Pension: 1130368, 920782
P.O.: 23 Loan and Trust Building, Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Service: worked as a dietician at Foundry Transfer Hospital in Louisville from October, 1864, to January, 1865; transferred to Wilson General Hospital, Nashville, and served from January to May, 1865
Applied: October, 1892
Status: Accepted
There is a special circle of frustration reserved for research involving US Christian Commission dieticians like Elizabeth Ward. These women perfectly encapsulate the dichotomy of female workers during the war--they were technically members of the military, yet they performed traditional feminine tasks, in this case running the special diet kitchens. The woman who created the job, Annie Wittenmyer, called the women dieticians, or sometimes nurses. Mostly, the rolls listed them as cooks. Given the issues surrounding gender during the pension application process (who qualified as a nurse/who can be counted as part of the military depended in part on your job title and if it was feminine rather than professional), and the fact that they were hired by a woman with no formal title, you can just imagine the trouble these women faced in the years following 1892. And given just how adamant Wittenmyer was in defending her work and the women who worked for her, it's a safe bet there's a lot to talk about in a pension case involving a dietician.
A bit of background: proposed by Annie Wittenmyer in December, 1863, the special diet kitchens were, in Wittenmyer's words, meant to "reform the system of cookery in the US military Hospitals, which was the most defective of any part of the service." Given that soldiers likely had little experience cooking for themselves prior to the war, and the rather limited knowledge of nutrition at the time, I'm not entirely surprised the food situation was such a mess. The special diet kitchens would prepare food for the very sick or severely wounded, "who often needed food delicately prepared, more than medicine." The proposal was widely applauded and immediately put into practice in general hospitals across the north, and Wittenmyer was charged with finding women to run the kitchens.
Elizabeth Ward, or Libbie, as she was called, was one of her choices. Ward wrote to Wittenmyer in August, 1864, offering her services, Wittenmyer accepted, and sent her a train ticket. Ward reported for duty at Foundry Transfer Hospital on October 1. She worked at Foundry until January 28 the following year, when she was transferred to Wilson General Hospital, also known as No. 6, in Nashville. Wilson General Hospital was a colored hospital, and according to Wittenmyer, Ward was transferred there "because she was willing to work in a Hospital for sick and wounded Colored soldiers." Jane Schultz argues in her book, Women at the Front, that white nurses achieved fairly "egalitarian" relations with the colored troops under their care. Wittenmyer's choice of words, however, suggests that while Ward likely fit that description, not everyone was on the egalitarian bandwagon. Ward worked at Wilson alongside two fellow nurses/dieticians, Mrs. Purington and Mrs. Sallie A. Marion, before she came down with typhoid in April, and was sent home, ending her army career.
Ward never married. Following the war, she lived with her parents in Bristol, Wisconsin, while working as a dressmaker. When they died, she moved back and forth between siblings--in fact, she shows up twice in the 1900 Census, living with both her sister's family, and her uncle. She continued work as a dressmaker, though according to her testimony she was barely able to support herself by then. She was known to the Woman's Relief Corps--she appears on their list of nurses, and has a brief entry in Our Army Nurses--and it's likely that this connection to the WRC, coupled with her connection to Annie Wittenmyer and her need for an income, prompted her to apply for a pension in 1892.
The major stumbling block was, since Wittenmyer had hired Ward, whether or not Wittenmyer was considered a competent authority--did she have the power to hire nurses? Luckily, Fred Ainsworth, the head of the Records and Pension Division, and Surgeon General Sternberg ruled that Wittenmyer was a competent authority--they did not always agree on this point, and it got nasty at least once before they sorted things out--so Ward received her pension in 1896. She continued to draw it until her death in February, 1914, at the age of 75.
Apart from the debate over Wittenmyer's authority, and the commentary on nursing colored troops, what I found striking about this application was Wittenmyer's appeal to the Bureau on Ward's behalf.
I have a small-scale obsession with Annie Wittenmyer. Because of her work with the Army Nurses Pension Act (she nearly pushed the bill through single-handed), and her subsequent work as a pension agent, she appears fairly frequently in the pensions I study. Her letters to the Bureau are always the highlight of a pension file. Her testimonials, for instance, add details about a nurse's service that I wouldn't get otherwise--the description of Ward's work at Wilson GH comes from a letter Wittenmyer sent to the Bureau Commissioner. And to back up her recollections, she mentions the dozens of wartime letters and records she has--eight volumes of which are preserved in Des Moines! Jackpot!
Anyway, Wittenmyer was an outspoken woman, and a staunch advocate for the women who had worked for her. The fact that she was, to all intents and purposes, a pension agent in a period where only a handful of women worked in law is testimony to her character and commitment. Yet in Ward's application she has a change in voice, if you will. Given the number of ex-dieticians applying for pensions at the time, and the controversy I mentioned surrounding their applications, Wittenmyer felt it prudent to explain herself and her work to the Bureau Commissioner. And this forthright woman ended her letter with an apology: "I am very sorry to be thus obliged to write of myself, or work, but I feel you will generously credit it to my zeal for the best interest of the Army Nurses, hundreds of whom I know personally. I secured the passage of the Army Nurses Pension Act of Aug 5, 1892 and have for two years worked for them without one cent of salary, and I desire on their account that you should understand the facts."
