The original, odd, quaint, queer, Dutch, Mexican, Spanish fortress on Prairie Avenue

By the time the Glessners moved into their new house at 1800 South Prairie Avenue on December 1, 1887, the design had been both praised and vilified by neighbors and other passers-by. Frances Glessner carefully recorded all these comments in her journal as she became aware of them, and John Glessner felt they were so significant that he repeated them 45 years later while penning his The Story of a House.

From the time of its groundbreaking on June 1, 1886 until completion exactly eighteen months later, the house was also the subject of a number of articles in Chicago newspapers, including the Chicago Tribune, the Chicago Inter-Ocean, the Chicago Herald, and the Chicago Evening Journal. Reviews here were also mixed, although not quite as mean-spirited. Journalists often seemed simply confused in attempting to explain what the architect and owner were trying to express in the unusual design, but admittedly these columnists presumably had no architectural training.

In celebration of the 135^th anniversary of the completion of the house this month, we share some of our favorite excerpts from these newspaper accounts. At least eight have been identified, dated between June 1886 and November 1887.  The three earliest articles were pasted into Frances Glessner’s journal; four later articles were added to a scrapbook maintained by the Glessners which included articles on many topics. One additional article, published just a few weeks before they moved in, may have been seen by the Glessners, but does not appear to have been saved by them.

COSTLY DWELLING-HOUSES.
An Apartment Building on One Corner of Eighteenth and Prairie and a House with No Front Windows on the First Floor on the Other.
Chicago Tribune, June 5, 1886

“On the southwest corner a very old style residence, but a new one in Chicago, is to be put up. It will be two stories high and have a frontage of 76 feet on Prairie avenue and 160 feet on Eighteenth street and cost $60,000. The owner is J. J. Glessner, who emigrated from the West side. It will be constructed after plans by the late H. H. Richardson. There will be no windows on the street fronts except in the second story, the first floor being lighted and ventilated from an interior court, the entrance to which is through a gated archway opening onto Prairie avenue. No one will be able to get in from the outside unless he forces the stout iron gate. The house will in appearance resemble dwellings to be seen in Spain and Mexico.

“It was jokingly said that this castle is to be built in anticipation of the day when the rich will have to keep out of the way of Anarchists and other bloodthirsty individuals who believe in a division of property, but the real object of the designer was not only to get greater privacy but also to have a novelty in the way of a house.”

NOTES: This article also described a proposed seven-story apartment house across the street from the Glessner House, designed by Burnham & Root. The $250,000 project never materialized, and a few years later, William Kimball acquired the site and built his French chateau, which still stands. There are, of course, many windows on the first floor, but it is unclear what information the journalist would have had from which to write his description. The “stout iron gate” refers to the porte cochere entrance for the carriages, a heavy oak paneled door with elaborate wrought iron trim. The reference to Spain is accurate; Richardson was influenced by Romanesque buildings seen in Spain during his 1882 trip to Europe. The oversized voussoirs in the arch over the front door being the most direct “appropriation.” The mention of “Anarchists” is very timely, as the article appeared just a month after the infamous Haymarket riot. 

A Dwelling-House of Novel Design on the Corner of Eighteenth and Prairie.
Chicago Tribune, June 6, 1886

“Ground has been broken at the southwest corner of Prairie avenue and Eighteenth street for the erection of a private residence which, when completed, will show a very decided departure from the conventional in American architecture. The design is by the late H. H. Richardson, and its peculiarity is owing more to the location of the lot and the desire of the owner to get a full southern exposure than to other considerations.

“The masonry work will consist of the Braggville, Mass. granite base and Georgia pink marble without trimmings, the latter being used in the construction of the first and second floors. The stonework and trimmings on the court elevation are to be of Lemont limestone, while the openings, all of which will have a southern exposure, will be numerous, as the building will be practically lighted from the court formed by the inverted ‘L” shape of the structure. When completed, which the contractors, Norcross Bros., are under contract to do by Aug. 1, 1887, the building will be the only one of its kind in the country, and, in addition to its unique design and handsome, substantial appearance, will possess all the features of quiet, and light, and convenience.”

NOTES: This article appeared in the Chicago Tribune just one day after the first article described, being contained within a longer series of short articles under the “Chicago Realty” section of the paper. Not included above is a detailed description of the exterior including an accurate accounting of the fenestration (the arrangement of doors and windows) confirming the presence of windows on the first floor. The most significant change the Glessners made to the design of the house after Richardson’s death was to abandon the use of Georgia pink marble and carry the Braggville granite from the base all the way up to the roof line.

(Title unknown)
Chicago Evening Journal, July 10, 1886 

“There seems to be a building boom just now.  Houses are going up on every available lot, despite the groans of the pessimist, who prophesies hard times and probable panics.  Richardson, the famous Boston architect, had before his death orders for several houses in Chicago, which in a few instances will revert to local architects willing to literally carry out his designs.  One of these is a home on Prairie avenue - that holy of holies where only the elect do dwell - for a wealthy West Sider.  This special elevation will be adapted from mediaeval architecture.  It will not have a moat and draw-bridge, because enough property could not be secured to admit of this protection, but upon the first floor no window will look toward the street, although the house will stand on a corner, it being the owner’s idea to have an inside court, made beautiful by all that art can devise.  Prairie avenue is a social street, and also a gossipy one, and it does not suit the neighbors that this newcomer should exclude all possibility of watching his windows and finding out what may be going on within-doors.  It has heretofore been the custom to call all householders together when a new house was projected, and consult with them before breaking ground; if the plans should not please the majority, suggestions were freely offered, and such alterations made as would render it most acceptable; and that this house is going up in spite of disapproval, has thrown the neighborhood into a state of stupefaction.”

