Iowa Heritage Illustrated

Hill, James

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS
Temperance Art
The downward slide “ from the firs t 
glass to  the grave”— this was a cau­
tionary tale told often through hand- 
colored lithographs in temperance 
tracts and hand-painted glass slides in 
magic-lantern shows. As the images 
made clear, the danger was absolute: 
if you don’t abstain, you will lose your 
morals, your job, your family, your life, 
and your chance fo r salvation.
The standard narrative also ap­
peared as Ten Nights in a Bar-Room 
and What I Saw There, a popular nov­
el published in 1854, a long-running 
melodrama, and a film released in
1931.
The cover and the lithograph 
on page 86, titled “ The Drunkard’s 
Progress,” are examples of temper­
ance art, and here are a few others—  
tw o from national sources (above 
and right) and the others created and 
used by lowans.
— Ginalie Swaim, editor
THE XEW YEA It :—HOW THEY BEG AH: THE OLD YEAK:—MOW THEY CAME OUT.
These two vignettes,from a larger lithograph titled “The Down Hill Road,” 
are unusual because they show a woman as well as a man succumbing to 
alcohol. (Lithograph from a scriptural tract published in Boston, c. 1878.)
Titled “The Bible and Temperance,” this mid-century lithograph was pub­
lished by Nathaniel Currier. Still dressed in finery, the drunken husband 
sleeps while the despairing wife and their children seek hope in scripture.
LÍVING HISTORY FARMS. PHOTO BY JOHN ZELLER
It i toon«;
tV Y vrirv ta
Left and opposite page: According to 
a hand-written note with these tem­
perance banners, they were used by 
Samuel W. Heald, a young dentist in 
Iowa City in 1867, “when the Good 
Lord took hold of him.” As a Meth­
odist minister he served 15 Iowa 
churches before his death at age 60 
in 1903. The banners were drawn by 
L. D. Porter, a prisoner at the Ana- 
mosa State Penitentiary in the late 
1860s. The muslin banners are in the 
collections of Living History Farms 
in Urbandale, Iowa.
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Left: It’s not known whether Samuel 
Heald the minister or L. D. Porter 
the prisoner came up with the spe­
cific message of these banners, but 
these may refer to Iowa’s inconsis­
tent and confusing liquor legislation. 
Under one particular law, a licensed 
saloon that paid a tax could still sell 
rum, whiskey, and other alcohol in a 
dry community. The banners imply 
that while an armed robber might 
demand “ your money OR your life,” 
saloons might well take your money 
and, eventually, your life.
Vh W \ i u v .aN
Below: Porter and Heald’s four-part 
banner cautions that a cigar leads 
to a pipe and a drink, and soon to 
dissipation.
Fall 2010 99
THIS PAGE LIVING HISTORY FARMS. PHOTOS BY JOHN ZELLER


