Bertie E. Armstrong, Schoolmarm*

Bertie engrossed in a book, 1902

 I was 24 years old when my paternal grandmother, Bertie Elnora   (Armstrong) McLean, passed away on 5 July 1970 at her home in   Roseville, Ohio. She’d been born in White Cottage, Ohio on 28   November 1876 to Alexander and Nancy Elizabeth (Holloway)   Armstrong

 I regret that I didn't know Grandma very well. I remember she was   stout and short (under 5’ tall), and always appeared in a print cotton   dress with a bib apron over it, cotton stockings, and, I think, tie   shoes, but possibly she wore slippers. Over the years, Grandma   became increasingly blind, and then in her late 80’s became bed-   ridden with some undiagnosed palsy-like condition that caused her   to twitch constantly. Her condition scared me, and so I avoided her   as much as possible, never appreciating what a treasure-house of   lore and information she had been until after she was gone. What I   know of her comes second-hand—from dozens of old family   photographs, and from a few memories shared by other family   members.  

Grandma McLean was well-known in the Roseville area because she'd been a first-grade school teacher in a place and time where teachers were paid little but received a lot of respect. My grandmother was more than respected; she was loved. When she died in 1970, a number of her former students attended her funeral or wrote notes of condolence, reminiscing about what a wonderful teacher she had been. As a child, I remember that Sunday afternoon visitors frequently included a former pupil.

I was told Grandma began teaching at the age of 18, which would have been in 1894. Although teacher training institutions (known as “normal schools”) began in the mid-1800's in the United States, there was none near White Cottage, Ohio. Besides, becoming a teacher in the late 19^th Century, particularly in rural parts of the country, didn’t require a formal education. Frustratingly, there is little information regarding how, exactly, a person became a teacher in rural America at the time Grandma entered the profession. Being of good moral character has always been an expectation of those who want to become teachers, and probably being “bookish” was a plus, but by the 1890’s, even in rural areas, these would not have been sufficient.

To become a teacher in 1894, Grandma likely had to demonstrate academic proficiency in several subject areas by passing an exam. Two years prior, in 1892, the Ohio legislature passed the Boxwell Law to provide greater access to a high school education for rural students. Eighth grade students who passed the test were eligible to attend high school tuition-free. Although there is limited information about rural teacher education in the late 19^th Century, it appears that to become a teacher, Grandma would have had to have passed the Boxwell, or something very much like it.  Testing of teacher candidates apparently was administered by either members of the local school board, or the local superintendent. In Grandma’s day, these local authorities were at the township or village level. There were no state or county education departments to impose any uniformity among schools in a broader area, and no set curriculum beyond the basics of “the 3 Rs”.

However, the Boxwell Examination required the test-taker to know more than just readin’, writin’, and ‘rithmetic. Grandma probably had to demonstrate to local education authorities that she knew something about: physical geography (e.g. types of landforms and bodies of water); orthography (spelling and punctuation); arithmetic (e.g. “I sold an article for $17.50 and lost 12%; what per cent would I have gained or lost had I sold it for $15.00?”); grammar and composition (e.g. “Write a sentence that will contain a noun in the objective case, a noun in apposition, a pronoun in the possessive case, and a descriptive adjective.”); geography (e.g. “Where would you go to see the following: Bunker Hill Monument? Garfield’s Monument? Mammoth cave? Tower of Pisa? Garden of the Gods? The Erie Canal? Lookout Mountain? Harvard College? Statue of Liberty? Falls of Minnehaha?”); U.S. history and government (e.g. “With what event in history is the name of each associated: Balboa? De Soto? Cyrus Field? Alexander Hamilton? Daniel Webster?” and “What difficulties were experience under ‘The Articles of Confederation’?”); physiology (e.g. “Describe the alimentary canal.”). Undoubtedly, she also had to demonstrate good handwriting and the ability to read aloud.

Bertie Armstrong (far left) with other school faculty members about 1896

I grew up with the idea that Grandma taught in a one-room schoolhouse, and recall hearing she had to trudge through inclement weather to get the pot-bellied stove fired up and the room warmed before the first student came through the door. Photos of Grandma taken throughout her teaching career reveal the one-room schoolhouse to be a romantic fiction of her descendants. The verso of the above photo identifies these individuals as “school faculty”, something obviously not found in a one-room schoolhouse. They stand in front of Bluffdale School, a brick building with nice double doors, and six classrooms. Far from being a one-room schoolhouse, Bluffdale was literally the roomiest schoolhouse of any Newton Township village or special district. Several class photos of Grandma, such as the one below, also dispel the one-room schoolhouse myth. They include a bearded man identified on the photo verso as the school janitor. If anyone were trudging through inclement weather to get the stove(s) started, it was he.

Bertie with her first-graders and the school janitor, 1900

Grandma taught first grade for 14 years. Although the pay was shockingly low (about $27 for women), “women, flocked to teaching…; they welcomed the independence and sense of purpose teaching gave them… [as well as] a window into a wider world of ideas, politics and public usefulness”. For whatever reason she first went into teaching, Grandma loved it so much that she told her daughter, Nancy Jane McLean, she hadn’t been certain she wanted to accept Ed McLean's proposal of marriage. (Married women were barred from teaching school in those days.) Obviously, she did become a wife and mother, but throughout her long life, Bertie (Armstrong) McLean was perhaps proudest of having been a schoolmarm.

* "Schoolmarm" is an American term for a female teacher in a rural or village school. First coined in 1834, the term was still in use when Grandma became a teacher.

 

 

Elizabeth Scholfield, "An Insane Person"

Elizabeth Scholfield (1815-1871) caught my attention due to a rather large probate file in which the descriptor, “an insane person”, follows every use of her name. Because my grandfather, Henry Sommer, was a psychiatrist and superintendent of what was then known as an insane asylum, I grew up hearing about mental illness, treatments for mental illness, and institutionalization. (In case you missed it in my previous blog about Ellwood Conrad Jones, I find the subject of mental illness fascinating!) I had to know more about the unfortunate Elizabeth Scholfield.