This was not an uncommon attitude; in fact, it was the norm, and had been since before the Civil War, for women involved in benevolent work. A number of nurses also expressed similar discomfort when discussing themselves and their work when they wrote to the Bureau regarding their pensions. But it was not what I expected from Wittenmyer, a woman whose life's business was to put herself out there at the head of new, ambitious projects. Yet she was, in her own way, conservative. For instance, she served as head of the Women's Christian Temperance Union until Francis Willard proposed adding women's suffrage to the WCTU's goals, at which point Wittenmyer left and founded the Non-Partisan WCTU, which concentrated solely on prohibition. Her apology to the Commissioner echoes that more conservative/traditional stance--and serves as a reminder to me.
Wittenmyer is a fascinating, complex woman, and she and her work embody so much of the gendered controversies of the time. Fingers crossed there are more files like Ward's, or there's a road trip to Iowa in my future, because I don't think we can understand the dramatic changes in gender roles underway in the US in the late 19th century, and the Civil War's role in those changes, without understanding this woman. And I don't think I've even brushed the surface.
Showing posts with label gender. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gender. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 24, 2016
Friday, July 24, 2015
Emily P. Collins
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| Emily P. Collins |
P.O.: Hartford, CT
Service: Martinsburgh, WV, May '64-fall, '64
Applied: 1891
Status: Accepted (SA)
Here's that non-Lovell nurse I promised.
This file just kept getting more and more interesting.
The pension file is straightforward enough, if a bit more detailed and hair-raising than others I've read. Collins was the daughter of a Revolutionary War veteran, James Parmely. When the war broke out, she had been married twice, and had two grown sons, one by each marriage. Both sons enlisted in the Union army--one, Pierre, was a surgeon in the 126th NY, the other E. Burke, was a captain in the 21st NY Cavalry. According to Collins's testimony, her son Burke was injured in combat, and she immediately went south with her other son (who was on furlough) to tend to him. There were, however, complications. Burke was injured too severely to be moved, and General Early was still raiding in the area. Collins was determined to stay and look after her son and his comrades, but many of the male nurses fled rather than risk capture, leaving only a handful of men, including Pierre and Emily, to look after more than one hundred wounded men. Sure enough, Early's men raided the hospital, and Emily and her sons were taken prisoner. Despite this, Burke survived his wounds, but the wound never fully healed, and Burke lost the use of his arm. He died shortly after the war.
His mother and half-brother, however, lived on, and Emily eventually moved in with her son. Probably to help with expenses, Collins applied for her pension in 1891. She managed to secure testimony from an officer in the 21st NY Cavalry to the truth of her statement, which, along with her own testimony, was enough to secure her a pension--she only asked for an $8 pension, but the amount was bumped up to $12, probably as a result of ongoing talks between politicians and the Women's Relief Corps over pensioning all nurses, and their attempts to standardize the pensions being passed by special act. Collins continued to draw her pension until her death in 1909.
Absent from the pension record, however, is that part of Collins's life that may not have sat so well with a Congress in which many members subscribed to 'traditional' gender norms (just look at their policy regarding widow's pensions). The first clue was her death record, which listed her occupation as lecturer, reformer, and author.
Well...
A little bit of digging revealed just what Collins was lecturing and writing about. In her Reminiscences, Collins remembered "from the earliest dawn of reason I pined for that freedom of thought and action that was then denied to all womankind. I revolted in spirit against the customs of society and the laws of the State that crushed my aspiration and debarred me from the pursuit of almost every object worthy of an intelligent, rational mind." One way around that was education--Collins attended a girl's seminary in New York. But apparently that wasn't enough. In 1849, Collins sent the first petition to the New York legislature asking for the right of suffrage for women. This petition was backed by the Female Suffrage Society in Ontario County, an organization she had founded just the year before, and the first of its kind. This petition "created a great deal of astonishment among the men," something that Collins continued to do for the rest of her life.
According to her obituary, Collins also spoke out against slavery alongside the likes of Elizabeth Cady Stanton (in a letter to Stanton she signed herself, "your old disciple"), Lucy Stone, and Julia Ward Howe. "Southern slavery," she wrote, was "equally applicable to the wrongs of my own sex. Every argument for the emancipation of the colored man was equally one for that of woman; and I was surprised that all Abolitionists did not see the similarity in the condition of the two classes"--a sentiment she shared with many women in the suffragist movement.
Unfortunately, most of the extant documents I've been able to find regarding Collins and suffragist/reformer activities are pre-war--I've as yet no idea how the war changed Collins' approach to women's rights, if at all. I am hoping, however, that I can track down some documentation in Seneca Falls or in Hartford that will help me flesh out this woman. The suffragist movement and the Civil War have a very interesting relationship, and if I want to write a dissertation on nurses' post-war lives, Collins and her suffragist activities could be a fascinating case study of the connections between the two.
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
Sarah C. Taylor
Pension File: App. 676286, Cert. 418232
P.O.: 33 Bull St, Newport, RI
Service: Contract nurse at Lovell GH in Portsmouth, RI, from October 15, 1862 to at least August, 1865
Applied: 1888
Status: Accepted (Special Act)
Here's another Lovell nurse for you! Taylor's file is, like most special acts, on the thin side, but whatever it may lack in quantity, it more than makes up for with quality.
Sarah Taylor was born Sarah Catherine Dennis on January 30, 1828, the daughter of Captain Thomas and Margaret Dennis. I believe I have her in the 1860 census living in Newport with an elder brother, his wife, and mother-in-law. Ultimately, however, Sarah--or Kitty, as she was called--ended up in Portsmouth, where she began work at Lovell as an assistant nurse, and, over the course of the next three years, gradually took charge of 14 of the hospital's 28 wards.
