Here Is Where: Discovering America's Great Forgotten History

by Andrew Carroll

  “Where is Reed’s grave?” I ask.

  Stacy did the legwork on this, too. When she first called the cemetery, they didn’t know his location but suggested she speak with their off-site historian, Paul Sluby, and he was able to map out the general area for her.

  Megan slows her car down in front of a polished gray marker that references the old cemetery. Stacy points to an empty acre of grass and says, “Philip is somewhere in there. Mr. Sluby told me that before the bodies were moved from old Harmony, the descendants—if they could be found—were sent letters notifying them about the change. If nobody responded, the remains were buried here without a headstone. We don’t think Philip had any ancestors still alive then, and no one claimed him.”

  Stacy goes on to remark how sad it is that Reed has been pushed farther and farther away from his most notable achievement. First, he was in a marked plot in clear view of the Statue of Freedom, and now he’s miles away, his bones lost under mounds of earth with no hope of ever being identified.

  “What initially drew you to Reed?” I ask Megan.

  “You know, we’re raised studying kings and presidents and generals, but I’m more interested in the historical underdogs, in slaves and immigrants and anyone who’s gone overlooked. Each story adds another pixel to the overall picture and gives us a better understanding of the past and a clearer image of who we really are.”

  I press Megan and Stacy on why this matters.

  “Our ancestors faced enormous hardships in their time,” Megan replies, “and their experiences remind us that we’re here because of what they endured.”

  “And the more we recognize what they sacrificed, the more grateful we become for what we have in our own lives,” Stacy adds, echoing Ed Hrivnak’s sentiments to me on Mount Baker almost verbatim.

  “Not to sound all ‘Kumbaya’ here,” Megan continues, “but from a genealogical standpoint, we’re all related, and we tend to treat others more respectfully when we realize that they’re part of our family. History reminds us how interconnected we are, and how much we’ve benefited from those who’ve come before us.”

  This strikes a particular chord with me. Throughout my journey, nothing has surprised me more than discovering how personal and intimate history can be, that it’s not just some distant, abstract idea we study from afar. When I was trying to find Dr. Loring Miner’s house in Kansas to research the Spanish flu pandemic, by sheer coincidence the first person I called, Helen Hall, happened to own Miner’s old home. In Washington state, my close friend Ed Hrivnak was part of the recovery team that found the PV-1 lost on Mount Baker in 1943. And when I mentioned in passing to my mom about visiting Peoria to see where penicillin was manufactured, I learned that—through her father—she had gotten to know its inventor, Dr. Alexander Fleming, when she was only a teenager.

  “For its significance alone,” I say to Megan after my mom’s story came to mind, “the place that probably most affected me was the lab in Peoria, where British and American scientists worked together to figure out how penicillin could be mass-produced. Their efforts have saved tens of millions of lives, maybe more, and when you think about it, we or people we love are alive today because of what they did.” The same could also be said of Maurice Hilleman, Joseph Goldberger, and countless other doctors, scientists, and innovators whose names are barely remembered.

  Megan, Stacy, and I drive across the Maryland border back into Washington, and the U.S. Capitol emerges into view over the city’s rooftops. I’ve passed that building ten thousand times before and never paid much attention to the statue above its dome. Because of Philip Reed, I’ll never see it the same way again.

  If learning about the past only infused our lives with a sense of passion and wonder by enriching our perception of the world around us, that alone would make it worthwhile. I realize, however, that more is demanded of history. We call upon it for guidance in times of crisis. We refer to it during national debates about when or if we should go to war, which economic policies to implement, how we conduct our foreign affairs, what restrictions we allow on individual liberties in the name of domestic security, and whom we elect to political office. Even if it fails to offer up definitive answers, a knowledge of past events and precedents helps us to engage in a more thoughtful and informed public dialogue.

  But Megan and Stacy, I think, have articulated history’s most overlooked value: its ability to influence the way we live our lives and how we treat one another on a day-to-day basis. At its best, history nurtures within us humility and gratitude. It encourages respect and empathy. It fosters creativity and stimulates the imagination. It inspires resilience. And it does so by illuminating the simple truth that, whether due to some cosmic fluke or divine providence, it’s an absolute miracle that any one of us is alive today, walking around on this tiny sphere surrounded by an ocean of space, and that we are, above everything else, all in this together.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS AND SOURCES

  As to that night, I slept in that room in the corner away from the fireplace. One comfort was over me, one comfort and pillow between me and the dark floor.… There was every reason to infer that the pillow and comfort came from my [hosts’ own] bed.

  They slept far away, in some mysterious part of the empty house. I hoped they were not cold. I looked into the rejoicing fire. I said: “This is what I came out into the wilderness to see. This man had nothing, and gave me half of it, and we both had abundance.”