English

Temperance Art

Holmgren, David

map is actually Lake Peosta, although Warner labeled 
it the Mississippi. The river was actually some distance 
further east. What is not known are the exact distances 
to the lake and the river as well as the precise location 
of the camp. Enough information is available elsewhere 
to conclude that it was in the area along Dubuque's 
present-day Rhomberg and Garfield avenues. Several 
Civil War camps were precisely marked in 1928, but 
Camp Union was not one of them.
After the 12th Iowa left Camp Union late in No­
vember, the camp closed but re-opened the next July 
under a new name, Camp Franklin, following Presi­
dent Lincoln's call for additional volunteers. The camp 
was vastly expanded in size, from the 16 buildings on 
Warner's map to about 50 buildings. In fact, the camp 
was overbuilt and became Iowa's largest camp in terms 
of its capacity for housing volunteer enlistees. During 
the late summer and fall of 1862, the 21st, 27th, 32nd, 
and 38th Iowa Volunteer Infantry Regiments were or­
ganized and mustered at this camp, but they were not 
all present in the camp at the same time. After plans to 
organize an Irish regiment (the 42nd Iowa) faltered, the 
few companies that had been raised were transferred 
to the 7th Iowa Cavalry.
The camp closed for good late in the fall of 1862, 
and the barracks were sold at auction on January 10, 
1863, for $1,564. The auction was conducted by Chap-
line, Burton & Company, which had advertised it for 
several days beforehand as "the entire Barracks, . . . 
consisting of some Fifty Barracks, containing about 
250,000 feet of Good Lumber, several stoves, &c." The 
lumber could be purchased in lots of 100 to 5,000 feet.
A week later, the controversial editor of the Dubuque 
Daily Herald, Dennis A. Mahony, who claimed loyalty 
to the Union but was also an outspoken critic of the 
Lincoln administration and the general conduct of the 
war, sneered that "Camp Franklin is now desolate, not 
a solitary soldier inhabiting a single barrack. The gov­
ernor says that no more troops will be rendezvoused in 
Dubuque, so notoriously secessional is the character of 
its leading citizens."
While there may have been a grain of truth to 
the charge, the fact is that there was also consider­
able goodwill between the residents of Dubuque and 
the soldiers in the camp, as exemplified in other local 
newspapers, such as the Dubuque Daily Union and the 
Dubuque Daily Times. Yet another reason for the clos­
ing is that by January 1863, Iowa had already recruited 
enough soldiers that it would not even be called on for 
another year for more troops, except for some cavalry 
regiments, and even then for only four temporary 100- 
day regiments.
Captain Warner was taken prisoner at Shiloh 
(April 6, 1862) with most of his company and tried
Discovering a rare and amazing map
Volunteer Dave Holmgren has 
been steadily researching his way 
through a series of manuscripts 
in the collections of the State 
Historical Society of Iowa in our 
Des Moines center, gathering and 
preparing information for a staff 
cataloging project. The w ork has 
often revealed unexpected trea­
sures, but his recent discovery of 
Captain W illiam W arner’s map of 
Camp Union created a particular 
buzz.
When Holmgren found the 
officer’s hand-drawn map depict­
ing Camp Union, the 12th Iowa 
Infantry’s rendezvous point at 
Dubuque, he knew it was some­
thing special. Remembering that 
Iowa historian Jim Jacobsen was 
interested in Civil W ar camps, 
Dave gave him a call, and Jacobsen 
came over quickly.
“ This is a very valuable Iowa 
piece of Civil W ar folk art,’’ Jacob­
sen said. “ It’s the only known de­
piction of one of Iowa’s most im­
portant military camps,and what’s 
more, the only known Iowa camp 
drawing by a soldier who was at 
a camp. All others were drawn 
by war correspondents, area a rt­
ists, o r contracted surveyors. 
Only eight of Iowa’s 24 Civil W ar 
camps are documented by either 
maps, photos, o r drawings.”
Doug Jones, an archaeologist 
w ith our historic preservation of­
fice, brought coworkers to see the 
map. He agreed that it was “ rare 
and amazing’’ because “ it provides 
details from a soldier’s perspec­
tive as well as a glimpse of camp 
life as W arner and his comrades 
prepared for military service.”
