cc >> Dale Rogovitch: Thank you, and welcome to History Sandwiched In.
Our topic today is the history of Madison during the Civil War. Our speaker is Mr. Stuart Levitan, whom you might be
familiar with. Here is the book. We do have it at the shop, and Mr. Levitan had said that he
will sign them afterward if you're interested. This is "The Illustrated Sesquicentennial History,
Volume 1, 1856-1931." It's enormously readable, fantastically illustrated. And we all know that we live
in a unique city. If you're interested in knowing how it got to be that way, Mr. Levitan is the one who has
those answers and will explain them. It's an absolute delight. So join me in welcoming
Stuart Levitan. [APPLAUSE] >> Stuart Levitan: Thank you for that lovely introduction.
I should bring you around to all the places. I love hearing stuff like that. Thank you very much and thank
you all very much for coming. As Dale mentioned in the preliminary comments, we are marking the 150th anniversary of
the Civil War, and as we mark the sesquicentennial of that seminal event in American history, I want to share with
you what the Civil War meant for Madison, this Madison, and our Madison. And it meant a lot.
The course of political history, our attitudes towards the military, even the local landscape all profoundly and
permanently changed by the war. This is Madison in 1860. There have been a lot of great photos from Lakeside Street,
this is the first. You can sort of make out of the second capitol in Madison in the middle there, the top of Grace
Episcopal before the steeple, Dane County courthouse over to the left, St. Raphael's, and City Hall.
Here is a much better photo. This is the same time frame, a much better view. Some of the highlights here.
The second capitol, the second Madison capitol, being built in the middle or behind the first Madison capitol.
Grace Episcopal to the right. The Dane County courthouse with the dome up here in the right. Over there is the Madison
City Hall with that bell tower on top of it. The image is a little too big to make out but just to the left
there is Engel Street, what we now call Langdon Street, and a little bit further to the left the E.W. Skinner Factory on Lake
Mendota Court where they made sorghum mills. This was before there was zoning, and there were factories
on campus. Now, here is our dirty little secret. And that is that Madison did not
welcome the war or the administration that fought it. And many local heroes of the age hindered Abraham Lincoln rather
than helped in his fight to free the slaves. But while Madison opposed the war politically, the city
supported it on a personal level. Madison men volunteered at a higher percentage than those of
any other major Wisconsin city and died in higher numbers than the state average. By early 1865, two of every
three adult males had gone to war. "Madison takes the palm for patriotism," the Milwaukee News
reported. The 722 Madison men who went to war fought in battles from Pennsylvania to Georgia and bore
171 casualties. All the injuries and deaths, of course, changed lives but one battle, the Battle of Shiloh,
had two casualties that changed history. Here's a nice shot of Wisconsin Avenue.
The Presbyterian church on the left, City Hall on the right. City Hall opened in 1858 and by 1865 was already a bit run down.
Now, Mr. Lincoln carried Wisconsin both before and during the war, but he did not carry Madison.
In 1860, he lost narrowly to Stephen Douglas, but in 1864, when the choice was between a president who would fight until
abolition and a former general who wouldn't, Madison went for General George McClellan by a comfortable margin, about 53% to
47%. Think about that. In the middle of the Civil War, Madison voted for George
McClellan over Abraham Lincoln. Madison also twice rejected this man, republican governor Alexander P Randall, an early
and forceful foe of the southern secessionists. In 1859, the abolitionist Randall easily won reelection
but he lost Madison badly, 58% to 42%. Again, think about that. Madison did not vote for the
republican abolitionist governor during the Civil War. I'm sorry, a year before the Civil War.
Now, sadly Randall's career did not end as well as it started. As Andrew Johnson's Postmaster General, he was the first
Wisconsinite to serve in a president's cabinet, Randall help raise the money that paid the bribes that let Johnson
finish his term. Now, we don't know it Randall was actively involved and knew that there were bribes, but
there were bribes that kept Andrew Johnson in office, Alexander Randall helped raise the money that paid them.
He later retired to his home state of New York and died at, what strikes me as, a very young age in his early '50s.
