothing industry in the 1860s, whereas in the 1850s men had a certain amount of latitude with the way they dressed.

Walt Whitman himself participated in this change in fashion: “Whitman dressed differently from before. That was the first thing John Townsend Trowbridge noticed when he visited Whitman in Washington late in 1863” (Reynolds 432). What Trowbridge noted was the transformation in Whitman’s style of clothing from the rebellious, colorful “loafer” of the 1850s, to the more somber, reserved Whitman of the 1960s. Whitman’s transformation in fashion also led to a conflict in the perception of the poet by his friends and admirers: “As for Burroughs’s claim that Whitman was no rough but instead clean and wholesome, it had some validity with regard to the public, postbellum Whitman, with his simple woolen suits and sparkling white linen shirts” (460). This transformation in Whitman’s style, and the fashion of the period in general, was not a coincidence or the whim of fashion, “changing clothing styles signified larger changes in society and culture” (432). The weak government of the antebellum period transformed itself into a powerful agent in America’s culture and Whitman became a part of the “war machine” during the decade he spent in Washington, D.C.. He was now the good grey bard.

However, this was not the only connection that wool had to Whitman’s life. Even years after the initial effects of the Civil War (roughly twenty years, to be exact) wool was still having an impact on Whitman’s life because of where he lived—Camden. Right across the river from Philadelphia, a major industrial hub, Camden itself benefited from the increased need for wool.

The Camden Woolen Mills, which shared a building with a dying factory, were located at 611 Cooper Street and were just one example of the numerous businesses dealing with worsted wool in Camden, NJ in the 1880s and 1890s, towards the end of Walt Whitman’s life. With the increased popularity and demand for woolen goods, however, came the “threat” of foreign competition. During the 1880s and 1890s, one of the most hotly contested actions of government interacting with industry was the debate over tariffs on wool. American wool was considered expensive and of a poorer quality than that which could be obtained through trade with foreign producers of wool. The “average rate of duty on manufactures of woolens in 1887 was 67.21 per cent” (New York Times Sep 24, 1888), whereas under the proposed bill it would be lowered to a uniform rate of 40 percent. Opinions varied greatly as to the effects of this lowered tariff, arguing that it would destroy domestic industry (New York Times Mar 7 1883), or that it would prove beneficial to consumers because of the lowered cost of production (New York Times Sep 24, 188) and prove to cause little harm to domestic industry (Town Topics July 26 1888). By January of 1890, two years before the death of Whitman, the issue was finally being weighed by the Committee of Ways and Means in the House of Representatives. The decision of the Ways and Means Committee lead to the creation of the McKinley Tariff Act.

Works Cited

Catton, Bruce. The Civil War. New York, NY: The American Heritage Library, 1988.

Cohen, Phil. “611 Cooper Street, 1920s.” DVRBS.com. <http://www.dvrbs.com/camden-streets/CamdenStreets/Cooper-605-1920s-1b.jpg>

cyphs-stockup. “Cotton Bowl.” Deviantart.com. 17 Oct 2003. <http://cyphs-stockup.deviantart.com/art/Cotton-Bowl-3475420>

“Free Wool Demanded.” New York Times 3 Jan 1890: 5. Print.

Gardner, Alexander. “Walt Whitman.” Alderman Library, University of Virginia, 1863. <http://www.whitmanarchive.org/multimedia/images/large/012.jpg>

gatagataa-no. “Wool.” Deviantart.com. 25 Sep 2005. <http://gatagataa-no.deviantart.com/art/Wool-22953533>

“Opinions on the Tariff.” New York Times 7 Mar 1883: 2. Print.

Reynolds, David S.. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York, NY: Vintage Books, 1996.

“Saunterings.” Town Topics 26 July 1888: 12. Print.

“Woolen Goods and Their Consumers.” New York Times 24 Sep 1888: 5. Print.

Close-up of Raw Wool

Pre-Civil War, cotton was the primary material used to create clothing. The product was relatively cheap (labor cost, obviously, was not an issue) and there were not tariffs on the material, keeping production overhead relatively low. With the onset of the Civil War, however, wartime activity cut numerous supply lines to the North, which dealt primarily with manufacturing. One of these supply lines happened to be the supply of raw cotton that Northern manufacturers relied upon to produce clothing.

With these limitations in place, Civil-War America had “a textile industry which could not get a fraction of all the cotton it wanted, [so it] turned increasingly to the production of woolen fabrics (here likewise government requirements had skyrocketed), and the market for raw wool was never livelier” (Catton 159). The changes in manufacturing also brought on changes in clothing styles during the early-to-mid 1860s. The standardization of men’s clothing became a movement in the clothing industry in the 1860s, whereas in the 1850s men had a certain amount of latitude with the way they dressed.

Walt Whitman himself participated in this change in fashion: “Whitman dressed differently from before. That was the first thing John Townsend Trowbridge noticed when he visited Whitman in Washington late in 1863” (Reynolds 432). What Trowbridge noted was the transformation in Whitman’s style of clothing from the rebellious, colorful “loafer” of the 1850s, to the more somber, reserved Whitman of the 1960s. Whitman’s transformation in fashion also led to a conflict in the perception of the poet by his friends and admirers: “As for Burroughs’s claim that Whitman was no rough but instead clean and wholesome, it had some validity with regard to the public, postbellum Whitman, with his simple woolen suits and sparkling white linen shirts” (460). This transformation in Whitman’s style, and the fashion of the period in general, was not a coincidence or the whim of fashion, “changing clothing styles signified larger changes in society and culture” (432). The weak government of the antebellum period transformed itself into a powerful agent in America’s culture and Whitman became a part of the “war machine” during the decade he spent in Washington, D.C.. He was now the good grey bard.

However, this was not the only connection that wool had to Whitman’s life. Even years after the initial effects of the Civil War (roughly twenty years, to be exact) wool was still having an impact on Whitman’s life because of where he lived—Camden. Right across the river from Philadelphia, a major industrial hub, Camden itself benefited from the increased need for wool.

The Camden Woolen Mills, which shared a building with a dying factory, were located at 611 Cooper Street and were just one example of the numerous businesses dealing with worsted wool in Camden, NJ in the 1880s and 1890s, towards the end of Walt Whitman’s life. With the increased popularity and demand for woolen goods, however, came the “threat” of foreign competition. During the 1880s and 1890s, one of the most hotly contested actions of government interacting with industry was the debate over tariffs on wool. American wool was considered expensive and of a poorer quality than that which could be obtained through trade with foreign producers of wool. The “average rate of duty on manufactures of woolens in 1887 was 67.21 per cent” (New York Times Sep 24, 1888), whereas under the proposed bill it would be lowered to a uniform rate of 40 percent. Opinions varied greatly as to the effects of this lowered tariff, arguing that it would destroy domestic industry (New York Times Mar 7 1883), or that it would prove beneficial to consumers because of the lowered cost of production (New York Times Sep 24, 188) and prove to cause little harm to domestic industry (Town Topics July 26 1888). By January of 1890, two years before the death of Whitman, the issue was finally being weighed by the Committee of Ways and Means in the House of Representatives. The decision of the Ways and Means Committee lead to the creation of the McKinley Tariff Act.

Works Cited

Catton, Bruce. The Civil War. New York, NY: The American Heritage Library, 1988.

Cohen, Phil. “611 Cooper Street, 1920s.” DVRBS.com. <http://www.dvrbs.com/camden-streets/CamdenStreets/Cooper-605-1920s-1b.jpg>

cyphs-stockup. “Cotton Bowl.” Deviantart.com. 17 Oct 2003. <http://cyphs-stockup.deviantart.com/art/Cotton-Bowl-3475420>

“Free Wool Demanded.” New York Times 3 Jan 1890: 5. Print.

Gardner, Alexander. “Walt Whitman.” Alderman Library, University of Virginia, 1863. <http://www.whitmanarchive.org/multimedia/images/large/012.jpg>

gatagataa-no. “Wool.” Deviantart.com. 25 Sep 2005. <http://gatagataa-no.deviantart.com/art/Wool-22953533>

“Opinions on the Tariff.” New York Times 7 Mar 1883: 2. Print.

Reynolds, David S.. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York, NY: Vintage Books, 1996.

“Saunterings.” Town Topics 26 July 1888: 12. Print.

“Woolen Goods and Their Consumers.” New York Times 24 Sep 1888: 5. Print.

Close-up of Raw Wool

Pre-Civil War, cotton was the primary material used to create clothing. The product was relatively cheap (labor cost, obviously, was not an issue) and there were not tariffs on the material, keeping production overhead relatively low. With the onset of the Civil War, however, wartime activity cut numerous supply lines to the North, which dealt primarily with manufacturing. One of these supply lines happened to be the supply of raw cotton that Northern manufacturers relied upon to produce clothing.

With these limitations in place, Civil-War America had “a textile industry which could not get a fraction of all the cotton it wanted, [so it] turned increasingly to the production of woolen fabrics (here likewise government requirements had skyrocketed), and the market for raw wool was never livelier” (Catton 159). The changes in manufacturing also brought on changes in clothing styles during the early-to-mid 1860s. The standardization of men’s clothing became a movement in the clothing industry in the 1860s, whereas in the 1850s men had a certain amount of latitude with the way they dressed.

Walt Whitman himself participated in this change in fashion: “Whitman dressed differently from before. That was the first thing John Townsend Trowbridge noticed when he visited Whitman in Washington late in 1863” (Reynolds 432). What Trowbridge noted was the transformation in Whitman’s style of clothing from the rebellious, colorful “loafer” of the 1850s, to the more somber, reserved Whitman of the 1960s. Whitman’s transformation in fashion also led to a conflict in the perception of the poet by his friends and admirers: “As for Burroughs’s claim that Whitman was no rough but instead clean and wholesome, it had some validity with regard to the public, postbellum Whitman, with his simple woolen suits and sparkling white linen shirts” (460). This transformation in Whitman’s style, and the fashion of the period in general, was not a coincidence or the whim of fashion, “changing clothing styles signified larger changes in society and culture” (432). The weak government of the antebellum period transformed itself into a powerful agent in America’s culture and Whitman became a part of the “war machine” during the decade he spent in Washington, D.C.. He was now the good grey bard.

However, this was not the only connection that wool had to Whitman’s life. Even years after the initial effects of the Civil War (roughly twenty years, to be exact) wool was still having an impact on Whitman’s life because of where he lived—Camden. Right across the river from Philadelphia, a major industrial hub, Camden itself benefited from the increased need for wool.

The Camden Woolen Mills, which shared a building with a dying factory, were located at 611 Cooper Street and were just one example of the numerous businesses dealing with worsted wool in Camden, NJ in the 1880s and 1890s, towards the end of Walt Whitman’s life. With the increased popularity and demand for woolen goods, however, came the “threat” of foreign competition. During the 1880s and 1890s, one of the most hotly contested actions of government interacting with industry was the debate over tariffs on wool. American wool was considered expensive and of a poorer quality than that which could be obtained through trade with foreign producers of wool. The “average rate of duty on manufactures of woolens in 1887 was 67.21 per cent” (New York Times Sep 24, 1888), whereas under the proposed bill it would be lowered to a uniform rate of 40 percent. Opinions varied greatly as to the effects of this lowered tariff, arguing that it would destroy domestic industry (New York Times Mar 7 1883), or that it would prove beneficial to consumers because of the lowered cost of production (New York Times Sep 24, 188) and prove to cause little harm to domestic industry (Town Topics July 26 1888). By January of 1890, two years before the death of Whitman, the issue was finally being weighed by the Committee of Ways and Means in the House of Representatives. The decision of the Ways and Means Committee lead to the creation of the McKinley Tariff Act.

Works Cited

Catton, Bruce. The Civil War. New York, NY: The American Heritage Library, 1988.

Cohen, Phil. “611 Cooper Street, 1920s.” DVRBS.com. <http://www.dvrbs.com/camden-streets/CamdenStreets/Cooper-605-1920s-1b.jpg>

cyphs-stockup. “Cotton Bowl.” Deviantart.com. 17 Oct 2003. <http://cyphs-stockup.deviantart.com/art/Cotton-Bowl-3475420>

“Free Wool Demanded.” New York Times 3 Jan 1890: 5. Print.

Gardner, Alexander. “Walt Whitman.” Alderman Library, University of Virginia, 1863. <http://www.whitmanarchive.org/multimedia/images/large/012.jpg>

gatagataa-no. “Wool.” Deviantart.com. 25 Sep 2005. <http://gatagataa-no.deviantart.com/art/Wool-22953533>

“Opinions on the Tariff.” New York Times 7 Mar 1883: 2. Print.

Reynolds, David S.. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York, NY: Vintage Books, 1996.

“Saunterings.” Town Topics 26 July 1888: 12. Print.

“Woolen Goods and Their Consumers.” New York Times 24 Sep 1888: 5. Print.

Close-up of Raw Wool

Pre-Civil War, cotton was the primary material used to create clothing. The product was relatively cheap (labor cost, obviously, was not an issue) and there were not tariffs on the material, keeping production overhead relatively low. With the onset of the Civil War, however, wartime activity cut numerous supply lines to the North, which dealt primarily with manufacturing. One of these supply lines happened to be the supply of raw cotton that Northern manufacturers relied upon to produce clothing.

With these limitations in place, Civil-War America had “a textile industry which could not get a fraction of all the cotton it wanted, [so it] turned increasingly to the production of woolen fabrics (here likewise government requirements had skyrocketed), and the market for raw wool was never livelier” (Catton 159). The changes in manufacturing also brought on changes in clothing styles during the early-to-mid 1860s. The standardization of men’s clothing became a movement in the clothing industry in the 1860s, whereas in the 1850s men had a certain amount of latitude with the way they dressed.

Walt Whitman himself participated in this change in fashion: “Whitman dressed differently from before. That was the first thing John Townsend Trowbridge noticed when he visited Whitman in Washington late in 1863” (Reynolds 432). What Trowbridge noted was the transformation in Whitman’s style of clothing from the rebellious, colorful “loafer” of the 1850s, to the more somber, reserved Whitman of the 1960s. Whitman’s transformation in fashion also led to a conflict in the perception of the poet by his friends and admirers: “As for Burroughs’s claim that Whitman was no rough but instead clean and wholesome, it had some validity with regard to the public, postbellum Whitman, with his simple woolen suits and sparkling white linen shirts” (460). This transformation in Whitman’s style, and the fashion of the period in general, was not a coincidence or the whim of fashion, “changing clothing styles signified larger changes in society and culture” (432). The weak government of the antebellum period transformed itself into a powerful agent in America’s culture and Whitman became a part of the “war machine” during the decade he spent in Washington, D.C.. He was now the good grey bard.

However, this was not the only connection that wool had to Whitman’s life. Even years after the initial effects of the Civil War (roughly twenty years, to be exact) wool was still having an impact on Whitman’s life because of where he lived—Camden. Right across the river from Philadelphia, a major industrial hub, Camden itself benefited from the increased need for wool.

The Camden Woolen Mills, which shared a building with a dying factory, were located at 611 Cooper Street and were just one example of the numerous businesses dealing with worsted wool in Camden, NJ in the 1880s and 1890s, towards the end of Walt Whitman’s life. With the increased popularity and demand for woolen goods, however, came the “threat” of foreign competition. During the 1880s and 1890s, one of the most hotly contested actions of government interacting with industry was the debate over tariffs on wool. American wool was considered expensive and of a poorer quality than that which could be obtained through trade with foreign producers of wool. The “average rate of duty on manufactures of woolens in 1887 was 67.21 per cent” (New York Times Sep 24, 1888), whereas under the proposed bill it would be lowered to a uniform rate of 40 percent. Opinions varied greatly as to the effects of this lowered tariff, arguing that it would destroy domestic industry (New York Times Mar 7 1883), or that it would prove beneficial to consumers because of the lowered cost of production (New York Times Sep 24, 188) and prove to cause little harm to domestic industry (Town Topics July 26 1888). By January of 1890, two years before the death of Whitman, the issue was finally being weighed by the Committee of Ways and Means in the House of Representatives. The decision of the Ways and Means Committee lead to the creation of the McKinley Tariff Act.

Works Cited

Catton, Bruce. The Civil War. New York, NY: The American Heritage Library, 1988.

Cohen, Phil. “611 Cooper Street, 1920s.” DVRBS.com. <http://www.dvrbs.com/camden-streets/CamdenStreets/Cooper-605-1920s-1b.jpg>

cyphs-stockup. “Cotton Bowl.” Deviantart.com. 17 Oct 2003. <http://cyphs-stockup.deviantart.com/art/Cotton-Bowl-3475420>

“Free Wool Demanded.” New York Times 3 Jan 1890: 5. Print.

Gardner, Alexander. “Walt Whitman.” Alderman Library, University of Virginia, 1863. <http://www.whitmanarchive.org/multimedia/images/large/012.jpg>

gatagataa-no. “Wool.” Deviantart.com. 25 Sep 2005. <http://gatagataa-no.deviantart.com/art/Wool-22953533>

“Opinions on the Tariff.” New York Times 7 Mar 1883: 2. Print.

Reynolds, David S.. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York, NY: Vintage Books, 1996.

“Saunterings.” Town Topics 26 July 1888: 12. Print.

“Woolen Goods and Their Consumers.” New York Times 24 Sep 1888: 5. Print.

Pfaff’s was the perfect place for writers and literary types to come and drink while sharing their writings and opinions of other writers. Patrons were known to stand and recite their new works before having them published. Some of the most famous patrons of Pfaff’s were, “Ada Clare, the Queen of Bohemia…the actress Adah Isaacs Menken…the fictionist Fitz-James O’Brien…(author) Fitz-Hugh Ludlow…Artemus Ward, the comedian…the picturesque poet N.G. Shephard and the Poesque tale writer Charles D. Gardette” (Reynolds 377). Perhaps the most famous patrons of all were Walt Whitman and Henry Clapp Jr., the King of the Bohemians. Clapp was born in Nantucket but spent many years in Paris. His writing was considered controversial and his most controversial move of all was creating the Saturday Press. Miller writes that the Saturday Press was a, “mix of radical politics, personal freedom, naïveté, silliness, realism, sexual frankness, and exuberance…” (89). The Press allowed Clapp to publish his views and to also highlight the works of authors that he appreciated. One of these authors was Walt Whitman and his works “Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking” and “O Captain! My Captain!” among dozens of other items. Unfortunately the Press was plagued with financial troubles and only existed for a year before it had to be shut down. Clapp was not to give up without a fight. Purely through strength of will Clapp reopened the Press in 1865 for two weeks, just long enough to publish “Oh Captain! My Captain!” and “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County” which catapulted Mark Twain to fame. Clapp, as the King of Bohemia, sat at the head of the table at Pfaff’s while Whitman usually took his place to the side at a separate table.

Although Whitman was touted as the “reigning luminary” (Burrows & Wallace 711)  Whitman did not come to Pfaff’s to be the center of attention. As he himself stated, “My own greatest pleasure at Pfaff’s was to look on – to see, talk little, absorb. I was never a great discusser, anyway”. This is not to say that Whitman was entirely silent, he was known to read new works aloud as well as to become embroiled in tiffs with other writers. Whitman wrote of Thomas Bailey Aldrich’s The Bells, “Yes, Tom, I like your tinkles: I like them very well” (Parry 41). He also made a short term enemy with George Arnold. Parry writes that George Arnold one night made the mistake of toasting the South. Whitman, a proud Yankee, jumped up and gave a long patriotic speech (quite unlike his placid Pfaffian demeanor) to which Arnold responded with a tug on Whitman’s beard (42).  Quarrels were to be expected because of the very nature of Pfaff’s; it was a place that encouraged drinking and liberal speech simultaneously.

Liberality reigned supreme in many forms. An important aspect of Pfaff’s was its female presence. Ada Claire was far and beyond the Queen. She was the trail blazer for all women who were to eventually find company at Pfaff’s, but she was also the woman to stay the longest. Ada was considered by Whitman to be born ahead of her time (Parry 14). Although she wrote love poems, she was really famous for her utter disregard of social norms. Ada Claire flaunted her love affairs and her illegitimate child born of one such affair, she smoked and drank with the Pfaffian men, and she took to the stage in order to achieve fame (Miller 91-92). Alongside Claire was Adah Isaacs Menken, known as, “a writer and actress and heroine of celebrated off-stage adventures” (Kaplan 243). Like Claire, Menken’s life was full of romantic drama and an illegitimate child. But unlike Claire, Menken found more success on stage when she stared in Mazeppa a play in which she was strapped to a horse practically naked. Adah Isaacs Menken was a great fan of Whitman and aligned him with Edgar Allen Poe, the Patron saint of the Pfaffians.

Poe came to rule over the Pfaffian crowd for obvious reasons. For one, he was a maligned writer who was unappreciated in his time. For two, the Pfaffians related well with Poe’s melancholic nature, no doubt enhanced for them by their drinking. In their own way, many of the Pfaffians emulated Poe. Whitman himself went down the melancholic road when he wrote in Two Vaults, “The Vault at Pfaff’s where the drinkers and laughers meet to eat and drink and carouse, While on the walk immediately overhead pass the myriad feet of Broadway As the dead in their graves are underfoot hidden”. Fitz-James O’Brien patterned his stories after Poe and Charled D. Gardette was called a “Poesque tale writer” (Reynolds 377). Poe’s influence created  duplicity in the lives of the Pfaffians; on one hand they were care-free revelers, on the other hand they took up melancholic airs to reflect him. The symbolism of Poe gave the otherwise aimless group something to appear to fight against, namely Capitalism and the emerging middle class. Although the group had aspersions to toss not only at the middle class but also the slavery allies, they were not activists for progression or change. Reynolds writes, “It was they (the Pfaffians)…who had no distinct aim or purpose…Their carefree, carpe diem attitude showed that fifties individualism had sunk toward anarchic decadence” (378).

Not all of the Bohemians continued to reject the middle class; in fact, the group who did not reject the middle class lifestyle lived much better lives than those who did. Miller writes that, “William Winter rose to become a powerful drama critic. Edmund C. Stedman became a wealthy stockbroker on Wall Street… Bayard Taylor became a noted man of letters…And Whitman transformed himself into America’s Great Gray Poet…” (90). Steadfast Pfaffians met many sad fates; Ada Clare died of rabies after she was bit by a dog (Parry 36), Adah Menken died of pneumonia in Paris, Clapp died an alcoholic pauper on Blackwell’s Island, Fitz-James O’Brien died in the Civil War and Artemus Ward (Miller 90), Fitz-Hugh Ludlow, George Arnold, and Ned Wilkins all died because of drug related issues (Kaplan 244). When those who stuck by Pfaff’s began to die off, the Vault suffered its own form of death. As prosperity moved north to Midtown, the Vault at Pfaff’s also moved leaving behind a shell that was only a memory of the golden years of Bohemia. The original building was destroyed and made into a store. Charles Pfaff died in 1890.

The Vault at Pfaff’s was the beginnings of the Bohemian lifestyle in New York City which took strong root in Greenwich Village and continues to this day in various ways. The Bohemian lifestyle has lent itself to short life expectancy due to the use of drugs and alcohol and the rejection of the norms of society. It is not surprising that Walt Whitman found himself comfortable in a space of such care-free individualism, even if he did set himself aside instead of making himself the center of the movement. Whitman outlived the original location of the Vault at Pfaff’s and the Pfaffian lifestyle, becoming the Great Gray Poet. Those Pfaffians who followed suit grew to prosper while those who did not follow such a course met early and tragic deaths. The Saturday Press precluded the demise of Henry Clapp; the lives of both the paper and the man ended in poverty. Surprisingly, Charles Pfaff lived a long life well into his late seventies, and the Bohemian lifestyle that was born and nurtured in his Vault continues to this day.

Works Cited

Reynolds, David. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1995.

Miller, Terry. Greenwich Village And How It Got That Way. New York: Crown Publishers, Inc., 1990.

Burrows, Edwin, and Wallace, Mike. Gotham: A History of New York City to 1898. New York: Oxford, 1999.

Parry, Albert. Garretts & Pretenders: A History of Bohemianism in America. New York: Cosimo, Inc., 2005.

Kaplan, Justin. Walt Whitman, A Life. New York: Perennial Classics, 2003.

Picture

Howells, William Dean. “First Impressions of Literary New York.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine. Jun. 1895: 62-74.

Pfaff’s was the perfect place for writers and literary types to come and drink while sharing their writings and opinions of other writers. Patrons were known to stand and recite their new works before having them published. Some of the most famous patrons of Pfaff’s were, “Ada Clare, the Queen of Bohemia…the actress Adah Isaacs Menken…the fictionist Fitz-James O’Brien…(author) Fitz-Hugh Ludlow…Artemus Ward, the comedian…the picturesque poet N.G. Shephard and the Poesque tale writer Charles D. Gardette” (Reynolds 377). Perhaps the most famous patrons of all were Walt Whitman and Henry Clapp Jr., the King of the Bohemians. Clapp was born in Nantucket but spent many years in Paris. His writing was considered controversial and his most controversial move of all was creating the Saturday Press. Miller writes that the Saturday Press was a, “mix of radical politics, personal freedom, naïveté, silliness, realism, sexual frankness, and exuberance…” (89). The Press allowed Clapp to publish his views and to also highlight the works of authors that he appreciated. One of these authors was Walt Whitman and his works “Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking” and “O Captain! My Captain!” among dozens of other items. Unfortunately the Press was plagued with financial troubles and only existed for a year before it had to be shut down. Clapp was not to give up without a fight. Purely through strength of will Clapp reopened the Press in 1865 for two weeks, just long enough to publish “Oh Captain! My Captain!” and “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County” which catapulted Mark Twain to fame. Clapp, as the King of Bohemia, sat at the head of the table at Pfaff’s while Whitman usually took his place to the side at a separate table.

Although Whitman was touted as the “reigning luminary” (Burrows & Wallace 711)  Whitman did not come to Pfaff’s to be the center of attention. As he himself stated, “My own greatest pleasure at Pfaff’s was to look on – to see, talk little, absorb. I was never a great discusser, anyway”. This is not to say that Whitman was entirely silent, he was known to read new works aloud as well as to become embroiled in tiffs with other writers. Whitman wrote of Thomas Bailey Aldrich’s The Bells, “Yes, Tom, I like your tinkles: I like them very well” (Parry 41). He also made a short term enemy with George Arnold. Parry writes that George Arnold one night made the mistake of toasting the South. Whitman, a proud Yankee, jumped up and gave a long patriotic speech (quite unlike his placid Pfaffian demeanor) to which Arnold responded with a tug on Whitman’s beard (42).  Quarrels were to be expected because of the very nature of Pfaff’s; it was a place that encouraged drinking and liberal speech simultaneously.

Liberality reigned supreme in many forms. An important aspect of Pfaff’s was its female presence. Ada Claire was far and beyond the Queen. She was the trail blazer for all women who were to eventually find company at Pfaff’s, but she was also the woman to stay the longest. Ada was considered by Whitman to be born ahead of her time (Parry 14). Although she wrote love poems, she was really famous for her utter disregard of social norms. Ada Claire flaunted her love affairs and her illegitimate child born of one such affair, she smoked and drank with the Pfaffian men, and she took to the stage in order to achieve fame (Miller 91-92). Alongside Claire was Adah Isaacs Menken, known as, “a writer and actress and heroine of celebrated off-stage adventures” (Kaplan 243). Like Claire, Menken’s life was full of romantic drama and an illegitimate child. But unlike Claire, Menken found more success on stage when she stared in Mazeppa a play in which she was strapped to a horse practically naked. Adah Isaacs Menken was a great fan of Whitman and aligned him with Edgar Allen Poe, the Patron saint of the Pfaffians.

Poe came to rule over the Pfaffian crowd for obvious reasons. For one, he was a maligned writer who was unappreciated in his time. For two, the Pfaffians related well with Poe’s melancholic nature, no doubt enhanced for them by their drinking. In their own way, many of the Pfaffians emulated Poe. Whitman himself went down the melancholic road when he wrote in Two Vaults, “The Vault at Pfaff’s where the drinkers and laughers meet to eat and drink and carouse, While on the walk immediately overhead pass the myriad feet of Broadway As the dead in their graves are underfoot hidden”. Fitz-James O’Brien patterned his stories after Poe and Charled D. Gardette was called a “Poesque tale writer” (Reynolds 377). Poe’s influence created  duplicity in the lives of the Pfaffians; on one hand they were care-free revelers, on the other hand they took up melancholic airs to reflect him. The symbolism of Poe gave the otherwise aimless group something to appear to fight against, namely Capitalism and the emerging middle class. Although the group had aspersions to toss not only at the middle class but also the slavery allies, they were not activists for progression or change. Reynolds writes, “It was they (the Pfaffians)…who had no distinct aim or purpose…Their carefree, carpe diem attitude showed that fifties individualism had sunk toward anarchic decadence” (378).

Not all of the Bohemians continued to reject the middle class; in fact, the group who did not reject the middle class lifestyle lived much better lives than those who did. Miller writes that, “William Winter rose to become a powerful drama critic. Edmund C. Stedman became a wealthy stockbroker on Wall Street… Bayard Taylor became a noted man of letters…And Whitman transformed himself into America’s Great Gray Poet…” (90). Steadfast Pfaffians met many sad fates; Ada Clare died of rabies after she was bit by a dog (Parry 36), Adah Menken died of pneumonia in Paris, Clapp died an alcoholic pauper on Blackwell’s Island, Fitz-James O’Brien died in the Civil War and Artemus Ward (Miller 90), Fitz-Hugh Ludlow, George Arnold, and Ned Wilkins all died because of drug related issues (Kaplan 244). When those who stuck by Pfaff’s began to die off, the Vault suffered its own form of death. As prosperity moved north to Midtown, the Vault at Pfaff’s also moved leaving behind a shell that was only a memory of the golden years of Bohemia. The original building was destroyed and made into a store. Charles Pfaff died in 1890.

The Vault at Pfaff’s was the beginnings of the Bohemian lifestyle in New York City which took strong root in Greenwich Village and continues to this day in various ways. The Bohemian lifestyle has lent itself to short life expectancy due to the use of drugs and alcohol and the rejection of the norms of society. It is not surprising that Walt Whitman found himself comfortable in a space of such care-free individualism, even if he did set himself aside instead of making himself the center of the movement. Whitman outlived the original location of the Vault at Pfaff’s and the Pfaffian lifestyle, becoming the Great Gray Poet. Those Pfaffians who followed suit grew to prosper while those who did not follow such a course met early and tragic deaths. The Saturday Press precluded the demise of Henry Clapp; the lives of both the paper and the man ended in poverty. Surprisingly, Charles Pfaff lived a long life well into his late seventies, and the Bohemian lifestyle that was born and nurtured in his Vault continues to this day.

Works Cited

Reynolds, David. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1995.

Miller, Terry. Greenwich Village And How It Got That Way. New York: Crown Publishers, Inc., 1990.

Burrows, Edwin, and Wallace, Mike. Gotham: A History of New York City to 1898. New York: Oxford, 1999.

Parry, Albert. Garretts & Pretenders: A History of Bohemianism in America. New York: Cosimo, Inc., 2005.

Kaplan, Justin. Walt Whitman, A Life. New York: Perennial Classics, 2003.

Picture

Howells, William Dean. “First Impressions of Literary New York.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine. Jun. 1895: 62-74.

Pfaff’s was the perfect place for writers and literary types to come and drink while sharing their writings and opinions of other writers. Patrons were known to stand and recite their new works before having them published. Some of the most famous patrons of Pfaff’s were, “Ada Clare, the Queen of Bohemia…the actress Adah Isaacs Menken…the fictionist Fitz-James O’Brien…(author) Fitz-Hugh Ludlow…Artemus Ward, the comedian…the picturesque poet N.G. Shephard and the Poesque tale writer Charles D. Gardette” (Reynolds 377). Perhaps the most famous patrons of all were Walt Whitman and Henry Clapp Jr., the King of the Bohemians. Clapp was born in Nantucket but spent many years in Paris. His writing was considered controversial and his most controversial move of all was creating the Saturday Press. Miller writes that the Saturday Press was a, “mix of radical politics, personal freedom, naïveté, silliness, realism, sexual frankness, and exuberance…” (89). The Press allowed Clapp to publish his views and to also highlight the works of authors that he appreciated. One of these authors was Walt Whitman and his works “Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking” and “O Captain! My Captain!” among dozens of other items. Unfortunately the Press was plagued with financial troubles and only existed for a year before it had to be shut down. Clapp was not to give up without a fight. Purely through strength of will Clapp reopened the Press in 1865 for two weeks, just long enough to publish “Oh Captain! My Captain!” and “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County” which catapulted Mark Twain to fame. Clapp, as the King of Bohemia, sat at the head of the table at Pfaff’s while Whitman usually took his place to the side at a separate table.

Although Whitman was touted as the “reigning luminary” (Burrows & Wallace 711)  Whitman did not come to Pfaff’s to be the center of attention. As he himself stated, “My own greatest pleasure at Pfaff’s was to look on – to see, talk little, absorb. I was never a great discusser, anyway”. This is not to say that Whitman was entirely silent, he was known to read new works aloud as well as to become embroiled in tiffs with other writers. Whitman wrote of Thomas Bailey Aldrich’s The Bells, “Yes, Tom, I like your tinkles: I like them very well” (Parry 41). He also made a short term enemy with George Arnold. Parry writes that George Arnold one night made the mistake of toasting the South. Whitman, a proud Yankee, jumped up and gave a long patriotic speech (quite unlike his placid Pfaffian demeanor) to which Arnold responded with a tug on Whitman’s beard (42).  Quarrels were to be expected because of the very nature of Pfaff’s; it was a place that encouraged drinking and liberal speech simultaneously.

Liberality reigned supreme in many forms. An important aspect of Pfaff’s was its female presence. Ada Claire was far and beyond the Queen. She was the trail blazer for all women who were to eventually find company at Pfaff’s, but she was also the woman to stay the longest. Ada was considered by Whitman to be born ahead of her time (Parry 14). Although she wrote love poems, she was really famous for her utter disregard of social norms. Ada Claire flaunted her love affairs and her illegitimate child born of one such affair, she smoked and drank with the Pfaffian men, and she took to the stage in order to achieve fame (Miller 91-92). Alongside Claire was Adah Isaacs Menken, known as, “a writer and actress and heroine of celebrated off-stage adventures” (Kaplan 243). Like Claire, Menken’s life was full of romantic drama and an illegitimate child. But unlike Claire, Menken found more success on stage when she stared in Mazeppa a play in which she was strapped to a horse practically naked. Adah Isaacs Menken was a great fan of Whitman and aligned him with Edgar Allen Poe, the Patron saint of the Pfaffians.

Poe came to rule over the Pfaffian crowd for obvious reasons. For one, he was a maligned writer who was unappreciated in his time. For two, the Pfaffians related well with Poe’s melancholic nature, no doubt enhanced for them by their drinking. In their own way, many of the Pfaffians emulated Poe. Whitman himself went down the melancholic road when he wrote in Two Vaults, “The Vault at Pfaff’s where the drinkers and laughers meet to eat and drink and carouse, While on the walk immediately overhead pass the myriad feet of Broadway As the dead in their graves are underfoot hidden”. Fitz-James O’Brien patterned his stories after Poe and Charled D. Gardette was called a “Poesque tale writer” (Reynolds 377). Poe’s influence created  duplicity in the lives of the Pfaffians; on one hand they were care-free revelers, on the other hand they took up melancholic airs to reflect him. The symbolism of Poe gave the otherwise aimless group something to appear to fight against, namely Capitalism and the emerging middle class. Although the group had aspersions to toss not only at the middle class but also the slavery allies, they were not activists for progression or change. Reynolds writes, “It was they (the Pfaffians)…who had no distinct aim or purpose…Their carefree, carpe diem attitude showed that fifties individualism had sunk toward anarchic decadence” (378).

Not all of the Bohemians continued to reject the middle class; in fact, the group who did not reject the middle class lifestyle lived much better lives than those who did. Miller writes that, “William Winter rose to become a powerful drama critic. Edmund C. Stedman became a wealthy stockbroker on Wall Street… Bayard Taylor became a noted man of letters…And Whitman transformed himself into America’s Great Gray Poet…” (90). Steadfast Pfaffians met many sad fates; Ada Clare died of rabies after she was bit by a dog (Parry 36), Adah Menken died of pneumonia in Paris, Clapp died an alcoholic pauper on Blackwell’s Island, Fitz-James O’Brien died in the Civil War and Artemus Ward (Miller 90), Fitz-Hugh Ludlow, George Arnold, and Ned Wilkins all died because of drug related issues (Kaplan 244). When those who stuck by Pfaff’s began to die off, the Vault suffered its own form of death. As prosperity moved north to Midtown, the Vault at Pfaff’s also moved leaving behind a shell that was only a memory of the golden years of Bohemia. The original building was destroyed and made into a store. Charles Pfaff died in 1890.

The Vault at Pfaff’s was the beginnings of the Bohemian lifestyle in New York City which took strong root in Greenwich Village and continues to this day in various ways. The Bohemian lifestyle has lent itself to short life expectancy due to the use of drugs and alcohol and the rejection of the norms of society. It is not surprising that Walt Whitman found himself comfortable in a space of such care-free individualism, even if he did set himself aside instead of making himself the center of the movement. Whitman outlived the original location of the Vault at Pfaff’s and the Pfaffian lifestyle, becoming the Great Gray Poet. Those Pfaffians who followed suit grew to prosper while those who did not follow such a course met early and tragic deaths. The Saturday Press precluded the demise of Henry Clapp; the lives of both the paper and the man ended in poverty. Surprisingly, Charles Pfaff lived a long life well into his late seventies, and the Bohemian lifestyle that was born and nurtured in his Vault continues to this day.

Works Cited

Reynolds, David. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1995.

Miller, Terry. Greenwich Village And How It Got That Way. New York: Crown Publishers, Inc., 1990.

Burrows, Edwin, and Wallace, Mike. Gotham: A History of New York City to 1898. New York: Oxford, 1999.

Parry, Albert. Garretts & Pretenders: A History of Bohemianism in America. New York: Cosimo, Inc., 2005.

Kaplan, Justin. Walt Whitman, A Life. New York: Perennial Classics, 2003.

Picture

Howells, William Dean. “First Impressions of Literary New York.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine. Jun. 1895: 62-74.

Pfaff’s was the perfect place for writers and literary types to come and drink while sharing their writings and opinions of other writers. Patrons were known to stand and recite their new works before having them published. Some of the most famous patrons of Pfaff’s were, “Ada Clare, the Queen of Bohemia…the actress Adah Isaacs Menken…the fictionist Fitz-James O’Brien…(author) Fitz-Hugh Ludlow…Artemus Ward, the comedian…the picturesque poet N.G. Shephard and the Poesque tale writer Charles D. Gardette” (Reynolds 377). Perhaps the most famous patrons of all were Walt Whitman and Henry Clapp Jr., the King of the Bohemians. Clapp was born in Nantucket but spent many years in Paris. His writing was considered controversial and his most controversial move of all was creating the Saturday Press. Miller writes that the Saturday Press was a, “mix of radical politics, personal freedom, naïveté, silliness, realism, sexual frankness, and exuberance…” (89). The Press allowed Clapp to publish his views and to also highlight the works of authors that he appreciated. One of these authors was Walt Whitman and his works “Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking” and “O Captain! My Captain!” among dozens of other items. Unfortunately the Press was plagued with financial troubles and only existed for a year before it had to be shut down. Clapp was not to give up without a fight. Purely through strength of will Clapp reopened the Press in 1865 for two weeks, just long enough to publish “Oh Captain! My Captain!” and “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County” which catapulted Mark Twain to fame. Clapp, as the King of Bohemia, sat at the head of the table at Pfaff’s while Whitman usually took his place to the side at a separate table.

Although Whitman was touted as the “reigning luminary” (Burrows & Wallace 711)  Whitman did not come to Pfaff’s to be the center of attention. As he himself stated, “My own greatest pleasure at Pfaff’s was to look on – to see, talk little, absorb. I was never a great discusser, anyway”. This is not to say that Whitman was entirely silent, he was known to read new works aloud as well as to become embroiled in tiffs with other writers. Whitman wrote of Thomas Bailey Aldrich’s The Bells, “Yes, Tom, I like your tinkles: I like them very well” (Parry 41). He also made a short term enemy with George Arnold. Parry writes that George Arnold one night made the mistake of toasting the South. Whitman, a proud Yankee, jumped up and gave a long patriotic speech (quite unlike his placid Pfaffian demeanor) to which Arnold responded with a tug on Whitman’s beard (42).  Quarrels were to be expected because of the very nature of Pfaff’s; it was a place that encouraged drinking and liberal speech simultaneously.

Liberality reigned supreme in many forms. An important aspect of Pfaff’s was its female presence. Ada Claire was far and beyond the Queen. She was the trail blazer for all women who were to eventually find company at Pfaff’s, but she was also the woman to stay the longest. Ada was considered by Whitman to be born ahead of her time (Parry 14). Although she wrote love poems, she was really famous for her utter disregard of social norms. Ada Claire flaunted her love affairs and her illegitimate child born of one such affair, she smoked and drank with the Pfaffian men, and she took to the stage in order to achieve fame (Miller 91-92). Alongside Claire was Adah Isaacs Menken, known as, “a writer and actress and heroine of celebrated off-stage adventures” (Kaplan 243). Like Claire, Menken’s life was full of romantic drama and an illegitimate child. But unlike Claire, Menken found more success on stage when she stared in Mazeppa a play in which she was strapped to a horse practically naked. Adah Isaacs Menken was a great fan of Whitman and aligned him with Edgar Allen Poe, the Patron saint of the Pfaffians.

Poe came to rule over the Pfaffian crowd for obvious reasons. For one, he was a maligned writer who was unappreciated in his time. For two, the Pfaffians related well with Poe’s melancholic nature, no doubt enhanced for them by their drinking. In their own way, many of the Pfaffians emulated Poe. Whitman himself went down the melancholic road when he wrote in Two Vaults, “The Vault at Pfaff’s where the drinkers and laughers meet to eat and drink and carouse, While on the walk immediately overhead pass the myriad feet of Broadway As the dead in their graves are underfoot hidden”. Fitz-James O’Brien patterned his stories after Poe and Charled D. Gardette was called a “Poesque tale writer” (Reynolds 377). Poe’s influence created  duplicity in the lives of the Pfaffians; on one hand they were care-free revelers, on the other hand they took up melancholic airs to reflect him. The symbolism of Poe gave the otherwise aimless group something to appear to fight against, namely Capitalism and the emerging middle class. Although the group had aspersions to toss not only at the middle class but also the slavery allies, they were not activists for progression or change. Reynolds writes, “It was they (the Pfaffians)…who had no distinct aim or purpose…Their carefree, carpe diem attitude showed that fifties individualism had sunk toward anarchic decadence” (378).

Not all of the Bohemians continued to reject the middle class; in fact, the group who did not reject the middle class lifestyle lived much better lives than those who did. Miller writes that, “William Winter rose to become a powerful drama critic. Edmund C. Stedman became a wealthy stockbroker on Wall Street… Bayard Taylor became a noted man of letters…And Whitman transformed himself into America’s Great Gray Poet…” (90). Steadfast Pfaffians met many sad fates; Ada Clare died of rabies after she was bit by a dog (Parry 36), Adah Menken died of pneumonia in Paris, Clapp died an alcoholic pauper on Blackwell’s Island, Fitz-James O’Brien died in the Civil War and Artemus Ward (Miller 90), Fitz-Hugh Ludlow, George Arnold, and Ned Wilkins all died because of drug related issues (Kaplan 244). When those who stuck by Pfaff’s began to die off, the Vault suffered its own form of death. As prosperity moved north to Midtown, the Vault at Pfaff’s also moved leaving behind a shell that was only a memory of the golden years of Bohemia. The original building was destroyed and made into a store. Charles Pfaff died in 1890.

The Vault at Pfaff’s was the beginnings of the Bohemian lifestyle in New York City which took strong root in Greenwich Village and continues to this day in various ways. The Bohemian lifestyle has lent itself to short life expectancy due to the use of drugs and alcohol and the rejection of the norms of society. It is not surprising that Walt Whitman found himself comfortable in a space of such care-free individualism, even if he did set himself aside instead of making himself the center of the movement. Whitman outlived the original location of the Vault at Pfaff’s and the Pfaffian lifestyle, becoming the Great Gray Poet. Those Pfaffians who followed suit grew to prosper while those who did not follow such a course met early and tragic deaths. The Saturday Press precluded the demise of Henry Clapp; the lives of both the paper and the man ended in poverty. Surprisingly, Charles Pfaff lived a long life well into his late seventies, and the Bohemian lifestyle that was born and nurtured in his Vault continues to this day.

Works Cited

Reynolds, David. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1995.

Miller, Terry. Greenwich Village And How It Got That Way. New York: Crown Publishers, Inc., 1990.

Burrows, Edwin, and Wallace, Mike. Gotham: A History of New York City to 1898. New York: Oxford, 1999.

Parry, Albert. Garretts & Pretenders: A History of Bohemianism in America. New York: Cosimo, Inc., 2005.

Kaplan, Justin. Walt Whitman, A Life. New York: Perennial Classics, 2003.

Picture

Howells, William Dean. “First Impressions of Literary New York.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine. Jun. 1895: 62-74.

Pfaff’s was the perfect place for writers and literary types to come and drink while sharing their writings and opinions of other writers. Patrons were known to stand and recite their new works before having them published. Some of the most famous patrons of Pfaff’s were, “Ada Clare, the Queen of Bohemia…the actress Adah Isaacs Menken…the fictionist Fitz-James O’Brien…(author) Fitz-Hugh Ludlow…Artemus Ward, the comedian…the picturesque poet N.G. Shephard and the Poesque tale writer Charles D. Gardette” (Reynolds 377). Perhaps the most famous patrons of all were Walt Whitman and Henry Clapp Jr., the King of the Bohemians. Clapp was born in Nantucket but spent many years in Paris. His writing was considered controversial and his most controversial move of all was creating the Saturday Press. Miller writes that the Saturday Press was a, “mix of radical politics, personal freedom, naïveté, silliness, realism, sexual frankness, and exuberance…” (89). The Press allowed Clapp to publish his views and to also highlight the works of authors that he appreciated. One of these authors was Walt Whitman and his works “Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking” and “O Captain! My Captain!” among dozens of other items. Unfortunately the Press was plagued with financial troubles and only existed for a year before it had to be shut down. Clapp was not to give up without a fight. Purely through strength of will Clapp reopened the Press in 1865 for two weeks, just long enough to publish “Oh Captain! My Captain!” and “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County” which catapulted Mark Twain to fame. Clapp, as the King of Bohemia, sat at the head of the table at Pfaff’s while Whitman usually took his place to the side at a separate table.

Although Whitman was touted as the “reigning luminary” (Burrows & Wallace 711)  Whitman did not come to Pfaff’s to be the center of attention. As he himself stated, “My own greatest pleasure at Pfaff’s was to look on – to see, talk little, absorb. I was never a great discusser, anyway”. This is not to say that Whitman was entirely silent, he was known to read new works aloud as well as to become embroiled in tiffs with other writers. Whitman wrote of Thomas Bailey Aldrich’s The Bells, “Yes, Tom, I like your tinkles: I like them very well” (Parry 41). He also made a short term enemy with George Arnold. Parry writes that George Arnold one night made the mistake of toasting the South. Whitman, a proud Yankee, jumped up and gave a long patriotic speech (quite unlike his placid Pfaffian demeanor) to which Arnold responded with a tug on Whitman’s beard (42).  Quarrels were to be expected because of the very nature of Pfaff’s; it was a place that encouraged drinking and liberal speech simultaneously.

Liberality reigned supreme in many forms. An important aspect of Pfaff’s was its female presence. Ada Claire was far and beyond the Queen. She was the trail blazer for all women who were to eventually find company at Pfaff’s, but she was also the woman to stay the longest. Ada was considered by Whitman to be born ahead of her time (Parry 14). Although she wrote love poems, she was really famous for her utter disregard of social norms. Ada Claire flaunted her love affairs and her illegitimate child born of one such affair, she smoked and drank with the Pfaffian men, and she took to the stage in order to achieve fame (Miller 91-92). Alongside Claire was Adah Isaacs Menken, known as, “a writer and actress and heroine of celebrated off-stage adventures” (Kaplan 243). Like Claire, Menken’s life was full of romantic drama and an illegitimate child. But unlike Claire, Menken found more success on stage when she stared in Mazeppa a play in which she was strapped to a horse practically naked. Adah Isaacs Menken was a great fan of Whitman and aligned him with Edgar Allen Poe, the Patron saint of the Pfaffians.

Poe came to rule over the Pfaffian crowd for obvious reasons. For one, he was a maligned writer who was unappreciated in his time. For two, the Pfaffians related well with Poe’s melancholic nature, no doubt enhanced for them by their drinking. In their own way, many of the Pfaffians emulated Poe. Whitman himself went down the melancholic road when he wrote in Two Vaults, “The Vault at Pfaff’s where the drinkers and laughers meet to eat and drink and carouse, While on the walk immediately overhead pass the myriad feet of Broadway As the dead in their graves are underfoot hidden”. Fitz-James O’Brien patterned his stories after Poe and Charled D. Gardette was called a “Poesque tale writer” (Reynolds 377). Poe’s influence created  duplicity in the lives of the Pfaffians; on one hand they were care-free revelers, on the other hand they took up melancholic airs to reflect him. The symbolism of Poe gave the otherwise aimless group something to appear to fight against, namely Capitalism and the emerging middle class. Although the group had aspersions to toss not only at the middle class but also the slavery allies, they were not activists for progression or change. Reynolds writes, “It was they (the Pfaffians)…who had no distinct aim or purpose…Their carefree, carpe diem attitude showed that fifties individualism had sunk toward anarchic decadence” (378).

Not all of the Bohemians continued to reject the middle class; in fact, the group who did not reject the middle class lifestyle lived much better lives than those who did. Miller writes that, “William Winter rose to become a powerful drama critic. Edmund C. Stedman became a wealthy stockbroker on Wall Street… Bayard Taylor became a noted man of letters…And Whitman transformed himself into America’s Great Gray Poet…” (90). Steadfast Pfaffians met many sad fates; Ada Clare died of rabies after she was bit by a dog (Parry 36), Adah Menken died of pneumonia in Paris, Clapp died an alcoholic pauper on Blackwell’s Island, Fitz-James O’Brien died in the Civil War and Artemus Ward (Miller 90), Fitz-Hugh Ludlow, George Arnold, and Ned Wilkins all died because of drug related issues (Kaplan 244). When those who stuck by Pfaff’s began to die off, the Vault suffered its own form of death. As prosperity moved north to Midtown, the Vault at Pfaff’s also moved leaving behind a shell that was only a memory of the golden years of Bohemia. The original building was destroyed and made into a store. Charles Pfaff died in 1890.

The Vault at Pfaff’s was the beginnings of the Bohemian lifestyle in New York City which took strong root in Greenwich Village and continues to this day in various ways. The Bohemian lifestyle has lent itself to short life expectancy due to the use of drugs and alcohol and the rejection of the norms of society. It is not surprising that Walt Whitman found himself comfortable in a space of such care-free individualism, even if he did set himself aside instead of making himself the center of the movement. Whitman outlived the original location of the Vault at Pfaff’s and the Pfaffian lifestyle, becoming the Great Gray Poet. Those Pfaffians who followed suit grew to prosper while those who did not follow such a course met early and tragic deaths. The Saturday Press precluded the demise of Henry Clapp; the lives of both the paper and the man ended in poverty. Surprisingly, Charles Pfaff lived a long life well into his late seventies, and the Bohemian lifestyle that was born and nurtured in his Vault continues to this day.

Works Cited

Reynolds, David. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1995.

Miller, Terry. Greenwich Village And How It Got That Way. New York: Crown Publishers, Inc., 1990.