NOTES: The pessimistic opening to the article again speaks to the ongoing turmoil following the incident at Haymarket Square two months earlier. The reference to the need of a moat and draw-bridge is comical but not unique. A few months later, a journalist writing in the Chicago Tribune noted, in describing Potter Palmer’s castle on Lake Shore Drive, that “there should be a deep moat around the castle, and access to the main door should be over a draw-bridge.” That reference is a bit more understandable, given that Palmer’s castle also elicited the description of the “castle plucked from a fishbowl.” The Chicago Evening Journal seems to be a bit more sensational than the more serious Chicago Tribune, devoting nearly half of the description to the negative response from neighbors. Did one of them perhaps provide a tip to the journalist of the unhappiness on the street? One can’t help but think of the “anonymous” editorial three years later criticizing the front addition to Wirt Dexter’s house just a few hundred feet to the north of the Glessners’ house, which echoed everything Pullman hated about Dexter (his next door neighbor) extending the house to the front lot line. Pullman’s dislike of the Glessners’ house is legendary, so maybe . . . ?

PALACE AVENUE.
Its More Plebian but Better Known Title of Prairie.
Chicago Inter-Ocean, January 2, 1887 

“Passing to the opposite corner, upon the south, and a most originally planned structure greets the eye. The architect was the late H. H. Richardson, of Boston. The same gentleman designed Mr. Franklin MacVeagh’s house upon the lake shore drive and the new Field store. This strange looking building elicits many comments from both residents and strangers. For solidity it is superior among the thousands of well built houses in the city. There is no dividing line between the outer walls of the house and stable. The windows upon the street and avenue are for the most part small and the roof is sloping. The house covers every foot of the frontage. The grounds within are not visible except from the house of the owner.

“The northern wall of the new house, adjoining upon the south is unbroken. The residence is said to be of the Spanish-Mexican type, and of convenient internal arrangement. Its late architecture had a National reputation. When finished the house will be occupied by the builder, Mr. John J. Glessner, Warder, Bushnell & Glessner, and will alone represent a large fortune.”

NOTES: The focus of this very lengthy article was to provide a detailed description of the many large homes and mansions on Prairie Avenue from Sixteenth to Twenty-Second streets. Richardson’s other Chicago projects – the MacVeagh house on Lake Shore Drive and the Marshall Field Wholesale Store – were both in the process of completion when Richardson died in April 1886. 

Title unknown
Newspaper and date unknown (probably April 1887) 

“A number of new houses will be tenanted in another month. Mr. Osborne Keith intends taking possession of his lovely home on Prairie avenue in May; the Glessner fortress is nearing completion . . . “ 

NOTES: Osborne Keith’s house (partially seen at far left, above) stood immediately to the south of the Glessner house. The more traditional verticality of that house emphasized the horizontality of the Glessner house. Fortress became the most common adjective to describe the Glessners’ house – combining in one word Richardson’s heavy massing, the rusticated granite, minimal window openings on the north side, and the incorrect assumption that the design represented the occupants concern regarding “Anarchists” and the current labor problem.

NEW THINGS IN TOWN
A Queer House Out on the Avenue
Reaper Man Glessner’s Dutch House in the Aristocratic Precincts of Prairie Avenue
Chicago Herald, undated (late 1887) 

“That is an odd house, surely, which the workmen are just now putting the inner and finishing touches upon at the corner of Eighteenth street and Prairie avenue, diagonally across the street from George M. Pullman’s mansion.  It is a unique house, in fact, it is the only one of the kind in America.  It is a typical Dutch house – a veritable ‘huis’ from Amsterdam – only it was designed by an American architect, built by American workmen of American materials, and stands in that hub of Chicago aristocracy and Americanism – Eighteenth and Prairie avenue.  The quaint house appears all the more quaint amid its surroundings, where all is modern and United States and almost monotonously stiff in architecture and style. 

“Light for the dining-room, and for many other rooms in both stories, is taken from the court, which is one of the distinguishing features of the house, and a novelty in this country.  The problem which the architect had to solve in this house was not an easy one.  Given, a long, narrow lot – 75 x 160.  Wanted – a large, well-lighted house, with stable and yard.  See how nicely the plan suits the situation . . . The court, 40 x 100, rivals in beauty the best examples to be found in the old world. 

“It is a quaint house, and most people riding by give it a cursory glance and exclaim “how ugly!”  But it’s a home-like house, full of the means of comfort and content, and for his $60,000 Mr. Glessner will acquire not only the quaintest, but one of the best homes in all Chicago.” 

NOTES: This is a most interesting description of the house, and although terms such as odd and queer are used, the writer clearly understands the significance of the design, and the problem Richardson faced in bringing the maximum amount of light into the house. The origin of the Dutch attribution is unknown and appears to be unique to this article (and the one that follows, also from the Chicago Herald.) 

 Chicago’s Nest of Millionaires.
Chicago Herald, undated (late 1887) 

“’If you want to see the richest half-dozen blocks in Chicago,’ said an entertaining gossiper, ‘drive out Prairie avenue from Sixteenth street to Twenty-second. Right there is a cluster of millionaires not be matched for numbers anywhere else in the country’ . . . John J. Glessner, the reaper man, will soon move into his queer Dutch house with an inner court . . . How much wealth does this whole cluster represent? Well, this is only guess work, but I think that if all the men in that little neighborhood were to get together and sign a joint note for sixty or seventy million dollars it would make a pretty good note.” 

NOTES: The focus of this article is to describe the wealth of the residents of Prairie Avenue. It is worth noting however, that John Glessner is the only one listed for which anything is said about his house; the reference clearly having been pulled from the article above.