That's striking me as increasingly young these days. [LAUGHTER] Now, unlike the wars of the
20th century, the Civil War did not cause serious economic or social disruption of life in Madison other than those caused
by the soldiers themselves. There was a bumper wheat crop in 1860 so the county economy recovered from the panic of
1857. And while one in three Wisconsin banks failed in 1861 because they were overly invested in
southern bonds, Madison banks weathered the war. But there were lingering difficulties.
Some very aggressive city borrowing had ruined city finances and left us deeply in debt.
Say something if this strikes you as familiar. [LAUGHTER] A report from the city finance
committee in 1860 was blunt. "The truth is that as a city, we have been swindled and robbed and the state prison for life
would be none too good for the men who have done this. We are bankrupt for the present, bankrupt for the future,
bankrupt forever unless we can affect a reasonable compromise." Well, it took three years and we only paid 60 cents on the
dollar but eventually we got out of that crushing debt. The view down Wisconsin Avenue from the capitol around 1868.
That's city hall on the left. Now, the Common Council was also largely antiwar while the war was being fought.
And except for the area east of Wisconsin Avenue, that's to the right of the screen, three of the four wards were solidly
democratic. Every council had a democratic majority except in 1862. The leading republican on the
council was the young Daniel Kent Tenney who, of course, would later give us Tenney Park. That's his new house there on
the corner of Carroll and Gorham Street, just over the roof line of the city hall. Now, the only hint of liberalism
on our record from this period is that when state voters rejected black suffrage by five to one in 1857, Madison voters
only rejected it by three to one. And by 1865, only 38% of Madison voters endorsed the concept
enshrined in the 15th Amendment. If you had put the 15th Amendment to a popular vote in Madison, Wisconsin, which
effectively we did, it would have lost overwhelmingly. This stern and stout man is George B Smith, our mayor from
1859 to 1861, again in 1878, and a member of the State Assembly in '64 and '69. Here's what he wrote in his
diary in 1862. "Lincoln," he wrote, "was responsible for the miserable state of things, and for this
and many special and arbitrary acts which he has committed and authorized, I solemnly believe that he ought to be impeached
and removed from office." That's our mayor, our state representative, saying Abraham Lincoln should have been
impeached and convicted and removed from office. Another future mayor, Harlow S Orton, who did more
to save a neighborhood park than he did to save the Union. He was later dean of the law school, a distinguished Supreme
Court justice, mayor, and, in 1861, he led the Dane County Cavalry, one of the local militia, but I don't think his
heart was it in. Unlike other militia leaders, Harlow Orton waited two days after Fort Sumter, to assemble
his company. And then he led his men in an overwhelming vote against answering the president's call
for troops. The president called for troops, Harlow Orton's men voted no. He said he "fully and totally
and emphatically" opposed Lincoln's policies. He called them war-mongering that would "destroy all hope of
Union forever." But as our 15th mayor in 1877, Harlow Orton cast the deciding vote to save the old east side
cemetery for a park and not sell it for housing, after which the council named it in his honor. So the next time you are in
Orton Park, on Madison's fabulous east side in the Wil-Mar neighborhood, reflect on the irony of Madison's loveliest
park being named for a man with such politics. Here is one of the loveliest homes of the time.
This is home to two mayors, a member of Congress, and Miller beer golden girl Dolly Harman. I hope some of you remember
Gordon and Dolly Harman. They lived in this house at 732 East Gorham Street. This was built by William
Leitch, who was the mayor from 1862-1865. He was so against the war he reportedly refused to assist in
recruiting volunteers or raising funds for their bounties. He was a Scotsman who still celebrated the queen's birthday
by getting drunk, and Leitch had made a fortune in the wholesale southern clothing trade. So whether his politics followed
his economics or his economics followed his politics, we're not completely sure. Now, as I mentioned before, as
is the case today, Madison was then stymied by lingering debt and state imposed fiscal controls, that sounds familiar,
and Leitch denounced those who "disturbed the public ear with crapulous complaints about frivolous matters when, with the
small means at our disposal, and the depreciation of the currency, it has been almost as much as we could do to maintain
the essential features of municipal government." I love the way they talked back then.