Burrows, Edwin, and Wallace, Mike. Gotham: A History of New York City to 1898. New York: Oxford, 1999.

Parry, Albert. Garretts & Pretenders: A History of Bohemianism in America. New York: Cosimo, Inc., 2005.

Kaplan, Justin. Walt Whitman, A Life. New York: Perennial Classics, 2003.

Picture

Howells, William Dean. “First Impressions of Literary New York.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine. Jun. 1895: 62-74.

Pfaff’s was the perfect place for writers and literary types to come and drink while sharing their writings and opinions of other writers. Patrons were known to stand and recite their new works before having them published. Some of the most famous patrons of Pfaff’s were, “Ada Clare, the Queen of Bohemia…the actress Adah Isaacs Menken…the fictionist Fitz-James O’Brien…(author) Fitz-Hugh Ludlow…Artemus Ward, the comedian…the picturesque poet N.G. Shephard and the Poesque tale writer Charles D. Gardette” (Reynolds 377). Perhaps the most famous patrons of all were Walt Whitman and Henry Clapp Jr., the King of the Bohemians. Clapp was born in Nantucket but spent many years in Paris. His writing was considered controversial and his most controversial move of all was creating the Saturday Press. Miller writes that the Saturday Press was a, “mix of radical politics, personal freedom, naïveté, silliness, realism, sexual frankness, and exuberance…” (89). The Press allowed Clapp to publish his views and to also highlight the works of authors that he appreciated. One of these authors was Walt Whitman and his works “Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking” and “O Captain! My Captain!” among dozens of other items. Unfortunately the Press was plagued with financial troubles and only existed for a year before it had to be shut down. Clapp was not to give up without a fight. Purely through strength of will Clapp reopened the Press in 1865 for two weeks, just long enough to publish “Oh Captain! My Captain!” and “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County” which catapulted Mark Twain to fame. Clapp, as the King of Bohemia, sat at the head of the table at Pfaff’s while Whitman usually took his place to the side at a separate table.

Although Whitman was touted as the “reigning luminary” (Burrows & Wallace 711)  Whitman did not come to Pfaff’s to be the center of attention. As he himself stated, “My own greatest pleasure at Pfaff’s was to look on – to see, talk little, absorb. I was never a great discusser, anyway”. This is not to say that Whitman was entirely silent, he was known to read new works aloud as well as to become embroiled in tiffs with other writers. Whitman wrote of Thomas Bailey Aldrich’s The Bells, “Yes, Tom, I like your tinkles: I like them very well” (Parry 41). He also made a short term enemy with George Arnold. Parry writes that George Arnold one night made the mistake of toasting the South. Whitman, a proud Yankee, jumped up and gave a long patriotic speech (quite unlike his placid Pfaffian demeanor) to which Arnold responded with a tug on Whitman’s beard (42).  Quarrels were to be expected because of the very nature of Pfaff’s; it was a place that encouraged drinking and liberal speech simultaneously.

Liberality reigned supreme in many forms. An important aspect of Pfaff’s was its female presence. Ada Claire was far and beyond the Queen. She was the trail blazer for all women who were to eventually find company at Pfaff’s, but she was also the woman to stay the longest. Ada was considered by Whitman to be born ahead of her time (Parry 14). Although she wrote love poems, she was really famous for her utter disregard of social norms. Ada Claire flaunted her love affairs and her illegitimate child born of one such affair, she smoked and drank with the Pfaffian men, and she took to the stage in order to achieve fame (Miller 91-92). Alongside Claire was Adah Isaacs Menken, known as, “a writer and actress and heroine of celebrated off-stage adventures” (Kaplan 243). Like Claire, Menken’s life was full of romantic drama and an illegitimate child. But unlike Claire, Menken found more success on stage when she stared in Mazeppa a play in which she was strapped to a horse practically naked. Adah Isaacs Menken was a great fan of Whitman and aligned him with Edgar Allen Poe, the Patron saint of the Pfaffians.

Poe came to rule over the Pfaffian crowd for obvious reasons. For one, he was a maligned writer who was unappreciated in his time. For two, the Pfaffians related well with Poe’s melancholic nature, no doubt enhanced for them by their drinking. In their own way, many of the Pfaffians emulated Poe. Whitman himself went down the melancholic road when he wrote in Two Vaults, “The Vault at Pfaff’s where the drinkers and laughers meet to eat and drink and carouse, While on the walk immediately overhead pass the myriad feet of Broadway As the dead in their graves are underfoot hidden”. Fitz-James O’Brien patterned his stories after Poe and Charled D. Gardette was called a “Poesque tale writer” (Reynolds 377). Poe’s influence created  duplicity in the lives of the Pfaffians; on one hand they were care-free revelers, on the other hand they took up melancholic airs to reflect him. The symbolism of Poe gave the otherwise aimless group something to appear to fight against, namely Capitalism and the emerging middle class. Although the group had aspersions to toss not only at the middle class but also the slavery allies, they were not activists for progression or change. Reynolds writes, “It was they (the Pfaffians)…who had no distinct aim or purpose…Their carefree, carpe diem attitude showed that fifties individualism had sunk toward anarchic decadence” (378).

Not all of the Bohemians continued to reject the middle class; in fact, the group who did not reject the middle class lifestyle lived much better lives than those who did. Miller writes that, “William Winter rose to become a powerful drama critic. Edmund C. Stedman became a wealthy stockbroker on Wall Street… Bayard Taylor became a noted man of letters…And Whitman transformed himself into America’s Great Gray Poet…” (90). Steadfast Pfaffians met many sad fates; Ada Clare died of rabies after she was bit by a dog (Parry 36), Adah Menken died of pneumonia in Paris, Clapp died an alcoholic pauper on Blackwell’s Island, Fitz-James O’Brien died in the Civil War and Artemus Ward (Miller 90), Fitz-Hugh Ludlow, George Arnold, and Ned Wilkins all died because of drug related issues (Kaplan 244). When those who stuck by Pfaff’s began to die off, the Vault suffered its own form of death. As prosperity moved north to Midtown, the Vault at Pfaff’s also moved leaving behind a shell that was only a memory of the golden years of Bohemia. The original building was destroyed and made into a store. Charles Pfaff died in 1890.

The Vault at Pfaff’s was the beginnings of the Bohemian lifestyle in New York City which took strong root in Greenwich Village and continues to this day in various ways. The Bohemian lifestyle has lent itself to short life expectancy due to the use of drugs and alcohol and the rejection of the norms of society. It is not surprising that Walt Whitman found himself comfortable in a space of such care-free individualism, even if he did set himself aside instead of making himself the center of the movement. Whitman outlived the original location of the Vault at Pfaff’s and the Pfaffian lifestyle, becoming the Great Gray Poet. Those Pfaffians who followed suit grew to prosper while those who did not follow such a course met early and tragic deaths. The Saturday Press precluded the demise of Henry Clapp; the lives of both the paper and the man ended in poverty. Surprisingly, Charles Pfaff lived a long life well into his late seventies, and the Bohemian lifestyle that was born and nurtured in his Vault continues to this day.

Works Cited

Reynolds, David. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1995.

Miller, Terry. Greenwich Village And How It Got That Way. New York: Crown Publishers, Inc., 1990.

Burrows, Edwin, and Wallace, Mike. Gotham: A History of New York City to 1898. New York: Oxford, 1999.

Parry, Albert. Garretts & Pretenders: A History of Bohemianism in America. New York: Cosimo, Inc., 2005.

Kaplan, Justin. Walt Whitman, A Life. New York: Perennial Classics, 2003.

Picture

Howells, William Dean. “First Impressions of Literary New York.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine. Jun. 1895: 62-74.

(image credit: William J. Milne Progressive Arithmetic (New York: American Book Company, 1912)43)

In 1885, Philadelphia lawyer, Thomas Donaldson, planned to buy Walt Whitman a horse and buggy. This expensive gift required donations from Whitman’s extensive social network, including Mark Twain and Oliver Wendell Holmes.  According to David S. Reynolds, on September 17, 1885, a new horse and buggy awaited Whitman on Mickle Street, clearly visible from Whitman’s bedroom window. The gift was a pleasant surprise for the poet. Despite his elderly age, Whitman was immediately taken with this new-fangled form of transportation and he enjoyed the horse’s ability race down the streets, rapidly moving by shops and row homes. Reynolds’s cultural biography makes the claim that while he rode in the buggy, Whitman “displayed agility and sometimes reckless speed, in guiding his horse, Frank, through the Camden streets” (553) and Reynolds describes Whitman’s driver, William Duckett, as a “rougish teenager” (553). But Frank wasn’t even quick enough to suit Whitman’s desire to wildly race through Camden. Reynold’s states that after five months “Whitman sold his horse, Frank, [and] got a faster one, Nettie, but he had to give up the carriage after his strokes in June 1888″ (553). Even though Whitman only owned a horse and buggy for roughly three years, it was America’s most popular form of transportation the later half of the nineteenth century.

(image credit: Foster, Ellsworth D. The American Educator (Chicago: Ralph Durham Company, 1921) 592)

What exactly was the purpose and structure of the buggy? According to the OED, the buggy itself is “a light one-horse (sometimes two horse) vehicle, for one or two persons. Those in use in America have four wheels” (OED 1a), differing from the two wheeled carriages common in England. These wagons were designed to have strong pulling efficiency even when the horses were given a heavy load, and people enjoyed riding in the buggies to reach their destination in a timely manner. Whitman’s own horse and buggy cost a sum of $320, indicating this transportation was reserved for people who had an adequate amount of money. Reynolds illustrates Whitman’s gift for the reader, saying it included “a horse, a leather-lined phaeton, a whip, halter, and lap blanket” (553). The last item useful for the colder winter months, making a horse ride a pleasant experience for all times of the year, not limiting the horse’s usefulness for the warm summer months.

Clay McShane’s article, “Gelded Age Boston,” discusses the growth and usefulness of horses and buggies in 1880’s Boston, a city not too far north from Camden. The historical article discusses how, depending on the individual owners’ wishes and purposes, different horse breeds were suited for different businesses. For example, “breweries preferred Clydesdales, unsuited to the North American climate but handsome high-steppers that provided good publicity for the industries they represented” (291) and carriage owners, like Whitman, “preferred light, young, agile animals” (291).

Regardless of the benefits, owners of horses and buggies faced several challenges, especially people like Whitman, who lived in an urban neighborhood. The urban surroundings were laden with diseases that could easily spread to the animals, rendering them useless. McShane’s research shows that although “farriers (horseshoers) served as folk practitioners of veterinary medicine . . . their nostrums would not do in an age that increasingly valued professionalization” (287). In order to combat this issue, veterinary medicine developed into a new profession to care for the equine population and “Harvard opened [the first] veterinary school in 1882, which was active until 1904, roughly when urban horses began to lose their importance” (287). The school’s curriculum focused entirely on the well-being of draft animals.

Animal abuse was also a major concern in cities and in 1868, George Angell attempted to quell the problem by founding the MSPCA or Massachusetts Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. The MSPCA revealed “astonishing examples of cruelty, including the practice of lighting fire under a horse to urge him to start pulling a heavy load,” and the MSPCA publicly denounced these incidents  to raise awareness among potential horse and buggy owners.

By the 1910’s, the development and eventual market for automobiles diminished the use for the horse and buggy.  McShane’s conclusion states “they had all but faded from view” (300), being a image of America’s past and Whitman’s later life.

(image credit: Charles D. Maginnis Pen Drawings an Illustrated Treatise (Boston: Bates & Guild Company, 1903) 57)

Works Cited

McShane, Clay. “Gelded Age Boston.” The New England Quarterly, Inc. 74.2 (June 2001): 274-302.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage Books, 1995.

(image credit: William J. Milne Progressive Arithmetic (New York: American Book Company, 1912)43)

In 1885, Philadelphia lawyer, Thomas Donaldson, planned to buy Walt Whitman a horse and buggy. This expensive gift required donations from Whitman’s extensive social network, including Mark Twain and Oliver Wendell Holmes.  According to David S. Reynolds, on September 17, 1885, a new horse and buggy awaited Whitman on Mickle Street, clearly visible from Whitman’s bedroom window. The gift was a pleasant surprise for the poet. Despite his elderly age, Whitman was immediately taken with this new-fangled form of transportation and he enjoyed the horse’s ability race down the streets, rapidly moving by shops and row homes. Reynolds’s cultural biography makes the claim that while he rode in the buggy, Whitman “displayed agility and sometimes reckless speed, in guiding his horse, Frank, through the Camden streets” (553) and Reynolds describes Whitman’s driver, William Duckett, as a “rougish teenager” (553). But Frank wasn’t even quick enough to suit Whitman’s desire to wildly race through Camden. Reynold’s states that after five months “Whitman sold his horse, Frank, [and] got a faster one, Nettie, but he had to give up the carriage after his strokes in June 1888″ (553). Even though Whitman only owned a horse and buggy for roughly three years, it was America’s most popular form of transportation the later half of the nineteenth century.

(image credit: Foster, Ellsworth D. The American Educator (Chicago: Ralph Durham Company, 1921) 592)

What exactly was the purpose and structure of the buggy? According to the OED, the buggy itself is “a light one-horse (sometimes two horse) vehicle, for one or two persons. Those in use in America have four wheels” (OED 1a), differing from the two wheeled carriages common in England. These wagons were designed to have strong pulling efficiency even when the horses were given a heavy load, and people enjoyed riding in the buggies to reach their destination in a timely manner. Whitman’s own horse and buggy cost a sum of $320, indicating this transportation was reserved for people who had an adequate amount of money. Reynolds illustrates Whitman’s gift for the reader, saying it included “a horse, a leather-lined phaeton, a whip, halter, and lap blanket” (553). The last item useful for the colder winter months, making a horse ride a pleasant experience for all times of the year, not limiting the horse’s usefulness for the warm summer months.

Clay McShane’s article, “Gelded Age Boston,” discusses the growth and usefulness of horses and buggies in 1880′s Boston, a city not too far north from Camden. The historical article discusses how, depending on the individual owners’ wishes and purposes, different horse breeds were suited for different businesses. For example, “breweries preferred Clydesdales, unsuited to the North American climate but handsome high-steppers that provided good publicity for the industries they represented” (291) and carriage owners, like Whitman, “preferred light, young, agile animals” (291).

Regardless of the benefits, owners of horses and buggies faced several challenges, especially people like Whitman, who lived in an urban neighborhood. The urban surroundings were laden with diseases that could easily spread to the animals, rendering them useless. McShane’s research shows that although “farriers (horseshoers) served as folk practitioners of veterinary medicine . . . their nostrums would not do in an age that increasingly valued professionalization” (287). In order to combat this issue, veterinary medicine developed into a new profession to care for the equine population and “Harvard opened [the first] veterinary school in 1882, which was active until 1904, roughly when urban horses began to lose their importance” (287). The school’s curriculum focused entirely on the well-being of draft animals.

Animal abuse was also a major concern in cities and in 1868, George Angell attempted to quell the problem by founding the MSPCA or Massachusetts Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. The MSPCA revealed “astonishing examples of cruelty, including the practice of lighting fire under a horse to urge him to start pulling a heavy load,” and the MSPCA publicly denounced these incidents  to raise awareness among potential horse and buggy owners.

By the 1910′s, the development and eventual market for automobiles diminished the use for the horse and buggy.  McShane’s conclusion states “they had all but faded from view” (300), being a image of America’s past and Whitman’s later life.

(image credit: Charles D. Maginnis Pen Drawings an Illustrated Treatise (Boston: Bates & Guild Company, 1903) 57)

Works Cited

McShane, Clay. “Gelded Age Boston.” The New England Quarterly, Inc. 74.2 (June 2001): 274-302.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage Books, 1995.

(image credit: William J. Milne Progressive Arithmetic (New York: American Book Company, 1912)43)

In 1885, Philadelphia lawyer, Thomas Donaldson, planned to buy Walt Whitman a horse and buggy. This expensive gift required donations from Whitman’s extensive social network, including Mark Twain and Oliver Wendell Holmes.  According to David S. Reynolds, on September 17, 1885, a new horse and buggy awaited Whitman on Mickle Street, clearly visible from Whitman’s bedroom window. The gift was a pleasant surprise for the poet. Despite his elderly age, Whitman was immediately taken with this new-fangled form of transportation and he enjoyed the horse’s ability race down the streets, rapidly moving by shops and row homes. Reynolds’s cultural biography makes the claim that while he rode in the buggy, Whitman “displayed agility and sometimes reckless speed, in guiding his horse, Frank, through the Camden streets” (553) and Reynolds describes Whitman’s driver, William Duckett, as a “rougish teenager” (553). But Frank wasn’t even quick enough to suit Whitman’s desire to wildly race through Camden. Reynold’s states that after five months “Whitman sold his horse, Frank, [and] got a faster one, Nettie, but he had to give up the carriage after his strokes in June 1888″ (553). Even though Whitman only owned a horse and buggy for roughly three years, it was America’s most popular form of transportation the later half of the nineteenth century.

(image credit: Foster, Ellsworth D. The American Educator (Chicago: Ralph Durham Company, 1921) 592)

What exactly was the purpose and structure of the buggy? According to the OED, the buggy itself is “a light one-horse (sometimes two horse) vehicle, for one or two persons. Those in use in America have four wheels” (OED 1a), differing from the two wheeled carriages common in England. These wagons were designed to have strong pulling efficiency even when the horses were given a heavy load, and people enjoyed riding in the buggies to reach their destination in a timely manner. Whitman’s own horse and buggy cost a sum of $320, indicating this transportation was reserved for people who had an adequate amount of money. Reynolds illustrates Whitman’s gift for the reader, saying it included “a horse, a leather-lined phaeton, a whip, halter, and lap blanket” (553). The last item useful for the colder winter months, making a horse ride a pleasant experience for all times of the year, not limiting the horse’s usefulness for the warm summer months.

Clay McShane’s article, “Gelded Age Boston,” discusses the growth and usefulness of horses and buggies in 1880′s Boston, a city not too far north from Camden. The historical article discusses how, depending on the individual owners’ wishes and purposes, different horse breeds were suited for different businesses. For example, “breweries preferred Clydesdales, unsuited to the North American climate but handsome high-steppers that provided good publicity for the industries they represented” (291) and carriage owners, like Whitman, “preferred light, young, agile animals” (291).

Regardless of the benefits, owners of horses and buggies faced several challenges, especially people like Whitman, who lived in an urban neighborhood. The urban surroundings were laden with diseases that could easily spread to the animals, rendering them useless. McShane’s research shows that although “farriers (horseshoers) served as folk practitioners of veterinary medicine . . . their nostrums would not do in an age that increasingly valued professionalization” (287). In order to combat this issue, veterinary medicine developed into a new profession to care for the equine population and “Harvard opened [the first] veterinary school in 1882, which was active until 1904, roughly when urban horses began to lose their importance” (287). The school’s curriculum focused entirely on the well-being of draft animals.

Animal abuse was also a major concern in cities and in 1868, George Angell attempted to quell the problem by founding the MSPCA or Massachusetts Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. The MSPCA revealed “astonishing examples of cruelty, including the practice of lighting fire under a horse to urge him to start pulling a heavy load,” and the MSPCA publicly denounced these incidents  to raise awareness among potential horse and buggy owners.

By the 1910′s, the development and eventual market for automobiles diminished the use for the horse and buggy.  McShane’s conclusion states “they had all but faded from view” (300), being a image of America’s past and Whitman’s later life.

(image credit: Charles D. Maginnis Pen Drawings an Illustrated Treatise (Boston: Bates & Guild Company, 1903) 57)

Works Cited

McShane, Clay. “Gelded Age Boston.” The New England Quarterly, Inc. 74.2 (June 2001): 274-302.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage Books, 1995.

(image credit: William J. Milne Progressive Arithmetic (New York: American Book Company, 1912)43)

In 1885, Philadelphia lawyer, Thomas Donaldson, planned to buy Walt Whitman a horse and buggy. This expensive gift required donations from Whitman’s extensive social network, including Mark Twain and Oliver Wendell Holmes.  According to David S. Reynolds, on September 17, 1885, a new horse and buggy awaited Whitman on Mickle Street, clearly visible from Whitman’s bedroom window. The gift was a pleasant surprise for the poet. Despite his elderly age, Whitman was immediately taken with this new-fangled form of transportation and he enjoyed the horse’s ability race down the streets, rapidly moving by shops and row homes. Reynolds’s cultural biography makes the claim that while he rode in the buggy, Whitman “displayed agility and sometimes reckless speed, in guiding his horse, Frank, through the Camden streets” (553) and Reynolds describes Whitman’s driver, William Duckett, as a “rougish teenager” (553). But Frank wasn’t even quick enough to suit Whitman’s desire to wildly race through Camden. Reynold’s states that after five months “Whitman sold his horse, Frank, [and] got a faster one, Nettie, but he had to give up the carriage after his strokes in June 1888″ (553). Even though Whitman only owned a horse and buggy for roughly three years, it was America’s most popular form of transportation the later half of the nineteenth century.

(image credit: Foster, Ellsworth D. The American Educator (Chicago: Ralph Durham Company, 1921) 592)

What exactly was the purpose and structure of the buggy? According to the OED, the buggy itself is “a light one-horse (sometimes two horse) vehicle, for one or two persons. Those in use in America have four wheels” (OED 1a), differing from the two wheeled carriages common in England. These wagons were designed to have strong pulling efficiency even when the horses were given a heavy load, and people enjoyed riding in the buggies to reach their destination in a timely manner. Whitman’s own horse and buggy cost a sum of $320, indicating this transportation was reserved for people who had an adequate amount of money. Reynolds illustrates Whitman’s gift for the reader, saying it included “a horse, a leather-lined phaeton, a whip, halter, and lap blanket” (553). The last item useful for the colder winter months, making a horse ride a pleasant experience for all times of the year, not limiting the horse’s usefulness for the warm summer months.

Clay McShane’s article, “Gelded Age Boston,” discusses the growth and usefulness of horses and buggies in 1880′s Boston, a city not too far north from Camden. The historical article discusses how, depending on the individual owners’ wishes and purposes, different horse breeds were suited for different businesses. For example, “breweries preferred Clydesdales, unsuited to the North American climate but handsome high-steppers that provided good publicity for the industries they represented” (291) and carriage owners, like Whitman, “preferred light, young, agile animals” (291).

Regardless of the benefits, owners of horses and buggies faced several challenges, especially people like Whitman, who lived in an urban neighborhood. The urban surroundings were laden with diseases that could easily spread to the animals, rendering them useless. McShane’s research shows that although “farriers (horseshoers) served as folk practitioners of veterinary medicine . . . their nostrums would not do in an age that increasingly valued professionalization” (287). In order to combat this issue, veterinary medicine developed into a new profession to care for the equine population and “Harvard opened [the first] veterinary school in 1882, which was active until 1904, roughly when urban horses began to lose their importance” (287). The school’s curriculum focused entirely on the well-being of draft animals.

Animal abuse was also a major concern in cities and in 1868, George Angell attempted to quell the problem by founding the MSPCA or Massachusetts Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. The MSPCA revealed “astonishing examples of cruelty, including the practice of lighting fire under a horse to urge him to start pulling a heavy load,” and the MSPCA publicly denounced these incidents  to raise awareness among potential horse and buggy owners.

By the 1910′s, the development and eventual market for automobiles diminished the use for the horse and buggy.  McShane’s conclusion states “they had all but faded from view” (300), being a image of America’s past and Whitman’s later life.

(image credit: Charles D. Maginnis Pen Drawings an Illustrated Treatise (Boston: Bates & Guild Company, 1903) 57)

Works Cited

McShane, Clay. “Gelded Age Boston.” The New England Quarterly, Inc. 74.2 (June 2001): 274-302.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage Books, 1995.

(image credit: William J. Milne Progressive Arithmetic (New York: American Book Company, 1912)43)

In 1885, Philadelphia lawyer, Thomas Donaldson, planned to buy Walt Whitman a horse and buggy. This expensive gift required donations from Whitman’s extensive social network, including Mark Twain and Oliver Wendell Holmes.  According to David S. Reynolds, on September 17, 1885, a new horse and buggy awaited Whitman on Mickle Street, clearly visible from Whitman’s bedroom window. The gift was a pleasant surprise for the poet. Despite his elderly age, Whitman was immediately taken with this new-fangled form of transportation and he enjoyed the horse’s ability race down the streets, rapidly moving by shops and row homes. Reynolds’s cultural biography makes the claim that while he rode in the buggy, Whitman “displayed agility and sometimes reckless speed, in guiding his horse, Frank, through the Camden streets” (553) and Reynolds describes Whitman’s driver, William Duckett, as a “rougish teenager” (553). But Frank wasn’t even quick enough to suit Whitman’s desire to wildly race through Camden. Reynold’s states that after five months “Whitman sold his horse, Frank, [and] got a faster one, Nettie, but he had to give up the carriage after his strokes in June 1888″ (553). Even though Whitman only owned a horse and buggy for roughly three years, it was America’s most popular form of transportation the later half of the nineteenth century.

(image credit: Foster, Ellsworth D. The American Educator (Chicago: Ralph Durham Company, 1921) 592)

What exactly was the purpose and structure of the buggy? According to the OED, the buggy itself is “a light one-horse (sometimes two horse) vehicle, for one or two persons. Those in use in America have four wheels” (OED 1a), differing from the two wheeled carriages common in England. These wagons were designed to have strong pulling efficiency even when the horses were given a heavy load, and people enjoyed riding in the buggies to reach their destination in a timely manner. Whitman’s own horse and buggy cost a sum of $320, indicating this transportation was reserved for people who had an adequate amount of money. Reynolds illustrates Whitman’s gift for the reader, saying it included “a horse, a leather-lined phaeton, a whip, halter, and lap blanket” (553). The last item useful for the colder winter months, making a horse ride a pleasant experience for all times of the year, not limiting the horse’s usefulness for the warm summer months.

Clay McShane’s article, “Gelded Age Boston,” discusses the growth and usefulness of horses and buggies in 1880′s Boston, a city not too far north from Camden. The historical article discusses how, depending on the individual owners’ wishes and purposes, different horse breeds were suited for different businesses. For example, “breweries preferred Clydesdales, unsuited to the North American climate but handsome high-steppers that provided good publicity for the industries they represented” (291) and carriage owners, like Whitman, “preferred light, young, agile animals” (291).

Regardless of the benefits, owners of horses and buggies faced several challenges, especially people like Whitman, who lived in an urban neighborhood. The urban surroundings were laden with diseases that could easily spread to the animals, rendering them useless. McShane’s research shows that although “farriers (horseshoers) served as folk practitioners of veterinary medicine . . . their nostrums would not do in an age that increasingly valued professionalization” (287). In order to combat this issue, veterinary medicine developed into a new profession to care for the equine population and “Harvard opened [the first] veterinary school in 1882, which was active until 1904, roughly when urban horses began to lose their importance” (287). The school’s curriculum focused entirely on the well-being of draft animals.

Animal abuse was also a major concern in cities and in 1868, George Angell attempted to quell the problem by founding the MSPCA or Massachusetts Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. The MSPCA revealed “astonishing examples of cruelty, including the practice of lighting fire under a horse to urge him to start pulling a heavy load,” and the MSPCA publicly denounced these incidents  to raise awareness among potential horse and buggy owners.

By the 1910′s, the development and eventual market for automobiles diminished the use for the horse and buggy.  McShane’s conclusion states “they had all but faded from view” (300), being a image of America’s past and Whitman’s later life.

(image credit: Charles D. Maginnis Pen Drawings an Illustrated Treatise (Boston: Bates & Guild Company, 1903) 57)

Works Cited

McShane, Clay. “Gelded Age Boston.” The New England Quarterly, Inc. 74.2 (June 2001): 274-302.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage Books, 1995.

The College of Physicians of Philadelphia began collecting materials for a museum of pathological anatomy in 1849. In 1856, Dr. Thomas Dent Mutter, in poor health and intending to retire from teaching, offered the museum the contents of his personal collection of “bones, wet specimens, plaster casts, wax and papier-mâché models, dried preparations, and medical illustrations.” In addition, Dr. Mutter offered the College of Physicians a $30,000 endowment to pay for the administrative costs of running a museum. Dr. Mutter’s collection was added to the materials collected by the college since 1849 and the Mutter medical museum was born.

Mutter’s endowment facilitated the purchase of additional collections in Europe, and as students from the college “contributed interesting surgical and post-mortem specimens acquired from their hospital and private practice,” the museum’s collection grew. The College decided in 1871 to start collecting old-fashioned medical tools in an effort to document the “changes in the technology of medicine and memorabilia of present and past practitioners.” The majority of the museum’s contemporary acquisitions are of this type.

As the museum’s holdings continued to increase, a larger building was required. Construction began on a new space in 1908. Although the building itself boasted elegant marble and carved oak details, the medical exhibits still resembled “the utilitarian medical museums typical of 18th century hospitals and medical schools,” which “illustrated the fact that the museum’s purpose lay not in the decorative display of selected artifacts, but in the organized assemblage of teaching materials which were to be available to the student or researcher as were books on a library shelf.” In 1986, a major renovation of the museum’s exhibit areas modernized the shelving and lighting, presumably altering the nostalgic atmosphere.

Although I am unsure whether or not Walt Whitman visited the Mutter Museum, I am interested in exploring Whitman’s views and experiences with medicine. In particular, I am interested in the time Whitman spent nursing wounded soldiers during the Civil War. According to Reynolds, Whitman saw himself as a healer, and he had a severe distrust of medical doctors. Nursing the soldiers “intensified his distaste for conventional medicine and permitted him to test out his homespun ideas about healing” (430). The war doctors were overwhelmed with injured soldiers, and they were forced to perform surgeries with inadequate equipment and ineffective painkillers. This was a time when “medicine was still primitive,” and though Whitman “sympathized with the overworked war doctors, he recognized their limitations and believed that his own magnetic powers were as effective as all their procedures” (431). Many of Whitman’s “homespun ideas” were based on building interpersonal relationships with the soldiers. Whitman devoted a considerable amount of time to talking to the soldiers, reading to the soldiers, and helping them to write letters. Reynolds notes that: “to the end of his life Whitman would look upon regular doctors and their drugs with suspicion” (332).

According to its website, the Mutter Museum has “specimens and photographs of battle injuries” from the Civil War within its collection. These artifacts were acquired from the Army Medical Museum “in exchange for duplicate material from the Mutter to be used for the training of army surgeons.” If Whitman were to visit the Mutter, I would venture to guess that this exhibit would be of special interest to him.

Please click on the link below to see some of the Mutter Museum’s current holdings. These photos are not for the faint of heart!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/42620318@N06/galleries/72157622808660274/

Works Cited:
History of the Mutter Medical Museum adapted from:

http://www.collphyphil.org/erics/Mutthist.htm

Information on Walt Whitman’s views on medicine taken from:
Reynolds, David. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage, 1995. Print.

Lead Image provided by:

http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2005/10/10/arts/11mutt-slide1.jpg

The College of Physicians of Philadelphia began collecting materials for a museum of pathological anatomy in 1849. In 1856, Dr. Thomas Dent Mutter, in poor health and intending to retire from teaching, offered the museum the contents of his personal collection of “bones, wet specimens, plaster casts, wax and papier-mâché models, dried preparations, and medical illustrations.” In addition, Dr. Mutter offered the College of Physicians a $30,000 endowment to pay for the administrative costs of running a museum. Dr. Mutter’s collection was added to the materials collected by the college since 1849 and the Mutter medical museum was born.

Mutter’s endowment facilitated the purchase of additional collections in Europe, and as students from the college “contributed interesting surgical and post-mortem specimens acquired from their hospital and private practice,” the museum’s collection grew. The College decided in 1871 to start collecting old-fashioned medical tools in an effort to document the “changes in the technology of medicine and memorabilia of present and past practitioners.” The majority of the museum’s contemporary acquisitions are of this type.

As the museum’s holdings continued to increase, a larger building was required. Construction began on a new space in 1908. Although the building itself boasted elegant marble and carved oak details, the medical exhibits still resembled “the utilitarian medical museums typical of 18th century hospitals and medical schools,” which “illustrated the fact that the museum’s purpose lay not in the decorative display of selected artifacts, but in the organized assemblage of teaching materials which were to be available to the student or researcher as were books on a library shelf.” In 1986, a major renovation of the museum’s exhibit areas modernized the shelving and lighting, presumably altering the nostalgic atmosphere.

Although I am unsure whether or not Walt Whitman visited the Mutter Museum, I am interested in exploring Whitman’s views and experiences with medicine. In particular, I am interested in the time Whitman spent nursing wounded soldiers during the Civil War. According to Reynolds, Whitman saw himself as a healer, and he had a severe distrust of medical doctors. Nursing the soldiers “intensified his distaste for conventional medicine and permitted him to test out his homespun ideas about healing” (430). The war doctors were overwhelmed with injured soldiers, and they were forced to perform surgeries with inadequate equipment and ineffective painkillers. This was a time when “medicine was still primitive,” and though Whitman “sympathized with the overworked war doctors, he recognized their limitations and believed that his own magnetic powers were as effective as all their procedures” (431). Many of Whitman’s “homespun ideas” were based on building interpersonal relationships with the soldiers. Whitman devoted a considerable amount of time to talking to the soldiers, reading to the soldiers, and helping them to write letters. Reynolds notes that: “to the end of his life Whitman would look upon regular doctors and their drugs with suspicion” (332).

According to its website, the Mutter Museum has “specimens and photographs of battle injuries” from the Civil War within its collection. These artifacts were acquired from the Army Medical Museum “in exchange for duplicate material from the Mutter to be used for the training of army surgeons.” If Whitman were to visit the Mutter, I would venture to guess that this exhibit would be of special interest to him.

Please click on the link below to see some of the Mutter Museum’s current holdings. These photos are not for the faint of heart!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/42620318@N06/galleries/72157622808660274/

Works Cited:
History of the Mutter Medical Museum adapted from:

http://www.collphyphil.org/erics/Mutthist.htm

Information on Walt Whitman’s views on medicine taken from:
Reynolds, David. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage, 1995. Print.

Lead Image provided by:

http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2005/10/10/arts/11mutt-slide1.jpg

The College of Physicians of Philadelphia began collecting materials for a museum of pathological anatomy in 1849. In 1856, Dr. Thomas Dent Mutter, in poor health and intending to retire from teaching, offered the museum the contents of his personal collection of “bones, wet specimens, plaster casts, wax and papier-mâché models, dried preparations, and medical illustrations.” In addition, Dr. Mutter offered the College of Physicians a $30,000 endowment to pay for the administrative costs of running a museum. Dr. Mutter’s collection was added to the materials collected by the college since 1849 and the Mutter medical museum was born.

Mutter’s endowment facilitated the purchase of additional collections in Europe, and as students from the college “contributed interesting surgical and post-mortem specimens acquired from their hospital and private practice,” the museum’s collection grew. The College decided in 1871 to start collecting old-fashioned medical tools in an effort to document the “changes in the technology of medicine and memorabilia of present and past practitioners.” The majority of the museum’s contemporary acquisitions are of this type.

As the museum’s holdings continued to increase, a larger building was required. Construction began on a new space in 1908. Although the building itself boasted elegant marble and carved oak details, the medical exhibits still resembled “the utilitarian medical museums typical of 18th century hospitals and medical schools,” which “illustrated the fact that the museum’s purpose lay not in the decorative display of selected artifacts, but in the organized assemblage of teaching materials which were to be available to the student or researcher as were books on a library shelf.” In 1986, a major renovation of the museum’s exhibit areas modernized the shelving and lighting, presumably altering the nostalgic atmosphere.

Although I am unsure whether or not Walt Whitman visited the Mutter Museum, I am interested in exploring Whitman’s views and experiences with medicine. In particular, I am interested in the time Whitman spent nursing wounded soldiers during the Civil War. According to Reynolds, Whitman saw himself as a healer, and he had a severe distrust of medical doctors. Nursing the soldiers “intensified his distaste for conventional medicine and permitted him to test out his homespun ideas about healing” (430). The war doctors were overwhelmed with injured soldiers, and they were forced to perform surgeries with inadequate equipment and ineffective painkillers. This was a time when “medicine was still primitive,” and though Whitman “sympathized with the overworked war doctors, he recognized their limitations and believed that his own magnetic powers were as effective as all their procedures” (431). Many of Whitman’s “homespun ideas” were based on building interpersonal relationships with the soldiers. Whitman devoted a considerable amount of time to talking to the soldiers, reading to the soldiers, and helping them to write letters. Reynolds notes that: “to the end of his life Whitman would look upon regular doctors and their drugs with suspicion” (332).

According to its website, the Mutter Museum has “specimens and photographs of battle injuries” from the Civil War within its collection. These artifacts were acquired from the Army Medical Museum “in exchange for duplicate material from the Mutter to be used for the training of army surgeons.” If Whitman were to visit the Mutter, I would venture to guess that this exhibit would be of special interest to him.

Please click on the link below to see some of the Mutter Museum’s current holdings. These photos are not for the faint of heart!
 http://www.flickr.com/photos/42620318@N0…

Works Cited:
History of the Mutter Medical Museum adapted from:
 http://www.collphyphil.org/erics/Mutthis…

Information on Walt Whitman’s views on medicine taken from:
Reynolds, David. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage, 1995. Print.

Lead Image provided by:
 http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2005…

The College of Physicians of Philadelphia began collecting materials for a museum of pathological anatomy in 1849. In 1856, Dr. Thomas Dent Mutter, in poor health and intending to retire from teaching, offered the museum the contents of his personal collection of “bones, wet specimens, plaster casts, wax and papier-mâché models, dried preparations, and medical illustrations.” In addition, Dr. Mutter offered the College of Physicians a $30,000 endowment to pay for the administrative costs of running a museum. Dr. Mutter’s collection was added to the materials collected by the college since 1849 and the Mutter medical museum was born.

Mutter’s endowment facilitated the purchase of additional collections in Europe, and as students from the college “contributed interesting surgical and post-mortem specimens acquired from their hospital and private practice,” the museum’s collection grew. The College decided in 1871 to start collecting old-fashioned medical tools in an effort to document the “changes in the technology of medicine and memorabilia of present and past practitioners.” The majority of the museum’s contemporary acquisitions are of this type.

As the museum’s holdings continued to increase, a larger building was required. Construction began on a new space in 1908. Although the building itself boasted elegant marble and carved oak details, the medical exhibits still resembled “the utilitarian medical museums typical of 18th century hospitals and medical schools,” which “illustrated the fact that the museum’s purpose lay not in the decorative display of selected artifacts, but in the organized assemblage of teaching materials which were to be available to the student or researcher as were books on a library shelf.” In 1986, a major renovation of the museum’s exhibit areas modernized the shelving and lighting, presumably altering the nostalgic atmosphere.

Although I am unsure whether or not Walt Whitman visited the Mutter Museum, I am interested in exploring Whitman’s views and experiences with medicine. In particular, I am interested in the time Whitman spent nursing wounded soldiers during the Civil War. According to Reynolds, Whitman saw himself as a healer, and he had a severe distrust of medical doctors. Nursing the soldiers “intensified his distaste for conventional medicine and permitted him to test out his homespun ideas about healing” (430). The war doctors were overwhelmed with injured soldiers, and they were forced to perform surgeries with inadequate equipment and ineffective painkillers. This was a time when “medicine was still primitive,” and though Whitman “sympathized with the overworked war doctors, he recognized their limitations and believed that his own magnetic powers were as effective as all their procedures” (431). Many of Whitman’s “homespun ideas” were based on building interpersonal relationships with the soldiers. Whitman devoted a considerable amount of time to talking to the soldiers, reading to the soldiers, and helping them to write letters. Reynolds notes that: “to the end of his life Whitman would look upon regular doctors and their drugs with suspicion” (332).

According to its website, the Mutter Museum has “specimens and photographs of battle injuries” from the Civil War within its collection. These artifacts were acquired from the Army Medical Museum “in exchange for duplicate material from the Mutter to be used for the training of army surgeons.” If Whitman were to visit the Mutter, I would venture to guess that this exhibit would be of special interest to him.

Please click on the link below to see some of the Mutter Museum’s current holdings. These photos are not for the faint of heart!
 http://www.flickr.com/photos/42620318@N0…

Works Cited:
History of the Mutter Medical Museum adapted from:
 http://www.collphyphil.org/erics/Mutthis…

Information on Walt Whitman’s views on medicine taken from:
Reynolds, David. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage, 1995. Print.

Lead Image provided by:
 http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2005…

The College of Physicians of Philadelphia began collecting materials for a museum of pathological anatomy in 1849. In 1856, Dr. Thomas Dent Mutter, in poor health and intending to retire from teaching, offered the museum the contents of his personal collection of “bones, wet specimens, plaster casts, wax and papier-mâché models, dried preparations, and medical illustrations.” In addition, Dr. Mutter offered the College of Physicians a $30,000 endowment to pay for the administrative costs of running a museum. Dr. Mutter’s collection was added to the materials collected by the college since 1849 and the Mutter medical museum was born.

Mutter’s endowment facilitated the purchase of additional collections in Europe, and as students from the college “contributed interesting surgical and post-mortem specimens acquired from their hospital and private practice,” the museum’s collection grew. The College decided in 1871 to start collecting old-fashioned medical tools in an effort to document the “changes in the technology of medicine and memorabilia of present and past practitioners.” The majority of the museum’s contemporary acquisitions are of this type.

As the museum’s holdings continued to increase, a larger building was required. Construction began on a new space in 1908. Although the building itself boasted elegant marble and carved oak details, the medical exhibits still resembled “the utilitarian medical museums typical of 18th century hospitals and medical schools,” which “illustrated the fact that the museum’s purpose lay not in the decorative display of selected artifacts, but in the organized assemblage of teaching materials which were to be available to the student or researcher as were books on a library shelf.” In 1986, a major renovation of the museum’s exhibit areas modernized the shelving and lighting, presumably altering the nostalgic atmosphere.

Although I am unsure whether or not Walt Whitman visited the Mutter Museum, I am interested in exploring Whitman’s views and experiences with medicine. In particular, I am interested in the time Whitman spent nursing wounded soldiers during the Civil War. According to Reynolds, Whitman saw himself as a healer, and he had a severe distrust of medical doctors. Nursing the soldiers “intensified his distaste for conventional medicine and permitted him to test out his homespun ideas about healing” (430). The war doctors were overwhelmed with injured soldiers, and they were forced to perform surgeries with inadequate equipment and ineffective painkillers. This was a time when “medicine was still primitive,” and though Whitman “sympathized with the overworked war doctors, he recognized their limitations and believed that his own magnetic powers were as effective as all their procedures” (431). Many of Whitman’s “homespun ideas” were based on building interpersonal relationships with the soldiers. Whitman devoted a considerable amount of time to talking to the soldiers, reading to the soldiers, and helping them to write letters. Reynolds notes that: “to the end of his life Whitman would look upon regular doctors and their drugs with suspicion” (332).

According to its website, the Mutter Museum has “specimens and photographs of battle injuries” from the Civil War within its collection. These artifacts were acquired from the Army Medical Museum “in exchange for duplicate material from the Mutter to be used for the training of army surgeons.” If Whitman were to visit the Mutter, I would venture to guess that this exhibit would be of special interest to him.

Please click on the link below to see some of the Mutter Museum’s current holdings. These photos are not for the faint of heart!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/42620318@N06/galleries/72157622808660274/

Works Cited:
History of the Mutter Medical Museum adapted from:

http://www.collphyphil.org/erics/Mutthist.htm

Information on Walt Whitman’s views on medicine taken from:
Reynolds, David. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage, 1995. Print.

Lead Image provided by:

http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2005/10/10/arts/11mutt-slide1.jpg

The College of Physicians of Philadelphia began collecting materials for a museum of pathological anatomy in 1849. In 1856, Dr. Thomas Dent Mutter, in poor health and intending to retire from teaching, offered the museum the contents of his personal collection of “bones, wet specimens, plaster casts, wax and papier-mâché models, dried preparations, and medical illustrations.” In addition, Dr. Mutter offered the College of Physicians a $30,000 endowment to pay for the administrative costs of running a museum. Dr. Mutter’s collection was added to the materials collected by the college since 1849 and the Mutter medical museum was born.

Mutter’s endowment facilitated the purchase of additional collections in Europe, and as students from the college “contributed interesting surgical and post-mortem specimens acquired from their hospital and private practice,” the museum’s collection grew. The College decided in 1871 to start collecting old-fashioned medical tools in an effort to document the “changes in the technology of medicine and memorabilia of present and past practitioners.” The majority of the museum’s contemporary acquisitions are of this type.

As the museum’s holdings continued to increase, a larger building was required. Construction began on a new space in 1908. Although the building itself boasted elegant marble and carved oak details, the medical exhibits still resembled “the utilitarian medical museums typical of 18th century hospitals and medical schools,” which “illustrated the fact that the museum’s purpose lay not in the decorative display of selected artifacts, but in the organized assemblage of teaching materials which were to be available to the student or researcher as were books on a library shelf.” In 1986, a major renovation of the museum’s exhibit areas modernized the shelving and lighting, presumably altering the nostalgic atmosphere.

Although I am unsure whether or not Walt Whitman visited the Mutter Museum, I am interested in exploring Whitman’s views and experiences with medicine. In particular, I am interested in the time Whitman spent nursing wounded soldiers during the Civil War. According to Reynolds, Whitman saw himself as a healer, and he had a severe distrust of medical doctors. Nursing the soldiers “intensified his distaste for conventional medicine and permitted him to test out his homespun ideas about healing” (430). The war doctors were overwhelmed with injured soldiers, and they were forced to perform surgeries with inadequate equipment and ineffective painkillers. This was a time when “medicine was still primitive,” and though Whitman “sympathized with the overworked war doctors, he recognized their limitations and believed that his own magnetic powers were as effective as all their procedures” (431). Many of Whitman’s “homespun ideas” were based on building interpersonal relationships with the soldiers. Whitman devoted a considerable amount of time to talking to the soldiers, reading to the soldiers, and helping them to write letters. Reynolds notes that: “to the end of his life Whitman would look upon regular doctors and their drugs with suspicion” (332).

According to its website, the Mutter Museum has “specimens and photographs of battle injuries” from the Civil War within its collection. These artifacts were acquired from the Army Medical Museum “in exchange for duplicate material from the Mutter to be used for the training of army surgeons.” If Whitman were to visit the Mutter, I would venture to guess that this exhibit would be of special interest to him.

Please click on the link below to see some of the Mutter Museum’s current holdings. These photos are not for the faint of heart!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/42620318@N06/galleries/72157622808660274/

Works Cited:
History of the Mutter Medical Museum adapted from:

http://www.collphyphil.org/erics/Mutthist.htm

Information on Walt Whitman’s views on medicine taken from:
Reynolds, David. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage, 1995. Print.

Lead Image provided by:

http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2005/10/10/arts/11mutt-slide1.jpg

The College of Physicians of Philadelphia began collecting materials for a museum of pathological anatomy in 1849. In 1856, Dr. Thomas Dent Mutter, in poor health and intending to retire from teaching, offered the museum the contents of his personal collection of “bones, wet specimens, plaster casts, wax and papier-mâché models, dried preparations, and medical illustrations.” In addition, Dr. Mutter offered the College of Physicians a $30,000 endowment to pay for the administrative costs of running a museum. Dr. Mutter’s collection was added to the materials collected by the college since 1849 and the Mutter medical museum was born.

Mutter’s endowment facilitated the purchase of additional collections in Europe, and as students from the college “contributed interesting surgical and post-mortem specimens acquired from their hospital and private practice,” the museum’s collection grew. The College decided in 1871 to start collecting old-fashioned medical tools in an effort to document the “changes in the technology of medicine and memorabilia of present and past practitioners.” The majority of the museum’s contemporary acquisitions are of this type.

As the museum’s holdings continued to increase, a larger building was required. Construction began on a new space in 1908. Although the building itself boasted elegant marble and carved oak details, the medical exhibits still resembled “the utilitarian medical museums typical of 18th century hospitals and medical schools,” which “illustrated the fact that the museum’s purpose lay not in the decorative display of selected artifacts, but in the organized assemblage of teaching materials which were to be available to the student or researcher as were books on a library shelf.” In 1986, a major renovation of the museum’s exhibit areas modernized the shelving and lighting, presumably altering the nostalgic atmosphere.

Although I am unsure whether or not Walt Whitman visited the Mutter Museum, I am interested in exploring Whitman’s views and experiences with medicine. In particular, I am interested in the time Whitman spent nursing wounded soldiers during the Civil War. According to Reynolds, Whitman saw himself as a healer, and he had a severe distrust of medical doctors. Nursing the soldiers “intensified his distaste for conventional medicine and permitted him to test out his homespun ideas about healing” (430). The war doctors were overwhelmed with injured soldiers, and they were forced to perform surgeries with inadequate equipment and ineffective painkillers. This was a time when “medicine was still primitive,” and though Whitman “sympathized with the overworked war doctors, he recognized their limitations and believed that his own magnetic powers were as effective as all their procedures” (431). Many of Whitman’s “homespun ideas” were based on building interpersonal relationships with the soldiers. Whitman devoted a considerable amount of time to talking to the soldiers, reading to the soldiers, and helping them to write letters. Reynolds notes that: “to the end of his life Whitman would look upon regular doctors and their drugs with suspicion” (332).

According to its website, the Mutter Museum has “specimens and photographs of battle injuries” from the Civil War within its collection. These artifacts were acquired from the Army Medical Museum “in exchange for duplicate material from the Mutter to be used for the training of army surgeons.” If Whitman were to visit the Mutter, I would venture to guess that this exhibit would be of special interest to him.

Please click on the link below to see some of the Mutter Museum’s current holdings. These photos are not for the faint of heart!

 http://www.flickr.com/photos/42620318@N0…

Works Cited:
History of the Mutter Medical Museum adapted from:
 http://www.collphyphil.org/erics/Mutthis…

Information on Walt Whitman’s views on medicine taken from:
Reynolds, David. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage, 1995. Print.

Lead Image provided by:
 http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2005…

The College of Physicians of Philadelphia began collecting materials for a museum of pathological anatomy in 1849. In 1856, Dr. Thomas Dent Mutter, in poor health and intending to retire from teaching, offered the museum the contents of his personal collection of “bones, wet specimens, plaster casts, wax and papier-mâché models, dried preparations, and medical illustrations.” In addition, Dr. Mutter offered the College of Physicians a $30,000 endowment to pay for the administrative costs of running a museum. Dr. Mutter’s collection was added to the materials collected by the college since 1849 and the Mutter medical museum was born.

Mutter’s endowment facilitated the purchase of additional collections in Europe, and as students from the college “contributed interesting surgical and post-mortem specimens acquired from their hospital and private practice,” the museum’s collection grew. The College decided in 1871 to start collecting old-fashioned medical tools in an effort to document the “changes in the technology of medicine and memorabilia of present and past practitioners.” The majority of the museum’s contemporary acquisitions are of this type.

As the museum’s holdings continued to increase, a larger building was required. Construction began on a new space in 1908. Although the building itself boasted elegant marble and carved oak details, the medical exhibits still resembled “the utilitarian medical museums typical of 18th century hospitals and medical schools,” which “illustrated the fact that the museum’s purpose lay not in the decorative display of selected artifacts, but in the organized assemblage of teaching materials which were to be available to the student or researcher as were books on a library shelf.” In 1986, a major renovation of the museum’s exhibit areas modernized the shelving and lighting, presumably altering the nostalgic atmosphere.