THE CITY IN BRIEF.
Miscellaneous.
Chicago Inter-Ocean, November 5, 1887 

“The handsome Glessner mansion on Prairie avenue will soon be ready for occupancy. It was one of Richardson’s last works, the plans being completed not long before that eminent architect’s death. It will be a Chicago monument to his genius.”

NOTES: The last known article written before the Glessners moved into their home provides the most generous compliment so far recorded, specifically to Richardson. A Chicago monument indeed – the design was praised by architects – and Richardson’s work went on to have a profound effect on Louis Sullivan, Frank Lloyd Wright and others. Decades later, when the house was fighting to survive, modernists like Mies van der Rohe and Philip Johnson were vocal in their respect for the house and the importance of its preservation. So, after all the negative comments were set aside, the true significance of the house was, in time, fully realized.

 

Dr. Carlos Montezuma, Native American rights activist

Dr. Carlos Montezuma, a prominent Chicago physician, full-blooded Apache Indian, and nationally recognized Native American rights activist, was the guest of the Glessners for Sunday supper in both 1896 and 1898. Although the exact circumstances leading to these supper invitations are unknown, Frances Glessner was clearly impressed with the doctor, then in his early thirties. A signed copy of a paper Dr. Montezuma delivered in early 1898 remains in the house archives as a tangible link to the visits by this prominent activist. We present his extraordinary story and his interaction with the Glessners in honor of Native American Heritage Month.

Early Years

Carlos Montezuma was born around the year 1866 near Four Peaks in the Arizona Territory, located east of present day Phoenix. His given name was Wassaja, which translates as “signaling” or “beckoning.” Wassaja’s father Co-cu-ye-vah was a chief of the Yavapai-Apache tribe, and his mother was Thil-ge-ya. In October 1871, when Wassaja was just five years old, he and other children were captured for enslavement or bartering by raiders from the Pima tribe. The young boy was taken to nearby Adamsville where the Italian photographer Carlo Gentile was at work documenting the local Native Americans. Gentile purchased the boy for thirty silver dollars, adopted him as his own son, and had him baptized as Carlos Montezuma – the first name after himself, and the last name as a reminder of the boy’s cultural heritage, the Montezuma ruins standing nearby. 

Carlo Gentile (1835-1893) was born in Naples, Italy and had traveled the world before settling in British Columbia, Canada in the 1860s, where he undertook ethnographic work to document the First Nations peoples, including the Kamloops, shown below in one of Gentile’s images. In 1867, he relocated to California, moving back and forth between there and the Arizona Territory, where he documented the Pima and Maricopa Indians. 

 
After adopting his son, Gentile continued to travel extensively, and by December 1872, the two found themselves in Chicago, where they joined the production of a show entitled “The Scouts of the Prairie, and Red Deviltry As It Is!” at Nixon’s Amphitheatre. The chief draw was Buffalo Bill and “several live Indians,” including Carlos, who was billed as “the young Apache captive, Azteka.” Gentile photographed cast members and sold carte-de-visites (small mounted photos). They traveled with the show until March 1873, and then led a somewhat nomadic life until settling back in Chicago in 1875, where Gentile opened a photographic studio at the southeast corner of State and Washington streets, and Carlos started attending school. Gentile became well-known for his stereo views of Chicago buildings, including the Gardner House hotel at the southwest corner of Michigan Avenue and Jackson Street, shown below.

Schooling

Carlos suffered from a persistent cough, so Gentile sent the boy to a farm near Galesburg, Illinois, where he lived for two years. After returning to Chicago, they resided briefly in Brooklyn and Boston, before settling back in Chicago. Gentile realized that the boy needed a good education, so turned him over to the care of William H. Steadman, a Baptist minister in Urbana, Illinois. 

Montezuma proved to be an outstanding student and graduated with honors from Urbana High School in 1879, at the age of just thirteen. A year later, he entered the University of Illinois where he studied English, mathematics, German, physiology, microscopy, zoology, mineralogy, physics, mental science, logic, constitutional history, political economy, geology, and chemistry. He was called Monte by his classmates, and in 1883 began his support for Native American rights with a speech, “Indian’s Bravery.”

He graduated from the University in 1884 and returned to Chicago, where he enrolled at the Chicago Medical College, located at the northeast corner of Prairie Avenue and 26^th Street, immediately west of Mercy Hospital. (The college became affiliated with Northwestern University in 1870, was renamed the Northwestern University Medical School in 1906, and survives today as the Feinberg School of Medicine). In 1889, Montezuma received his doctorate in medicine and his license to practice. Montezuma was the first Native American student at both the University of Illinois and Northwestern University, and the second Native American ever to earn a medical degree from an American university. (The first was a woman, Susan La Flesche).

Medical practice and Native American activism

Montezuma found a kindred spirit in Richard Henry Pratt, the founder of the Carlisle Indian School in Pennsylvania. Both were strong believers in assimilation as the most advantageous future for Native Americans, Montezuma with his excellent education being a shining example. He began speaking around the country and was quickly offered a position as physician with the Bureau of Indian Affairs. He worked at various reservations in the west, and in 1893 was appointed to a position with the Carlisle Indiana Industrial School, giving him a chance to work closely with Pratt. In that same year, Montezuma’s adoptive father, Carlo Gentile, died in Chicago. He helped support Gentile’s widow and became the custodian of their six-year-old son, also named Carlos.