Taylor quickly learned the love and respect of the men she tended. She was a "guardian angel," and was "everywhere and at all times, to help the sick and wounded," an anonymous private wrote the Newport Mercury on July 8th, 1865, "not like the many who consider the private so far beneath their notice...No far from that,-she is everywhere among us, and if there is any extra seat in Heaven, I shall cast my vote that she has it. You may think that I am getting enthusiastic over our 'Kitty,' but you know, Mr. Editor, that a soldier must get enthusiastic over something; and as she is the only one we see worthy of getting enthusiastic over, you must excuse me if a few drops of it fall from my pen, and I for one say 'give honor to whom it is due.'"
And give honor the men did, because Taylor's pension file includes not only the anonymous letter to the editor, but also transcripts of several testimonials signed by the men in the wards. Several of them are the standard testimonials from her commanding officers--Katherine Wormley, who was matron in charge of the hospital for a number of years, and William Taney Thurston, the surgeon in command of several of Taylor's wards. Like our anonymous soldier, Thurston had nothing but glowing praise for Taylor: "I am very confident, that to her good nursing, may be under Providence, attributed the restoration to health of a large number of patients, who under ordinary care must have died...the kindness and mildness of her deportment, towards the suffering soldiers, gained the love and gratitude to all to whom she was a ministering spirit."
The remaining testimonials build on what Thurston and the anonymous soldier wrote. Rather than falling back on eloquent testimonials from individual patients though (that would be fantastic if it were though!), the remaining testimonials emphasize quantity over quality. And deservedly so. Got up in May and August, 1865, the testimonials list a total of 77 men, all of whom had apparently agreed to not only testify to Taylor's work, but also to donate money to purchase a "suitable testimonial"--what exactly the testimonial was they don't say, or just how much was donated (so frustrating!), but it appears that her patients gave Taylor several gifts of some sort before the hospital was closed in late 1865. Her file also includes a letter of thanks from the ladies of Fairhaven, MA, "for your very efficient and kind ministrations to our sick and wounded soldiers" (not entirely sure what the connection between Taylor and Fairhaven is, but it's likely either a family connection or that a number of Fairhaven boys ended up in her wards).
It's rare enough to find wartime documents in a pension file, but it's even rarer to find ones of this scope and depth (i.e. I now have 77 individual men to track down, and the archives at Fairhaven to contact to try and dig up more information!). The language of the testimonials, however, is also fascinating. Our anonymous private, for instance, is clearly frustrated with people who dote on officers and overlook the lowly privates--a bit of a class dimension to this, then. And, of course, how Taylor herself is described is revealing: her "sisterly ministrations," a "ministering spirit," and, of course, "guardian angel"--all standard descriptions for a Civil War nurse (at least if you like her), but coached in such a way that the presence of this young, single woman in the masculine world of a military hospital is not deemed a threat to gender norms (is an angel or a sister likely to fraternize with one of her patients?).
Funny that.
On the list of men signing Sarah's testimonial is a Thomas H.B. Taylor, formerly of the 48th Illinois, but, after what was likely an illness, now a private in the 2nd Battalion, Veterans Reserve Corps, and under Sarah's charge. The pair married after the war and had two children, Frank (b. 1866, who probably did not live past his 13th year) and William (b. 1868). The marriage didn't last long--the Newport Daily News reported in October, 1875, that Sarah's petition for divorce had been granted--and Sarah and her son William settled down in Newport, where Sarah worked as matron of Newport Hospital. She was also apparently in touch with MOLLUS (Military Order of the Loyal Legion of the US), because her file also includes a letter from Arnold A. Rand, the commander of MOLLUS, asking for photographs of the hospitals, fellow nurses, or patients, along with signatures and dates, to include in the growing MOLLUS collection (this, by the way, forms the core of the collection at Carlisle Barracks, and is where Taylor's picture up top comes from!).
Taylor applied for and received her $12 pension in 1888. She died on April 22, 1901, and was buried in the Common Burying Ground in Newport.
P.O.: 33 Bull St, Newport, RI
Service: Contract nurse at Lovell GH in Portsmouth, RI, from October 15, 1862 to at least August, 1865
Applied: 1888
Status: Accepted (Special Act)
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| Sarah C. Taylor, Courtesy of MOLLUS |
Sarah Taylor was born Sarah Catherine Dennis on January 30, 1828, the daughter of Captain Thomas and Margaret Dennis. I believe I have her in the 1860 census living in Newport with an elder brother, his wife, and mother-in-law. Ultimately, however, Sarah--or Kitty, as she was called--ended up in Portsmouth, where she began work at Lovell as an assistant nurse, and, over the course of the next three years, gradually took charge of 14 of the hospital's 28 wards.
Taylor quickly learned the love and respect of the men she tended. She was a "guardian angel," and was "everywhere and at all times, to help the sick and wounded," an anonymous private wrote the Newport Mercury on July 8th, 1865, "not like the many who consider the private so far beneath their notice...No far from that,-she is everywhere among us, and if there is any extra seat in Heaven, I shall cast my vote that she has it. You may think that I am getting enthusiastic over our 'Kitty,' but you know, Mr. Editor, that a soldier must get enthusiastic over something; and as she is the only one we see worthy of getting enthusiastic over, you must excuse me if a few drops of it fall from my pen, and I for one say 'give honor to whom it is due.'"