  —From A Handy Guide for Beggars, Especially Those of the Poetic Fraternity (1919) by Vachel Lindsay

  AUTHORS, LIKE TRAVELERS, frequently depend on the kindness of friends and strangers alike, even if their endeavors seem to be mostly solitary affairs. This book, and my trip across America, would not have been possible without the generosity and assistance of a host of extraordinary individuals to whom I am forever grateful.

  Beginning, first and foremost, with my editor, Rick Horgan, at Crown Archetype. Rick is a passionate history buff who understood the spirit of this book—and the larger project behind it—from the very beginning. Rick is every author’s dream editor; he is brilliant and a sensational writer himself. This book became more ambitious than either of us had expected, and Rick helped me contain my somewhat peripatetic ramblings while maintaining its free-spirited style. Rick shepherded this book along with infinite patience and offered the necessary words of encouragement when they were needed. I truly cannot thank him enough. Along with Rick, there is Julian Pavia, who did much of the initial editing of the manuscript and saved me from careening too wildly from topic to topic. (I still careened more than Julian would probably have preferred, and I’m responsible for these unwieldy parts, but it’s in my nature to jump from topic to topic.) I also want to thank Nate Roberson, Rick’s right-hand man, who endured a barrage of e-mails and questions on a range of matters and deserves a medal for his patience and kindness throughout this whole process. Copy editors are the unsung heroes of the publishing world, and I am grateful for all of the labor Chris Tanigawa has put into fine-tuning the manuscript. On the publicity and marketing side, I’ve been especially fortunate to have Catherine Cullen and Christina Foxley help me spread the word about this book. They’re a joy to work with and a truly dedicated and creative team. I am also deeply indebted to Crown Archetype’s phenomenal publisher, Tina Constable, who has been enormously supportive. I can’t imagine a more caring or thoughtful publisher.

  I wouldn’t have found Crown without my agent, Miriam Altshuler, who is not only the best agent but simply the greatest friend that a writer could hope to have. Miriam’s wisdom, sense of humor, guidance, integrity, and encouragement were indispensable throughout this process, and I never would have made it through in one piece without her. Words cannot express the extent of my gratitude and admiration for her. I am also indebted to her assistants Emily Koyfman, Sara McGhee, Cathy Schmitz, and especially Reiko Davis, who has helped me lurch (reluctantly) into the twenty-first century and set up a Facebook page and other social me
dia.

  And speaking of newfangled technology (at least it is to me), I’m extremely grateful to my gifted Web designer, Tim Kopp, for setting up www.​Here​Is​Where.​org.

  Along with my parents, who have been incredible throughout this whole project, there are numerous family members and friends to whom I am extremely grateful for their words of support and, in many cases, their ideas for stories: Allison Agnew, Ted Alexander, Sharon Allen, Chris Aprato, Meredith and Monica Ashley, Scott Baron, Chris and Janet Beach, Kate Becker and Darell Hammond, Peter Benkendorf, Rob Berkley and Debbie Phillips, Bob Bergman, Margaret Bernal, Cliff and Anna Blaze, Ursula Bosch and Gerard Petersen, Todd Boss, Doug Bradshaw, Chad Breckinridge and Joy Drachman, Lawrence Bridges, Doug Brinkley, Chris Buckley, Jon Burrows, Allen Caruselle, Chris and Elizabeth Mechem Carroll, Lucinda and Sophia Carroll, Lisa Catapano and Bill Thomas, Ross Cohen, John Cole, Craig Colton, Alison Hall Cooley and Benjamin Simons, Frank Correa, Allan Cors, Dan Dalager, Dave Danzig, Richard Danzig, Connie and Tom Davidson Sr., Elissa and Tommy Davidson, Chris Davies and Stephanie Martz, Frank Davies, Riki Dolph, James Dourgarian, Ashley and Jono Drysdale, Chris Dunham, Tom Dunkel, Deanna Durrett, Chris Epting, Dave Felsen, Katia and Mike Fischer, Ken Fisher and Amanda Godley, Skyla M. Freeman, Dave Gabel, Joan Gillcrist and Will Strong, Larry D. Goins, Bill and Karen Graser, Dave and Debbie Grossberg, Erin Gruwell, Parker Gyokeres, Joyce A. Hallenbeck, John and Meredith Hanamiriam, Tom Hare and Liz McDermott, Mim Harrison, Mike Healy, August Hohl, Cory-Jeanne Houck-Cox, Linda Howell, Nick Irons, Kelly Johnson, Greg Jones, Steve Karras, Ryan Kelly, David Kennedy, Austin Kiplinger, Andrew Kirk, Yumi Kobayashi and Peter Sluszka, Mia Kogan, Chrissy Kolaya and Brook Miller, Jerome Kramer, Zoltan Krompecher, Gene and Joanna Kukuy, Henry Labalme, Greg and Maureen Lare, Simone Ledeen, Steve and Lori Leveen, Heather and Tom Leitzell, Jack Lewis, James Loewen, Jim and Kathy Lowy, John Madden, Peter Marks, John McCary, Pam McDonough, Mike McNulty, Jimmie Meinhardt, James and Meribeth McGinley, Sylvia Medley, Ann Medlock, Doug Meehan and Caroline Suh, Justin Merhoff, Brad and Cori Flam Meltzer, Mike Meyer, John Meyers, Jay Michael, Nathan Mick, Allen Mikaelian, De’on Miller, Marja Mills, Felicia Norton, K.K. Ottesen and Matthew Wheelock, Jon Peede, David Pelizzari, James Percoco, Elise and Tripp Piper, Alice Powers, Gary Powers Jr., Pam Putney, Cheryl Richardson, Joe Rubinfine, Cathy Saypol, Jeff Shaara, Thad and Gabby Sheeley, Katie Silberman, Denis Silva, Albert Small, Lucy Roberts Smiles, Charles Smith, Kelsey Smith, Kerner Smith Jr., Kerner Smith III, Maggie Smith, Patty Smith, Adrian Snead, Steve Stevenson, Sean Sweeney, Adrian and Sandra Talbott, Chris and Becca Tessin, Chuck Theusch, Anne Tramer, Kyriakos Tsakopoulos, Erika Tullberg, Meg Tulloch, Todd Vorenkamp, Jamie Wager, Stephen Webber, Megan Willems, Don Wilson, Rob Wilson, Ellen Wingard, Martin Vigderhouse, Thomas Young, and Lydia Zamora.