"The crapulous complaints about frivolous matters." Now, to become mayor, Leitch beat the man who lived here,
Levi Vilas, a successful politician and businessman, both in his native Vermont and when he moved to Madison in 1850.
Now, Vilas did support the war at first but broke with Lincoln over the Emancipation Proclamation, which he called
a fanatical policy. Our mayor, 1861. He also bemoaned, "The corruptions of men in
office and the licentious practices that prevail upon the people in electing them." He warned that "the imbecility
and disregard of justice and right manifested in the discharge of official trusts could result in revolution and a
new government subversive of the rights and liberties of the people." For an awfully rich man, he
sort of talks like a tea partier, you know? This is what Pinckney Street looked like about that time.
A lot of refuse in the streets; a lot of dust in the streets. You can start to understand why Levi Vilas promised to get tough
on wild animals in that campaign of 1861. That was one of the big issues was cracking down on rabid dogs.
But it turns out he got a little too aggressive and he shot too many dogs and he was beat in next election by the
aforementioned William Leitch. So this is the one side of the square. This is the other side of the
square. This is where Levi Vilas did his business. This, of course, is Wisconsin
Avenue. Later, in 1877, it became Monona and then, of course, is now Martin Luther King Boulevard.
But originally it was the southern part of Wisconsin Avenue. This is, to the left, this is
the Capital House Hotel, later the Vilas House after Levi bought out his partners. Now, there may even be people
here today who remember this building. It had a Woolworth's in it until 1955.
It was torn down in 1957 and replaced by the JC Penney that stood from '59 until the early '80s and then was replaced
One East Main. So this building built in the early 1850s was still standing a hundred years later.
And that's one of the things that I find remarkable, as you go around the square there are a number of buildings from the
1850s that were still present, still vital pieces of the local economy and the local landscape as late as the 1950s.
So this is one of earliest parts of Levi Vilas' fortune. Of course, he would go on to grow through various mercantile
interests. And the young man who lived in that big house we showed you before and who would some day
take over Levi Vilas' business was the young William Freeman Vilas, shown here as the valedictorian of the three
member UW class of 1858. Well, even though there were only three people, William Vilas was a very smart young man.
By the age of 20 he had already argued his first case in front of the Wisconsin Supreme Court. Here is the campus at that time.
North Hall, Main Hall, and South Hall, the first three buildings. I mentioned Daniel Kent Tenney earlier, as a teenager in 1850,
Dan Tenney laid the cornerstone for that building on the right on North Hall. So this is where William Freeman
Vilas had gone to school. And this is something that's always confused me. Levi Vilas was not big on
abolition and yet he named his son William Freeman Vilas. Now, when William Freeman Vilas was born in 1840 in Vermont,
maybe early abolitionism had attracted Levi Vilas and he thought differently about it when the war was getting closer,
but for some reason he did give his son the middle name of Freeman. And then the war came.
And young William did his part. Although, he too was not big on abolition, he was, as you can see, the recruiting officer for
the local militia, the Madison Zouaves, back when militias, when there really were militias, the Governor's Guard, the
Madison Guard, the Dane County Cavalry, the Madison Zouaves. Now speaking of volunteers, Madisonians gave generously
through gifts and special taxes to support soldiers and their families. And this is a very good thing,
but it was charity admittedly with decided self-interest because these enlistment bounties recruited the
volunteers that helped the city avoid the draft for almost the entire war. And this was a point of major
social pride that we had enough volunteers that we didn't have to be subjected to the draft. Now, by the time we get into
1863, the record-keeping is a little confused and Washington isn't giving us total credit for all the volunteers so we did
have a draft briefly, but for the most part, we had such a good turnout by volunteers thanks to high bounty and pay.
$100,000 through private donations and special taxes. The Common Council actually levied special taxes to raise
money to pay bounties for volunteers to avoid the draft. And here we get to the single most important thing to happen
to Madison and Wisconsin during the Civil War. And it was that this young man came home unharmed.
