Iowa Heritage Illustrated

Soike, Lowell

Salem's Radical Quakers

Morain, Tom

TOM MORAIN recently received the high­
est award of the State Historical Society of 
Iowa, the 2008 Petersen/Harlan Award for 
his long-term and continuing contributions 
in Iowa history.
“Tom Morain has done it all when it 
comes to supporting and advancing Iowa his­
tory,’’ says historian Dorothy Schwieder, who 
first met Morain when they both taught Iowa 
history at Iowa State University. “It didn’t 
take long to recognize that Tom is a highly 
imaginative person. He taught with enthusi­
asm and humor, a wonderful combination in 
the classroom.”
After five years at ISU, he served as di­
rector of history at Living History Farms for 
I 3 years, and then as administrator of the 
State Historical Society of Iowa (1995-2001). 
He is now director of government relations 
at Graceland University in Lamoni.
Marvin Bergman, editor of the Annals 
of Iowa, remarks that “in all of his positions, 
and in his books and lectures, and behind the 
scenes, Tom Morain has long been the (al­
ways smiling) public face of Iowa history. Prai­
rie Grass Roots, his history of Jefferson, Iowa, 
in the first three decades of the 20th century, 
is a model of local history. Iowa, Past to Pres­
ent, the elementary school textbook he co­
authored with Dorothy Schwieder and Lynn 
Nielsen, remains the best book of its kind. 
In the midst of sound scholarship, Tom can 
always be counted on to find the human ele­
ment in history, often with a humorous twist. 
His leadership in the public history commu­
nity has done much to make Iowa history 
more accessible—and more fun.”
Here, Tom shares with us a few of his 
thoughts on history. —The editor
Tom Morain
Of Canning Jars and God: Reflections
by Tom  M o ra in
REBECCA: I never told you about that letter Jane Crofut got from her minister when
she was sick. He wrote Jane a letter and on the envelope the address was like 
this: Jane Crofut, The Crofut Farm, Grover's Corners; Sutton County, New 
Hampshire; United States of America.
GEORGE: What's funny about that?
REBECCA: But listen, it's not finished: the United States of America; Continent of
North America; Western Hemisphere; the Earth; the Solar System; the 
Universe; the Mind of God—that's what it said on the envelope.
GEORGE: What do you know!
REBECCA: And the postman brought it just the same.
End of Act I, Our Town, by Thornton Wilder
Museum consultant Fred Schroeder introduced that passage from Our Town when he spoke to young 
museum professionals at an exhibit design seminar 
over three decades ago. For every article, lecture, or 
display we create, he told us, we choose where to root 
it on the "Spectrum of Abstraction.” I never forgot 
his insight and often reflected on it at Living History 
Farms, the State Historical Society of Iowa, and now at 
Graceland University.
Imagine designing an exhibit on canning jars. You 
could focus on the jars themselves, how they are made
and used. Or you could broaden it beyond canning 
to include drying, smoking, or pickling. How about 
"Food Preservation around the World”? Food as a fac­
tor in human history? All living things require nutri­
tion? Life? . . . .  The Mind of God?
Don't jump to the wrong conclusion. It is absolute­
ly not true that the best exhibits are always those on the 
"Mind of God" end of the spectrum. Yea, verily, starv­
ing philosophy students should learn how to can green 
beans and tomatoes. But it is also true that there are 
many fact-laden history textbooks whose content com-
2 IOZL'1 X %m taee Vlustrated
pletely effervesces shortly after the final exam, leaving 
only a bad aftertaste for history. Facts without context 
are sterile indeed.
In my own pantheon of history mentors, there is a 
special place for Arvilla Long. I interviewed her when 
I was researching my book on Iowa small towns in the 
early 20th century. In her '80s when I asked her for 
a session, she resisted at first; she thought she knew 
nothing about history and would appear foolish. Nev­
ertheless, once she began talking about her own ex­
periences learning to drive a car in the 1920s in rural 
Carroll County, she became very excited recalling the 
first time she backed the Model-T out of the barn. Why 
was this still a big deal 50 years later, I wondered. What 
was such a big deal about backing up a car?
Three weeks later, the "big deal" hit me like a ton 
of bricks as I was commuting home from Jefferson to 
Ames: When she could back the car out of the barn, 
she could go to town when SHE wanted! She did not 
have to wait for her husband to take her. The morning 
she backed out on her own was her Independence Day, 
her Bastille Day, her "Get Out of Jail Free" card. It was 
a freedom her mother and grandmother and great­
grandmother and generations of rural women before 
them had never known.
I have thought about that interview many times 
because there are so many possible locations for it 
on the spectrum of abstractions between "learning to 
drive" and "the human condition." What opportuni­
ties does technology provide me that my parents did 
not have? What are the trade-offs in using new tech­
nologies—global warming, global competition, loss of 
community? What psychological barriers to freedom 
are imposed by my culture? What do I really need 
in order to be happy? Like a set of Russian nesting 
dolls—dolls inside dolls—questions of all dimensions 
lie embedded in simple acts.
The chair of the Iowa State University history depart­ment once advised me to stick with history because, 
whatever else, "it's inside and clean." Wrong. The fol­
lowing year I became director of history at Living His­
tory Farms, recreating Iowa farming operations from 
the past 300 years. Up until then, I had known history 
only through class notes, books, and microfilm. But the 
Farms changed that. To stay in business the Farms had 
to engage visitors; it could not just talk at them. We 
had to relate the historical site to the visitors' experi­
ence. What is there in the story of the development of 
agriculture that is important for anyone to know? Why 
are we doing this?
Early in my role as the Farms' history director, I 
had an idea for a way to evaluate what visitors were 
learning, an outstandingly stupid idea. I thought about 
giving a short quiz to departing visitors on facts they 
"should have learned" on their tour. It would have 
been a colossal mistake (does No Child Left Behind 
come to mind?) because it would have encouraged ev­
ery historical interpreter to teach to the quiz regardless 
of individual visitors' interests.
I grew into an advocate of what I call the "But" Ap­
proach to Historical Interpretation. The sure sign of a 
good interpretation program is when visitors leave say­
ing, "You know, I had never thought about it, but..
But what? We would never know what visitors 
were talking about as they headed down the interstate, 
but we were pretty sure they were talking about his­
tory. They were incorporating a little slice of the past 
into their own frame of reference. They were under­
standing the present differently because they had just 
experienced the past.
After nearly three decades as an Iowa historian, 
I still find the questions intriguing. The best history 
books and articles raise more questions than they an­
swer. The better the article, the better the questions 
that it raises. How many different ways can I under­
stand that incident? In what context do I place that 
fact? How does being an Iowan shape my perspective? 
Are any values universal or is everything relative to a 
particular culture?
It is not the facts that I have learned to value in my 
study of Iowa history. It is the questions that they raise. 
Just because a question has no definitive answers does 
not mean it is not worth asking.
In Robert Frost's "Choose Something Like a Star," 
the poet shakes his fist at the universe and demands 
certainties that he will never get. But in the end, he ac­
cepts the mystery ("the star") and finds affirmation in 
the quest itself.
The first 30 years have been great. I'm looking for­
ward to the next 30. ♦>
And steadfast as Keats' Eremite,
Not even stooping from its sphere,
It asks a little of us here.
It asks of us a certain height,
So when at times the mob is swayed 
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may choose something like a star 
To stay our minds on and be staid.
Spring 2009 3