Elizabeth Scholfield, born March 16, 1815 in Newton Township, Muskingum County, Ohio, was the fifth of William C. and Hannah (Redmond) Scholfield’s ten children. William was an early settler in Newton Township, making the first of eleven land purchases which eventually totaled more than 500 acres in Newtown Township, in 1808. William’s parents, Thomas and Rebecca (Carver) Schofield had lived just outside of Philadelphia, and been members of the Religious Society of Friends (Quakers, and although Thomas was read out of Meeting, Quaker records show that Rebecca and the children continued to attend Meeting faithfully.

It’s not known whether William remained a Quaker. Despite the influx of Quakers to Muskingum County in the early 1800’s, there is no record that a Friends’ meeting was ever established, although that would not preclude the possibility that William and Hannah ran their household according to Friends’ principles. In the manner of Friends, William prospered. When he died on November 22, 1829, he left his widow and children well-provided for, as evidenced by the inventory of his possessions which included luxury items such as silver spoons, silver sugar tongs, a looking glass, and a “clock and case”. In good Quaker fashion, William willed that “all [emphasis added] my children that are minors be given a good english [sic] education”, meaning daughters as well as sons.

Evidence that William’s wish for his children’s education was carried out can be seen in the firm signatures of Elizabeth and her younger sister Isabel on three separate legal documents signed between  January 10, 1844 and May 13, 1845. These documents pertained to the settlement of William’s estate following his widow Hannah’s death on December 23, 1843.

 Hannah’s probate file shows that Elizabeth was a practical and independent woman, as well as an educated one. At an auction of her mother’s estate on April 19, 1844, Elizabeth purchased several cooking utensils, a churn, and a cow. She also purchased a “set of cups and saucers with green flowers”, something of beauty and, perhaps, of sentimental value. Hannah left a considerable estate to be divided among her children: She died possessed not only of fine personal items, but also a large amount of prime land, and monies totaling $1993.79, the equivalent of $55,446.67 in 2019. At thirty years of age, Elizabeth was probably resigned to, but quite capable financially of taking care of herself.      

One of dozens of Muskingum County court documents describing Elizabeth as "an insane person"

   Elizabeth’s probate file contains an appraisal made December 27, 1853 of “Sertain [sic] articles of property [to be auctioned] belonging to the said Elizabeth” that suggests how the spinster Elizabeth Scholfield spent her days, what her skills and interests were, as well as the overall quality of her life. Elizabeth must have been a weaver, since loom spools, reeds, shuttles, and a set of carpet gears for a loom were listed. She very likely sewed as well, and might have made the “home made quilt and bed coverlet” as well as the “3 quilts” using colors in the “1 lot of sewing thread” that went up for auction. However, it is items such as the linen sheets and “towls”, the “table cloth with edging”, the window curtains, the six Windsor chairs, and the two sets of cups and saucers that suggest Elizabeth enjoyed a comfortable and genteel existence until something changed her life forever.

Slightly than a year after being  deemed competent enough to sign documents pertaining to her father’s estate,  Elizabeth Scholfield was declared insane. She would spend the remaining 25 years of her life in custodial care. Attorney Robert Moore was appointed by the court to handle Elizabeth’s finances, and to see she was properly cared for, a job he seems to have done diligently and dutifully.

The Ohio Lunatic Asylum, Columbus, Ohio, about1850

To date, no court record has been found to explain why Elizabeth was declared insane. Even if such a record still exists, it would remain, by the laws of the State of Ohio, forever sealed, so what happened will never be known for certain. Was Elizabeth just a very eccentric woman whose behavior was occasionally, but remarkably, odd and which worsened over time? Or was she stark, raving mad like Mrs. Rochester in Jane Eyre, violently attacking her family and setting fires? Did an accident, such as a blow to the head, permanently impair Elizabeth’s judgment and behavior? Did she suffer from epilepsy, a neurological disorder which was believed to be a form of madness? In the absence of any official record, we can only speculate about the actual cause of Elizabeth’s mental illness.

Around the time that Elizabeth became ill, a medical specialty that dealt with disorders of the mind was emerging. Its practitioners were known as “alienists”, because they dealt with patients who behaved in non-normative (alien) ways. Unable to look inside the brain, these early psychiatrists could only diagnose insanity on the basis of the patient’s observed or reported behaviors. Thus, they could only attribute the patient’s affliction to one of two causes--physical (a blow on the head), or “moral” (a matter of temperament and life choices). Physical causes of “insanity” were rare; the moral causes were almost limitless, but in the 19^th century included: intemperance, masturbation, overwork, domestic difficulties, excessive ambitions, faulty education, personal disappointments, marital problems, excessive religious enthusiasm, jealousy, and pride. At its most basic level, moral insanity stemmed from a violation of those “natural” and conventional behaviors dictated by Protestant Christianity and an emerging middle class.

Barring a serious injury, Elizabeth Scholfield’s behavior probably became erratic for no apparent reason, and then became ever more severe. Since Elizabeth’s family was educated and financially well-off, they likely had the knowledge, and certainly the means, to seek the advice of an alienist who could diagnose the problem and, hopefully, produce a cure. Given what we know of Elizabeth’s life to this point, the alienist would have seen several “moral” causes for her insanity. First, she was unmarried which, in her day, would be considered a personal disappointment, and which could, it was believed, result in sexual frustrations that played out in ways embarrassing to her family. Second, Elizabeth had lived at home with her mother for twenty-nine years. Suffering from the loss of a parent as well as a companion, she might have succumbed to severe and chronic depression. Finally, as sometimes happened to lonely, often ostracized single women, Elizabeth might have developed an excessive religiosity which made her at best a neighborhood nuisance and at worst a judgmental, vengeful menace.