Throughout the afternoon, 
staff and other interested people 
filtered into the library and ar- 
chives reading room to examine 
the map, protected within a Mylar 
sleeve.
The Warner collection, inwhich 
the map was found, includes letters 
between William and his family in
84 ¡moa Heritage Illustrated
to escape twice, the first time traveling 40 miles with 
another captain before they were recaptured), and the 
second time digging a tunnel only to be discovered at 
the last minute. After being paroled in October, Warner 
returned to the 12th Iowa but suffered ongoing health 
problems due to his imprisonment.
Early in the Vicksburg campaign, Warner was 
wounded in the arm yet stayed in the field with his 
unit. He returned home to Clermont in October on 
furlough. His deteriorating health was apparent to his 
family, who urged him to either resign his commission 
or ask for an extended leave. Instead, Warner returned 
to the regiment. In December, he entered a Memphis 
hospital and his father, Horatio Warner, left Clermont 
to see him. Horatio reached the encampment on De­
cember 13; he was told that his son had died the pre­
vious evening. Lt. Reed and color bearer Grannis, his 
friends and associates from the University Recruits, 
were also summoned to see him but they also arrived 
too late. Reed accompanied Horatio back to Clermont 
with the captain's remains, which were buried at God's 
Acre Cemetery.
Captain Warner has not been forgotten in Clermont 
and Fayette. Upper Iowa University has always re­
membered the entire company of University Recruits. 
In May 2007, a headstone dedication ceremony at War­
ner's grave was conducted in which President Allan
Walker of Upper Iowa University played taps in honor 
of this captain of the University Recruits. The rare and 
recently discovered map that Warner drew on a bluff 
overlooking Dubuque's Camp Union specifically hon­
ors his earliest days as a soldier in the Civil War. ❖
David Holmgren has zvorked as an employee and volunteer for 
the State Historical Society of Iowa in our Des Moines center, 
researching Iowa battle flags and the Underground Railroad, 
writing for this magazine and the Iowa Biographical Diction­
ary, and preparing archival collections for cataloging.
NOTE O N SOURCES
The Warner collection is in Special Collections o f the State Historical Society 
o f Iowa (Des Moines center). For comprehensive sources on Company C. see 
Charles B. Clark and Roger B. Bowen, University Recruits— Company C, 12th 
Iowa Infantry Regiment, USA., 1861-1866 (Elverson. PA: Mennonite Family 
History, 1991); and Ted Genoways and Hugh H. Genoways, A Perfect Picture of 
Hell: Eyewitness Accounts by Civil War Prisoners from the 12th Iowa (Iowa City: 
Universrty o f Iowa Press, 2001).
Russell L  Johnson describes Camp Union in his Warriors into Workers:The 
Civil War and the Formation o f Urban-Industrial Society in a Northern City (New 
York; Fordham University Press, 2003). On the role o f Col. Addison H. Sanders, 
see Franklin Oldt, History o f Dubuque County, Iowa . . .  (Chicago: Goodspeed 
Historical Association. 19 1 I , p. 268; J. A. Swisher, ‘‘Camp Life in O ther Days,” 
Palimpsest (O ct 1941); and Benjamin F. Gue, History of Iowa . . . .  vol. 4 (New 
York; Century History Company 1903). See also Dubuque Daily Herald, 8 -17- 
1861; and Dubuque Daily Union, 8-24-1861 and I -7-62.
The author thanks Jim Jacobsen for his assistance. Annotations are 
housed in the Iowa Heritage Illustrated production files, SHSI (Iowa City).
Clermont, in northeastern Iowa. 
Warner makes no mention of the 
map in his letters, but a note on the 
back of it reads:“ William sent from 
Dubuque, his map of quarters— M. 
Loomis.” M. Loomis likely was one 
of Warners sisters, Minnie A. War­
ner, who married Addison Loomis 
in Clermont in May 1863.
Jacobsen added, “ It is touch­
ing that this soldier was skilled 
enough and clever enough to 
find a way to  show his family and 
friends back at home exactly what 
his surroundings looked like.”
— Becki Plunkett, archivist
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D a v e  H o lm g r e n  ( l e f t )  a n d  J im  J a c o b s e n  d iscu ss  t h e  C a m p  U n io n  m a p .
Fall 2010 85
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Discovering a Rare and Amazing Map