Although I am unsure whether or not Walt Whitman visited the Mutter Museum, I am interested in exploring Whitman’s views and experiences with medicine. In particular, I am interested in the time Whitman spent nursing wounded soldiers during the Civil War. According to Reynolds, Whitman saw himself as a healer, and he had a severe distrust of medical doctors. Nursing the soldiers “intensified his distaste for conventional medicine and permitted him to test out his homespun ideas about healing” (430). The war doctors were overwhelmed with injured soldiers, and they were forced to perform surgeries with inadequate equipment and ineffective painkillers. This was a time when “medicine was still primitive,” and though Whitman “sympathized with the overworked war doctors, he recognized their limitations and believed that his own magnetic powers were as effective as all their procedures” (431). Many of Whitman’s “homespun ideas” were based on building interpersonal relationships with the soldiers. Whitman devoted a considerable amount of time to talking to the soldiers, reading to the soldiers, and helping them to write letters. Reynolds notes that: “to the end of his life Whitman would look upon regular doctors and their drugs with suspicion” (332).

According to its website, the Mutter Museum has “specimens and photographs of battle injuries” from the Civil War within its collection. These artifacts were acquired from the Army Medical Museum “in exchange for duplicate material from the Mutter to be used for the training of army surgeons.” If Whitman were to visit the Mutter, I would venture to guess that this exhibit would be of special interest to him.

Please click on the link below to see some of the Mutter Museum’s current holdings. These photos are not for the faint of heart!
 http://www.flickr.com/photos/42620318@N0…

Works Cited:
History of the Mutter Medical Museum adapted from:
 http://www.collphyphil.org/erics/Mutthis…

Information on Walt Whitman’s views on medicine taken from:
Reynolds, David. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage, 1995. Print.

Lead Image provided by:
 http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2005…

Whitman’s admiration for mothers was inspired by the love that he had for his own mother.  This loves manifests itself in Whitman’s poetry especially in “As at thy Portals Also Death” in which Whitman seeks to immortalize himself and his mother through poetry.

“As at Thy Portals Also Death”

As at thy portals also death,

Entering thy sovereign, dim, illimitable grounds,

To memories of my mother, to the divine blending, maternity

To her, buried and gone, yet buried not, gone not from me,

(I see again the calm benignant face fresh and beautiful still,

I sit by the form in the coffin,

I kiss and kiss convulsively again the sweet old lips, the cheeks, the closed eyes in the

coffin;)

To her, the ideal woman, practical, spiritual, of all of earth, life, love, to  me the best,

I grave a monumental line, before I go, amid these songs,

And set a tombstone here.

Whitman, consistent with the culture of his time, revealed an immense admiration for his mother.  Myrth Jimmie Killingsworth writes that nineteenth century culture “encouraged a mystified and glorified mother-son bond” (39).  One can see the intense love he has for his mother in his 1881 poem, “As at Thy Portals Also Death”.  Lines 5-7 indicate the passionate love for mothers popular in the nineteenth century.  Killingsworth describes, “The mother-son relationship took on an intensity bordering on the sexual in the novels of the day and in the bereavement literature” as exemplified by “an 1852 memorial narrative, a young boy about to die piteously tells his mother that he wishes ‘we could die with our arms around each other’s neck’” (Killingsworth 39-40).

This nineteenth century portrait of a mother exemplifies the middle class image of motherhood that Whitman so fiercely opposed.  Myrth Jimmie Killingsworth writes that Whitman “rejects the middle-class ideal of the doll-like, fragile, yet morally superior female” (29).  Whitman instead called mothers to be strong physically and mentally.

This view of motherhood was also espoused by reformers of the time seeking to empower the nation through physically fit mothers.  Arthur Wrobel writes, “writers vigorously promoted the cause of women’s health by advocating calisthenics, proper diets, and of course clothing that fit the body rather than compelled the body to fit it” (12).   Wrobel cites various authors and publications that advocated exercise and good health to prepare for motherhood and being a wife.  Examples are: C. Morril, Physio-Medical Recorder, Peterson’s Ladies Magazine (1852), Marriage: Its History and Ceremonies by Lorenzo Niles Fowler, J.G. Spurzheim’s Education, and Treatise on the Physiological and Moral Management of Infancy by Andrew Combe.  According to these reformers, the ideal woman for conceiving a child, was, “plump, full busted, and having a broad pelvis” (Wrobel 12).

The figure of the nineteenth century woman was under scrutiny.  Reformers, seeking a strong nation also spoke out against tight lacing.  Tight lacing they argued, “wreaked havoc on the internal organs of women, thereby endangering the environment of unborn babies” (Wrobel 11).  Whitman decried the use of tight lacing in the Eagle.  He writes the affects of tight lacing could affect, “mental temperament or nervous system, causing a continual fever of excitement, sleepless nights, and in many cases, confirmed mental derangement” (Wrobel 12-13).  Whitman seeks the natural, physically fit woman in his poetry.  Wrobel details Whitman’s feelings toward women and fashion quite harshly.  He writes, “His [Whitman’s] diatribes against fashion were to continue to the end of his life, as he blamed women’s slavish devotion to fashion for the failure of America to evolve more perfect citizenry worthy of America’s future” (13).

The following pictures from Wiki Commons show an example of a corset and an anti-tight lacing picture which shows the “effects” on the internal organs after tight lacing.  Historical evidence places tight lacing to have begun in 14^th century Europe and ending in the early 20^th century (Kunzle 6).  David Kunzle’s Fashion and Fetishism A Social History of the Corset, Tight-Lacing and Other Forms of Body Sculpture in the West explains that, “tight-lacers were abused out of fear of women, and of female sexuality.  The abuse was part of Victorian repression of sexuality, and particularly female sexuality, which was regarded as subversive of the social order.  Tight-lacers were, like witches and prostitutes of old, social and sexual scapegoats” (Kunzle xviii).  With this knowledge, it appears that Whitman’s admiration of motherhood prevailed over his desire to promote female sexuality…?

Works Cited

Killingsworth, Myrth Jimmie. “Whitman and Motherhood: A Historical View.” American Literature 54.1 (1982): 28. Print.

Kunzle, David. Fashion & Fetishism : Corsets, Tight-Lacing & Other Forms of Body-Sculpture. Stroud: Sutton, 2004. Print.

LeMaster, J. R., and Donald D. Kummings. Walt Whitman : An Encyclopedia. New York: Garland Pub., 1998. Print.

Whitman, Walt. Complete Poetry and Collected Prose. New York, N.Y: Literary Classics of the United States ; Distributed by Viking Press, 1982. Print.

Wrobel, Arthur. “‘Noble American Motherhood’: Whitman, Women, and the Ideal Democracy.” American Studies 21.2 (1980): 7-25. Print.

Pictures Used from Wiki Commons

http://commons.wikimedia.org

File:Moeder&Kind.jpgen kind 1 Mother and child | … half of the 19th century | Permission … Category:Cornelis Kruseman Category:Dutch Art in the Nineteenth Century

File:1835 Boston byJaneStuart.jpgDescription 1″Interior Scene” of mother and son at lesson, Boston, MA … edu/ic/collection/halttunen/Nineteenth_Century/Domesticity/8533

c1888.gif | Corset c1888 Image:Us000433095.gif | U. S. patent no. 433

File:ANatural – BTight lacing.pngB,Category:1884 Category:1885 Category:1888 Category:Anti-corset movement

Whitman’s admiration for mothers was inspired by the love that he had for his own mother.  This loves manifests itself in Whitman’s poetry especially in “As at thy Portals Also Death” in which Whitman seeks to immortalize himself and his mother through poetry.

“As at Thy Portals Also Death”

As at thy portals also death,

Entering thy sovereign, dim, illimitable grounds,

To memories of my mother, to the divine blending, maternity

To her, buried and gone, yet buried not, gone not from me,

(I see again the calm benignant face fresh and beautiful still,

I sit by the form in the coffin,

I kiss and kiss convulsively again the sweet old lips, the cheeks, the closed eyes in the

coffin;)

To her, the ideal woman, practical, spiritual, of all of earth, life, love, to  me the best,

I grave a monumental line, before I go, amid these songs,

And set a tombstone here.

Whitman, consistent with the culture of his time, revealed an immense admiration for his mother.  Myrth Jimmie Killingsworth writes that nineteenth century culture “encouraged a mystified and glorified mother-son bond” (39).  One can see the intense love he has for his mother in his 1881 poem, “As at Thy Portals Also Death”.  Lines 5-7 indicate the passionate love for mothers popular in the nineteenth century.  Killingsworth describes, “The mother-son relationship took on an intensity bordering on the sexual in the novels of the day and in the bereavement literature” as exemplified by “an 1852 memorial narrative, a young boy about to die piteously tells his mother that he wishes ‘we could die with our arms around each other’s neck’” (Killingsworth 39-40).

This nineteenth century portrait of a mother exemplifies the middle class image of motherhood that Whitman so fiercely opposed.  Myrth Jimmie Killingsworth writes that Whitman “rejects the middle-class ideal of the doll-like, fragile, yet morally superior female” (29).  Whitman instead called mothers to be strong physically and mentally.

This view of motherhood was also espoused by reformers of the time seeking to empower the nation through physically fit mothers.  Arthur Wrobel writes, “writers vigorously promoted the cause of women’s health by advocating calisthenics, proper diets, and of course clothing that fit the body rather than compelled the body to fit it” (12).   Wrobel cites various authors and publications that advocated exercise and good health to prepare for motherhood and being a wife.  Examples are: C. Morril, Physio-Medical Recorder, Peterson’s Ladies Magazine (1852), Marriage: Its History and Ceremonies by Lorenzo Niles Fowler, J.G. Spurzheim’s Education, and Treatise on the Physiological and Moral Management of Infancy by Andrew Combe.  According to these reformers, the ideal woman for conceiving a child, was, “plump, full busted, and having a broad pelvis” (Wrobel 12).

The figure of the nineteenth century woman was under scrutiny.  Reformers, seeking a strong nation also spoke out against tight lacing.  Tight lacing they argued, “wreaked havoc on the internal organs of women, thereby endangering the environment of unborn babies” (Wrobel 11).  Whitman decried the use of tight lacing in the Eagle.  He writes the affects of tight lacing could affect, “mental temperament or nervous system, causing a continual fever of excitement, sleepless nights, and in many cases, confirmed mental derangement” (Wrobel 12-13).  Whitman seeks the natural, physically fit woman in his poetry.  Wrobel details Whitman’s feelings toward women and fashion quite harshly.  He writes, “His [Whitman’s] diatribes against fashion were to continue to the end of his life, as he blamed women’s slavish devotion to fashion for the failure of America to evolve more perfect citizenry worthy of America’s future” (13).

The following pictures from Wiki Commons show an example of a corset and an anti-tight lacing picture which shows the “effects” on the internal organs after tight lacing.  Historical evidence places tight lacing to have begun in 14^th century Europe and ending in the early 20^th century (Kunzle 6).  David Kunzle’s Fashion and Fetishism A Social History of the Corset, Tight-Lacing and Other Forms of Body Sculpture in the West explains that, “tight-lacers were abused out of fear of women, and of female sexuality.  The abuse was part of Victorian repression of sexuality, and particularly female sexuality, which was regarded as subversive of the social order.  Tight-lacers were, like witches and prostitutes of old, social and sexual scapegoats” (Kunzle xviii).  With this knowledge, it appears that Whitman’s admiration of motherhood prevailed over his desire to promote female sexuality…?

Works Cited

Killingsworth, Myrth Jimmie. “Whitman and Motherhood: A Historical View.” American Literature 54.1 (1982): 28. Print.

Kunzle, David. Fashion & Fetishism : Corsets, Tight-Lacing & Other Forms of Body-Sculpture. Stroud: Sutton, 2004. Print.

LeMaster, J. R., and Donald D. Kummings. Walt Whitman : An Encyclopedia. New York: Garland Pub., 1998. Print.

Whitman, Walt. Complete Poetry and Collected Prose. New York, N.Y: Literary Classics of the United States ; Distributed by Viking Press, 1982. Print.

Wrobel, Arthur. “‘Noble American Motherhood’: Whitman, Women, and the Ideal Democracy.” American Studies 21.2 (1980): 7-25. Print.

Pictures Used from Wiki Commons

http://commons.wikimedia.org

File:Moeder&Kind.jpgen kind 1 Mother and child | … half of the 19th century | Permission … Category:Cornelis Kruseman Category:Dutch Art in the Nineteenth Century

File:1835 Boston byJaneStuart.jpgDescription 1″Interior Scene” of mother and son at lesson, Boston, MA … edu/ic/collection/halttunen/Nineteenth_Century/Domesticity/8533

c1888.gif | Corset c1888 Image:Us000433095.gif | U. S. patent no. 433

File:ANatural – BTight lacing.pngB,Category:1884 Category:1885 Category:1888 Category:Anti-corset movement

Whitman’s admiration for mothers was inspired by the love that he had for his own mother.  This loves manifests itself in Whitman’s poetry especially in “As at thy Portals Also Death” in which Whitman seeks to immortalize himself and his mother through poetry.

“As at Thy Portals Also Death”

As at thy portals also death,

Entering thy sovereign, dim, illimitable grounds,

To memories of my mother, to the divine blending, maternity

To her, buried and gone, yet buried not, gone not from me,

(I see again the calm benignant face fresh and beautiful still,

I sit by the form in the coffin,

I kiss and kiss convulsively again the sweet old lips, the cheeks, the closed eyes in the

coffin;)

To her, the ideal woman, practical, spiritual, of all of earth, life, love, to  me the best,

I grave a monumental line, before I go, amid these songs,

And set a tombstone here.

Whitman, consistent with the culture of his time, revealed an immense admiration for his mother.  Myrth Jimmie Killingsworth writes that nineteenth century culture “encouraged a mystified and glorified mother-son bond” (39).  One can see the intense love he has for his mother in his 1881 poem, “As at Thy Portals Also Death”.  Lines 5-7 indicate the passionate love for mothers popular in the nineteenth century.  Killingsworth describes, “The mother-son relationship took on an intensity bordering on the sexual in the novels of the day and in the bereavement literature” as exemplified by “an 1852 memorial narrative, a young boy about to die piteously tells his mother that he wishes ‘we could die with our arms around each other’s neck’” (Killingsworth 39-40).

This nineteenth century portrait of a mother exemplifies the middle class image of motherhood that Whitman so fiercely opposed.  Myrth Jimmie Killingsworth writes that Whitman “rejects the middle-class ideal of the doll-like, fragile, yet morally superior female” (29).  Whitman instead called mothers to be strong physically and mentally.

This view of motherhood was also espoused by reformers of the time seeking to empower the nation through physically fit mothers.  Arthur Wrobel writes, “writers vigorously promoted the cause of women’s health by advocating calisthenics, proper diets, and of course clothing that fit the body rather than compelled the body to fit it” (12).   Wrobel cites various authors and publications that advocated exercise and good health to prepare for motherhood and being a wife.  Examples are: C. Morril, Physio-Medical Recorder, Peterson’s Ladies Magazine (1852), Marriage: Its History and Ceremonies by Lorenzo Niles Fowler, J.G. Spurzheim’s Education, and Treatise on the Physiological and Moral Management of Infancy by Andrew Combe.  According to these reformers, the ideal woman for conceiving a child, was, “plump, full busted, and having a broad pelvis” (Wrobel 12).

The figure of the nineteenth century woman was under scrutiny.  Reformers, seeking a strong nation also spoke out against tight lacing.  Tight lacing they argued, “wreaked havoc on the internal organs of women, thereby endangering the environment of unborn babies” (Wrobel 11).  Whitman decried the use of tight lacing in the Eagle.  He writes the affects of tight lacing could affect, “mental temperament or nervous system, causing a continual fever of excitement, sleepless nights, and in many cases, confirmed mental derangement” (Wrobel 12-13).  Whitman seeks the natural, physically fit woman in his poetry.  Wrobel details Whitman’s feelings toward women and fashion quite harshly.  He writes, “His [Whitman’s] diatribes against fashion were to continue to the end of his life, as he blamed women’s slavish devotion to fashion for the failure of America to evolve more perfect citizenry worthy of America’s future” (13).

The following pictures from Wiki Commons show an example of a corset and an anti-tight lacing picture which shows the “effects” on the internal organs after tight lacing.  Historical evidence places tight lacing to have begun in 14^th century Europe and ending in the early 20^th century (Kunzle 6).  David Kunzle’s Fashion and Fetishism A Social History of the Corset, Tight-Lacing and Other Forms of Body Sculpture in the West explains that, “tight-lacers were abused out of fear of women, and of female sexuality.  The abuse was part of Victorian repression of sexuality, and particularly female sexuality, which was regarded as subversive of the social order.  Tight-lacers were, like witches and prostitutes of old, social and sexual scapegoats” (Kunzle xviii).  With this knowledge, it appears that Whitman’s admiration of motherhood prevailed over his desire to promote female sexuality…?

Works Cited

Killingsworth, Myrth Jimmie. “Whitman and Motherhood: A Historical View.” American Literature 54.1 (1982): 28. Print.

Kunzle, David. Fashion & Fetishism : Corsets, Tight-Lacing & Other Forms of Body-Sculpture. Stroud: Sutton, 2004. Print.

LeMaster, J. R., and Donald D. Kummings. Walt Whitman : An Encyclopedia. New York: Garland Pub., 1998. Print.

Whitman, Walt. Complete Poetry and Collected Prose. New York, N.Y: Literary Classics of the United States ; Distributed by Viking Press, 1982. Print.

Wrobel, Arthur. “‘Noble American Motherhood’: Whitman, Women, and the Ideal Democracy.” American Studies 21.2 (1980): 7-25. Print.

Pictures Used from Wiki Commons

http://commons.wikimedia.org

File:Moeder&Kind.jpgen kind 1 Mother and child | … half of the 19th century | Permission … Category:Cornelis Kruseman Category:Dutch Art in the Nineteenth Century

File:1835 Boston byJaneStuart.jpgDescription 1″Interior Scene” of mother and son at lesson, Boston, MA … edu/ic/collection/halttunen/Nineteenth_Century/Domesticity/8533

c1888.gif | Corset c1888 Image:Us000433095.gif | U. S. patent no. 433

File:ANatural – BTight lacing.pngB,Category:1884 Category:1885 Category:1888 Category:Anti-corset movement

Whitman’s admiration for mothers was inspired by the love that he had for his own mother.  This loves manifests itself in Whitman’s poetry especially in “As at thy Portals Also Death” in which Whitman seeks to immortalize himself and his mother through poetry.

“As at Thy Portals Also Death”

As at thy portals also death,

Entering thy sovereign, dim, illimitable grounds,

To memories of my mother, to the divine blending, maternity

To her, buried and gone, yet buried not, gone not from me,

(I see again the calm benignant face fresh and beautiful still,

I sit by the form in the coffin,

I kiss and kiss convulsively again the sweet old lips, the cheeks, the closed eyes in the

coffin;)

To her, the ideal woman, practical, spiritual, of all of earth, life, love, to  me the best,

I grave a monumental line, before I go, amid these songs,

And set a tombstone here.

Whitman, consistent with the culture of his time, revealed an immense admiration for his mother.  Myrth Jimmie Killingsworth writes that nineteenth century culture “encouraged a mystified and glorified mother-son bond” (39).  One can see the intense love he has for his mother in his 1881 poem, “As at Thy Portals Also Death”.  Lines 5-7 indicate the passionate love for mothers popular in the nineteenth century.  Killingsworth describes, “The mother-son relationship took on an intensity bordering on the sexual in the novels of the day and in the bereavement literature” as exemplified by “an 1852 memorial narrative, a young boy about to die piteously tells his mother that he wishes ‘we could die with our arms around each other’s neck’” (Killingsworth 39-40).

This nineteenth century portrait of a mother exemplifies the middle class image of motherhood that Whitman so fiercely opposed.  Myrth Jimmie Killingsworth writes that Whitman “rejects the middle-class ideal of the doll-like, fragile, yet morally superior female” (29).  Whitman instead called mothers to be strong physically and mentally.

This view of motherhood was also espoused by reformers of the time seeking to empower the nation through physically fit mothers.  Arthur Wrobel writes, “writers vigorously promoted the cause of women’s health by advocating calisthenics, proper diets, and of course clothing that fit the body rather than compelled the body to fit it” (12).   Wrobel cites various authors and publications that advocated exercise and good health to prepare for motherhood and being a wife.  Examples are: C. Morril, Physio-Medical Recorder, Peterson’s Ladies Magazine (1852), Marriage: Its History and Ceremonies by Lorenzo Niles Fowler, J.G. Spurzheim’s Education, and Treatise on the Physiological and Moral Management of Infancy by Andrew Combe.  According to these reformers, the ideal woman for conceiving a child, was, “plump, full busted, and having a broad pelvis” (Wrobel 12).

The figure of the nineteenth century woman was under scrutiny.  Reformers, seeking a strong nation also spoke out against tight lacing.  Tight lacing they argued, “wreaked havoc on the internal organs of women, thereby endangering the environment of unborn babies” (Wrobel 11).  Whitman decried the use of tight lacing in the Eagle.  He writes the affects of tight lacing could affect, “mental temperament or nervous system, causing a continual fever of excitement, sleepless nights, and in many cases, confirmed mental derangement” (Wrobel 12-13).  Whitman seeks the natural, physically fit woman in his poetry.  Wrobel details Whitman’s feelings toward women and fashion quite harshly.  He writes, “His [Whitman’s] diatribes against fashion were to continue to the end of his life, as he blamed women’s slavish devotion to fashion for the failure of America to evolve more perfect citizenry worthy of America’s future” (13).

The following pictures from Wiki Commons show an example of a corset and an anti-tight lacing picture which shows the “effects” on the internal organs after tight lacing.  Historical evidence places tight lacing to have begun in 14^th century Europe and ending in the early 20^th century (Kunzle 6).  David Kunzle’s Fashion and Fetishism A Social History of the Corset, Tight-Lacing and Other Forms of Body Sculpture in the West explains that, “tight-lacers were abused out of fear of women, and of female sexuality.  The abuse was part of Victorian repression of sexuality, and particularly female sexuality, which was regarded as subversive of the social order.  Tight-lacers were, like witches and prostitutes of old, social and sexual scapegoats” (Kunzle xviii).  With this knowledge, it appears that Whitman’s admiration of motherhood prevailed over his desire to promote female sexuality…?

Works Cited

Killingsworth, Myrth Jimmie. “Whitman and Motherhood: A Historical View.” American Literature 54.1 (1982): 28. Print.

Kunzle, David. Fashion & Fetishism : Corsets, Tight-Lacing & Other Forms of Body-Sculpture. Stroud: Sutton, 2004. Print.

LeMaster, J. R., and Donald D. Kummings. Walt Whitman : An Encyclopedia. New York: Garland Pub., 1998. Print.

Whitman, Walt. Complete Poetry and Collected Prose. New York, N.Y: Literary Classics of the United States ; Distributed by Viking Press, 1982. Print.

Wrobel, Arthur. “‘Noble American Motherhood’: Whitman, Women, and the Ideal Democracy.” American Studies 21.2 (1980): 7-25. Print.

Pictures Used from Wiki Commons

http://commons.wikimedia.org

File:Moeder&Kind.jpgen kind 1 Mother and child | … half of the 19th century | Permission … Category:Cornelis Kruseman Category:Dutch Art in the Nineteenth Century

File:1835 Boston byJaneStuart.jpgDescription 1″Interior Scene” of mother and son at lesson, Boston, MA … edu/ic/collection/halttunen/Nineteenth_Century/Domesticity/8533

c1888.gif | Corset c1888 Image:Us000433095.gif | U. S. patent no. 433

File:ANatural – BTight lacing.pngB,Category:1884 Category:1885 Category:1888 Category:Anti-corset movement

Whitman’s admiration for mothers was inspired by the love that he had for his own mother.  This loves manifests itself in Whitman’s poetry especially in “As at thy Portals Also Death” in which Whitman seeks to immortalize himself and his mother through poetry.

“As at Thy Portals Also Death”

As at thy portals also death,

Entering thy sovereign, dim, illimitable grounds,

To memories of my mother, to the divine blending, maternity

To her, buried and gone, yet buried not, gone not from me,

(I see again the calm benignant face fresh and beautiful still,

I sit by the form in the coffin,

I kiss and kiss convulsively again the sweet old lips, the cheeks, the closed eyes in the

coffin;)

To her, the ideal woman, practical, spiritual, of all of earth, life, love, to  me the best,

I grave a monumental line, before I go, amid these songs,

And set a tombstone here.

Whitman, consistent with the culture of his time, revealed an immense admiration for his mother.  Myrth Jimmie Killingsworth writes that nineteenth century culture “encouraged a mystified and glorified mother-son bond” (39).  One can see the intense love he has for his mother in his 1881 poem, “As at Thy Portals Also Death”.  Lines 5-7 indicate the passionate love for mothers popular in the nineteenth century.  Killingsworth describes, “The mother-son relationship took on an intensity bordering on the sexual in the novels of the day and in the bereavement literature” as exemplified by “an 1852 memorial narrative, a young boy about to die piteously tells his mother that he wishes ‘we could die with our arms around each other’s neck’” (Killingsworth 39-40).

This nineteenth century portrait of a mother exemplifies the middle class image of motherhood that Whitman so fiercely opposed.  Myrth Jimmie Killingsworth writes that Whitman “rejects the middle-class ideal of the doll-like, fragile, yet morally superior female” (29).  Whitman instead called mothers to be strong physically and mentally.

This view of motherhood was also espoused by reformers of the time seeking to empower the nation through physically fit mothers.  Arthur Wrobel writes, “writers vigorously promoted the cause of women’s health by advocating calisthenics, proper diets, and of course clothing that fit the body rather than compelled the body to fit it” (12).   Wrobel cites various authors and publications that advocated exercise and good health to prepare for motherhood and being a wife.  Examples are: C. Morril, Physio-Medical Recorder, Peterson’s Ladies Magazine (1852), Marriage: Its History and Ceremonies by Lorenzo Niles Fowler, J.G. Spurzheim’s Education, and Treatise on the Physiological and Moral Management of Infancy by Andrew Combe.  According to these reformers, the ideal woman for conceiving a child, was, “plump, full busted, and having a broad pelvis” (Wrobel 12).

The figure of the nineteenth century woman was under scrutiny.  Reformers, seeking a strong nation also spoke out against tight lacing.  Tight lacing they argued, “wreaked havoc on the internal organs of women, thereby endangering the environment of unborn babies” (Wrobel 11).  Whitman decried the use of tight lacing in the Eagle.  He writes the affects of tight lacing could affect, “mental temperament or nervous system, causing a continual fever of excitement, sleepless nights, and in many cases, confirmed mental derangement” (Wrobel 12-13).  Whitman seeks the natural, physically fit woman in his poetry.  Wrobel details Whitman’s feelings toward women and fashion quite harshly.  He writes, “His [Whitman’s] diatribes against fashion were to continue to the end of his life, as he blamed women’s slavish devotion to fashion for the failure of America to evolve more perfect citizenry worthy of America’s future” (13).

The following pictures from Wiki Commons show an example of a corset and an anti-tight lacing picture which shows the “effects” on the internal organs after tight lacing.  Historical evidence places tight lacing to have begun in 14^th century Europe and ending in the early 20^th century (Kunzle 6).  David Kunzle’s Fashion and Fetishism A Social History of the Corset, Tight-Lacing and Other Forms of Body Sculpture in the West explains that, “tight-lacers were abused out of fear of women, and of female sexuality.  The abuse was part of Victorian repression of sexuality, and particularly female sexuality, which was regarded as subversive of the social order.  Tight-lacers were, like witches and prostitutes of old, social and sexual scapegoats” (Kunzle xviii).  With this knowledge, it appears that Whitman’s admiration of motherhood prevailed over his desire to promote female sexuality…?

Works Cited

Killingsworth, Myrth Jimmie. “Whitman and Motherhood: A Historical View.” American Literature 54.1 (1982): 28. Print.

Kunzle, David. Fashion & Fetishism : Corsets, Tight-Lacing & Other Forms of Body-Sculpture. Stroud: Sutton, 2004. Print.

LeMaster, J. R., and Donald D. Kummings. Walt Whitman : An Encyclopedia. New York: Garland Pub., 1998. Print.

Whitman, Walt. Complete Poetry and Collected Prose. New York, N.Y: Literary Classics of the United States ; Distributed by Viking Press, 1982. Print.

Wrobel, Arthur. “‘Noble American Motherhood’: Whitman, Women, and the Ideal Democracy.” American Studies 21.2 (1980): 7-25. Print.

Pictures Used from Wiki Commons

http://commons.wikimedia.org

File:Moeder&Kind.jpgen kind 1 Mother and child | … half of the 19th century | Permission … Category:Cornelis Kruseman Category:Dutch Art in the Nineteenth Century

File:1835 Boston byJaneStuart.jpgDescription 1″Interior Scene” of mother and son at lesson, Boston, MA … edu/ic/collection/halttunen/Nineteenth_Century/Domesticity/8533

c1888.gif | Corset c1888 Image:Us000433095.gif | U. S. patent no. 433

File:ANatural – BTight lacing.pngB,Category:1884 Category:1885 Category:1888 Category:Anti-corset movement

The hall was “considered the fanciest public meeting place in Camden,” that is, until the opening of the Temple Theater across the street in 1892 (“Morgan’s Hall”).  In the mid-1930’s, Walter and Ernestine Griffins began managing the building.  Ernestine is believed to have opened The Owl’s Studio (a dance instruction facility) around 1933.  During the 1930s, the Griffins promoted many dances in Morgan’s Hall.  Throughout the 1930s and 40s, Morgan’s Hall hosted many weddings, contests, and other public and private events.

from Camden Courier-Post Jan. 9, 1928

from Camden Courier-Post Oct. 3, 1936

Morgan’s Hall was located right next to St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, which remains in service today.  The latest records of activity at Morgan’s Hall date back to 1947.  According to the New Jersey Bell Telephone Directory, no listing for Morgan’s Hall exists after 1959.

Although there’s little evidence that Whitman spent much time at Morgan’s Hall, it was the site of his often written-about seventieth birthday celebration.  On May 31, 1889, a large crowd gathered to salute Whitman and partake in revelry that included an array of fine foods, desserts, and cigars—not to mention the company of a diverse crowd of writers, lawyers, and businessmen.

Many credit Whitman’s residence in Camden for having brought many notable writers and artists through the city.  According to biographer David S. Reynolds, Whitman’s visitors included Oscar Wilde, Edmund Gosse, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (3).  Reynolds opens his Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography with a detailed account of the celebration.  He describes not only the attendees, mood, and atmosphere of the day, but also provides us with some images of the inside of the hall:

The heavy skies that day threatened rain, but the atmosphere inside Morgan’s was festive.  Three long rows of dinner tables, two of them parallel with the third crossing them at the top, were the picture of elegance, with dazzling whit tablecloths and flowers everywhere.  Banners festooned the walls, and a band played from a platform. (3)

Although the hall was beautifully decorated and the party enthusiastically attended, Whitman had, by this point, begun to tire of such public celebrations.  In fact, he intended to only stay at the party for a few minutes, but ended up spending two to three hours there.  During the festivities, an ailing Whitman sipped champagne and listened to the greetings and toasts of those in attendance and those who had sent remarks.  According to Reynolds, “When he left Morgan’s Hall that stormy May evening he took with him a rose and a memory of a grand occasion.” (6).  Although the setting of this grand occasion is not longer in business here in Camden, this major literary event drew a great deal of attention to the city.  Like the Walt Whitman House and Harleigh Cemetery today, Morgan’s Hall, in its heyday, drew residents and out-of-staters alike to its offerings of a glimpse into Whitman’s literary career. 

St. Paul's Cathedral (Today)

400 Market Street (Today)

Today, the building next to St. Paul’s is considered 400 Market Street.  The unmarked building houses several small business and medical offices.

Works Cited

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage Books, 1995. Print.

“Morgan’s Hall.” Delaware Valley Rhythm and Blues Society. Web. 7 November 2009.

The hall was “considered the fanciest public meeting place in Camden,” that is, until the opening of the Temple Theater across the street in 1892 (“Morgan’s Hall”).  In the mid-1930’s, Walter and Ernestine Griffins began managing the building.  Ernestine is believed to have opened The Owl’s Studio (a dance instruction facility) around 1933.  During the 1930s, the Griffins promoted many dances in Morgan’s Hall.  Throughout the 1930s and 40s, Morgan’s Hall hosted many weddings, contests, and other public and private events.

from Camden Courier-Post Jan. 9, 1928

from Camden Courier-Post Oct. 3, 1936

Morgan’s Hall was located right next to St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, which remains in service today.  The latest records of activity at Morgan’s Hall date back to 1947.  According to the New Jersey Bell Telephone Directory, no listing for Morgan’s Hall exists after 1959.

Although there’s little evidence that Whitman spent much time at Morgan’s Hall, it was the site of his often written-about seventieth birthday celebration.  On May 31, 1889, a large crowd gathered to salute Whitman and partake in revelry that included an array of fine foods, desserts, and cigars—not to mention the company of a diverse crowd of writers, lawyers, and businessmen.

Many credit Whitman’s residence in Camden for having brought many notable writers and artists through the city.  According to biographer David S. Reynolds, Whitman’s visitors included Oscar Wilde, Edmund Gosse, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (3).  Reynolds opens his Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography with a detailed account of the celebration.  He describes not only the attendees, mood, and atmosphere of the day, but also provides us with some images of the inside of the hall:

The heavy skies that day threatened rain, but the atmosphere inside Morgan’s was festive.  Three long rows of dinner tables, two of them parallel with the third crossing them at the top, were the picture of elegance, with dazzling whit tablecloths and flowers everywhere.  Banners festooned the walls, and a band played from a platform. (3)

Although the hall was beautifully decorated and the party enthusiastically attended, Whitman had, by this point, begun to tire of such public celebrations.  In fact, he intended to only stay at the party for a few minutes, but ended up spending two to three hours there.  During the festivities, an ailing Whitman sipped champagne and listened to the greetings and toasts of those in attendance and those who had sent remarks.  According to Reynolds, “When he left Morgan’s Hall that stormy May evening he took with him a rose and a memory of a grand occasion.” (6).  Although the setting of this grand occasion is not longer in business here in Camden, this major literary event drew a great deal of attention to the city.  Like the Walt Whitman House and Harleigh Cemetery today, Morgan’s Hall, in its heyday, drew residents and out-of-staters alike to its offerings of a glimpse into Whitman’s literary career. 

St. Paul's Cathedral (Today)

400 Market Street (Today)

Today, the building next to St. Paul’s is considered 400 Market Street.  The unmarked building houses several small business and medical offices.

Works Cited

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage Books, 1995. Print.

“Morgan’s Hall.” Delaware Valley Rhythm and Blues Society. Web. 7 November 2009.

The hall was “considered the fanciest public meeting place in Camden,” that is, until the opening of the Temple Theater across the street in 1892 (“Morgan’s Hall”).  In the mid-1930’s, Walter and Ernestine Griffins began managing the building.  Ernestine is believed to have opened The Owl’s Studio (a dance instruction facility) around 1933.  During the 1930s, the Griffins promoted many dances in Morgan’s Hall.  Throughout the 1930s and 40s, Morgan’s Hall hosted many weddings, contests, and other public and private events.

from Camden Courier-Post Jan. 9, 1928

from Camden Courier-Post Oct. 3, 1936

Morgan’s Hall was located right next to St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, which remains in service today.  The latest records of activity at Morgan’s Hall date back to 1947.  According to the New Jersey Bell Telephone Directory, no listing for Morgan’s Hall exists after 1959.

Although there’s little evidence that Whitman spent much time at Morgan’s Hall, it was the site of his often written-about seventieth birthday celebration.  On May 31, 1889, a large crowd gathered to salute Whitman and partake in revelry that included an array of fine foods, desserts, and cigars—not to mention the company of a diverse crowd of writers, lawyers, and businessmen.

Many credit Whitman’s residence in Camden for having brought many notable writers and artists through the city.  According to biographer David S. Reynolds, Whitman’s visitors included Oscar Wilde, Edmund Gosse, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (3).  Reynolds opens his Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography with a detailed account of the celebration.  He describes not only the attendees, mood, and atmosphere of the day, but also provides us with some images of the inside of the hall:

The heavy skies that day threatened rain, but the atmosphere inside Morgan’s was festive.  Three long rows of dinner tables, two of them parallel with the third crossing them at the top, were the picture of elegance, with dazzling whit tablecloths and flowers everywhere.  Banners festooned the walls, and a band played from a platform. (3)

Although the hall was beautifully decorated and the party enthusiastically attended, Whitman had, by this point, begun to tire of such public celebrations.  In fact, he intended to only stay at the party for a few minutes, but ended up spending two to three hours there.  During the festivities, an ailing Whitman sipped champagne and listened to the greetings and toasts of those in attendance and those who had sent remarks.  According to Reynolds, “When he left Morgan’s Hall that stormy May evening he took with him a rose and a memory of a grand occasion.” (6).  Although the setting of this grand occasion is not longer in business here in Camden, this major literary event drew a great deal of attention to the city.  Like the Walt Whitman House and Harleigh Cemetery today, Morgan’s Hall, in its heyday, drew residents and out-of-staters alike to its offerings of a glimpse into Whitman’s literary career. 

St. Paul's Cathedral (Today)

400 Market Street (Today)

Today, the building next to St. Paul’s is considered 400 Market Street.  The unmarked building houses several small business and medical offices.

Works Cited

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage Books, 1995. Print.

“Morgan’s Hall.” Delaware Valley Rhythm and Blues Society. Web. 7 November 2009.

The hall was “considered the fanciest public meeting place in Camden,” that is, until the opening of the Temple Theater across the street in 1892 (“Morgan’s Hall”).  In the mid-1930’s, Walter and Ernestine Griffins began managing the building.  Ernestine is believed to have opened The Owl’s Studio (a dance instruction facility) around 1933.  During the 1930s, the Griffins promoted many dances in Morgan’s Hall.  Throughout the 1930s and 40s, Morgan’s Hall hosted many weddings, contests, and other public and private events.

from Camden Courier-Post Jan. 9, 1928

from Camden Courier-Post Oct. 3, 1936

Morgan’s Hall was located right next to St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, which remains in service today.  The latest records of activity at Morgan’s Hall date back to 1947.  According to the New Jersey Bell Telephone Directory, no listing for Morgan’s Hall exists after 1959.

Although there’s little evidence that Whitman spent much time at Morgan’s Hall, it was the site of his often written-about seventieth birthday celebration.  On May 31, 1889, a large crowd gathered to salute Whitman and partake in revelry that included an array of fine foods, desserts, and cigars—not to mention the company of a diverse crowd of writers, lawyers, and businessmen.

Many credit Whitman’s residence in Camden for having brought many notable writers and artists through the city.  According to biographer David S. Reynolds, Whitman’s visitors included Oscar Wilde, Edmund Gosse, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (3).  Reynolds opens his Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography with a detailed account of the celebration.  He describes not only the attendees, mood, and atmosphere of the day, but also provides us with some images of the inside of the hall:

The heavy skies that day threatened rain, but the atmosphere inside Morgan’s was festive.  Three long rows of dinner tables, two of them parallel with the third crossing them at the top, were the picture of elegance, with dazzling whit tablecloths and flowers everywhere.  Banners festooned the walls, and a band played from a platform. (3)

Although the hall was beautifully decorated and the party enthusiastically attended, Whitman had, by this point, begun to tire of such public celebrations.  In fact, he intended to only stay at the party for a few minutes, but ended up spending two to three hours there.  During the festivities, an ailing Whitman sipped champagne and listened to the greetings and toasts of those in attendance and those who had sent remarks.  According to Reynolds, “When he left Morgan’s Hall that stormy May evening he took with him a rose and a memory of a grand occasion.” (6).  Although the setting of this grand occasion is not longer in business here in Camden, this major literary event drew a great deal of attention to the city.  Like the Walt Whitman House and Harleigh Cemetery today, Morgan’s Hall, in its heyday, drew residents and out-of-staters alike to its offerings of a glimpse into Whitman’s literary career. 

St. Paul's Cathedral (Today)

400 Market Street (Today)

Today, the building next to St. Paul’s is considered 400 Market Street.  The unmarked building houses several small business and medical offices.

Works Cited

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage Books, 1995. Print.

“Morgan’s Hall.” Delaware Valley Rhythm and Blues Society. Web. 7 November 2009.

The hall was “considered the fanciest public meeting place in Camden,” that is, until the opening of the Temple Theater across the street in 1892 (“Morgan’s Hall”).  In the mid-1930’s, Walter and Ernestine Griffins began managing the building.  Ernestine is believed to have opened The Owl’s Studio (a dance instruction facility) around 1933.  During the 1930s, the Griffins promoted many dances in Morgan’s Hall.  Throughout the 1930s and 40s, Morgan’s Hall hosted many weddings, contests, and other public and private events.

from Camden Courier-Post Jan. 9, 1928

from Camden Courier-Post Oct. 3, 1936

Morgan’s Hall was located right next to St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, which remains in service today.  The latest records of activity at Morgan’s Hall date back to 1947.  According to the New Jersey Bell Telephone Directory, no listing for Morgan’s Hall exists after 1959.

Although there’s little evidence that Whitman spent much time at Morgan’s Hall, it was the site of his often written-about seventieth birthday celebration.  On May 31, 1889, a large crowd gathered to salute Whitman and partake in revelry that included an array of fine foods, desserts, and cigars—not to mention the company of a diverse crowd of writers, lawyers, and businessmen.

Many credit Whitman’s residence in Camden for having brought many notable writers and artists through the city.  According to biographer David S. Reynolds, Whitman’s visitors included Oscar Wilde, Edmund Gosse, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (3).  Reynolds opens his Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography with a detailed account of the celebration.  He describes not only the attendees, mood, and atmosphere of the day, but also provides us with some images of the inside of the hall:

The heavy skies that day threatened rain, but the atmosphere inside Morgan’s was festive.  Three long rows of dinner tables, two of them parallel with the third crossing them at the top, were the picture of elegance, with dazzling whit tablecloths and flowers everywhere.  Banners festooned the walls, and a band played from a platform. (3)

Although the hall was beautifully decorated and the party enthusiastically attended, Whitman had, by this point, begun to tire of such public celebrations.  In fact, he intended to only stay at the party for a few minutes, but ended up spending two to three hours there.  During the festivities, an ailing Whitman sipped champagne and listened to the greetings and toasts of those in attendance and those who had sent remarks.  According to Reynolds, “When he left Morgan’s Hall that stormy May evening he took with him a rose and a memory of a grand occasion.” (6).  Although the setting of this grand occasion is not longer in business here in Camden, this major literary event drew a great deal of attention to the city.  Like the Walt Whitman House and Harleigh Cemetery today, Morgan’s Hall, in its heyday, drew residents and out-of-staters alike to its offerings of a glimpse into Whitman’s literary career. 

St. Paul's Cathedral (Today)

400 Market Street (Today)

Today, the building next to St. Paul’s is considered 400 Market Street.  The unmarked building houses several small business and medical offices.

Works Cited

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage Books, 1995. Print.

“Morgan’s Hall.” Delaware Valley Rhythm and Blues Society. Web. 7 November 2009.

The hall was “considered the fanciest public meeting place in Camden,” that is, until the opening of the Temple Theater across the street in 1892 (“Morgan’s Hall”).  In the mid-1930’s, Walter and Ernestine Griffins began managing the building.  Ernestine is believed to have opened The Owl’s Studio (a dance instruction facility) around 1933.  During the 1930s, the Griffins promoted many dances in Morgan’s Hall.  Throughout the 1930s and 40s, Morgan’s Hall hosted many weddings, contests, and other public and private events.

from Camden Courier-Post Jan. 9, 1928

from Camden Courier-Post Oct. 3, 1936

Morgan’s Hall was located right next to St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, which remains in service today.  The latest records of activity at Morgan’s Hall date back to 1947.  According to the New Jersey Bell Telephone Directory, no listing for Morgan’s Hall exists after 1959.

Although there’s little evidence that Whitman spent much time at Morgan’s Hall, it was the site of his often written-about seventieth birthday celebration.  On May 31, 1889, a large crowd gathered to salute Whitman and partake in revelry that included an array of fine foods, desserts, and cigars—not to mention the company of a diverse crowd of writers, lawyers, and businessmen.

Many credit Whitman’s residence in Camden for having brought many notable writers and artists through the city.  According to biographer David S. Reynolds, Whitman’s visitors included Oscar Wilde, Edmund Gosse, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (3).  Reynolds opens his Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography with a detailed account of the celebration.  He describes not only the attendees, mood, and atmosphere of the day, but also provides us with some images of the inside of the hall:

The heavy skies that day threatened rain, but the atmosphere inside Morgan’s was festive.  Three long rows of dinner tables, two of them parallel with the third crossing them at the top, were the picture of elegance, with dazzling whit tablecloths and flowers everywhere.  Banners festooned the walls, and a band played from a platform. (3)

Although the hall was beautifully decorated and the party enthusiastically attended, Whitman had, by this point, begun to tire of such public celebrations.  In fact, he intended to only stay at the party for a few minutes, but ended up spending two to three hours there.  During the festivities, an ailing Whitman sipped champagne and listened to the greetings and toasts of those in attendance and those who had sent remarks.  According to Reynolds, “When he left Morgan’s Hall that stormy May evening he took with him a rose and a memory of a grand occasion.” (6).  Although the setting of this grand occasion is not longer in business here in Camden, this major literary event drew a great deal of attention to the city.  Like the Walt Whitman House and Harleigh Cemetery today, Morgan’s Hall, in its heyday, drew residents and out-of-staters alike to its offerings of a glimpse into Whitman’s literary career. 

St. Paul's Cathedral (Today)

400 Market Street (Today)

Today, the building next to St. Paul’s is considered 400 Market Street.  The unmarked building houses several small business and medical offices.

Works Cited

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage Books, 1995. Print.

“Morgan’s Hall.” Delaware Valley Rhythm and Blues Society. Web. 7 November 2009.

Here’s just a quick history in Phrenology for you: Whitman had a love of the mind, both figuratively and literally. In his time, Phrenology was the study of the mind. Obviously, nineteenth century America did not have the technological luxuries we have today so the practice is labeled as a “pseudo-science” today. This science was based on the shape of one’s skull and determining different types of personality traits from it. It was believed then that the brain was made up of 27 different “organs” and each had a distinct personality trait. A phrenologist would run his hands over the skull and look for enlargements or irregularities of any kind. After having done this, he could then assess the person’s character or treat any disorders that might be found. This science was used not only to explain certain mental disorders we know of today, but also used to determine a child’s future and possible marriage options for them.

Neurological Advances have obviously made this practice obsolete, but it was considered incredibly avant-garde in Whitman’s time.

In 1849, Whitman had his own phrenological reading done and this is probably why he had such a strong calling to it. Orson and Lorenzo Fowler were brothers who made this science of Phrenology into a business during this time. They were the one’s who gave Whitman insight into this practice and ultimately gave him his first reading. The Fowler brothers would also go on to sell the first edition of Leaves of Grass, which Whitman published himself. (Mackey)

Whitman was so influenced by Phrenology that it can be seen throughout many of his works. He uses phrenological terms such as Amativeness and Adhesiveness. Amativeness is a term that describes sexual desire and reproductive instinct. From a phrenological standpoint, it is located on the lower side on the back of the head, between the ears. This is something that is very obviously seen throughout much of Whitman’s work. There is no doubt that many of his poems are sexually charged and some very sexually explicit. He seemed to be very open with his idea’s about how men and women are meant to be sexual beings. He felt as though the body was something to celebrate and worship, not something to be ashamed of.

Adhesiveness, or affection, is the term used for friendship. This was said to be found on the posterior part of the parietal bone; or for those of us with little knowledge of the skull, it’s on the back portion of the head. The idea of friendship or adhesiveness is also seen a lot in Whitman’s work. What strikes me about this is friendship and sexuality seem to go hand in hand with Whitman. He tries to dismiss any feelings homosexuality with the idea that the men he speaks of are “just friends.” It seems that these two ideas, amativeness and adhesiveness coincide greatly with him perhaps because of his sexuality.

Not only does Whitman’s work illustrate his love of this science, but his posthumous years do as well. Whitman donated his body to science and his brain was obtained by the American Anthropometric Society. In 1911, Dr. Edward Spitzka took part in an experiment in which he disected the brains of one hundred of the greatest minds of the time. Edgar Allen Poe was in the group, as well as our Walt Whitman. He studied these “educated and orderly” brains along with the brains of the “illiterate and disorderly.” In the article, Spitzka mentions that “an accident befell” Whitman’s brain. He goes on to mention that the brain was kept very well preserved. however, “some careless attendent in the laboratory let the jar fall to the ground” It was never stated if the brain was destroyed but “it’s a pity not even the fragments were recovered.” (NYtimes, 1911)

Here’s a little idea of what that might have been like: True Story

I found Whitman’s devotion to science very fascinating and adds to his nature of being ground-breaking. He seemed to be interested in all things progressive. Perhaps this relates back to his personal self and wanting to know why one thinks the way they do and how some think differently than others. Any way you look at it, Whitman does not seem to have any barriers in his life and is open to anything, which is perhaps why he was the great poet that he was.

Bibliography:

Phrenology in America; Matthew C Vulkin. Department of Psychology, Hanover College
 http://clearinghouse.missouriwestern.edu…

Phrenological Whitman, Nathan Mackey
 http://www.conjunctions.com/archives/c29…

The History of Phrenology on the Web, John Van Wyhe
 http://www.historyofphrenology.org.uk/sy…

 http://www.phrenology.org/faculty.html

NyTimes; Septemer 29, 1912.
 http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.ht…

Sorry this is late everyone! The flu can sure wipe you out!

Here’s just a quick history in Phrenology for you: Whitman had a love of the mind, both figuratively and literally. In his time, Phrenology was the study of the mind. Obviously, nineteenth century America did not have the technological luxuries we have today so the practice is labeled as a “pseudo-science” today. This science was based on the shape of one’s skull and determining different types of personality traits from it. It was believed then that the brain was made up of 27 different “organs” and each had a distinct personality trait. A phrenologist would run his hands over the skull and look for enlargements or irregularities of any kind. After having done this, he could then assess the person’s character or treat any disorders that might be found. This science was used not only to explain certain mental disorders we know of today, but also used to determine a child’s future and possible marriage options for them.

Neurological Advances have obviously made this practice obsolete, but it was considered incredibly avant-garde in Whitman’s time.

In 1849, Whitman had his own phrenological reading done and this is probably why he had such a strong calling to it. Orson and Lorenzo Fowler were brothers who made this science of Phrenology into a business during this time. They were the one’s who gave Whitman insight into this practice and ultimately gave him his first reading. The Fowler brothers would also go on to sell the first edition of Leaves of Grass, which Whitman published himself. (Mackey)

Whitman was so influenced by Phrenology that it can be seen throughout many of his works. He uses phrenological terms such as Amativeness and Adhesiveness. Amativeness is a term that describes sexual desire and reproductive instinct. From a phrenological standpoint, it is located on the lower side on the back of the head, between the ears. This is something that is very obviously seen throughout much of Whitman’s work. There is no doubt that many of his poems are sexually charged and some very sexually explicit. He seemed to be very open with his idea’s about how men and women are meant to be sexual beings. He felt as though the body was something to celebrate and worship, not something to be ashamed of.

Adhesiveness, or affection, is the term used for friendship. This was said to be found on the posterior part of the parietal bone; or for those of us with little knowledge of the skull, it’s on the back portion of the head. The idea of friendship or adhesiveness is also seen a lot in Whitman’s work. What strikes me about this is friendship and sexuality seem to go hand in hand with Whitman. He tries to dismiss any feelings homosexuality with the idea that the men he speaks of are “just friends.” It seems that these two ideas, amativeness and adhesiveness coincide greatly with him perhaps because of his sexuality.