And give honor the men did, because Taylor's pension file includes not only the anonymous letter to the editor, but also transcripts of several testimonials signed by the men in the wards. Several of them are the standard testimonials from her commanding officers--Katherine Wormley, who was matron in charge of the hospital for a number of years, and William Taney Thurston, the surgeon in command of several of Taylor's wards. Like our anonymous soldier, Thurston had nothing but glowing praise for Taylor: "I am very confident, that to her good nursing, may be under Providence, attributed the restoration to health of a large number of patients, who under ordinary care must have died...the kindness and mildness of her deportment, towards the suffering soldiers, gained the love and gratitude to all to whom she was a ministering spirit."
The remaining testimonials build on what Thurston and the anonymous soldier wrote. Rather than falling back on eloquent testimonials from individual patients though (that would be fantastic if it were though!), the remaining testimonials emphasize quantity over quality. And deservedly so. Got up in May and August, 1865, the testimonials list a total of 77 men, all of whom had apparently agreed to not only testify to Taylor's work, but also to donate money to purchase a "suitable testimonial"--what exactly the testimonial was they don't say, or just how much was donated (so frustrating!), but it appears that her patients gave Taylor several gifts of some sort before the hospital was closed in late 1865. Her file also includes a letter of thanks from the ladies of Fairhaven, MA, "for your very efficient and kind ministrations to our sick and wounded soldiers" (not entirely sure what the connection between Taylor and Fairhaven is, but it's likely either a family connection or that a number of Fairhaven boys ended up in her wards).
It's rare enough to find wartime documents in a pension file, but it's even rarer to find ones of this scope and depth (i.e. I now have 77 individual men to track down, and the archives at Fairhaven to contact to try and dig up more information!). The language of the testimonials, however, is also fascinating. Our anonymous private, for instance, is clearly frustrated with people who dote on officers and overlook the lowly privates--a bit of a class dimension to this, then. And, of course, how Taylor herself is described is revealing: her "sisterly ministrations," a "ministering spirit," and, of course, "guardian angel"--all standard descriptions for a Civil War nurse (at least if you like her), but coached in such a way that the presence of this young, single woman in the masculine world of a military hospital is not deemed a threat to gender norms (is an angel or a sister likely to fraternize with one of her patients?).
Funny that.
On the list of men signing Sarah's testimonial is a Thomas H.B. Taylor, formerly of the 48th Illinois, but, after what was likely an illness, now a private in the 2nd Battalion, Veterans Reserve Corps, and under Sarah's charge. The pair married after the war and had two children, Frank (b. 1866, who probably did not live past his 13th year) and William (b. 1868). The marriage didn't last long--the Newport Daily News reported in October, 1875, that Sarah's petition for divorce had been granted--and Sarah and her son William settled down in Newport, where Sarah worked as matron of Newport Hospital. She was also apparently in touch with MOLLUS (Military Order of the Loyal Legion of the US), because her file also includes a letter from Arnold A. Rand, the commander of MOLLUS, asking for photographs of the hospitals, fellow nurses, or patients, along with signatures and dates, to include in the growing MOLLUS collection (this, by the way, forms the core of the collection at Carlisle Barracks, and is where Taylor's picture up top comes from!).
Taylor applied for and received her $12 pension in 1888. She died on April 22, 1901, and was buried in the Common Burying Ground in Newport.
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
Etta Hubbs
Pension File: 1086800, 544771
P.O.: Carthage, Illinois, then Lebanon, Oregon
Service: worked in the diet kitchen at Hickory Street Hospital, St. Louis
Applied: 1891
Status: Accepted (Special Act)
Etta Deuel was born January 22, 1838, in Ashtaula County, Ohio. On November 4, 1856, when she was just 18, she married Jared F. Hubbs in Ionia, Michigan. Things were on track for a long, quiet life together--their son Luther was born in 1860--and then the war broke out. Jared enlisted in Co. D, 3rd Michigan Cavalry, and like so many others caught typhoid fever. He was sent to Hickory Street Hospital in St. Louis, where his wife joined him to nurse him back to health (and what about little Luther?!). Etta worked at Hickory Street from September, 1862 to July, 1863. She started her work in the wards tending to her husband, but presumably as he recovered she began to work in the diet kitchen. The work, however, began to take a toll on her, and that July she was ordered to take a vacation. Her husband had been transferred to the 17th Veterans Reserve Corps, Co. D, and was out of any medical danger, so Etta returned home.
Jared made it through the rest of the war in one piece, and the couple moved to Carthage, Illinois, where they had two more children, Emma and Arthur, and Jared got work as a teamster, and then as an express agent at the local train station.
But then Jared's health began to fail. Jared applied for, and received, a pension in 1890--a whopping $4, which was, apparently, all the money coming in at one point. Etta's letters to the Bureau reveal her frustration and desperation: "is there anything that can be done for me," she wrote in October. "We both rendered the best service we could."
Turned out there was. My bet is the Woman's Relief Corps tipped her off, because when Etta applied for a nurse's pension, it was with the WRC backing her claim. In case that wasn't enough, Etta also had affidavits from former patients, a surgeon she had worked for, and several notables in Carthage. Congress granted her a $12 pension in February, 1891. Not much, but better than $4.
That seems to have worked for a while. Eventually Jared and Etta moved to Oregon to live with their daughter Emma and her brood, and in 1912 Jared received a pension increase to $30--it looks like some time in the intervening years he'd lost several fingers on one hand! It looks like it was the start of a downward swing for Jared though, because he died on August 4, 1914. Etta lost no time applying for a widow's pension, which paid a little more than her nurse's pension. It took her a while to get the claim through--she'd lost her marriage certificate , and there was no one old enough to remember her marriage to Jared all the way back in 1856. It took the Bureau almost two years to the day to approve Etta's claim, but approve it they did.