Because he would grow up to become senator, Postmaster General, Secretary of the Interior, actually hosted
president Grover Cleveland for a three-day visit to his mansion on the hill. Most importantly, he would
become our greatest parks philanthropist and give more than $100 million to the University of Wisconsin,
including scholarships specifically for persons of Negro blood, should they present themselves.
And that was $100 million back when that was real money. [LAUGHTER] Lieutenant Colonel Vilas
rose to the ranks to become a colonel of the 23rd regiment. He fought at Vicksburg. Men under his command were
wounded and killed. Some of the 171 who died in battle. Had William Freeman Vilas, at
age 22, 23, 24, had he met their fate, there would, today, be no Henry Vilas Park. There would be no
Vilas Communications Hall. There would not even be a Vilas County. Just think about Madison and
Wisconsin if this young man, the recruiting officer for the Madison Zouaves, a colonel at Vicksburg, men under his command
died. If that bullet this gotten William Freeman Vilas, we are not the same city.
Those Vilas men did love their beards. [LAUGHTER] This is looking at the eastern
side of Wisconsin Avenue. Now, over there on the western side, you can't quite see it in this photo, but we cross the
street and just down at the end, that last building down at the end, way at the end of the block, stood the Fairchild
House. Built in 1849 by the first treasurer of Wisconsin, the first mayor of Madison, Jairus
Fairchild, Jairus Cassius Fairchild. And last time I spoke here a few years ago we actually had Jairus
Fairchild and Sally Blair Fairchild. And we do miss them but it was nice to have them with us.
So this is Jairus Cassius Fairchild. This is Cassius Fairchild. His first born son, Madison's
crown prince. By the time he was 32 he had been state representative, chairman of the state democratic
party, president of the Common Council, and manager of his father's extensive business interests, which included this
fine business block that the major business block there at the Main and King and Pinckney Streets.
The buildings of the Simeon Mills historic district just there at the left. At the end of King Street, the
minor commercial building, reminds us what a lousy job James Duane Doty did in laying out this brand new city, but
that's a different slide show. That's the land use planning slide show. And, again, some people will
remember this building because it stood until the 1950s as well. So back to Cassius Fairchild,
whose future was as bright as anyone's in the capital city until the war came. Now, this is not the most
flattering illustration of Cassius. This is Cassius in 1861 and this is Cassius in 1859.
He let himself go. [LAUGHTER] As a member of the Governor's Guard,
Cassius Fairchild, one of the first volunteers, he made major in six months and by December was lieutenant colonel
of the 16th Wisconsin. And here I have to take a short break for a bit of historiography.
I have in my possession a valid authoritative research manual that says the Governor's Guard was the first militia accepted
by Governor Randall into service. I have another publication published by the State
Historical Society of Wisconsin that says it was the Madison Guard, led by General George Bryant, that was the first.
I'm looking at these two documents, okay, this one, so I've got newspaper clippings that say it's the Governor
Guard, it's the Madison Guard. The book says it's the Madison Guard. I'm going to go with the Madison
Guard. Cassius was in the Governor's Guard so he was certainly one of the first volunteers accepted
in. As I say, he rose to the ranks, was a lieutenant colonel of the 16th Wisconsin and then came the
Battle of Shiloh. The first week of April 1862 and Cassius Fairchild was struck in the thigh by a musket ball so
close to the hip joint that amputation was impossible and treatment dangerous. He was brought back home on a
stretcher all the way from Tennessee over a series of rivers. He spent a year in agony until
the musket ball could be removed. Now, when Jairus Fairchild built this house, he chose the best
lot in the city. And this is where the capital annex is. This is the foot of Wisconsin
Avenue overlooking the lake. But in the summer and fall of 1862, Madison's first great house was a place of suffering
and death because even as Cassius was trying to recover from his wounds, his father Jairus was dying in the room
next door and would do so that October. Cassius returned to service in May 1863, was twice injured
again, again recovered. In March 1864, he became a colonel in the 17th Army Corps. He marched to the sea with
Sherman. After Appomattox, he was mustered out as a brigadier general but it seems he was a
broken man. He got an sinecure appointment as US marshal, moved to Milwaukee where he married on
October 14, 1868. Ten days later, while serving as a pallbearer at a friend's funeral, his wounds ruptured and
he died. He was 39 years old. There are no monuments to Cassius Fairchild as there are
to William Vilas. The only monument to Cassius Fairchild is a tombstone. And when you think about what a
talented young politician he was, what he could have done with a 20 or 30 year career, easily mayor, easily governor,
probably more, there was a future president who fought alongside Cassius Fairchild at Shiloh.