Pittman, Von

Notorious Inmate and Gallant Little Lady: The Education of Nathan Leopold

Zanish-Belcher, Tanya

Edward and Minne Allen: Iowa Citizens, World Citizens

Jacobsen, James E

Civil War Muster Rolls: The Value in Caring for the Real Thing

Iowa Heritage Illustrated, vol.91 no.3, Fall 2010

Swaim, Ginalie

Against All Odds: The 1952 Missouri River Flood at Council Bluffs and Omaha

Spegel, Daniel D

For Country, Community, and Comrades: Why Iowans Went to War

Past the Point 
of No Return by C.E. Holmes
I
n Arnolds (no apostrophe, please) Park, a few feet 
from the shore of West Lake Okoboji (a glacier- 
scooped, spring-fed expanse in Iowa's northwest 
corner), the oldest wooden roller coaster west of the 
Mississippi wraps its way around oaks and cotton­
woods, a Ferris wheel and a mer- 
ry-go-round, and thrill seekers of 
every persuasion pursuing games 
of chance at a buck a pop.
Terry Mankle (right), a lean and 
weather-beaten kineticist (something 
he would never call himself) has 
been playing his own death-defying 
match against fate for more summers 
(30 and counting) than he cares to re­
call. Every morning, he takes his first 
sure-footed step on an undulating, 
lumber-framed tightrope of majestic 
proportions. What he's looking for, 
one step at a time, are wobbly spikes 
and signs of rot that, if allowed to 
loosen or spread, might make a jerk­
ing and jolting ride rougher and 
even life-threatening. Steadfast as a 
mid western postman, Mr. Mankle is out there in all kinds 
of unpredictable weather, trying to deliver not a letter or 
a package, but simply an exciting but safe trip.
The view from The Point of No Return, the highest 
point on the coaster's circuit, is stunning, possibly even 
breathtaking, but Mr. Mankle seldom takes the time to 
pause and admire it. He has too many Capes of Good 
Hopes and Horns to round, and an entire roller-coaster 
route to circumnavigate before he arrives back at his 
home port, the boarding and exiting platform.
Mr. Mankle performs many other tasks in the 
amusement park, but his paramount mission is his
walking inspection of the tracks. He knows this roller 
coaster intimately. He appreciates the curves, he's in 
harmony with the bends, he's respectful of the hills. 
"I'm not afraid of heights," he tells us. "I'm just afraid 
of falling."
He has fallen just once.
It happened one morning about 
ten years ago as Mr. Mankle extend­
ed a tape measure out into space. 
Four feet was all he fell, but he hit 
his kidney hard on one of those in­
numerable crosspieces that, like fe­
murs and rib cages for his riders, 
are the support structure that holds 
the whole organism together. He 
didn't pass out until after lunch. 
The perfunctory siren and the am­
bitious but ambivalent ambulance 
are only a faint memory.
His one-time fall is all water un­
der the bridge to Mr. Mankle, who 
walks the tracks with a patient and 
unassuming authority. Forswear­
ing any so-called higher education, 
he has schooled himself, from a variety of elevations, 
on what signs of trouble to look for. His main concern 
is for the well-being of his riders. He wants them to be 
able to raise their arms to the sky without fear as they 
shoot over hills and descend into dips.
For a clue to the antecedents of Mr. Mankle's roller­coaster fixation, one has to look no further than his own mother. She was, in her heyday, a reck­
less roller-coaster rider, and, according to Mr. Man­
kle, just a few weeks before giving birth to him, she
100 Iowa Heritage Illustrated
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Fall 2010 101
How the whole thing 
resembles the trajectory of 
a life!
We shall remain on the 
ground and tag along be­
hind with our eyes. From 
far down below, we can 
only guess at the trouble 
spots that he looks for. It 
is essential that the track 
itself be made secure. Ev­
ery ride exerts a certain 
amount of pressure on the 
rail. The passing cars are 
in danger of lifting off into 
orbit if the track does not 
remain locked to its frame.
But there is a price to pay.
What is lifted up must be 
pounded back down.
The crosspieces, and 
their shadows, how they 
all conspire to confuse our 
perceptions, crossing and 
crisscrossing, splitting apart 
and joining up in a jumble
of angles and cubes! It's enough to drive even the most 
gregarious and devoted cubists among us to distraction.
We hold our communal breaths when we see how 
Mr. Mankle leans across the rails from the catwalk, 
planting one boot squarely across a 4x4 crosspiece. Rais­
ing the impervious head of his hammer (have we men­
tioned how his hand is as good as locked to its handle?) 
above a loose spike, he replants it, he re-sinks it, he re­
embeds it, back where it belongs.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
How he hits the nail—seven, or eight, or nine 
times—each hit a direct blow. The spike cannot resist; 
it sinks back into the wood until it has the sound, sweet 
to Mr. Mankle's sense of hearing, of being driven in.
It's the resonance of all these blows that carries so 
deftly, like a strident church bell or a call to arms across 
the surface of the lake. People who are still sleeping 
will soon be awakened. A swift, hard hit of a hammer, 
sounding like it means business, has penetrated to the 
depths of their free-enterprise dreams and disturbed 
them, maybe even made them uneasy.
ence as he goes about 
his job. Inspectors, of 
course, are always com­
ing 'round. They conduct 
their inspections and 
then they put out bids 
to redo part or the whole 
of the coaster. In their re­
ports they say that "the 
first hill is too bumpy"or 
"there's too much lift on 
the last hill." One inspec­
tor recommends replac­
ing the 3/8-inch bolts on 
the tracks with ones that 
are 5/i6, while yet another 
says that "some structure 
should be added on that 
inside curve."
Mr. Mankle shakes 
his head and grins a tad 
derisively. "Inspectors!" 
We sympathize as he 
speaks of "how they do it 
with other wooden roller 
coasters." There was evi­
dently a wooden roller coaster out in Denver that had 
its own sawmill. Mr. Mankle cannot hide his envious­
ness: "They had an endless supply of 3-inch boards."
COURTESY OF THE AUTHOR
N
ow he hears that his boss wants to cut his hours 
