I’ve spent the last month chasing Lincoln, and over the next few columns I’d like to share my experiences with you. If you’ve read my columns regularly over the past few years, you should know by now that Abraham Lincoln and the American Civil War are a quiet obsession with me. I believe that the month of April 1865 was the most seminal period in our history. Hopefully, my travels will interest you as much as they interested me.
I traveled solo to Washington, D.C. to participate in as many of the events surrounding the 150th anniversary of the assassination of our 16th President as I could. I’m proud to say that I was in attendance for the entirety of the 36 hour event at Ford’s Theatre, known officially as “The Lincoln Tribute,” hosted by the National Parks Service. This was an excursion I had dreamed about since I was a young student at IPS. My usual travel companion, my wife Rhonda, understood the event’s significance to me and graciously sent me on my way loaded down with enough supplies to sustain a regiment. Like a hobo with a backpack full of peanuts, granola bars and water, I was off on the adventure of a lifetime.
On April 13th I visited the old soldier’s home (also known as the Lincoln cottage) three miles north of the White House in the Rock Creek area to watch as they draped the cottage in black as it was after Lincoln’s death a century and a half ago. Mr. Lincoln spent nearly a third of his Presidency residing at this quiet cottage located on the grounds of what today is known as Armed Forces Retirement Home. He regularly traveled there to escape the heat (political and otherwise) and relax. The display was tasteful and reserved just as it should be.
On April 14th, the 150th anniversary of the assassination, I visited Rock Creek Cemetery to pay my respects to one of my heroes, Osborn H. Oldroyd. I spent nearly two hours in the rain cleaning the area around the family plot, sharing a cigar with the old soldier, decorating his tombstone with American flags and generally reflecting on his contribution on what I felt sure would have been a most important day for him. Oldroyd is considered by most to be the first Lincoln memorabilia collector and, in my opinion, he is chiefly responsible for keeping the martyred President’s legacy in the forefront of the American psyche for the half century following Lincoln’s death. I feel sure I was the only visitor that day and perhaps the sole mourner for Captain Oldroyd in a very long time. (The cemetery office had to look him up in their files to guide me to the plot.) If you know me, you understand why this visit was so important to me.
Oldroyd’s grave site is located just a short distance from the Lincoln Cottage and strangely enough just a few hundred yards away from one of the Lincoln conspirators, Lewis Thornton Powell, whose headless body rests in an unmarked grave nearby. (That’s a story for a future column.) I traveled to Ford’s Theatre late that afternoon and practically camped out there for the next day and a half.
The anniversary evening at Ford’s was observed with a special black-tie program “Now He Belongs to the Ages: A Lincoln Commemoration.” The event was the hottest ticket in town, and try as I might, I was unable to secure a ticket. I was not alone. I recall someone once describing Washington, D.C. as a city populated by “Class Presidents and Prom Queens” and I now understand why. It resembled Oscar Night in Hollywood rather than a commemoration of our beloved President. The rest of us, and we were legion, stood in the streets outside the grand old building at 511 Tenth Street waiting and watching.
The program included readings of Lincoln’s words and stories, Civil War-era music, excerpts from Lincoln’s favorite operas, and featured appearances by operatic soprano Alyson Cambridge, legendary singer-songwriter Judy Collins, actor David Selby (remember him from “Dark Shadows”?), political satirist Mark Russell, civil rights leader Julian Bond, the Federal City Brass Band, and others. Author/historians Harold Holzer and James Swanson along with Washington Post columnist Eugene Robinson (All heroes of mine) were included in the program. Unbeknownst to all in attendance, at 10:15 (the time of the fatal shot) the program ended abruptly, the doors were flung open and the guests were given candles as they quietly exited the theatre onto Tenth Street.
Many of the guests lingered awhile, unsure of what would happen next. Soon, actors dressed in period costume, scattered throughout the crowd began to portray real life participants vocalizing witness statements in dramatic, first person style. I perched myself near the stairway of the Petersen House, better known as the “House in which Lincoln died.” feeling certain this would be the center of the action. I was not mistaken as every so often a costumed re-enactor would appear to give real-time updates on the President’s condition just as it was done in 1865.
The Peterson House holds special significance to me because for nearly three decades it housed Osborn H. Oldroyd’s collection of Lincoln memorabilia. Captain Oldroyd resided there with his family and 3,000 pieces collection from 1898 to 1925, when it was purchased by the U.S. government. Oldroyd’s collection is today displayed in the basement of Ford’s Theatre.
The mood outside of the historic theatre was somber and the atmosphere was thick with reverence and respect. I was rewarded in my choice of positional observance when a figure stepped from the crowd and began to shake hands with everyone. It was General Colin Powell, former Secretary of State, and in my opinion, one of the greatest public servants of our generation. General Powell had attended the performance and now he was staying to absorb the moment. I shook his hand and thanked him for his service. In contrast with the surrounding crowd, General Powell was jovial and dare I say, boisterous, in his presence.
The General saw an African-American dressed in period costume standing near me and belted out the greeting, “Head to the Railroad son, head to the railroad.” He continued talking and joking with the other guests until his beautiful wife Alma sidled up, jabbed him in the ribs and whispered “Colin, behave” (or something to that effect) at which point General Powell straightened up and stood stoically nearby me at the foot of the Petersen House stairs while the sombre observance continued. At that moment, he was no longer a General, he was just a regular guy; part of the crowd.
The actors stayed in character throughout the night. The scene outside of Ford’s lasted all night long, normally busy Tenth Street having been blocked off to traffic for the entirety of the 14th into the 15th. The crowds began to disperse rather quickly and by midnight, only the most hardy of spectators remained. The costumed re-enactors continued their performances and did a good job of staying in character despite the chill of the evening and the thinning of the crowd. In between their short presentation, they spoke to those gathered casually, myself among them. Turns out that most, if not all, were drama students from nearby colleges and universities.
At 7:22 a.m., the announcement was made that Mr. Lincoln was dead and a memorial wreath was ceremoniously laid at the foot of the stairs outside Peterson House. The street remained closed for a time, but soon the barricades were removed and Tenth Street was again busy with commuters and delivery trucks jockeying for position in our nation’s capitol. I’m sure that Captain Oldroyd would have been proud.
Next week, I’ll share the secrets of Ford’s Theatre.
Al Hunter is the author of the “Haunted Indianapolis” and co-author of the “Haunted Irvington” and “Indiana National Road” book series. His newest book is “Bumps in the Night. Stories from the Weekly View.” Contact Al directly at Huntvault@aol.com or become a friend on Facebook.