English

Of Canning Jars and God: Reflections

Iowa Heritage Illustrated, vol.90 no.4, Winter 2009

Berrier, Galin

John & Archie
by Galin Berrier
After the freedom seekers had accomplished the most 
difficult part of their escape un­
aided, they were often assisted by 
abolitionists, whose names have 
survived in the historical record. 
We know the names of over 
100 white “ agents” and “ conduc­
tors”— but not the names of the 
runaways they helped.
Typical is the story told later 
in life by Christian S. Byrkit, a 
Quaker who as a teenager aided 
a fugitive slave near Fairfield in Jef­
ferson County. Byrkit described 
an incident, meant to be amus­
ing, in which his shotgun fell from 
his saddle to the ground and dis­
charged, causing his horse to rear 
and throwing the freedom seeker 
he was transporting unceremo­
niously to the ground. We never 
learn the freedom seeker’s name, 
or even if he successfully eluded 
capture by the slave catchers who 
were pursuing him.
We also know the names of 
several white abolitionists in Clin­
ton County like G. W. Weston, 
who sent the following note from 
Low Moor on May 6, 1859, to C. 
B. Campbell in Clinton:
"Dear Sir— By to-m orrow  
evening’s mail, you will receive 
two volumes of the ‘Irrepressible 
Conflict,’ bound in black. After 
perusal, please forward.” But we 
know nothing more about the two 
freedom seekers so “ forwarded.”
One exception to the rule 
of anonymity are two escaped 
slaves from Missouri named John 
and Archie, who made their way 
some 200 miles from central Mis­
souri to the home of J. H. B. A rm ­
strong, an Ohio abolitionist who 
settled at Cincinnati in southern 
Appanoose County in 1852, just a 
few miles from the Missouri state 
line. A neighbor who disapproved 
of helping fugitive slaves escape 
was being entertained at the time 
in Armstrong’s parlor, so Archie 
was hustled into a bedroom off 
the kitchen.
After the unsuspecting neigh­
bor departed, Archie and John, 
who was camped in the woods 
nearby, were given some food and 
sent on to another neighbor,John 
Shephard, where they were given 
supper and stayed the night. The 
next day they were sent on, even­
tually making it to Canada. Archie
is said to have written to A rm ­
strong to say that he and John 
were working there for a dollar a 
day and adding:“ ! hope the good 
Lord will bless you for your kind­
ness toward us, and I hope the 
day will soon come when we will 
be a free people.”
In the 1850s there may have 
been as many as 15,000 freedom 
seekers from the United States 
living in Canada West (today’s O n­
tario), especially in and near such 
towns as W indsor and Chatham.
Rumors circulated in the 
States that many were in dire 
straits, living in abject poverty. 
Perhaps it was important, then, to 
let their abolitionist benefactors 
know that this was not in fact 
their condition. Otherwise, such 
rumors might have discouraged 
other freedom seekers from fol­
lowing in their footsteps. ❖
Galin Berner's interest in the underground rail­
road grew from his volunteer w ork with the 
State Historical Society o f Iowa helping students 
research topics for National History Day. He was 
the first individual member o f the National Park 
Service's Underground Railroad N etw ork to  
Freedom program.
Summer 2009 59


John & Archie

Swaim, Ginalie

BELOW WILLIAM STILL, THE UNDERGROUND RAIL ROAD (1079). OPPOSITE: KANSAS STATE HISTORICAL SOCIETY
Naming the Enslaved
F
rost had killed off the gardens. Firewood 
was stacked. And as subscribers of the 
Page County Herald glanced through the 
paper that late October day in 1859, no doubt 
some of them read this brief article:
"Wednesday of last week, a bright, intelli­
gent looking mulatto, about 18 years of age, 
passed through Clarinda, inquiring the way 
to Hawleyville; and as soon as he had got be­
yond the limits of our town he urns pursued 
and over-taken by a citizen, who, by friend­
42 Iowa Heritage Illustrated