I was struck going through this file by Etta's letter to the Bureau--"we both rendered the best service we could." Consciously or not, Etta grouped her work in the hospitals in the same category as her husband's military service--not normally something you see in a period where nurses were increasingly portrayed as idealized, ministering angels separate from the trials and tribulations of army life. And when she died in 1923, Etta continued that trend. Rather than buy a generic stone marker, her daughter-in-law applied for a military headstone, to go alongside Jared's. It may have been in part a financial decision, but it was also a statement about this woman and how she chose to identify herself: that regardless of her gender, Etta Hubbs was a former member of the US Army, and a veteran, and no one was going to place her on a pedestal and put a halo on her head. This stone was for a woman, and not for an angel.
P.O.: Carthage, Illinois, then Lebanon, Oregon
Service: worked in the diet kitchen at Hickory Street Hospital, St. Louis
Applied: 1891
Status: Accepted (Special Act)
Etta Deuel was born January 22, 1838, in Ashtaula County, Ohio. On November 4, 1856, when she was just 18, she married Jared F. Hubbs in Ionia, Michigan. Things were on track for a long, quiet life together--their son Luther was born in 1860--and then the war broke out. Jared enlisted in Co. D, 3rd Michigan Cavalry, and like so many others caught typhoid fever. He was sent to Hickory Street Hospital in St. Louis, where his wife joined him to nurse him back to health (and what about little Luther?!). Etta worked at Hickory Street from September, 1862 to July, 1863. She started her work in the wards tending to her husband, but presumably as he recovered she began to work in the diet kitchen. The work, however, began to take a toll on her, and that July she was ordered to take a vacation. Her husband had been transferred to the 17th Veterans Reserve Corps, Co. D, and was out of any medical danger, so Etta returned home.
Jared made it through the rest of the war in one piece, and the couple moved to Carthage, Illinois, where they had two more children, Emma and Arthur, and Jared got work as a teamster, and then as an express agent at the local train station.
But then Jared's health began to fail. Jared applied for, and received, a pension in 1890--a whopping $4, which was, apparently, all the money coming in at one point. Etta's letters to the Bureau reveal her frustration and desperation: "is there anything that can be done for me," she wrote in October. "We both rendered the best service we could."
Turned out there was. My bet is the Woman's Relief Corps tipped her off, because when Etta applied for a nurse's pension, it was with the WRC backing her claim. In case that wasn't enough, Etta also had affidavits from former patients, a surgeon she had worked for, and several notables in Carthage. Congress granted her a $12 pension in February, 1891. Not much, but better than $4.
That seems to have worked for a while. Eventually Jared and Etta moved to Oregon to live with their daughter Emma and her brood, and in 1912 Jared received a pension increase to $30--it looks like some time in the intervening years he'd lost several fingers on one hand! It looks like it was the start of a downward swing for Jared though, because he died on August 4, 1914. Etta lost no time applying for a widow's pension, which paid a little more than her nurse's pension. It took her a while to get the claim through--she'd lost her marriage certificate , and there was no one old enough to remember her marriage to Jared all the way back in 1856. It took the Bureau almost two years to the day to approve Etta's claim, but approve it they did.
I was struck going through this file by Etta's letter to the Bureau--"we both rendered the best service we could." Consciously or not, Etta grouped her work in the hospitals in the same category as her husband's military service--not normally something you see in a period where nurses were increasingly portrayed as idealized, ministering angels separate from the trials and tribulations of army life. And when she died in 1923, Etta continued that trend. Rather than buy a generic stone marker, her daughter-in-law applied for a military headstone, to go alongside Jared's. It may have been in part a financial decision, but it was also a statement about this woman and how she chose to identify herself: that regardless of her gender, Etta Hubbs was a former member of the US Army, and a veteran, and no one was going to place her on a pedestal and put a halo on her head. This stone was for a woman, and not for an angel.
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| Hubb's gravestone in Lebanon, Oregon. From Find a Grave. |
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Clara B. Hoyt
Pension File: 1133681
P.O.: Rush Center, Kansas
Service: Nurse at Columbian College Hospital and Point of Rocks Hospital
Applied: 1891
Status: Rejected
This is one the annoying files where you know there's more somewhere, but for whatever reason it's impossible to find. Hoyt has a legislative file--and an interesting one at that--but her pension file is MIA. I've requested it twice, and each time I've gotten a rejection slip. I am not happy.
A brief of sketch of Hoyt based on what her legislative file contains: Hoyt served as a nurse under the direction of Dorothea Dix under her maiden name, Clara B. Clark, from the fall of 1864 to around the 20th of May, 1865. After the war, Clara married and moved from her home in New York to Kansas. In 1889 she contacted Congressman Ingalls about obtaining a pension through a Special Act. Ingalls did what he could, and the bill was brought before the Senate twice, one in May, 1890, and again in December, 1891, but each time it was referred back to Committee. Search me as to why. Once the 1892 Act passed, Hoyt applied for a pension through the Bureau rather than a Special Act--and as a result, the file ends, which is why I'd so like to get my hands on that file! I know her claim was rejected, since her pension file number doesn't have a certificate number (the first number, and generally the only one, is the application number, and the second is the certificate number, only given when a person is granted a pension).
