From the Notebook

The Background

The following anecdote, attributed to W.W. Goodrich, was published in The Atlanta Constitution just nine months after he moved to Atlanta in 1889.¹

Nearly everything in this story about an Oregon gold rush town appears to be a lie. It’s plausible that Goodrich passed through the locality at some point, but he couldn’t even get its name right.

According to the Oregon Encyclopedia, Amelia City “boomed for a short time and quickly declined”, appearing on maps from 1876 to 1890. The article adds that the town’s “…peak population was likely a few hundred…”

So much for Goodrich’s description of a “town of thirty thousand miners…”, including some who “…had not seen a baby in twenty years…”

And surely with thirty thousand horny men around, the town’s two young women would have been popping out babies like firecrackers.

Oh, c’mon, you know the “old lady” was really a madam.

Even the story of Goodrich’s 1700-mile journey from Salt Lake City to Pendleton, Oregon, is a lie.

In 1882, Goodrich lived for six months in Boise, Idaho,^{2 3} before moving to Seattle.⁴ That was when he could have passed through Amelia City, which was located on the route between Boise and Seattle, southeast of Baker City.⁵

Incidentally, the distance between Salt Lake City and Pendleton, Oregon, is less than 600 miles, but who’s measuring?

The only difference between an architect and a con artist is that an architect believes their own bullshit, and Goodrich seems to have straddled the fine line between the two his entire life, constantly running from one location to the next when his lies caught up with him, leaving scant architecture of merit in his wake.

In 1890, the Deep South was virgin territory for Goodrich, and it was no doubt easier for him to get away with his tall tales at a time when the telegraph was the fastest mode of communication, and long-distance phone service was nonexistent.

Travel to the other side of the country was also costly and precarious, and there would have been few people in a backwater like Atlanta who would have been familiar enough with the Far West to call Goodrich’s bluff.

Still, you’d hope someone was astute enough to notice the ripe whiff emanating from his outlandish stories.

Notes by the Wayside.

Mr. W.W. Goodrich, the architect, has traveled very extensively. In 1882 he traveled seventeen hundred miles by private conveyance with his family, going from Salt Lake to Pendleton, Oregon. At Amelia, Oregon, he found a town of thirty thousand miners, and in the entire population there were but three women–an old lady and her two daughters.

Mr. Goodrich had along his little baby six weeks old, and the baby created a sensation in the camps. Some of the miners had not seen a baby in twenty years, and they crowded about and handed the baby from one another.

“If an artist could have painted the scene,” said Mr. Goodrich, “it would have been a most interesting picture. There were grizzly old miners with pistols in their belts and knives in their boots alternately crying and laughing as they passed the baby around. ‘God bless his little gizzard,’ said one fellow, as the tears streamed down his face.”⁶

References

1. “Comes Here to Live.” The Atlanta Constitution, September 18, 1889, p. 4. ↩︎
2. “Architect.” Idaho Tri-Weekly Statesman (Boise City, Idaho), March 14, 1882, p. 3. ↩︎
3. “Personal.” Idaho Tri-Weekly Statesman (Boise City, Idaho), September 19, 1882, p. 5. ↩︎
4. “Architect & Sanitary Engineer.” (advertisement) Seattle Daily Post-Intelligencer, September 29, 1882, p. 3. ↩︎
5. Amelia City – Oregon Encyclopedia ↩︎
6. “Notes by the Wayside.” The Atlanta Journal, June 24, 1890, p. 3. ↩︎

The Background

This is the fifth in a series of articles written for The Atlanta Journal in 1890 and 1891 by W.W. Goodrich, an architect who practiced in Atlanta between 1889 and 1895.

Here, Goodrich tells a “true story” of an encounter with Abraham Lincoln in New York City during the Civil War, although the account is almost certainly fabricated.

Goodrich was a pathological liar of some magnitude,^{1 2 3} and it appears that he largely invented his own biographical details, with implausible stories that became increasingly outlandish throughout his life.

By the time of his death in 1907, Goodrich was described in one obituary as “a personal friend of President Lincoln.”⁴

The truth, of course, was likely much more mundane. According to the 1860 census—just before the Civil War, and when Goodrich was 19 years old—a man of his name and age lived in what is now the Financial District of Manhattan, where he worked as an insurance clerk.⁵

It’s doubtful that an insurance clerk who became an architect ever worked as a bootblack, and the odds that he met Abraham Lincoln are slim to none.

Goodrich at least includes a speck of truth by referencing City Hall Park, the largest public space in Lower Manhattan.

This fable is in the vein of other hagiographic tales about American “heroes” that were popular in the 19th century—the apocryphal story of young George Washington chopping down a cherry tree, concocted by Mason Locke Weems, is a prime example of the genre.

This is not a prime example, however, as Goodrich was about as skilled at writing as he was at architecture.

It may seem a little daring that an Atlanta architect would write such a glowing account of Lincoln for a Southern audience, but keep in mind that Atlantans in the New South era prided themselves on having swiftly moved on from the Civil War—or at least, that was the image the city’s leaders wished to project.

The Old Southern hatred and ignorance remained just beneath the surface—and does so to this day—but this was, after all, the city that feted General Sherman for three days in 1879,⁶ fourteen years after he partially burned it.

Still, Northern-born men like Goodrich who lived and worked in Atlanta in the years after the Civil War had to walk a careful line: Atlantans weren’t offended if a Northerner pledged allegiance to their homeland so long as that person gave a knowing wink to indicate that they, too, shared the cherished Southern values of racism and unmerited superiority.

