Paper and money. Money and paper. General Fayette Hewitt had spent most of his adult life accounting for both.
A native Kentuckian, he was appointed to the Post Office Department in Washington in 1860. At the outbreak of hostilities between North and South, he volunteered his services in Richmond and was tapped by President Jefferson Davis to help organize a postal service for the fledgling Confederate nation. Commissioned as an adjutant-general, Hewitt served on the staffs of Generals Albert Pike and John Breckinridge, helping manage the requisitions, paperwork, and currency that equipped, fed, clothed, and paid the soldiers in their commands. Returning home at the end of the war, he practiced law until he was appointed quartermaster general of the Kentucky state militia in 1867.1
Hewitt won statewide election for state auditor in 1880, then spent eight years accounting for the tax dollars Kentucky residents sent to Frankfort to do the state's business. A $250,000 embezzlement by the state's attorney general dropped a tinge of soot on the auditor's house, and General Hewitt resigned in 1889 to found State National Bank. Hewitt's partners named him president, and the bank flourished on the strength of deposits from state accounts.2
On this September morning of 1902, after completing his banking business, Hewitt turned to the remaining piles of correspondence that occupied an increasing amount of his time.
The envelopes bore postmarks of towns throughout Kentucky, though a few were from out of state. Hewitt would have recognized many of the return addresses; they were from leaders of Confederate veterans camps or local politicians Hewitt met during his own statewide election campaigns. Most of the envelopes contained checks or cash, and all would require a personal reply.
More money, more paper.
So Fayette Hewitt, former adjutant-general of the Confederate army and former state auditor of Kentucky, opened a ledger book labeled “Kentucky Confederate Home.” He sorted through the envelopes stacked in front of him and began to record the paper and money.
Until Captain Daniel Parr deeded his house and lot to the ex-Confederates in April 1901, Kentucky veterans had made little real progress toward the establishment of a Confederate veterans’ home. A lack of strong statewide leadership of the ex-Confederate groups accounted for some of the delay, while political turmoil in Frankfort made it difficult to achieve a consensus in the General Assembly.
Then, sometime near the end of the nineteenth century, General John Boyd disappeared—literally disappeared.
Like a ball of string wound too tight, Boyd began to unravel when it appeared that his Lexington battle abbey would never be built. His behavior became increasingly erratic, he was prone to fits of irrational rage, and his personal appearance deteriorated. Concerned officers of Lexington's Confederate Veteran Association staged a surprise “retirement” party for him in 1896, giving him a gold watch and passage to Cincinnati, where it was hoped he would seek treatment by specialists for whatever ailed him.3 Sometime in 1899 John Boyd packed his bags, told his wife he had urgent business in Texas, walked out the door, and was never heard from again.4
Confused and dispirited, Boyd's ex-Confederate brethren chose J. M. Poyntz, a former Confederate surgeon from Richmond and close friend of Bennett Young, to head the statewide veterans’ organization.5
As remarkable as Boyd's disappearance was, however, it merited just a few column inches of newspaper space compared to the forests of newsprint used at the time to report the political developments in Frankfort.
William Goebel, a progressive state senator from northernmost Kentucky, surprised traditionalists when he won the Democratic nomination for governor in 1899 with his populist platform and naked demagoguery. In the general election, 50,000 disgruntled Democrats, including many prominent ex-Confederates, crossed over to the Republican side and, by the narrowest of margins in a very dirty fight, elected Goebel's opponent. The state's Democratic General Assembly, however, refused to certify the election and appeared ready to reverse the results when Goebel was shot by a sniper who was hiding in the office of the secretary of state. Goebel was mortally wounded, but lingered long enough for the General Assembly to overturn the popular vote and name the dying man governor.6
Goebel's death on February 3, 1900, elevated his running mate, J. C. W. Beckham, a thirty-year-old former public school principal from Bardstown, to Kentucky's highest office.7 Although inexperienced, Beckham was politically astute, and as the political fires in Frankfort cooled, the boy governor signaled his willingness to deal with the old-line Democrats.