Not only does Whitman’s work illustrate his love of this science, but his posthumous years do as well. Whitman donated his body to science and his brain was obtained by the American Anthropometric Society. In 1911, Dr. Edward Spitzka took part in an experiment in which he disected the brains of one hundred of the greatest minds of the time. Edgar Allen Poe was in the group, as well as our Walt Whitman. He studied these “educated and orderly” brains along with the brains of the “illiterate and disorderly.” In the article, Spitzka mentions that “an accident befell” Whitman’s brain. He goes on to mention that the brain was kept very well preserved. however, “some careless attendent in the laboratory let the jar fall to the ground” It was never stated if the brain was destroyed but “it’s a pity not even the fragments were recovered.” (NYtimes, 1911)

Here’s a little idea of what that might have been like: True Story

I found Whitman’s devotion to science very fascinating and adds to his nature of being ground-breaking. He seemed to be interested in all things progressive. Perhaps this relates back to his personal self and wanting to know why one thinks the way they do and how some think differently than others. Any way you look at it, Whitman does not seem to have any barriers in his life and is open to anything, which is perhaps why he was the great poet that he was.

Bibliography:

Phrenology in America; Matthew C Vulkin. Department of Psychology, Hanover College

http://clearinghouse.missouriwestern.edu/manuscripts/83.php

Phrenological Whitman, Nathan Mackey

http://www.conjunctions.com/archives/c29-nm.htm

The History of Phrenology on the Web, John Van Wyhe

http://www.historyofphrenology.org.uk/system/

http://www.phrenology.org/faculty.html

NyTimes; Septemer 29, 1912.

http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=9E02E7D8113AE633A2575AC2A96F9C946396D6CF

Sorry this is late everyone! The flu can sure wipe you out!

Here’s just a quick history in Phrenology for you: Whitman had a love of the mind, both figuratively and literally. In his time, Phrenology was the study of the mind. Obviously, nineteenth century America did not have the technological luxuries we have today so the practice is labeled as a “pseudo-science” today. This science was based on the shape of one’s skull and determining different types of personality traits from it. It was believed then that the brain was made up of 27 different “organs” and each had a distinct personality trait. A phrenologist would run his hands over the skull and look for enlargements or irregularities of any kind. After having done this, he could then assess the person’s character or treat any disorders that might be found. This science was used not only to explain certain mental disorders we know of today, but also used to determine a child’s future and possible marriage options for them.

Neurological Advances have obviously made this practice obsolete, but it was considered incredibly avant-garde in Whitman’s time.

In 1849, Whitman had his own phrenological reading done and this is probably why he had such a strong calling to it. Orson and Lorenzo Fowler were brothers who made this science of Phrenology into a business during this time. They were the one’s who gave Whitman insight into this practice and ultimately gave him his first reading. The Fowler brothers would also go on to sell the first edition of Leaves of Grass, which Whitman published himself. (Mackey)

Whitman was so influenced by Phrenology that it can be seen throughout many of his works. He uses phrenological terms such as Amativeness and Adhesiveness. Amativeness is a term that describes sexual desire and reproductive instinct. From a phrenological standpoint, it is located on the lower side on the back of the head, between the ears. This is something that is very obviously seen throughout much of Whitman’s work. There is no doubt that many of his poems are sexually charged and some very sexually explicit. He seemed to be very open with his idea’s about how men and women are meant to be sexual beings. He felt as though the body was something to celebrate and worship, not something to be ashamed of.

Adhesiveness, or affection, is the term used for friendship. This was said to be found on the posterior part of the parietal bone; or for those of us with little knowledge of the skull, it’s on the back portion of the head. The idea of friendship or adhesiveness is also seen a lot in Whitman’s work. What strikes me about this is friendship and sexuality seem to go hand in hand with Whitman. He tries to dismiss any feelings homosexuality with the idea that the men he speaks of are “just friends.” It seems that these two ideas, amativeness and adhesiveness coincide greatly with him perhaps because of his sexuality.

Not only does Whitman’s work illustrate his love of this science, but his posthumous years do as well. Whitman donated his body to science and his brain was obtained by the American Anthropometric Society. In 1911, Dr. Edward Spitzka took part in an experiment in which he disected the brains of one hundred of the greatest minds of the time. Edgar Allen Poe was in the group, as well as our Walt Whitman. He studied these “educated and orderly” brains along with the brains of the “illiterate and disorderly.” In the article, Spitzka mentions that “an accident befell” Whitman’s brain. He goes on to mention that the brain was kept very well preserved. however, “some careless attendent in the laboratory let the jar fall to the ground” It was never stated if the brain was destroyed but “it’s a pity not even the fragments were recovered.” (NYtimes, 1911)

Here’s a little idea of what that might have been like: True Story

I found Whitman’s devotion to science very fascinating and adds to his nature of being ground-breaking. He seemed to be interested in all things progressive. Perhaps this relates back to his personal self and wanting to know why one thinks the way they do and how some think differently than others. Any way you look at it, Whitman does not seem to have any barriers in his life and is open to anything, which is perhaps why he was the great poet that he was.

Bibliography:

Phrenology in America; Matthew C Vulkin. Department of Psychology, Hanover College

http://clearinghouse.missouriwestern.edu/manuscripts/83.php

Phrenological Whitman, Nathan Mackey

http://www.conjunctions.com/archives/c29-nm.htm

The History of Phrenology on the Web, John Van Wyhe

http://www.historyofphrenology.org.uk/system/

http://www.phrenology.org/faculty.html

NyTimes; Septemer 29, 1912.

http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=9E02E7D8113AE633A2575AC2A96F9C946396D6CF

Sorry this is late everyone! The flu can sure wipe you out!

Here’s just a quick history in Phrenology for you: Whitman had a love of the mind, both figuratively and literally. In his time, Phrenology was the study of the mind. Obviously, nineteenth century America did not have the technological luxuries we have today so the practice is labeled as a “pseudo-science” today. This science was based on the shape of one’s skull and determining different types of personality traits from it. It was believed then that the brain was made up of 27 different “organs” and each had a distinct personality trait. A phrenologist would run his hands over the skull and look for enlargements or irregularities of any kind. After having done this, he could then assess the person’s character or treat any disorders that might be found. This science was used not only to explain certain mental disorders we know of today, but also used to determine a child’s future and possible marriage options for them.

Neurological Advances have obviously made this practice obsolete, but it was considered incredibly avant-garde in Whitman’s time.

In 1849, Whitman had his own phrenological reading done and this is probably why he had such a strong calling to it. Orson and Lorenzo Fowler were brothers who made this science of Phrenology into a business during this time. They were the one’s who gave Whitman insight into this practice and ultimately gave him his first reading. The Fowler brothers would also go on to sell the first edition of Leaves of Grass, which Whitman published himself. (Mackey)

Whitman was so influenced by Phrenology that it can be seen throughout many of his works. He uses phrenological terms such as Amativeness and Adhesiveness. Amativeness is a term that describes sexual desire and reproductive instinct. From a phrenological standpoint, it is located on the lower side on the back of the head, between the ears. This is something that is very obviously seen throughout much of Whitman’s work. There is no doubt that many of his poems are sexually charged and some very sexually explicit. He seemed to be very open with his idea’s about how men and women are meant to be sexual beings. He felt as though the body was something to celebrate and worship, not something to be ashamed of.

Adhesiveness, or affection, is the term used for friendship. This was said to be found on the posterior part of the parietal bone; or for those of us with little knowledge of the skull, it’s on the back portion of the head. The idea of friendship or adhesiveness is also seen a lot in Whitman’s work. What strikes me about this is friendship and sexuality seem to go hand in hand with Whitman. He tries to dismiss any feelings homosexuality with the idea that the men he speaks of are “just friends.” It seems that these two ideas, amativeness and adhesiveness coincide greatly with him perhaps because of his sexuality.

Not only does Whitman’s work illustrate his love of this science, but his posthumous years do as well. Whitman donated his body to science and his brain was obtained by the American Anthropometric Society. In 1911, Dr. Edward Spitzka took part in an experiment in which he disected the brains of one hundred of the greatest minds of the time. Edgar Allen Poe was in the group, as well as our Walt Whitman. He studied these “educated and orderly” brains along with the brains of the “illiterate and disorderly.” In the article, Spitzka mentions that “an accident befell” Whitman’s brain. He goes on to mention that the brain was kept very well preserved. however, “some careless attendent in the laboratory let the jar fall to the ground” It was never stated if the brain was destroyed but “it’s a pity not even the fragments were recovered.” (NYtimes, 1911)

Here’s a little idea of what that might have been like: True Story

I found Whitman’s devotion to science very fascinating and adds to his nature of being ground-breaking. He seemed to be interested in all things progressive. Perhaps this relates back to his personal self and wanting to know why one thinks the way they do and how some think differently than others. Any way you look at it, Whitman does not seem to have any barriers in his life and is open to anything, which is perhaps why he was the great poet that he was.

Bibliography:

Phrenology in America; Matthew C Vulkin. Department of Psychology, Hanover College

http://clearinghouse.missouriwestern.edu/manuscripts/83.php

Phrenological Whitman, Nathan Mackey

http://www.conjunctions.com/archives/c29-nm.htm

The History of Phrenology on the Web, John Van Wyhe

http://www.historyofphrenology.org.uk/system/

http://www.phrenology.org/faculty.html

NyTimes; Septemer 29, 1912.

http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=9E02E7D8113AE633A2575AC2A96F9C946396D6CF

Sorry this is late everyone! The flu can sure wipe you out!

Here’s just a quick history in Phrenology for you: Whitman had a love of the mind, both figuratively and literally. In his time, Phrenology was the study of the mind. Obviously, nineteenth century America did not have the technological luxuries we have today so the practice is labeled as a “pseudo-science” today. This science was based on the shape of one’s skull and determining different types of personality traits from it. It was believed then that the brain was made up of 27 different “organs” and each had a distinct personality trait. A phrenologist would run his hands over the skull and look for enlargements or irregularities of any kind. After having done this, he could then assess the person’s character or treat any disorders that might be found. This science was used not only to explain certain mental disorders we know of today, but also used to determine a child’s future and possible marriage options for them.

Neurological Advances have obviously made this practice obsolete, but it was considered incredibly avant-garde in Whitman’s time.

In 1849, Whitman had his own phrenological reading done and this is probably why he had such a strong calling to it. Orson and Lorenzo Fowler were brothers who made this science of Phrenology into a business during this time. They were the one’s who gave Whitman insight into this practice and ultimately gave him his first reading. The Fowler brothers would also go on to sell the first edition of Leaves of Grass, which Whitman published himself. (Mackey)

Whitman was so influenced by Phrenology that it can be seen throughout many of his works. He uses phrenological terms such as Amativeness and Adhesiveness. Amativeness is a term that describes sexual desire and reproductive instinct. From a phrenological standpoint, it is located on the lower side on the back of the head, between the ears. This is something that is very obviously seen throughout much of Whitman’s work. There is no doubt that many of his poems are sexually charged and some very sexually explicit. He seemed to be very open with his idea’s about how men and women are meant to be sexual beings. He felt as though the body was something to celebrate and worship, not something to be ashamed of.

Adhesiveness, or affection, is the term used for friendship. This was said to be found on the posterior part of the parietal bone; or for those of us with little knowledge of the skull, it’s on the back portion of the head. The idea of friendship or adhesiveness is also seen a lot in Whitman’s work. What strikes me about this is friendship and sexuality seem to go hand in hand with Whitman. He tries to dismiss any feelings homosexuality with the idea that the men he speaks of are “just friends.” It seems that these two ideas, amativeness and adhesiveness coincide greatly with him perhaps because of his sexuality.

Not only does Whitman’s work illustrate his love of this science, but his posthumous years do as well. Whitman donated his body to science and his brain was obtained by the American Anthropometric Society. In 1911, Dr. Edward Spitzka took part in an experiment in which he disected the brains of one hundred of the greatest minds of the time. Edgar Allen Poe was in the group, as well as our Walt Whitman. He studied these “educated and orderly” brains along with the brains of the “illiterate and disorderly.” In the article, Spitzka mentions that “an accident befell” Whitman’s brain. He goes on to mention that the brain was kept very well preserved. however, “some careless attendent in the laboratory let the jar fall to the ground” It was never stated if the brain was destroyed but “it’s a pity not even the fragments were recovered.” (NYtimes, 1911)

Here’s a little idea of what that might have been like: True Story

I found Whitman’s devotion to science very fascinating and adds to his nature of being ground-breaking. He seemed to be interested in all things progressive. Perhaps this relates back to his personal self and wanting to know why one thinks the way they do and how some think differently than others. Any way you look at it, Whitman does not seem to have any barriers in his life and is open to anything, which is perhaps why he was the great poet that he was.

Bibliography:

Phrenology in America; Matthew C Vulkin. Department of Psychology, Hanover College
 http://clearinghouse.missouriwestern.edu…

Phrenological Whitman, Nathan Mackey
 http://www.conjunctions.com/archives/c29…

The History of Phrenology on the Web, John Van Wyhe
 http://www.historyofphrenology.org.uk/sy…

 http://www.phrenology.org/faculty.html

NyTimes; Septemer 29, 1912.
 http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.ht…

Sorry this is late everyone! The flu can sure wipe you out!

Here’s just a quick history in Phrenology for you: Whitman had a love of the mind, both figuratively and literally. In his time, Phrenology was the study of the mind. Obviously, nineteenth century America did not have the technological luxuries we have today so the practice is labeled as a “pseudo-science” today. This science was based on the shape of one’s skull and determining different types of personality traits from it. It was believed then that the brain was made up of 27 different “organs” and each had a distinct personality trait. A phrenologist would run his hands over the skull and look for enlargements or irregularities of any kind. After having done this, he could then assess the person’s character or treat any disorders that might be found. This science was used not only to explain certain mental disorders we know of today, but also used to determine a child’s future and possible marriage options for them.

Neurological Advances have obviously made this practice obsolete, but it was considered incredibly avant-garde in Whitman’s time.

In 1849, Whitman had his own phrenological reading done and this is probably why he had such a strong calling to it. Orson and Lorenzo Fowler were brothers who made this science of Phrenology into a business during this time. They were the one’s who gave Whitman insight into this practice and ultimately gave him his first reading. The Fowler brothers would also go on to sell the first edition of Leaves of Grass, which Whitman published himself. (Mackey)

Whitman was so influenced by Phrenology that it can be seen throughout many of his works. He uses phrenological terms such as Amativeness and Adhesiveness. Amativeness is a term that describes sexual desire and reproductive instinct. From a phrenological standpoint, it is located on the lower side on the back of the head, between the ears. This is something that is very obviously seen throughout much of Whitman’s work. There is no doubt that many of his poems are sexually charged and some very sexually explicit. He seemed to be very open with his idea’s about how men and women are meant to be sexual beings. He felt as though the body was something to celebrate and worship, not something to be ashamed of.

Adhesiveness, or affection, is the term used for friendship. This was said to be found on the posterior part of the parietal bone; or for those of us with little knowledge of the skull, it’s on the back portion of the head. The idea of friendship or adhesiveness is also seen a lot in Whitman’s work. What strikes me about this is friendship and sexuality seem to go hand in hand with Whitman. He tries to dismiss any feelings homosexuality with the idea that the men he speaks of are “just friends.” It seems that these two ideas, amativeness and adhesiveness coincide greatly with him perhaps because of his sexuality.

Not only does Whitman’s work illustrate his love of this science, but his posthumous years do as well. Whitman donated his body to science and his brain was obtained by the American Anthropometric Society. In 1911, Dr. Edward Spitzka took part in an experiment in which he disected the brains of one hundred of the greatest minds of the time. Edgar Allen Poe was in the group, as well as our Walt Whitman. He studied these “educated and orderly” brains along with the brains of the “illiterate and disorderly.” In the article, Spitzka mentions that “an accident befell” Whitman’s brain. He goes on to mention that the brain was kept very well preserved. however, “some careless attendent in the laboratory let the jar fall to the ground” It was never stated if the brain was destroyed but “it’s a pity not even the fragments were recovered.” (NYtimes, 1911)

Here’s a little idea of what that might have been like: True Story

I found Whitman’s devotion to science very fascinating and adds to his nature of being ground-breaking. He seemed to be interested in all things progressive. Perhaps this relates back to his personal self and wanting to know why one thinks the way they do and how some think differently than others. Any way you look at it, Whitman does not seem to have any barriers in his life and is open to anything, which is perhaps why he was the great poet that he was.

Bibliography:

Phrenology in America; Matthew C Vulkin. Department of Psychology, Hanover College
 http://clearinghouse.missouriwestern.edu…

Phrenological Whitman, Nathan Mackey
 http://www.conjunctions.com/archives/c29…

The History of Phrenology on the Web, John Van Wyhe
 http://www.historyofphrenology.org.uk/sy…

 http://www.phrenology.org/faculty.html

NyTimes; Septemer 29, 1912.
 http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.ht…

Sorry this is late everyone! The flu can sure wipe you out!

Here’s just a quick history in Phrenology for you: Whitman had a love of the mind, both figuratively and literally. In his time, Phrenology was the study of the mind. Obviously, nineteenth century America did not have the technological luxuries we have today so the practice is labeled as a “pseudo-science” today. This science was based on the shape of one’s skull and determining different types of personality traits from it. It was believed then that the brain was made up of 27 different “organs” and each had a distinct personality trait. A phrenologist would run his hands over the skull and look for enlargements or irregularities of any kind. After having done this, he could then assess the person’s character or treat any disorders that might be found. This science was used not only to explain certain mental disorders we know of today, but also used to determine a child’s future and possible marriage options for them.

Neurological Advances have obviously made this practice obsolete, but it was considered incredibly avant-garde in Whitman’s time.

In 1849, Whitman had his own phrenological reading done and this is probably why he had such a strong calling to it. Orson and Lorenzo Fowler were brothers who made this science of Phrenology into a business during this time. They were the one’s who gave Whitman insight into this practice and ultimately gave him his first reading. The Fowler brothers would also go on to sell the first edition of Leaves of Grass, which Whitman published himself. (Mackey)

Whitman was so influenced by Phrenology that it can be seen throughout many of his works. He uses phrenological terms such as Amativeness and Adhesiveness. Amativeness is a term that describes sexual desire and reproductive instinct. From a phrenological standpoint, it is located on the lower side on the back of the head, between the ears. This is something that is very obviously seen throughout much of Whitman’s work. There is no doubt that many of his poems are sexually charged and some very sexually explicit. He seemed to be very open with his idea’s about how men and women are meant to be sexual beings. He felt as though the body was something to celebrate and worship, not something to be ashamed of.

Adhesiveness, or affection, is the term used for friendship. This was said to be found on the posterior part of the parietal bone; or for those of us with little knowledge of the skull, it’s on the back portion of the head. The idea of friendship or adhesiveness is also seen a lot in Whitman’s work. What strikes me about this is friendship and sexuality seem to go hand in hand with Whitman. He tries to dismiss any feelings homosexuality with the idea that the men he speaks of are “just friends.” It seems that these two ideas, amativeness and adhesiveness coincide greatly with him perhaps because of his sexuality.

Not only does Whitman’s work illustrate his love of this science, but his posthumous years do as well. Whitman donated his body to science and his brain was obtained by the American Anthropometric Society. In 1911, Dr. Edward Spitzka took part in an experiment in which he disected the brains of one hundred of the greatest minds of the time. Edgar Allen Poe was in the group, as well as our Walt Whitman. He studied these “educated and orderly” brains along with the brains of the “illiterate and disorderly.” In the article, Spitzka mentions that “an accident befell” Whitman’s brain. He goes on to mention that the brain was kept very well preserved. however, “some careless attendent in the laboratory let the jar fall to the ground” It was never stated if the brain was destroyed but “it’s a pity not even the fragments were recovered.” (NYtimes, 1911)

Here’s a little idea of what that might have been like: True Story

I found Whitman’s devotion to science very fascinating and adds to his nature of being ground-breaking. He seemed to be interested in all things progressive. Perhaps this relates back to his personal self and wanting to know why one thinks the way they do and how some think differently than others. Any way you look at it, Whitman does not seem to have any barriers in his life and is open to anything, which is perhaps why he was the great poet that he was.

Bibliography:

Phrenology in America; Matthew C Vulkin. Department of Psychology, Hanover College

http://clearinghouse.missouriwestern.edu/manuscripts/83.php

Phrenological Whitman, Nathan Mackey

http://www.conjunctions.com/archives/c29-nm.htm

The History of Phrenology on the Web, John Van Wyhe

http://www.historyofphrenology.org.uk/system/

http://www.phrenology.org/faculty.html

NyTimes; Septemer 29, 1912.

http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=9E02E7D8113AE633A2575AC2A96F9C946396D6CF

Sorry this is late everyone! The flu can sure wipe you out!

Here’s just a quick history in Phrenology for you: Whitman had a love of the mind, both figuratively and literally. In his time, Phrenology was the study of the mind. Obviously, nineteenth century America did not have the technological luxuries we have today so the practice is labeled as a “pseudo-science” today. This science was based on the shape of one’s skull and determining different types of personality traits from it. It was believed then that the brain was made up of 27 different “organs” and each had a distinct personality trait. A phrenologist would run his hands over the skull and look for enlargements or irregularities of any kind. After having done this, he could then assess the person’s character or treat any disorders that might be found. This science was used not only to explain certain mental disorders we know of today, but also used to determine a child’s future and possible marriage options for them.

Neurological Advances have obviously made this practice obsolete, but it was considered incredibly avant-garde in Whitman’s time.

In 1849, Whitman had his own phrenological reading done and this is probably why he had such a strong calling to it. Orson and Lorenzo Fowler were brothers who made this science of Phrenology into a business during this time. They were the one’s who gave Whitman insight into this practice and ultimately gave him his first reading. The Fowler brothers would also go on to sell the first edition of Leaves of Grass, which Whitman published himself. (Mackey)

Whitman was so influenced by Phrenology that it can be seen throughout many of his works. He uses phrenological terms such as Amativeness and Adhesiveness. Amativeness is a term that describes sexual desire and reproductive instinct. From a phrenological standpoint, it is located on the lower side on the back of the head, between the ears. This is something that is very obviously seen throughout much of Whitman’s work. There is no doubt that many of his poems are sexually charged and some very sexually explicit. He seemed to be very open with his idea’s about how men and women are meant to be sexual beings. He felt as though the body was something to celebrate and worship, not something to be ashamed of.

Adhesiveness, or affection, is the term used for friendship. This was said to be found on the posterior part of the parietal bone; or for those of us with little knowledge of the skull, it’s on the back portion of the head. The idea of friendship or adhesiveness is also seen a lot in Whitman’s work. What strikes me about this is friendship and sexuality seem to go hand in hand with Whitman. He tries to dismiss any feelings homosexuality with the idea that the men he speaks of are “just friends.” It seems that these two ideas, amativeness and adhesiveness coincide greatly with him perhaps because of his sexuality.

Not only does Whitman’s work illustrate his love of this science, but his posthumous years do as well. Whitman donated his body to science and his brain was obtained by the American Anthropometric Society. In 1911, Dr. Edward Spitzka took part in an experiment in which he disected the brains of one hundred of the greatest minds of the time. Edgar Allen Poe was in the group, as well as our Walt Whitman. He studied these “educated and orderly” brains along with the brains of the “illiterate and disorderly.” In the article, Spitzka mentions that “an accident befell” Whitman’s brain. He goes on to mention that the brain was kept very well preserved. however, “some careless attendent in the laboratory let the jar fall to the ground” It was never stated if the brain was destroyed but “it’s a pity not even the fragments were recovered.” (NYtimes, 1911)

Here’s a little idea of what that might have been like: True Story

I found Whitman’s devotion to science very fascinating and adds to his nature of being ground-breaking. He seemed to be interested in all things progressive. Perhaps this relates back to his personal self and wanting to know why one thinks the way they do and how some think differently than others. Any way you look at it, Whitman does not seem to have any barriers in his life and is open to anything, which is perhaps why he was the great poet that he was.

Bibliography:

Phrenology in America; Matthew C Vulkin. Department of Psychology, Hanover College
 http://clearinghouse.missouriwestern.edu…

Phrenological Whitman, Nathan Mackey
 http://www.conjunctions.com/archives/c29…

The History of Phrenology on the Web, John Van Wyhe
 http://www.historyofphrenology.org.uk/sy…

 http://www.phrenology.org/faculty.html

NyTimes; Septemer 29, 1912.
 http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.ht…

Sorry this is late everyone! The flu can sure wipe you out!

Whitman, Camden, and plumbing:

Before we can look at houses like Whitman’s house on Mickle Street we have to look at what it was that made Whitman stay in Camden, the short and confusing answer being plumbing.

Whitman’ younger brother George Washington Whitman was a pipe inspector for the city of Camden. He was worked part time while also inspecting pipes in Brooklyn and running a construction business. He was hired at a time when cities were growing much more quickly and would therefore need better infrastructure. The goal was to try and make up and coming cities like Camden sanitary and conducive to living a healthy life. It was a time in which scientist had realized the dangers of disease caused by sewage; This lead to more regulations over  water and sewage as well as demand for more modern infrastructure. This was accomplished by laying down better running water systems as well as creating Water treatment centers.

Before these revelations in hygiene the ways by which people took care of themselves was at best primitive. Before the 1840’s most water was provided by wells, local rivers that were often contaminated with sewage, or haphazardly built pipe systems depending on ones proximity to a city or body of water . Furthermore very few people believed in things like bathing which many viewed as hazardous to ones health or just unnecessary.  It was through these conditions that many illnesses like Cholera, typhus and typhoid fever were able to run rampant across the United States.

Culturally these findings meant that people became more informed about public health. They had easier access to clean water and were able to develop better hygienic skills. This in turn also meant that people were able to live longer because the spread of disease could be more controlled with good hygiene.

With the money that George was able to make from his various jobs he was able to build his own house for him, his family, and his mother. It was this house which Whitman visited in 1873 to visit his mother three days before she died. This left him depressed and after a short stint back in Washington D.C. Whitman returned to Camden to live with his brother. He spent the next eleven years there while paying room and board. It was after those eleven years that his brother George moved to Burlington New jersey and Whitman bought his house on Mickle Street.

Whitman House:

Walt Whitman’s house in Camden like most found in any city is a row house or terrace house. A row house is a house of medium density that shares one if not two walls with the houses next to it while also mirroring the façade of the other houses. Typically these houses tend to have no front yard with little to no backyard. These types of house originated in Europe during the latter half of the 17th century though. At that time and up until recently they were associated with the working class as they were inexpensive and favored over apartment housing. Furthermore these houses were very cost effective to build and easy to design.

The first row houses to be built in the United States were those of Carstairs Row in Philadelphia in and around the time of 1799 to 1820; they were designed by architect and builder Thomas Carstairs for the developer William Sansom. They were built as part of one of the first speculative housing developments in the United State whose goal it was to break up land in to smaller easier plots to both build on and sell. These houses with there uniform design were vastly different from what was typical of that time. Most houses in Philadelphia were made in varying styles and of varying dimensions and quality. As time passed row houses became very popular and spread across various cities of the United States, one of them being Camden. Culturally this meant a change in how people interacted with their neighbors.  It created much more tight nit communities in which everyone knew each other and looked out for one another. These communities were often centered on one similar trait that would be shared by members of the community whether it is their occupation, race, or religion.

Camden like many cities around the country is now mostly made up of row houses.

Walt Whitman’s house on Mickle Street is one row house that seems to deviate from what one usually expects a row house to look like as in seen in the picture below.

A lot of the other houses in Camden as well as row houses around the country tend to be truer to the original definition of row houses  as you can see below.

Whitman’s row house was built around 1848 and given its appearance was probably was probably a part of another set of row houses before they were torn down. Whitman bought it in 1884 for $1,750, he was seventy-two at the time and is the only house he ever himself owned. He paid for it through a personal loan as well through the royalties he received from the sales of Leaves Of Grass. Whitman remained there until his death on March 26, 1892.

References:

“Walt Whitman House” <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walt_Whitman_House> Wikipedia.

“Walt Whitman House” <http://www.ci.camden.nj.us/attractions/waltwhitman.html> City Of Camden.

“History of Plumbing in America” Plumbing and Mechanical, July 1987.

Sill, Geoffry M. “Camden, New Jersey” <http://www.whitmanarchive.org/criticism/current/encyclopedia/entry_13.html> Walt Whitman: An encyclopedia

Whitman, Camden, and plumbing:

Before we can look at houses like Whitman’s house on Mickle Street we have to look at what it was that made Whitman stay in Camden, the short and confusing answer being plumbing.

Whitman’ younger brother George Washington Whitman was a pipe inspector for the city of Camden. He was worked part time while also inspecting pipes in Brooklyn and running a construction business. He was hired at a time when cities were growing much more quickly and would therefore need better infrastructure. The goal was to try and make up and coming cities like Camden sanitary and conducive to living a healthy life. It was a time in which scientist had realized the dangers of disease caused by sewage; This lead to more regulations over  water and sewage as well as demand for more modern infrastructure. This was accomplished by laying down better running water systems as well as creating Water treatment centers.

Before these revelations in hygiene the ways by which people took care of themselves was at best primitive. Before the 1840’s most water was provided by wells, local rivers that were often contaminated with sewage, or haphazardly built pipe systems depending on ones proximity to a city or body of water . Furthermore very few people believed in things like bathing which many viewed as hazardous to ones health or just unnecessary.  It was through these conditions that many illnesses like Cholera, typhus and typhoid fever were able to run rampant across the United States.

Culturally these findings meant that people became more informed about public health. They had easier access to clean water and were able to develop better hygienic skills. This in turn also meant that people were able to live longer because the spread of disease could be more controlled with good hygiene.

With the money that George was able to make from his various jobs he was able to build his own house for him, his family, and his mother. It was this house which Whitman visited in 1873 to visit his mother three days before she died. This left him depressed and after a short stint back in Washington D.C. Whitman returned to Camden to live with his brother. He spent the next eleven years there while paying room and board. It was after those eleven years that his brother George moved to Burlington New jersey and Whitman bought his house on Mickle Street.

Whitman House:

Walt Whitman’s house in Camden like most found in any city is a row house or terrace house. A row house is a house of medium density that shares one if not two walls with the houses next to it while also mirroring the façade of the other houses. Typically these houses tend to have no front yard with little to no backyard. These types of house originated in Europe during the latter half of the 17th century though. At that time and up until recently they were associated with the working class as they were inexpensive and favored over apartment housing. Furthermore these houses were very cost effective to build and easy to design.

The first row houses to be built in the United States were those of Carstairs Row in Philadelphia in and around the time of 1799 to 1820; they were designed by architect and builder Thomas Carstairs for the developer William Sansom. They were built as part of one of the first speculative housing developments in the United State whose goal it was to break up land in to smaller easier plots to both build on and sell. These houses with there uniform design were vastly different from what was typical of that time. Most houses in Philadelphia were made in varying styles and of varying dimensions and quality. As time passed row houses became very popular and spread across various cities of the United States, one of them being Camden. Culturally this meant a change in how people interacted with their neighbors.  It created much more tight nit communities in which everyone knew each other and looked out for one another. These communities were often centered on one similar trait that would be shared by members of the community whether it is their occupation, race, or religion.

Camden like many cities around the country is now mostly made up of row houses.

Walt Whitman’s house on Mickle Street is one row house that seems to deviate from what one usually expects a row house to look like as in seen in the picture below.

A lot of the other houses in Camden as well as row houses around the country tend to be truer to the original definition of row houses  as you can see below.

Whitman’s row house was built around 1848 and given its appearance was probably was probably a part of another set of row houses before they were torn down. Whitman bought it in 1884 for $1,750, he was seventy-two at the time and is the only house he ever himself owned. He paid for it through a personal loan as well through the royalties he received from the sales of Leaves Of Grass. Whitman remained there until his death on March 26, 1892.

References:

“Walt Whitman House” <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walt_Whitman_House> Wikipedia.

“Walt Whitman House” <http://www.ci.camden.nj.us/attractions/waltwhitman.html> City Of Camden.

“History of Plumbing in America” Plumbing and Mechanical, July 1987.

Sill, Geoffry M. “Camden, New Jersey” <http://www.whitmanarchive.org/criticism/current/encyclopedia/entry_13.html> Walt Whitman: An encyclopedia

Whitman, Camden, and plumbing:

Before we can look at houses like Whitman’s house on Mickle Street we have to look at what it was that made Whitman stay in Camden, the short and confusing answer being plumbing.

Whitman’ younger brother George Washington Whitman was a pipe inspector for the city of Camden. He was worked part time while also inspecting pipes in Brooklyn and running a construction business. He was hired at a time when cities were growing much more quickly and would therefore need better infrastructure. The goal was to try and make up and coming cities like Camden sanitary and conducive to living a healthy life. It was a time in which scientist had realized the dangers of disease caused by sewage; This lead to more regulations over  water and sewage as well as demand for more modern infrastructure. This was accomplished by laying down better running water systems as well as creating Water treatment centers.

Before these revelations in hygiene the ways by which people took care of themselves was at best primitive. Before the 1840’s most water was provided by wells, local rivers that were often contaminated with sewage, or haphazardly built pipe systems depending on ones proximity to a city or body of water . Furthermore very few people believed in things like bathing which many viewed as hazardous to ones health or just unnecessary.  It was through these conditions that many illnesses like Cholera, typhus and typhoid fever were able to run rampant across the United States.

Culturally these findings meant that people became more informed about public health. They had easier access to clean water and were able to develop better hygienic skills. This in turn also meant that people were able to live longer because the spread of disease could be more controlled with good hygiene.

With the money that George was able to make from his various jobs he was able to build his own house for him, his family, and his mother. It was this house which Whitman visited in 1873 to visit his mother three days before she died. This left him depressed and after a short stint back in Washington D.C. Whitman returned to Camden to live with his brother. He spent the next eleven years there while paying room and board. It was after those eleven years that his brother George moved to Burlington New jersey and Whitman bought his house on Mickle Street.

Whitman House:

Walt Whitman’s house in Camden like most found in any city is a row house or terrace house. A row house is a house of medium density that shares one if not two walls with the houses next to it while also mirroring the façade of the other houses. Typically these houses tend to have no front yard with little to no backyard. These types of house originated in Europe during the latter half of the 17th century though. At that time and up until recently they were associated with the working class as they were inexpensive and favored over apartment housing. Furthermore these houses were very cost effective to build and easy to design.

The first row houses to be built in the United States were those of Carstairs Row in Philadelphia in and around the time of 1799 to 1820; they were designed by architect and builder Thomas Carstairs for the developer William Sansom. They were built as part of one of the first speculative housing developments in the United State whose goal it was to break up land in to smaller easier plots to both build on and sell. These houses with there uniform design were vastly different from what was typical of that time. Most houses in Philadelphia were made in varying styles and of varying dimensions and quality. As time passed row houses became very popular and spread across various cities of the United States, one of them being Camden. Culturally this meant a change in how people interacted with their neighbors.  It created much more tight nit communities in which everyone knew each other and looked out for one another. These communities were often centered on one similar trait that would be shared by members of the community whether it is their occupation, race, or religion.

Camden like many cities around the country is now mostly made up of row houses.

Walt Whitman’s house on Mickle Street is one row house that seems to deviate from what one usually expects a row house to look like as in seen in the picture below.

A lot of the other houses in Camden as well as row houses around the country tend to be truer to the original definition of row houses  as you can see below.

Whitman’s row house was built around 1848 and given its appearance was probably was probably a part of another set of row houses before they were torn down. Whitman bought it in 1884 for $1,750, he was seventy-two at the time and is the only house he ever himself owned. He paid for it through a personal loan as well through the royalties he received from the sales of Leaves Of Grass. Whitman remained there until his death on March 26, 1892.

References:

“Walt Whitman House” <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walt_Whitman_House> Wikipedia.

“Walt Whitman House” <http://www.ci.camden.nj.us/attractions/waltwhitman.html> City Of Camden.

“History of Plumbing in America” Plumbing and Mechanical, July 1987.

Sill, Geoffry M. “Camden, New Jersey” <http://www.whitmanarchive.org/criticism/current/encyclopedia/entry_13.html> Walt Whitman: An encyclopedia

Whitman, Camden, and plumbing:

Before we can look at houses like Whitman’s house on Mickle Street we have to look at what it was that made Whitman stay in Camden, the short and confusing answer being plumbing.

Whitman’ younger brother George Washington Whitman was a pipe inspector for the city of Camden. He was worked part time while also inspecting pipes in Brooklyn and running a construction business. He was hired at a time when cities were growing much more quickly and would therefore need better infrastructure. The goal was to try and make up and coming cities like Camden sanitary and conducive to living a healthy life. It was a time in which scientist had realized the dangers of disease caused by sewage; This lead to more regulations over  water and sewage as well as demand for more modern infrastructure. This was accomplished by laying down better running water systems as well as creating Water treatment centers.

Before these revelations in hygiene the ways by which people took care of themselves was at best primitive. Before the 1840’s most water was provided by wells, local rivers that were often contaminated with sewage, or haphazardly built pipe systems depending on ones proximity to a city or body of water . Furthermore very few people believed in things like bathing which many viewed as hazardous to ones health or just unnecessary.  It was through these conditions that many illnesses like Cholera, typhus and typhoid fever were able to run rampant across the United States.

Culturally these findings meant that people became more informed about public health. They had easier access to clean water and were able to develop better hygienic skills. This in turn also meant that people were able to live longer because the spread of disease could be more controlled with good hygiene.

With the money that George was able to make from his various jobs he was able to build his own house for him, his family, and his mother. It was this house which Whitman visited in 1873 to visit his mother three days before she died. This left him depressed and after a short stint back in Washington D.C. Whitman returned to Camden to live with his brother. He spent the next eleven years there while paying room and board. It was after those eleven years that his brother George moved to Burlington New jersey and Whitman bought his house on Mickle Street.

Whitman House:

Walt Whitman’s house in Camden like most found in any city is a row house or terrace house. A row house is a house of medium density that shares one if not two walls with the houses next to it while also mirroring the façade of the other houses. Typically these houses tend to have no front yard with little to no backyard. These types of house originated in Europe during the latter half of the 17th century though. At that time and up until recently they were associated with the working class as they were inexpensive and favored over apartment housing. Furthermore these houses were very cost effective to build and easy to design.

The first row houses to be built in the United States were those of Carstairs Row in Philadelphia in and around the time of 1799 to 1820; they were designed by architect and builder Thomas Carstairs for the developer William Sansom. They were built as part of one of the first speculative housing developments in the United State whose goal it was to break up land in to smaller easier plots to both build on and sell. These houses with there uniform design were vastly different from what was typical of that time. Most houses in Philadelphia were made in varying styles and of varying dimensions and quality. As time passed row houses became very popular and spread across various cities of the United States, one of them being Camden. Culturally this meant a change in how people interacted with their neighbors.  It created much more tight nit communities in which everyone knew each other and looked out for one another. These communities were often centered on one similar trait that would be shared by members of the community whether it is their occupation, race, or religion.

Camden like many cities around the country is now mostly made up of row houses.

Walt Whitman’s house on Mickle Street is one row house that seems to deviate from what one usually expects a row house to look like as in seen in the picture below.

A lot of the other houses in Camden as well as row houses around the country tend to be truer to the original definition of row houses  as you can see below.

Whitman’s row house was built around 1848 and given its appearance was probably was probably a part of another set of row houses before they were torn down. Whitman bought it in 1884 for $1,750, he was seventy-two at the time and is the only house he ever himself owned. He paid for it through a personal loan as well through the royalties he received from the sales of Leaves Of Grass. Whitman remained there until his death on March 26, 1892.

References:

“Walt Whitman House” <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walt_Whitman_House> Wikipedia.

“Walt Whitman House” <http://www.ci.camden.nj.us/attractions/waltwhitman.html> City Of Camden.

“History of Plumbing in America” Plumbing and Mechanical, July 1987.

Sill, Geoffry M. “Camden, New Jersey” <http://www.whitmanarchive.org/criticism/current/encyclopedia/entry_13.html> Walt Whitman: An encyclopedia

Whitman, Camden, and plumbing:

Before we can look at houses like Whitman’s house on Mickle Street we have to look at what it was that made Whitman stay in Camden, the short and confusing answer being plumbing.

Whitman’ younger brother George Washington Whitman was a pipe inspector for the city of Camden. He was worked part time while also inspecting pipes in Brooklyn and running a construction business. He was hired at a time when cities were growing much more quickly and would therefore need better infrastructure. The goal was to try and make up and coming cities like Camden sanitary and conducive to living a healthy life. It was a time in which scientist had realized the dangers of disease caused by sewage; This lead to more regulations over  water and sewage as well as demand for more modern infrastructure. This was accomplished by laying down better running water systems as well as creating Water treatment centers.

Before these revelations in hygiene the ways by which people took care of themselves was at best primitive. Before the 1840’s most water was provided by wells, local rivers that were often contaminated with sewage, or haphazardly built pipe systems depending on ones proximity to a city or body of water . Furthermore very few people believed in things like bathing which many viewed as hazardous to ones health or just unnecessary.  It was through these conditions that many illnesses like Cholera, typhus and typhoid fever were able to run rampant across the United States.

Culturally these findings meant that people became more informed about public health. They had easier access to clean water and were able to develop better hygienic skills. This in turn also meant that people were able to live longer because the spread of disease could be more controlled with good hygiene.

With the money that George was able to make from his various jobs he was able to build his own house for him, his family, and his mother. It was this house which Whitman visited in 1873 to visit his mother three days before she died. This left him depressed and after a short stint back in Washington D.C. Whitman returned to Camden to live with his brother. He spent the next eleven years there while paying room and board. It was after those eleven years that his brother George moved to Burlington New jersey and Whitman bought his house on Mickle Street.

Whitman House:

Walt Whitman’s house in Camden like most found in any city is a row house or terrace house. A row house is a house of medium density that shares one if not two walls with the houses next to it while also mirroring the façade of the other houses. Typically these houses tend to have no front yard with little to no backyard. These types of house originated in Europe during the latter half of the 17th century though. At that time and up until recently they were associated with the working class as they were inexpensive and favored over apartment housing. Furthermore these houses were very cost effective to build and easy to design.

The first row houses to be built in the United States were those of Carstairs Row in Philadelphia in and around the time of 1799 to 1820; they were designed by architect and builder Thomas Carstairs for the developer William Sansom. They were built as part of one of the first speculative housing developments in the United State whose goal it was to break up land in to smaller easier plots to both build on and sell. These houses with there uniform design were vastly different from what was typical of that time. Most houses in Philadelphia were made in varying styles and of varying dimensions and quality. As time passed row houses became very popular and spread across various cities of the United States, one of them being Camden. Culturally this meant a change in how people interacted with their neighbors.  It created much more tight nit communities in which everyone knew each other and looked out for one another. These communities were often centered on one similar trait that would be shared by members of the community whether it is their occupation, race, or religion.

Camden like many cities around the country is now mostly made up of row houses.

Walt Whitman’s house on Mickle Street is one row house that seems to deviate from what one usually expects a row house to look like as in seen in the picture below.

A lot of the other houses in Camden as well as row houses around the country tend to be truer to the original definition of row houses  as you can see below.

Whitman’s row house was built around 1848 and given its appearance was probably was probably a part of another set of row houses before they were torn down. Whitman bought it in 1884 for $1,750, he was seventy-two at the time and is the only house he ever himself owned. He paid for it through a personal loan as well through the royalties he received from the sales of Leaves Of Grass. Whitman remained there until his death on March 26, 1892.

References:

“Walt Whitman House” <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walt_Whitman_House> Wikipedia.

“Walt Whitman House” <http://www.ci.camden.nj.us/attractions/waltwhitman.html> City Of Camden.

“History of Plumbing in America” Plumbing and Mechanical, July 1987.

Sill, Geoffry M. “Camden, New Jersey” <http://www.whitmanarchive.org/criticism/current/encyclopedia/entry_13.html> Walt Whitman: An encyclopedia

Whitman, Camden, and plumbing:

Before we can look at houses like Whitman’s house on Mickle Street we have to look at what it was that made Whitman stay in Camden, the short and confusing answer being plumbing.

Whitman’ younger brother George Washington Whitman was a pipe inspector for the city of Camden. He was worked part time while also inspecting pipes in Brooklyn and running a construction business. He was hired at a time when cities were growing much more quickly and would therefore need better infrastructure. The goal was to try and make up and coming cities like Camden sanitary and conducive to living a healthy life. It was a time in which scientist had realized the dangers of disease caused by sewage; This lead to more regulations over  water and sewage as well as demand for more modern infrastructure. This was accomplished by laying down better running water systems as well as creating Water treatment centers.

Before these revelations in hygiene the ways by which people took care of themselves was at best primitive. Before the 1840’s most water was provided by wells, local rivers that were often contaminated with sewage, or haphazardly built pipe systems depending on ones proximity to a city or body of water . Furthermore very few people believed in things like bathing which many viewed as hazardous to ones health or just unnecessary.  It was through these conditions that many illnesses like Cholera, typhus and typhoid fever were able to run rampant across the United States.

Culturally these findings meant that people became more informed about public health. They had easier access to clean water and were able to develop better hygienic skills. This in turn also meant that people were able to live longer because the spread of disease could be more controlled with good hygiene.

With the money that George was able to make from his various jobs he was able to build his own house for him, his family, and his mother. It was this house which Whitman visited in 1873 to visit his mother three days before she died. This left him depressed and after a short stint back in Washington D.C. Whitman returned to Camden to live with his brother. He spent the next eleven years there while paying room and board. It was after those eleven years that his brother George moved to Burlington New jersey and Whitman bought his house on Mickle Street.

Whitman House:

Walt Whitman’s house in Camden like most found in any city is a row house or terrace house. A row house is a house of medium density that shares one if not two walls with the houses next to it while also mirroring the façade of the other houses. Typically these houses tend to have no front yard with little to no backyard. These types of house originated in Europe during the latter half of the 17th century though. At that time and up until recently they were associated with the working class as they were inexpensive and favored over apartment housing. Furthermore these houses were very cost effective to build and easy to design.

The first row houses to be built in the United States were those of Carstairs Row in Philadelphia in and around the time of 1799 to 1820; they were designed by architect and builder Thomas Carstairs for the developer William Sansom. They were built as part of one of the first speculative housing developments in the United State whose goal it was to break up land in to smaller easier plots to both build on and sell. These houses with there uniform design were vastly different from what was typical of that time. Most houses in Philadelphia were made in varying styles and of varying dimensions and quality. As time passed row houses became very popular and spread across various cities of the United States, one of them being Camden. Culturally this meant a change in how people interacted with their neighbors.  It created much more tight nit communities in which everyone knew each other and looked out for one another. These communities were often centered on one similar trait that would be shared by members of the community whether it is their occupation, race, or religion.

Camden like many cities around the country is now mostly made up of row houses.

Walt Whitman’s house on Mickle Street is one row house that seems to deviate from what one usually expects a row house to look like as in seen in the picture below.

A lot of the other houses in Camden as well as row houses around the country tend to be truer to the original definition of row houses  as you can see below.

Whitman’s row house was built around 1848 and given its appearance was probably was probably a part of another set of row houses before they were torn down. Whitman bought it in 1884 for $1,750, he was seventy-two at the time and is the only house he ever himself owned. He paid for it through a personal loan as well through the royalties he received from the sales of Leaves Of Grass. Whitman remained there until his death on March 26, 1892.

References:

“Walt Whitman House” <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walt_Whitman_House> Wikipedia.

“Walt Whitman House” <http://www.ci.camden.nj.us/attractions/waltwhitman.html> City Of Camden.

“History of Plumbing in America” Plumbing and Mechanical, July 1987.

Sill, Geoffry M. “Camden, New Jersey” <http://www.whitmanarchive.org/criticism/current/encyclopedia/entry_13.html> Walt Whitman: An encyclopedia

The Whitman House at 330 Mickle Street

During his stay in Camden NJ, Walt Whitman lived at the house on 330 Mickle Street. It was when Louisa Whitman, his mother, grew ill. Walt soon visited her, but she tragically died only three days after he came to Camden. After a brief return to D.C. he would move to Camden to live with his brother George.

Long before Walt Whitman came to Camden, the history of Mickle Street began. In the early 1840′s John W. Mickle had enough pull with the railroad companies and the city of Camden itself that he was able to have a street named after him. This street would soon be located next to elevated railroad tracks which were noisy and would shake the houses as they passed. On this road was a lot owned by Edward sharp since the 1820′s. This would be the spot of the future home of Walt Whitman. Walt acquired the building from Rebbecca Jane Hare in the early 1870′s. Ms. Hare had come in to possession of the house after the original owner, Adam Hare passed away in the early 1870′s.

Up until Walt Whitman was in his mid sixties, he had never owned a house. Instead he would move from area to area, but always paying rent, and never purchasing land outright. That all changed in the spring of 1884. Walt Whitman purchased 330 Mickle Street, a that grew to mimic Whitman’s own laissez-faire outlook of unkempt charm.

Already 50 years old, the little shack, purchased for $1,250 in 1884 (worth $28,288.55 in 2009 money according to the Consumer Price Index), was deemed a mistake by George. He had felt that Walt had overpaid for a run down shack missing various utilities and had fallen in to disrepair.

Whitman circa 1891

Despite the house’s shortcomings, Walt had grown to love it. He would live here from 1884 until his death in 1892. During which time he wrote November Boughs amongst other works including (another) edition of Leaves of Grass.

After his death, the house passed to his brother Edward (whom, unlike George, didn’t totally hate the house), with the one stipulation that Walt’s housekeeper was allowed to live there (paying rent of course). She would continue to do so until Edward soon died and the house moved under the possession of George. George (whom, just to recap, hated the house) kicked our the housekeeper over a petty squabble but would hold on to his brother’s old house until he passed away as well. Jessie Whitman (George, Ed, and Walt’s niece) would later sell the house to the city of Camden almost thirty years after Walt’s death.

After this, the Walt Whitman Foundation was created to look after the estate. Lead by Walt’s former doctor, the Foundation refurbished the house including the furniture, such as his bed and rocking chair. A little over a quarter century later, the New Jersey itself would purchase it and later have it run by the  National Park Service.

During the 60′s the nearby railroad tracks were demolished and the Walt Whitman Foundation was changed to the Walt Whitman Association. The neighboring buildings were renovated into libraries and the entire group was turned into a museum.

After the train tracks were taken down, the road was widened and graduated from “street” to “boulevard”. The newly named Mickle Blvd. stayed that way until a campaign in the mid 90′s had a portion of the road changed to Martin Luther Kind Boulevard. The road remains named that today, though the section surrounding Walt Whitman’s house is still referred to as Mickle Street (and can still be searched as such on Google Maps, so hey, if its good enough for Google, its good enough for me).

Going to Rutgers Camden and being located so close to Mickle Street, I went to have a visit. It was after I had gotten off of work, but before it was to late to be safe wandering around Camden (I hate to say that, but yeah). Unfortunately I couldn’t get there on time to get in, (and too dark to take decent photos myself) but I had enough time to wander around and get the feel for what it must have been like for Whitman.

Of course things have changed, if you go there, you can still make out where the train tracks must have been, following the road, causing a ruckus in the old house as the trains passed by Whitman.

Crime (like everywhere else in Camden) has gone up as well. In my research I have discovered that this road was once the head quarters for a major drug dealing ring, as well as the site of at least one murder at a corner Chinese food restaurant.

One has to wonder, what Walt Whitman would have to say about all of this. Surely he would denounce the riots and gangs and drugs that have swept over the area in the past few decades. He would lament the death of Camden’s natural beauty in favor of factories and soup cans and Victrolas. But would he have left?

He enjoyed the house in the first place because it was run down and busted up. Would it make that much of a difference if the city followed suit? As society fell apart alongside his home would he have even noticed? Would he have worried? It’s easy for me to see him as just a stubborn old man who would probably be to much of a hassle for gangs to be bothered with.

Perhaps his poetry as well would be reflective of this. Sure it would be bound to be different. He grew to lament the Civil War, gang warfare at his front door would probably be no different. But set in a gotham setting, in the advent of rap music and Walkmans would he embrace parts of the culture he found outside of his doorway, clamoring to get in?