Montezuma moved permanently to Chicago by 1896, where he established his private medical practice, leasing a suite in the Reliance Building. It was soon after his arrival in the city that the Glessners had an opportunity to invite him for Sunday supper in their home. Frances Glessner wrote an unusually long entry, indicating her deep interest in their house guest and his story. The entry (with a few minor errors) reads as follows:

“Last Sunday (February 23) Mr. and Mrs. Moore, Dr. Dudley, Mr. Hendricks, Prof. and Mrs. Donaldson, Ned Isham and Dr. Montezuma came to supper. Dr. Montezuma is an Apache Indian who was stolen from his tribe when he was five years old by the Pima Indians. He was taken to Mexico and sold to Gentile a photographer who used to live here. Gentile paid thirty dollars for him. He was brought here, educated, and studied medicine. Gentile died leaving a son of seven who was not provided for and Montezuma is now taking charge of him and providing for him. Montezuma is named for the mountain near which he was sold.

“He told us his whole history of his sufferings at being parted from his parents – the wonder and horror of all which he saw in civilization. His tribe were entirely uncivilized, and had no blankets, knives, fire arms or horses. They had never seen a horse or a white man. He thought the horse a part of the man – and had imbued the white man with all kinds of powers. He only patted the earth when a horse came forth, he looked at an Indian only once to kill him. Montezuma saw an immense John Fiske shaped man on his way east in the coach – and thought of course his size came from swallowing children whole. We were all interested extremely by his talk.”

It is possible that the Glessners became aware of Dr. Montezuma as a result of an article that appeared in the January 29, 1896 edition of The Inter Ocean, where he discussed his views on the treatment of Indians: 

“The blunder that the government has always made has been in regarding the Indians as a people distinct from other citizens, and giving them practically their own way. They have been isolated in an ignorant and superstitious condition, and the dark picture of their lives cannot be exaggerated. Separated socially and politically from the government under which they lived, they were deprived of forming any ideas of civil law or self government, and their pitiful and helpless condition today may be stated as the result of the government policy toward them.

“If we wish to elevate the rising generation of Indians to a higher and more enlightened condition, we must give them the same chances as have the sons and daughters of other races. The government ought to be more considerate of the true Americans of this country. . . The Indian Bureau has become an absurd and useless institution and absorbs much public money for the little good it does to the Indian. Congress should formulate as soon as possible measures which would allow Indians their full rights and at the same time place their children in public schools in the territory along with the children of others. Every foreigner that lands here has the privilege of our public schools, but the poor Indian is deprived of the advantages of them. These reservation schools are practically worthless and are but a means to continue the reservation system and keep the Indian in continued ignorance and dependence.

“It is not too late to save the few remnants of our Indian tribes – not, however, as curiosities, but as self-reliant American men and women. But to do this they must be treated as a part of the people and be brought into the broad daylight of American citizenship and equality. This may be a radical step, but it is their only salvation. Make the Indians citizens, not dependents; given them the rights and privileges of American manhood, and then let them sink or swim in the struggle of life.”

In early 1898, Montezuma delivered a speech for the Young Fortnightly, the junior branch of The Fortnightly of Chicago, a private women’s club founded to enrich the intellectual and social life of its members (Frances Glessner was a member). Entitled “The Indian Problem from An Indian’s Standpoint,” he reiterated his beliefs as noted above in the 1896 editorial, closing with a plea for proper education:

“I wish that I could collect all the Indian children, load them in ships at San Francisco, circle them around Cape Horn, pass them through Castle Garden, put them under the same individual care that the children of foreign emigrants have in your public schools, and when they are matured and moderately educated let them do what other men and women do – take care of themselves.

“This would solve the Indian question, would rescue a splendid race from vice, disease, pauperism and death. The benefit would not be all for the Indian. There is something in his character which the interloping white man can always assimilate with profit.”

(NOTE: Castle Garden served as the point of entry for millions of immigrants, prior to the opening of Ellis Island in 1892.)

The printed version of the speech presented to the Glessners with Montezuma’s signature is dated February 10, 1898, just three days before Montezuma’s second supper in their home:

“Last Sunday, Mr. and Mrs. Moore, Mr. and Mrs. Angell, Mr. Hendricks and Mr. Baird came to supper. The guests in the house had heard of Dr. Montezuma and John sent for him to come to supper which he did. They were all much interested in him. He told his story well.”

Later years 

In 1900, Montezuma made the first trip back to Arizona since his childhood, traveling as the team doctor with Coach Pop Warner’s famous Carlisle Indian School football team. He returned in 1903 visiting numerous reservations in the hopes of finding his parents. They were discovered to be long dead, but the visit softened his views of the reservations when he saw how connected his people were to the ancestral land that they called home. He worked to create the Fort McDowell Yavapai Reservation by late 1903, and for the remainder of his life, fought hard for the people in “his” reservation. The next year, he founded the Indian Fellowship League in Chicago, the first urban Indian organization in the United States.

By 1905, his medical practice was thriving, and he moved his offices into Suite #1108 of the newly constructed Chicago Savings Bank Building, shown below, at the southwest corner of State and Madison streets. (Now known as the Chicago Building, the Holabird & Roche designed structure was designated a Chicago landmark in 1996).

Montezuma attracted national attention as an Indian leader and he delivered impassioned speeches across the country, attacking the government’s treatment of Native Americans and the Bureau of Indian Affairs. In 1911, he helped found the Society of American Indians, the first Indian rights organization created by and for Indians. 

Five years later, he began publishing a monthly magazine titled Wassaja (his birth name) that he used to promote his views on Native American education, civil rights, and citizenship. The masthead shown below, taken from the May 1919 edition, shows Montezuma at right holding his pamphlet “Let My People Go.” The notice at the bottom of the page reads: 

“Let My People Go – This little pamphlet has the ring which sounds the keynote of abolishment of the Indian Bureau and freedom and citizenship for the Indian race. Buy copies and scatter them to your friends and where they will do the most good. 10 cents a copy. 3135 So. Park Ave., Chicago, Ill.”