The Muskingum County Infirmary, Zanesville, Ohio, about 1900

When I first discovered Elizabeth Scholfield’s thick probate file, I entertained the sinister possibility that she was a victim of familial greed. The names of her brothers-in-law, Edward Rose and Isaac Sniff, appear in several of the accounts filed with the court by Robert Moore, requesting money for delivering her to institutions. Early on in the guardianship, Moore recorded “going…to see Rose about her money”. Later, the brothers-in-law purchased several items of her personal property at auction. Did Edward and Isaac resent that a single woman should enjoy her own money and income from property when they had wives and children to provide for? Elizabeth might have preferred living alone, but in America in the 1840’s such a choice could be regarded as “unnatural”. Elizabeth might not have had to do anything more than to live on her own terms for her family and neighbors to label her as “peculiar” and to see her as threat to their social norms. If such were the case, every word and action of Elizabeth’s could be misinterpreted and become grounds for a declaration of insanity and eventual institutionalization, and once that happened, Elizabeth would have been powerless to change her situation. As Restoration playwright Nathaniel Lee said about his own committal to the notorious London asylum known as Bedlam: “They called me mad, and I called them mad, and damn them, theyoutvoted me.”

While it makes for good theater to cast Elizabeth Scholfield as a victim of avarice, the idea in her case is pure fantasy. “To be sure,” writes Gerald N. Grob in The Mad Among Us, “there were allegations that sane persons were confined in hospitals because of the desire of families to control their estates…. While wrongful commitment was by no means unknown, it was relatively, rare. In the nineteenth century, confinement followed some form of extreme behavior, including violent, suicidal, and occasionally homicidal acts, hallucinations, excitement, agitation, delusions, and deep depression.”

It is thanks to Robert Moore’s careful record-keeping that we know something of the history of Elizabeth’s care and eventual institutionalization. Contrary to my initial suspicions, the probate record shows that Elizabeth’s family (including her in-laws) did the best that they could for her. For the first two years and three months of her recorded illness (May 1, 1846- August 28, 1848), Elizabeth was cared for by her brother William and sister-in-law Sarah Mary Sniff. The couple had married only six months previously (December 5, 1845), and the strain of this responsibility on the young couple’s marriage can only be imagined. It’s likely that Elizabeth’s condition steadily deteriorated, and necessitated the removal from their home and ultimately led to her being made a ward of the court.

William Maclay Awl, M.D.

According to Moore's "accounty for taking care of and looking after Elizabeth Scholfield”, immediately after his appointment, he began writing “letters to Dr. [William Maclay] Awl in relation to Elizabeth”. William Awl was a highly respected physician who dedicated his life to the improvement of medical care for those individuals marginalized by society: prisoners, the blind, and the mentally ill. Dr. Awl believed that with benevolent treatment, exercise, and good nutrition insanity was curable in at least eighty percent of the cases. A founder of the Ohio Medical Association and of the Association of Medical Superintendents of American Institutions for the Insane, he successfully lobbied the state legislature, and in 1837, the Ohio Lunatic Asylum was established at Columbus, with Awl as its first superintendent. By corresponding with Awl, Moore and Scholfields were reaching out to the best of Ohio’s alienists to help Elizabeth regain her sanity.

In August 1848, Robert Moore was “hunting a home for her among her kinfolks”, and found one with her sister Isabella and brother-in-law Isaac Sniff. The Sniff home might have only been intended as a temporary refuge; by the end of October Elizabeth had been moved to Columbus. Despite Moore’s reported extensive correspondence with Dr. Awl, Elizabeth was not taken immediately to the Ohio Lunatic Asylum but instead was taken to the Franklin County Poor House. Perhaps her behavior had become so deranged that the Sniffs had to remove her immediately from their home, and perhaps there was no available space at the asylum. Awl probably knew the poor house superintendent and physician, Dr. C. F. Schenck who, the previous year, had become a trustee of the newly chartered Willoughby Medical College of Columbus, where lectures on psychiatry were part of the required curriculum, a first in the nation. Awl might have recommended Elizabeth to Schenck’s temporary care, which cost the family “$18 per month payable in advance for medical treatment, boarding, washing, and attendance.”          

Around February 1, 1849, Elizabeth was transferred from the Franklin County Poor House to the Ohio Lunatic Asylum, where she was enumerated, along with 293 other inmates, in the 1850 U.S. census. A series of receipts in the probate file show Moore promptly paid $13 per month “for the maintenance of and attendance upon Elizabeth Scholfield an inmate of the Ohio Lunatic Asylum”. Clothing, or at least “better” clothing, required an additional payment of $2.        

"Elizabeth Scholfield, 40, Insane" is enumerated on line 4

Despite Awl’s optimism about the curability of insanity, the reality was that many, if not most, of those committed to asylums were chronically ill. That Elizabeth Scholfield was one of those with a chronic condition is seen by the fact that she spent nearly half of her life in some of kind of asylum. The recognition that Elizabeth would never recover meant that additional monies would be needed to pay for her care for an unknowable length of time. Robert Moore began to sell some of Elizabeth’s real estate in April 1851, and in January 1854 her personal property was auctioned off. The need to conserve her money probably also prompted the decision to move her to the newly established Muskingum County Infirmary. Not only would she be closer to her family, the monthly charges would be lower than at the Franklin County institution. On May 26, 1851, Elizabeth’s brother-in-law, Edward Rose, “remove [sic] her from asilom [sic] from Columbus to the poore [sic] house [Infirmary] in Muskingum County”, a service for which he charged eleven dollars.