A more stable political environment, Daniel Parr's real estate gift, and the increasing influence of Louisville's ex-Confederates on the statewide veterans’ association put some heat under stalled plans for a Kentucky Confederate home. John Leathers and other prominent ex-Confederates (again) recruited Bennett Young to get the project back on the rails.
It is not surprising that an organization of former military men—particularly when its field commander is an accomplished cavalryman-turned-bank-robber-turned-political-advisor—would devise a textbook military strategy to accomplish its objective.
Bennett Young and other Louisville veterans spent the spring and summer following the announcement of Dan Parr's gift traveling the state and meeting influential ex-Confederates. They scouted the territory, determined the likely field of engagement, and placed their batteries on the most propitious terrain before any potential opponents knew that a battle was to be joined. Young quietly enlisted the support of Governor Beckham and buttonholed key state legislators.
With firm expressions of support in hand, Young and his cohorts prepared for the annual gathering of the state Confederate veterans’ organization in Louisville in October 1901. The estranged Louisville and Lexington camps had joined together under the national United Confederate Veterans banner, and for the first time, delegates from sixty-seven local organizations representing 3,500 members would gather for a business meeting.
Henry Watterson, legendary editor of the Courier-Journal and a Confederate sympathizer, fired the first salvo in the morning paper with a front-page story headlined “Johnny Rebs Will To-Day Again Capture Louisville.” Lest anyone doubt the primary order of business, the subhead promised, “Definite Action Will Be Taken on a Home.” Interviewed the night before the meeting opened, Young cagily allowed that the state legislature might be persuaded to appropriate a per capita allowance to fund operation of a home if the Confederates were to ask.8
A thousand Kentucky Confederate veterans converged on Louisville's Exchange Hall Tuesday morning, October 22, 1901, streaming through the double doors to find seats on the main floor while a popular local band played marches and old Confederate songs. Pictures of Lee, Davis, Jackson, Morgan, and others hung on the walls to either side of the dais; red, white, and blue bunting draped the balcony rails and covered the front of the stage.9
Major General J. M. Poyntz, now heading the state Confederate organization, sat at center stage. John Leathers and other staff officers who governed the now-united Kentucky Division of the United Confederate Veterans flanked him on the platform. With cigar smoke already thick in the air, Poyntz hushed the raucous crowd and called the business meeting to order at a quarter past noon.
After a short invocation, Poyntz tantalized his audience with an opening address that called attention to the plight of destitute Confederate veterans. “Age, like the silent night, progresses,” he intoned. He spoke of the increasing physical infirmity, mental distress, and poverty among Kentucky veterans. “Compelled by this decline, the aged soldier must have help to make his last days comfortable.”
Offering no specific solutions, he adjourned the meeting for lunch.
At the afternoon session Poyntz called on a series of speakers intended to whip up support for the establishment of a home. (Young had recommended the speakers to Poyntz and had helped craft their speeches.)
Judge R. H. Cunningham of Henderson touched all the Lost Cause bases before asking attendees to give their less-fortunate and ag
ing comrades “a home where ease and comfort shall be theirs.” A member of the newly formed Sons of Confederate Veterans, Reed Emery of Danville, spoke as a representative of the young men of Kentucky. He urged the men of his father's generation to care for their disabled and decrepit contemporaries so that “we have done all that love could do to make their last days ones of happiness and peace.”10
Cheers echoed around the hall as Poyntz—appearing to bow to the will of the assemblage—opened the floor for suggestions about how to found and fund a home. Well-meaning but unprepared attendees responded enthusiastically with half measures and half baked suggestions until Poyntz (according to plan) called on Bennett Young.
Young strode to the podium, crisp in his new gray UCV uniform, and proceeded to dump ice water on the mawkish sentiment expressed thus far.
The audience may have expected to hear Bennett Young the orator, but instead got a dose of cold reality from Bennett Young the attorney. Sentiment is a beautiful thing in its place, he warned them, but it wouldn't dispose of the poverty and want experienced by Kentucky veterans.