(NOTES: Image courtesy of the Newberry Library, repository of the Carlos Montezuma papers. The address of 3135 South Park Avenue was Montezuma’s home; South Park is now Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Drive.)

Death and Legacy

Dr. Montezuma remained active until becoming seriously ill with tuberculosis in 1922. He moved to the Fort McDowell Yavapai Reservation where he took up residence in a primitive hut, refusing all medical attention. He died on January 31, 1923 and was buried in the Ba Dah Mod Jo Cemetery at Fort McDowell.

 

 

Carlos Montezuma’s extraordinary story was largely forgotten until rediscovered by historians in the 1970s. Two major biographies have been written:

Carlos Montezuma and the Changing World of American Indians by Peter Iverson (University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque, 1982)

A Boy Named Beckoning: The True Story of Dr. Carlos Montezuma, Native American Hero (Carolrhoda Books, Minneapolis, 2008)

In 1996, the Fort McDowell Yavapai Nation named their new health care facility the Dr. Carlos Montezuma Wassaja Memorial Health Center. In 2015, the University of Illinois named its newest residence hall Wassaja Hall in his honor.

The Mitchell Museum of the American Indian in Evanston, Illinois presents the Dr. Carlos Montezuma Award at its annual gala. This year’s event, taking place on November 19, 2022, will honor Sharice Davids, a member of the Ho-Chunk Nation and a U.S. Congresswoman from Kansas, who has continued Montezuma’s work in advancing Native American rights.

Frances Glessner is introduced into Chicago society

Frances Glessner was introduced into Chicago society in the fall of 1897, exactly 125 years ago. Events unfolded quite rapidly following her return in July from a grand tour of Europe. She soon met and fell in love with her future husband while at her parents’ summer estate, The Rocks, in New Hampshire. After returning to Chicago in October, plans were finalized for her debut, which took place the day before Thanksgiving. Exactly one month later, her engagement was announced. She was married in February 1898, and by the end of that year had given birth to her first child.

The planning of a formal debut for girls turning 18 grew in popularity during the 19^th century. In England, members of the aristocracy spent months planning for the event which culminated in presentation at court before the Queen. In America, the rituals could be almost as elaborate, with the dress (always white to portray purity), flowers, reception, and guest list all carefully considered. Autumn was the most popular time for the debut as it introduced the young woman at the beginning of the social season, providing the opportunity for countless dinner parties and dances at which to meet potential suitors. The goal was to secure a proposal of marriage by the end of the first or second social season.

Frances was actually 19-1/2 when her debut took place, due to the fact her parents sent her on a grand tour of Europe in May 1896, just two months after she turned eighteen. Accompanied by her maiden aunt, Helen Macbeth, the tour lasted fourteen months and upon her return to the United States on July 29, 1897, she joined her family to spend the remainder of the summer at The Rocks. A letter from her mother, penned on July 4, hinted at her change of status – she was no longer the girl Fanny, but the young woman Frances. Her mother wrote, in part:

“You are grown up now – are no longer a child – we shall be good friends now. I shall depend upon you, and you will help me and let me rely upon you. You are through with the school room and are ready to take your place with me and to take on responsibilities. Heretofore, your father and I have planned for you. Now you can take the liberty which belongs to a young lady and to our daughter.”

Frances and her family at The Rocks, summer 1897

It was while at The Rocks that she came to know Blewett Lee, her future husband. He was eleven years her senior and had come to know the family through his friend Dwight Lawrence, one of George Glessner’s closest friends. Blewett was a promising young attorney and a professor of constitutional law and equity at Northwestern University, and quickly endeared himself to Frances, and the rest of her family. On October 17, less than a week after the family had returned to Chicago, he asked the Glessners for Frances’s hand in marriage.

Although they readily consented, the decision was made to postpone the announcement of the engagement until after her debut. During the first week of November, invitations were mailed out, and soon after, the society columns of the Chicago newspapers announced the event, the following from The Chicago Chronicle being typical:

“Mrs. John J. Glessner and Miss Glessner of 1800 Prairie avenue will give a large reception on the afternoon of Nov. 24 from 3 until 6 o’clock. The affair will serve to introduce Miss Glessner.”

The date would have been carefully considered to avoid any conflicts, as Frances Glessner’s journal notes numerous debut parties during the month to which she was invited. On November 23, just one day before her daughter’s debut, she recorded attending the debut for Marion Thomas, the daughter of Chicago Orchestra conductor Theodore Thomas, where she formed part of the receiving party.

Frances Glessner carefully recorded the details of her daughter’s debut in her journal:

“Wednesday, the day was given up to the debut party. The flowers commenced to come in early in the morning. I had two men here from eleven o’clock on arranging them. We massed them on the library table and book shelves. There were huge vases of American beauties which reached almost to the ceiling and these were put on the south and east end of the table and the bouquets graduated down toward the door. It was a splendid sight. She had flowers from sixty persons.

“Frances’s dress was white crepe de chine with an embroidered polka dot all white. She wore a bunch of lilies of the valley which Mr. Lee sent her and three pink rosebuds from my bouquet in her hair. Miss Hamlin wore a blue and white silk and carried a bunch of white roses and one of crimson sent by John and George.

“I wore a green watered silk and velvet. There was a large number of guests. Frederick ran the dining room and hall and did it splendidly. We had three bunches of white chrysanthemums in the hall and one on the piano, American beauties on the sideboard and one on each side of the table in the dining room. We had a small narrow table across the bay window. This had a white cloth which reached to the floor. This was festooned with delicate green and pink rosebuds. We had no assistants and no one to preside at the table. It was a pronounced success in every way.”