Here come the surprises:
First, another reason why I'd love to get that pension file: Hoyt's attorney was named Ellen S. Tolman of Lawrence, Massachusetts Unless I'm reading that name incorrectly, or Ellen was originally a guy's name ("Oh, Ashley, Ashley!!"), we have a female lawyer on our hands! There's also the question of why Hoyt hired an attorney living in Massachusetts when she herself lived in Kansas.
Second, the WRC made a guest appearance in the file. This time it wasn't Annie Wittenmyer, it was Sarah E. Fuller, a former president and Secretary of the National Pension Committee. In 1890, Fuller wrote Ingalls a letter in support of Hoyt's claim, and attached an "Army Nurses Blank" provided by the WRC. My guess is that the WRC used these forms in their own pension process--the WRC provided pensions to its members, but emphasized these were supposed to be temporary relief. The blank asks who commissioned the nurse, dates of enrollment and discharge, age at enrollment, if the applicant has any papers to back her claim, her pecuniary circumstances, marital status, state of health, and how employed. That's how I know that Hoyt suffered from rheumatism and catarrh, and her pecuniary circumstances were "at present not flattering." It also presents another research possibility--where are the WRC-issued pensions, and can I use the information in those files to supplement what I've gathered from the Archives? Another rabbit hole! Madness!
P.O.: Rush Center, Kansas
Service: Nurse at Columbian College Hospital and Point of Rocks Hospital
Applied: 1891
Status: Rejected
This is one the annoying files where you know there's more somewhere, but for whatever reason it's impossible to find. Hoyt has a legislative file--and an interesting one at that--but her pension file is MIA. I've requested it twice, and each time I've gotten a rejection slip. I am not happy.
A brief of sketch of Hoyt based on what her legislative file contains: Hoyt served as a nurse under the direction of Dorothea Dix under her maiden name, Clara B. Clark, from the fall of 1864 to around the 20th of May, 1865. After the war, Clara married and moved from her home in New York to Kansas. In 1889 she contacted Congressman Ingalls about obtaining a pension through a Special Act. Ingalls did what he could, and the bill was brought before the Senate twice, one in May, 1890, and again in December, 1891, but each time it was referred back to Committee. Search me as to why. Once the 1892 Act passed, Hoyt applied for a pension through the Bureau rather than a Special Act--and as a result, the file ends, which is why I'd so like to get my hands on that file! I know her claim was rejected, since her pension file number doesn't have a certificate number (the first number, and generally the only one, is the application number, and the second is the certificate number, only given when a person is granted a pension).
Here come the surprises:
First, another reason why I'd love to get that pension file: Hoyt's attorney was named Ellen S. Tolman of Lawrence, Massachusetts Unless I'm reading that name incorrectly, or Ellen was originally a guy's name ("Oh, Ashley, Ashley!!"), we have a female lawyer on our hands! There's also the question of why Hoyt hired an attorney living in Massachusetts when she herself lived in Kansas.
Second, the WRC made a guest appearance in the file. This time it wasn't Annie Wittenmyer, it was Sarah E. Fuller, a former president and Secretary of the National Pension Committee. In 1890, Fuller wrote Ingalls a letter in support of Hoyt's claim, and attached an "Army Nurses Blank" provided by the WRC. My guess is that the WRC used these forms in their own pension process--the WRC provided pensions to its members, but emphasized these were supposed to be temporary relief. The blank asks who commissioned the nurse, dates of enrollment and discharge, age at enrollment, if the applicant has any papers to back her claim, her pecuniary circumstances, marital status, state of health, and how employed. That's how I know that Hoyt suffered from rheumatism and catarrh, and her pecuniary circumstances were "at present not flattering." It also presents another research possibility--where are the WRC-issued pensions, and can I use the information in those files to supplement what I've gathered from the Archives? Another rabbit hole! Madness!
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Hannah Babb Hutchins
Pension File: 816506, 505146 (Special Act)
P.O.: Freeport, Maine
Service: one of Dix's nurses in Washington, D.C.
Applied: 1886
Status: Accepted
Hutchins was one of over twenty Special Acts I found today (let's hear it for the guys in legislation! I don't know how they find this stuff, but whatever they're doing, it's working!). Her story is simple enough compared to others I've described here: her husband and four children died just before the war began, and she enlisted as a nurse in June of 1862. Hutchins served for three years and three months in various hospitals in D.C., in particular Armory Square and Harewood Hospital, and (here's a rarity) was paid for her services, though all of it went to purchasing things for the soldiers. On New Years Day, 1865, Hutchins slipped on the steps between wards at Harewood Hospital and fractured her ribs. It was enough to keep her confined to her quarters for a month.
Hutchins was discharged in May, 1865 and went home to Maine. She married again, to one Solomon S. Hutchins, who died in 1880 and left her with no money to her name. By this time she was into her seventies, her injury kept her from supporting herself, and the chronic diarrhea she had also contracted from her wartime service was growing worse.
In 1886, Hutchins applied to Congress for a pension, believing "she is justly entitled to aid from the nation precisely as if she had been a soldier and been incapacitated from labor by injury received in the line of duty." Congress, in its infinite wisdom, decreed that since Hutchins was paid while enlisted as a nurse, she did not merit a pension larger than $12.
I give you an extract from one of many letters in the same vein sent from Hutchins to her friend Harriet Corts:
Anyway, back to Hutchins and the ANA. Corts rallied the troops, sent in evidence pertaining to Hutchins' desperate need for an increased pension, and wrote her own biting letter to the Chairman of the Pension Committee. The end result? Hutchins's pension was increased to $25 in 1888.
So, my question is: where is the ANA later on in the fight for the Pension Act? Why can't I find more on them? And what exactly is their angle?