“Remember, comrades,” he said, “men who can support a Confederate home grow fewer each year, while men who need a Confederate home will increase each year.”
He spoke as if arguing to a jury of the problems Kentucky and other states experienced in maintaining a home from the pockets of the veterans alone. “The Confederate Veteran Association of Georgia with its 30,000 members did not sustain its Confederate home,” he reminded them.
Young cited the successes in Missouri and Maryland, where local veterans built and furnished fine homes, then asked their state legislatures for an appropriation to maintain the residents. “Why shouldn't we ask Kentucky for this appropriation?” he asked the crowd. “Does not Kentucky owe much to the soldiery she furnished the South?”
Of course she does, the audience roared in response.
Young introduced a formal resolution—distributing copies printed the night before—calling for Kentucky veterans to raise $25,000 to build and equip a home for indigent veterans while simultaneously asking the state for funds to maintain it. He proposed that a steering committee of twenty-five members from all parts of the state see the project through to completion.
“Let us put up fine houses, well equipped for our needy comrades. Then let us say to the legislature, ‘here is our home, well fitted out.’ Kentucky will do the rest,” he assured them. “We have delayed this work thirty-five years. It is needed now more than it ever was or will be again!”
Veterans erupted in cheers, and several rushed the stage for the privilege of seconding Young's resolution. According to plan, however, John W. Green (representing the Orphan Brigade) seconded the motion. Poyntz opened the floor for discussion, and camp after camp endorsed Young's resolution.
One delegate, however, expressed reservations.
Alpheus Washington Bascom (though everyone, including his wife, called him “A. W.”) was a fixture in Bath County with a statewide reputation. Like his grandfather and father before him, he had served terms in the state legislature, but he was most widely known as a successful stockman. Bascom bred and sold the finest specimens of Bates shorthorn cattle in Kentucky. He was a generous man, and he shared his wealth with the Owingsville Christian Church, the Ladies Memorial Association, and any down-on-his-luck neighbor who needed help. A short, solid fireplug of a man, A. W. Bascom was a plain speaker who was as straightforward and honest as the manure on his boots.11
When A. W. Bascom rose to speak about plans for a Confederate home, he spoke of his concern for indigent veterans whose wives were still living. What will happen to the wives of veterans who might be left without care if their husbands were to enter a home? At the very least, Bascom urged, we might build modest cottages in different parts of the state so the old vets would not have to live apart from their needy wives.
Apparently unprepared for the objection, Young glibly assured Bascom that the committee would consider the matter, then called for a vote. Rebel yells from the crowd cut off any further discussion, and Young's motion was passed. The Kentucky Confederate veterans were committed.
The next day Major General Poyntz named members of the Committee of Twenty-Five, a steering committee responsible for raising $25,000 and securing favorable legislation. Ex-governor J. B. McCreary, State Supreme Court Chief Justice J. H. Hazelrigg, and State Senator William O. Coleman brought political sway; Walter N. Haldeman, founder of Louisville's Courier-Journal, and Lot D. Young of Lexington assured a favorable press. Geographic balance came from T. M. Barker (Christian County), Judge R. H. Cunningham (Henderson County), Charles L. Daughtry (Warren County), and James B. Rogers (Bourbon County). John W. Green represented Kentucky's Orphan Brigade. In a nod to his dissent, A. W. Bascom, the plainspoken stockman from Owingsville, received a seat on the committee.12
Altogether, Poyntz appointed twenty-four of the most recognizable names in Kentucky politics, commerce, and society—ex-Confederates all—to join him on the committee. Bennett Young was named chairman, and he chose John Leathers as treasurer.
At its first meeting the Committee of Twenty-Five discussed how its members were going to raise $25,000.
Amid the frenzy at the statewide meeting, $25,000 seemed like an easy goal.
The Louisville camp had Parr's house, and it was estimated that the Chestnut Street property would bring $7,000 to $10,000 at sale. Half a dozen veterans at the state meeting pledged $50 or $100 on the spot. One camp pledged thirty acres of land on which to build the home. Everyone seemed to know someone—some prosperous benefactor back home—who would be proud to lay out $500, $1,000, maybe $5,000 for the old boys in gray.13 Surely it would be snap to raise $25,000.