Look no further than Goodrich’s article entitled “Educational Advantages North and South”, published in The Southern Architect in 1892.

As The Atlanta Constitution said of the article:

“[Goodrich] views the negro as an incumbrance and a political nuisance, and hopes that the better elements of the north and west will seek homes here and stand by the Anglo-Saxon race.”⁷

It should come as no surprise, then, that Goodrich’s story here includes caricatured and infantilizing depictions of Black people, using offensive and stereotypical language.

Two explicit racist terms will not be reproduced here and have been replaced with the [omitted] tag.

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The President and Bootblack.

Characteristic Incident in the Life of Abraham Lincoln—A True Story.

Written for the Journal.

“Shine, sir! Shine Sir!” the usual cry of the bootblack trudging along day by day, half-starved, hope in a future better existence, where he can sit beside a table of generous roast beef, mashed spuds, the revivifying coffee, hot rolls and butter. How my memory goes back to those days when these good things were of the “sight and smell only.” A short time before the assassination of our Lincoln he visited New York City in company with that stern, hard-headed secretary of war, Stanton.

I had seen the president on several occasions and knew him by sight, as Mr. Lincoln always, and all times, had a quiet, natural greeting for everyone; even the humblest child could approach him and be assured of a cordial and true gentlemanly greeting.

As they were crossing City Hall park I ran up behind, and with sang froid, said “Shine, uncle, shine, sir?” Mr. Lincoln turned about with a bright, humorous smile, while the great war secretary, in half indignation, asked the president to come on, as time was precious, but Mr. Lincoln said, “Wait a moment, Mr. Stanton, let’s sit down.”

Seating themselves at the west of the old city hall on a settee Mr. Lincoln was in the act of placing his right boot on my box, when behind me arose a cry: “Massa Lincum, let me shine of dem boots? Smug, you go away from dar, den Massa Lincum make me free. You poor white trash no bizzness shining my Massa’s boots.” A good argument, even from the “duke,” as we called the colored lad. My nickname was “Smug.” Mr. Lincoln afterwards remarked: “I will let you both shine; each can have a boot.” A crowd was gathering about us, of boot-blacks, errand boys, news boys and pedestrians, all anxious to know what was up, but all soon knew who the distinguished gentleman was, and with repeated cries from the less fortunate boys of “Go in Smug,” “I’ll bet on the duke,” and other phrases, we shined as best we could, Mr. Lincoln amusingly telling us that he’d bet on the hoss that won, and I’ll pay the boy that shines the best for both boots, patronizingly patting us on the back. When we had nearly completed our pleasant task Mr. Lincoln said: “Boys, I am going to tell you a story. I have just come up from the front. Have been down with General Grant, looking over the battle-fields, going through the hospitals;” and a great tear rolled down his cheek as he mentioned the brave boys, with legs and arms shot off, and the lonely graves of the unknown dead, and thinking of the anxious ones at home, who would never see their fathers, brothers and sons again. How vividly he portrayed the scene. Finally he said: “Several evenings since, as I sat in a tent door, in conversation with General Grant, a colored woman came by the guard, and in her arms were two little colored children saying, as she approached, ‘Massa Lincum, I’se hab twins, boff [omitted]. One I’se named arter you, and de udder arter Massa Washington. Dey’s boff de berry picture ob yous. Now, Massa Lincum, seeing as how yous ben so good ter de [omitted], and dat yous has made us free, and as my ole man is at de front, shouldering his musket fighting for yer, I’se gwine to ask yer to help dese [omitted] to something to eat,’” and suiting his action to his words he took out of his vest pocket two one dollar bills, and gave us each one, saying “you [omitted] look as though something to eat would not be amiss.”

The boys gave Massa Lincum three cheers and a tiger. While I was putting up my brush and blacking, after receiving the bill, even before I was off the bended knee, he saw in box a book. “Smug, what is that book?” I reluctantly gave it to him. He looked at its well-worn leaves and read “Robinson’s Algebra,” looking at me quizzically, saying to himself “Robinson’s Algebra.” “What are you doing with an algebra?” I hesitated about telling him, but his pleased look drew out my story. Only a poor, struggling student, working and striving under every opportunity and at whatever occupation to get an education that would prepare me for the future and that better my condition, and that by knowledge. He manifested much interest, promising to keep a weather eye on my future, and in parting said, “As your shine is well done, do everything else in like manner. and you will soon shine in something better.”

W.W. Goodrich⁸

References

1. “Held to Answer”. Denver Rocky Mountain News, March 26, 1881, p. 2. ↩︎
2. “Probably a Sharp Swindler”. The National Republican (Washington, D.C.), November 27, 1883, p. 3. ↩︎
3. “An Old Fraud Heard From”. Los Angeles Herald, March 16, 1884, p. 3. ↩︎
4. “Capt. Goodrich”. St. John’s Review (St. Johns, Oregon), February 15, 1907, p. 2. ↩︎
5. United States Census, 1860, William Goodrich, 2nd District, 7th Ward, New York City, New York, p. 138. ↩︎
6. “Two Receptions”. The Atlanta Constitution, January 30, 1879, p. 1. ↩︎
7. “Editorial Comment”. The Atlanta Constitution, May 14, 1892, p. 4. ↩︎
8. Goodrich, W.W. “The President and the Bootblack.” The Atlanta Journal, July 5, 1890, p. 12. ↩︎