My Old Confederate Home (22 page)

The assembly hall was sited in a line with the original hotel entrance and front doors of the infirmary, and a broad sidewalk created a promenade that connected the three buildings.

The day was bright and warm, but fewer than 2,000 people showed up in Pewee Valley on October 31, 1907, for the dedication of the assembly hall. Visitors strolled the grounds and explored the main building and infirmary. Most inmates basked in the attention of the crowd, and several sold their crafts. The boys' band of Louisville's School of Reform entertained attendees with vocal and instrumental music. As UCV members arrived at the Home for their annual reunion and business meeting, they were directed to the dining room, where the cooks laid out platters of sandwiches, big cucumber pickles, salads, and a selection of cakes.

After lunch, the crowd gathered around the front porch of the new assembly hall, waiting for the ceremony to begin. At 1:00
P.M.,
the doors of the new hall flew open, and Mrs. L. Z. Duke herself—on the arm of Bennett Young—stepped out of the building and invited the crowd to enter the new L. Z. Duke Hall. She stood on the front porch, graciously receiving each visitor, as the crowd filled the hall to overflowing.

Among the visitors that day were General and Mrs. Simon Bolivar Buckner and the widow of General Ben Hardin Helm. Henrietta Morgan Duke was in attendance, but the state UDC organization had no formal role in the festivities. Florence Barlow attended, of course; she was there as an employee of the Kentucky Confederate Home. Young had hired her as full-time bookkeeper to assist Commandant Henry George with his administrative details. She had also taken it on herself to begin publication of the
Confederate Home Messenger
, a newsletter “published monthly in the interest of the Confederate Home.”

The crowd followed Bennett Young as he escorted the petite and demure Mrs. Duke to a seat on the stage. Young presented her to the crowd, and she was bathed in wave after wave of applause as several in the audience took the stage to speak of her generous gift and the love she so obviously felt for the aging men of the Lost Cause. Virginia Parr Sale, daughter of now-dead Captain Daniel Parr, the boat captain whose gift of Louisville property had sparked the establishment of the home five years before, presented Mrs. Duke with a bunch of red and white roses, tied with ribbon the colors of the Confederate flag.

“Deeply moved by this outburst of sentiment,” the
Messenger
reported, a teary Mrs. Duke stood to acknowledge the honors paid her. She spoke briefly of the great joy she derived from doing something special for the inmates of the Home.

After several speeches and the election of UCV Kentucky Division officers, Chaplain J. H. Deering closed the meeting with a prayer, praising the good works and exemplary life of Mrs. L. Z.

Duke.
²¹

It's hard to believe that Bennett Young was ignorant of Lizzie Duke's sooty past. He was too smart and too well connected not to know more about the Home's largest single cash donor than just the color of her money.

Young was an experienced corporate attorney, a skillful litigator, and a savvy politician. He certainly must have routinely advised his clients that acceptance of large amounts of cash from a source not thoroughly investigated could, all too often, result in embarrassment.
²²
Some of Mrs. Duke's claims—that she was the grandniece of General John Bell Hood and the granddaughter of Revolutionary patriot Richard Montgomery—could have been proven false with just a few discreet inquiries of the Greenup County clerk. (Charles W. Russell, the Greenup County native who allegedly first told Young about Mrs. Duke's interest in the Home, must have heard rumors of the Howe family daughter who had fallen into sin.) And a closer look at some of Lizzie Duke's New York real estate transactions would probably have led back to Texas, where her business activities seemed to be an open secret.

As commander of the Kentucky Division of the UCV and wellknown orator at UCV events nationwide, Bennett Young had plenty of sources who would have known, could have checked, or might have volunteered information about Lizzie Duke's professional career. Of Lizzie Duke's thousands of customers during two decades in Dallas, certainly some were Confederate veterans who recognized her picture and name when they appeared in
Confederate Veteran
along with an account of the assembly hall's dedication.

If Bennett Young knew about Mrs. L. Z. Duke's past, others in Kentucky's UCV command and on the Home's board of trustees must have, too. Young was too smart a politician not to share the information (and the responsibility) for accepting such a large and public donation from a woman of the demimonde.