back. Mr. Mankle shakes his head and suggests 
that "they might want to have a roller coaster 
fund raiser." Or perhaps a buried treasure may be un­
earthed from underneath the coaster—something that 
fell out of a wealthy but careless man's pocket, or a 
valuable ring that slipped off a sweaty finger—enough 
of a treasure, at any rate, to restore an old ride to sol­
vency. Who knows what (and here we cast our eyes 
downward, in search of something shiny) might lie 
hidden in the dirt. Just today, in fact, Mr. Mankle has 
found on the side of the tracks a pair of purple-framed 
glasses, which look like they might have belonged to a 
young girl. •
Speaking of glasses, and especially of eyes, Mr. 
Mankle took a tiny piece of steel in his eye one sum­
mer. He'd been working in the machine shop, and 
evidently not wearing protective glasses—"as I should 
have been"—when the wayward fragment became 
wedged in his eye. Dr. Gordy, the eminent Spencer eye 
specialist who lives on the north end of the lake, re-
espite having had to endure any number of 
managers, overseers, consultants, and supervi­
sors, Mr. Mankle maintains a purposeful pres­
102 loiva Heritage Illustrated
moved it, but the procedure, admits Mr. Mankle, was 
painful. His sight is still affected. The sun and bright 
lights bother him, but not enough to slow or halt his 
progress. His inspection tour around the coaster still 
takes about 45 minutes.
We have many more questions to ask Mr. Mankle, 
but boy, is he busy! At this very moment, for instance, 
he's discovered yet another loose spike.
Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!
The loose spike secured, he moves on, looking for 
others.
Watching Mr. Mankle make the final turn, with 
only three hills standing between him and the end of 
his route, we recognize the ridiculousness of question­
ing the motives of this passionate but somewhat sub­
dued person's sense of purpose. And when that object 
of endearment just happens to be roller coasters—and 
not just any kind of roller coaster, but a wooden roll­
er coaster constructed at the fulcrum of the Roaring 
Twenties and the Dirty Thirties—then you're either 
born with it, or you're not.
Mr. Mankle, just to be sure that all is in good 
working order, will now take himself on a test ride 
(an understudy will man the brake), and he will lis­
ten for suspicious sounds and make mental notes. And 
then at 11:00 a.m. CDT, the gates to the Arnolds Park 
Amusement Park will be unlocked and thrown open 
for another day, and the crowds will form long lines at 
their favorite rides, the first of which is the old wooden 
roller coaster. They'll rush up the ramp to the platform, 
and swarm for their favorite seats (there used to be a 
group that changed seats during the ride, but they've 
grown too old for such foolishness, as have the girls 
whom they were trying to impress). The bars will be 
lowered to keep the patrons square and secure in their 
seats. Then the brake will be pulled back, releasing the 
cars, which will fall down a short hill where the rotat­
ing chain will catch the cars and carry them up to . . . 
but you know the rest.
The man with his hand on the brake, waiting for 
the cars to return to their roost, may or may not be Mr. 
Mankle. If he's not manning the brake, then he's do­
ing something else equally important. And yet all the 
time he is watching. His eyes, partially hidden under 
the brim of his cap, seem to take in all that goes on and 
around and up and down in the amusement park. His 
primary job remains making sure that the roller coaster 
runs smoothly, if that is the right word for such a bone­
shaking experience.
And it will—the roller coaster will run un­
wrinkled—as long as Mr. Mankle is in charge of the 
proceedings.
Postscript—Summer 2010
We came back to Arnolds Park on Lake Okoboji for the 4th of July. On the 5th of July, we overslept, as was to be expected, so we did not get down to the amusement park and the coaster until 9:15.
As soon as we heard the hammering, we knew 
that something was amiss. It was not the same sort of 
pounding as before. It did not make impressions, like 
footprints in the sand, on our consciousness. There was 
no authority there, and the intimacy had vanished. We 
sensed that something had happened, that a change 
had occurred. Our suspicions were confirmed when 
a figure emerged at The Point of No Return. He was 
walking the route, but backward.
We sat on the seawall, camera in hand, unsure what 
to do next. When we heard the sound of the coaster 
coming, we turned our heads just in time to see a ghost 
coaster (cars empty of people) rattling past.
"Retired?” we echoed, after asking the unfamiliar 
man on the roller coaster platform where Mr. Mankle 
was. The word failed to syncopate for us.
How does a man who has spent most of his adult 
life as a Sherpa—in an amusement park on the Ameri­
can prairies—adjust to retirement?
To find the answer, we knew that we must seek out 
and talk to Mr. Mankle. It was suggested by a tattooed 
Miss Iceberg at the Sno-Cone stand, and confirmed by 
the phone book, that he resides in Spencer, Iowa—a flat, 
dusty, dry, landlocked, and roller coaster-less town 16 
miles to the south, famous for its destructive fireworks, 
and for a cat who used to live in the library.
As you are reading this, we are on our way to 
Spencer. Fields of corn and soybeans surround us and 
threaten to swamp us if we stop to admire their fecun­
dity. So no, we will not stop, we will keep going. Mr. 
Mankle, to fulfill the terms of his retirement, we pre­
sume, is reclining in his La-Z-Boy, its foot rest extended 
to its extreme extent. Whether or not he is watching the 
roller-coaster channel is anyone's guess. If the answer 
is yes, we hope he will mute it to tell us the rest of the 
story, outlining his coaster's hills and valleys that he 
knows so well, with those expressive, hammer-grip­
ping hands. And we will report back (without orna­
mentation) about whatever became of this man who 
once walked past The Point of No Return. ❖
C. £. Holmes greiv up in Okoboji ami is the author o/Okoboji: 
Puppet Show of Memory and Excavating Okoboji: To the 
Beat of the Waves and is currently writing a memoir.
Fall 2010 103