So many questions!!!
P.O.: Freeport, Maine
Service: one of Dix's nurses in Washington, D.C.
Applied: 1886
Status: Accepted
Hutchins was one of over twenty Special Acts I found today (let's hear it for the guys in legislation! I don't know how they find this stuff, but whatever they're doing, it's working!). Her story is simple enough compared to others I've described here: her husband and four children died just before the war began, and she enlisted as a nurse in June of 1862. Hutchins served for three years and three months in various hospitals in D.C., in particular Armory Square and Harewood Hospital, and (here's a rarity) was paid for her services, though all of it went to purchasing things for the soldiers. On New Years Day, 1865, Hutchins slipped on the steps between wards at Harewood Hospital and fractured her ribs. It was enough to keep her confined to her quarters for a month.
Hutchins was discharged in May, 1865 and went home to Maine. She married again, to one Solomon S. Hutchins, who died in 1880 and left her with no money to her name. By this time she was into her seventies, her injury kept her from supporting herself, and the chronic diarrhea she had also contracted from her wartime service was growing worse.
In 1886, Hutchins applied to Congress for a pension, believing "she is justly entitled to aid from the nation precisely as if she had been a soldier and been incapacitated from labor by injury received in the line of duty." Congress, in its infinite wisdom, decreed that since Hutchins was paid while enlisted as a nurse, she did not merit a pension larger than $12.
I give you an extract from one of many letters in the same vein sent from Hutchins to her friend Harriet Corts:
"You, and also Mr. Reed, want to know my financial condition; --I got the 12 dollars pension last week, $36., paid $15 interest on mortgage; $14.33 to Gore & Davis, $5 to Dr. Burbank, I had $1.62 left; there are debts and must be paid. I never was rich, and surely never was in such straitened circumstances...This has been a very hard winter, it is so very col,d and coal $8 per ton. It seems as though I should perish, and this diarrhea,--up 4 and 6 times in a night; hardly get warm before i have to get up again. My living is mostly Graham crackers, it don't take any fuel toc ook them; it is not very luscious diet to live on! Hattie, you don't think I had better go to the poor-house now? I don't want to go there, it would not be anyt credit to the country. Oh dear! I don't know what to do, can you tell me? what in the world is there for me to do? Oh please let me hear from you soon...P.S. This is very humiliating to let anybody know how reduced I am; it makes me very nervous to think of it..."Luckily for Hutchins, she had a good friend in Harriet Corts. And Corts happened to be the Secretary for the Army Nurses Assocation. The ANA, as far as I can make out, was a Dix brainchild, an organization of women who had worked for her during the "last unpleasantness." It was also the other major organization mixed up in trying to get the Army Nurses Pension Act passed, and supporting various pension claims. Hutchins's pension file is the first time I've seen the ANA petitioning on behalf of a nurse. There's no fancy letterhead like the WRC, but from the little I've seen it's much more aggressive. There are a couple more nurses I pulled today who were also endorsed by the ANA--they're high on my list of nurses to go over.
Anyway, back to Hutchins and the ANA. Corts rallied the troops, sent in evidence pertaining to Hutchins' desperate need for an increased pension, and wrote her own biting letter to the Chairman of the Pension Committee. The end result? Hutchins's pension was increased to $25 in 1888.
So, my question is: where is the ANA later on in the fight for the Pension Act? Why can't I find more on them? And what exactly is their angle?
So many questions!!!
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Ellen W. Dowling
Pension: 688614, 423631 (Special Act)
P.O.: Somerville, Massachusetts
Service: Nurse at Armory Square Hospital
Applied: 1888
Final Status: Accepted...multiple times
I fully expected Dowling's file to be skinny--hers was, after all, a Special Act, so everything should be in the legislative file. When it turned out to be rather thick, I thought it was because she'd also applied for a widow's pension and the paperwork had been mixed in a la Mrs. Blaisdell. Half true. Here's Ellen W. Dowling's story, as far as I can make out from the file:
Ellen White began working as a nurse at Armory Square Hospital, D.C., in 1863. Some time that year, Isaac A. Dowling, a private in Co. K, 12th Massachusetts, was admitted for chronic diarrhea. They married in August of '64, had four children, and a happy marriage. Isaac, however, never recovered from his service in the army. His chronic diarrhea worsened, and he also began to suffer from heart trouble. He applied for and received a pension in the early 1870s--and as his condition worsened, and he was forced to quit work, the amount went up.
Isaac passed on July 9, 1888. I suspect Ellen had her special act already in the works at that point, because the bill was signed into law on February 12, 1889. In December, Ellen sent a letter to the Pension Bureau, filing the paperwork needed to claim a widow's pension, and asking for the arrears of said pension from the time her husband died to the time her Special Act was passed.
The Pension Bureau did not like this. Legally, you can only draw on one pension at any given time, and Ellen was, inadvertantly or not, trying to draw on two. So, they told her, she had a choice: the widow's pension at $16 a month, or her Special Act at $12 a month. Ellen replied, "I desire to have my name entered on the pension rolls as Ellen White Dowling, Army Nurse. I prefer this as it is on my own service, and some day Congress may give my children their just due."