Nine years later, Elizabeth Scholfield, listed as insane, was enumerated in the 1860 U.S. census along with “paupers”, “idiots”, “deaf mutes” and other mentally ill inmates of the Muskingum County Infirmary. The infirmary charged just under eleven dollars per month for “keeping” Elizabeth. Institutional care did not include any kind of “treatment”, nor  much in the way of decent clothing. On one occasion, Moore paid the merchant Duvall $4.66 for “2 Calico dresses, 2 Shimies, 3 Gimham Aprons, Sun Bonnet & Handkerchief, 1 Pair Yarn Stockings, 1 Pair cotton Stockings, 1 Quilted Skirt.”

Robert Moore seems to have done his best to provide for Elizabeth’s care and some comfort through prudent management of her funds. However, his careful accounts show that Elizabeth’s money, which had totaled $983.53 (the equivalent of $25,680 in 2019) when institutionalization began, was running out. On January 17, 1862, Robert Moore, Esq. filed his Final Account as Elizabeth Scholfield’s guardian. A receipt from the Muskingum County Infirmary for the last $117.78 of her money is included in the probate file. Elizabeth either was made a ward of the county, or her family decided to assume the responsibility of paying for her institutional care themselves. As far as the probate record goes, the case was closed.

Elizabeth lived at the infirmary for nine more years. She was last enumerated there in the 1870 U.S. census, and we can assume that is where she died on September 27, 1871. Her body was brought “home” and she is buried near her parents and several siblings in the Uniontown Methodist Cemetery in Fultonham. A sizable gravestone marks her grave. For the first time in many years, the name of Elizabeth Scholfield appeared without the words, “an insane person".

Elizabeth gravestone, Uniontown Methodist Cemetery 

           

The Life of Ellwood Conrad Jones--An Exercise in Speculation

Approaching Philadelphia on the way to Ocean City you see a sign for the borough of Conshohocken, a suburb of Philly in Montgomery County. Wagging her finger at the sign, Mother would teasingly, and without fail, say: “Your great-aunt Martha married a Jones. Not just any Jones—a Jones of Conshohocken.” 

Ellwood Conrad Jones' father

Indeed, to be a Jones of Conshohocken carried prestige.  A Jones of Conshohocken was a member of a very distinguished, very respectable, very wealthy Quaker family with well-established roots in the area. Ellwood Conrad Jones was the Conshohocken Jones whom Great-aunt Martha Washington Sommer married. Both Ellwood’s father, Ellwood Jones (1830-1870) and his mother, Rachel Roberts Conrad (1829-1908) were descended from some of America’s earliest settlers. Rachel’s immigrant ancestor arrived at Philadelphia from Crefeld, Germany in 1683, and his home is thought to have been the site of the first Quaker Meeting in Germantown. The first Jones arrived at Philadelphia in 1700 with a certificate of membership from his Quaker meeting in Pembrokeshire, Wales. 

The Jones and the Conrad families immediately set about establishing family businesses. Their Quaker commitment to fairness and honesty meant those businesses prospered, and were handed down from father to son. When Ellwood Conrad Jones, Ellwood’s and Rachel’s last child, was born in Conshohocken on May 5, 1867, his father co-owned Jonathan Jones’ Sons, a lumber business, with his brother Evan. The Jones brothers also operated a sawmill in Conshohocken. 

Ellwood Jones died in 1870, and Rachel probably assumed her husband’s job until Horace Conrad Jones, Ellwood’s and Rachel’s eldest child, was of an age to take over the operations. In 1880, at the age of just 23, Horace expanded the family business interests when he established the firm of H. C. Jones Company and purchased a woolen mill which he named the Schuylkill Valley Woolen Mill. In 1899, Horace was president of the family firm, and his younger brother, Ellwood C. Jones, was the firm’s secretary. 

Ellwood C. Jones married Martha W. Sommer, the daughter of Henry J. and Mary C. (Rühl) Sommer, on February 18, 1903 in Quakertown at the Emanuel Episcopal Church. The marriage was probably regarded as desirable, even advantageous by two families that enjoyed wealth and status in their communities. The future for the not so very young couple (Ellwood was a 36-year old bachelor and Martha was a mature woman of 26 who had lived on her own in Philadelphia where she practiced dentistry) must have looked bright and promising. 

Gwynedd Monthly Meetinghouse, Norristown

Ellwood’s decision to be married outside of Quaker meeting jeopardized his standing as a member of the Society of Friends. This must have been a difficult decision for a man whose roots in Quakerism were so deep, and perhaps his sacrifice shows that he loved Martha very much. On the other hand, it might show what a strong-willed person Martha was. (More on Martha in a future article.) As I never heard one way or the other, we can never know, but as a family historian, I enjoy speculating what motivated the ancestors to do whatever they did. Because the facts are so elusive, there’s much about Elwood and his marriage on which to speculate. 

Regardless of why Ellwood agreed to be married in an Episcopal church, he couldn’t ignore the pull of those Quaker roots, and more likely, the Quakers in his immediate family. Eight months after the marriage, he wrote the following apology to Gwynedd Monthly Meeting: “In order to proceed in marriage with a member of another denomination, I violated one of the rules of discipline. I am sorry to have transgressed the rules of the Society and would like to retain my membership.” At the same time, Martha requested membership in the Society of Friends. Within two months, and after meeting with committees appointed by the Meeting to determine both Ellwood’s Martha’s sincerity and commitment, Ellwood was reinstated and Martha was admitted to membership.

Ellwood and Martha were faithful to their commitment to their Meeting (they attended Plymouth Preparative Meeting, a smaller meeting under the wing of Gwynedd Monthly Meeting), as shown by the Meeting’s minutes.  Their marriage, even though accomplished outside of Meeting, was duly recorded, as was the birth of their son, Ellwood Conrad Jones, Jr.  When the little family decided to relocate to Lincoln, Loudoun County, Virginia in 1911, they requested and received from Gwynedd a certificate of transfer to Goose Creek Monthly Meeting. A certificate of transfer assured the receiving Meeting that the new family were Quakers in good standing and worthy of being accepted as members. The minutes of Goose Creek note that “Certificates of membership for Elwood [sic] and Martha Jones were received from Gwynedd Monthly Mtg…[and] We welcome them into membership with us.” 