Imagine a mid 90′s Whitman, rapping his poetry, influencing another whole generation (to anyone who feels that this would be unheard of, I direct you towards the music of Tupac, MF Doom, and Aesop Rock, among others whose music is little more than awe inspiring poetry set to a beat).

Ok, MC Walt Whitman just sounds awesome.

House Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:WhitmanHouse-CamdenNJ1.jpg

1981 Whitman Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/21/Whitman_by_Reeder_1891.jpg

References:

http://www.whitmanarchive.org/criticism/current/encyclopedia/entry_33.html

http://tps.cr.nps.gov/nhl/detail.cfm?ResourceId=325&ResourceType=Building

http://www.dvrbs.com/camden-streets/CamdenNJ-Streets-MickleStreet.htm

http://micklestreet.rutgers.edu/index.htm

http://www.state.nj.us/dep/parksandforests/historic/whitman/index.html

The Whitman House at 330 Mickle Street

During his stay in Camden NJ, Walt Whitman lived at the house on 330 Mickle Street. It was when Louisa Whitman, his mother, grew ill. Walt soon visited her, but she tragically died only three days after he came to Camden. After a brief return to D.C. he would move to Camden to live with his brother George.

Long before Walt Whitman came to Camden, the history of Mickle Street began. In the early 1840′s John W. Mickle had enough pull with the railroad companies and the city of Camden itself that he was able to have a street named after him. This street would soon be located next to elevated railroad tracks which were noisy and would shake the houses as they passed. On this road was a lot owned by Edward sharp since the 1820′s. This would be the spot of the future home of Walt Whitman. Walt acquired the building from Rebbecca Jane Hare in the early 1870′s. Ms. Hare had come in to possession of the house after the original owner, Adam Hare passed away in the early 1870′s.

Up until Walt Whitman was in his mid sixties, he had never owned a house. Instead he would move from area to area, but always paying rent, and never purchasing land outright. That all changed in the spring of 1884. Walt Whitman purchased 330 Mickle Street, a that grew to mimic Whitman’s own laissez-faire outlook of unkempt charm.

Already 50 years old, the little shack, purchased for $1,250 in 1884 (worth $28,288.55 in 2009 money according to the Consumer Price Index), was deemed a mistake by George. He had felt that Walt had overpaid for a run down shack missing various utilities and had fallen in to disrepair.

Whitman circa 1891

Despite the house’s shortcomings, Walt had grown to love it. He would live here from 1884 until his death in 1892. During which time he wrote November Boughs amongst other works including (another) edition of Leaves of Grass.

After his death, the house passed to his brother Edward (whom, unlike George, didn’t totally hate the house), with the one stipulation that Walt’s housekeeper was allowed to live there (paying rent of course). She would continue to do so until Edward soon died and the house moved under the possession of George. George (whom, just to recap, hated the house) kicked our the housekeeper over a petty squabble but would hold on to his brother’s old house until he passed away as well. Jessie Whitman (George, Ed, and Walt’s niece) would later sell the house to the city of Camden almost thirty years after Walt’s death.

After this, the Walt Whitman Foundation was created to look after the estate. Lead by Walt’s former doctor, the Foundation refurbished the house including the furniture, such as his bed and rocking chair. A little over a quarter century later, the New Jersey itself would purchase it and later have it run by the  National Park Service.

During the 60′s the nearby railroad tracks were demolished and the Walt Whitman Foundation was changed to the Walt Whitman Association. The neighboring buildings were renovated into libraries and the entire group was turned into a museum.

After the train tracks were taken down, the road was widened and graduated from “street” to “boulevard”. The newly named Mickle Blvd. stayed that way until a campaign in the mid 90′s had a portion of the road changed to Martin Luther Kind Boulevard. The road remains named that today, though the section surrounding Walt Whitman’s house is still referred to as Mickle Street (and can still be searched as such on Google Maps, so hey, if its good enough for Google, its good enough for me).

Going to Rutgers Camden and being located so close to Mickle Street, I went to have a visit. It was after I had gotten off of work, but before it was to late to be safe wandering around Camden (I hate to say that, but yeah). Unfortunately I couldn’t get there on time to get in, (and too dark to take decent photos myself) but I had enough time to wander around and get the feel for what it must have been like for Whitman.

Of course things have changed, if you go there, you can still make out where the train tracks must have been, following the road, causing a ruckus in the old house as the trains passed by Whitman.

Crime (like everywhere else in Camden) has gone up as well. In my research I have discovered that this road was once the head quarters for a major drug dealing ring, as well as the site of at least one murder at a corner Chinese food restaurant.

One has to wonder, what Walt Whitman would have to say about all of this. Surely he would denounce the riots and gangs and drugs that have swept over the area in the past few decades. He would lament the death of Camden’s natural beauty in favor of factories and soup cans and Victrolas. But would he have left?

He enjoyed the house in the first place because it was run down and busted up. Would it make that much of a difference if the city followed suit? As society fell apart alongside his home would he have even noticed? Would he have worried? It’s easy for me to see him as just a stubborn old man who would probably be to much of a hassle for gangs to be bothered with.

Perhaps his poetry as well would be reflective of this. Sure it would be bound to be different. He grew to lament the Civil War, gang warfare at his front door would probably be no different. But set in a gotham setting, in the advent of rap music and Walkmans would he embrace parts of the culture he found outside of his doorway, clamoring to get in?

Imagine a mid 90′s Whitman, rapping his poetry, influencing another whole generation (to anyone who feels that this would be unheard of, I direct you towards the music of Tupac, MF Doom, and Aesop Rock, among others whose music is little more than awe inspiring poetry set to a beat).

Ok, MC Walt Whitman just sounds awesome.

House Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons: 

” title=”http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:WhitmanHouse-CamdenNJ1.jpg

” target=”_blank”>http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:W…

1981 Whitman Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons: 

” title=”http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/21/Whitman_by_Reeder_1891.jpg

” target=”_blank”>http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/co…

References:

http://www.whitmanarchive.org/criticism/current/encyclopedia/entry_33.html

 http://tps.cr.nps.gov/nhl/detail.cfm?Res…

 http://www.dvrbs.com/camden-streets/Camd…

 http://micklestreet.rutgers.edu/index.ht…

 http://www.state.nj.us/dep/parksandfores…

The Whitman House at 330 Mickle Street

During his stay in Camden NJ, Walt Whitman lived at the house on 330 Mickle Street. It was when Louisa Whitman, his mother, grew ill. Walt soon visited her, but she tragically died only three days after he came to Camden. After a brief return to D.C. he would move to Camden to live with his brother George.

Long before Walt Whitman came to Camden, the history of Mickle Street began. In the early 1840′s John W. Mickle had enough pull with the railroad companies and the city of Camden itself that he was able to have a street named after him. This street would soon be located next to elevated railroad tracks which were noisy and would shake the houses as they passed. On this road was a lot owned by Edward sharp since the 1820′s. This would be the spot of the future home of Walt Whitman. Walt acquired the building from Rebbecca Jane Hare in the early 1870′s. Ms. Hare had come in to possession of the house after the original owner, Adam Hare passed away in the early 1870′s.

Up until Walt Whitman was in his mid sixties, he had never owned a house. Instead he would move from area to area, but always paying rent, and never purchasing land outright. That all changed in the spring of 1884. Walt Whitman purchased 330 Mickle Street, a that grew to mimic Whitman’s own laissez-faire outlook of unkempt charm.

Already 50 years old, the little shack, purchased for $1,250 in 1884 (worth $28,288.55 in 2009 money according to the Consumer Price Index), was deemed a mistake by George. He had felt that Walt had overpaid for a run down shack missing various utilities and had fallen in to disrepair.

Whitman circa 1891

Despite the house’s shortcomings, Walt had grown to love it. He would live here from 1884 until his death in 1892. During which time he wrote November Boughs amongst other works including (another) edition of Leaves of Grass.

After his death, the house passed to his brother Edward (whom, unlike George, didn’t totally hate the house), with the one stipulation that Walt’s housekeeper was allowed to live there (paying rent of course). She would continue to do so until Edward soon died and the house moved under the possession of George. George (whom, just to recap, hated the house) kicked our the housekeeper over a petty squabble but would hold on to his brother’s old house until he passed away as well. Jessie Whitman (George, Ed, and Walt’s niece) would later sell the house to the city of Camden almost thirty years after Walt’s death.

After this, the Walt Whitman Foundation was created to look after the estate. Lead by Walt’s former doctor, the Foundation refurbished the house including the furniture, such as his bed and rocking chair. A little over a quarter century later, the New Jersey itself would purchase it and later have it run by the  National Park Service.

During the 60′s the nearby railroad tracks were demolished and the Walt Whitman Foundation was changed to the Walt Whitman Association. The neighboring buildings were renovated into libraries and the entire group was turned into a museum.

After the train tracks were taken down, the road was widened and graduated from “street” to “boulevard”. The newly named Mickle Blvd. stayed that way until a campaign in the mid 90′s had a portion of the road changed to Martin Luther Kind Boulevard. The road remains named that today, though the section surrounding Walt Whitman’s house is still referred to as Mickle Street (and can still be searched as such on Google Maps, so hey, if its good enough for Google, its good enough for me).

Going to Rutgers Camden and being located so close to Mickle Street, I went to have a visit. It was after I had gotten off of work, but before it was to late to be safe wandering around Camden (I hate to say that, but yeah). Unfortunately I couldn’t get there on time to get in, (and too dark to take decent photos myself) but I had enough time to wander around and get the feel for what it must have been like for Whitman.

Of course things have changed, if you go there, you can still make out where the train tracks must have been, following the road, causing a ruckus in the old house as the trains passed by Whitman.

Crime (like everywhere else in Camden) has gone up as well. In my research I have discovered that this road was once the head quarters for a major drug dealing ring, as well as the site of at least one murder at a corner Chinese food restaurant.

One has to wonder, what Walt Whitman would have to say about all of this. Surely he would denounce the riots and gangs and drugs that have swept over the area in the past few decades. He would lament the death of Camden’s natural beauty in favor of factories and soup cans and Victrolas. But would he have left?

He enjoyed the house in the first place because it was run down and busted up. Would it make that much of a difference if the city followed suit? As society fell apart alongside his home would he have even noticed? Would he have worried? It’s easy for me to see him as just a stubborn old man who would probably be to much of a hassle for gangs to be bothered with.

Perhaps his poetry as well would be reflective of this. Sure it would be bound to be different. He grew to lament the Civil War, gang warfare at his front door would probably be no different. But set in a gotham setting, in the advent of rap music and Walkmans would he embrace parts of the culture he found outside of his doorway, clamoring to get in?

Imagine a mid 90′s Whitman, rapping his poetry, influencing another whole generation (to anyone who feels that this would be unheard of, I direct you towards the music of Tupac, MF Doom, and Aesop Rock, among others whose music is little more than awe inspiring poetry set to a beat).

Ok, MC Walt Whitman just sounds awesome.

House Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:WhitmanHouse-CamdenNJ1.jpg

1981 Whitman Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/21/Whitman_by_Reeder_1891.jpg

References:

http://www.whitmanarchive.org/criticism/current/encyclopedia/entry_33.html

http://tps.cr.nps.gov/nhl/detail.cfm?ResourceId=325&ResourceType=Building

http://www.dvrbs.com/camden-streets/CamdenNJ-Streets-MickleStreet.htm

http://micklestreet.rutgers.edu/index.htm

http://www.state.nj.us/dep/parksandforests/historic/whitman/index.html

The Whitman House at 330 Mickle Street

During his stay in Camden NJ, Walt Whitman lived at the house on 330 Mickle Street. It was when Louisa Whitman, his mother, grew ill. Walt soon visited her, but she tragically died only three days after he came to Camden. After a brief return to D.C. he would move to Camden to live with his brother George.

Long before Walt Whitman came to Camden, the history of Mickle Street began. In the early 1840′s John W. Mickle had enough pull with the railroad companies and the city of Camden itself that he was able to have a street named after him. This street would soon be located next to elevated railroad tracks which were noisy and would shake the houses as they passed. On this road was a lot owned by Edward sharp since the 1820′s. This would be the spot of the future home of Walt Whitman. Walt acquired the building from Rebbecca Jane Hare in the early 1870′s. Ms. Hare had come in to possession of the house after the original owner, Adam Hare passed away in the early 1870′s.

Up until Walt Whitman was in his mid sixties, he had never owned a house. Instead he would move from area to area, but always paying rent, and never purchasing land outright. That all changed in the spring of 1884. Walt Whitman purchased 330 Mickle Street, a that grew to mimic Whitman’s own laissez-faire outlook of unkempt charm.

Already 50 years old, the little shack, purchased for $1,250 in 1884 (worth $28,288.55 in 2009 money according to the Consumer Price Index), was deemed a mistake by George. He had felt that Walt had overpaid for a run down shack missing various utilities and had fallen in to disrepair.

Whitman circa 1891

Despite the house’s shortcomings, Walt had grown to love it. He would live here from 1884 until his death in 1892. During which time he wrote November Boughs amongst other works including (another) edition of Leaves of Grass.

After his death, the house passed to his brother Edward (whom, unlike George, didn’t totally hate the house), with the one stipulation that Walt’s housekeeper was allowed to live there (paying rent of course). She would continue to do so until Edward soon died and the house moved under the possession of George. George (whom, just to recap, hated the house) kicked our the housekeeper over a petty squabble but would hold on to his brother’s old house until he passed away as well. Jessie Whitman (George, Ed, and Walt’s niece) would later sell the house to the city of Camden almost thirty years after Walt’s death.

After this, the Walt Whitman Foundation was created to look after the estate. Lead by Walt’s former doctor, the Foundation refurbished the house including the furniture, such as his bed and rocking chair. A little over a quarter century later, the New Jersey itself would purchase it and later have it run by the  National Park Service.

During the 60′s the nearby railroad tracks were demolished and the Walt Whitman Foundation was changed to the Walt Whitman Association. The neighboring buildings were renovated into libraries and the entire group was turned into a museum.

After the train tracks were taken down, the road was widened and graduated from “street” to “boulevard”. The newly named Mickle Blvd. stayed that way until a campaign in the mid 90′s had a portion of the road changed to Martin Luther Kind Boulevard. The road remains named that today, though the section surrounding Walt Whitman’s house is still referred to as Mickle Street (and can still be searched as such on Google Maps, so hey, if its good enough for Google, its good enough for me).

Going to Rutgers Camden and being located so close to Mickle Street, I went to have a visit. It was after I had gotten off of work, but before it was to late to be safe wandering around Camden (I hate to say that, but yeah). Unfortunately I couldn’t get there on time to get in, (and too dark to take decent photos myself) but I had enough time to wander around and get the feel for what it must have been like for Whitman.

Of course things have changed, if you go there, you can still make out where the train tracks must have been, following the road, causing a ruckus in the old house as the trains passed by Whitman.

Crime (like everywhere else in Camden) has gone up as well. In my research I have discovered that this road was once the head quarters for a major drug dealing ring, as well as the site of at least one murder at a corner Chinese food restaurant.

One has to wonder, what Walt Whitman would have to say about all of this. Surely he would denounce the riots and gangs and drugs that have swept over the area in the past few decades. He would lament the death of Camden’s natural beauty in favor of factories and soup cans and Victrolas. But would he have left?

He enjoyed the house in the first place because it was run down and busted up. Would it make that much of a difference if the city followed suit? As society fell apart alongside his home would he have even noticed? Would he have worried? It’s easy for me to see him as just a stubborn old man who would probably be to much of a hassle for gangs to be bothered with.

Perhaps his poetry as well would be reflective of this. Sure it would be bound to be different. He grew to lament the Civil War, gang warfare at his front door would probably be no different. But set in a gotham setting, in the advent of rap music and Walkmans would he embrace parts of the culture he found outside of his doorway, clamoring to get in?

Imagine a mid 90′s Whitman, rapping his poetry, influencing another whole generation (to anyone who feels that this would be unheard of, I direct you towards the music of Tupac, MF Doom, and Aesop Rock, among others whose music is little more than awe inspiring poetry set to a beat).

Ok, MC Walt Whitman just sounds awesome.

House Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:WhitmanHouse-CamdenNJ1.jpg

1981 Whitman Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/21/Whitman_by_Reeder_1891.jpg

References:

http://www.whitmanarchive.org/criticism/current/encyclopedia/entry_33.html

http://tps.cr.nps.gov/nhl/detail.cfm?ResourceId=325&ResourceType=Building

http://www.dvrbs.com/camden-streets/CamdenNJ-Streets-MickleStreet.htm

http://micklestreet.rutgers.edu/index.htm

http://www.state.nj.us/dep/parksandforests/historic/whitman/index.html

The Whitman House at 330 Mickle Street

During his stay in Camden NJ, Walt Whitman lived at the house on 330 Mickle Street. It was when Louisa Whitman, his mother, grew ill. Walt soon visited her, but she tragically died only three days after he came to Camden. After a brief return to D.C. he would move to Camden to live with his brother George.

Long before Walt Whitman came to Camden, the history of Mickle Street began. In the early 1840′s John W. Mickle had enough pull with the railroad companies and the city of Camden itself that he was able to have a street named after him. This street would soon be located next to elevated railroad tracks which were noisy and would shake the houses as they passed. On this road was a lot owned by Edward sharp since the 1820′s. This would be the spot of the future home of Walt Whitman. Walt acquired the building from Rebbecca Jane Hare in the early 1870′s. Ms. Hare had come in to possession of the house after the original owner, Adam Hare passed away in the early 1870′s.

Up until Walt Whitman was in his mid sixties, he had never owned a house. Instead he would move from area to area, but always paying rent, and never purchasing land outright. That all changed in the spring of 1884. Walt Whitman purchased 330 Mickle Street, a that grew to mimic Whitman’s own laissez-faire outlook of unkempt charm.

Already 50 years old, the little shack, purchased for $1,250 in 1884 (worth $28,288.55 in 2009 money according to the Consumer Price Index), was deemed a mistake by George. He had felt that Walt had overpaid for a run down shack missing various utilities and had fallen in to disrepair.

Whitman circa 1891

Despite the house’s shortcomings, Walt had grown to love it. He would live here from 1884 until his death in 1892. During which time he wrote November Boughs amongst other works including (another) edition of Leaves of Grass.

After his death, the house passed to his brother Edward (whom, unlike George, didn’t totally hate the house), with the one stipulation that Walt’s housekeeper was allowed to live there (paying rent of course). She would continue to do so until Edward soon died and the house moved under the possession of George. George (whom, just to recap, hated the house) kicked our the housekeeper over a petty squabble but would hold on to his brother’s old house until he passed away as well. Jessie Whitman (George, Ed, and Walt’s niece) would later sell the house to the city of Camden almost thirty years after Walt’s death.

After this, the Walt Whitman Foundation was created to look after the estate. Lead by Walt’s former doctor, the Foundation refurbished the house including the furniture, such as his bed and rocking chair. A little over a quarter century later, the New Jersey itself would purchase it and later have it run by the  National Park Service.

During the 60′s the nearby railroad tracks were demolished and the Walt Whitman Foundation was changed to the Walt Whitman Association. The neighboring buildings were renovated into libraries and the entire group was turned into a museum.

After the train tracks were taken down, the road was widened and graduated from “street” to “boulevard”. The newly named Mickle Blvd. stayed that way until a campaign in the mid 90′s had a portion of the road changed to Martin Luther Kind Boulevard. The road remains named that today, though the section surrounding Walt Whitman’s house is still referred to as Mickle Street (and can still be searched as such on Google Maps, so hey, if its good enough for Google, its good enough for me).

Going to Rutgers Camden and being located so close to Mickle Street, I went to have a visit. It was after I had gotten off of work, but before it was to late to be safe wandering around Camden (I hate to say that, but yeah). Unfortunately I couldn’t get there on time to get in, (and too dark to take decent photos myself) but I had enough time to wander around and get the feel for what it must have been like for Whitman.

Of course things have changed, if you go there, you can still make out where the train tracks must have been, following the road, causing a ruckus in the old house as the trains passed by Whitman.

Crime (like everywhere else in Camden) has gone up as well. In my research I have discovered that this road was once the head quarters for a major drug dealing ring, as well as the site of at least one murder at a corner Chinese food restaurant.

One has to wonder, what Walt Whitman would have to say about all of this. Surely he would denounce the riots and gangs and drugs that have swept over the area in the past few decades. He would lament the death of Camden’s natural beauty in favor of factories and soup cans and Victrolas. But would he have left?

He enjoyed the house in the first place because it was run down and busted up. Would it make that much of a difference if the city followed suit? As society fell apart alongside his home would he have even noticed? Would he have worried? It’s easy for me to see him as just a stubborn old man who would probably be to much of a hassle for gangs to be bothered with.

Perhaps his poetry as well would be reflective of this. Sure it would be bound to be different. He grew to lament the Civil War, gang warfare at his front door would probably be no different. But set in a gotham setting, in the advent of rap music and Walkmans would he embrace parts of the culture he found outside of his doorway, clamoring to get in?

Imagine a mid 90′s Whitman, rapping his poetry, influencing another whole generation (to anyone who feels that this would be unheard of, I direct you towards the music of Tupac, MF Doom, and Aesop Rock, among others whose music is little more than awe inspiring poetry set to a beat).

Ok, MC Walt Whitman just sounds awesome.

House Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons: 

” title=”http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:WhitmanHouse-CamdenNJ1.jpg

” target=”_blank”>http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:W…

1981 Whitman Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons: 

” title=”http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/21/Whitman_by_Reeder_1891.jpg

” target=”_blank”>http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/co…

References:

http://www.whitmanarchive.org/criticism/current/encyclopedia/entry_33.html

 http://tps.cr.nps.gov/nhl/detail.cfm?Res…

 http://www.dvrbs.com/camden-streets/Camd…

 http://micklestreet.rutgers.edu/index.ht…

 http://www.state.nj.us/dep/parksandfores…

The Whitman House at 330 Mickle Street

During his stay in Camden NJ, Walt Whitman lived at the house on 330 Mickle Street. It was when Louisa Whitman, his mother, grew ill. Walt soon visited her, but she tragically died only three days after he came to Camden. After a brief return to D.C. he would move to Camden to live with his brother George.

Long before Walt Whitman came to Camden, the history of Mickle Street began. In the early 1840’s John W. Mickle had enough pull with the railroad companies and the city of Camden itself that he was able to have a street named after him. This street would soon be located next to elevated railroad tracks which were noisy and would shake the houses as they passed. On this road was a lot owned by Edward sharp since the 1820’s. This would be the spot of the future home of Walt Whitman. Walt acquired the building from Rebbecca Jane Hare in the early 1870’s. Ms. Hare had come in to possession of the house after the original owner, Adam Hare passed away in the early 1870’s.

Up until Walt Whitman was in his mid sixties, he had never owned a house. Instead he would move from area to area, but always paying rent, and never purchasing land outright. That all changed in the spring of 1884. Walt Whitman purchased 330 Mickle Street, a that grew to mimic Whitman’s own laissez-faire outlook of unkempt charm.

Already 50 years old, the little shack, purchased for $1,250 in 1884 (worth $28,288.55 in 2009 money according to the Consumer Price Index), was deemed a mistake by George. He had felt that Walt had overpaid for a run down shack missing various utilities and had fallen in to disrepair.

Whitman circa 1891

Despite the house’s shortcomings, Walt had grown to love it. He would live here from 1884 until his death in 1892. During which time he wrote November Boughs amongst other works including (another) edition of Leaves of Grass.

After his death, the house passed to his brother Edward (whom, unlike George, didn’t totally hate the house), with the one stipulation that Walt’s housekeeper was allowed to live there (paying rent of course). She would continue to do so until Edward soon died and the house moved under the possession of George. George (whom, just to recap, hated the house) kicked our the housekeeper over a petty squabble but would hold on to his brother’s old house until he passed away as well. Jessie Whitman (George, Ed, and Walt’s niece) would later sell the house to the city of Camden almost thirty years after Walt’s death.

After this, the Walt Whitman Foundation was created to look after the estate. Lead by Walt’s former doctor, the Foundation refurbished the house including the furniture, such as his bed and rocking chair. A little over a quarter century later, the New Jersey itself would purchase it and later have it run by the  National Park Service.

During the 60’s the nearby railroad tracks were demolished and the Walt Whitman Foundation was changed to the Walt Whitman Association. The neighboring buildings were renovated into libraries and the entire group was turned into a museum.

After the train tracks were taken down, the road was widened and graduated from “street” to “boulevard”. The newly named Mickle Blvd. stayed that way until a campaign in the mid 90’s had a portion of the road changed to Martin Luther Kind Boulevard. The road remains named that today, though the section surrounding Walt Whitman’s house is still referred to as Mickle Street (and can still be searched as such on Google Maps, so hey, if its good enough for Google, its good enough for me).

Going to Rutgers Camden and being located so close to Mickle Street, I went to have a visit. It was after I had gotten off of work, but before it was to late to be safe wandering around Camden (I hate to say that, but yeah). Unfortunately I couldn’t get there on time to get in, (and too dark to take decent photos myself) but I had enough time to wander around and get the feel for what it must have been like for Whitman.

Of course things have changed, if you go there, you can still make out where the train tracks must have been, following the road, causing a ruckus in the old house as the trains passed by Whitman.

Crime (like everywhere else in Camden) has gone up as well. In my research I have discovered that this road was once the head quarters for a major drug dealing ring, as well as the site of at least one murder at a corner Chinese food restaurant.

One has to wonder, what Walt Whitman would have to say about all of this. Surely he would denounce the riots and gangs and drugs that have swept over the area in the past few decades. He would lament the death of Camden’s natural beauty in favor of factories and soup cans and Victrolas. But would he have left?

He enjoyed the house in the first place because it was run down and busted up. Would it make that much of a difference if the city followed suit? As society fell apart alongside his home would he have even noticed? Would he have worried? It’s easy for me to see him as just a stubborn old man who would probably be to much of a hassle for gangs to be bothered with.

Perhaps his poetry as well would be reflective of this. Sure it would be bound to be different. He grew to lament the Civil War, gang warfare at his front door would probably be no different. But set in a gotham setting, in the advent of rap music and Walkmans would he embrace parts of the culture he found outside of his doorway, clamoring to get in?

Imagine a mid 90’s Whitman, rapping his poetry, influencing another whole generation (to anyone who feels that this would be unheard of, I direct you towards the music of Tupac, MF Doom, and Aesop Rock, among others whose music is little more than awe inspiring poetry set to a beat).

Ok, MC Walt Whitman just sounds awesome.

House Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons: 

” target=”_blank”>http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:W…

1981 Whitman Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons: 

” target=”_blank”>http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/co…

References:

http://www.whitmanarchive.org/criticism/current/encyclopedia/entry_33.html

 http://tps.cr.nps.gov/nhl/detail.cfm?Res…

 http://www.dvrbs.com/camden-streets/Camd…

 http://micklestreet.rutgers.edu/index.ht…

 http://www.state.nj.us/dep/parksandfores…

 America does not repel the past or what it has produced under its forms or amid other politics or the idea of castes or the old religions. . . .

 -Walt Whitman, Preface to Leaves of Grass

Panorama of Centennial Exhibition Grounds

 Walt originally wrote Song of the Exposition for the Annual Exhibition of the American Institute in 1871, where he also recited it, however it was later taken up by the Centennial Exhibition of 1876. The spirit of the poem was just as relevant.

 The Centennial Exhibition of 1876 was arguable the largest non-war spectacle to ever grace American soil. Between May and November of that year, nearly ten million visitors converged upon West Fairmount Park in Philadelphia to experience what was officially called the International Exhibit of Arts, Manufactures and Products of the Soil and Mine. It brought in over 30,000 firms—9,222 of which were American—to present their goods. Walt certainly would have approved. In I Hear America Singing, he invokes the mechanic, the carpenter, the boatman, the shoemaker, the wood-cutter, “Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else”. Were that the case, the Centennial Exhibition would serve as a choir for America’s workers of industry, agriculture, and manufacture alike, as the country did not only celebrate its Independence with this event, but to showcase the profound progress and accumulation of wealth since then. This is echoed also in Song of the Exposition:

 Mark the spirit of invention everywhere, thy rapid patents,

Thy continual workshops, foundries, risen or rising,

See, from their chimneys how the tall flame-fires stream.

 Mark, thy interminable farms, North, South,

Thy wealthy daughter-states, Eastern and Western,

The varied products of Ohio, Pennsylvania, Missouri,

            Georgia, Texas, and the rest,

Thy limitless crops, grass, wheat, sugar, oil, corn, rice,

            hemp, hops,

Thy barns all fill’d, the endless freight-train and the bulging

            storehouse,

Thy grapes that ripen on thy vines, the apples in thy orchards,

Thy incalculable lumber, beef, pork, potatoes, thy coal, thy

            gold and silver,

The inexhaustible iron in thy mines.

 And while it’s true that agriculture was well represented at the Centennial, it was the inventions that set America far apart from the rest. Sure, the introduction of Heinz ketchup, popcorn, Hires root beer, and bananas to the American public were fascinating and tasty revelations, but couldn’t hold a candle to some other truly world-changing exhibits. For one, a Scottish immigrant, by way of Canada, holding U.S. patent 174,465, unveiled to Exhibition visitors the manifestation of his experiments with sound. Yes, if you were lucky enough to make a trip out to the Centennial Exhibition, you would have seen first hand Alexander Graham Bell’s telephone. The Remington Typographic Machine was also presented, the most efficient and successful typewriter of its time. These two devices ushered in a new era of communication. But the most powerful of all the machines and knickknacks and displays was the Corliss Steam Engine, which powered virtually all of the exhibits in Machinery Hall.

Corliss Steam Engine

 Yes, the Centennial was grand in size and scope. 250 buildings were built on 285 of Fairmount Park’s then 2,740 acres. The five major buildings were the Main Exhibition Building, Machinery Hall, Agricultural Hall, Horticultural Hall, and Memorial Hall.

 Walt marveled the enormity of the Exhibition’s Main Building when he said, “looking up a long while at the grand high roof with its graceful and multitudinous work of iron rods, angles, gray colors, plays of light and shade, receding into dim outlines.” His sentiment was hardly without exaggeration. The Main Building was a colossal achievement as far as architecture goes. The Board of Finance for the Centennial described the extensive amount of components needed to build it: “Some idea of the large amount of material which enters into the requirements of a structure covering 20 acres may be formed from the statement that to complete it 3,928 tons of iron must be rolled and fitted, 237,646 square feet of glass made and set, 1,075,000 square feet of tin roof-sheeting (equal to 24 -5/8 acres welded and spread” (Giberti 85). Indeed, in the end the Main Exhibition Building would cover a ridiculous 21.47 acres after all was said and done. Of that acreage, the American section of the Building, situated in the southeast corner, covered 187,700 square feet, far and away the largest exhibition space of any country. And in keeping with the worldly spirit of things, other countries’ exhibition spaces were laid out in accordance to their geographic closeness to America. Thus, England, France and Canada would be closer, and Japan and China would be on the far outskirts. (Gross and Snyder 29).

Main Exhibition Building

 How long to build such a massive structure? A few years? A decade? No, the idea behind such a building is that it is not meant to be permanent. Most of the building was prefabricated, and set up like a series of sheds right in a row. The process took a mere 18 months, at a cost of $1.78 million—about $26 million today (Gross 29). The breadth of this undertaking might’ve even had Walt thinking twice after writing, “All architecture is what you do to it when you look upon it;/Did you think it was in the white or gray stone? or the lines of the arches and cornices?” (Song of Myself 94).

 The Exhibition also proved to be more than a one-up show of America’s might and a long procession of displays and exhibits. It was an affair of togetherness. It was countries from all over the world, people gathering from all over the world, in one place to impress and amaze with exotic and local wares. In a gesture of solidarity, France constructed for America the Statue of Liberty, which, while not completed and dedicated until 1886, made a partial (literally) appearance at the Centennial. The Statue’s right, torch-bearing arm was a popular sight to see for Exhibition-goers, and for 50 cents you could climb a winding stair to the top. Even standing atop this mere fraction of the Statue of Liberty granted people a nice view of the Exhibition grounds. The solidarity is something Walt would have appreciated. If I can interpret This Moment Yearning and Thoughtful on a broader scale, I think it effectively encapsulates the closeness of these otherwise faraway nations:

 It seems to me there are other men in other lands yearning

            and thoughtful,

It seems to me I can look over and behold them in Germany,

Italy, France, Spain,

Or far, far away, in China, or in Russia or Japan, talking

            Other dialects,

And it seems to me if I could know those men I should

            become attached to them as I do to me in my own

            lands,

O I know we should be brethren and lovers,

I know I should be happy with them.

While Walt never wrote explicitly on the Centennial Exhibition of 1876, I think it’s clear that implicit within this astounding event are many of his ideas: The celebration of the self, of the common worker, progression, invention, the harvest of crops and ideas. He allows himself to stand in wonderment of the fruition of these when he observes the incredible Main Building. And all in all, what is a successful world fair without people coming together?

Statue of Liberty's torch-bearing arm

If I can make an ancillary note here, the only buildings still standing in Fairmount Park from the Centennial Exhibition are the Memorial Hall and Ohio House. Memorial Hall became home to the Please Touch Museum in October 2008 after many years of disuse. The Please Touch Museum includes an extremely fascinating section devoted to the Centennial Exhibition, including a scaled replica of the entire Exhibition grounds. It’s something worth checking out. Ohio House, also abandoned for many years, has been renovated and turned into the Centennial Café, where I can attest to the delicious Turkey Club and Tomato Bisque soup found on the Café’s lunch menu.

 America does not repel the past or what it has produced under its forms or amid other politics or the idea of castes or the old religions. . . .

 -Walt Whitman, Preface to Leaves of Grass

Panorama of Centennial Exhibition Grounds

 Walt originally wrote Song of the Exposition for the Annual Exhibition of the American Institute in 1871, where he also recited it, however it was later taken up by the Centennial Exhibition of 1876. The spirit of the poem was just as relevant.

 The Centennial Exhibition of 1876 was arguable the largest non-war spectacle to ever grace American soil. Between May and November of that year, nearly ten million visitors converged upon West Fairmount Park in Philadelphia to experience what was officially called the International Exhibit of Arts, Manufactures and Products of the Soil and Mine. It brought in over 30,000 firms—9,222 of which were American—to present their goods. Walt certainly would have approved. In I Hear America Singing, he invokes the mechanic, the carpenter, the boatman, the shoemaker, the wood-cutter, “Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else”. Were that the case, the Centennial Exhibition would serve as a choir for America’s workers of industry, agriculture, and manufacture alike, as the country did not only celebrate its Independence with this event, but to showcase the profound progress and accumulation of wealth since then. This is echoed also in Song of the Exposition:

 Mark the spirit of invention everywhere, thy rapid patents,

Thy continual workshops, foundries, risen or rising,

See, from their chimneys how the tall flame-fires stream.

 Mark, thy interminable farms, North, South,

Thy wealthy daughter-states, Eastern and Western,

The varied products of Ohio, Pennsylvania, Missouri,

            Georgia, Texas, and the rest,

Thy limitless crops, grass, wheat, sugar, oil, corn, rice,

            hemp, hops,

Thy barns all fill’d, the endless freight-train and the bulging

            storehouse,

Thy grapes that ripen on thy vines, the apples in thy orchards,

Thy incalculable lumber, beef, pork, potatoes, thy coal, thy

            gold and silver,

The inexhaustible iron in thy mines.

 And while it’s true that agriculture was well represented at the Centennial, it was the inventions that set America far apart from the rest. Sure, the introduction of Heinz ketchup, popcorn, Hires root beer, and bananas to the American public were fascinating and tasty revelations, but couldn’t hold a candle to some other truly world-changing exhibits. For one, a Scottish immigrant, by way of Canada, holding U.S. patent 174,465, unveiled to Exhibition visitors the manifestation of his experiments with sound. Yes, if you were lucky enough to make a trip out to the Centennial Exhibition, you would have seen first hand Alexander Graham Bell’s telephone. The Remington Typographic Machine was also presented, the most efficient and successful typewriter of its time. These two devices ushered in a new era of communication. But the most powerful of all the machines and knickknacks and displays was the Corliss Steam Engine, which powered virtually all of the exhibits in Machinery Hall.

Corliss Steam Engine

 Yes, the Centennial was grand in size and scope. 250 buildings were built on 285 of Fairmount Park’s then 2,740 acres. The five major buildings were the Main Exhibition Building, Machinery Hall, Agricultural Hall, Horticultural Hall, and Memorial Hall.

 Walt marveled the enormity of the Exhibition’s Main Building when he said, “looking up a long while at the grand high roof with its graceful and multitudinous work of iron rods, angles, gray colors, plays of light and shade, receding into dim outlines.” His sentiment was hardly without exaggeration. The Main Building was a colossal achievement as far as architecture goes. The Board of Finance for the Centennial described the extensive amount of components needed to build it: “Some idea of the large amount of material which enters into the requirements of a structure covering 20 acres may be formed from the statement that to complete it 3,928 tons of iron must be rolled and fitted, 237,646 square feet of glass made and set, 1,075,000 square feet of tin roof-sheeting (equal to 24 -5/8 acres welded and spread” (Giberti 85). Indeed, in the end the Main Exhibition Building would cover a ridiculous 21.47 acres after all was said and done. Of that acreage, the American section of the Building, situated in the southeast corner, covered 187,700 square feet, far and away the largest exhibition space of any country. And in keeping with the worldly spirit of things, other countries’ exhibition spaces were laid out in accordance to their geographic closeness to America. Thus, England, France and Canada would be closer, and Japan and China would be on the far outskirts. (Gross and Snyder 29).

Main Exhibition Building

 How long to build such a massive structure? A few years? A decade? No, the idea behind such a building is that it is not meant to be permanent. Most of the building was prefabricated, and set up like a series of sheds right in a row. The process took a mere 18 months, at a cost of $1.78 million—about $26 million today (Gross 29). The breadth of this undertaking might’ve even had Walt thinking twice after writing, “All architecture is what you do to it when you look upon it;/Did you think it was in the white or gray stone? or the lines of the arches and cornices?” (Song of Myself 94).

 The Exhibition also proved to be more than a one-up show of America’s might and a long procession of displays and exhibits. It was an affair of togetherness. It was countries from all over the world, people gathering from all over the world, in one place to impress and amaze with exotic and local wares. In a gesture of solidarity, France constructed for America the Statue of Liberty, which, while not completed and dedicated until 1886, made a partial (literally) appearance at the Centennial. The Statue’s right, torch-bearing arm was a popular sight to see for Exhibition-goers, and for 50 cents you could climb a winding stair to the top. Even standing atop this mere fraction of the Statue of Liberty granted people a nice view of the Exhibition grounds. The solidarity is something Walt would have appreciated. If I can interpret This Moment Yearning and Thoughtful on a broader scale, I think it effectively encapsulates the closeness of these otherwise faraway nations:

 It seems to me there are other men in other lands yearning

            and thoughtful,

It seems to me I can look over and behold them in Germany,

Italy, France, Spain,

Or far, far away, in China, or in Russia or Japan, talking

            Other dialects,

And it seems to me if I could know those men I should

            become attached to them as I do to me in my own

            lands,

O I know we should be brethren and lovers,

I know I should be happy with them.

While Walt never wrote explicitly on the Centennial Exhibition of 1876, I think it’s clear that implicit within this astounding event are many of his ideas: The celebration of the self, of the common worker, progression, invention, the harvest of crops and ideas. He allows himself to stand in wonderment of the fruition of these when he observes the incredible Main Building. And all in all, what is a successful world fair without people coming together?

Statue of Liberty's torch-bearing arm

If I can make an ancillary note here, the only buildings still standing in Fairmount Park from the Centennial Exhibition are the Memorial Hall and Ohio House. Memorial Hall became home to the Please Touch Museum in October 2008 after many years of disuse. The Please Touch Museum includes an extremely fascinating section devoted to the Centennial Exhibition, including a scaled replica of the entire Exhibition grounds. It’s something worth checking out. Ohio House, also abandoned for many years, has been renovated and turned into the Centennial Café, where I can attest to the delicious Turkey Club and Tomato Bisque soup found on the Café’s lunch menu.

 America does not repel the past or what it has produced under its forms or amid other politics or the idea of castes or the old religions. . . .

 -Walt Whitman, Preface to Leaves of Grass

Panorama of Centennial Exhibition Grounds

 Walt originally wrote Song of the Exposition for the Annual Exhibition of the American Institute in 1871, where he also recited it, however it was later taken up by the Centennial Exhibition of 1876. The spirit of the poem was just as relevant.

 The Centennial Exhibition of 1876 was arguable the largest non-war spectacle to ever grace American soil. Between May and November of that year, nearly ten million visitors converged upon West Fairmount Park in Philadelphia to experience what was officially called the International Exhibit of Arts, Manufactures and Products of the Soil and Mine. It brought in over 30,000 firms—9,222 of which were American—to present their goods. Walt certainly would have approved. In I Hear America Singing, he invokes the mechanic, the carpenter, the boatman, the shoemaker, the wood-cutter, “Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else”. Were that the case, the Centennial Exhibition would serve as a choir for America’s workers of industry, agriculture, and manufacture alike, as the country did not only celebrate its Independence with this event, but to showcase the profound progress and accumulation of wealth since then. This is echoed also in Song of the Exposition:

 Mark the spirit of invention everywhere, thy rapid patents,

Thy continual workshops, foundries, risen or rising,

See, from their chimneys how the tall flame-fires stream.

 Mark, thy interminable farms, North, South,

Thy wealthy daughter-states, Eastern and Western,

The varied products of Ohio, Pennsylvania, Missouri,

            Georgia, Texas, and the rest,

Thy limitless crops, grass, wheat, sugar, oil, corn, rice,

            hemp, hops,

Thy barns all fill’d, the endless freight-train and the bulging

            storehouse,

Thy grapes that ripen on thy vines, the apples in thy orchards,

Thy incalculable lumber, beef, pork, potatoes, thy coal, thy

            gold and silver,

The inexhaustible iron in thy mines.

 And while it’s true that agriculture was well represented at the Centennial, it was the inventions that set America far apart from the rest. Sure, the introduction of Heinz ketchup, popcorn, Hires root beer, and bananas to the American public were fascinating and tasty revelations, but couldn’t hold a candle to some other truly world-changing exhibits. For one, a Scottish immigrant, by way of Canada, holding U.S. patent 174,465, unveiled to Exhibition visitors the manifestation of his experiments with sound. Yes, if you were lucky enough to make a trip out to the Centennial Exhibition, you would have seen first hand Alexander Graham Bell’s telephone. The Remington Typographic Machine was also presented, the most efficient and successful typewriter of its time. These two devices ushered in a new era of communication. But the most powerful of all the machines and knickknacks and displays was the Corliss Steam Engine, which powered virtually all of the exhibits in Machinery Hall.

Corliss Steam Engine

 Yes, the Centennial was grand in size and scope. 250 buildings were built on 285 of Fairmount Park’s then 2,740 acres. The five major buildings were the Main Exhibition Building, Machinery Hall, Agricultural Hall, Horticultural Hall, and Memorial Hall.

 Walt marveled the enormity of the Exhibition’s Main Building when he said, “looking up a long while at the grand high roof with its graceful and multitudinous work of iron rods, angles, gray colors, plays of light and shade, receding into dim outlines.” His sentiment was hardly without exaggeration. The Main Building was a colossal achievement as far as architecture goes. The Board of Finance for the Centennial described the extensive amount of components needed to build it: “Some idea of the large amount of material which enters into the requirements of a structure covering 20 acres may be formed from the statement that to complete it 3,928 tons of iron must be rolled and fitted, 237,646 square feet of glass made and set, 1,075,000 square feet of tin roof-sheeting (equal to 24 -5/8 acres welded and spread” (Giberti 85). Indeed, in the end the Main Exhibition Building would cover a ridiculous 21.47 acres after all was said and done. Of that acreage, the American section of the Building, situated in the southeast corner, covered 187,700 square feet, far and away the largest exhibition space of any country. And in keeping with the worldly spirit of things, other countries’ exhibition spaces were laid out in accordance to their geographic closeness to America. Thus, England, France and Canada would be closer, and Japan and China would be on the far outskirts. (Gross and Snyder 29).

Main Exhibition Building

 How long to build such a massive structure? A few years? A decade? No, the idea behind such a building is that it is not meant to be permanent. Most of the building was prefabricated, and set up like a series of sheds right in a row. The process took a mere 18 months, at a cost of $1.78 million—about $26 million today (Gross 29). The breadth of this undertaking might’ve even had Walt thinking twice after writing, “All architecture is what you do to it when you look upon it;/Did you think it was in the white or gray stone? or the lines of the arches and cornices?” (Song of Myself 94).

 The Exhibition also proved to be more than a one-up show of America’s might and a long procession of displays and exhibits. It was an affair of togetherness. It was countries from all over the world, people gathering from all over the world, in one place to impress and amaze with exotic and local wares. In a gesture of solidarity, France constructed for America the Statue of Liberty, which, while not completed and dedicated until 1886, made a partial (literally) appearance at the Centennial. The Statue’s right, torch-bearing arm was a popular sight to see for Exhibition-goers, and for 50 cents you could climb a winding stair to the top. Even standing atop this mere fraction of the Statue of Liberty granted people a nice view of the Exhibition grounds. The solidarity is something Walt would have appreciated. If I can interpret This Moment Yearning and Thoughtful on a broader scale, I think it effectively encapsulates the closeness of these otherwise faraway nations:

 It seems to me there are other men in other lands yearning

            and thoughtful,

It seems to me I can look over and behold them in Germany,

Italy, France, Spain,

Or far, far away, in China, or in Russia or Japan, talking

            Other dialects,

And it seems to me if I could know those men I should

            become attached to them as I do to me in my own

            lands,

O I know we should be brethren and lovers,

I know I should be happy with them.

While Walt never wrote explicitly on the Centennial Exhibition of 1876, I think it’s clear that implicit within this astounding event are many of his ideas: The celebration of the self, of the common worker, progression, invention, the harvest of crops and ideas. He allows himself to stand in wonderment of the fruition of these when he observes the incredible Main Building. And all in all, what is a successful world fair without people coming together?

Statue of Liberty's torch-bearing arm

If I can make an ancillary note here, the only buildings still standing in Fairmount Park from the Centennial Exhibition are the Memorial Hall and Ohio House. Memorial Hall became home to the Please Touch Museum in October 2008 after many years of disuse. The Please Touch Museum includes an extremely fascinating section devoted to the Centennial Exhibition, including a scaled replica of the entire Exhibition grounds. It’s something worth checking out. Ohio House, also abandoned for many years, has been renovated and turned into the Centennial Café, where I can attest to the delicious Turkey Club and Tomato Bisque soup found on the Café’s lunch menu.

 America does not repel the past or what it has produced under its forms or amid other politics or the idea of castes or the old religions. . . .

 -Walt Whitman, Preface to Leaves of Grass

Panorama of Centennial Exhibition Grounds

 Walt originally wrote Song of the Exposition for the Annual Exhibition of the American Institute in 1871, where he also recited it, however it was later taken up by the Centennial Exhibition of 1876. The spirit of the poem was just as relevant.

 The Centennial Exhibition of 1876 was arguable the largest non-war spectacle to ever grace American soil. Between May and November of that year, nearly ten million visitors converged upon West Fairmount Park in Philadelphia to experience what was officially called the International Exhibit of Arts, Manufactures and Products of the Soil and Mine. It brought in over 30,000 firms—9,222 of which were American—to present their goods. Walt certainly would have approved. In I Hear America Singing, he invokes the mechanic, the carpenter, the boatman, the shoemaker, the wood-cutter, “Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else”. Were that the case, the Centennial Exhibition would serve as a choir for America’s workers of industry, agriculture, and manufacture alike, as the country did not only celebrate its Independence with this event, but to showcase the profound progress and accumulation of wealth since then. This is echoed also in Song of the Exposition:

 Mark the spirit of invention everywhere, thy rapid patents,

Thy continual workshops, foundries, risen or rising,

See, from their chimneys how the tall flame-fires stream.

 Mark, thy interminable farms, North, South,

Thy wealthy daughter-states, Eastern and Western,

The varied products of Ohio, Pennsylvania, Missouri,

            Georgia, Texas, and the rest,

Thy limitless crops, grass, wheat, sugar, oil, corn, rice,

            hemp, hops,

Thy barns all fill’d, the endless freight-train and the bulging

            storehouse,

Thy grapes that ripen on thy vines, the apples in thy orchards,

Thy incalculable lumber, beef, pork, potatoes, thy coal, thy

            gold and silver,

The inexhaustible iron in thy mines.

 And while it’s true that agriculture was well represented at the Centennial, it was the inventions that set America far apart from the rest. Sure, the introduction of Heinz ketchup, popcorn, Hires root beer, and bananas to the American public were fascinating and tasty revelations, but couldn’t hold a candle to some other truly world-changing exhibits. For one, a Scottish immigrant, by way of Canada, holding U.S. patent 174,465, unveiled to Exhibition visitors the manifestation of his experiments with sound. Yes, if you were lucky enough to make a trip out to the Centennial Exhibition, you would have seen first hand Alexander Graham Bell’s telephone. The Remington Typographic Machine was also presented, the most efficient and successful typewriter of its time. These two devices ushered in a new era of communication. But the most powerful of all the machines and knickknacks and displays was the Corliss Steam Engine, which powered virtually all of the exhibits in Machinery Hall.

Corliss Steam Engine

 Yes, the Centennial was grand in size and scope. 250 buildings were built on 285 of Fairmount Park’s then 2,740 acres. The five major buildings were the Main Exhibition Building, Machinery Hall, Agricultural Hall, Horticultural Hall, and Memorial Hall.

 Walt marveled the enormity of the Exhibition’s Main Building when he said, “looking up a long while at the grand high roof with its graceful and multitudinous work of iron rods, angles, gray colors, plays of light and shade, receding into dim outlines.” His sentiment was hardly without exaggeration. The Main Building was a colossal achievement as far as architecture goes. The Board of Finance for the Centennial described the extensive amount of components needed to build it: “Some idea of the large amount of material which enters into the requirements of a structure covering 20 acres may be formed from the statement that to complete it 3,928 tons of iron must be rolled and fitted, 237,646 square feet of glass made and set, 1,075,000 square feet of tin roof-sheeting (equal to 24 -5/8 acres welded and spread” (Giberti 85). Indeed, in the end the Main Exhibition Building would cover a ridiculous 21.47 acres after all was said and done. Of that acreage, the American section of the Building, situated in the southeast corner, covered 187,700 square feet, far and away the largest exhibition space of any country. And in keeping with the worldly spirit of things, other countries’ exhibition spaces were laid out in accordance to their geographic closeness to America. Thus, England, France and Canada would be closer, and Japan and China would be on the far outskirts. (Gross and Snyder 29).

Main Exhibition Building

 How long to build such a massive structure? A few years? A decade? No, the idea behind such a building is that it is not meant to be permanent. Most of the building was prefabricated, and set up like a series of sheds right in a row. The process took a mere 18 months, at a cost of $1.78 million—about $26 million today (Gross 29). The breadth of this undertaking might’ve even had Walt thinking twice after writing, “All architecture is what you do to it when you look upon it;/Did you think it was in the white or gray stone? or the lines of the arches and cornices?” (Song of Myself 94).

 The Exhibition also proved to be more than a one-up show of America’s might and a long procession of displays and exhibits. It was an affair of togetherness. It was countries from all over the world, people gathering from all over the world, in one place to impress and amaze with exotic and local wares. In a gesture of solidarity, France constructed for America the Statue of Liberty, which, while not completed and dedicated until 1886, made a partial (literally) appearance at the Centennial. The Statue’s right, torch-bearing arm was a popular sight to see for Exhibition-goers, and for 50 cents you could climb a winding stair to the top. Even standing atop this mere fraction of the Statue of Liberty granted people a nice view of the Exhibition grounds. The solidarity is something Walt would have appreciated. If I can interpret This Moment Yearning and Thoughtful on a broader scale, I think it effectively encapsulates the closeness of these otherwise faraway nations:

 It seems to me there are other men in other lands yearning

            and thoughtful,

It seems to me I can look over and behold them in Germany,

Italy, France, Spain,

Or far, far away, in China, or in Russia or Japan, talking

            Other dialects,

And it seems to me if I could know those men I should

            become attached to them as I do to me in my own

            lands,

O I know we should be brethren and lovers,

I know I should be happy with them.