Here's where things get a little fuzzy. It appears that the Bureau ignored Ellen's request to be listed as a nurse and continued to list her as a widow. Why is beyond me. Ellen petitioned to be listed as a nurse again in 1897, and a third time in 1902. Finally, in 1902, someone listened. Ellen's motives, however, had changed over time. A note attached to her nurse's pension form reads: "this claim for renewal of pension, as nurse, is submitted for admission for the reason that a substantial benefit amy accrue to claimant, viz: the privilege of remarriage without loss of pension as nurse." It's hard to say what Ellen's motivation was for the change: was she considering remarrying? Or was she the kind of woman who preferred to draw on her own service rather than someone else's, as she'd earlier claimed? It certainly wasn't because she got more money. Suffice to say though, she wanted her name entered as Ellen White Dowling, Army Nurse.
Oh, and the note wasn't finished yet. Apparently, the official processing the claim was just as confused as I was. "A similar claim [to change to her nurse's pension] was filed in 1897, and approved, but that action was cancelled on the ground that "pensioner was not entitled to a second election." The decision upon which that statement is based is not mentioned. Aside from the filing of a declaration, the examiner has not been able to find that claimant elected to take a widows pension."
Oops.
Having finally gotten things sorted out, Ellen remained on the pension rolls as a nurse until her death in 1912. After that, the file has no further information.
Ellen's case has really peaked my interest. Why exactly did the Bureau keep her listed as a widow rather than a nurse as she wanted? And Ellen's avowed motivation for being listed as a nurse--was it that she wanted to draw on her own service? Or was she keeping the way open for her children to draw pensions as dependent minors? Also, the bit about being able to remarry and not loose her pension answered a question I'd had in the back of my mind. Women drawing widows' pensions had to remain widows if they wanted to keep drawing their pension (if you're interested in the reasons behind this, read Megan J. McClintock's 'Civil War Pensions and the Reconstruction of Union Families.'). I've been wondering if Congress's policy on widows had extended to my nurses, but Ellen's papers suggest that they didn't. For answers to my other questions...looks like another legislative file needs to be pulled.
P.O.: Somerville, Massachusetts
Service: Nurse at Armory Square Hospital
Applied: 1888
Final Status: Accepted...multiple times
I fully expected Dowling's file to be skinny--hers was, after all, a Special Act, so everything should be in the legislative file. When it turned out to be rather thick, I thought it was because she'd also applied for a widow's pension and the paperwork had been mixed in a la Mrs. Blaisdell. Half true. Here's Ellen W. Dowling's story, as far as I can make out from the file:
Ellen White began working as a nurse at Armory Square Hospital, D.C., in 1863. Some time that year, Isaac A. Dowling, a private in Co. K, 12th Massachusetts, was admitted for chronic diarrhea. They married in August of '64, had four children, and a happy marriage. Isaac, however, never recovered from his service in the army. His chronic diarrhea worsened, and he also began to suffer from heart trouble. He applied for and received a pension in the early 1870s--and as his condition worsened, and he was forced to quit work, the amount went up.
Isaac passed on July 9, 1888. I suspect Ellen had her special act already in the works at that point, because the bill was signed into law on February 12, 1889. In December, Ellen sent a letter to the Pension Bureau, filing the paperwork needed to claim a widow's pension, and asking for the arrears of said pension from the time her husband died to the time her Special Act was passed.
The Pension Bureau did not like this. Legally, you can only draw on one pension at any given time, and Ellen was, inadvertantly or not, trying to draw on two. So, they told her, she had a choice: the widow's pension at $16 a month, or her Special Act at $12 a month. Ellen replied, "I desire to have my name entered on the pension rolls as Ellen White Dowling, Army Nurse. I prefer this as it is on my own service, and some day Congress may give my children their just due."
Here's where things get a little fuzzy. It appears that the Bureau ignored Ellen's request to be listed as a nurse and continued to list her as a widow. Why is beyond me. Ellen petitioned to be listed as a nurse again in 1897, and a third time in 1902. Finally, in 1902, someone listened. Ellen's motives, however, had changed over time. A note attached to her nurse's pension form reads: "this claim for renewal of pension, as nurse, is submitted for admission for the reason that a substantial benefit amy accrue to claimant, viz: the privilege of remarriage without loss of pension as nurse." It's hard to say what Ellen's motivation was for the change: was she considering remarrying? Or was she the kind of woman who preferred to draw on her own service rather than someone else's, as she'd earlier claimed? It certainly wasn't because she got more money. Suffice to say though, she wanted her name entered as Ellen White Dowling, Army Nurse.
Oh, and the note wasn't finished yet. Apparently, the official processing the claim was just as confused as I was. "A similar claim [to change to her nurse's pension] was filed in 1897, and approved, but that action was cancelled on the ground that "pensioner was not entitled to a second election." The decision upon which that statement is based is not mentioned. Aside from the filing of a declaration, the examiner has not been able to find that claimant elected to take a widows pension."
Oops.
Having finally gotten things sorted out, Ellen remained on the pension rolls as a nurse until her death in 1912. After that, the file has no further information.
Ellen's case has really peaked my interest. Why exactly did the Bureau keep her listed as a widow rather than a nurse as she wanted? And Ellen's avowed motivation for being listed as a nurse--was it that she wanted to draw on her own service? Or was she keeping the way open for her children to draw pensions as dependent minors? Also, the bit about being able to remarry and not loose her pension answered a question I'd had in the back of my mind. Women drawing widows' pensions had to remain widows if they wanted to keep drawing their pension (if you're interested in the reasons behind this, read Megan J. McClintock's 'Civil War Pensions and the Reconstruction of Union Families.'). I've been wondering if Congress's policy on widows had extended to my nurses, but Ellen's papers suggest that they didn't. For answers to my other questions...looks like another legislative file needs to be pulled.
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