That was Brigadier General James A Garfield of Ohio. Why not Cassius Fairchild? Especially when you consider the
accomplishments of his younger brother Lucius. Now, when Lucius Fairchild was younger, he was something of a
punk. He joined the California gold rush at age 18, made some money, and by his late 20s was back in
Madison, a bit adrift, but he used the war to turn his life around because he, too, showed skill as a soldier.
He commanded a regiment in the Iron Brigade through several critical battles. He was a democrat before the
war, become a strong republican and a forceful advocate for the war and abolition. He was leading a charge up
Seminary Hill at the Battle of Gettysburg in July of 1863 when a musket ball shattered his left arm leaving him the man with the
empty sleeve. He was elected Secretary of State that fall and became Wisconsin's first three-term
governor, serving from 1866 to 1872. Held several ambassadorial posts and was national commander of
the Grand Army of the Republic. And here is a very impressive view of governor and ambassador Lucius Fairchild, painted here
by John Singer Sargent. Again, given Lucius' success, just think what Cassius could have accomplished.
Back to Wisconsin Avenue, just up from the Fairchild house at the end of the street, that next large brick building, that
stately brick home is the home of David Atwood. One of my personal heroes for his utter disregard for the
proper line between journalism and politics. [LAUGHTER] He was the founder of
the Wisconsin State Journal. He kept publishing even as he was helping found the republican party and serving as mayor,
president of the school board, and member of Congress. He was so respected they named Atwood Avenue in his honor while
he was still alive. And trust me, that's a dangerous thing to do when you name something after a politician
when they are still alive. [LAUGHTER] A little further up Wisconsin Avenue, right here on
the corner we have the home and office of Simeon Mills who walked here from Chicago in 1837.
Walked here from Chicago in 1837. I think you can tell by his eyes he has a bit of the zeal about
him. He came to open Wisconsin, Madison's first store. He got here just hours after the
first construction crew in July of 1837 that came to build the first territorial capitol. So he was in on the ground
floor. We've already seen a shot of the Simeon Mills historic district on King and Main Street.
Those buildings, of course, are still with us. In 1864, he was about to do Madison a big favor and open our
second railroad line. Up until that point, the Milwaukee Road had a monopoly. And it charged us exorbitant
freight rates. It was even cheaper for farmers to take their wheat to Sun Prairie and use the railroad
there as opposed to using the Milwaukee Road that was gouging local farmers with its high rates.
The Milwaukee Road is my nominee for the worst corporate villain in Madison's history. Those of you who were around
here in the 1940s a '50s remember the tremendous fights that went on trying to get the Milwaukee Road to move its round
house. To sort of open up that area, make it less industrial, just 6-7 blocks west of the capitol.
Ironically, the Milwaukee Road at that time was headed by Leo Crowley who was one of the great men of Madison.
He was a big deal in the New Deal. He was a major philanthropist of Catholic charities, but as the
head of the Milwaukee Road, the Milwaukee Road was not a good corporate citizen. But, again, that's for another
slide show. So Milwaukee Road has this terrible monopoly. Simeon Mills, as the head of not
one but two railroads, is going to do us a major proper and open up a new railroad. He had the money, he had the
access, all he needed was the right right-of-way. Unfortunately, the right-of-way that he chose was completely
wrong. It was 12 blocks through the heart of downtown, crossing State Street, out Johnson
Street, along the base of the neighborhood, back then it was called Big Bug Hill, we call it Mansion Hill today.