The account of the event in the newspapers was brief, which was typical of the Glessners who preferred not to have long detailed descriptions of their social events published. The Chicago Chronicle wrote:

“Miss Glessner, the only daughter of Mr. and Mrs. J. J. Glessner of 1800 Prairie avenue, made her debut in society yesterday afternoon at a tea from 3 until 6 o’clock. Mrs. Glessner was assisted by her guest, Miss Hamlin of Springfield, O. Mrs. Glessner and Miss Glessner will be at home Tuesdays during the winter.”

(Notes: “Miss Hamlin” was Alice Mary Hamlin, who would become George Glessner’s wife in June 1898. “Frederick” was Frederick Reynolds, who had served as the Glessners’ butler since October 1891. The Tuesday “at homes” referred to the social custom of Frances Glessner and her daughter being at home every Tuesday afternoon to receive callers.)

The day after the debut was Thanksgiving Day, and in a distinct step away from formal society, Frances and her brother and their friends attended a 1:00pm football game between the Universities of Michigan and Chicago held at the Coliseum, 1513 S. Wabash Avenue. A dinner for sixteen took place in the evening.

Friday was marked by attendance at the regular concert of the Chicago orchestra, the family enjoying a performance of Schumann’s Rhenish Symphony and Mendelssohn’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream Overture. Frances Glessner noted that many people called on her debutante daughter in their box during intermission. The next day, she hosted a “young ladies luncheon” before mother and daughter attended the debut party for Margaret Avery, a childhood friend, and the granddaughter of Thomas M. Avery, president of the Elgin National Watch Company.

On Friday, December 10, Frances attended her first formal ball:

“In the evening, Frances went to her first ball. She wore a charming gown of white tulle with a delicate garnishing of pink roses and green leaves. A pink rose in her hair. She was sweet as a peach. Mr. and Mrs. Chauncey Blair took her. John went after her at 12-30. Unie too went to help her. Mr. Lee went. Frances danced every time and was not very enthusiastic over balls when she came home.”

(Note: “Unie” was Unie Iverson, a servant).

Just six days later, the Glessners hosted a dinner dance for their daughter, with elaborate preparations requiring the relocation of much of the first floor furniture.

“Thursday we gave our dinner dance. We cleared the dining room and parlor of every piece of furniture – took down the curtains, took off doors, etc. The side board and piano were put in the hall and covered with old embroideries and brocades and used for favor tables. We arranged the favors on them and then covered them all up with Japanese parasols opened. The dining room was hung with festoons of green wild smilax and at the lowest point of each festoon we pinned a big bow of pink satin ribbon with long ends. Small rosettes of the same ribbon were put in the greens between the bows. These bows were given the dancers for their last favor.

“Johnny Hand and his orchestra of eleven pieces were in the hall between the stairway and the fireplace. Mr. Bournique came himself and brought his man to put the floors in the best condition. Our bedroom was used as a store room for furniture. The guests came in the drive way and up the winding stairs. There were forty two at dinner. We seated them at small tables in the parlor and dining room. We had a bunch of pinks on each table. After dinner, these pinks were put on the parlor mantel. The camp chairs were all covered with white muslin covers. The chairs were paired off and the numbers were painted on good sized cards and tied on the chairs.

“The dining room was absolutely clear. The red curtains were dropped and the green drapery and bows were on those. Mattie Williamson helped us all day. We had a nice dinner and at twelve o’clock a nice supper. The party broke up at two o’clock. We have been very much complimented over the party.”

The Inter Ocean reported the next day:

“About thirty young people were entertained at dinner by Mrs. J. J. Glessner of No. 1800 Prairie avenue last evening. Later, the cotillon was danced. The affair was in honor of Miss Frances Glessner, a recent debutante.”

The social events for Frances continued, the week leading up to Christmas being representative.

Monday, December 20

Frances and her mother paid calls on the North side. In the evening, Frances attended a dinner at the Lake Shore Drive home of Mrs. E. F. Lawrence and then the first of the Marquette dances. The dance took place at the Germania Club on Clark Street, just south of North Avenue. Attended by 150 people, the dance was considered one of the important events in the social calendar for the winter and inaugurated the season of subscription dances. The club hosting the dance was composed of “young married people and young maids and bachelors who are prominent socially on both the North and South Sides.” Frances’s father went after her at midnight, at which time supper was served and the evening concluded with a german. They came home about 3:00am, Frances noting she had “a fine time.”

(Note: A german, also known as a cotillon, was a popular group dance, usually performed to waltz music. It incorporated elaborate props and favors, such as those mentioned in the Glessner dinner dance of December 16.)

Germania Club

Tuesday, December 21

Mrs. William W. Kimball, 1801 S. Prairie Avenue, gave a luncheon for Frances. In the afternoon, mother and daughter had about thirty callers.

Wednesday, December 22

Frances hosted a “young ladies luncheon” for twelve. In the evening, Mr. Isham gave her a dinner at his North side home.

Thursday, December 23

Mrs. A. A. Sprague, 2710 S. Prairie Avenue, gave a luncheon for Frances.

Friday, December 24

Frances dined at the home of Norman Ream, 1901 S. Prairie Avenue. His daughters, Marian and Frances, would both serve as bridesmaids at her wedding. Frances’s engagement was announced to the extended family.

Frances Glessner’s time as a debutante was active, but short lived. On February 9, 1898, just two and a half months after she was introduced into Chicago society, she married Blewett Lee. A future article will detail the events leading up to and including their nuptials, which took place in the parlor of her parents’ Prairie Avenue home.