  Sadly, two of my closest friends lost their moms while I was working on this book. Brook Miller’s mother, Helen, and Adrian Talbott’s mother, Brooke Shearer, were extremely kind in sharing with me suggestions of little-known places I should seek out. Helen was the one who told me about Charles Lindbergh’s grave in Hawaii, and Brooke pointed me to several spots around our hometown of D.C. They were both extraordinary women and are deeply missed.

  I want to extend a special thanks to John Elko, not only for being such an influential teacher but also for connecting me with several of his students who proved to be outstanding assistants: Antonia Hitchens, Dimitry Kislovskiy, and Massimo Young. Similarly, I want to thank my good friend Joel Swerdlow for enlisting Ben Oreskes—a terrific researcher—in this endeavor. I’m indebted as well to Elizabeth Velez, both for her support and for putting me in touch with her son, Nick, who’s been a lifesaver on a variety of projects.

  At Keener Management, I’m indebted to David Beasley, Okey Mbarah, Alison Sowers, and Gabrielle Weiss. And at the Weider History Group, I want to thank Aleta Burchyski, David Grogan, and Karen Jensen.

  I’d also like to thank Dear Abby, who, in 1998, helped me launch the Legacy Project (a national effort to preserve American war letters), and, ultimately, further deepened my love for history. The Legacy Project’s letters are being donated to Chapman University and will become the foundation of the newly created Center for American War Letters. At Chapman I am grateful to Dennis Arp, Charlene Baldwin, Richard Bausch, John Benitz (a phenomenal director and now dear friend who first introduced me to the Chapman community), Larry and Sheryl Bourgeois, William Cumiford, Erika Curiel, Doug Dechow, Jim Doti, Patrick Fuery, Ryan Gattis, Marilyn Harran, Jennifer Keene, Anna Leahy, Nina Lenoir, Jan Osborn, Ronald and Kyndra Rotunda, Bob Slayton, Daniele Struppa, Yolanda Uzzell, Char Williams, and the casts of If All the Sky Were Paper. (You all were sensational.) And I owe special thanks to Tom Zoellner, who read through an early draft of the book and had wise counsel to offer.

  Along these lines, I cannot express enough how grateful I am to Jenny Moore, who put up with my frequent bouts of hermitic isolation throughout this process and, most important, read through the first version of the manuscript and gave invaluable feedback. Jenny is an exceptional writer herself, and she is simply one of the most remarkable persons I’ve ever known.

  I’m also grateful to several individuals at the National Geographic Society, who were supportive of the larger Here Is Where initiative from the start, particularly Keith Bellows at National Geographic Traveler and Beth Lizardo, Janelle Nanos, Gio Palatucci, and Dan Westergren.

  Finally, I want to thank Jim Basker, Lesley Herrmann, Sandra Trenholm, Susan Saidenberg, Richard Gilder, and Lewis Lehrman at the Gilder Lehrman Institute of American History, one of the best organizations in the United States promoting history and supporting teachers.

