Paul Revere Williams (1894-1980) was a talented and dedicated man who overcame obstacles that would have daunted almost anyone else. He dreamed of designing buildings and went on to become the first certified African American architect west of the Mississippi.

For fifty years and over 3000 projects, Paul Revere Williams was extremely influential in helping to establish Southern California style. Despite the adversity, he became highly sought after for his architectural work.

He designed hundreds of public and private buildings in southern California.  Among his best-known works are iconic public landmarks like the Beverly Hills Hotel, the Stanley Mosk Courthouse, and the “flying saucer-like” Theme Building at Los Angeles International Airport (co-designed with Pereira & Luckman). He was also hired by many homeowners and provided design work for private estates for Hollywood stars including Frank Sinatra and Lucille Ball.

Paul Revere Williams: Childhood

When Paul Revere Williams was four, both his parents died of tuberculosis. He and his brother were put into separate foster homes. Paul was fortunate that his foster mother was kind and supportive. As Paul began to show interest and ability in drawing, his foster mother encouraged him. Soon he never went anywhere without a sketchbook and pencil. Though he was the only African American in his elementary school, he was recognized for his artwork which helped ease his school years.

In high school, a guidance counselor tried to discourage his plan for becoming an architect. While the counselor could not see much value in Williams pursuing architecture, he was not totally discouraging. He noted that Williams should become a doctor or a lawyer “because the Negro people would need those types of professionals.” (In that era, those professions were not impossible, but far from welcoming to Blacks.)

Arts Education

Williams was not to be dissuaded. After graduation, he attended the Los Angeles School of Art and Design followed by a Los Angeles branch of the New York-based Beaux-Arts Institute of Design.

Williams needed to work while in school, so he used the telephone directory to create a list of architectural firms. He then went door-to-door offering his services. He had little luck until he approached a well-respected landscape architecture firm where they offered him a position as “office boy” at no pay. Though he needed the money, Williams saw it as an opportunity to learn the business.  He accepted. Fortunately, the firm recognized his talent relatively quickly. Soon he was earning $3 per week.

Even with balancing work and school, Williams carved out time to enter a national competition for students to design a civic center for Pasadena. His plan emphasized open space, which became a Williams characteristic that he used in much of his design work over the decades. It won first place.

More Education

As he attended classes, he saw that design was only part of what he wanted to do. Understanding the engineering for a building would be key. He applied and was accepted to the University of Southern California School of Engineering. He got his engineering degree in 1919, and in 1921 he became a certified architect–the first certified African American architect west of the Mississippi.

During these years, he married Della Mae Givens (1917) at the first AME Church in Los Angeles (co-founded by Biddy Mason). They had two daughters and a son. (The son died during infancy.) Williams was a devoted and caring family man to his children as well as his grandchildren.

To Be a Black Architect

In 1921, Louis Cass, a white high school classmate, hired Williams to build a house for him. Cass recognized his friend’s talent but also saw the challenges Williams would face in getting hired by an architectural firm. Cass encouraged Williams to set up his own firm, which he did when he was only 28.

Williams learned that clients and builders sometimes didn’t realize he was Black. When they arrived at the office, he wrote: “their one remaining concern was to discover a convenient exit without hurting my feelings.”

Writing Upside Down

Williams wanted the work, so he thought about how he could put his clients at ease. He saw that people were uncomfortable when he needed to sit by them to show them a floor plan or a drawing. That was when he came upon the idea of learning to write upside down. If he sat on the opposite side of the table and worked “upside down,” writing or drawing clearly so that the work faced the client, then client and architect could still have a collaborative, productive discussion. It worked.

Making Strides

One of Paul Williams’s early jobs was a big one in Washington, D.C. He was hired as co-designer on the first federally funded public housing project, Langston Terrace in Washington, D.C. The project was undertaken under FDR, and it was the first public housing project that was open to African American families.

Williams was delighted for the work, but his trip to the East Coast exposed him to what it meant to travel through the Jim Crow south.   

Los Angeles Work

Over time, he began to get major commercial commissions in Los Angeles. He designed the Beverly Hills headquarters of Music Corporation of America and the interior of the retail outlet in Los Angeles for New York’s Saks Fifth Avenue. The Beverly Hills Hotel hired him to oversee a restoration which included the famous Polo Lounge and the Fountain Coffee shop.

In 1945, he was hired to plan a unit of the L.A. General Hospital, thus becoming the first African American to design a major public building.