While Walt never wrote explicitly on the Centennial Exhibition of 1876, I think it’s clear that implicit within this astounding event are many of his ideas: The celebration of the self, of the common worker, progression, invention, the harvest of crops and ideas. He allows himself to stand in wonderment of the fruition of these when he observes the incredible Main Building. And all in all, what is a successful world fair without people coming together?

Statue of Liberty's torch-bearing arm

If I can make an ancillary note here, the only buildings still standing in Fairmount Park from the Centennial Exhibition are the Memorial Hall and Ohio House. Memorial Hall became home to the Please Touch Museum in October 2008 after many years of disuse. The Please Touch Museum includes an extremely fascinating section devoted to the Centennial Exhibition, including a scaled replica of the entire Exhibition grounds. It’s something worth checking out. Ohio House, also abandoned for many years, has been renovated and turned into the Centennial Café, where I can attest to the delicious Turkey Club and Tomato Bisque soup found on the Café’s lunch menu.

 America does not repel the past or what it has produced under its forms or amid other politics or the idea of castes or the old religions. . . .

 -Walt Whitman, Preface to Leaves of Grass

Panorama of Centennial Exhibition Grounds

 Walt originally wrote Song of the Exposition for the Annual Exhibition of the American Institute in 1871, where he also recited it, however it was later taken up by the Centennial Exhibition of 1876. The spirit of the poem was just as relevant.

 The Centennial Exhibition of 1876 was arguable the largest non-war spectacle to ever grace American soil. Between May and November of that year, nearly ten million visitors converged upon West Fairmount Park in Philadelphia to experience what was officially called the International Exhibit of Arts, Manufactures and Products of the Soil and Mine. It brought in over 30,000 firms—9,222 of which were American—to present their goods. Walt certainly would have approved. In I Hear America Singing, he invokes the mechanic, the carpenter, the boatman, the shoemaker, the wood-cutter, “Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else”. Were that the case, the Centennial Exhibition would serve as a choir for America’s workers of industry, agriculture, and manufacture alike, as the country did not only celebrate its Independence with this event, but to showcase the profound progress and accumulation of wealth since then. This is echoed also in Song of the Exposition:

 Mark the spirit of invention everywhere, thy rapid patents,

Thy continual workshops, foundries, risen or rising,

See, from their chimneys how the tall flame-fires stream.

 Mark, thy interminable farms, North, South,

Thy wealthy daughter-states, Eastern and Western,

The varied products of Ohio, Pennsylvania, Missouri,

            Georgia, Texas, and the rest,

Thy limitless crops, grass, wheat, sugar, oil, corn, rice,

            hemp, hops,

Thy barns all fill’d, the endless freight-train and the bulging

            storehouse,

Thy grapes that ripen on thy vines, the apples in thy orchards,

Thy incalculable lumber, beef, pork, potatoes, thy coal, thy

            gold and silver,

The inexhaustible iron in thy mines.

 And while it’s true that agriculture was well represented at the Centennial, it was the inventions that set America far apart from the rest. Sure, the introduction of Heinz ketchup, popcorn, Hires root beer, and bananas to the American public were fascinating and tasty revelations, but couldn’t hold a candle to some other truly world-changing exhibits. For one, a Scottish immigrant, by way of Canada, holding U.S. patent 174,465, unveiled to Exhibition visitors the manifestation of his experiments with sound. Yes, if you were lucky enough to make a trip out to the Centennial Exhibition, you would have seen first hand Alexander Graham Bell’s telephone. The Remington Typographic Machine was also presented, the most efficient and successful typewriter of its time. These two devices ushered in a new era of communication. But the most powerful of all the machines and knickknacks and displays was the Corliss Steam Engine, which powered virtually all of the exhibits in Machinery Hall.

Corliss Steam Engine

 Yes, the Centennial was grand in size and scope. 250 buildings were built on 285 of Fairmount Park’s then 2,740 acres. The five major buildings were the Main Exhibition Building, Machinery Hall, Agricultural Hall, Horticultural Hall, and Memorial Hall.

 Walt marveled the enormity of the Exhibition’s Main Building when he said, “looking up a long while at the grand high roof with its graceful and multitudinous work of iron rods, angles, gray colors, plays of light and shade, receding into dim outlines.” His sentiment was hardly without exaggeration. The Main Building was a colossal achievement as far as architecture goes. The Board of Finance for the Centennial described the extensive amount of components needed to build it: “Some idea of the large amount of material which enters into the requirements of a structure covering 20 acres may be formed from the statement that to complete it 3,928 tons of iron must be rolled and fitted, 237,646 square feet of glass made and set, 1,075,000 square feet of tin roof-sheeting (equal to 24 -5/8 acres welded and spread” (Giberti 85). Indeed, in the end the Main Exhibition Building would cover a ridiculous 21.47 acres after all was said and done. Of that acreage, the American section of the Building, situated in the southeast corner, covered 187,700 square feet, far and away the largest exhibition space of any country. And in keeping with the worldly spirit of things, other countries’ exhibition spaces were laid out in accordance to their geographic closeness to America. Thus, England, France and Canada would be closer, and Japan and China would be on the far outskirts. (Gross and Snyder 29).

Main Exhibition Building

 How long to build such a massive structure? A few years? A decade? No, the idea behind such a building is that it is not meant to be permanent. Most of the building was prefabricated, and set up like a series of sheds right in a row. The process took a mere 18 months, at a cost of $1.78 million—about $26 million today (Gross 29). The breadth of this undertaking might’ve even had Walt thinking twice after writing, “All architecture is what you do to it when you look upon it;/Did you think it was in the white or gray stone? or the lines of the arches and cornices?” (Song of Myself 94).

 The Exhibition also proved to be more than a one-up show of America’s might and a long procession of displays and exhibits. It was an affair of togetherness. It was countries from all over the world, people gathering from all over the world, in one place to impress and amaze with exotic and local wares. In a gesture of solidarity, France constructed for America the Statue of Liberty, which, while not completed and dedicated until 1886, made a partial (literally) appearance at the Centennial. The Statue’s right, torch-bearing arm was a popular sight to see for Exhibition-goers, and for 50 cents you could climb a winding stair to the top. Even standing atop this mere fraction of the Statue of Liberty granted people a nice view of the Exhibition grounds. The solidarity is something Walt would have appreciated. If I can interpret This Moment Yearning and Thoughtful on a broader scale, I think it effectively encapsulates the closeness of these otherwise faraway nations:

 It seems to me there are other men in other lands yearning

            and thoughtful,

It seems to me I can look over and behold them in Germany,

Italy, France, Spain,

Or far, far away, in China, or in Russia or Japan, talking

            Other dialects,

And it seems to me if I could know those men I should

            become attached to them as I do to me in my own

            lands,

O I know we should be brethren and lovers,

I know I should be happy with them.

While Walt never wrote explicitly on the Centennial Exhibition of 1876, I think it’s clear that implicit within this astounding event are many of his ideas: The celebration of the self, of the common worker, progression, invention, the harvest of crops and ideas. He allows himself to stand in wonderment of the fruition of these when he observes the incredible Main Building. And all in all, what is a successful world fair without people coming together?

Statue of Liberty's torch-bearing arm

If I can make an ancillary note here, the only buildings still standing in Fairmount Park from the Centennial Exhibition are the Memorial Hall and Ohio House. Memorial Hall became home to the Please Touch Museum in October 2008 after many years of disuse. The Please Touch Museum includes an extremely fascinating section devoted to the Centennial Exhibition, including a scaled replica of the entire Exhibition grounds. It’s something worth checking out. Ohio House, also abandoned for many years, has been renovated and turned into the Centennial Café, where I can attest to the delicious Turkey Club and Tomato Bisque soup found on the Café’s lunch menu.

In 1882, after realizing the difficulties that come with manning an entire company alone, Campbell enlisted support from his nephew Joseph S. Campbell, his son-in-law Walter Spackman, and Spackman’s close friend Arthur Dorrance, who brought much-needed financial help to the partnership. After building itself up as a solid business, the company—now called the Joseph Campbell Preserve Company—could afford to construct a large factory in the heart of Camden, and in 1896, Campbell and company broadened its production line and started packaging and selling ketchup, plum pudding, and other in-demand condiments and foods. It wasn’t until 1899, however, that the company began producing what it would it eventually be best known for: soup.

Campbell’s Soup production began when Arthur Dorrance’s nephew, John Thompson Dorrance, introduced a new and effective way of canning condensed soup. This innovative method gave Campbell’s and advantage over its soup-canning rivals: while other companies wasted money shipping uncondensed soup, Campbell’s was able to package its products for a fraction of the price. By this time, the prepared foods industry was on the rise; by 1904, Campbell’s boasted annual sales of sixteen million cans of soup, had added Pork and Beans to their inventory of products, and increased the number of varieties of soup from the original five to twenty-one. Also introduced in 1904 were the Campbell Kids:

Very creepy, now that I think about it; but they are recognizable icons nonetheless.

By 1911, Campbell’s had expanded all the way to the opposite coast, selling its products in California. It was one of the very first companies to gain nationwide success. In 1914, John Thompson Dorrance became president of the Joseph Campbell Preserve Company. One of his first orders of business was to concentrate on the production of soup and eliminate the company’s less important products like condiments and jellies. He was also able to increase Campbell’s already impressive sales by advertising that in addition to being eaten alone, their soups could be used to flavor and enhance other foods.

Dorrance was a genius whose sharp mind and innovative ways of thinking were responsible for Campbell’s early success. Knowing that self-reliance was the smartest way to do business, Campbell’s began growing its own produce, namely tomatoes. The company devoted most of the summer months to producing tomato juice and tomato soup. This gamble paid off, because during World War I, nearly half the company’s sales were from these two products alone. In 1915, Campbell’s added another jewel to its crown when it bought the Franco-American Food Company, the first American soup-producing company.

So, what is the connection to Walt Whitman? Well, I’ve searched high and low and haven’t been able to find any interaction between him and any of the Campbell’s Soup forefathers. However, there are obvious parallels between Mr. Whitman and the Joseph A. Campbell Preserve Company. The most apparent one is that they are both American icons that are forever linked with the city of Camden. The Campbell’s Soup can is an instantly-recognizable image thanks to its prominence and long history:

Love Andy Warhol.

Another is that they had ambitions to reach a wide national audience at a time when work was generally confined to one’s local area. A passage from “Drum Taps” comes to mind:

“From Paumanok starting, I fly like a bird,

Around and around to soar, to sing the idea of all;

To the north betaking myself, to sing there arctic songs,

To Kanada, ’till I absorb Kanada in myself—to Michigan then,

To Wisconsin, Iowa, Minnesota, to sing their songs (they are inimitable);

Then to Ohio and Indiana, to sing theirs—to Missouri and Kansas and Arkansas to sing theirs,

To Tennessee and Kentucky—to the Carolinas and Georgia, to sing theirs,

To Texas, and so along up toward California, to roam accepted everywhere;

To sing first (to the tap of the war-drum, if need be)

The idea of all—of the western world, one and inseparable,

And then the song of each member of these States.”

Walt Whitman wants national fame (international, technically, if you include Canada). He’s not the first American poet to achieve legendary status, but many do consider him the greatest (he is given the honor of being “America’s poet” very frequently). It may seem odd to compare a poet to a soup company, but Campbell’s is definitely the same way. Thanks to innovation and ingenuity, Campbell’s managed to outperform its predecessors and competitors and forge a reputation as the most successful soup company in the nation, if not the world. Just as Whitman has managed to overshadow both his contemporaries and his predecessor, Campbell’s manages to maintain its reputation as the greatest name in the soup industry, despite not having been the first.

The city of Camden has garnered a really negative reputation in recent years thanks to crime and poverty. It also has the misfortune of being nestled in the overwhelming shadows of both Philadelphia and New York City. But Walt Whitman and Campbell’s Soup (and let’s not forget RCA) can make a Camdenite swell with town pride.

Works Cited

Salamie, David A. “Campbell Soup Company — Company History” Web – <http://www.fundinguniverse.com/company-histories/Campbell-Soup-Company-Company-History.html>

Whitman, Walt. “Drum Taps”. Whitman Poetry & Prose. Library of America, 1996.

In 1882, after realizing the difficulties that come with manning an entire company alone, Campbell enlisted support from his nephew Joseph S. Campbell, his son-in-law Walter Spackman, and Spackman’s close friend Arthur Dorrance, who brought much-needed financial help to the partnership. After building itself up as a solid business, the company—now called the Joseph Campbell Preserve Company—could afford to construct a large factory in the heart of Camden, and in 1896, Campbell and company broadened its production line and started packaging and selling ketchup, plum pudding, and other in-demand condiments and foods. It wasn’t until 1899, however, that the company began producing what it would it eventually be best known for: soup.

Campbell’s Soup production began when Arthur Dorrance’s nephew, John Thompson Dorrance, introduced a new and effective way of canning condensed soup. This innovative method gave Campbell’s and advantage over its soup-canning rivals: while other companies wasted money shipping uncondensed soup, Campbell’s was able to package its products for a fraction of the price. By this time, the prepared foods industry was on the rise; by 1904, Campbell’s boasted annual sales of sixteen million cans of soup, had added Pork and Beans to their inventory of products, and increased the number of varieties of soup from the original five to twenty-one. Also introduced in 1904 were the Campbell Kids:

Very creepy, now that I think about it; but they are recognizable icons nonetheless.

By 1911, Campbell’s had expanded all the way to the opposite coast, selling its products in California. It was one of the very first companies to gain nationwide success. In 1914, John Thompson Dorrance became president of the Joseph Campbell Preserve Company. One of his first orders of business was to concentrate on the production of soup and eliminate the company’s less important products like condiments and jellies. He was also able to increase Campbell’s already impressive sales by advertising that in addition to being eaten alone, their soups could be used to flavor and enhance other foods.

Dorrance was a genius whose sharp mind and innovative ways of thinking were responsible for Campbell’s early success. Knowing that self-reliance was the smartest way to do business, Campbell’s began growing its own produce, namely tomatoes. The company devoted most of the summer months to producing tomato juice and tomato soup. This gamble paid off, because during World War I, nearly half the company’s sales were from these two products alone. In 1915, Campbell’s added another jewel to its crown when it bought the Franco-American Food Company, the first American soup-producing company.

So, what is the connection to Walt Whitman? Well, I’ve searched high and low and haven’t been able to find any interaction between him and any of the Campbell’s Soup forefathers. However, there are obvious parallels between Mr. Whitman and the Joseph A. Campbell Preserve Company. The most apparent one is that they are both American icons that are forever linked with the city of Camden. The Campbell’s Soup can is an instantly-recognizable image thanks to its prominence and long history:

Love Andy Warhol.

Another is that they had ambitions to reach a wide national audience at a time when work was generally confined to one’s local area. A passage from “Drum Taps” comes to mind:

“From Paumanok starting, I fly like a bird,

Around and around to soar, to sing the idea of all;

To the north betaking myself, to sing there arctic songs,

To Kanada, ’till I absorb Kanada in myself—to Michigan then,

To Wisconsin, Iowa, Minnesota, to sing their songs (they are inimitable);

Then to Ohio and Indiana, to sing theirs—to Missouri and Kansas and Arkansas to sing theirs,

To Tennessee and Kentucky—to the Carolinas and Georgia, to sing theirs,

To Texas, and so along up toward California, to roam accepted everywhere;

To sing first (to the tap of the war-drum, if need be)

The idea of all—of the western world, one and inseparable,

And then the song of each member of these States.”

Walt Whitman wants national fame (international, technically, if you include Canada). He’s not the first American poet to achieve legendary status, but many do consider him the greatest (he is given the honor of being “America’s poet” very frequently). It may seem odd to compare a poet to a soup company, but Campbell’s is definitely the same way. Thanks to innovation and ingenuity, Campbell’s managed to outperform its predecessors and competitors and forge a reputation as the most successful soup company in the nation, if not the world. Just as Whitman has managed to overshadow both his contemporaries and his predecessor, Campbell’s manages to maintain its reputation as the greatest name in the soup industry, despite not having been the first.

The city of Camden has garnered a really negative reputation in recent years thanks to crime and poverty. It also has the misfortune of being nestled in the overwhelming shadows of both Philadelphia and New York City. But Walt Whitman and Campbell’s Soup (and let’s not forget RCA) can make a Camdenite swell with town pride.

Works Cited

Salamie, David A. “Campbell Soup Company — Company History” Web – <http://www.fundinguniverse.com/company-histories/Campbell-Soup-Company-Company-History.html>

Whitman, Walt. “Drum Taps”. Whitman Poetry & Prose. Library of America, 1996.

In 1882, after realizing the difficulties that come with manning an entire company alone, Campbell enlisted support from his nephew Joseph S. Campbell, his son-in-law Walter Spackman, and Spackman’s close friend Arthur Dorrance, who brought much-needed financial help to the partnership. After building itself up as a solid business, the company—now called the Joseph Campbell Preserve Company—could afford to construct a large factory in the heart of Camden, and in 1896, Campbell and company broadened its production line and started packaging and selling ketchup, plum pudding, and other in-demand condiments and foods. It wasn’t until 1899, however, that the company began producing what it would it eventually be best known for: soup.

Campbell’s Soup production began when Arthur Dorrance’s nephew, John Thompson Dorrance, introduced a new and effective way of canning condensed soup. This innovative method gave Campbell’s and advantage over its soup-canning rivals: while other companies wasted money shipping uncondensed soup, Campbell’s was able to package its products for a fraction of the price. By this time, the prepared foods industry was on the rise; by 1904, Campbell’s boasted annual sales of sixteen million cans of soup, had added Pork and Beans to their inventory of products, and increased the number of varieties of soup from the original five to twenty-one. Also introduced in 1904 were the Campbell Kids:

Very creepy, now that I think about it; but they are recognizable icons nonetheless.

By 1911, Campbell’s had expanded all the way to the opposite coast, selling its products in California. It was one of the very first companies to gain nationwide success. In 1914, John Thompson Dorrance became president of the Joseph Campbell Preserve Company. One of his first orders of business was to concentrate on the production of soup and eliminate the company’s less important products like condiments and jellies. He was also able to increase Campbell’s already impressive sales by advertising that in addition to being eaten alone, their soups could be used to flavor and enhance other foods.

Dorrance was a genius whose sharp mind and innovative ways of thinking were responsible for Campbell’s early success. Knowing that self-reliance was the smartest way to do business, Campbell’s began growing its own produce, namely tomatoes. The company devoted most of the summer months to producing tomato juice and tomato soup. This gamble paid off, because during World War I, nearly half the company’s sales were from these two products alone. In 1915, Campbell’s added another jewel to its crown when it bought the Franco-American Food Company, the first American soup-producing company.

So, what is the connection to Walt Whitman? Well, I’ve searched high and low and haven’t been able to find any interaction between him and any of the Campbell’s Soup forefathers. However, there are obvious parallels between Mr. Whitman and the Joseph A. Campbell Preserve Company. The most apparent one is that they are both American icons that are forever linked with the city of Camden. The Campbell’s Soup can is an instantly-recognizable image thanks to its prominence and long history:

Love Andy Warhol.

Another is that they had ambitions to reach a wide national audience at a time when work was generally confined to one’s local area. A passage from “Drum Taps” comes to mind:

“From Paumanok starting, I fly like a bird,

Around and around to soar, to sing the idea of all;

To the north betaking myself, to sing there arctic songs,

To Kanada, ’till I absorb Kanada in myself—to Michigan then,

To Wisconsin, Iowa, Minnesota, to sing their songs (they are inimitable);

Then to Ohio and Indiana, to sing theirs—to Missouri and Kansas and Arkansas to sing theirs,

To Tennessee and Kentucky—to the Carolinas and Georgia, to sing theirs,

To Texas, and so along up toward California, to roam accepted everywhere;

To sing first (to the tap of the war-drum, if need be)

The idea of all—of the western world, one and inseparable,

And then the song of each member of these States.”

Walt Whitman wants national fame (international, technically, if you include Canada). He’s not the first American poet to achieve legendary status, but many do consider him the greatest (he is given the honor of being “America’s poet” very frequently). It may seem odd to compare a poet to a soup company, but Campbell’s is definitely the same way. Thanks to innovation and ingenuity, Campbell’s managed to outperform its predecessors and competitors and forge a reputation as the most successful soup company in the nation, if not the world. Just as Whitman has managed to overshadow both his contemporaries and his predecessor, Campbell’s manages to maintain its reputation as the greatest name in the soup industry, despite not having been the first.

The city of Camden has garnered a really negative reputation in recent years thanks to crime and poverty. It also has the misfortune of being nestled in the overwhelming shadows of both Philadelphia and New York City. But Walt Whitman and Campbell’s Soup (and let’s not forget RCA) can make a Camdenite swell with town pride.

Works Cited

Salamie, David A. “Campbell Soup Company — Company History” Web – <http://www.fundinguniverse.com/company-histories/Campbell-Soup-Company-Company-History.html>

Whitman, Walt. “Drum Taps”. Whitman Poetry & Prose. Library of America, 1996.

Sometime around 1863, Walt Whitman met John Burroughs, became close friends with him, and accepted the gift of a walking stick from him.  This walking stick proves to be very important to Whitman, and its importance demonstrates values of the American culture.

Before Whitman received the walking stick from Burroughs, he was using a cane/walking stick of his own, probably as a fashion accessory.  This establishes the importance walking sticks have in Whitman’s life in general.  In 1841 Whitman used a cane.  The first picture shows him professionally dressed, and the description indicates the cane was part of that look.  The image of Whitman in the photo matches the description given in the PBS special American Experience:  Walt Whitman:

He dresses in a white collar with a vest, walking stick, a big floppy Fedora, and tries to pass for a professional man of letters. And he gets into doors on the basis of how he appears. It’s not his Harvard pedigree. He doesn’t have one. What he has is the force of his personality and how he appears (Allan Gurganus).

Comparing the description from this short film and the image in the photo, it seems Whitman continued to dress professionally as he needed to be taken seriously.  The cane/walking stick is part of this image.  This indicates that the poet showed an affinity for walking sticks and would appreciate one as a present.

Whitman as a youth

In 1863, Whitman met John Burroughs, who quickly became one of his closest friends and a major part of his support system.  Sometime after that, Burroughs gave Whitman a walking stick made out of calamus root and cleverly inscribed (Library of Congress).  This indicates the closeness between the poet and his friend—Burroughs purposely chose the calamus root as the basis for the walking stick to refer to his book of poetry Calamus, which was published for the first time in the 1860 edition of Leaves of Grass.

Whether Whitman used this particular walking stick to support him while walking or not is unclear.  During his years at Camden, Whitman’s health was failing, and there are many examples in his prose of “hobbling,” which would indicate the use of some aid.  If we trace the trajectory of walking sticks in Whitman’s life, (such an undertaking is speculation at best) we would probably come to the conclusion that Whitman went from carrying walking sticks/canes as fashion accessories (1840s in New York) to using them to remain ambulatory in his later years in Camden.  In “A Sun-Bath—Nakedness,” Whitman writes, “Another day quite free from mark’d prostration and pain.  It seems indeed as if peace and nutriment from heaven subtly filter into me as I slowly hobble down these country lanes and across fields” (830).  In this work of prose, Whitman indicates openly that he has been suffering from pain recently, but is enjoying a day without pain, but still has trouble walking, so he moves slowly, hobbling.  Between this passage and the fact that many pictures of Whitman’s final years, featured on Whitman’s Archives, display a cane prominently, it is probably safe to say the poet was using a walking stick—at least until paralysis forced him into a wheel-chair.  However, it is unclear whether he actually used Burroughs’s gift.

Whitman in old age

The typically intended use of this gift for support is symbolic of the relationship between Burroughs and Whitman.  Burroughs was always behind Whitman, as a friend, admirer, and disciple.  He—and Whitman’s other disciples—would rush to Whitman’s defense when critics attacked Whitman’s work.  He wrote the first biography of the poet; although, its accuracy is questionable.  Burroughs proves to be a loyal friend, showing Whitman in the best possible light—and conveniently neglecting certain aspects of the poet’s life and personality—which makes him a nonobjective biographer, but a very supportive friend.  In Walt Whitman’s America:  A Cultural Biography, David Reynolds writes, “Burroughs failed to mention Whitman’s churlish side—evidenced, for instance, by an incident on a Washington streetcar in which the poet reportedly got into an angry scuffle with a carpetbag senator” (Reynolds 460).  Burroughs also wrote reviews for Whitman’s work, often defending him from other critics.  In his review of Drum Taps, Burroughs wrote, “He has been sneered at an mocked and ridiculed; he has been cursed and caricatured and persecuted, and instead of retorting in a like strain, or growing embittered or misanthropic, he has preserved his serenity and good nature under all” (qtd. in Reynolds 459).   In other words, if Whitman needed some support from a friend, Burroughs was there—and so was the walking stick if he needed it.

This walking stick must have been very special to Whitman because it was very well preserved—and now is part of the Library of Congress’s collection.  At some point, Whitman must’ve decided to preserve the treasured gift and switch to a less precious cane:  In later years, Whitman is pictured often with a cane, but it isn’t the one Burroughs gave him.  As you can see in the pictures, the walking stick gift doesn’t have the cane shaped top, but the ones in the later photos do.  This fact—and the fact that the present is in fine condition and now a part of America’s history—indicates that Whitman valued his friend’s gift very highly, but stopped using it—if he ever used it.

Now, what does this say about America’s culture?  The gift itself is practical, thoughtful, and symbolic of the relationship between giver and receiver. Burroughs obviously put a lot of thought into the gift, by choosing something of practical use and referring to the poet’s work.  Such a practical, thoughtful, and symbolic gift indicates the importance of gift-giving in American culture.  Sometimes, we give or receive presents that demonstrate the amount of thought that went into choosing them; other times, presents illustrate little or no thought, but they are always appreciated.

The way the gift was preserved is also indicative of American culture.  Whitman chose to keep something—a material object—that he was no longer using because he considered it important to him, and his friend, that he keep it.  Americans tend to horde their belongings.  How many books and TV shows are out there about clutter, and how to organize our stuff?  Clearly, Americans like to have a lot of stuff, and keep it forever.  Whitman kept what was important to him, and I can understand this.  I still have the note from a friend that came with a vase of flowers, which have long since died.  Do I have any practical use for the note?  No, but it’s important to me because it came from a friend, and so I will probably keep it forever.  I’m sure you all have a story—and a present—similar to mine and Whitman’s.  As Americans, we place symbolic importance on material objects, and seek to preserve those objects.

The concept of a walking stick also indicates a culture that places great emphasis on mobility.  When age and/or disability keep individuals from being mobile, they rely on aids to improve their mobility.  Assuming Whitman used a walking stick during his days of hobbling, he needed that device to remain ambulatory so he could experience nature in its full glory and write poetry and prose.  The poet would have been unable to write as effectively, for as long as he did, if he couldn’t move—even if it was more of a hobble.  In our culture, our livelihoods typically rely on our being mobile—either by our own means or through the use of crutches, walking-sticks/canes, wheel-chairs, etc.

The walking stick is important in our study of Whitman, our understanding of his friendship with Burroughs, and our understanding of the importance of gift-giving, hoarding belongings, friendships, and mobility.

Works Cited

American Experience:  Walt Whitman. Dir. Mark Zwonitzer. Patrick Long Productions, 2008.PBS. Web. 22 Oct. 2009.

Morand, Augustus. Walt Whitman # 068. 1878.  The Walt Whitman Archive: Pictures and Sound. Web. 22 Oct. 2009.

Papers of Walt Whitman in the Charles E. Feinberg Collection. Manuscript Div., Lib. Of Cong.  Feinberg-Whitman Collection. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America:  A Cultural Biography. New York:  Vintage, 1995. Print.

Walking Stick. Library of Congress.  American Treasures:  Revising Himself: Walt Whitman and Leaves of Grass. Web. 19 Oct. 2009.

Walt Whitman # 002. 1848-1854. The Walt Whitman Archive:  Pictures and Sound. Web. 22 Oct. 2009.

Whitman, Walt. “A Sun Bath—Nakedness.” Whitman:  Poetry and Prose. New York:  Library of America College Editions, 1996. 830-832. Print.

Sometime around 1863, Walt Whitman met John Burroughs, became close friends with him, and accepted the gift of a walking stick from him.  This walking stick proves to be very important to Whitman, and its importance demonstrates values of the American culture.

Before Whitman received the walking stick from Burroughs, he was using a cane/walking stick of his own, probably as a fashion accessory.  This establishes the importance walking sticks have in Whitman’s life in general.  In 1841 Whitman used a cane.  The first picture shows him professionally dressed, and the description indicates the cane was part of that look.  The image of Whitman in the photo matches the description given in the PBS special American Experience:  Walt Whitman:

He dresses in a white collar with a vest, walking stick, a big floppy Fedora, and tries to pass for a professional man of letters. And he gets into doors on the basis of how he appears. It’s not his Harvard pedigree. He doesn’t have one. What he has is the force of his personality and how he appears (Allan Gurganus).

Comparing the description from this short film and the image in the photo, it seems Whitman continued to dress professionally as he needed to be taken seriously.  The cane/walking stick is part of this image.  This indicates that the poet showed an affinity for walking sticks and would appreciate one as a present.

Whitman as a youth

In 1863, Whitman met John Burroughs, who quickly became one of his closest friends and a major part of his support system.  Sometime after that, Burroughs gave Whitman a walking stick made out of calamus root and cleverly inscribed (Library of Congress).  This indicates the closeness between the poet and his friend—Burroughs purposely chose the calamus root as the basis for the walking stick to refer to his book of poetry Calamus, which was published for the first time in the 1860 edition of Leaves of Grass.

Whether Whitman used this particular walking stick to support him while walking or not is unclear.  During his years at Camden, Whitman’s health was failing, and there are many examples in his prose of “hobbling,” which would indicate the use of some aid.  If we trace the trajectory of walking sticks in Whitman’s life, (such an undertaking is speculation at best) we would probably come to the conclusion that Whitman went from carrying walking sticks/canes as fashion accessories (1840s in New York) to using them to remain ambulatory in his later years in Camden.  In “A Sun-Bath—Nakedness,” Whitman writes, “Another day quite free from mark’d prostration and pain.  It seems indeed as if peace and nutriment from heaven subtly filter into me as I slowly hobble down these country lanes and across fields” (830).  In this work of prose, Whitman indicates openly that he has been suffering from pain recently, but is enjoying a day without pain, but still has trouble walking, so he moves slowly, hobbling.  Between this passage and the fact that many pictures of Whitman’s final years, featured on Whitman’s Archives, display a cane prominently, it is probably safe to say the poet was using a walking stick—at least until paralysis forced him into a wheel-chair.  However, it is unclear whether he actually used Burroughs’s gift.

Whitman in old age

The typically intended use of this gift for support is symbolic of the relationship between Burroughs and Whitman.  Burroughs was always behind Whitman, as a friend, admirer, and disciple.  He—and Whitman’s other disciples—would rush to Whitman’s defense when critics attacked Whitman’s work.  He wrote the first biography of the poet; although, its accuracy is questionable.  Burroughs proves to be a loyal friend, showing Whitman in the best possible light—and conveniently neglecting certain aspects of the poet’s life and personality—which makes him a nonobjective biographer, but a very supportive friend.  In Walt Whitman’s America:  A Cultural Biography, David Reynolds writes, “Burroughs failed to mention Whitman’s churlish side—evidenced, for instance, by an incident on a Washington streetcar in which the poet reportedly got into an angry scuffle with a carpetbag senator” (Reynolds 460).  Burroughs also wrote reviews for Whitman’s work, often defending him from other critics.  In his review of Drum Taps, Burroughs wrote, “He has been sneered at an mocked and ridiculed; he has been cursed and caricatured and persecuted, and instead of retorting in a like strain, or growing embittered or misanthropic, he has preserved his serenity and good nature under all” (qtd. in Reynolds 459).   In other words, if Whitman needed some support from a friend, Burroughs was there—and so was the walking stick if he needed it.

This walking stick must have been very special to Whitman because it was very well preserved—and now is part of the Library of Congress’s collection.  At some point, Whitman must’ve decided to preserve the treasured gift and switch to a less precious cane:  In later years, Whitman is pictured often with a cane, but it isn’t the one Burroughs gave him.  As you can see in the pictures, the walking stick gift doesn’t have the cane shaped top, but the ones in the later photos do.  This fact—and the fact that the present is in fine condition and now a part of America’s history—indicates that Whitman valued his friend’s gift very highly, but stopped using it—if he ever used it.

Now, what does this say about America’s culture?  The gift itself is practical, thoughtful, and symbolic of the relationship between giver and receiver. Burroughs obviously put a lot of thought into the gift, by choosing something of practical use and referring to the poet’s work.  Such a practical, thoughtful, and symbolic gift indicates the importance of gift-giving in American culture.  Sometimes, we give or receive presents that demonstrate the amount of thought that went into choosing them; other times, presents illustrate little or no thought, but they are always appreciated.

The way the gift was preserved is also indicative of American culture.  Whitman chose to keep something—a material object—that he was no longer using because he considered it important to him, and his friend, that he keep it.  Americans tend to horde their belongings.  How many books and TV shows are out there about clutter, and how to organize our stuff?  Clearly, Americans like to have a lot of stuff, and keep it forever.  Whitman kept what was important to him, and I can understand this.  I still have the note from a friend that came with a vase of flowers, which have long since died.  Do I have any practical use for the note?  No, but it’s important to me because it came from a friend, and so I will probably keep it forever.  I’m sure you all have a story—and a present—similar to mine and Whitman’s.  As Americans, we place symbolic importance on material objects, and seek to preserve those objects.

The concept of a walking stick also indicates a culture that places great emphasis on mobility.  When age and/or disability keep individuals from being mobile, they rely on aids to improve their mobility.  Assuming Whitman used a walking stick during his days of hobbling, he needed that device to remain ambulatory so he could experience nature in its full glory and write poetry and prose.  The poet would have been unable to write as effectively, for as long as he did, if he couldn’t move—even if it was more of a hobble.  In our culture, our livelihoods typically rely on our being mobile—either by our own means or through the use of crutches, walking-sticks/canes, wheel-chairs, etc.

The walking stick is important in our study of Whitman, our understanding of his friendship with Burroughs, and our understanding of the importance of gift-giving, hoarding belongings, friendships, and mobility.

Works Cited

American Experience:  Walt Whitman. Dir. Mark Zwonitzer. Patrick Long Productions, 2008.PBS. Web. 22 Oct. 2009.

Morand, Augustus. Walt Whitman # 068. 1878.  The Walt Whitman Archive: Pictures and Sound. Web. 22 Oct. 2009.

Papers of Walt Whitman in the Charles E. Feinberg Collection. Manuscript Div., Lib. Of Cong.  Feinberg-Whitman Collection. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America:  A Cultural Biography. New York:  Vintage, 1995. Print.

Walking Stick. Library of Congress.  American Treasures:  Revising Himself: Walt Whitman and Leaves of Grass. Web. 19 Oct. 2009.

Walt Whitman # 002. 1848-1854. The Walt Whitman Archive:  Pictures and Sound. Web. 22 Oct. 2009.

Whitman, Walt. “A Sun Bath—Nakedness.” Whitman:  Poetry and Prose. New York:  Library of America College Editions, 1996. 830-832. Print.

Sometime around 1863, Walt Whitman met John Burroughs, became close friends with him, and accepted the gift of a walking stick from him.  This walking stick proves to be very important to Whitman, and its importance demonstrates values of the American culture.

Before Whitman received the walking stick from Burroughs, he was using a cane/walking stick of his own, probably as a fashion accessory.  This establishes the importance walking sticks have in Whitman’s life in general.  In 1841 Whitman used a cane.  The first picture shows him professionally dressed, and the description indicates the cane was part of that look.  The image of Whitman in the photo matches the description given in the PBS special American Experience:  Walt Whitman:

He dresses in a white collar with a vest, walking stick, a big floppy Fedora, and tries to pass for a professional man of letters. And he gets into doors on the basis of how he appears. It’s not his Harvard pedigree. He doesn’t have one. What he has is the force of his personality and how he appears (Allan Gurganus).

Comparing the description from this short film and the image in the photo, it seems Whitman continued to dress professionally as he needed to be taken seriously.  The cane/walking stick is part of this image.  This indicates that the poet showed an affinity for walking sticks and would appreciate one as a present.

Whitman as a youth

In 1863, Whitman met John Burroughs, who quickly became one of his closest friends and a major part of his support system.  Sometime after that, Burroughs gave Whitman a walking stick made out of calamus root and cleverly inscribed (Library of Congress).  This indicates the closeness between the poet and his friend—Burroughs purposely chose the calamus root as the basis for the walking stick to refer to his book of poetry Calamus, which was published for the first time in the 1860 edition of Leaves of Grass.

Whether Whitman used this particular walking stick to support him while walking or not is unclear.  During his years at Camden, Whitman’s health was failing, and there are many examples in his prose of “hobbling,” which would indicate the use of some aid.  If we trace the trajectory of walking sticks in Whitman’s life, (such an undertaking is speculation at best) we would probably come to the conclusion that Whitman went from carrying walking sticks/canes as fashion accessories (1840s in New York) to using them to remain ambulatory in his later years in Camden.  In “A Sun-Bath—Nakedness,” Whitman writes, “Another day quite free from mark’d prostration and pain.  It seems indeed as if peace and nutriment from heaven subtly filter into me as I slowly hobble down these country lanes and across fields” (830).  In this work of prose, Whitman indicates openly that he has been suffering from pain recently, but is enjoying a day without pain, but still has trouble walking, so he moves slowly, hobbling.  Between this passage and the fact that many pictures of Whitman’s final years, featured on Whitman’s Archives, display a cane prominently, it is probably safe to say the poet was using a walking stick—at least until paralysis forced him into a wheel-chair.  However, it is unclear whether he actually used Burroughs’s gift.

Whitman in old age

The typically intended use of this gift for support is symbolic of the relationship between Burroughs and Whitman.  Burroughs was always behind Whitman, as a friend, admirer, and disciple.  He—and Whitman’s other disciples—would rush to Whitman’s defense when critics attacked Whitman’s work.  He wrote the first biography of the poet; although, its accuracy is questionable.  Burroughs proves to be a loyal friend, showing Whitman in the best possible light—and conveniently neglecting certain aspects of the poet’s life and personality—which makes him a nonobjective biographer, but a very supportive friend.  In Walt Whitman’s America:  A Cultural Biography, David Reynolds writes, “Burroughs failed to mention Whitman’s churlish side—evidenced, for instance, by an incident on a Washington streetcar in which the poet reportedly got into an angry scuffle with a carpetbag senator” (Reynolds 460).  Burroughs also wrote reviews for Whitman’s work, often defending him from other critics.  In his review of Drum Taps, Burroughs wrote, “He has been sneered at an mocked and ridiculed; he has been cursed and caricatured and persecuted, and instead of retorting in a like strain, or growing embittered or misanthropic, he has preserved his serenity and good nature under all” (qtd. in Reynolds 459).   In other words, if Whitman needed some support from a friend, Burroughs was there—and so was the walking stick if he needed it.

This walking stick must have been very special to Whitman because it was very well preserved—and now is part of the Library of Congress’s collection.  At some point, Whitman must’ve decided to preserve the treasured gift and switch to a less precious cane:  In later years, Whitman is pictured often with a cane, but it isn’t the one Burroughs gave him.  As you can see in the pictures, the walking stick gift doesn’t have the cane shaped top, but the ones in the later photos do.  This fact—and the fact that the present is in fine condition and now a part of America’s history—indicates that Whitman valued his friend’s gift very highly, but stopped using it—if he ever used it.

Now, what does this say about America’s culture?  The gift itself is practical, thoughtful, and symbolic of the relationship between giver and receiver. Burroughs obviously put a lot of thought into the gift, by choosing something of practical use and referring to the poet’s work.  Such a practical, thoughtful, and symbolic gift indicates the importance of gift-giving in American culture.  Sometimes, we give or receive presents that demonstrate the amount of thought that went into choosing them; other times, presents illustrate little or no thought, but they are always appreciated.

The way the gift was preserved is also indicative of American culture.  Whitman chose to keep something—a material object—that he was no longer using because he considered it important to him, and his friend, that he keep it.  Americans tend to horde their belongings.  How many books and TV shows are out there about clutter, and how to organize our stuff?  Clearly, Americans like to have a lot of stuff, and keep it forever.  Whitman kept what was important to him, and I can understand this.  I still have the note from a friend that came with a vase of flowers, which have long since died.  Do I have any practical use for the note?  No, but it’s important to me because it came from a friend, and so I will probably keep it forever.  I’m sure you all have a story—and a present—similar to mine and Whitman’s.  As Americans, we place symbolic importance on material objects, and seek to preserve those objects.

The concept of a walking stick also indicates a culture that places great emphasis on mobility.  When age and/or disability keep individuals from being mobile, they rely on aids to improve their mobility.  Assuming Whitman used a walking stick during his days of hobbling, he needed that device to remain ambulatory so he could experience nature in its full glory and write poetry and prose.  The poet would have been unable to write as effectively, for as long as he did, if he couldn’t move—even if it was more of a hobble.  In our culture, our livelihoods typically rely on our being mobile—either by our own means or through the use of crutches, walking-sticks/canes, wheel-chairs, etc.

The walking stick is important in our study of Whitman, our understanding of his friendship with Burroughs, and our understanding of the importance of gift-giving, hoarding belongings, friendships, and mobility.

Works Cited

American Experience:  Walt Whitman. Dir. Mark Zwonitzer. Patrick Long Productions, 2008.PBS. Web. 22 Oct. 2009.

Morand, Augustus. Walt Whitman # 068. 1878.  The Walt Whitman Archive: Pictures and Sound. Web. 22 Oct. 2009.

Papers of Walt Whitman in the Charles E. Feinberg Collection. Manuscript Div., Lib. Of Cong.  Feinberg-Whitman Collection. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America:  A Cultural Biography. New York:  Vintage, 1995. Print.

Walking Stick. Library of Congress.  American Treasures:  Revising Himself: Walt Whitman and Leaves of Grass. Web. 19 Oct. 2009.

Walt Whitman # 002. 1848-1854. The Walt Whitman Archive:  Pictures and Sound. Web. 22 Oct. 2009.

Whitman, Walt. “A Sun Bath—Nakedness.” Whitman:  Poetry and Prose. New York:  Library of America College Editions, 1996. 830-832. Print.

Sometime around 1863, Walt Whitman met John Burroughs, became close friends with him, and accepted the gift of a walking stick from him.  This walking stick proves to be very important to Whitman, and its importance demonstrates values of the American culture.

Before Whitman received the walking stick from Burroughs, he was using a cane/walking stick of his own, probably as a fashion accessory.  This establishes the importance walking sticks have in Whitman’s life in general.  In 1841 Whitman used a cane.  The first picture shows him professionally dressed, and the description indicates the cane was part of that look.  The image of Whitman in the photo matches the description given in the PBS special American Experience:  Walt Whitman:

He dresses in a white collar with a vest, walking stick, a big floppy Fedora, and tries to pass for a professional man of letters. And he gets into doors on the basis of how he appears. It’s not his Harvard pedigree. He doesn’t have one. What he has is the force of his personality and how he appears (Allan Gurganus).

Comparing the description from this short film and the image in the photo, it seems Whitman continued to dress professionally as he needed to be taken seriously.  The cane/walking stick is part of this image.  This indicates that the poet showed an affinity for walking sticks and would appreciate one as a present.

Whitman as a youth

In 1863, Whitman met John Burroughs, who quickly became one of his closest friends and a major part of his support system.  Sometime after that, Burroughs gave Whitman a walking stick made out of calamus root and cleverly inscribed (Library of Congress).  This indicates the closeness between the poet and his friend—Burroughs purposely chose the calamus root as the basis for the walking stick to refer to his book of poetry Calamus, which was published for the first time in the 1860 edition of Leaves of Grass.

Whether Whitman used this particular walking stick to support him while walking or not is unclear.  During his years at Camden, Whitman’s health was failing, and there are many examples in his prose of “hobbling,” which would indicate the use of some aid.  If we trace the trajectory of walking sticks in Whitman’s life, (such an undertaking is speculation at best) we would probably come to the conclusion that Whitman went from carrying walking sticks/canes as fashion accessories (1840s in New York) to using them to remain ambulatory in his later years in Camden.  In “A Sun-Bath—Nakedness,” Whitman writes, “Another day quite free from mark’d prostration and pain.  It seems indeed as if peace and nutriment from heaven subtly filter into me as I slowly hobble down these country lanes and across fields” (830).  In this work of prose, Whitman indicates openly that he has been suffering from pain recently, but is enjoying a day without pain, but still has trouble walking, so he moves slowly, hobbling.  Between this passage and the fact that many pictures of Whitman’s final years, featured on Whitman’s Archives, display a cane prominently, it is probably safe to say the poet was using a walking stick—at least until paralysis forced him into a wheel-chair.  However, it is unclear whether he actually used Burroughs’s gift.

Whitman in old age

The typically intended use of this gift for support is symbolic of the relationship between Burroughs and Whitman.  Burroughs was always behind Whitman, as a friend, admirer, and disciple.  He—and Whitman’s other disciples—would rush to Whitman’s defense when critics attacked Whitman’s work.  He wrote the first biography of the poet; although, its accuracy is questionable.  Burroughs proves to be a loyal friend, showing Whitman in the best possible light—and conveniently neglecting certain aspects of the poet’s life and personality—which makes him a nonobjective biographer, but a very supportive friend.  In Walt Whitman’s America:  A Cultural Biography, David Reynolds writes, “Burroughs failed to mention Whitman’s churlish side—evidenced, for instance, by an incident on a Washington streetcar in which the poet reportedly got into an angry scuffle with a carpetbag senator” (Reynolds 460).  Burroughs also wrote reviews for Whitman’s work, often defending him from other critics.  In his review of Drum Taps, Burroughs wrote, “He has been sneered at an mocked and ridiculed; he has been cursed and caricatured and persecuted, and instead of retorting in a like strain, or growing embittered or misanthropic, he has preserved his serenity and good nature under all” (qtd. in Reynolds 459).   In other words, if Whitman needed some support from a friend, Burroughs was there—and so was the walking stick if he needed it.

This walking stick must have been very special to Whitman because it was very well preserved—and now is part of the Library of Congress’s collection.  At some point, Whitman must’ve decided to preserve the treasured gift and switch to a less precious cane:  In later years, Whitman is pictured often with a cane, but it isn’t the one Burroughs gave him.  As you can see in the pictures, the walking stick gift doesn’t have the cane shaped top, but the ones in the later photos do.  This fact—and the fact that the present is in fine condition and now a part of America’s history—indicates that Whitman valued his friend’s gift very highly, but stopped using it—if he ever used it.

Now, what does this say about America’s culture?  The gift itself is practical, thoughtful, and symbolic of the relationship between giver and receiver. Burroughs obviously put a lot of thought into the gift, by choosing something of practical use and referring to the poet’s work.  Such a practical, thoughtful, and symbolic gift indicates the importance of gift-giving in American culture.  Sometimes, we give or receive presents that demonstrate the amount of thought that went into choosing them; other times, presents illustrate little or no thought, but they are always appreciated.

The way the gift was preserved is also indicative of American culture.  Whitman chose to keep something—a material object—that he was no longer using because he considered it important to him, and his friend, that he keep it.  Americans tend to horde their belongings.  How many books and TV shows are out there about clutter, and how to organize our stuff?  Clearly, Americans like to have a lot of stuff, and keep it forever.  Whitman kept what was important to him, and I can understand this.  I still have the note from a friend that came with a vase of flowers, which have long since died.  Do I have any practical use for the note?  No, but it’s important to me because it came from a friend, and so I will probably keep it forever.  I’m sure you all have a story—and a present—similar to mine and Whitman’s.  As Americans, we place symbolic importance on material objects, and seek to preserve those objects.

The concept of a walking stick also indicates a culture that places great emphasis on mobility.  When age and/or disability keep individuals from being mobile, they rely on aids to improve their mobility.  Assuming Whitman used a walking stick during his days of hobbling, he needed that device to remain ambulatory so he could experience nature in its full glory and write poetry and prose.  The poet would have been unable to write as effectively, for as long as he did, if he couldn’t move—even if it was more of a hobble.  In our culture, our livelihoods typically rely on our being mobile—either by our own means or through the use of crutches, walking-sticks/canes, wheel-chairs, etc.

The walking stick is important in our study of Whitman, our understanding of his friendship with Burroughs, and our understanding of the importance of gift-giving, hoarding belongings, friendships, and mobility.

Works Cited

American Experience:  Walt Whitman. Dir. Mark Zwonitzer. Patrick Long Productions, 2008.PBS. Web. 22 Oct. 2009.

Morand, Augustus. Walt Whitman # 068. 1878.  The Walt Whitman Archive: Pictures and Sound. Web. 22 Oct. 2009.

Papers of Walt Whitman in the Charles E. Feinberg Collection. Manuscript Div., Lib. Of Cong.  Feinberg-Whitman Collection. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America:  A Cultural Biography. New York:  Vintage, 1995. Print.

Walking Stick. Library of Congress.  American Treasures:  Revising Himself: Walt Whitman and Leaves of Grass. Web. 19 Oct. 2009.

Walt Whitman # 002. 1848-1854. The Walt Whitman Archive:  Pictures and Sound. Web. 22 Oct. 2009.

Whitman, Walt. “A Sun Bath—Nakedness.” Whitman:  Poetry and Prose. New York:  Library of America College Editions, 1996. 830-832. Print.

Sometime around 1863, Walt Whitman met John Burroughs, became close friends with him, and accepted the gift of a walking stick from him.  This walking stick proves to be very important to Whitman, and its importance demonstrates values of the American culture.

Before Whitman received the walking stick from Burroughs, he was using a cane/walking stick of his own, probably as a fashion accessory.  This establishes the importance walking sticks have in Whitman’s life in general.  In 1841 Whitman used a cane.  The first picture shows him professionally dressed, and the description indicates the cane was part of that look.  The image of Whitman in the photo matches the description given in the PBS special American Experience:  Walt Whitman:

He dresses in a white collar with a vest, walking stick, a big floppy Fedora, and tries to pass for a professional man of letters. And he gets into doors on the basis of how he appears. It’s not his Harvard pedigree. He doesn’t have one. What he has is the force of his personality and how he appears (Allan Gurganus).

Comparing the description from this short film and the image in the photo, it seems Whitman continued to dress professionally as he needed to be taken seriously.  The cane/walking stick is part of this image.  This indicates that the poet showed an affinity for walking sticks and would appreciate one as a present.

Whitman as a youth

In 1863, Whitman met John Burroughs, who quickly became one of his closest friends and a major part of his support system.  Sometime after that, Burroughs gave Whitman a walking stick made out of calamus root and cleverly inscribed (Library of Congress).  This indicates the closeness between the poet and his friend—Burroughs purposely chose the calamus root as the basis for the walking stick to refer to his book of poetry Calamus, which was published for the first time in the 1860 edition of Leaves of Grass.