Past the Point of No Return

Black, Dennis H

Dr. Mary Edwards Walker
and the
Medal of Honor
Army Surgeon Mary E. Walk­er is the nation's only fe­male recipient of the Medal 
of Honor. Of all things written of 
Walker, authors tend to reflect on 
her penchant for passionately es­
pousing women's dress reforms 
and women's rights. Fiercely inde­
pendent, self-reliant, and sternly 
willed, Walker truly was a charac­
ter with whom few could reckon.
With the advent of the Civil 
War in April 1861, Walker {right), 
who had graduated from Syracuse 
Medical College, was determined 
to join the Union Army as a doctor. 
Denied a commission as a medical 
officer, she had little choice but to 
volunteer her services as an assis­
tant surgeon. As a volunteer, she 
was assigned to the Washington, 
D.C., hospital that had been set up 
in the U.S. Patent Offices building 
and assisted in treating wounded 
soldiers who had besieged the city 
following the Battle of Bull Run.
Walker realized that hygiene 
was an integral component of sav­
ing lives. In 1862 she enrolled at 
Hygea Therapeutic College in New 
York City. Following the comple­
tion of coursework in the fall, she 
again traveled to Washington in 
anticipation of a commission. The
by Dennis H. Black
elusive assignment was not to be, 
and she again served as a volun­
teer in the backwoods of Virginia, 
where an outbreak of typhoid fe­
ver was ravaging the troops. By 
her own design, Walker wore a 
uniform of dark blue trousers with 
a gold stripe and the green sash of 
a surgeon. None dared challenge 
her boldness in securing a uniform 
of personal design.
Highly frustrated by her inabil­
ity to gain official recognition for 
her devotion to treating the wound­
ed and saving lives, Walker took 
the unprecedented step of writ­
ing her concerns directly to Presi­
dent Abraham Lincoln. Her letter 
spelled out her loyalty to the cause 
of the Union and her willingness to 
go anywhere, anytime, to adminis­
ter to the ill, infirm, and wounded. 
Lincoln personally responded, say­
ing only that he "couldn't force the 
acceptance of anyone contrary to 
the will of his commanders."
Walker volunteered where 
needed to treat the thousands of 
wounded who were pouring into 
the citv after the Battle of Chicka-
J
mauga, fought on September 19, 
1863, in Chattanooga, Tennessee. 
Other medical doctors and sur­
geons were incensed that Walker
would be allowed to administer to 
the medical needs of the wounded. 
To them, she was little more than a 
homeopathic herbalist, and sugges­
tions from the highest in the medi­
cal corps went so far as to suggest 
that her medical training was a fan­
tasy. However, by this time Major 
General Alexander McCook and 
Major General George H. Thomas 
had observed her accomplishments 
and tenacity following the Union 
defeat at Chickamauga.
While traveling behindenemy lines on horse­back and adorned in her 
own unique uniform, Walker was 
captured by a Confederate sentry 
on April 10, 1864, and held as a 
prisoner of war at a prison called 
Castle Thunder in Richmond, Vir­
ginia. The prison was a foul place; 
Walker later noted the squalor, in­
sects, vermin, and little food. Mal­
nutrition was cause for her rapidly 
deteriorating eyesight.
Four months later, on August 
10, Walker and a large group of 
other Union prisoners were secret­
ly transported behind Union lines 
and exchanged for Confederate 
soldiers and a Confederate major.
36 Iozca Heritage Illustrated
Mary Walker was now a free wom­
an, convinced that the elusive of­
ficial duty she had long requested 
could not be denied.
Shortly following her release, 
she accepted an appointment as 
Acting Assistant Surgeon, United 
States Army, "but spent the rest of 
the war practicing at a Louisville 
female prison and an orphan's asy­
lum in Tennessee. She was paid 
$766.16 for her wartime service. 
Afterward, she got a monthly pen­
sion of $8.50, later raised to $20, but 
still less than a widow's pension." 
Walker was released from her con­
tract on June 15,1865.
In her heart, Walker was a true humanitarian, yet her legacy tends to be more identified 
with her lifelong personal inde­
pendence, candor, dressing hab­
its, and outspoken advocacy for 
women's rights. She was an avid 
reader, so following the war she 
became a published writer and 
highly sought after public speaker. 
Walker contributed articles to the 
dress reform journal Sibyl and pub­
lished her recollections of the Civil 
War in a book, Notes Connected with 
the Army. Two of her books—Hit, 
published in 1871, and Unmasked, 
or The Science of Immorality, pub­
lished in 1878—are evidence of her 