Gwynedd Monthly Meeting records the Jones' request to transfer their certificate of membership
to Goose Creek Monthly Meeting, Loudoun County, Virginia

Now comes the part of the story where the facts become scattered. Because of the way this story played out, speculation about what actually happened during the course of the marriage is impossible to resist.  The speculation centers primarily around the family’s places of residence from 1903-1920. 

Following their marriage in 1903, Ellwood and Martha probably lived in or near Conshohocken. Ellwood’s job as secretary of the family business would require him to live in the vicinity. The Quaker Meeting to which they belonged (Plymouth Preparative) was in Plymouth Township, located between Norristown (the site of Gwynedd Monthly Meeting) and Conshohocken. 

We can’t be certain when the family moved, but on October 17, 1909, the Philadelphia Inquirer reported the transfer “At Conshohocken…of an elegant residence property, on Fayette street, above Ninth avenue, from Elwood [sic] C. Jones…consideration $6500.” On April 18, 1910, Ellwood, Martha, and Conrad were enumerated in Martha’s mother’s Quakertown household, Martha’s father having died on January sixth of that year. The census record shows that Mary Sommer’s son-in-law Ellwood had “no occupation.” It’s possible that Martha and Ellwood went to be with Mary shortly after Henry’s death, but the sale of the Conshohocken residence could point to an earlier date. For certain, they were in Quakertown on January 19; their second son, Robert Sommer Jones was born there on that date. (Sadly, Robert only lived ten days.)  A year and a half later, Ellwood requested the certificate of transfer for himself, Martha, and son Ellwood.

Death certifcate for Robert Sommer Jones, Ellwood's and Martha's second child.

It always seemed out-of-character that these two people from distinguished Bucks and Montgomery County, Pennsylvania families, one with a very long family history in the area, would relocate to a southern state. Was there a need to put distance between themselves and those who knew them best? Although there was no definitive diagnosis (that we know of) before 1920, it’s possible that between 1910 and 1920, it became increasingly apparent that Ellwood Conrad Jones was, to use the terminology of the day, insane. 

On August 20, 1920, at the age of 53, Ellwood was admitted to Brattleboro Retreat, a private hospital for the mentally ill in Brattleboro, Vermont. His diagnosis was serious: “Psychosis with Psychotic personality.” While a number of behaviors characterize this diagnosis, the three main symptoms are hallucinations, delusional thinking, confused and disturbed thoughts. Ellwood might have seen things or heard voices; he likely suffered from paranoia; he might have been violent He likely suffered from anxiety and depression, and he might have been suicidal. “Senility” was added to his diagnosis around 1925; Ellwood might have had what we now call early-onset Alzheimer’s Disease. From his detailed 1946 death record, we know he never left Brattleboro Retreat. 

So how did Ellwood end up in Brattleboro, Vermont from Quakertown via Loudoun County, Virginia, and Littleton, Massachusetts? (This latter place was Ellwood’s official residence while he was in Brattleboro.) Allow me to speculate. 

Martha’s older brother, Henry Joseph Sommer, Jr. was a medical d

Henry Joseph Sommer, M.D., c. 1900

octor who specialized in psychiatry. He was also a pathologist, and published a two-volume work in 1908 (available on Amazon!) called Postmortems of the Insane based on 1,180 autopsies he performed while at the state hospital in Norristown between 1900-1904. Around 1905, Henry and his young family possibly moved to Quakertown (Henry is listed as “owning property” in the city directory), before moving to Altoona in 1909 where Henry became the superintendent of the Blair County Hospital for the Insane. What’s important is that Dr. Sommer, a respected expert on “insanity” was nearby during the first several years of Ellwood’s and Martha’s marriage. He might have noticed some odd behaviors, or Martha might have described incidents she’d observed and asked for her brother’s help. 

Dr. Henry J. Sommer knew and was known by a great many of the most respected men who specialized in the treatment of “diseases of the mind”. One of those was Dr. Joseph DeJarnette whom Henry refers to in a note in my possession as “my friend”. (If you look up

Western State Hospital, Staunton, Virginia, c. 1910

Dr. DeJarnette’s history, you’ll realize why this disturbs me.) DeJarnette became superintendent of Western State Hospital in Staunton, Virginia in 1906, where he instituted the most progressive practices of the day in the treatment of the mentally ill, banning restraints, allowing patients free movement, providing good food, pleasant surroundings, sympathetic treatments. (Henry instituted these same treatments at Blair County Hospital.) Although Staunton and Lincoln, where the Joneses settled, are 123 miles apart, just being in Virginia put Ellwood and Martha closer to Dr. DeJarnette than they could be in Quakertown or Conshohocken. 

Worcester State Hospital, Worcester, Massachusetts, 1905

Sometime between 1911 and 1918, when Ellwood C. Jones appears in the city directory, the family moved to King Street (no number is given) in Littleton, Massachusetts. Littleton is about 50 miles from Worcester, the site of Worcester State Hospital, another facility run according to the “progressive” standards of psychiatry. Perhaps Martha and Ellwood sought help there. Frustratingly, especially since Ellwood C. Jones is listed on King Street in Littleton’s 1922 directory, neither Ellwood, Martha, nor Conrad have been located—anywhere—in the 1920 U.S. census. Since that was the year of Ellwood’s diagnosis and admission to Brattleboro Retreat, his condition might have deteriorated to the point that the family was constantly moving in a frantic search for someone who could help, and some place where Ellwood could be treated. 