It's likely that the shady background of New York socialite Mrs. L. Zebbeon Duke was an open secret in Kentucky. Lizzie Duke's visits to Kentucky were limited to quiet stays at the Home or the residences of a few select friends; there's no mention of her attendance at social events or gatherings honoring her visits. Kentucky newspaper editors, normally lavish in their coverage of special events at the Home, were uncharacteristically silent about the dedication of L. Z. Duke Hall. Newspapers that did note the dedication failed to identify the donor of the new hall by name.

Florence Barlow seems to be the only person in Kentucky who wasn't aware of Mrs. Duke's past. Or maybe she didn't care.
Confederate Home Messenger
venerated the New York donor, and its editor regularly published news of the socialite's visits and her letters to Pewee Valley.
²³

The morning following the dedication, Mrs. Duke met the inmates informally in the new L. Z. Duke Hall. The elegant woman moved among the old men, sharing a quick story with one, touching the elbow of another, all with a natural Kentucky openness that radiated approachability and a directness that flattered the men. She gave a short talk, expressing her joy at their happiness and comfort, and then joined the inmates in singing new words to the tune of “Give Me That Old-Time Religion”:

The inmates formed into columns and escorted the petite woman down the driveway to the Pewee Valley rail station for her departure. They stood, waving, on the platform as her train departed to the sound of their God-bless-yous and not a few Rebel yells.

The old men adored their benefactress. Maybe they couldn't put their finger on what it was, exactly; but there was something about Mrs. L. Z. Duke that reminded the men of the Kentucky Confederate Home of their rooster days.

The dedication of L. Z. Duke Hall marked the start of a new era for the Home. The appointment of new commandant Henry George, the generous gift of Lizzie Duke, and the infusion of Florence Barlow's gumption and intelligence helped make the Kentucky Confederate Home a gentler, kinder place for both the residents and those who cared for them.

Chapter 11

The Fiddlers and the Indian Agent

T
he audience knew to wait for the handshake.

Colonel J. A. Patee and his Old Soldier Fiddlers were performing their feature act on the stage of L. Z. Duke Hall. This was the full thirty-five-minute act, the one that topped the bill on vaudeville stages in Trenton, Little Rock, and Billings, not the ten-minute opener for the larger legitimate houses in Chicago, Philadelphia, or New Orleans.

At Florence Barlow's suggestion, Virginia Parr Sale and her husband had arranged with John Patee to bring his act to Pewee Valley in February 1911 for a special morning show during his weeklong booking in Louisville. Eager inmates of the Kentucky Confederate Home filled most of the seats in Duke Hall, while Pewee Valley neighbors and some out-of-town visitors crowded in behind. Commandant Henry George sat surrounded by the inmates, as delighted with the show as any in the audience.

The Old Soldier Fiddlers was a five-man traveling novelty act that appeared on vaudeville stages small and large from coast to coast. The performers—Civil War veterans whose age ranged from sixty-six to seventy-six—performed antebellum tunes and old camp songs from North and South. Colonel Patee, wearing a formal black suit that showed off his showman's coif of glowing white hair, sat center stage. To his left were the “Two Sons of Dixie” in their gray uniforms; to his right were the “Two Boys in Blue” in Union army uniforms. Left and right, they alternated playing regional favorites on the fiddle, with spoons or bones clapping out jaunty rhythms. (“Goober Peas” was a favorite, with Commandant George and the inmates clapping along and shouting, “Peas! Peas! Peas! Peas!” during the chorus.)

But Colonel Patee and the Old Soldier Fiddlers provided more than just a musical specialty act.

Their tunes were interspersed with cornpone jokes and humorous banter between the men in blue and the men in gray, each taunting the other about their musical skills, the quality of their songs, and the general superiority of their section of the country. Henry George's loud, honking laughter echoed around the hall. He and the inmates cheered their Confederate comrades on stage, especially during the rube sketches, when the Sons of Dixie showed up the Boys in Blue as the thin-blooded cold fish that they were. (The Sons always got the best of the exchanges when the act performed in Southern states; the Boys won out on Northern stages.)

Near the end of the act, as the jibes became more pointed, a seemingly irritated John Patee stood to admonish his players and deliver a short speech: We fought a bitter war many years ago, he said, but we are brothers now. He urged the shamefaced fiddlers to approach one another with the open hand of friendship. We are Americans all, he intoned.