Think of a railroad crossing State Street, going out Johnson Street at the base of Mansion Hill.
Now, naturally the neighborhood fought back and at the Common Council meeting of January 19, 1863, this had to be one of the
most exciting and important council meetings ever, Simeon Mills went head to head with that other great businessman who
lived on Mansion Hill but owned investment property directly across the street, Levi Vilas. Just think of that council
meeting, Simeon Mills and Levi Vilas head to head over the future of the railroad, the future of downtown Madison.
Now, you may say that Mansion Hill was showing an early inclination to nimbyism. [LAUGHTER]
But I, for one, am thankful that the council agreed with Levi Vilas and the neighborhood and sent the tracks alongside
the shoreline of Lake Monona to the east side, saving the downtown, jump starting the east side industrial
development, and creating the world's only mid-water railroad crossing. Mills must have wondering,
though, what all the fuss was about because in the late 1880s he built a mansion just across the street from Lucius Fairchild
at the corner of Wilson and Wisconsin, just up the embankment from the very railroad that he had brought to
town 20 years earlier. A very famous lithograph of Camp Randall. The greatest impact on the city
during the Civil War came because of the state. It was when Governor Randall transformed the fair grounds of
the State Agricultural Society, about a mile and a half west of the capitol, into the state's central training ground in the
spring and summer of 1861 that life in Madison changed dramatically and not always for the best.
About 70,000 of Wisconsin's 95,000 soldiers passed through Camp Randall over the next four years, leaving serious trouble
in their wake. Another view. There were problems from the start.
The spring of '61 was cold and wet and because construction superintendent Horace Tenney, that's Daniel's uncle, he had
been one of the pioneer settlers, Horace Tenney didn't have time to prepare the facility properly, the men were
cold and wet as well. The food was bad, arms and equipment were in short supply, and the level of training and
discipline almost random. Blame for all these bad things fell squarely on Tenney and pay master Simeon Mills.
It was also Tenney who allowed saloons to operate inside the camp, further eroding discipline and decorum.
"The boys are on the point of revolting against the government," wrote Chauncey Cook of the 25th Infantry,
complaining about "the sour bread and stinking meat. It seems an outrage to get such treatment in the capital of our
state." And so many of the boys had been arrested and jailed. A rare photo of Camp Randall in
operation. Those woods would not survive the war. The desecration of the forests
of University Heights and Maple Bluff to keep Camp Randall warm, one more sad legacy of the period.
And there were some sad things that happened. On June 10th and 11th, 1861 several hundred new recruits on
furlough terrorized Madison. One group reportedly assaulted and murdered a German woman while another drunken mob
exchanged gunfire with the proprietor and patrons at Voight's Brewery at Gorham and State.
Mayor Vilas called a citizens meeting to address what he called the outrages. But the meeting itself almost
erupted into violence as dozens of Germans arrived with rifles. A little bit of pre-concealed carry, I guess.
Over the next three years, soldiers posed an increasing threat to public safety through numerous assaults, drunken
brawls, insubordination, and even arson at Camp Randall itself. Relations between the city and
the camp crew even rougher after a large contingent of draftees arrived in February 1864. By early fall, when the soldiers
census peaked at about 3500, that's more than one soldier for every three residents of Madison, there was an outright
rain of terror, with soldiers committing two murders within six weeks. There were military patrols on
almost every corner giving the city the appearance of martial law. But they didn't really
accomplish much. "Murder and highway robbery and riot have been with impunity committed against us," declared
Mayor Leitch who we know was now fan of the Union war effort, even in the best of times. This is one of those breweries,
this is Hausmann's Capital Brewery at State and Gorham. A lot of students drank here. Well, a lot of students drank
everywhere, actually. But again, that's another slide show. The Union House Tavern, which is
why we still call it Union Corners. Milwaukee and East Washington. Very popular with soldiers and
convenient too. There was an army pay master on the second floor. It was torn down in 1954, but I
believe the bar is still in use at the new Malt House in that neighborhood. Two men out standing in their
field. I love that joke. I just love that joke. [LAUGHTER]
I wrote that book and I put it in the caption, and my editor crossed it out. She said, "We can see they're
standing in a field." And I said, "No, no, it's a joke." [LAUGHTER]
This is the former Camp Randall back to Ag Society use for the centennial celebration of 1876.