A Summer with Birds, Bees and Blossoms - Part II

INTRODUCTION 

Last month, we introduced a delightful paper, A Summer with Birds, Bees and Blossoms, which Frances Glessner prepared for a presentation at The Fortnightly of Chicago in November 1903. Recording the idyllic summers spent at her beloved summer estate, The Rocks, in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, she focused on her keen observations of the endless varieties of birds which called the estate home (the topic of Part I), and her many years of caring for her bee colonies (the topic of this article).

Frances Glessner began keeping bees at The Rocks in May 1895 as noted by this entry in her journal:
“Friday, Mr. Goodrich brought out my bees – two colonies. They were set up in the summer house in front of the house. We watched him open the hives. He showed us all through the hives and clipped the queen’s wings.” 

The record of her endless labors caring for the hives fill many pages of the journal over the next fifteen years. Also tucked into the journal are countless letters from friends and family who were the grateful recipients of the treasured jars of honey. By the summer of 1909, it was determined that the physical exertion in maintaining the hives was becoming too much for her to handle. Dr. James B. Paige from the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, upon her invitation, came to inspect the hives and accepted them for the school. (Beekeeping is still taught there).

A SUMMER WITH BIRDS, BEES AND BLOSSOMS

The following excerpts are taken directly from Frances Glessner’s paper.

Many, many hours of daylight are spent in the little bee house on the gentle slope of our home hill near where the rainbow rested. This bee house was built for me by a dear friend, a friend who had a poet’s soul if not a poet’s song. Carved on the beams by his own hands are sentiments which belong with the place and its uses.

“As bees fly hame wi’ lades of treasure,
The minutes wing their way wi’ pleasure.”
(Robert Burns) 

“Tis sweet to be awakened by the lark, or lulled by falling waters,
Sweet the hum of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds,
The lisp of children, and their earliest words.”
(Lord Byron) 

And again towards the east –

“But, look! The morning sun in russet mantle clad
Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastern hill.”
(Shakespeare, Hamlet) 

And last –

“To business that we love we rise betimes and go to it with delight.”
(Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra) 

Many, many times have I been asked whatever put the honeybee in my bonnet.

One of my very earliest recollections is of Aunt Betsy’s garden. Dear old Aunt Betsy and her dear old garden, with paths to get about in, and all of the rest of it roses, and tulips and daffodils, and altheas, and gooseberry and currant bushes, and a long grape arbor, and peach trees and lilac bushes . . . There were no weeds, but there was a glorious tangle.

Off in one corner was a row of white beehives. Under the grape arbor stood a huge bee palace. The bees were the greatest fascination to me, and when Aunt Betsy* took me into the inner cupboard of a closet in one corner of the sitting-room, where was kept not only the best white and gold china, but also her whole precious store of white and gold honey, and allowed me to cut off all I wanted for my supper, I then and there inwardly vowed “when I grow up I will keep bees.”

My opportunity for cultivating the science of apiculture did not come until nine years ago. I had no notion of how to go about it, but consulted the book-store – the place one generally goes for information. There I found there were bee journals published, and books about bees to be had, and incidentally learned that there were beekeepers’ conventions, and dealers in beekeepers’ supplies, and other sources from which one could get more or less correct information. I subscribed for four bee journals, bought two big bee books, and during that first winter read everything on the subject I could lay my hands on. Later on I joined an association of beekeepers.

I bought two fine colonies from a beekeeper in Vermont, who came over with them himself, shipping the bees by express, the hives carefully closed up so the bees could not escape, the bee man traveling on the same train with them in order to look after them at stations where they were they were transferred. When the old man said good-bye and left me the real owner of two colonies of Italian bees, I felt quite overwhelmed with doubt and responsibility; for reading a theoretical book by the cosy fire in one’s library is a very different proposition from the practical manipulation of a seething, boiling mass of bees.

Was it Pliny the elder who said long ages ago before it became a Dutch proverb, “He who would gather honey must brave the sting of bees.” Am I often stung? Many, many, many times, but there is this comfort – the sting is acutely painful, but one gets inoculated with the poison, so after frequent stinging, beyond the first hour’s pain, there is no swelling nor irritation, and then bee stings are said to be a cure for rheumatism.

Nectar has a raw, rank taste, generally of the flavor and odor of the blossom from which it is gathered. Formic acid is added to this raw product by the bees before it is stored in the cells; it is then evaporated by the fanning of the wings of that portion of the colony whose duty it is to ventilate the hive. After the honey is evaporated and the cells filled to the brim, they are then sealed up or capped over with wax. Wax is a secretion from the bee itself, a little tallow-like flake which exudes from the segments of the abdomen.

Bees do not make honey, they simply carry it in from the blossoms. Not all plants are honey plants. Many of the best and richest blossoms are small and insignificant. In the region of the White Hills, there are about forty varieties of plants which produce honey. Each kind of honey has its own distinct flavor if the plant producing it is in sufficient quantity for the bees to work upon that plant alone, such as raspberry, clover, linden, buckwheat. When no great honey yielder is in bloom, the bees will carry nectar from all available blossoms, giving a very agreeable mixture. We grow a large bed of borage and another of mignonette for the exclusive use of the bees, the mignonette giving a most marked flavor of the flower from which it is gathered. Goldenrod honey is as yellow as the flower itself, and very strong in flavor and sweetness.

Bees fly in a radius of about two miles from their own home. Many times have I jumped from the buckboard when driving and examined the bees on the blossoms by the roadside to find they were members of my own family. My bees are the only Italians in the neighborhood, so we know them by their color, and I think know them by their hum.