Brattleboro Retreat, main entrance, 2020

Perhaps Brattleboro Retreat was ultimately chosen for Ellwood because of its Quaker connections. Brattleboro’s treatment approach was influenced by the Quaker concept of “moral treatment”, meaning that mental disorders were recognized as illnesses and not character flaws or the result of “sinful living”. Treatment emphasized the values of fresh air, daily exercise, educational enrichment, and therapeutic work, such as farming. We know the latter was part of Ellwood’s treatment; his death certificate lists his occupation as “farmer.”

Were there intimations that Ellwood was mentally ill well before 1920? A tiny news item in the July 10, 1900 edition of the Philadelphia Inquirer leads me to believe Ellwood might have struggled with mental health problems for years, and possibly his entire life. The “news” was simply that “Ellwood C. Jones of Conshohocken is summering at Grand View in Wernersville.” 

Grand View Sanatorium, Wernersville, Pennsylvania

Grand View was a sanatorium in Berks County, Pennsylvania. One of several such facilities in the area, Grand View could accommodate 150 guests seeking cures for conditions ranging from rheumatism to “nervous prostration”. In addition to traditional medical treatments, Grand View offered massage, a glass-enclosed solarium that captured the warmth of a southern climate, and gimmicky approaches to restoring health such as electrical treatment, salt rubs, vapor, and sulfur baths. The setting was idyllic, and the “Pavilion Spring” water was believed to have remarkable curative power for all sorts of ailments.

There’s no way of knowing why Ellwood C. Jones spent two to three summer months at a sanatorium, or if it were his first and only stay at Grand View or any other place of rest and respite. We only know for certain of the 1920 diagnosis, but I suspect Ellwood didn’t go to Grand View in the summer of 1900 just for the scenery and to drink some Pavillion Spring water. Remember that “nervous prostration”, a diagnosis covering a broad range of symptoms, was one of the conditions for which guests sought treatment at Grand View. Interestingly, some of those symptoms, particularly anxiety and depression, are also among the symptoms of pyschosis.

I think of what a nightmare a life and a marriage that seemed so promising became. I wonder if Ellwood married so late in life because he knew things weren’t quite right in his mind. If so, maybe he hoped marriage and a family would make things better. 

We can only speculate.

Ellwood is buried in Mooreland Cemetery, Paxton, Massachusetts next to his son and daughter-in-law.
Robert C. Jones, 1938-1939 was his only grandson. Ellwood and Martha have no descendants.

Looking for Legrand

Legrand McLean was a great-great uncle on my paternal side. I first heard his name from a cousin who had grown up in White Cottage, Ohio, and who knew a lot about the McLeans who’d lived in that part of Newton Township for at least five generations. I’d gone to him to find out about my grandfather Edward McLean’s roots; I knew only that Grandfather’s parents were Warren McLean and Arena Wilson.

The 1850 federal census (above) revealed that James and Maxa McLean had other children than Legrand, Caroline, and Warren. The 1860 federal census enumeration (below)  of Maxa McLean's household lists five children, but no Legrand.

My cousin told me that Warren’s mother was Maxa Ann Hadden. (It turned out her surname was Lenhart, but a first name like “Maxey Ann” was a good start.) He didn’t know her husband’s given name, but knew that our ancestor Warren had a sister named Caroline and a brother named Legrand who eventually settled in Cattletsburg, Kentucky, become the local sheriff, and had one son. With this information, I was able to locate Maxey and Warren McLean in the 1850 U. S. census. The household head was James McLean, and there were two children besides Warren in the household, Eliza C. and Martha, but there was no Caroline and no Legrand. Ten years later, in 1860, Maxey McLain, a widow, was enumerated with five children:  Eliza, Martha, Warren, James [Jr.] and Caroline. There was still no Legrand, however.

Warren McLean's funeral notice appeared in the
Zanesville Weekly Times Recorder, 15 June 1893

Where was Legrand? Repeated searches in U. S. censuses, using every variant spelling I could imagine, came up nil.  I spent years looking for this guy! To my present chagrin, I admit he was under my nose all the time, but I couldn’t see him. Legrand came to  my attention when I was still very new to genealogical research. In those early days, I made two assumptions about this person that no experienced researcher would make, and from the perspective of nearly 40 years of research, those assumptions are downright embarrassing.

The first assumption I made was that the name “Legrand McLean” was just that—no more, no less. It was an odd name, not found anywhere else in the family, but I never questioned the name was anything but “Legrand”.  Second, since I didn’t find him with his family, I tried to explain his absence by assigning him the position of eldest child.  I knew from the 1850 census, that Eliza was born around 1843, so after finding that James and Maxa married in 1842, I arbitrarily decided that must be Legrand’s birth year. You see, I was anxious to make what I’d been told fit with what I knew from the records.  So although Legrand would only have been 8 years old in 1850, and should have been enumerated in his parents’ household, I excused his absence as being “farmed out”, a not uncommon practice during the summer months, although eight years really was a bit too young. (Researcher beware! Both a lack of imagination or too active an imagination can send one’s research down the rabbit hole.) In 1860, Legrand would have been 18, so his absence from his family was easily explained away. Still, I couldn’t find a Legrand McLean anywhere in either 1850 or 1860, and since he was only a great-great uncle, I laid the search for him aside.