ly promises induced him to accompany him 
home. Shortly after dark the services of three 
other citizens and a team were obtained and 
about 10 o'clock at night he was tied, hand 
and foot—against his appeals to their human­
ity—against his cries and entreaties."
It's chilling to read this.
Did such indignity and cruelty ever fall upon 
the fine couple on this issue's front cover? Per­
haps. We don't know much about them when 
they were the "property'' of a Missouri slave-
holder. We do know that they escaped and trav­
eled across Iowa with abolitionist John Brown 
(whom some might call a terrorist).
Years later, in the 1890s, the Harpers posed 
in a photographer's studio for this portrait.
We are fortunate to have the names of this 
couple: Jane and Samuel Harper. Rarely can his­
torians uncover the full names of enslaved peo­
ple, a point made by Gal in Berrier in this issue. 
Sometimes only a first name is discovered, and 
perhaps a subjective physical description.
In 1846, for example, we know of an enslaved 
woman named Lucy who was "about 36 years 
old, very stout and heavy made, very black, 
very large feet and hands." We know this about 
Lucy because either her owner or a slave catch­
er advertised a reward for her 
return. The ad appear in the 
Keokuk Argus in June 1846.
T
he story of the "bright, 
intelligent looking mu­
latto" who was seized 
in Clarinda was discovered by 
Eric Lana a few years back; he 
found a reprint of the article 
in the Albia Weekly Republican.
He and John Zeller diligently 
looked through every extant 
Iowa newspaper between the 
1830s and 1862, searching for 
any and all articles related to 
antislavery and underground 
railroad activities in Iowa.
This topic has been the sub­
ject of an intensive, multi-year 
project funded with a federal grant through the 
Iowa Department of Transportation and led 
by historian Lowell Soike in the historic pres­
ervation office of the State Historical Society 
of Iowa. Zeller also searched through census 
records, and Doug Jones worked with volun­
teers and professionals in archaeological efforts 
to uncover any evidence of structures and sites 
associated with the underground railroad. Pre­
sentations in communities across the state drew
large audiences. Historic markers trace the last 
trip by John Brown across Iowa.
Many of the articles in this issue are the fruits 
of those labors. Others are written by historians 
Galin Berrier and James Patrick Morgans and 
preservationists Leah Rogers and Clare Kemek.
I've learned a lot from working with all 
these individuals. For instance, among Ameri­
can antislavery proponents, abolitionists were 
the radical subset. Most who were antislavery 
in Northern states took a "not in my backyard" 
approach: "Yes, of course, slavery should be 
ended," they said, "but that doesn't mean I will 
tolerate freed blacks in my state." Others be­
lieved that colonization was the only solution: 
send blacks to Haiti or Africa. Some were an­
tislavery for political reasons; 
some for moral or religious 
reasons. Few believed that 
slaves were entitled to equal 
rights.
1 also learned that run­
aways seldom hid in tun­
nels and secret rooms—more 
likely in outbuildings or off in 
the timber or on the tallgrass 
prairies.
Legally assisting fugitives 
could result in six months in 
jail and a $1,000 fine (about 
two years' salary for a school 
principal), but no Iowans ever 
received jail sentences. Under­
ground railroad "conductors," 
as they were sometimes called, 
were farmers and sawmill 
operators, attorneys and pol­
iticians. We can assume that women also par­
ticipated, but hardly ever were their names or 
their deeds recorded or acknowledged.
Although the front cover of this magazine 
seldom features non-Iowans, for this issue, Jane 
and Samuel Harper deserve the spotlight. Dur­
ing the volatile and uncertain 1850s, they were 
sojourners in our state.
—Ginalie Swaim, editor
Summer 2009 43


