August, 1844. The presidential election between Henry Clay and James K. Polk was in full swing, and Abraham Lincoln and his fellow Springfield Whigs had a mission:
They needed to raise a pole.
The Democrats had already raised a pole a week earlier, and a crowd of appreciative ladies had come out to admire its size. This would never do. The Democrats certainly couldn’t get away with having the only pole in town. So the Whigs set to work.
First they published an article in the Whig-leaning Sangamo Journal deriding the flag that topped the Democrat’s pole, as well as the orators who spoke at the pole raising, and finally the pole itself, implying that it needed to be “straightened.”[1] Then they made plans to raise a pole of their own.
It was the most spectacularly if unintentionally phallic symbol of a 19th century political tradition steeped in subtle assertions of masculine power: partisans would gather together to set up large wooden flagpoles, from which they would fly campaign flags sewn by enthusiastic local ladies. This tradition has its roots in 1760s, when American colonists would raise “liberty poles” from which they would fly flags protesting the British Stamp Act and occasionally hang effigies of King George.[2] The pole came to be known as a symbol of dissent against British rule, and then more generally as a symbol of liberty, freedom, and independence. In the 19th century these liberty poles were co-opted by political parties to represent both that party’s commitment to the principle of liberty and that party’s political might.
The Whigs planned a meeting for the 3d of August and invited the entire county to witness the erection of their flag pole: “Let ever whig voter come. Let the Ladies by their presence animate us in the cause of their country…Let them come from far and near, and they shall be welcome.”[3]
The 3d of August dawned bright and clear, and some five or six thousand loyal Whigs showed up in a festive mood to watch the raising of the massive ash pole. All of a sudden, tragedy struck: the derrick rigged to raise the pole collapsed, and John Brodie, who had been standing on it, was killed instantly.
The party was immediately over. As the newspaper reported, “the disaster threw a pall of gloom over the whole assembled multitude. The arrangements for the day were abandoned.” Brodie, a 42-year-old stonecarver originally from Scotland, was buried the next day. The minister who presided over his funeral was the same man who had married Abraham and Mary Lincoln a year and a half earlier.[4]
Four days later the Sangamon Clay Club gathered to pay its respects to the late, lamented Mr. Brodie. Abraham Lincoln was there; on his motions a series of resolutions were adopted mourning Brodie’s loss, cherishing his memory, making plans to commission a gravestone, and pledging to render assistance to the family of the deceased.
In the end, the Whigs got their pole. It was raised on August 24, in the midst of all the political hoopla so loved by our antebellum forbears: speeches were made, banners were waved, a flag was presented by the ladies, music was played and sung, and the whole evening was capped off with a fireworks display.[5]
A few days later the Whig paper could report with satisfaction: The Ash Pole erected by the Whigs of Sangamon…we believe to be the tallest pole, made wholly of ash, in the United States. It is 214 ft. 6 inches in height.”[6] If only John Brodie had lived to see it.
[1][1] Springfield Sangamo Journal 25 July 1844.
[2] Richard H. Thornton, An American Glossary (Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott Co., 1912), 536.
[3] Springfield Sangamo Journal 25 July 1844.
[4] Springfield Sangamo Journal, 8 August 1844.
[5] Springfield Sangamo Journal, 22 August 1844.
[6] Springfield Sangamo Journal, 29 August 1844.
They needed to raise a pole.
The Democrats had already raised a pole a week earlier, and a crowd of appreciative ladies had come out to admire its size. This would never do. The Democrats certainly couldn’t get away with having the only pole in town. So the Whigs set to work.
First they published an article in the Whig-leaning Sangamo Journal deriding the flag that topped the Democrat’s pole, as well as the orators who spoke at the pole raising, and finally the pole itself, implying that it needed to be “straightened.”[1] Then they made plans to raise a pole of their own.
It was the most spectacularly if unintentionally phallic symbol of a 19th century political tradition steeped in subtle assertions of masculine power: partisans would gather together to set up large wooden flagpoles, from which they would fly campaign flags sewn by enthusiastic local ladies. This tradition has its roots in 1760s, when American colonists would raise “liberty poles” from which they would fly flags protesting the British Stamp Act and occasionally hang effigies of King George.[2] The pole came to be known as a symbol of dissent against British rule, and then more generally as a symbol of liberty, freedom, and independence. In the 19th century these liberty poles were co-opted by political parties to represent both that party’s commitment to the principle of liberty and that party’s political might.
The Whigs planned a meeting for the 3d of August and invited the entire county to witness the erection of their flag pole: “Let ever whig voter come. Let the Ladies by their presence animate us in the cause of their country…Let them come from far and near, and they shall be welcome.”[3]
The 3d of August dawned bright and clear, and some five or six thousand loyal Whigs showed up in a festive mood to watch the raising of the massive ash pole. All of a sudden, tragedy struck: the derrick rigged to raise the pole collapsed, and John Brodie, who had been standing on it, was killed instantly.
The party was immediately over. As the newspaper reported, “the disaster threw a pall of gloom over the whole assembled multitude. The arrangements for the day were abandoned.” Brodie, a 42-year-old stonecarver originally from Scotland, was buried the next day. The minister who presided over his funeral was the same man who had married Abraham and Mary Lincoln a year and a half earlier.[4]
Four days later the Sangamon Clay Club gathered to pay its respects to the late, lamented Mr. Brodie. Abraham Lincoln was there; on his motions a series of resolutions were adopted mourning Brodie’s loss, cherishing his memory, making plans to commission a gravestone, and pledging to render assistance to the family of the deceased.
In the end, the Whigs got their pole. It was raised on August 24, in the midst of all the political hoopla so loved by our antebellum forbears: speeches were made, banners were waved, a flag was presented by the ladies, music was played and sung, and the whole evening was capped off with a fireworks display.[5]
A few days later the Whig paper could report with satisfaction: The Ash Pole erected by the Whigs of Sangamon…we believe to be the tallest pole, made wholly of ash, in the United States. It is 214 ft. 6 inches in height.”[6] If only John Brodie had lived to see it.
[1][1] Springfield Sangamo Journal 25 July 1844.
[2] Richard H. Thornton, An American Glossary (Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott Co., 1912), 536.
[3] Springfield Sangamo Journal 25 July 1844.
[4] Springfield Sangamo Journal, 8 August 1844.
[5] Springfield Sangamo Journal, 22 August 1844.
[6] Springfield Sangamo Journal, 29 August 1844.
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