J. L. McLean's obituary appeared in the
Semi-Weekly Irontonian, 8 March 1907

Fast-forward maybe 15 years, to when I found Great-grandfather Warren McLean’s 1893 funeral notice. It included this tidbit of information: “Lee McLean, of Cattletsburg, Ky., who was called here by the death of his brother, returned home today….”  My cousin had told me that Legrand had moved to Cattletsburg, and I suddenly realized that Legrand went by the name Lee! Armed with this new insight, I looked for Lee McLean, born 1842, in the 1870 and 1880 U. S. censuses. A “Lee Mclein”, a potter, was boarding in Zanesville in 1880, but he was born about 1850, eight years later than the year I’d assigned to Legrand’s birth. There was no Lee McLean in the Muskingum area in 1870, but I found James McLain, a potter, living in White Cottage with Fenton and Eliza Bagley. His age, birthplace, and occupation, made it likely he was Maxa’s and James Sr.’s fourth child. (Very recently, I found that Eliza Bagley was Maxa’s and James Sr.’s daughter, Eliza C. McLean.) What didn’t register for me when I found that 1870 census record was that James is listed as “James L. McLean”. If you guessed (as I didn’t), that “L.” stood for “Legrand”, you are absolutely correct.

James Legrand McLean, Jr.s obituary in the
Ashland Daily Independent, 17 May 1965

The proof that James’ and Maxa’s son James and Legrand were one and the same person arrived one day in the mail. I’d written to the historical society in Catlettsburg, Kentucky inquiring about a Legrand McLean who supposedly had been a “sheriff” there. I received two photocopies of local newspaper obituaries. The first obituary entitled “James McLean Funeral to Be Tuesday”, appeared in the 17 May 1965 issue of the Ashland (KY) Daily Independent. The obituary begins: “Catlettsburg—Funeral service for James LeGrand McLean, 71….” The obituary states that Jim was born in 1894, “a son of J. L. and Minnie Faulkner McLean.” The second obituary entitled “Death Relieved Suffering of a Catlettsburg Policeman” appeared in the 8 March 1907 issue of the Semi-Weekly Irontonian (OH). Taken from the Catlettsburg Tribune, the obituary begins: “About two o’clock this afternoon the soul of Policeman James L. McLean winged its flight to the world unknown…. A wife and two children are left to mourn his loss.” The wife was Minnie Faulkner McLean and the children were James Legrand McLean, Jr. and his sister Golda McLean.

James Legrand McLean left Muskingum County for Catlettsburg, Kentucky between 1880 and 1886, but I don’t know why. I do know he had set up a pottery business there by 1886, the year he and Minnie Faulkner were married. In the 1900 U. S. census, J. L. McLean’s occupation was “breweryman”. In the short time between 1900 and his death in 1907, James became a policeman, which obviously led to his Ohio relatives’ idea that he’d become a sheriff. My cousin recalled that in the 1960's, some of James’ descendants (probably James Legrand Jr's. children) visited White Cottage to try to re-establish a connection with descendants of James’ brother and sisters. Apparently no one in White Cottage followed up, and the McLeans of White Cottage, Ohio and the McLeans of Catlettsburg, Kentucky went their separate ways entirely.

    Studio photograph of James Legrand McLean, Jr.,

    probably taken about the time of his father's death. It's

    likely it was his children who tried to make a 

   connection with relatives in White Cottage, Ohio.

The Not-So Prodigal Son: Edmund Thomas Sommer

Mother told me that her Uncle Edmund asked for his portion of his father’s estate shortly after Henry Sommer’s death on January 11, 1910. As the story went, Edmund promptly left his family and his hometown of Quakertown, Pennsylvania for good, providing no forwarding address. Poignantly, Mother’s grandmother, Mary Sommer, kept a light burning in the front window to show her son he would be welcomed back.  She died in 1919, never having seen, or apparently heard from, him again. In 1952, Edmund’s brother, Ferdinand Sommer, was called by the Philadelphia police to verify the identity of a dead man; a Masonic ring found on the body was traced to Edmund T. Sommer.  

Factory workers pose in front of the main H. Sommer Co. factory building, about 1907

The impression Mother gave me was that my great uncle had taken his "portion" of his father's estate so he could go off to live a life of sin and dissipation in some notorious place like [gasp!] New York City. I imagined Edmund living high until his money ran out and he ended up on Skid Row where his body was found. I imagined my great uncle Ferd, taking a train to New York City, going to the morgue where he scrutinized the feature of the pathetic dead man's face, sadly confirming the body to be that of his reprobate brother.

Edmund Sommer was a mystery, even to those who knew and, presumably, loved him. According to Mother, until Ferd was called to identify and claim the body, no one in the family knew what had become of Edmund. So why had Edmund left his family? And where had he been for 42 years? To a family historian, he was frustratingly elusive and maddeningly enticing.

Edmund Thomas Sommer, youngest son of Henry Joseph Sommer and Mary Catherine Rühl, was born in Quakertown, Bucks County, Pennsylvania on October 6, 1873. He was the fourth of Henry's and Mary's five children. Other than the fact that Edmund (enumerated in the 1880 U.S. census as "Edward") attended school, nothing is known about his childhood. Edmund's parents were immigrants. Mary (Maria Katherina) was from the Kingdom of Bavaria; Henry (Heinrich Josef) was from the Duchy of Baden, where he graduated from what we would today call a business school. Within ten years of arriving in American, Henry was a highly successful cigar manufacturer, operating five factories in Quakertown and two in nearby towns. This made him wealthy enough to provide a large, pleasant home for his family, and to employ two live-in servants--a cook and a maid. We can assume that Edmund and his siblings enjoyed comfortable, privileged childhoods.

Sales letter signed by Edmund Sommer

After being counted in the 1880 census, Edmund doesn't appear in the records until November 20, 1892 (a little more than a month after his nineteenth birthday) when he was baptized at Emmanuel Episcopal Church in Quakertown. On that same date, he was also confirmed as an Episcopalian. The confirmation record show that Edmund, not surprisingly, had been brought up a Lutheran, and undoubtedly grew up attending St. John Lutheran Church. (St. John's records contain the names of various family members.) Although Henry was a Lutheran, he stood as Edmund's baptism sponsor, which suggests he supported his youngest son's decision to embrace another denomination. The baptism and confirmation records give Edmund's full name as "Edmund Thomas Ochs Sommer". These are the only known records to include the name "Ochs". Edmund might have added the name to honor the Ochs family who attended St. John's, and who must have been close with Edmund and/or the Sommer family.