Blue and Gray then stepped together on stage for hearty handshakes that marked the emotional finale of the act. As the crowd broke into enthusiastic applause for brotherhood, reconciliation, and America, the men in gray picked up their fiddles to play “Dixie” while the men in blue waded into the audience at Duke Hall to shake the hands of the old ex-Confederate inmates. The applause, cheers, and Rebel yells continued until every hand was shaken.
¹

The members of Old Soldier Fiddlers were veteran performers who put on a great show. And no one enjoyed a great show more than Commandant Henry George.

Henry George was a boyish man, fifty-nine years old when he replaced William O. Coleman as commandant of the Kentucky Confederate Home in 1906, and he set out to make the Home a more pleasant place for veterans and staff alike. Like the successful retail merchant he had once been, Henry George was no stay-in-the-office manager; Florence Barlow could handle the bulk of the correspondence and reports. Instead, George preferred to spend his time with the inmates, lingering with them over cups of coffee in the dining hall or sharing a lengthy chin-wag around the parlor stove. His youthful enthusiasm, his involvement with inmates, his softer approach to discipline, and a full calendar of activities and entertainments transformed the Home for almost a decade.

A casual man without airs, Commandant George was constantly rumpled, with a physique that would frustrate the most skillful tailor. His globular potbelly meant that he rarely fastened the bottom buttons of his vest, and the ends of his string necktie were never even. He had a full head of hair that was the yellow-tinged white of a mature magnolia blossom. (Despite the best efforts of his wife to brush it back, a runaway curl was always falling over his forehead.) He wore a goatee and shaggy mustache that covered his mouth and changed color depending on what soup was served at the last meal. George's nose was often red, not from drink, but from regularly blowing it into the huge, crumpled handkerchief he kept stuffed into a coat pocket. His wide-open blue eyes were the eyes of a boy, constantly amazed and amused by the wondrous world around him. Inmate John F. Hart described the new commandant as “a kindly, unpretentious gentleman, ever on the
qui vive
for our comfort and popular with all the inmates.”
²

Henry George listened appreciatively to the humorous tales told by the old men of the Home, and he would reward the storyteller with a honking laugh at the punch line. When asked, however, he had some interesting stories of his own to tell.

At the age of fourteen, with both parents dead and nothing else to do, Henry George lied about his age and enlisted in the Confederate army in 1861. He was an impulsive soldier, but he made it through the war with only minor wounds and then returned to Graves County. The restless young veteran went to work in a dry goods store and found he could sell a muzzle to a dog through sheer enthusiasm alone. At age twenty-five, he opened his own store in Wingo, the county seat.
³

The Wingo store was an immediate success. Attorneys, judges, and citizens in town for court day would gather around George's stove and swap stories. The young man's willingness to listen and his boyish enthusiasm (even as he was selling them things they didn't know they needed) was enough to keep them coming back. In 1876 Graves County Democrats sent him to Frankfort as state representative.

Henry George thrived in the political environment. His disarming appearance and genial good nature allowed him to sell other legislators on his bills as easily as he sold canned goods and nails at his store in Wingo. He served two terms as state representative and a term as state senator before being appointed by President Grover Cleveland to the Colorado River Indian agency in 1888.

Located on the Colorado River ninety miles north of Yuma, Arizona, the Colorado River Indian Reservation was established in 1865 for the “Indians of said river and its tributaries.” The job of Indian agent was largely administrative and organizational; the agent doled out blankets, beeves, and discipline to the Mohave, Chemehuevi, Hopi, and Navajo natives who lived on the reservation. While other agents treated their charges like troublesome freeloaders, Henry George listened to them. He lingered over pots of coffee with them and listened to their legends; he sat around campfires and listened to their problems. He shared his own stories with them—Bible stories, mostly—and shared his enthusiasm with his laughter.
⁴

After three years, frustrated by the graft-ridden system, George resigned and returned to Graves County, where he promptly regained his old seat in the Senate. For several years, George served as warden of the Kentucky State Penitentiary in Frankfort, and under his beneficent management the institution became self-sustaining, the prisoners making and growing enough to offset the cost of housing them. Returning to his Senate seat, Henry George helped shepherd the Kentucky Confederate Home's $56,000 appropriation through the legislature after Harry P. McDonald's sudden death.
⁵

When Bennett Young needed a compassionate man with solid institutional credentials to replace the autocratic William O. Coleman as commandant of the Home, Henry George fit the bill. The former Indian agent accepted the job with the undisguised glee of a small boy at a Fourth of July parade.