But in 1893, the state decided to sell this land for housing development. Even as UW president Charles
Kendall Adams was trying to get the land for an athletic facility. The housing plan had been
approved. It would have been built when Lucius Fairchild showed up and told the legislature that if it
didn't by the land for the university he would. Had it not been for the Civil War, had it not been for the
memory of the soldiers who saved the Union and the personal intervention of Lucius Fairchild, Camp Randall, as we
know it, would not exist today. If it had not been for the Civil War, that would have been a 40-acre housing subdivision, not
Camp Randall. There are other important parts of Civil War in Madison that exist today.
Grace Episcopal Church, the Simeon Mills district, the Willett Main building just down the street, you know it as the
Teddy Wedger building, many of the finest homes on Mansion Hill, and of course those first three buildings on campus.
My favorite building built during the war, this modest sandstone and sort of a southwest gothic revival.
In the 200 block of West Washington Avenue, dedicated in September 1863 as Shaarei Shamayim Synagogue,
or Gates of Heaven. It was here that the legislature met following Lincoln's assassination in April 1865.
This building later served a variety of religious and nonreligious functions, including as a dentist office,
a funeral parlor, and the Unitarian meeting house where Frank Lloyd Wright attended 1879 to 1876.
I'm not sure if that's a religious or a non-religious use, but it was the Unitarian meeting house.
In 1971, the synagogue was moved to James Madison Park, over the strident opposition of former governor George Foster.
Another great building of the era but this one has not survived, the Farwell Mansion at Brearly and State, seen here as
the soldier's orphan's home around 1870, but before that it was the Harvey Soldiers Hospital, named at Governor
Lewis P Harvey, the other casualty of Shiloh whose death changed history. The first republican
gubernatorial candidate to carry Madison by 25 votes, Harvey was in office only three months when he led a mission to minister to
the troops that had been so battered at Shiloh. But on April 19, 1862, he slipped while trying to board a
boat in the dark and drowned in the swiftly moving Tennessee River, the same river that brought Cassius Fairchild home.
It was only due to the persistence of Harvey's widow, Cordelia, who lobbied Abraham Lincoln personally, that any
northern hospital were opened. And the Harvey hospital was the first. Another photo from that time.
This photo is from 1865. Can anyone guess who this six-year-old girl is? Here's a hint, when she died in
1931 the New York Times called her "possibly the least known, yet most influential woman in public affairs."
The young Belle Case. Later the first or second woman to graduate from UW law school, there's some debate on that, and
of course the wife to a governor and senator, the mother to a governor and senator. Here, Belle Case as a
six-year-old girl. And the man who was first a mentor, then a target of Belle's husband Bob, Madison's first
republican mayor, Elisha Keyes. Elected the day after Richmond fell in April 1865, they called him the boss because he was.
Head of the so-called Madison Regency that ran the republican party, long time university regent, federal Postmaster from
Lincoln to the administration of Theodore Roosevelt. As a young man, Elisha Keyes developed strong antislavery
views during the Mexican War, which made it so ironic that in 1865 he was elected mayor over Madison's first black
businessman William Noland, whom the democrats nominated as a political prank. Noland denounced the effort and
did not campaign but still pulled a third of the vote, about the same percentage of Madisonians who supported black
suffrage that year. And I would love to see some exit polls because I can't figure out who voted for him
because if you supported the war effort and you supported abolition, you probably would have voted for the republican
Elisha Keyes, but 300 people voted for William Noland, and, unfortunately, Nate Silver and exit polling weren't around at
the time so we don't know exactly where those votes came from. But William Noland, another
historic figure of the era. Here is the Madison that Elisha Keyes left when he left City Hall in 1867.
There are plenty of great stories here too, but as they say, those are for another day. That is Madison
during the Civil War. Thank you very much. It's been a joy to be here. [APPLAUSE]