Whether Whitman used this particular walking stick to support him while walking or not is unclear.  During his years at Camden, Whitman’s health was failing, and there are many examples in his prose of “hobbling,” which would indicate the use of some aid.  If we trace the trajectory of walking sticks in Whitman’s life, (such an undertaking is speculation at best) we would probably come to the conclusion that Whitman went from carrying walking sticks/canes as fashion accessories (1840s in New York) to using them to remain ambulatory in his later years in Camden.  In “A Sun-Bath—Nakedness,” Whitman writes, “Another day quite free from mark’d prostration and pain.  It seems indeed as if peace and nutriment from heaven subtly filter into me as I slowly hobble down these country lanes and across fields” (830).  In this work of prose, Whitman indicates openly that he has been suffering from pain recently, but is enjoying a day without pain, but still has trouble walking, so he moves slowly, hobbling.  Between this passage and the fact that many pictures of Whitman’s final years, featured on Whitman’s Archives, display a cane prominently, it is probably safe to say the poet was using a walking stick—at least until paralysis forced him into a wheel-chair.  However, it is unclear whether he actually used Burroughs’s gift.

Whitman in old age

The typically intended use of this gift for support is symbolic of the relationship between Burroughs and Whitman.  Burroughs was always behind Whitman, as a friend, admirer, and disciple.  He—and Whitman’s other disciples—would rush to Whitman’s defense when critics attacked Whitman’s work.  He wrote the first biography of the poet; although, its accuracy is questionable.  Burroughs proves to be a loyal friend, showing Whitman in the best possible light—and conveniently neglecting certain aspects of the poet’s life and personality—which makes him a nonobjective biographer, but a very supportive friend.  In Walt Whitman’s America:  A Cultural Biography, David Reynolds writes, “Burroughs failed to mention Whitman’s churlish side—evidenced, for instance, by an incident on a Washington streetcar in which the poet reportedly got into an angry scuffle with a carpetbag senator” (Reynolds 460).  Burroughs also wrote reviews for Whitman’s work, often defending him from other critics.  In his review of Drum Taps, Burroughs wrote, “He has been sneered at an mocked and ridiculed; he has been cursed and caricatured and persecuted, and instead of retorting in a like strain, or growing embittered or misanthropic, he has preserved his serenity and good nature under all” (qtd. in Reynolds 459).   In other words, if Whitman needed some support from a friend, Burroughs was there—and so was the walking stick if he needed it.

This walking stick must have been very special to Whitman because it was very well preserved—and now is part of the Library of Congress’s collection.  At some point, Whitman must’ve decided to preserve the treasured gift and switch to a less precious cane:  In later years, Whitman is pictured often with a cane, but it isn’t the one Burroughs gave him.  As you can see in the pictures, the walking stick gift doesn’t have the cane shaped top, but the ones in the later photos do.  This fact—and the fact that the present is in fine condition and now a part of America’s history—indicates that Whitman valued his friend’s gift very highly, but stopped using it—if he ever used it.

Now, what does this say about America’s culture?  The gift itself is practical, thoughtful, and symbolic of the relationship between giver and receiver. Burroughs obviously put a lot of thought into the gift, by choosing something of practical use and referring to the poet’s work.  Such a practical, thoughtful, and symbolic gift indicates the importance of gift-giving in American culture.  Sometimes, we give or receive presents that demonstrate the amount of thought that went into choosing them; other times, presents illustrate little or no thought, but they are always appreciated.

The way the gift was preserved is also indicative of American culture.  Whitman chose to keep something—a material object—that he was no longer using because he considered it important to him, and his friend, that he keep it.  Americans tend to horde their belongings.  How many books and TV shows are out there about clutter, and how to organize our stuff?  Clearly, Americans like to have a lot of stuff, and keep it forever.  Whitman kept what was important to him, and I can understand this.  I still have the note from a friend that came with a vase of flowers, which have long since died.  Do I have any practical use for the note?  No, but it’s important to me because it came from a friend, and so I will probably keep it forever.  I’m sure you all have a story—and a present—similar to mine and Whitman’s.  As Americans, we place symbolic importance on material objects, and seek to preserve those objects.

The concept of a walking stick also indicates a culture that places great emphasis on mobility.  When age and/or disability keep individuals from being mobile, they rely on aids to improve their mobility.  Assuming Whitman used a walking stick during his days of hobbling, he needed that device to remain ambulatory so he could experience nature in its full glory and write poetry and prose.  The poet would have been unable to write as effectively, for as long as he did, if he couldn’t move—even if it was more of a hobble.  In our culture, our livelihoods typically rely on our being mobile—either by our own means or through the use of crutches, walking-sticks/canes, wheel-chairs, etc.

The walking stick is important in our study of Whitman, our understanding of his friendship with Burroughs, and our understanding of the importance of gift-giving, hoarding belongings, friendships, and mobility.

Works Cited

American Experience:  Walt Whitman. Dir. Mark Zwonitzer. Patrick Long Productions, 2008.PBS. Web. 22 Oct. 2009.

Morand, Augustus. Walt Whitman # 068. 1878.  The Walt Whitman Archive: Pictures and Sound. Web. 22 Oct. 2009.

Papers of Walt Whitman in the Charles E. Feinberg Collection. Manuscript Div., Lib. Of Cong.  Feinberg-Whitman Collection. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America:  A Cultural Biography. New York:  Vintage, 1995. Print.

Walking Stick. Library of Congress.  American Treasures:  Revising Himself: Walt Whitman and Leaves of Grass. Web. 19 Oct. 2009.

Walt Whitman # 002. 1848-1854. The Walt Whitman Archive:  Pictures and Sound. Web. 22 Oct. 2009.

Whitman, Walt. “A Sun Bath—Nakedness.” Whitman:  Poetry and Prose. New York:  Library of America College Editions, 1996. 830-832. Print.

source: Library of Congress

The dam, located 14 miles upstream from Johnstown, held back the artificial Lake Conemaugh, a canal basin that the state never completed due to emergence of the railroad. The lake was sold to private interests and became part of the South Fork Hunting and Fishing Club, playground for wealthy Pittsburgh steel executives. The owners had made questionable modifications to the dam, lowering it in order to build a road on top of it. These modifications, along with poor maintenance and record rainfall were blamed for the dam’s failure.

On May 30, 1889, a storm swept over western Pennsylvania from the Midwest dumping six to ten inches of rain over western Pennsylvania. The following day, as Lake Conemaugh swelled, an impromptu team of men tried to clear debris from the dam spillway. At 3:10, the dam burst and the lake spilled into the narrow Little Conemaugh River, picking up houses, farm animals, people, barns, bridges, barbed wire, and train cars as it moved downstream. By the time the water and debris reached Johnstown, eyewitnesses reported it was 40 feet high and a half-mile wide (Loving, 116). At least 80 people died in the fires the followed as the debris that had piled up behind a rail bridge began to burn. Four square miles of Johnstown were completely destroyed. 1600 homes were lost. 2209 people, including 396 children and 99 entire families perished.

By the evening, the storm had reached Camden, where Walt Whitman and his supporters were celebrating the poet’s seventieth birthday party at Morgan’s Hall. Whitman was deeply saddened by the disaster. He found it ironic that the tragedy occurred during the height of his birthday celebration (Reynolds, 573).

Horace Traubel recorded Whitman’s remarks six days after flood.

8 P.M. Went down to W.’s with Harned, finding W. sitting in parlor at the window. Had but a little time before returned from his outing. Talked directly of the Johnstown affair. “It seems to hang over us all like a cloud,” he said—”a dark, dark, dark cloud.” And then he asked: “Do you think this Cambria matter interferes at all with the passage of the mails? We all live in Cambria County now (Traubel, 264).

Whitman wrote “A Voice from Death” about the flood victims. The poem was published in the New York World on June 7, 1889, only a week after the flood. Whitman was paid $25.

With sudden, indescribable blow–towns drown’d–humanity by
thousands slain,
The vaunted work of thrift, goods, dwellings, forge, street, iron bridge,
Dash’d pell-mell by the blow–yet usher’d life continuing on,
(Amid the rest, amid the rushing, whirling, wild debris,
A suffering woman saved–a baby safely born!)
Although I come and unannounc’d, in horror and in pang,
In pouring flood and fire, and wholesale elemental crash, (this
voice so solemn, strange,)
I too a minister of Deity.
Yea, Death, we bow our faces, veil our eyes to thee,
We mourn the old, the young untimely drawn to thee,
The fair, the strong, the good, the capable,
The household wreck’d, the husband and the wife, the engulfed forger
in his forge,
The corpses in the whelming waters and the mud,
The gather’d thousands to their funeral mounds, and thousands never
found or gather’d.
Then after burying, mourning the dead,
(Faithful to them found or unfound, forgetting not, bearing the
past, here new musing,)
A day–a passing moment or an hour–America itself bends low,
Silent, resign’d, submissive.
War, death, cataclysm like this, America,
Take deep to thy proud prosperous heart.
E’en as I chant, lo! out of death, and out of ooze and slime,
The blossoms rapidly blooming, sympathy, help, love,
From West and East, from South and North and over sea,
Its hot-spurr’d hearts and hands humanity to human aid moves on;
And from within a thought and lesson yet.
Thou ever-darting Globe! through Space and Air!
Thou waters that encompass us!
Thou that in all the life and death of us, in action or in sleep!
Thou laws invisible that permeate them and all,
Thou that in all, and over all, and through and under all, incessant!
Thou! thou! the vital, universal, giant force resistless, sleepless, calm,
Holding Humanity as in thy open hand, as some ephemeral toy,
How ill to e’er forget thee!
For I too have forgotten,
(Wrapt in these little potencies of progress, politics, culture,
wealth, inventions, civilization,)
Have lost my recognition of your silent ever-swaying power, ye
mighty, elemental throes,
In which and upon which we float, and every one of us is buoy’d.

Work Cited

Loving, Jerome “The Political Roots of Leaves of Grass.” A Historical Guide to Walt Whitman. Ed. David S. Reynolds.New York, NY: Oxford UP (2000): 116-117. Google Books. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

McCullough, David G. The Johnstown Flood. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1967. 4-81. Google Books. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage Books, 1995. Print.

Traubel, Horace. With Walt Whitman in Camden Volume 5. Ed. Gertrude Traubel. Carbondale: U of Southern Illinois P, 1964. Google Books. Web. 21 Oct. 2009.

Whitman, Walt. “A Voice from Death.” Whitman Poetry & Prose. Library of America College Editions, 1996. Print.

source: Library of Congress

The dam, located 14 miles upstream from Johnstown, held back the artificial Lake Conemaugh, a canal basin that the state never completed due to emergence of the railroad. The lake was sold to private interests and became part of the South Fork Hunting and Fishing Club, playground for wealthy Pittsburgh steel executives. The owners had made questionable modifications to the dam, lowering it in order to build a road on top of it. These modifications, along with poor maintenance and record rainfall were blamed for the dam’s failure.

On May 30, 1889, a storm swept over western Pennsylvania from the Midwest dumping six to ten inches of rain over western Pennsylvania. The following day, as Lake Conemaugh swelled, an impromptu team of men tried to clear debris from the dam spillway. At 3:10, the dam burst and the lake spilled into the narrow Little Conemaugh River, picking up houses, farm animals, people, barns, bridges, barbed wire, and train cars as it moved downstream. By the time the water and debris reached Johnstown, eyewitnesses reported it was 40 feet high and a half-mile wide (Loving, 116). At least 80 people died in the fires the followed as the debris that had piled up behind a rail bridge began to burn. Four square miles of Johnstown were completely destroyed. 1600 homes were lost. 2209 people, including 396 children and 99 entire families perished.

By the evening, the storm had reached Camden, where Walt Whitman and his supporters were celebrating the poet’s seventieth birthday party at Morgan’s Hall. Whitman was deeply saddened by the disaster. He found it ironic that the tragedy occurred during the height of his birthday celebration (Reynolds, 573).

Horace Traubel recorded Whitman’s remarks six days after flood.

8 P.M. Went down to W.’s with Harned, finding W. sitting in parlor at the window. Had but a little time before returned from his outing. Talked directly of the Johnstown affair. “It seems to hang over us all like a cloud,” he said—”a dark, dark, dark cloud.” And then he asked: “Do you think this Cambria matter interferes at all with the passage of the mails? We all live in Cambria County now (Traubel, 264).

Whitman wrote “A Voice from Death” about the flood victims. The poem was published in the New York World on June 7, 1889, only a week after the flood. Whitman was paid $25.

With sudden, indescribable blow–towns drown’d–humanity by
thousands slain,
The vaunted work of thrift, goods, dwellings, forge, street, iron bridge,
Dash’d pell-mell by the blow–yet usher’d life continuing on,
(Amid the rest, amid the rushing, whirling, wild debris,
A suffering woman saved–a baby safely born!)
Although I come and unannounc’d, in horror and in pang,
In pouring flood and fire, and wholesale elemental crash, (this
voice so solemn, strange,)
I too a minister of Deity.
Yea, Death, we bow our faces, veil our eyes to thee,
We mourn the old, the young untimely drawn to thee,
The fair, the strong, the good, the capable,
The household wreck’d, the husband and the wife, the engulfed forger
in his forge,
The corpses in the whelming waters and the mud,
The gather’d thousands to their funeral mounds, and thousands never
found or gather’d.
Then after burying, mourning the dead,
(Faithful to them found or unfound, forgetting not, bearing the
past, here new musing,)
A day–a passing moment or an hour–America itself bends low,
Silent, resign’d, submissive.
War, death, cataclysm like this, America,
Take deep to thy proud prosperous heart.
E’en as I chant, lo! out of death, and out of ooze and slime,
The blossoms rapidly blooming, sympathy, help, love,
From West and East, from South and North and over sea,
Its hot-spurr’d hearts and hands humanity to human aid moves on;
And from within a thought and lesson yet.
Thou ever-darting Globe! through Space and Air!
Thou waters that encompass us!
Thou that in all the life and death of us, in action or in sleep!
Thou laws invisible that permeate them and all,
Thou that in all, and over all, and through and under all, incessant!
Thou! thou! the vital, universal, giant force resistless, sleepless, calm,
Holding Humanity as in thy open hand, as some ephemeral toy,
How ill to e’er forget thee!
For I too have forgotten,
(Wrapt in these little potencies of progress, politics, culture,
wealth, inventions, civilization,)
Have lost my recognition of your silent ever-swaying power, ye
mighty, elemental throes,
In which and upon which we float, and every one of us is buoy’d.

Work Cited

Loving, Jerome “The Political Roots of Leaves of Grass.” A Historical Guide to Walt Whitman. Ed. David S. Reynolds.New York, NY: Oxford UP (2000): 116-117. Google Books. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

McCullough, David G. The Johnstown Flood. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1967. 4-81. Google Books. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage Books, 1995. Print.

Traubel, Horace. With Walt Whitman in Camden Volume 5. Ed. Gertrude Traubel. Carbondale: U of Southern Illinois P, 1964. Google Books. Web. 21 Oct. 2009.

Whitman, Walt. “A Voice from Death.” Whitman Poetry & Prose. Library of America College Editions, 1996. Print.

source: Library of Congress

The dam, located 14 miles upstream from Johnstown, held back the artificial Lake Conemaugh, a canal basin that the state never completed due to emergence of the railroad. The lake was sold to private interests and became part of the South Fork Hunting and Fishing Club, playground for wealthy Pittsburgh steel executives. The owners had made questionable modifications to the dam, lowering it in order to build a road on top of it. These modifications, along with poor maintenance and record rainfall were blamed for the dam’s failure.

On May 30, 1889, a storm swept over western Pennsylvania from the Midwest dumping six to ten inches of rain over western Pennsylvania. The following day, as Lake Conemaugh swelled, an impromptu team of men tried to clear debris from the dam spillway. At 3:10, the dam burst and the lake spilled into the narrow Little Conemaugh River, picking up houses, farm animals, people, barns, bridges, barbed wire, and train cars as it moved downstream. By the time the water and debris reached Johnstown, eyewitnesses reported it was 40 feet high and a half-mile wide (Loving, 116). At least 80 people died in the fires the followed as the debris that had piled up behind a rail bridge began to burn. Four square miles of Johnstown were completely destroyed. 1600 homes were lost. 2209 people, including 396 children and 99 entire families perished.

By the evening, the storm had reached Camden, where Walt Whitman and his supporters were celebrating the poet’s seventieth birthday party at Morgan’s Hall. Whitman was deeply saddened by the disaster. He found it ironic that the tragedy occurred during the height of his birthday celebration (Reynolds, 573).

Horace Traubel recorded Whitman’s remarks six days after flood.

8 P.M. Went down to W.’s with Harned, finding W. sitting in parlor at the window. Had but a little time before returned from his outing. Talked directly of the Johnstown affair. “It seems to hang over us all like a cloud,” he said—”a dark, dark, dark cloud.” And then he asked: “Do you think this Cambria matter interferes at all with the passage of the mails? We all live in Cambria County now (Traubel, 264).

Whitman wrote “A Voice from Death” about the flood victims. The poem was published in the New York World on June 7, 1889, only a week after the flood. Whitman was paid $25.

With sudden, indescribable blow–towns drown’d–humanity by
thousands slain,
The vaunted work of thrift, goods, dwellings, forge, street, iron bridge,
Dash’d pell-mell by the blow–yet usher’d life continuing on,
(Amid the rest, amid the rushing, whirling, wild debris,
A suffering woman saved–a baby safely born!)
Although I come and unannounc’d, in horror and in pang,
In pouring flood and fire, and wholesale elemental crash, (this
voice so solemn, strange,)
I too a minister of Deity.
Yea, Death, we bow our faces, veil our eyes to thee,
We mourn the old, the young untimely drawn to thee,
The fair, the strong, the good, the capable,
The household wreck’d, the husband and the wife, the engulfed forger
in his forge,
The corpses in the whelming waters and the mud,
The gather’d thousands to their funeral mounds, and thousands never
found or gather’d.
Then after burying, mourning the dead,
(Faithful to them found or unfound, forgetting not, bearing the
past, here new musing,)
A day–a passing moment or an hour–America itself bends low,
Silent, resign’d, submissive.
War, death, cataclysm like this, America,
Take deep to thy proud prosperous heart.
E’en as I chant, lo! out of death, and out of ooze and slime,
The blossoms rapidly blooming, sympathy, help, love,
From West and East, from South and North and over sea,
Its hot-spurr’d hearts and hands humanity to human aid moves on;
And from within a thought and lesson yet.
Thou ever-darting Globe! through Space and Air!
Thou waters that encompass us!
Thou that in all the life and death of us, in action or in sleep!
Thou laws invisible that permeate them and all,
Thou that in all, and over all, and through and under all, incessant!
Thou! thou! the vital, universal, giant force resistless, sleepless, calm,
Holding Humanity as in thy open hand, as some ephemeral toy,
How ill to e’er forget thee!
For I too have forgotten,
(Wrapt in these little potencies of progress, politics, culture,
wealth, inventions, civilization,)
Have lost my recognition of your silent ever-swaying power, ye
mighty, elemental throes,
In which and upon which we float, and every one of us is buoy’d.

Work Cited

Loving, Jerome “The Political Roots of Leaves of Grass.” A Historical Guide to Walt Whitman. Ed. David S. Reynolds.New York, NY: Oxford UP (2000): 116-117. Google Books. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

McCullough, David G. The Johnstown Flood. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1967. 4-81. Google Books. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage Books, 1995. Print.

Traubel, Horace. With Walt Whitman in Camden Volume 5. Ed. Gertrude Traubel. Carbondale: U of Southern Illinois P, 1964. Google Books. Web. 21 Oct. 2009.

Whitman, Walt. “A Voice from Death.” Whitman Poetry & Prose. Library of America College Editions, 1996. Print.

source: Library of Congress

The dam, located 14 miles upstream from Johnstown, held back the artificial Lake Conemaugh, a canal basin that the state never completed due to emergence of the railroad. The lake was sold to private interests and became part of the South Fork Hunting and Fishing Club, playground for wealthy Pittsburgh steel executives. The owners had made questionable modifications to the dam, lowering it in order to build a road on top of it. These modifications, along with poor maintenance and record rainfall were blamed for the dam’s failure.

On May 30, 1889, a storm swept over western Pennsylvania from the Midwest dumping six to ten inches of rain over western Pennsylvania. The following day, as Lake Conemaugh swelled, an impromptu team of men tried to clear debris from the dam spillway. At 3:10, the dam burst and the lake spilled into the narrow Little Conemaugh River, picking up houses, farm animals, people, barns, bridges, barbed wire, and train cars as it moved downstream. By the time the water and debris reached Johnstown, eyewitnesses reported it was 40 feet high and a half-mile wide (Loving, 116). At least 80 people died in the fires the followed as the debris that had piled up behind a rail bridge began to burn. Four square miles of Johnstown were completely destroyed. 1600 homes were lost. 2209 people, including 396 children and 99 entire families perished.

By the evening, the storm had reached Camden, where Walt Whitman and his supporters were celebrating the poet’s seventieth birthday party at Morgan’s Hall. Whitman was deeply saddened by the disaster. He found it ironic that the tragedy occurred during the height of his birthday celebration (Reynolds, 573).

Horace Traubel recorded Whitman’s remarks six days after flood.

8 P.M. Went down to W.’s with Harned, finding W. sitting in parlor at the window. Had but a little time before returned from his outing. Talked directly of the Johnstown affair. “It seems to hang over us all like a cloud,” he said—”a dark, dark, dark cloud.” And then he asked: “Do you think this Cambria matter interferes at all with the passage of the mails? We all live in Cambria County now (Traubel, 264).

Whitman wrote “A Voice from Death” about the flood victims. The poem was published in the New York World on June 7, 1889, only a week after the flood. Whitman was paid $25.

With sudden, indescribable blow–towns drown’d–humanity by
thousands slain,
The vaunted work of thrift, goods, dwellings, forge, street, iron bridge,
Dash’d pell-mell by the blow–yet usher’d life continuing on,
(Amid the rest, amid the rushing, whirling, wild debris,
A suffering woman saved–a baby safely born!)
Although I come and unannounc’d, in horror and in pang,
In pouring flood and fire, and wholesale elemental crash, (this
voice so solemn, strange,)
I too a minister of Deity.
Yea, Death, we bow our faces, veil our eyes to thee,
We mourn the old, the young untimely drawn to thee,
The fair, the strong, the good, the capable,
The household wreck’d, the husband and the wife, the engulfed forger
in his forge,
The corpses in the whelming waters and the mud,
The gather’d thousands to their funeral mounds, and thousands never
found or gather’d.
Then after burying, mourning the dead,
(Faithful to them found or unfound, forgetting not, bearing the
past, here new musing,)
A day–a passing moment or an hour–America itself bends low,
Silent, resign’d, submissive.
War, death, cataclysm like this, America,
Take deep to thy proud prosperous heart.
E’en as I chant, lo! out of death, and out of ooze and slime,
The blossoms rapidly blooming, sympathy, help, love,
From West and East, from South and North and over sea,
Its hot-spurr’d hearts and hands humanity to human aid moves on;
And from within a thought and lesson yet.
Thou ever-darting Globe! through Space and Air!
Thou waters that encompass us!
Thou that in all the life and death of us, in action or in sleep!
Thou laws invisible that permeate them and all,
Thou that in all, and over all, and through and under all, incessant!
Thou! thou! the vital, universal, giant force resistless, sleepless, calm,
Holding Humanity as in thy open hand, as some ephemeral toy,
How ill to e’er forget thee!
For I too have forgotten,
(Wrapt in these little potencies of progress, politics, culture,
wealth, inventions, civilization,)
Have lost my recognition of your silent ever-swaying power, ye
mighty, elemental throes,
In which and upon which we float, and every one of us is buoy’d.

Work Cited

Loving, Jerome “The Political Roots of Leaves of Grass.” A Historical Guide to Walt Whitman. Ed. David S. Reynolds.New York, NY: Oxford UP (2000): 116-117. Google Books. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

McCullough, David G. The Johnstown Flood. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1967. 4-81. Google Books. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage Books, 1995. Print.

Traubel, Horace. With Walt Whitman in Camden Volume 5. Ed. Gertrude Traubel. Carbondale: U of Southern Illinois P, 1964. Google Books. Web. 21 Oct. 2009.

Whitman, Walt. “A Voice from Death.” Whitman Poetry & Prose. Library of America College Editions, 1996. Print.

source: Library of Congress

The dam, located 14 miles upstream from Johnstown, held back the artificial Lake Conemaugh, a canal basin that the state never completed due to emergence of the railroad. The lake was sold to private interests and became part of the South Fork Hunting and Fishing Club, playground for wealthy Pittsburgh steel executives. The owners had made questionable modifications to the dam, lowering it in order to build a road on top of it. These modifications, along with poor maintenance and record rainfall were blamed for the dam’s failure.

On May 30, 1889, a storm swept over western Pennsylvania from the Midwest dumping six to ten inches of rain over western Pennsylvania. The following day, as Lake Conemaugh swelled, an impromptu team of men tried to clear debris from the dam spillway. At 3:10, the dam burst and the lake spilled into the narrow Little Conemaugh River, picking up houses, farm animals, people, barns, bridges, barbed wire, and train cars as it moved downstream. By the time the water and debris reached Johnstown, eyewitnesses reported it was 40 feet high and a half-mile wide (Loving, 116). At least 80 people died in the fires the followed as the debris that had piled up behind a rail bridge began to burn. Four square miles of Johnstown were completely destroyed. 1600 homes were lost. 2209 people, including 396 children and 99 entire families perished.

By the evening, the storm had reached Camden, where Walt Whitman and his supporters were celebrating the poet’s seventieth birthday party at Morgan’s Hall. Whitman was deeply saddened by the disaster. He found it ironic that the tragedy occurred during the height of his birthday celebration (Reynolds, 573).

Horace Traubel recorded Whitman’s remarks six days after flood.

8 P.M. Went down to W.’s with Harned, finding W. sitting in parlor at the window. Had but a little time before returned from his outing. Talked directly of the Johnstown affair. “It seems to hang over us all like a cloud,” he said—”a dark, dark, dark cloud.” And then he asked: “Do you think this Cambria matter interferes at all with the passage of the mails? We all live in Cambria County now (Traubel, 264).

Whitman wrote “A Voice from Death” about the flood victims. The poem was published in the New York World on June 7, 1889, only a week after the flood. Whitman was paid $25.

With sudden, indescribable blow–towns drown’d–humanity by
thousands slain,
The vaunted work of thrift, goods, dwellings, forge, street, iron bridge,
Dash’d pell-mell by the blow–yet usher’d life continuing on,
(Amid the rest, amid the rushing, whirling, wild debris,
A suffering woman saved–a baby safely born!)
Although I come and unannounc’d, in horror and in pang,
In pouring flood and fire, and wholesale elemental crash, (this
voice so solemn, strange,)
I too a minister of Deity.
Yea, Death, we bow our faces, veil our eyes to thee,
We mourn the old, the young untimely drawn to thee,
The fair, the strong, the good, the capable,
The household wreck’d, the husband and the wife, the engulfed forger
in his forge,
The corpses in the whelming waters and the mud,
The gather’d thousands to their funeral mounds, and thousands never
found or gather’d.
Then after burying, mourning the dead,
(Faithful to them found or unfound, forgetting not, bearing the
past, here new musing,)
A day–a passing moment or an hour–America itself bends low,
Silent, resign’d, submissive.
War, death, cataclysm like this, America,
Take deep to thy proud prosperous heart.
E’en as I chant, lo! out of death, and out of ooze and slime,
The blossoms rapidly blooming, sympathy, help, love,
From West and East, from South and North and over sea,
Its hot-spurr’d hearts and hands humanity to human aid moves on;
And from within a thought and lesson yet.
Thou ever-darting Globe! through Space and Air!
Thou waters that encompass us!
Thou that in all the life and death of us, in action or in sleep!
Thou laws invisible that permeate them and all,
Thou that in all, and over all, and through and under all, incessant!
Thou! thou! the vital, universal, giant force resistless, sleepless, calm,
Holding Humanity as in thy open hand, as some ephemeral toy,
How ill to e’er forget thee!
For I too have forgotten,
(Wrapt in these little potencies of progress, politics, culture,
wealth, inventions, civilization,)
Have lost my recognition of your silent ever-swaying power, ye
mighty, elemental throes,
In which and upon which we float, and every one of us is buoy’d.

Work Cited

Loving, Jerome “The Political Roots of Leaves of Grass.” A Historical Guide to Walt Whitman. Ed. David S. Reynolds.New York, NY: Oxford UP (2000): 116-117. Google Books. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

McCullough, David G. The Johnstown Flood. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1967. 4-81. Google Books. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage Books, 1995. Print.

Traubel, Horace. With Walt Whitman in Camden Volume 5. Ed. Gertrude Traubel. Carbondale: U of Southern Illinois P, 1964. Google Books. Web. 21 Oct. 2009.

Whitman, Walt. “A Voice from Death.” Whitman Poetry & Prose. Library of America College Editions, 1996. Print.

source: Library of Congress

The dam, located 14 miles upstream from Johnstown, held back the artificial Lake Conemaugh, a canal basin that the state never completed due to emergence of the railroad. The lake was sold to private interests and became part of the South Fork Hunting and Fishing Club, playground for wealthy Pittsburgh steel executives. The owners had made questionable modifications to the dam, lowering it in order to build a road on top of it. These modifications, along with poor maintenance and record rainfall were blamed for the dam’s failure.

On May 30, 1889, a storm swept over western Pennsylvania from the Midwest dumping six to ten inches of rain over western Pennsylvania. The following day, as Lake Conemaugh swelled, an impromptu team of men tried to clear debris from the dam spillway. At 3:10, the dam burst and the lake spilled into the narrow Little Conemaugh River, picking up houses, farm animals, people, barns, bridges, barbed wire, and train cars as it moved downstream. By the time the water and debris reached Johnstown, eyewitnesses reported it was 40 feet high and a half-mile wide (Loving, 116). At least 80 people died in the fires the followed as the debris that had piled up behind a rail bridge began to burn. Four square miles of Johnstown were completely destroyed. 1600 homes were lost. 2209 people, including 396 children and 99 entire families perished.

By the evening, the storm had reached Camden, where Walt Whitman and his supporters were celebrating the poet’s seventieth birthday party at Morgan’s Hall. Whitman was deeply saddened by the disaster. He found it ironic that the tragedy occurred during the height of his birthday celebration (Reynolds, 573).

Horace Traubel recorded Whitman’s remarks six days after flood.

8 P.M. Went down to W.’s with Harned, finding W. sitting in parlor at the window. Had but a little time before returned from his outing. Talked directly of the Johnstown affair. “It seems to hang over us all like a cloud,” he said—”a dark, dark, dark cloud.” And then he asked: “Do you think this Cambria matter interferes at all with the passage of the mails? We all live in Cambria County now (Traubel, 264).

Whitman wrote “A Voice from Death” about the flood victims. The poem was published in the New York World on June 7, 1889, only a week after the flood. Whitman was paid $25.

With sudden, indescribable blow–towns drown’d–humanity by
thousands slain,
The vaunted work of thrift, goods, dwellings, forge, street, iron bridge,
Dash’d pell-mell by the blow–yet usher’d life continuing on,
(Amid the rest, amid the rushing, whirling, wild debris,
A suffering woman saved–a baby safely born!)
Although I come and unannounc’d, in horror and in pang,
In pouring flood and fire, and wholesale elemental crash, (this
voice so solemn, strange,)
I too a minister of Deity.
Yea, Death, we bow our faces, veil our eyes to thee,
We mourn the old, the young untimely drawn to thee,
The fair, the strong, the good, the capable,
The household wreck’d, the husband and the wife, the engulfed forger
in his forge,
The corpses in the whelming waters and the mud,
The gather’d thousands to their funeral mounds, and thousands never
found or gather’d.
Then after burying, mourning the dead,
(Faithful to them found or unfound, forgetting not, bearing the
past, here new musing,)
A day–a passing moment or an hour–America itself bends low,
Silent, resign’d, submissive.
War, death, cataclysm like this, America,
Take deep to thy proud prosperous heart.
E’en as I chant, lo! out of death, and out of ooze and slime,
The blossoms rapidly blooming, sympathy, help, love,
From West and East, from South and North and over sea,
Its hot-spurr’d hearts and hands humanity to human aid moves on;
And from within a thought and lesson yet.
Thou ever-darting Globe! through Space and Air!
Thou waters that encompass us!
Thou that in all the life and death of us, in action or in sleep!
Thou laws invisible that permeate them and all,
Thou that in all, and over all, and through and under all, incessant!
Thou! thou! the vital, universal, giant force resistless, sleepless, calm,
Holding Humanity as in thy open hand, as some ephemeral toy,
How ill to e’er forget thee!
For I too have forgotten,
(Wrapt in these little potencies of progress, politics, culture,
wealth, inventions, civilization,)
Have lost my recognition of your silent ever-swaying power, ye
mighty, elemental throes,
In which and upon which we float, and every one of us is buoy’d.

Work Cited

Loving, Jerome “The Political Roots of Leaves of Grass.” A Historical Guide to Walt Whitman. Ed. David S. Reynolds.New York, NY: Oxford UP (2000): 116-117. Google Books. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

McCullough, David G. The Johnstown Flood. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1967. 4-81. Google Books. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage Books, 1995. Print.

Traubel, Horace. With Walt Whitman in Camden Volume 5. Ed. Gertrude Traubel. Carbondale: U of Southern Illinois P, 1964. Google Books. Web. 21 Oct. 2009.

Whitman, Walt. “A Voice from Death.” Whitman Poetry & Prose. Library of America College Editions, 1996. Print.

source: Library of Congress

The dam, located 14 miles upstream from Johnstown, held back the artificial Lake Conemaugh, a canal basin that the state never completed due to emergence of the railroad. The lake was sold to private interests and became part of the South Fork Hunting and Fishing Club, playground for wealthy Pittsburgh steel executives. The owners had made questionable modifications to the dam, lowering it in order to build a road on top of it. These modifications, along with poor maintenance and record rainfall were blamed for the dam’s failure.

On May 30, 1889, a storm swept over western Pennsylvania from the Midwest dumping six to ten inches of rain over western Pennsylvania. The following day, as Lake Conemaugh swelled, an impromptu team of men tried to clear debris from the dam spillway. At 3:10, the dam burst and the lake spilled into the narrow Little Conemaugh River, picking up houses, farm animals, people, barns, bridges, barbed wire, and train cars as it moved downstream. By the time the water and debris reached Johnstown, eyewitnesses reported it was 40 feet high and a half-mile wide (Loving, 116). At least 80 people died in the fires the followed as the debris that had piled up behind a rail bridge began to burn. Four square miles of Johnstown were completely destroyed. 1600 homes were lost. 2209 people, including 396 children and 99 entire families perished.

By the evening, the storm had reached Camden, where Walt Whitman and his supporters were celebrating the poet’s seventieth birthday party at Morgan’s Hall. Whitman was deeply saddened by the disaster. He found it ironic that the tragedy occurred during the height of his birthday celebration (Reynolds, 573).

Horace Traubel recorded Whitman’s remarks six days after flood.

8 P.M. Went down to W.’s with Harned, finding W. sitting in parlor at the window. Had but a little time before returned from his outing. Talked directly of the Johnstown affair. “It seems to hang over us all like a cloud,” he said—”a dark, dark, dark cloud.” And then he asked: “Do you think this Cambria matter interferes at all with the passage of the mails? We all live in Cambria County now (Traubel, 264).

Whitman wrote “A Voice from Death” about the flood victims. The poem was published in the New York World on June 7, 1889, only a week after the flood. Whitman was paid $25.

With sudden, indescribable blow–towns drown’d–humanity by
thousands slain,
The vaunted work of thrift, goods, dwellings, forge, street, iron bridge,
Dash’d pell-mell by the blow–yet usher’d life continuing on,
(Amid the rest, amid the rushing, whirling, wild debris,
A suffering woman saved–a baby safely born!)
Although I come and unannounc’d, in horror and in pang,
In pouring flood and fire, and wholesale elemental crash, (this
voice so solemn, strange,)
I too a minister of Deity.
Yea, Death, we bow our faces, veil our eyes to thee,
We mourn the old, the young untimely drawn to thee,
The fair, the strong, the good, the capable,
The household wreck’d, the husband and the wife, the engulfed forger
in his forge,
The corpses in the whelming waters and the mud,
The gather’d thousands to their funeral mounds, and thousands never
found or gather’d.
Then after burying, mourning the dead,
(Faithful to them found or unfound, forgetting not, bearing the
past, here new musing,)
A day–a passing moment or an hour–America itself bends low,
Silent, resign’d, submissive.
War, death, cataclysm like this, America,
Take deep to thy proud prosperous heart.
E’en as I chant, lo! out of death, and out of ooze and slime,
The blossoms rapidly blooming, sympathy, help, love,
From West and East, from South and North and over sea,
Its hot-spurr’d hearts and hands humanity to human aid moves on;
And from within a thought and lesson yet.
Thou ever-darting Globe! through Space and Air!
Thou waters that encompass us!
Thou that in all the life and death of us, in action or in sleep!
Thou laws invisible that permeate them and all,
Thou that in all, and over all, and through and under all, incessant!
Thou! thou! the vital, universal, giant force resistless, sleepless, calm,
Holding Humanity as in thy open hand, as some ephemeral toy,
How ill to e’er forget thee!
For I too have forgotten,
(Wrapt in these little potencies of progress, politics, culture,
wealth, inventions, civilization,)
Have lost my recognition of your silent ever-swaying power, ye
mighty, elemental throes,
In which and upon which we float, and every one of us is buoy’d.

Work Cited

Loving, Jerome “The Political Roots of Leaves of Grass.” A Historical Guide to Walt Whitman. Ed. David S. Reynolds.New York, NY: Oxford UP (2000): 116-117. Google Books. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

McCullough, David G. The Johnstown Flood. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1967. 4-81. Google Books. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography. New York: Vintage Books, 1995. Print.

Traubel, Horace. With Walt Whitman in Camden Volume 5. Ed. Gertrude Traubel. Carbondale: U of Southern Illinois P, 1964. Google Books. Web. 21 Oct. 2009.

Whitman, Walt. “A Voice from Death.” Whitman Poetry & Prose. Library of America College Editions, 1996. Print.

Thomas Eakins was born in 1844 and died in 1916. His paintings were mostly based on portraits rather than abstract shapes or any other genre. Besides that, Eakins was a teacher at Philadelphia’s Academy of the Arts. But what Americans and future artists revere Eakins for is his portraits. Thomas Eakins potraits categorizes him as the founder of American Realism(Thomas Eakins’ Swimming Picture 1). However, during his time Eakins was highly criticized for his admiration of the human anatomy; something he expresses in his portraits. Due to this, his sexuality was up in the air. Yet, one this is certain, Eakins portraits involve his personal life (Erwin 655-664). This will be most evident as we take a look into The Gross Clinic painting.

GROSS CLINIC

This painting was conducted during Eakin’s stay at the Jefferson Medical College in 1874. During this time, Dr. Gross is the Chair of Surgery for the school and was asked by Eakins if it was possible that he make a portrait of Gross conducting a typical surgical lesson. In the portrait one can see how Dr. Gross standing while all the nurses and clerks and students surround him. They can be identified because they are wearing the traditional business garment color which is black. Then on the left hand side of Dr. Gross, one can see the mother who is covering her eyes dressed in a black veil. According to historians, the feel as though the mother is being melodramatic since this operation is going to save her child’s life. However, the vividness of the operation is often criticized as being “too realistic to be in display in polite Victorian society” (Jefferson 1). Then if one analyzes the doctor, one can see that Eakins thought the doctor as a hero. Dr. Gross stands above everyone and then has a light color contrasts that occur around his face as though he is looking up towards heaven. This is also evident in how the Doctor is the most detailed figure in the portrait whereas the people in the seats and those below him are almost like shadows.

Now I shall focus on the portrait of the Swimming Hole.

This portrait of the swimming hole represents Thomas Eakins and five other students near a creek located in Philadelphia. Because of this portrait, Eakins was told to leave his study because this was such an outrage in Victorian society. Eakins tried to show this portrait at an Exhibition in 1885 and tried to show it but instead the person ahead of the viewing returned it to Whitman for something that was less controversial. Now if we take a more artistic look at the painting, it is interesting to note that Eakins included himself in the portrait. Therefore, it is safe to say that Eakins feels as though the action of being ‘naked’ is not wrong. Rather, Eakins glorifies it and even accepts the fact that all the people who are naked are men. It is as though he is making a statement about homosexuality as well. In that time period, homosexuality was not something that was considered normal but rather a sin during those times when the Protestant Revolution was at its peak (Barry 1).

Yet these two things connect to Whitman because Whitman himself is obsessed with the human anatomy as well. Due to their abnormal admiration for the human physical body, both people were considered outcasts in their society since that does not go well with regular Victorian society. Beyond that, I saw in Whitman’s writing something similar to that of Thomas Eakins’ swimming hole portrait. The passage is called a Sunbath-Nakedness.

“I slowly hobble down these country lanes and across fields, in the good air

as I sit here in solitude with Nature…I merge myself in the scene, in the perfect day

Hovering over the clear brook water…As I walk’d slowly over the grass,

the sun shown out enough to show the shadow moving with me …

Nature was naked and I was also…

Sweet, sane, still Nakedness in Nature! ah if poor, sick, prurient

humanity in cities might really know you once more! Is not

nakedness then indecent? No, not inherently…It is your thought ,

your sophistication, your fear, your respectability, that is

indecent. There comes moods when these cloths of ours are not

only too irksome to wear, but are themselves

indecent.”(p831-832).

As you can see, like Eakins, Whitman does not think that being naked is a taboo. Rather, he thinks it is the best way for people to get back to their true humble selves. One can see this as he asks a rhetorical question, “Is not nakedness indecent?” From him asking that, the reader knows that he believes that society just created nakedness to be so wrong. Rather, Whitman says “it is your thought, your sophistication, your fear, your respectability, that is indecent” From this, it is evident that people of power and just pure academics were making nakedness such a horrible thing. Whitman somewhat connects to the bible because Adam and Eve were in the garden naked and until they ate from the tree of knowledge they knew what they were doing was sin. Yet, before that it was innocent for them to be naked so that parallels to what Whitman is saying. Overall, this directly related to Whitman because like Eakins, he wants to be closer to nature and go against the society norms that thinks that being nude is so wrong.

Works Cited

Erwin, Robert “Who Was Thomas Eakins?.” Antioch Review 66.4 (2008): 655-664. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 18 Oct. 2009.

“Thomas Eakins’s swimming picture.” American Artist (VNU eMedia, Inc.) 60.644 (1996): 8. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 18 Oct. 2009.

Thomas Eakins was born in 1844 and died in 1916. His paintings were mostly based on portraits rather than abstract shapes or any other genre. Besides that, Eakins was a teacher at Philadelphia’s Academy of the Arts. But what Americans and future artists revere Eakins for is his portraits. Thomas Eakins potraits categorizes him as the founder of American Realism(Thomas Eakins’ Swimming Picture 1). However, during his time Eakins was highly criticized for his admiration of the human anatomy; something he expresses in his portraits. Due to this, his sexuality was up in the air. Yet, one this is certain, Eakins portraits involve his personal life (Erwin 655-664). This will be most evident as we take a look into The Gross Clinic painting.

GROSS CLINIC

This painting was conducted during Eakin’s stay at the Jefferson Medical College in 1874. During this time, Dr. Gross is the Chair of Surgery for the school and was asked by Eakins if it was possible that he make a portrait of Gross conducting a typical surgical lesson. In the portrait one can see how Dr. Gross standing while all the nurses and clerks and students surround him. They can be identified because they are wearing the traditional business garment color which is black. Then on the left hand side of Dr. Gross, one can see the mother who is covering her eyes dressed in a black veil. According to historians, the feel as though the mother is being melodramatic since this operation is going to save her child’s life. However, the vividness of the operation is often criticized as being “too realistic to be in display in polite Victorian society” (Jefferson 1). Then if one analyzes the doctor, one can see that Eakins thought the doctor as a hero. Dr. Gross stands above everyone and then has a light color contrasts that occur around his face as though he is looking up towards heaven. This is also evident in how the Doctor is the most detailed figure in the portrait whereas the people in the seats and those below him are almost like shadows.

Now I shall focus on the portrait of the Swimming Hole.

This portrait of the swimming hole represents Thomas Eakins and five other students near a creek located in Philadelphia. Because of this portrait, Eakins was told to leave his study because this was such an outrage in Victorian society. Eakins tried to show this portrait at an Exhibition in 1885 and tried to show it but instead the person ahead of the viewing returned it to Whitman for something that was less controversial. Now if we take a more artistic look at the painting, it is interesting to note that Eakins included himself in the portrait. Therefore, it is safe to say that Eakins feels as though the action of being ‘naked’ is not wrong. Rather, Eakins glorifies it and even accepts the fact that all the people who are naked are men. It is as though he is making a statement about homosexuality as well. In that time period, homosexuality was not something that was considered normal but rather a sin during those times when the Protestant Revolution was at its peak (Barry 1).

Yet these two things connect to Whitman because Whitman himself is obsessed with the human anatomy as well. Due to their abnormal admiration for the human physical body, both people were considered outcasts in their society since that does not go well with regular Victorian society. Beyond that, I saw in Whitman’s writing something similar to that of Thomas Eakins’ swimming hole portrait. The passage is called a Sunbath-Nakedness.

“I slowly hobble down these country lanes and across fields, in the good air

as I sit here in solitude with Nature…I merge myself in the scene, in the perfect day

Hovering over the clear brook water…As I walk’d slowly over the grass,

the sun shown out enough to show the shadow moving with me …

Nature was naked and I was also…

Sweet, sane, still Nakedness in Nature! ah if poor, sick, prurient

humanity in cities might really know you once more! Is not

nakedness then indecent? No, not inherently…It is your thought ,

your sophistication, your fear, your respectability, that is

indecent. There comes moods when these cloths of ours are not

only too irksome to wear, but are themselves

indecent.”(p831-832).

As you can see, like Eakins, Whitman does not think that being naked is a taboo. Rather, he thinks it is the best way for people to get back to their true humble selves. One can see this as he asks a rhetorical question, “Is not nakedness indecent?” From him asking that, the reader knows that he believes that society just created nakedness to be so wrong. Rather, Whitman says “it is your thought, your sophistication, your fear, your respectability, that is indecent” From this, it is evident that people of power and just pure academics were making nakedness such a horrible thing. Whitman somewhat connects to the bible because Adam and Eve were in the garden naked and until they ate from the tree of knowledge they knew what they were doing was sin. Yet, before that it was innocent for them to be naked so that parallels to what Whitman is saying. Overall, this directly related to Whitman because like Eakins, he wants to be closer to nature and go against the society norms that thinks that being nude is so wrong.

Works Cited

Erwin, Robert “Who Was Thomas Eakins?.” Antioch Review 66.4 (2008): 655-664. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 18 Oct. 2009.

“Thomas Eakins’s swimming picture.” American Artist (VNU eMedia, Inc.) 60.644 (1996): 8. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 18 Oct. 2009.

Thomas Eakins was born in 1844 and died in 1916. His paintings were mostly based on portraits rather than abstract shapes or any other genre. Besides that, Eakins was a teacher at Philadelphia’s Academy of the Arts. But what Americans and future artists revere Eakins for is his portraits. Thomas Eakins potraits categorizes him as the founder of American Realism(Thomas Eakins’ Swimming Picture 1). However, during his time Eakins was highly criticized for his admiration of the human anatomy; something he expresses in his portraits. Due to this, his sexuality was up in the air. Yet, one this is certain, Eakins portraits involve his personal life (Erwin 655-664). This will be most evident as we take a look into The Gross Clinic painting.

GROSS CLINIC

This painting was conducted during Eakin’s stay at the Jefferson Medical College in 1874. During this time, Dr. Gross is the Chair of Surgery for the school and was asked by Eakins if it was possible that he make a portrait of Gross conducting a typical surgical lesson. In the portrait one can see how Dr. Gross standing while all the nurses and clerks and students surround him. They can be identified because they are wearing the traditional business garment color which is black. Then on the left hand side of Dr. Gross, one can see the mother who is covering her eyes dressed in a black veil. According to historians, the feel as though the mother is being melodramatic since this operation is going to save her child’s life. However, the vividness of the operation is often criticized as being “too realistic to be in display in polite Victorian society” (Jefferson 1). Then if one analyzes the doctor, one can see that Eakins thought the doctor as a hero. Dr. Gross stands above everyone and then has a light color contrasts that occur around his face as though he is looking up towards heaven. This is also evident in how the Doctor is the most detailed figure in the portrait whereas the people in the seats and those below him are almost like shadows.

Now I shall focus on the portrait of the Swimming Hole.

This portrait of the swimming hole represents Thomas Eakins and five other students near a creek located in Philadelphia. Because of this portrait, Eakins was told to leave his study because this was such an outrage in Victorian society. Eakins tried to show this portrait at an Exhibition in 1885 and tried to show it but instead the person ahead of the viewing returned it to Whitman for something that was less controversial. Now if we take a more artistic look at the painting, it is interesting to note that Eakins included himself in the portrait. Therefore, it is safe to say that Eakins feels as though the action of being ‘naked’ is not wrong. Rather, Eakins glorifies it and even accepts the fact that all the people who are naked are men. It is as though he is making a statement about homosexuality as well. In that time period, homosexuality was not something that was considered normal but rather a sin during those times when the Protestant Revolution was at its peak (Barry 1).

Yet these two things connect to Whitman because Whitman himself is obsessed with the human anatomy as well. Due to their abnormal admiration for the human physical body, both people were considered outcasts in their society since that does not go well with regular Victorian society. Beyond that, I saw in Whitman’s writing something similar to that of Thomas Eakins’ swimming hole portrait. The passage is called a Sunbath-Nakedness.

“I slowly hobble down these country lanes and across fields, in the good air

as I sit here in solitude with Nature…I merge myself in the scene, in the perfect day

Hovering over the clear brook water…As I walk’d slowly over the grass,

the sun shown out enough to show the shadow moving with me …

Nature was naked and I was also…

Sweet, sane, still Nakedness in Nature! ah if poor, sick, prurient

humanity in cities might really know you once more! Is not

nakedness then indecent? No, not inherently…It is your thought ,

your sophistication, your fear, your respectability, that is

indecent. There comes moods when these cloths of ours are not

only too irksome to wear, but are themselves

indecent.”(p831-832).

As you can see, like Eakins, Whitman does not think that being naked is a taboo. Rather, he thinks it is the best way for people to get back to their true humble selves. One can see this as he asks a rhetorical question, “Is not nakedness indecent?” From him asking that, the reader knows that he believes that society just created nakedness to be so wrong. Rather, Whitman says “it is your thought, your sophistication, your fear, your respectability, that is indecent” From this, it is evident that people of power and just pure academics were making nakedness such a horrible thing. Whitman somewhat connects to the bible because Adam and Eve were in the garden naked and until they ate from the tree of knowledge they knew what they were doing was sin. Yet, before that it was innocent for them to be naked so that parallels to what Whitman is saying. Overall, this directly related to Whitman because like Eakins, he wants to be closer to nature and go against the society norms that thinks that being nude is so wrong.

Works Cited

Erwin, Robert “Who Was Thomas Eakins?.” Antioch Review 66.4 (2008): 655-664. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 18 Oct. 2009.

“Thomas Eakins’s swimming picture.” American Artist (VNU eMedia, Inc.) 60.644 (1996): 8. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 18 Oct. 2009.

Thomas Eakins was born in 1844 and died in 1916. His paintings were mostly based on portraits rather than abstract shapes or any other genre. Besides that, Eakins was a teacher at Philadelphia’s Academy of the Arts. But what Americans and future artists revere Eakins for is his portraits. Thomas Eakins potraits categorizes him as the founder of American Realism(Thomas Eakins’ Swimming Picture 1). However, during his time Eakins was highly criticized for his admiration of the human anatomy; something he expresses in his portraits. Due to this, his sexuality was up in the air. Yet, one this is certain, Eakins portraits involve his personal life (Erwin 655-664). This will be most evident as we take a look into The Gross Clinic painting.