The Kentucky Confederate Home was, by the end of 1907, the brightest jewel in a necklace of Confederate veterans' homes draped across the South and the border states.

Confederate veterans in various states had acted largely independent of one another as they planned, financed, built, and opened soldiers' homes in Louisiana, Virginia, Texas, Maryland, Arkansas, North Carolina, Missouri, Tennessee, Florida, Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi. (South Carolina would open a home in 1909, Oklahoma in 1911, and California in 1929.) Each state group was aware of the successes and disappointments of the others (and could learn from them), but each state faced different challenges in attempting to rally the optimum combination of active Confederate veterans groups, a sympathetic public, and generous state legislators. As a result, each state home differed in its financial footing, operational structure, and physical setting.
⁶

The Kentucky Confederate Home opened in Pewee Valley twelve months after the first statewide organizational meeting of Kentucky's ex-Confederates, an accelerated schedule due in no small part to Bennett Young's lobbying expertise and Governor J. C. W. Beckham's desire to please the ex-Confederate electorate. Other states experienced a more protracted schedule. Georgia's veterans built a home in 1891, and then asked their state legislature for operational funding. The state turned down the funding request, and the building remained unoccupied for a decade until it burned in 1901. The Georgia veterans finally received support from the legislature and opened a rebuilt home in 1902, a month after the Pewee Valley dedication. Alabama delayed any serious effort to build a home until 1901, largely because the state's Reconstruction constitution mandated that a tenth of all state revenues go toward Confederate pensions. The state eventually passed an appropriation to support the home in 1903.

All the homes dealt with overcrowding and budget shortfalls from time to time, but Kentucky's legislature rarely denied a timely appropriation request for funds to maintain or improve the Pewee Valley facility. The superintendent of the Oklahoma Confederate Home, by contrast, would complain that his state's appropriation was insufficient. “It became necessary to use hallways for sleeping rooms in some instances,” he said. And the manager of the Texas home had to house inmates in a stable until the state legislature finally provided funds for remodeling. Several of the homes had to suspend admissions because of overcrowding; there is no evidence that the Kentucky trustees were ever forced to delay admitting qualified veterans due to lack of space.
⁷

An inmate of the Kentucky Confederate Home could swing in a hammock all day long, if he chose; able-bodied inmates of some other Confederate soldiers' homes were required to work for their keep. None of the homes expected to be truly self-supporting, but the Virginia, Texas, Arkansas, Louisiana, and North Carolina homes (among others) required inmates to find employment on the grounds, work that might include growing supplies for the home, clearing land for building, doing carpentry tasks, or performing laundry duty.

The homes that supported active farms—Arkansas, Alabama, and Florida, for example—were often located in rural areas, accessible to family and visitors only after a rough ride down rutted lanes. The Georgia, Louisiana, Tennessee, and Texas homes were built in large cities, close to urban distractions and temptations. The Kentucky Confederate Home's location in the silk-stocking exurban village of Pewee Valley was near the population center of the state and easy to reach by roadway and rail.
⁸

The Virginia, Florida, and Alabama homes were organized on the cottage plan, with small cabins or barracks that were often difficult to heat or plumb. Arkansas, Tennessee, and Georgia built institutional (though attractive) central buildings that were more like a combination dormitory and rest home. Inmates in Kentucky lived in what had been a posh resort hotel, an elegant structure built for the comfort of its guests. “As we entered the spacious grounds we were almost startled by the impression that we were approaching a delightful summer resort,” a visitor from Tennessee wrote. A Florida veteran who had visited his own state's home said of the Kentucky Confederate Home, “If the inmates are not happy, the surroundings are not at fault.”
⁹

The appointment of Henry George and the opening of L. Z. Duke Hall in 1907 transformed life in the Home in several ways, ushering in an eight-year period marked by more comfort, graciousness, and affability than the Home's inmates and managers had experienced in its early years of operation.

“There are now at present in the Home more men than were ever there at one time,” the
Confederate Home Messenger
noted in October 1907. Almost 400 men had been admitted to the Home since its inception, and the board of trustees was approving more applications every month. “The question arises, where will they find quarters?”