Edmund's next appearance in the records is the 1900 U.S. census. He was 25 years old, single, and living with his parents and his oldest sibling, Mary. His occupation, like his father, was "cigar manfr". Henry's main factory was just a few steps away from the family home. I picture father and son walking over to their office each morning, perhaps with Henry's eldest son, Ferdinand, whose home was also just a few steps away from the family business. Although the 1905 Quakertown directory lists Henry, Ferdinand and Edmund as cigar manufacturers, only Ferd's and Edmund's names appear on the "H. Sommer Company" letterhead of a business letter signed by Edmund on August 18, 1905. There is circumstantial evidence the Henry was in poor health, and possibly he retired that year. Edmund's name appears with Ferd's on the letterheads of two 1909 company invoices.

On April 18, 1910, four months after his father's death, Edmund was enumerated in the 1910 U.S. census of South Bensalem, Northampton County, Pennsylvania. He was residing at Laufer's Hotel on Wyandotte Street, and his occupation was cigar factory superintendent. Today, the area is known as Catasauqua, and Spinnerstown, the site of Sommer cigar factory, federal number 1622, is nearby. It's likely that was the facility Edmund was overseeing.

Eighteen months after his father's death, on June 7, 1911, Edmund, then living in Philadelphia, deeded his share of "cigar factory buildings" and two lots in the same block as the factory buildings (at Juniper and 10th Streets, Quakertown) to his brother Ferdinand. In doing so, Edmund apparently relinquished his role in the company business. By November 2, 1912, the letterhead on a company invoice says only "Ferdinand Sommer, Owner".

Edmund's WWI draft registration card

Edmund registered for the military draft on September 12, 1918. At that time, he was living on Prospect Street in Lakewood, Ocean County, New Jersey. Although his mother and his four siblings were alive at this time, Edmund named Frank W. Todd, a local real estate agent, as his nearest relative, although there was no family connection. He gave his occupation as a "poultry plant" owner-operator at the Prospect Street address. Edmund Thomas Sommer, cigar manufacturer, hadn't taken his "portion" so he could spend lavishly on food, drink, and entertainment in the big, bad city. He used the money to invest in a rural property where he could live and work quietly among chickens. His family, however, didn't know this: Letters of Administration for his mother's estate, dated February 20, 1919, list Edmund's address as "unknown".

Edmund was enumerated in the 1920 and 1930 U.S. censuses of Lakewood; he and the chickens still lived on Prospect Street. He was the only person in his household in 1920. In 1930, a man named Fred Rose lived in the household, but beyond being a white male born in "United States", no other information about Mr. Rose was recorded. In both censuses, Edmund's occupation is "chicken farmer".

What drove Edmund from his family? That question will never be answered. Mother said that Edmund and his sister, Martha Washington Sommer, had some "eccentricities", a word that could mean many things. However, Mother's only illustration of their eccentricity was a story of Edmund and Martha having their parents' home remodeled (which included removing a wall) while Henry and Mary took the curative waters at Baden-Baden. This was done without the parents' knowledge, so upon their return, Henry and Mary probably experienced quite a surprise, if not outright annoyance, with their two youngest children.

For years, before I uncovered the records of Edmund's life, I assumed his parents, especially his ambitious German father, had driven him away. However, twenty-five year old Edmund was still living with his parents in 1900, and probably was living with them at the time of Henry's death. As a co-owner of the family business, he could have afforded his own home, if his relationship with his parents were strained. And although it might seem a small matter, Henry's sponsorship of his almost-adult son's baptism and confirmation in another church denomination strikes me as an act of loving support.

The change in the family dynamic appears to have occurred soon after Henry's death. Although Edmund had worked side-by-side with his brother Ferdinand while Henry was alive, very shortly after Henry's death, Edmund took over a Sommer cigar factory several miles from the Quakertown factory, and left the home in which he'd lived all his life.

Had there been a falling-out between the brothers regarding how the business was to be run? Did Edmund want more say and more responsibility than he might have had working with his older brother? Did the family, especially Edmund's and Ferdinand's mother, side with the first-born son over the youngest son in some matter of business--or in some other matter?

In box 7 of Edmund's death certificate, "never married"
is crossed out and "widowed" written instead.

To my knowledge, Edmund Sommer never married. I can't help but wonder if this fact points to why he left his family. Was Edmund an invert?* If he were, did Ferdinand, who became head of both the family and the family business after Henry's death, make impossible demands on Edmund to change his "wicked" ways? Again, we can never know, but there's something interesting about Edmund's death certificate that led me to this idea.

There two versions of Edmund's death certificate, apparently owing to the fact the cause of death was determined by the coroner's office. Edmund was delivered D.O.A. to St. Joseph's Hospital in Philadelphia, and without identification (except for that Masonic ring). Ferdinand Sommer signed as the informant on both death certificates, so he would have been the person to make a significant change on both certificates. One certificate gave Edmund's marital status as "single", the other as "never married". Both were crossed out and "widower" written over them. Of course, it's possible that Edmund married after 1930 and lost his wife before 1952, but if he had been estranged from his family all those years, how would Ferd have known of a marriage and subsequent bereavement? A plausible explanation for the changes is that Ferdinand felt that some shame was associated with Edmund's "never married" status, and sought to mitigate it with a fictional marriage. If Ferd knew--or at least suspected--his brother was homosexual, he would have considered it his duty to hide that from the public record.

Whatever the cause of the estrangement, Ferdinand brought Edmund's body back to Quakertown and had him interred in the Sommer plot in Union Cemetery. Ferd undoubtedly felt it would be good to reunite Edmund with the family he'd left decades earlier, but I wonder how Edmund felt about it.


*The late 19th-early 20th century term for homosexual