Naming the Enslaved

Lord, Jeannette Mather

In 1959 Jeannette Mather Lord wrote down 
her childhood memories of an African American 
who had escaped slavery and later made 
Springdale, Iowa, his home.
■
Thomas W. Jenkins
y
R
by Jeannette Mather Lord
U
ncle Tom [Jenkins] was the only colored
person among my friends. To me he stood 
for the whole oppressed black race who had 
suffered through the cruelty of the white 
people. I had to expiate those wrongs. Although I saw 
Uncle Tom probably every day of my childhood, never 
did I lose my sense of wonder and awe.
Each year Uncle Tom would come to school with 
his black and tan terrier, Dinah, to tell us children 
the story of his life. Each child that day brought spe­
cial things begged at home for him: a glass of jelly, an 
apple, a warm muffler, or a gay kerchief. No memory 
of my childhood is more vivid than that of this kindly 
old man trying to make this group of primary children 
understand the suffering of the mind of the slave even 
when there was no suffering of body. Dinah, looking 
up in his master's face, would punctuate the tale with 
whines, for his master was in distress and to Dinah 
that was beyond canine endurance.
Uncle Tom's first memory was of hiding in the 
bushes and seeing the foreman flog his father who was 
tied to a post. Taking refuge with his mother, he begged 
to know why white people were masters and the blacks 
were slaves. She hushed his cries and with tragic ear­
nestness tried to drive all hate and thought of revenge 
out of her son's heart. They were slaves; acceptance of 
their lot was a necessity; hatred, rebellion, thoughts of 
revenge only brought more trouble and suffering, not 
only to themselves but to their loved ones.
"Mammy," he said, "when 1 get to be a man I'll not be 
a slave. I'm bound to run away and be a free man."
Sadly his mother answered, "My child, if you have 
such thoughts as those never let anyone know it."
This was in Culpepper County, Missouri. After 
being forty years a slave, Uncle Tom escaped. It was
jl &
f /
M
\ 3
in the fall of the year. He 
slept in the daytime and 
traveled at night, follow­
ing the North Star. Twice 
he ventured to approach 
a farmhouse to beg for 
food. The first time the 
woman set the dogs on 
him, and it was difficult 
to shake them off his 
trail. The second time 
the housewife invited 
him into the kitchen, set 
a chair for him and went 
ostensibly for food but 
in reality to call the men.
Uncle Tom, sensing danger, ran out just as the husband 
with a gun, accompanied by his son, came around the 
corner of the house. The man shot several times before 
Uncle Tom reached the shelter of a cornfield in which 
he eluded them. After that he kept away from people.
wv
Thomas W. Jenkins
H
ow he found Springdale, I have often won­
dered. Only when he reached the commu­
nity where the women wore gray gowns 
and bonnets and the men broad-brimmed 
hats did he dare show himself. Rumor, traveling by 
grapevine in Missouri, had said there would he find 
safety and be helped on his way.
He arrived late in the year, having had nothing to 
eat but the raw field corn since leaving his master in 
Missouri three months before. He had suffered much 
from the cold. His feet were frozen and in such condi­
tion that his boots had to be cut off. Some time was
m
Summer 2009 87
spent in recuperating. He worked as he could to pay 
for his board and when fit to travel went on his way to 
Canada and freedom.
I
t was after the war that Uncle Tom returned to 
Springdale to live, buying the house just east of 
the schoolhouse. Of his family 1 know nothing ex­
cept that at intervals a daughter would come to 
live with him. She so vigorously cleaned house and as 
vigorously used her tongue that before long Uncle Tom 
would decide that he was happier by himself and the 
daughter would leave until next summoned. Except 
for these visits, Uncle Tom lived alone with his cow, 
sometimes a calf, his chickens, ducks and Dinah. The 
house was used in common by all. I cannot say that I 