  The people and published sources I relied on are listed below, and, in the interest of space, I’ve refrained from repeating book titles, newspaper articles, and other publications already cited within the chapters. Also, some sources conflict with others, and when there were discrepancies I tried to the best of my abilities to determine which were the most reliable. Mistakes sneak into even the most trusted historical records, and I will make every effort to correct information that turns out to be demonstrably wrong. Indeed, one of the points I wanted to make in this book is that far from offering us concrete rules and intellectual certainty, the study of history often fosters healthy skepticism and teaches us to think critically about what we had once believed to be absolutely true. But again, I think the search is half the fun.

  The Exchange Place

  Special thanks to: James Cornelius and Jennifer Ericson, who sent me a copy of Robert Todd Lincoln’s February 6, 1909, letter to Richard Gilder, from the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library; Archivist Ryan McPherson at the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad Museum’s Hays T. Watkins Research Library; Jane Singer, who wrote a great article about Luke Pryor Blackburn, “The Fiend in Gray,” Washington Post (June 1, 2003); and Mariani Tooba at the New-York Historical Society for helping me locate sites associated with the November 1864 plot to burn down Manhattan. Publications: John S. Goff, Robert Todd Lincoln: A Man in His Own Right (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1969); Clint Johnson, A Vast and Fiendish Plot: The Confederate Attack on New York City (New York: Citadel Press, 2010); Phil Scott, “1864 Attack on New York,” American History (January 2002); and Ronald C. White Jr., A. Lincoln: A Biography (New York: Random House, 2009).

  Niihau

  Special thanks to: Keith Robinson, whose family owns Niihau; Dana Rosendal and Shandra at Niihau Helicopters; Floyd Mori and Crystal Xu at the Japanese American Citizens League; Albert Nason at the Jimmy Carter Library; Glen Reason and Bob Timmermann at the Los Angeles Public Library; and Linda Sueyoshi at the Hawaii State Library. Publications: Allan Beekman, The Niihau Incident: The True Story of the Japanese Fighter Pilot Who, After the Pearl Harbor Attack, Crash-Landed on the Hawaiian Island of Niihau and Terrorized the Residents (Honolulu: Heritage Press of Pacific, 1982); Richard B. Frank, “Zero Hour on Niihau,” World War II (July 2009); Anne Gearen, “US Prepares for Possible
Missile Launch,” Associated Press (June 18, 2009); Michelle Malkin, In Defense of Internment: The Case for “Racial Profiling” in World War II and the War on Terror (Washington, D.C.: Regnery Publishing Inc., 2004); “Hawaiian, with Three Bullet Wounds, Beats Japanese Airman to Death Against a Wall,” New York Times (December 17, 1941); and Clarice B. Taylor, “Hawaiian Woman Slays Jap Pilot,” Washington Post (December 17, 1941).

  Ona Judge’s Home and Grave

  Special thanks to: Vicky Avery, my wonderful guide in New Hampshire; Valerie Cunningham, executive director of the Portsmouth Black Heritage Trail, who put me in touch with Vicky Avery; Evelyn Gerson, who wrote a sensational online article about Judge titled “Ona Judge Staines: A Thirst for Complete Freedom and Her Escape from President Washington,” which is posted at www.​seacostnh.​com/​black​history/​ona.​html; Carl Westmoreland at the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center; Lish Thompson and Dot Glover at the Charleston County Public Library’s South Carolina History Room; and Kitt Alexander, who provided me with information about Robert Smalls. Publications: Battle of Bennington Committee letter to John Stark from the Papers of John Stark, New Hampshire Historical Society; David W. Blight, Passages to Freedom: The Underground Railroad in History and Memory (New York: Collins, 2004); Charles L. Blockson, Hippocrene Guide to the Underground Railroad (New York: Hippocrene Books, 1994); Betty DeRamus, Forbidden Fruit: Love Stories from the Underground Railroad (New York: Atria Books, 2005); Robert B. Dishman, “Ona Maria Judge Takes French Leave of Her Mistress to Live Free in New Hampshire,” Historical New Hampshire (vol. 62, no. 1, spring 2008); Dennis Brindell Fradin, Bound for the North Star: True Stories of Fugitive Slaves (New York: Clarion Books, 2000); George and Willene Hendrick, Fleeing for Freedom: Stories of the Underground Railroad as Told by Levi Coffin and William Still (Chicago: Ivan R. Dee, 2004); Dennis J. Pogue, “George Washington: Slave Master,” American History (February 2004); and Henry Wiencek, An Imperfect God: George Washington, His Slaves, and the Creation of America (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2003).