aggressive advocacy for the rights 
of women and her thoughts on suf­
frage, morals, sexual ethics, and 
civil liberties.
As would be expected dur­
ing this time of our nation's his­
tory, having a woman receive the 
nation's highest honor for valor 
did not set well with some. Thus, 
during the Medal of Honor "Purge 
of 1917," when 910 recipients were 
stricken from the Medal of Honor 
Roll, Walker was one of the first to 
go. Although she was directed to 
return her medals to the govern- UBRARY OF CONGRESS. C 1860-1870
Spring 2010 37
merit, she refused, and was seldom 
seen without them pinned to her 
jacket. Not surprisingly, no gov­
ernment or military official ever at­
tempted to retrieve them.
Walker retired to her Oswego 
family farm, and became reclusive 
as time took its toll on her physical 
and mental abilities. Virtually pen­
niless, Walker died on February 
21,1919, and is buried in the Rural 
Cemetery, on Cemetery Road, near 
Oswego, New York. Her Medal of 
Honor is displayed at the Pentagon 
in Washington, D.C.
Walker's deeds were not"event specific" as with other recipients, as at­
tested by the citation read and 
signed by President Andrew John­
son. Rather, she was selected for 
her dedication, loyalty, self-initi­
ated exposure to great peril, and 
valor in facing the hardships of 
imprisonment.
It was now a known fact that 
Walker not only selflessly provided 
for the medical needs of the soldiers 
of the Union, but was also known 
to often travel and administer to 
the medically needy behind enemy 
lines. It was the latter that caused 
some to assert she was a spy for the 
Union, although conclusive proof 
was never exhibited.
However, it is known that 
once, when in Chattanooga, Walk­
er passed behind enemy lines, and 
while there obtained information 
that was passed on to General 
Sherman. As a result, Sherman 
modified his operations and pre­
vented enemy confrontations that 
could have created substantial set­
backs. Conjecture is that this is but 
one of the reasons that the field rec­
ommendation to President Lincoln 
for Walker to receive the Medal of 
Honor came from Major General 
Sherman.
What Walker had experienced, 
the facts of which were known to 
two of the Union's greatest gener­
als, William Tecumseh Sherman 
and George H. Thomas, and the 
fact that President Lincoln had 
himself intended that Walker be so 
honored, makes it understandable 
that she was selected for the medal. 
Although this was well over a cen­
tury ago, there are those purists yet 
today who feel that the "intent" 
of the award policy was violated. 
Regardless, the final decision was 
made by Executive Order of the 
President of the United States, An­
drew Johnson, after thorough con­
sideration of events.
By Act of Congress in April 
1916, which created the Medal of 
Honor Roll, it was stipulated that 
the award should be made for ac­
tion "involving actual conflict with 
an enemy, by gallantry or intrepid­
ity, at the risk of life, above and 
beyond the call of duty." The new 
rules were the basis by which the 
Medal of Honor Board rescinded 
Walker's medal, along with those 
of 909 other recipients.
All arguments became moot 
on June 10, 1977, when Dr. Mary 
E. Walker's name was returned 
to the Medal of Honor Roll, fol­
lowing a recommendation of the 
Army Board for the Correction of 
Military Records to Secretary of the 
Army Clifford Alexander under 
President Jimmy Carter.
Walker was born in Os­wego County, New York, on November 26, 
1832. Her parents, Alvah and Vesta 
Walker, had five daughters, with 
Mary being the youngest. The 
family livelihood was obtained by 
the labors of all from their 33-acre 
farm. Although quite practical, 
the nonconventional and rugged 
clothing of the farm would become
an enlightened character statement 
for Walker.
Walker was enchanted with 
her father's many books. Reading 
was her personal triumph, and the 
books fed an insatiable appetite for 
knowledge. Alvah, a self-taught 
"country doctor," influenced his 
youngest daughter, and before long 
she recognized an innate desire to 
pursue that honored profession of 
medical service.
Like her sisters, Mary Walker 
began a career of teaching at the age 
of 16. Although this profession was 
both challenging and intellectually 
rewarding, Walker longed for the 
right opportunity to enter medical 
school. This she did in 1853 at the 
age of 21. Walker graduated from 
Syracuse Medical College two 
years later.
While at Syracuse, Walker 
dated Albert Miller, also a medical 
student. Miller proposed a matri­
monial and professional union that 
would place them at his medical 
practice in Rome, New York. They 