ever saw the cow in the house, but I have seen the calf 
in the kitchen drinking from a dish placed on a chair. 
In the summer the door stood open and the fowls and 
animals crossed the threshold at will.
On Sabbath, or First Day, Uncle Tom went to 
Quaker Meeting. Dinah is the only dog I have 
seen attend divine worship, but inseparable from 
his master, he would follow him into the pew and 
never cause any disturbance beyond the excitement 
among the children as he and Uncle Tom entered. 
Being prompt was not one of Uncle Tom's virtues. 
Just as the minister (for by this time the Friends in 
Springdale had grown progressive enough to have a 
minister) reached sixthly, or perhaps lastly, when we 
children had given up hoping for an end and were 
sure the clock had stopped, Uncle Tom and Dinah 
would make their way to the empty pew nearest 
the door. From our family pew we lost no detail of 
this entrance. Uncle Tom was always a person of ro­
mance. We delighted in his kindly face and pictur­
esque figure in his silver gray suit, bright bandanna, 
soft broad-brimmed gray hat, showing beneath it 
a fringe of white hair. He never took off his hat in 
meeting except during a prayer, not even in the long 
silence following the sermon.
At the time of the early Friends in England, to re­
move a hat in the presence of others was an act of ser­
vility or, at least, a recognition of inferiority. Believing 
that all men are equal in the sight of God, the early 
Friend wore his hat in the presence of all people, even 
the king and other high officials. He wore it in court 
and in meeting, but he removed it when he prayed. 
It was definitely Quakerly for Uncle Tom to wear his 
hat during the service and symbolic of his recognized 
equality with his neighbors. Here no one wished Uncle 
Tom to pay "hat honor."
W
hen my mother had typhoid fever, ev­
ery morning before breakfst Uncle Tom, 
having walked a mile and a half to our 
home, known as Evergreens, would ap­
pear at the kitchen door to inquire how the "missus" 
was. Mother gave orders to the cook to invite him into 
the kitchen for breakfast, but he refused even a cup of 
coffee.
On our way to town, we frequently found Uncle 
Tom out on the "horseblock" watching for us. Would 
we stop on our return for a basket of fruit, always ripe 
before ours?
One day he questioned Mother on how to raise 
ducks. This was a surprising inquiry from one so suc­
cessful. Sensing his seriousness, Mother told him in 
great detail her understanding of the problem. He 
asked many questions. Finally fully satisfied that 
Mother knew how to care for ducks, he asked permis­
sion to present us children with a duck and her newly 
hatched brood. The ducks thrived and because of their 
unusually brilliant coloring were our delight.
The years accumulated for Uncle Tom. The time 
came when he could no longer care for himself. Even 
now he could not live with his daughter. He sold his 
tiny place and, with the proceeds and his savings, went 
to the county farm as a paying guest. He was happy 
there, living to a ripe old age, full of quiet dignity, a 
respected and self-supporting member of the com­
munity. Once a year he would receive an invitation to 
visit Uncle William for a week-end to attend again our 
meeting where he would see all his friends.
In the Springdale Cemetery is his grave with the 
inscription on the tombstone:
Thomas W. Jenkins
Called as a slave 
Richard Lewis 
Died Dec. 9, 1902 
Aged 83 years old
This excerpt is taken from Jeannette Mather Lord. “John Brown: They Had a 
Concern,” West Virginia History, 20:3 (April 1959), 163-83. It appears here with 
the permission o f the West Virginia Archives and History.
88 Iowa Heritage Illustrated


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Salem's Radical Quakers

Of Canning Jars and God: Reflections

Iowa Heritage Illustrated, vol.90 no.4, Winter 2009

John & Archie

Naming the Enslaved

Thomas W. Jenkins

Putting Up the Stove

Dewey, the Soldier Dog

It's an Ultang Photo'

An Iowan in Havana

248

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