GROSS CLINIC

This painting was conducted during Eakin’s stay at the Jefferson Medical College in 1874. During this time, Dr. Gross is the Chair of Surgery for the school and was asked by Eakins if it was possible that he make a portrait of Gross conducting a typical surgical lesson. In the portrait one can see how Dr. Gross standing while all the nurses and clerks and students surround him. They can be identified because they are wearing the traditional business garment color which is black. Then on the left hand side of Dr. Gross, one can see the mother who is covering her eyes dressed in a black veil. According to historians, the feel as though the mother is being melodramatic since this operation is going to save her child’s life. However, the vividness of the operation is often criticized as being “too realistic to be in display in polite Victorian society” (Jefferson 1). Then if one analyzes the doctor, one can see that Eakins thought the doctor as a hero. Dr. Gross stands above everyone and then has a light color contrasts that occur around his face as though he is looking up towards heaven. This is also evident in how the Doctor is the most detailed figure in the portrait whereas the people in the seats and those below him are almost like shadows.

Now I shall focus on the portrait of the Swimming Hole.

This portrait of the swimming hole represents Thomas Eakins and five other students near a creek located in Philadelphia. Because of this portrait, Eakins was told to leave his study because this was such an outrage in Victorian society. Eakins tried to show this portrait at an Exhibition in 1885 and tried to show it but instead the person ahead of the viewing returned it to Whitman for something that was less controversial. Now if we take a more artistic look at the painting, it is interesting to note that Eakins included himself in the portrait. Therefore, it is safe to say that Eakins feels as though the action of being ‘naked’ is not wrong. Rather, Eakins glorifies it and even accepts the fact that all the people who are naked are men. It is as though he is making a statement about homosexuality as well. In that time period, homosexuality was not something that was considered normal but rather a sin during those times when the Protestant Revolution was at its peak (Barry 1).

Yet these two things connect to Whitman because Whitman himself is obsessed with the human anatomy as well. Due to their abnormal admiration for the human physical body, both people were considered outcasts in their society since that does not go well with regular Victorian society. Beyond that, I saw in Whitman’s writing something similar to that of Thomas Eakins’ swimming hole portrait. The passage is called a Sunbath-Nakedness.

“I slowly hobble down these country lanes and across fields, in the good air

as I sit here in solitude with Nature…I merge myself in the scene, in the perfect day

Hovering over the clear brook water…As I walk’d slowly over the grass,

the sun shown out enough to show the shadow moving with me …

Nature was naked and I was also…

Sweet, sane, still Nakedness in Nature! ah if poor, sick, prurient

humanity in cities might really know you once more! Is not

nakedness then indecent? No, not inherently…It is your thought ,

your sophistication, your fear, your respectability, that is

indecent. There comes moods when these cloths of ours are not

only too irksome to wear, but are themselves

indecent.”(p831-832).

As you can see, like Eakins, Whitman does not think that being naked is a taboo. Rather, he thinks it is the best way for people to get back to their true humble selves. One can see this as he asks a rhetorical question, “Is not nakedness indecent?” From him asking that, the reader knows that he believes that society just created nakedness to be so wrong. Rather, Whitman says “it is your thought, your sophistication, your fear, your respectability, that is indecent” From this, it is evident that people of power and just pure academics were making nakedness such a horrible thing. Whitman somewhat connects to the bible because Adam and Eve were in the garden naked and until they ate from the tree of knowledge they knew what they were doing was sin. Yet, before that it was innocent for them to be naked so that parallels to what Whitman is saying. Overall, this directly related to Whitman because like Eakins, he wants to be closer to nature and go against the society norms that thinks that being nude is so wrong.

Works Cited

Erwin, Robert “Who Was Thomas Eakins?.” Antioch Review 66.4 (2008): 655-664. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 18 Oct. 2009.

“Thomas Eakins’s swimming picture.” American Artist (VNU eMedia, Inc.) 60.644 (1996): 8. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 18 Oct. 2009.

Thomas Eakins was born in 1844 and died in 1916. His paintings were mostly based on portraits rather than abstract shapes or any other genre. Besides that, Eakins was a teacher at Philadelphia’s Academy of the Arts. But what Americans and future artists revere Eakins for is his portraits. Thomas Eakins potraits categorizes him as the founder of American Realism(Thomas Eakins’ Swimming Picture 1). However, during his time Eakins was highly criticized for his admiration of the human anatomy; something he expresses in his portraits. Due to this, his sexuality was up in the air. Yet, one this is certain, Eakins portraits involve his personal life (Erwin 655-664). This will be most evident as we take a look into The Gross Clinic painting.

GROSS CLINIC

This painting was conducted during Eakin’s stay at the Jefferson Medical College in 1874. During this time, Dr. Gross is the Chair of Surgery for the school and was asked by Eakins if it was possible that he make a portrait of Gross conducting a typical surgical lesson. In the portrait one can see how Dr. Gross standing while all the nurses and clerks and students surround him. They can be identified because they are wearing the traditional business garment color which is black. Then on the left hand side of Dr. Gross, one can see the mother who is covering her eyes dressed in a black veil. According to historians, the feel as though the mother is being melodramatic since this operation is going to save her child’s life. However, the vividness of the operation is often criticized as being “too realistic to be in display in polite Victorian society” (Jefferson 1). Then if one analyzes the doctor, one can see that Eakins thought the doctor as a hero. Dr. Gross stands above everyone and then has a light color contrasts that occur around his face as though he is looking up towards heaven. This is also evident in how the Doctor is the most detailed figure in the portrait whereas the people in the seats and those below him are almost like shadows.

Now I shall focus on the portrait of the Swimming Hole.

This portrait of the swimming hole represents Thomas Eakins and five other students near a creek located in Philadelphia. Because of this portrait, Eakins was told to leave his study because this was such an outrage in Victorian society. Eakins tried to show this portrait at an Exhibition in 1885 and tried to show it but instead the person ahead of the viewing returned it to Whitman for something that was less controversial. Now if we take a more artistic look at the painting, it is interesting to note that Eakins included himself in the portrait. Therefore, it is safe to say that Eakins feels as though the action of being ‘naked’ is not wrong. Rather, Eakins glorifies it and even accepts the fact that all the people who are naked are men. It is as though he is making a statement about homosexuality as well. In that time period, homosexuality was not something that was considered normal but rather a sin during those times when the Protestant Revolution was at its peak (Barry 1).

Yet these two things connect to Whitman because Whitman himself is obsessed with the human anatomy as well. Due to their abnormal admiration for the human physical body, both people were considered outcasts in their society since that does not go well with regular Victorian society. Beyond that, I saw in Whitman’s writing something similar to that of Thomas Eakins’ swimming hole portrait. The passage is called a Sunbath-Nakedness.

“I slowly hobble down these country lanes and across fields, in the good air

as I sit here in solitude with Nature…I merge myself in the scene, in the perfect day

Hovering over the clear brook water…As I walk’d slowly over the grass,

the sun shown out enough to show the shadow moving with me …

Nature was naked and I was also…

Sweet, sane, still Nakedness in Nature! ah if poor, sick, prurient

humanity in cities might really know you once more! Is not

nakedness then indecent? No, not inherently…It is your thought ,

your sophistication, your fear, your respectability, that is

indecent. There comes moods when these cloths of ours are not

only too irksome to wear, but are themselves

indecent.”(p831-832).

As you can see, like Eakins, Whitman does not think that being naked is a taboo. Rather, he thinks it is the best way for people to get back to their true humble selves. One can see this as he asks a rhetorical question, “Is not nakedness indecent?” From him asking that, the reader knows that he believes that society just created nakedness to be so wrong. Rather, Whitman says “it is your thought, your sophistication, your fear, your respectability, that is indecent” From this, it is evident that people of power and just pure academics were making nakedness such a horrible thing. Whitman somewhat connects to the bible because Adam and Eve were in the garden naked and until they ate from the tree of knowledge they knew what they were doing was sin. Yet, before that it was innocent for them to be naked so that parallels to what Whitman is saying. Overall, this directly related to Whitman because like Eakins, he wants to be closer to nature and go against the society norms that thinks that being nude is so wrong.

Works Cited

Erwin, Robert “Who Was Thomas Eakins?.” Antioch Review 66.4 (2008): 655-664. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 18 Oct. 2009.

“Thomas Eakins’s swimming picture.” American Artist (VNU eMedia, Inc.) 60.644 (1996): 8. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 18 Oct. 2009.

Whitman’s writing directly connected to this material topic is “The First Spring Day on Chestnut Street” from Whitman’s Specimen Days collection. In this piece of prose from around 1880-1881, Whitman expresses his joy and satisfaction at the scene on “Chestnut street — say between Broad and Fourth,” and explains why this part of Philadelphia stands out “even when compared with the great promenade-streets of other cities.”

Whitman describes a bustling scene from the first day of Spring between 1 and 2 in the afternoon, in which “nine-tenths” of the people are in great spirits to be there. A column in the August 6, 1923 edition of the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin reads, “The poet says that Chestnut [S]treet has a soul. It casts a spell. It is sacred ground. You must look your best when you walk down Chestnut [S]treet – everybody does” (“Men and Things”). Regardless of whether the “poet” cited in the column is Whitman, the sentiment is clearly one Whitman shares in his expressions of wonder. Even regarding the requirement to “look your best when you walk down Chestnut Street,” Whitman feels this is the norm: His second sentence notes the “gay-dress’d crowds,” and he later remarks on the “welldress’d women, ambulating to and fro.”

A Brief History of Time [regarding Chestnut Street]

Chestnut Street was originally laid in 1682 and named Wynne Street after Dr. Thomas Wynne, a Quaker friend of William Penn who traveled with Penn to the new colony. Penn would change the name to Chestnut Street the very next year as he renamed Philadelphia’s major streets after trees (“Chestnut St. 244 Years Old”).

George Washington once stayed at a building on 7^th and Chestnut that by 1927 was the Green’s Hotel. Interestingly, Benedict Arnold was married in this same building (“Chestnut St. 244 Years Old”). The first Chestnut Street store opened in 1706 (“Merchants Plan Antique Vista”). By 1851, Philadelphia’s leading business were all located on Chestnut between 2^nd & 10^th, according to a pamphlet from 1851 published in 1926 by the Evening Bulletin (“Pamphlet Of 1851 Shows Old-Time Chestnut Street”).

A Rapidly Changing Street

According to a Philadelphia Evening Bulletin article from February 24, 1940, the North side of Chestnut Street between 11^th and 12^th had been a cow pasture in 1830, 50 years before Whitman’s writing. But per the will of Stephen Girard, the land was developed into houses between 1831 and 1837, with 16 of these houses actually on this block of Chestnut Street (“Cows Were On The Carpet”). Along with this article is a picture of that particular block [the North side] from 1864, which, though only 16 years before Whitman’s “First Spring Day” visit, would be drastically different from the view Whitman would have. For by the time of Whitman’s visit, the only “residence” still on Chestnut Street East of Broad was the Baldwin Mansion.

Whitman’s Experience – The Baldwin Mansion

In a catalogue published in 1922 by the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, part of the entry on Hartman Kuhn reads, “1118 Chestnut Street, later known as the Baldwin Mansion, was occupied by the Union League Club 1862-1865” (Entry on Hartman Kuhn).

Whitman takes note of the Baldwin Mansion during a snapshot of his walk down the street [these snapshots in part and collectively form more “lists” or “catalogues” for which Whitman is famous]: “[T]he beauty of the cramm’d conservatory of rare flowers, flaunting reds, yellows, snowy lilies, incredible orchids, at the Baldwin mansion near Twelfth street.” As noted in the 1922 catalogue above, the Baldwin mansion in the 1860s played home to the Union League Club, an organization that maintained affiliation with not only Northerners geographically, but Republicans politically (Entry on Hartman Kuhn). There does not seem to be any indication that the mansion served as the main living quarters [during Whitman’s visit] for its owners or anyone else at least until it was sold  to vaudeville producer Benjamin Franklin Keith in 1900 (“Keith May Open Another House”).

Whitman’s Experience – Widening Chestnut Street

In about his only negative comments in “First Spring Day,” Whitman laments the width of Chestnut Street: “Of course it is a pity that Chestnut were not two or three times wider.” The concern over the streets width was not limited to the bard: Between 1915 and 1925, there were at least 14 articles that appeared in the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin written on the subject of widening Chestnut Street.

Chestnut Street was widened at least somewhat as early as 1884, only a couple years after Whitman published Specimen Days. In an article from April 11, 1924, the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin reports on an unsuccessful suit resulting from the widening of Chestnut Street “under the ordinance of 1884” (“City Wins Street Suit”). This same ordinance is presumably the “old ordinance of Councils” referenced in an article from May 17, 1915 concerning an unsuccessful suit filed by John Wanamaker [the John Wanamaker] (“Wanamaker Loses Appeal”).

The bulk of the debate in the Evening Bulletin over whether to further expand Chestnut Street took place from 1921-1922, as this latter article [Wanamaker] is the only one from before 1921, and the only of the 14 articles from 1925 about street widening concerned the narrowing of sidewalks for the construction of a new subway (“Oppose Sidewalk Cutting”).

Another Center of “Commerce”

Another historical building on Chestnut Street was the Masonic Hall. In this early 19th Century, this hall “was the favorite place for all social and patriotic functions” (Barratt 3), and was where the defeat of Napoleon was celebrated with a grand dinner on February 24, 1814. Though the building burned down on March 9, 1819, it was rebuilt in 1820 (Barratt 9).

Here is an engraving of the Hall from around 1870, about 10 years before Whitman’s day on Chestnut street:

Masonic Hall on Chestnut Street – North Side between 7th & 8th Sts.

A Brief [Concluding] Synopsis

For more than a half century before Whitman, Chestnut Street served as a center for some of Philadelphia’s earliest national [read: Post-Nation-Founding] patriotism and gatherings of politicos. During the Civil War, it served as home to the fervent pro-nation Union League. For years before Whitman went to Chestnut Street, it was a bustling center of business.

In Whitman’s time, the street was a rapidly-changing promenade, but amidst the changes maintained its status as Philadelphia’s commerce center and all-around “happening place.” From all evidential indications, Whitman’s wonder at the street’s personality is well-earned, and his account an accurate description of the street’s typical scene historically.

References

Barratt, Norris S. & Sachse, Julius Friedrich. Freemasonry in Pennsylvania, 1727-1907. Volume 3. The New Era Printing Company: Lancaster, PA. 1919.

Entry on Hartman Kuhn. From the Catalogue of the Memorial Exhibition of Portraits by Thomas Sully. By Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts. Philadelphia. 1922.

“Keith May Open Another House.” From “William Wegener in Grand Opera.” Special to the New York Times. August 9, 1900. The New York Times Archives. Accessed October 21, 2009.                  <http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=9505E4D9143DE433A2575AC0A96E9 C946197D6CF>.

“Masonic Hall” [Chestnut St. abv., 7th, N. side]. Copy of engraving by William Kneass after William Strickland. Topics: Robert Newell Photographs from the Library Company of Philadelphia. From the Brenner Collection. Accessed October 21, 2009.   <http://www.brynmawr.edu/iconog/nwl/Nwltopic.html>.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Chestnut St. 244 Years Old, March 18, 1927, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Cows Were On    The Carpet, February 24, 1940, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Men and Things, August 6, 1923, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Pamphlet Of 1851 Shows Old-Time Chestnut Street, April 11, 1926, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Widening, City Wins Street Suit, April 11, 1924, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Widening, Oppose Sidewalk Cutting, February 5, 1925, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Widening, Wanamaker Loses Appeal, May 17, 1915, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Inquirer, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Merchants Plan Antique    Vista, August 26, 1956, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Whitman’s writing directly connected to this material topic is “The First Spring Day on Chestnut Street” from Whitman’s Specimen Days collection. In this piece of prose from around 1880-1881, Whitman expresses his joy and satisfaction at the scene on “Chestnut street — say between Broad and Fourth,” and explains why this part of Philadelphia stands out “even when compared with the great promenade-streets of other cities.”

Whitman describes a bustling scene from the first day of Spring between 1 and 2 in the afternoon, in which “nine-tenths” of the people are in great spirits to be there. A column in the August 6, 1923 edition of the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin reads, “The poet says that Chestnut [S]treet has a soul. It casts a spell. It is sacred ground. You must look your best when you walk down Chestnut [S]treet – everybody does” (“Men and Things”). Regardless of whether the “poet” cited in the column is Whitman, the sentiment is clearly one Whitman shares in his expressions of wonder. Even regarding the requirement to “look your best when you walk down Chestnut Street,” Whitman feels this is the norm: His second sentence notes the “gay-dress’d crowds,” and he later remarks on the “welldress’d women, ambulating to and fro.”

A Brief History of Time [regarding Chestnut Street]

Chestnut Street was originally laid in 1682 and named Wynne Street after Dr. Thomas Wynne, a Quaker friend of William Penn who traveled with Penn to the new colony. Penn would change the name to Chestnut Street the very next year as he renamed Philadelphia’s major streets after trees (“Chestnut St. 244 Years Old”).

George Washington once stayed at a building on 7^th and Chestnut that by 1927 was the Green’s Hotel. Interestingly, Benedict Arnold was married in this same building (“Chestnut St. 244 Years Old”). The first Chestnut Street store opened in 1706 (“Merchants Plan Antique Vista”). By 1851, Philadelphia’s leading business were all located on Chestnut between 2^nd & 10^th, according to a pamphlet from 1851 published in 1926 by the Evening Bulletin (“Pamphlet Of 1851 Shows Old-Time Chestnut Street”).

A Rapidly Changing Street

According to a Philadelphia Evening Bulletin article from February 24, 1940, the North side of Chestnut Street between 11^th and 12^th had been a cow pasture in 1830, 50 years before Whitman’s writing. But per the will of Stephen Girard, the land was developed into houses between 1831 and 1837, with 16 of these houses actually on this block of Chestnut Street (“Cows Were On The Carpet”). Along with this article is a picture of that particular block [the North side] from 1864, which, though only 16 years before Whitman’s “First Spring Day” visit, would be drastically different from the view Whitman would have. For by the time of Whitman’s visit, the only “residence” still on Chestnut Street East of Broad was the Baldwin Mansion.

Whitman’s Experience – The Baldwin Mansion

In a catalogue published in 1922 by the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, part of the entry on Hartman Kuhn reads, “1118 Chestnut Street, later known as the Baldwin Mansion, was occupied by the Union League Club 1862-1865” (Entry on Hartman Kuhn).

Whitman takes note of the Baldwin Mansion during a snapshot of his walk down the street [these snapshots in part and collectively form more “lists” or “catalogues” for which Whitman is famous]: “[T]he beauty of the cramm’d conservatory of rare flowers, flaunting reds, yellows, snowy lilies, incredible orchids, at the Baldwin mansion near Twelfth street.” As noted in the 1922 catalogue above, the Baldwin mansion in the 1860s played home to the Union League Club, an organization that maintained affiliation with not only Northerners geographically, but Republicans politically (Entry on Hartman Kuhn). There does not seem to be any indication that the mansion served as the main living quarters [during Whitman’s visit] for its owners or anyone else at least until it was sold  to vaudeville producer Benjamin Franklin Keith in 1900 (“Keith May Open Another House”).

Whitman’s Experience – Widening Chestnut Street

In about his only negative comments in “First Spring Day,” Whitman laments the width of Chestnut Street: “Of course it is a pity that Chestnut were not two or three times wider.” The concern over the streets width was not limited to the bard: Between 1915 and 1925, there were at least 14 articles that appeared in the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin written on the subject of widening Chestnut Street.

Chestnut Street was widened at least somewhat as early as 1884, only a couple years after Whitman published Specimen Days. In an article from April 11, 1924, the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin reports on an unsuccessful suit resulting from the widening of Chestnut Street “under the ordinance of 1884” (“City Wins Street Suit”). This same ordinance is presumably the “old ordinance of Councils” referenced in an article from May 17, 1915 concerning an unsuccessful suit filed by John Wanamaker [the John Wanamaker] (“Wanamaker Loses Appeal”).

The bulk of the debate in the Evening Bulletin over whether to further expand Chestnut Street took place from 1921-1922, as this latter article [Wanamaker] is the only one from before 1921, and the only of the 14 articles from 1925 about street widening concerned the narrowing of sidewalks for the construction of a new subway (“Oppose Sidewalk Cutting”).

Another Center of “Commerce”

Another historical building on Chestnut Street was the Masonic Hall. In this early 19th Century, this hall “was the favorite place for all social and patriotic functions” (Barratt 3), and was where the defeat of Napoleon was celebrated with a grand dinner on February 24, 1814. Though the building burned down on March 9, 1819, it was rebuilt in 1820 (Barratt 9).

Here is an engraving of the Hall from around 1870, about 10 years before Whitman’s day on Chestnut street:

Masonic Hall on Chestnut Street - North Side between 7th & 8th Sts.

A Brief [Concluding] Synopsis

For more than a half century before Whitman, Chestnut Street served as a center for some of Philadelphia’s earliest national [read: Post-Nation-Founding] patriotism and gatherings of politicos. During the Civil War, it served as home to the fervent pro-nation Union League. For years before Whitman went to Chestnut Street, it was a bustling center of business.

In Whitman’s time, the street was a rapidly-changing promenade, but amidst the changes maintained its status as Philadelphia’s commerce center and all-around “happening place.” From all evidential indications, Whitman’s wonder at the street’s personality is well-earned, and his account an accurate description of the street’s typical scene historically.

References

Barratt, Norris S. & Sachse, Julius Friedrich. Freemasonry in Pennsylvania, 1727-1907. Volume 3. The New Era Printing Company: Lancaster, PA. 1919.

Entry on Hartman Kuhn. From the Catalogue of the Memorial Exhibition of Portraits by Thomas Sully. By Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts. Philadelphia. 1922.

“Keith May Open Another House.” From “William Wegener in Grand Opera.” Special to the New York Times. August 9, 1900. The New York Times Archives. Accessed October 21, 2009.                  <http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=9505E4D9143DE433A2575AC0A96E9 C946197D6CF>.

“Masonic Hall” [Chestnut St. abv., 7th, N. side]. Copy of engraving by William Kneass after William Strickland. Topics: Robert Newell Photographs from the Library Company of Philadelphia. From the Brenner Collection. Accessed October 21, 2009.   <http://www.brynmawr.edu/iconog/nwl/Nwltopic.html>.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Chestnut St. 244 Years Old, March 18, 1927, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Cows Were On    The Carpet, February 24, 1940, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Men and Things, August 6, 1923, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Pamphlet Of 1851 Shows Old-Time Chestnut Street, April 11, 1926, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Widening, City Wins Street Suit, April 11, 1924, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Widening, Oppose Sidewalk Cutting, February 5, 1925, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Widening, Wanamaker Loses Appeal, May 17, 1915, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Inquirer, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Merchants Plan Antique    Vista, August 26, 1956, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Whitman’s writing directly connected to this material topic is “The First Spring Day on Chestnut Street” from Whitman’s Specimen Days collection. In this piece of prose from around 1880-1881, Whitman expresses his joy and satisfaction at the scene on “Chestnut street — say between Broad and Fourth,” and explains why this part of Philadelphia stands out “even when compared with the great promenade-streets of other cities.”

Whitman describes a bustling scene from the first day of Spring between 1 and 2 in the afternoon, in which “nine-tenths” of the people are in great spirits to be there. A column in the August 6, 1923 edition of the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin reads, “The poet says that Chestnut [S]treet has a soul. It casts a spell. It is sacred ground. You must look your best when you walk down Chestnut [S]treet – everybody does” (“Men and Things”). Regardless of whether the “poet” cited in the column is Whitman, the sentiment is clearly one Whitman shares in his expressions of wonder. Even regarding the requirement to “look your best when you walk down Chestnut Street,” Whitman feels this is the norm: His second sentence notes the “gay-dress’d crowds,” and he later remarks on the “welldress’d women, ambulating to and fro.”

A Brief History of Time [regarding Chestnut Street]

Chestnut Street was originally laid in 1682 and named Wynne Street after Dr. Thomas Wynne, a Quaker friend of William Penn who traveled with Penn to the new colony. Penn would change the name to Chestnut Street the very next year as he renamed Philadelphia’s major streets after trees (“Chestnut St. 244 Years Old”).

George Washington once stayed at a building on 7^th and Chestnut that by 1927 was the Green’s Hotel. Interestingly, Benedict Arnold was married in this same building (“Chestnut St. 244 Years Old”). The first Chestnut Street store opened in 1706 (“Merchants Plan Antique Vista”). By 1851, Philadelphia’s leading business were all located on Chestnut between 2^nd & 10^th, according to a pamphlet from 1851 published in 1926 by the Evening Bulletin (“Pamphlet Of 1851 Shows Old-Time Chestnut Street”).

A Rapidly Changing Street

According to a Philadelphia Evening Bulletin article from February 24, 1940, the North side of Chestnut Street between 11^th and 12^th had been a cow pasture in 1830, 50 years before Whitman’s writing. But per the will of Stephen Girard, the land was developed into houses between 1831 and 1837, with 16 of these houses actually on this block of Chestnut Street (“Cows Were On The Carpet”). Along with this article is a picture of that particular block [the North side] from 1864, which, though only 16 years before Whitman’s “First Spring Day” visit, would be drastically different from the view Whitman would have. For by the time of Whitman’s visit, the only “residence” still on Chestnut Street East of Broad was the Baldwin Mansion.

Whitman’s Experience – The Baldwin Mansion

In a catalogue published in 1922 by the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, part of the entry on Hartman Kuhn reads, “1118 Chestnut Street, later known as the Baldwin Mansion, was occupied by the Union League Club 1862-1865” (Entry on Hartman Kuhn).

Whitman takes note of the Baldwin Mansion during a snapshot of his walk down the street [these snapshots in part and collectively form more “lists” or “catalogues” for which Whitman is famous]: “[T]he beauty of the cramm’d conservatory of rare flowers, flaunting reds, yellows, snowy lilies, incredible orchids, at the Baldwin mansion near Twelfth street.” As noted in the 1922 catalogue above, the Baldwin mansion in the 1860s played home to the Union League Club, an organization that maintained affiliation with not only Northerners geographically, but Republicans politically (Entry on Hartman Kuhn). There does not seem to be any indication that the mansion served as the main living quarters [during Whitman’s visit] for its owners or anyone else at least until it was sold  to vaudeville producer Benjamin Franklin Keith in 1900 (“Keith May Open Another House”).

Whitman’s Experience – Widening Chestnut Street

In about his only negative comments in “First Spring Day,” Whitman laments the width of Chestnut Street: “Of course it is a pity that Chestnut were not two or three times wider.” The concern over the streets width was not limited to the bard: Between 1915 and 1925, there were at least 14 articles that appeared in the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin written on the subject of widening Chestnut Street.

Chestnut Street was widened at least somewhat as early as 1884, only a couple years after Whitman published Specimen Days. In an article from April 11, 1924, the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin reports on an unsuccessful suit resulting from the widening of Chestnut Street “under the ordinance of 1884” (“City Wins Street Suit”). This same ordinance is presumably the “old ordinance of Councils” referenced in an article from May 17, 1915 concerning an unsuccessful suit filed by John Wanamaker [the John Wanamaker] (“Wanamaker Loses Appeal”).

The bulk of the debate in the Evening Bulletin over whether to further expand Chestnut Street took place from 1921-1922, as this latter article [Wanamaker] is the only one from before 1921, and the only of the 14 articles from 1925 about street widening concerned the narrowing of sidewalks for the construction of a new subway (“Oppose Sidewalk Cutting”).

Another Center of “Commerce”

Another historical building on Chestnut Street was the Masonic Hall. In this early 19th Century, this hall “was the favorite place for all social and patriotic functions” (Barratt 3), and was where the defeat of Napoleon was celebrated with a grand dinner on February 24, 1814. Though the building burned down on March 9, 1819, it was rebuilt in 1820 (Barratt 9).

Here is an engraving of the Hall from around 1870, about 10 years before Whitman’s day on Chestnut street:

Masonic Hall on Chestnut Street - North Side between 7th & 8th Sts.

A Brief [Concluding] Synopsis

For more than a half century before Whitman, Chestnut Street served as a center for some of Philadelphia’s earliest national [read: Post-Nation-Founding] patriotism and gatherings of politicos. During the Civil War, it served as home to the fervent pro-nation Union League. For years before Whitman went to Chestnut Street, it was a bustling center of business.

In Whitman’s time, the street was a rapidly-changing promenade, but amidst the changes maintained its status as Philadelphia’s commerce center and all-around “happening place.” From all evidential indications, Whitman’s wonder at the street’s personality is well-earned, and his account an accurate description of the street’s typical scene historically.

References

Barratt, Norris S. & Sachse, Julius Friedrich. Freemasonry in Pennsylvania, 1727-1907. Volume 3. The New Era Printing Company: Lancaster, PA. 1919.

Entry on Hartman Kuhn. From the Catalogue of the Memorial Exhibition of Portraits by Thomas Sully. By Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts. Philadelphia. 1922.

“Keith May Open Another House.” From “William Wegener in Grand Opera.” Special to the New York Times. August 9, 1900. The New York Times Archives. Accessed October 21, 2009.                  <http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=9505E4D9143DE433A2575AC0A96E9 C946197D6CF>.

“Masonic Hall” [Chestnut St. abv., 7th, N. side]. Copy of engraving by William Kneass after William Strickland. Topics: Robert Newell Photographs from the Library Company of Philadelphia. From the Brenner Collection. Accessed October 21, 2009.   <http://www.brynmawr.edu/iconog/nwl/Nwltopic.html>.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Chestnut St. 244 Years Old, March 18, 1927, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Cows Were On    The Carpet, February 24, 1940, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Men and Things, August 6, 1923, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Pamphlet Of 1851 Shows Old-Time Chestnut Street, April 11, 1926, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Widening, City Wins Street Suit, April 11, 1924, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Widening, Oppose Sidewalk Cutting, February 5, 1925, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Widening, Wanamaker Loses Appeal, May 17, 1915, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Inquirer, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Merchants Plan Antique    Vista, August 26, 1956, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Whitman’s writing directly connected to this material topic is “The First Spring Day on Chestnut Street” from Whitman’s Specimen Days collection. In this piece of prose from around 1880-1881, Whitman expresses his joy and satisfaction at the scene on “Chestnut street — say between Broad and Fourth,” and explains why this part of Philadelphia stands out “even when compared with the great promenade-streets of other cities.”

Whitman describes a bustling scene from the first day of Spring between 1 and 2 in the afternoon, in which “nine-tenths” of the people are in great spirits to be there. A column in the August 6, 1923 edition of the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin reads, “The poet says that Chestnut [S]treet has a soul. It casts a spell. It is sacred ground. You must look your best when you walk down Chestnut [S]treet – everybody does” (“Men and Things”). Regardless of whether the “poet” cited in the column is Whitman, the sentiment is clearly one Whitman shares in his expressions of wonder. Even regarding the requirement to “look your best when you walk down Chestnut Street,” Whitman feels this is the norm: His second sentence notes the “gay-dress’d crowds,” and he later remarks on the “welldress’d women, ambulating to and fro.”

A Brief History of Time [regarding Chestnut Street]

Chestnut Street was originally laid in 1682 and named Wynne Street after Dr. Thomas Wynne, a Quaker friend of William Penn who traveled with Penn to the new colony. Penn would change the name to Chestnut Street the very next year as he renamed Philadelphia’s major streets after trees (“Chestnut St. 244 Years Old”).

George Washington once stayed at a building on 7^th and Chestnut that by 1927 was the Green’s Hotel. Interestingly, Benedict Arnold was married in this same building (“Chestnut St. 244 Years Old”). The first Chestnut Street store opened in 1706 (“Merchants Plan Antique Vista”). By 1851, Philadelphia’s leading business were all located on Chestnut between 2^nd & 10^th, according to a pamphlet from 1851 published in 1926 by the Evening Bulletin (“Pamphlet Of 1851 Shows Old-Time Chestnut Street”).

A Rapidly Changing Street

According to a Philadelphia Evening Bulletin article from February 24, 1940, the North side of Chestnut Street between 11^th and 12^th had been a cow pasture in 1830, 50 years before Whitman’s writing. But per the will of Stephen Girard, the land was developed into houses between 1831 and 1837, with 16 of these houses actually on this block of Chestnut Street (“Cows Were On The Carpet”). Along with this article is a picture of that particular block [the North side] from 1864, which, though only 16 years before Whitman’s “First Spring Day” visit, would be drastically different from the view Whitman would have. For by the time of Whitman’s visit, the only “residence” still on Chestnut Street East of Broad was the Baldwin Mansion.

Whitman’s Experience – The Baldwin Mansion

In a catalogue published in 1922 by the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, part of the entry on Hartman Kuhn reads, “1118 Chestnut Street, later known as the Baldwin Mansion, was occupied by the Union League Club 1862-1865” (Entry on Hartman Kuhn).

Whitman takes note of the Baldwin Mansion during a snapshot of his walk down the street [these snapshots in part and collectively form more “lists” or “catalogues” for which Whitman is famous]: “[T]he beauty of the cramm’d conservatory of rare flowers, flaunting reds, yellows, snowy lilies, incredible orchids, at the Baldwin mansion near Twelfth street.” As noted in the 1922 catalogue above, the Baldwin mansion in the 1860s played home to the Union League Club, an organization that maintained affiliation with not only Northerners geographically, but Republicans politically (Entry on Hartman Kuhn). There does not seem to be any indication that the mansion served as the main living quarters [during Whitman’s visit] for its owners or anyone else at least until it was sold  to vaudeville producer Benjamin Franklin Keith in 1900 (“Keith May Open Another House”).

Whitman’s Experience – Widening Chestnut Street

In about his only negative comments in “First Spring Day,” Whitman laments the width of Chestnut Street: “Of course it is a pity that Chestnut were not two or three times wider.” The concern over the streets width was not limited to the bard: Between 1915 and 1925, there were at least 14 articles that appeared in the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin written on the subject of widening Chestnut Street.

Chestnut Street was widened at least somewhat as early as 1884, only a couple years after Whitman published Specimen Days. In an article from April 11, 1924, the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin reports on an unsuccessful suit resulting from the widening of Chestnut Street “under the ordinance of 1884” (“City Wins Street Suit”). This same ordinance is presumably the “old ordinance of Councils” referenced in an article from May 17, 1915 concerning an unsuccessful suit filed by John Wanamaker [the John Wanamaker] (“Wanamaker Loses Appeal”).

The bulk of the debate in the Evening Bulletin over whether to further expand Chestnut Street took place from 1921-1922, as this latter article [Wanamaker] is the only one from before 1921, and the only of the 14 articles from 1925 about street widening concerned the narrowing of sidewalks for the construction of a new subway (“Oppose Sidewalk Cutting”).

Another Center of “Commerce”

Another historical building on Chestnut Street was the Masonic Hall. In this early 19th Century, this hall “was the favorite place for all social and patriotic functions” (Barratt 3), and was where the defeat of Napoleon was celebrated with a grand dinner on February 24, 1814. Though the building burned down on March 9, 1819, it was rebuilt in 1820 (Barratt 9).

Here is an engraving of the Hall from around 1870, about 10 years before Whitman’s day on Chestnut street:

Masonic Hall on Chestnut Street - North Side between 7th & 8th Sts.

A Brief [Concluding] Synopsis

For more than a half century before Whitman, Chestnut Street served as a center for some of Philadelphia’s earliest national [read: Post-Nation-Founding] patriotism and gatherings of politicos. During the Civil War, it served as home to the fervent pro-nation Union League. For years before Whitman went to Chestnut Street, it was a bustling center of business.

In Whitman’s time, the street was a rapidly-changing promenade, but amidst the changes maintained its status as Philadelphia’s commerce center and all-around “happening place.” From all evidential indications, Whitman’s wonder at the street’s personality is well-earned, and his account an accurate description of the street’s typical scene historically.

References

Barratt, Norris S. & Sachse, Julius Friedrich. Freemasonry in Pennsylvania, 1727-1907. Volume 3. The New Era Printing Company: Lancaster, PA. 1919.

Entry on Hartman Kuhn. From the Catalogue of the Memorial Exhibition of Portraits by Thomas Sully. By Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts. Philadelphia. 1922.

“Keith May Open Another House.” From “William Wegener in Grand Opera.” Special to the New York Times. August 9, 1900. The New York Times Archives. Accessed October 21, 2009.                  <http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=9505E4D9143DE433A2575AC0A96E9 C946197D6CF>.

“Masonic Hall” [Chestnut St. abv., 7th, N. side]. Copy of engraving by William Kneass after William Strickland. Topics: Robert Newell Photographs from the Library Company of Philadelphia. From the Brenner Collection. Accessed October 21, 2009.   <http://www.brynmawr.edu/iconog/nwl/Nwltopic.html>.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Chestnut St. 244 Years Old, March 18, 1927, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Cows Were On    The Carpet, February 24, 1940, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Men and Things, August 6, 1923, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Pamphlet Of 1851 Shows Old-Time Chestnut Street, April 11, 1926, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Widening, City Wins Street Suit, April 11, 1924, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Widening, Oppose Sidewalk Cutting, February 5, 1925, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Widening, Wanamaker Loses Appeal, May 17, 1915, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Inquirer, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Merchants Plan Antique    Vista, August 26, 1956, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Whitman’s writing directly connected to this material topic is “The First Spring Day on Chestnut Street” from Whitman’s Specimen Days collection. In this piece of prose from around 1880-1881, Whitman expresses his joy and satisfaction at the scene on “Chestnut street — say between Broad and Fourth,” and explains why this part of Philadelphia stands out “even when compared with the great promenade-streets of other cities.”

Whitman describes a bustling scene from the first day of Spring between 1 and 2 in the afternoon, in which “nine-tenths” of the people are in great spirits to be there. A column in the August 6, 1923 edition of the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin reads, “The poet says that Chestnut [S]treet has a soul. It casts a spell. It is sacred ground. You must look your best when you walk down Chestnut [S]treet – everybody does” (“Men and Things”). Regardless of whether the “poet” cited in the column is Whitman, the sentiment is clearly one Whitman shares in his expressions of wonder. Even regarding the requirement to “look your best when you walk down Chestnut Street,” Whitman feels this is the norm: His second sentence notes the “gay-dress’d crowds,” and he later remarks on the “welldress’d women, ambulating to and fro.”

A Brief History of Time [regarding Chestnut Street]

Chestnut Street was originally laid in 1682 and named Wynne Street after Dr. Thomas Wynne, a Quaker friend of William Penn who traveled with Penn to the new colony. Penn would change the name to Chestnut Street the very next year as he renamed Philadelphia’s major streets after trees (“Chestnut St. 244 Years Old”).

George Washington once stayed at a building on 7^th and Chestnut that by 1927 was the Green’s Hotel. Interestingly, Benedict Arnold was married in this same building (“Chestnut St. 244 Years Old”). The first Chestnut Street store opened in 1706 (“Merchants Plan Antique Vista”). By 1851, Philadelphia’s leading business were all located on Chestnut between 2^nd & 10^th, according to a pamphlet from 1851 published in 1926 by the Evening Bulletin (“Pamphlet Of 1851 Shows Old-Time Chestnut Street”).

A Rapidly Changing Street

According to a Philadelphia Evening Bulletin article from February 24, 1940, the North side of Chestnut Street between 11^th and 12^th had been a cow pasture in 1830, 50 years before Whitman’s writing. But per the will of Stephen Girard, the land was developed into houses between 1831 and 1837, with 16 of these houses actually on this block of Chestnut Street (“Cows Were On The Carpet”). Along with this article is a picture of that particular block [the North side] from 1864, which, though only 16 years before Whitman’s “First Spring Day” visit, would be drastically different from the view Whitman would have. For by the time of Whitman’s visit, the only “residence” still on Chestnut Street East of Broad was the Baldwin Mansion.

Whitman’s Experience – The Baldwin Mansion

In a catalogue published in 1922 by the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, part of the entry on Hartman Kuhn reads, “1118 Chestnut Street, later known as the Baldwin Mansion, was occupied by the Union League Club 1862-1865” (Entry on Hartman Kuhn).

Whitman takes note of the Baldwin Mansion during a snapshot of his walk down the street [these snapshots in part and collectively form more “lists” or “catalogues” for which Whitman is famous]: “[T]he beauty of the cramm’d conservatory of rare flowers, flaunting reds, yellows, snowy lilies, incredible orchids, at the Baldwin mansion near Twelfth street.” As noted in the 1922 catalogue above, the Baldwin mansion in the 1860s played home to the Union League Club, an organization that maintained affiliation with not only Northerners geographically, but Republicans politically (Entry on Hartman Kuhn). There does not seem to be any indication that the mansion served as the main living quarters [during Whitman’s visit] for its owners or anyone else at least until it was sold  to vaudeville producer Benjamin Franklin Keith in 1900 (“Keith May Open Another House”).

Whitman’s Experience – Widening Chestnut Street

In about his only negative comments in “First Spring Day,” Whitman laments the width of Chestnut Street: “Of course it is a pity that Chestnut were not two or three times wider.” The concern over the streets width was not limited to the bard: Between 1915 and 1925, there were at least 14 articles that appeared in the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin written on the subject of widening Chestnut Street.

Chestnut Street was widened at least somewhat as early as 1884, only a couple years after Whitman published Specimen Days. In an article from April 11, 1924, the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin reports on an unsuccessful suit resulting from the widening of Chestnut Street “under the ordinance of 1884” (“City Wins Street Suit”). This same ordinance is presumably the “old ordinance of Councils” referenced in an article from May 17, 1915 concerning an unsuccessful suit filed by John Wanamaker [the John Wanamaker] (“Wanamaker Loses Appeal”).

The bulk of the debate in the Evening Bulletin over whether to further expand Chestnut Street took place from 1921-1922, as this latter article [Wanamaker] is the only one from before 1921, and the only of the 14 articles from 1925 about street widening concerned the narrowing of sidewalks for the construction of a new subway (“Oppose Sidewalk Cutting”).

Another Center of “Commerce”

Another historical building on Chestnut Street was the Masonic Hall. In this early 19th Century, this hall “was the favorite place for all social and patriotic functions” (Barratt 3), and was where the defeat of Napoleon was celebrated with a grand dinner on February 24, 1814. Though the building burned down on March 9, 1819, it was rebuilt in 1820 (Barratt 9).

Here is an engraving of the Hall from around 1870, about 10 years before Whitman’s day on Chestnut street:

Masonic Hall on Chestnut Street - North Side between 7th & 8th Sts.

A Brief [Concluding] Synopsis

For more than a half century before Whitman, Chestnut Street served as a center for some of Philadelphia’s earliest national [read: Post-Nation-Founding] patriotism and gatherings of politicos. During the Civil War, it served as home to the fervent pro-nation Union League. For years before Whitman went to Chestnut Street, it was a bustling center of business.

In Whitman’s time, the street was a rapidly-changing promenade, but amidst the changes maintained its status as Philadelphia’s commerce center and all-around “happening place.” From all evidential indications, Whitman’s wonder at the street’s personality is well-earned, and his account an accurate description of the street’s typical scene historically.

References

Barratt, Norris S. & Sachse, Julius Friedrich. Freemasonry in Pennsylvania, 1727-1907. Volume 3. The New Era Printing Company: Lancaster, PA. 1919.

Entry on Hartman Kuhn. From the Catalogue of the Memorial Exhibition of Portraits by Thomas Sully. By Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts. Philadelphia. 1922.

“Keith May Open Another House.” From “William Wegener in Grand Opera.” Special to the New York Times. August 9, 1900. The New York Times Archives. Accessed October 21, 2009.                  <http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=9505E4D9143DE433A2575AC0A96E9 C946197D6CF>.

“Masonic Hall” [Chestnut St. abv., 7th, N. side]. Copy of engraving by William Kneass after William Strickland. Topics: Robert Newell Photographs from the Library Company of Philadelphia. From the Brenner Collection. Accessed October 21, 2009.   <http://www.brynmawr.edu/iconog/nwl/Nwltopic.html>.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Chestnut St. 244 Years Old, March 18, 1927, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Cows Were On    The Carpet, February 24, 1940, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Men and Things, August 6, 1923, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Pamphlet Of 1851 Shows Old-Time Chestnut Street, April 11, 1926, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Widening, City Wins Street Suit, April 11, 1924, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Widening, Oppose Sidewalk Cutting, February 5, 1925, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Widening, Wanamaker Loses Appeal, May 17, 1915, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Inquirer, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Merchants Plan Antique    Vista, August 26, 1956, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Whitman’s writing directly connected to this material topic is “The First Spring Day on Chestnut Street” from Whitman’s Specimen Days collection. In this piece of prose from around 1880-1881, Whitman expresses his joy and satisfaction at the scene on “Chestnut street — say between Broad and Fourth,” and explains why this part of Philadelphia stands out “even when compared with the great promenade-streets of other cities.”

Whitman describes a bustling scene from the first day of Spring between 1 and 2 in the afternoon, in which “nine-tenths” of the people are in great spirits to be there. A column in the August 6, 1923 edition of the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin reads, “The poet says that Chestnut [S]treet has a soul. It casts a spell. It is sacred ground. You must look your best when you walk down Chestnut [S]treet – everybody does” (“Men and Things”). Regardless of whether the “poet” cited in the column is Whitman, the sentiment is clearly one Whitman shares in his expressions of wonder. Even regarding the requirement to “look your best when you walk down Chestnut Street,” Whitman feels this is the norm: His second sentence notes the “gay-dress’d crowds,” and he later remarks on the “welldress’d women, ambulating to and fro.”

A Brief History of Time [regarding Chestnut Street]

Chestnut Street was originally laid in 1682 and named Wynne Street after Dr. Thomas Wynne, a Quaker friend of William Penn who traveled with Penn to the new colony. Penn would change the name to Chestnut Street the very next year as he renamed Philadelphia’s major streets after trees (“Chestnut St. 244 Years Old”).

George Washington once stayed at a building on 7^th and Chestnut that by 1927 was the Green’s Hotel. Interestingly, Benedict Arnold was married in this same building (“Chestnut St. 244 Years Old”). The first Chestnut Street store opened in 1706 (“Merchants Plan Antique Vista”). By 1851, Philadelphia’s leading business were all located on Chestnut between 2^nd & 10^th, according to a pamphlet from 1851 published in 1926 by the Evening Bulletin (“Pamphlet Of 1851 Shows Old-Time Chestnut Street”).

A Rapidly Changing Street

According to a Philadelphia Evening Bulletin article from February 24, 1940, the North side of Chestnut Street between 11^th and 12^th had been a cow pasture in 1830, 50 years before Whitman’s writing. But per the will of Stephen Girard, the land was developed into houses between 1831 and 1837, with 16 of these houses actually on this block of Chestnut Street (“Cows Were On The Carpet”). Along with this article is a picture of that particular block [the North side] from 1864, which, though only 16 years before Whitman’s “First Spring Day” visit, would be drastically different from the view Whitman would have. For by the time of Whitman’s visit, the only “residence” still on Chestnut Street East of Broad was the Baldwin Mansion.

Whitman’s Experience – The Baldwin Mansion

In a catalogue published in 1922 by the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, part of the entry on Hartman Kuhn reads, “1118 Chestnut Street, later known as the Baldwin Mansion, was occupied by the Union League Club 1862-1865” (Entry on Hartman Kuhn).

Whitman takes note of the Baldwin Mansion during a snapshot of his walk down the street [these snapshots in part and collectively form more “lists” or “catalogues” for which Whitman is famous]: “[T]he beauty of the cramm’d conservatory of rare flowers, flaunting reds, yellows, snowy lilies, incredible orchids, at the Baldwin mansion near Twelfth street.” As noted in the 1922 catalogue above, the Baldwin mansion in the 1860s played home to the Union League Club, an organization that maintained affiliation with not only Northerners geographically, but Republicans politically (Entry on Hartman Kuhn). There does not seem to be any indication that the mansion served as the main living quarters [during Whitman’s visit] for its owners or anyone else at least until it was sold  to vaudeville producer Benjamin Franklin Keith in 1900 (“Keith May Open Another House”).

Whitman’s Experience – Widening Chestnut Street

In about his only negative comments in “First Spring Day,” Whitman laments the width of Chestnut Street: “Of course it is a pity that Chestnut were not two or three times wider.” The concern over the streets width was not limited to the bard: Between 1915 and 1925, there were at least 14 articles that appeared in the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin written on the subject of widening Chestnut Street.

Chestnut Street was widened at least somewhat as early as 1884, only a couple years after Whitman published Specimen Days. In an article from April 11, 1924, the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin reports on an unsuccessful suit resulting from the widening of Chestnut Street “under the ordinance of 1884” (“City Wins Street Suit”). This same ordinance is presumably the “old ordinance of Councils” referenced in an article from May 17, 1915 concerning an unsuccessful suit filed by John Wanamaker [the John Wanamaker] (“Wanamaker Loses Appeal”).

The bulk of the debate in the Evening Bulletin over whether to further expand Chestnut Street took place from 1921-1922, as this latter article [Wanamaker] is the only one from before 1921, and the only of the 14 articles from 1925 about street widening concerned the narrowing of sidewalks for the construction of a new subway (“Oppose Sidewalk Cutting”).

Another Center of “Commerce”

Another historical building on Chestnut Street was the Masonic Hall. In this early 19th Century, this hall “was the favorite place for all social and patriotic functions” (Barratt 3), and was where the defeat of Napoleon was celebrated with a grand dinner on February 24, 1814. Though the building burned down on March 9, 1819, it was rebuilt in 1820 (Barratt 9).

Here is an engraving of the Hall from around 1870, about 10 years before Whitman’s day on Chestnut street:

Masonic Hall on Chestnut Street - North Side between 7th & 8th Sts.

A Brief [Concluding] Synopsis

For more than a half century before Whitman, Chestnut Street served as a center for some of Philadelphia’s earliest national [read: Post-Nation-Founding] patriotism and gatherings of politicos. During the Civil War, it served as home to the fervent pro-nation Union League. For years before Whitman went to Chestnut Street, it was a bustling center of business.

In Whitman’s time, the street was a rapidly-changing promenade, but amidst the changes maintained its status as Philadelphia’s commerce center and all-around “happening place.” From all evidential indications, Whitman’s wonder at the street’s personality is well-earned, and his account an accurate description of the street’s typical scene historically.

References

Barratt, Norris S. & Sachse, Julius Friedrich. Freemasonry in Pennsylvania, 1727-1907. Volume 3. The New Era Printing Company: Lancaster, PA. 1919.

Entry on Hartman Kuhn. From the Catalogue of the Memorial Exhibition of Portraits by Thomas Sully. By Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts. Philadelphia. 1922.

“Keith May Open Another House.” From “William Wegener in Grand Opera.” Special to the New York Times. August 9, 1900. The New York Times Archives. Accessed October 21, 2009.                  <http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=9505E4D9143DE433A2575AC0A96E9 C946197D6CF>.

“Masonic Hall” [Chestnut St. abv., 7th, N. side]. Copy of engraving by William Kneass after William Strickland. Topics: Robert Newell Photographs from the Library Company of Philadelphia. From the Brenner Collection. Accessed October 21, 2009.   <http://www.brynmawr.edu/iconog/nwl/Nwltopic.html>.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Chestnut St. 244 Years Old, March 18, 1927, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Cows Were On    The Carpet, February 24, 1940, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Men and Things, August 6, 1923, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Pamphlet Of 1851 Shows Old-Time Chestnut Street, April 11, 1926, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Widening, City Wins Street Suit, April 11, 1924, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Widening, Oppose Sidewalk Cutting, February 5, 1925, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Chestnut Street – Widening, Wanamaker Loses Appeal, May 17, 1915, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.

Philadelphia Inquirer, Chestnut Street – Miscellaneous – 1969 & Prior, Merchants Plan Antique    Vista, August 26, 1956, Philadelphia, Temple University Libraries, Urban Archives, Philadelphia, PA.