A worker bee in its whole life will carry in one-thirtieth of an ounce of honey – that is, it is the life work of thirty bees to carry in one ounce of honey – that of all the foods in the world this is the most poetic, delicious, and natural, a pound of honey has never realized its value in money. The gathering of a one-pound section would wear out the lives of five hundred bees. Bradford Torrey asked me last season if I had any commercial return from my honey. I told him that I gave it to my friends. “Oh, then you have!”

Working with and manipulating bees has been made possible by the invention and use of a smoker. Smoke from old dry wood burning in this is puffed in at the entrance of the hive, alarming and subduing the bees, so that they may be handled with comparative comfort. A veil of black net is worn over the hat and face to protect one from stings.

I said in my haste all men are cowards about working among bees, but that isn’t quite so. They are by no means brave. It is the duty of some special workman to keep an eye on my bees during June and July to watch for swarms while I am forced to be away. Let any commotion arise among the hives, the man usually rushes to the house, with his eyes fairly bulging out of his head, tells me as quickly as possible that the bees are swarming, and then he seems to melt into the earth. While I rarely need the services of a man in doing any of the work, it is amusing to a degree to see them take to their heels and run like kill deer if any of my bees so much as makes a tour of investigation about their heads. A man who faces a bear with delight will turn pale with terror at the thought of a bee sting.

There is very much labor connected with an apiary, and constant confinement in daylight. My best honey record for one season was a fraction over one thousand pounds from six colonies. Seven hundred and seven of these were sections of comb honey; the balance was extracted honey. By this, I mean that honey which had been stored in brood frames was uncapped on both sides with a sharp knife, the frames then placed in a large barrel-shaped extractor, which held three frames at one time, the wire baskets containing the frames were turned rapidly, and the honey thrown from the cells by centrifugal force, and then drawn off below into glass jars.

In September, each one of my little families is carefully weighed. Those which do not tip the beam at fifty pounds or more, are fed with sugar-syrup or honey until the weight is sufficient to ensure them abundant food during the long winter. When settled for the winter they cluster in an oval mass, one bee over-lapping another, the food being passed from one to the other. They are not dormant in the winter but are quiescent.

Tell me when you taste your tea biscuit this afternoon, spread with nectar stored by my New Hampshire pets, and which has in it a touch of wild rose, flowering grape, red raspberry, a dash of mignonette, and all the rest gathered from luscious heads of white clover, did not these patient little workers find for you and me the pots of gold which were hidden where the rainbow rested on the hillside one smiling and tearful day in June twenty years ago.

PRESENTATION AND RECEPTION

Frances Glessner completed her paper by the time she returned to Chicago from The Rocks in October. Postcards were sent out to members of The Fortnightly announcing the program. Soon after, she became seriously ill, so much so that she was unable to deliver her paper.

Nathalie Sieboth Kennedy (above), the reader for the Monday Morning Reading Class (and later president of The Fortnightly), was asked to deliver the paper, and the program proceeded as planned in The Fortnightly rooms at the Fine Arts Building (below).

The paper was well received by the members, as recorded in the numerous letters Frances Glessner received afterwards. From these we learn that she also provided an observation hive, enclosed in a glass case. Her cook, Mattie Williamson, prepared her award-winning biscuits which were enjoyed with honey from The Rocks. Members of the Reading Class provided yellow chrysanthemums which were arranged around the observation hive; following the talk they were sent to Frances Glessner along with sincere wishes for a speedy recovery.

A few quotes from the letters speak not only to the quality of the paper prepared, but also of the high esteem in which Frances Glessner was held by her many friends.

“I must tell you, though I am sure you know it without words of mine, how the rare, delicate beauty of your paper satisfied and charmed me. It was so unusual, so simple and natural, so exquisite, that I can not express the joy it gave me. It gave everyone the same pleasure. I never saw the Fortnightly so full of a sweet genuine delight. Every word rang so true, called up such pure beauty, revealed such lore of nature, and brought us all to the natural world, as a ramble in the very haunts that you described might bring us.”
(Kate P. Merrill)

“How did you write of your own experience and out of your own full heart and still keep yourself in the background so completely and throw into the foreground the little creatures you so dearly love so that we who listened felt that we were partakers with you in their joys and sorrows?”
(Louise T. Goldsmith) 

“I feel very humble for not having known all the things you could do. I knew you were angel-good, as the Germans say, to all your world (as well as that of the other half) about you and that there are many, many of us to whom you make life much pleasanter and happier by your thoughtfulness. But I didn’t know that you could put words together to make really true literature as much as Olive Thomas Miller or John Burroughs or any of the rest of them.”
(Emma G. Shorey) 

CONCLUSION

During her ongoing illness, Frances Glessner reworked the paper into a book which she presented to her five grandchildren. The dedication reads:

“To my five grandchildren, whose prattling tongues and toddling feet are now bringing the same joy and sunshine into my summer home as did their mother and father, my own girl and boy, at their age a generation ago, this little book is lovingly dedicated.”

The original paper was delivered again many years later, at some point after World War I, as indicated by an addendum to the paper:

“You know about the ‘proof of the pudding.’ Well, we did not have many puddings in war times, but there never was any restrictions on the use of honey. My work in the apiary taught me that honey is a delicious and practical sweet for making puddings and ice creams, and in any kind of cooking.”

The bee house returned to its original use as a “summer house” after the hives were taken away in 1909. In 1937, the year after John Glessner died, his daughter-in-law Alice had a large in-ground pool constructed next to the bee house, which was converted into a pool house. In 2003, several Glessner descendants funded the restoration of the bee house, and it remains today as one of the most beautiful structures at The Rocks.

The bee house, and the manuscripts for both the Fortnightly paper and the book version prepared for the Glessner grandchildren. serve as tangible links to this important chapter in Frances Glessner’s life.

Wouldn’t she be pleased to learn how popular beekeeping is today?