were subsequently married, al­
though Mary refused to change her 
name, and directed that the word 
"obey" be removed from the wed­
ding vows. She attended the wed­
ding in trousers and jacket.
Their marriage was so unmis­
takably wrong that it was destined 
for failure. Shortly after they mar­
ried, Walker learned of her husband 
having an active, ongoing affair. 
She sought a divorce, but due to 
the stringent laws of the land and 
the social stigma of the time, their 
severance never occurred until 
1869.
Intent on advancing her edu­
cation after the break-up of her 
marriage, Walker enrolled for the 
1860 fall term at the newly estab­
lished Bowen Collegiate Institute 
at Hopkinton, in Delaware County, 
Iowa. Bowen was in its infancy, 
with a mere 98 students, and the
38 Iowa Heritage Illustrated
conservative Presbyterian views of 
the trustees and instructors were 
foreign to Walker, an independent 
thinker. Walker was readily recog­
nized around town because of her 
attire—she liked to wear "bloom­
ers." From the beginning, Walker 
was viewed as a "mischief-maker," 
according to Miss Cooley, a Bowen 
instructor who loudly opposed 
Walker's desire "to share in the 
rhetorical exercises provided for 
the gentlemen, and her insistence 
on studying German."
The young men at Bowen had 
organized a debating society. One 
evening Walker attended and asked 
to be admitted as a member. Mem­
bership was allowed, but upon 
learning of Walker's action, Cooley 
had Walker suspended from the 
institute. After being joined by all 
but two of the men in a procession
and parade of protest to "down­
town" Hopkinton, the young men 
of Bowen were also suspended. 
Rapidly realizing the error of their 
ways, the boys openly repented 
and were allowed to return to their 
studies. However, Walker's sus­
pension was permanent.
Befriended by but a few citi­
zens, Walker remained in Hopkin­
ton for a short time, during which 
she occasionally aided Dr. Cun­
ningham in his medical practice.
Mary Edwards Walker will forever be a legend in the annals of American his­
tory, and not just because of the 
Medal of Honor or the controversy 
that followed. Her entire life was 
composed of remarkable events. 
Perhaps the final proof of her
notoriety occurred on June 10, 
1982, when the U.S. Postal Service 
issued a 20-cent postage stamp 
with the designation, "Dr. Mary 
Walker, Army Surgeon," placed 
above her portrait, and "Medal of 
Honor" directly beneath. A fitting 
tribute, for undeniably and irre­
vocably Walker was now nation­
ally recognized as being both an 
"Army Surgeon" and a "Medal of 
Honor" recipient. ❖
Dermis H. Black served in the Iowa House 
of Representatives for seven terms. Since 
1993 he has represented Senate District
21 in the Iowa Senate. He has been 
fascinated with the Civil War since his 
youth, when he learned that both of his 
paternal great-great-grandfathers were 
casualties of the war.
by Dennis H. Black
n i l  ST A TI HISTORIC A t *OCtJTTt OF IOWA
Profiles o f  Valor: Iowa's M edal o f  Honor 
Recipients o f  the Civil War, by Dennis 
H. Black. 480 pages; more than 90 
photographs of recipients, medals, 
and Civil War-related scenes. $44.95/ 
hardcover; $29.95/softcover. Members 
of State Historical Society receive a 
10% discount. Order from State His­
torical Society Museum Store (515) 
281-7395.
New Book Lauds Iowa’s Civil W ar Heroes
The preceding article on Mary Edwards Walker is reprinted from 
Profiles of Valor: lowas Medal of Honor Recipients of the Civil War, written 
by Dennis H. Black and published by the State Historical Society of 
Iowa.
In the book’s introduction Black recounts, “I was a member of 
Iowa’s Capitol Planning Commission when the decision was made to 
construct a new historical building just west of the capitol. During 
one ‘slow’ legislative day, I walked the two blocks down the hill, west, 
to the State Historical Library to do a little research on our beautiful 
state capitol. While sitting at a library table, I noticed a copy of The Annals of 
Iowa left on the table by a previous visitor. When I opened the [1905] 
book, the pages fell to an article by Colonel Charles A. Clark: “Con­
gressional Medals of Honor and Iowa Soldiers.’’ Black adds, “Life has 
not been the same since!”
Black took on the challenge of researching “not only these heroes’ 
acts of intrepidity, but also their attachments to Iowa and their life 
journeys following the war.”
Proceeds from the sale of Profiles of Valor benefit the State Histor­
ical Society of Iowa.
Spring 2010 39


Dr. Mary Edwards Walker ad the Medal of Honor

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