But Bennett Young and the Committee of Twenty-Five knew better. Seasoned fundraisers for political campaigns, monument drives, and charitable institutions, the committee members knew they would likely have to scratch for every dollar. John Leathers opened an account book where he would record firm promises (“subscriptions”) by individuals to collect or pay a specific amount toward building and equipping the veterans’ institution.
Returning home to Bourbon County, committee member James Rogers provided his local newspaper editor a printed letter signed by all committee members. This “Appeal to Kentuckians” described the intention of ex-Confederates to build a home and asked “such people in Kentucky or elsewhere as sympathize in this movement to aid it by early and liberal contributions.”14
The appeal was printed in the Bourbon News and a score of other newspapers across Kentucky in the first weeks of November 1901, and it aroused a favorable response everywhere. Ex-Confederates and their supporters were simultaneously writing state legislators and passing resolutions in favor of a veterans’ home. The Lost Cause, a monthly magazine for Kentucky's UDC chapters, urged every Daughter of the Confederacy, “with heart, hand and purse, [to] help this splendid movement.” Mrs. James M. Arnold, current Kentucky UDC president, mailed her own personal appeal to every chapter, asking for their active support.15
In the spirit of reconciliation and comradeship, Union veterans and their supporters pitched in, too. A letter from the national commander-in-chief of the Grand Army of the Republic to the Kentucky GAR camps encouraged their members to support the Confederate home effort. The Committee of Twenty-Five's printed appeal made mention of “the splendid provisions made by the National Government for the Federal veterans,” a not-so-subtle reminder of the pensions and veterans’ homes available to Kentuckians who had worn the blue.16
Though by December 1901 Leathers's subscription book still had plenty of blank pages, committee members could say that the money tree was blooming and the financial harvest was in sight. A constant drumbeat of favorable publicity, coupled with public confidence in the ability of veterans to raise their $25,000, was making the lobbying effort in Frankfort a lot easier for Bennett Young.
Young was no stranger to counting votes in the General Assembly. He had helped draft t
he current state constitution and written a procedures manual for state legislators. In addition, his years representing railroad interests in Frankfort had taught Young how and when to press for passage of a bill.
And now was the time to press.
Senators and representatives arrived at the state capitol on January 7, 1902, to be sworn in for the regular session of the Kentucky General Assembly. In the first week following the opening gavel of the new session, State Senator William O. Coleman, a Democrat and one of the Committee of Twenty-Five, introduced SB 41, a bill providing for the establishment and maintenance of a Confederate soldiers’ home. Harry P. McDonald, a Democrat from Louisville and Bennett Young's longtime business associate, introduced an identically worded bill in the House of Representatives.17
The assembly was in firm Democratic control, but the acrimony that filled the capitol air two years before had largely dissipated, and the spirit of reconciliation wafted over the statehouse. Legislators looked forward to governing with reason, not rifles. And from a political standpoint, a home for decrepit Confederate veterans was a reasonable—and popular—cause to support.
“The heroes who followed the stars and bars to defeat,” one Republican senator said when asked about the bill, “are as worthy of support in their old age and poverty as the heroes who followed the stars and stripes to victory.”
“A Kentucky Confederate home is an absolute certainty,” wrote one newspaper, and other editors predicted that the legislation would pass without a single vote against it.18
There were a few naysayers, however, even as the bills were under discussion in Frankfort. The Lexington Leader reported that the veterans’ group in that city felt there was no deep support for the Confederate home plan and predicted that the legislation would be defeated. Instead, the Lexington veterans proposed establishing a state-funded pension program or general assistance fund, administered by a board of ex-Confederates, which would put state money directly into the hands of comrades who needed it. Two Lexington members of the Committee of Twenty-Five resigned, saying they were no longer in sympathy with the plan to establish a home.19
My Old Confederate Home Page 7