When the Los Angeles International Airport determined that their center property should feature a building that harked to the future, he and designer William Pereira came up with the flying saucer look that straddles Los Angeles International Airport.

Architect to the Stars

Celebrities saw the interesting work that Paul Williams was doing, and he soon was working for many of them. His portfolio included Frank Sinatra, Lucille Ball/Desi Arnaz, Tyrone Power, Lon Chaney, Bert Lahr and Zsa Zsa Gabor.  Though the homes of the stars were in locations like Bel Air, Beverly Hills, and San Marino, Williams knew that those locations would not yet welcome African Americans.

Designing for African Americans, Too

Though he was very successful working for white Californians, Paul Williams didn’t want to forget his roots. He often chose to accept jobs for African Americans. Among the buildings he designed were the Second Baptist Church and the 28th Street YMCA, Los Angeles’ first Y for “colored boys and young men.” Among the Williams touches were hand-carved images of Booker T. Washington and Frederick Douglass.

He served on several statewide commissions and for eleven years he served as president of the Los Angeles Municipal Art Commission. He gained influence and added awards, commendations, and honorary degrees and he continued to give back to Los Angeles.

Paul Revere Williams and His Legacy

His granddaughter, Karen E. Hudson, created a wonderful legacy about Paul R. Williams, Paul R. Williams, Architect, a Legacy of Style—Rizzoli. In the book, she includes a quote from an essay written by Williams about the racial divide: “Inevitably such contacts [client contacts between black and white] have influenced my beliefs about the relationship, present and future, between the races in America. I see a present which demands a closer bond of understanding. I foresee a future in which the two races, although forever divided, and rightly so, will work side by side toward the achievement of common goals which are not racial.”

While today’s readers might take issue with the added “and rightly so” that may have been necessary at the time Williams wrote it in 1937, most would agree that Williams was correct in predicting that over time more people would be working toward racial-free goals.

*** On the other coast, another Black family was making progress as architects and builders. To read their story, see Woman-Owned, Minority-Owned Construction Company: McKissack & McKissack.

Margaret Knight is best remembered as the inventor of the machine that makes flat-bottomed paper bags.  This was a 19th-century innovation that still influences machinery today. However, that single achievement only scratches the surface of her story.  

Knight had a brilliant mind for mechanical problems, and she was confident in her abilities.  Early in her career, a machinist copied her invention and tried to patent it for himself. When Margaret Knight realized what had happened, she did not hesitate. She scraped together her money and hired a patent attorney to right the wrong.

To understand Margaret Knight, people need to recognize her for her creativity and her grit. She was a talented problem-solver who never stepped away from defending her accomplishments.

Growing Up

Margaret Knight (1838–1914) was born in York, Maine, the youngest of three children. Perhaps influenced by her two older brothers, she never played with dolls and loved crafting toys for herself and her brothers. She became known in the area for her superior kites and sleds.

The family was torn by the death of her father when Margaret was still a child. Margaret’s mother heard there was work in New Hampshire in the cotton mills, so the family moved there. Mrs. Knight and her boys took jobs at Amoskeag Manufacturing Company. When Margaret was 12, she joined them.

Mill Work

Margaret was at work on the line one day when a shuttle flew off its moorings. Shuttles are very sharp, and one flying loose was  dangerous. This one injured a woman working near Margaret.

Because Margaret witnessed the accident first hand, she was able to puzzle through what happened and why. She came up with two solutions—one that would keep the shuttle from flying off the loom; the other was a way to cover the tip of the shuttle to reduce the danger.

Knight approached management with her solutions on how to prevent another accident. The supervisor put Margaret’s idea into practice, and it made for a safer workplace. Margaret Knight was too young to know about patents then, so she did not profit financially from her extra work. However, the experience offered her an excellent education for the future.

Illness

While working at the cotton mill, Knight became ill and had to leave her job. There is no documentation as to what caused her illness, but many mill workers suffered from “brown lung” from the cotton dust and lint that blew around the factory. This caused workers to be prone to suffer chronic coughing, asthma, and severe respiratory failure.

Once she was feeling better, she looked for other employment. For a time, she worked at an upholstery shop and then moved on to a company specializing in photography.

Paper Bag Company

In 1867, Margaret Knight was living in Springfield, Massachusetts, and working at the Columbia Paper Bag Company.  Women were paid one-third of what male coworkers received, but she was glad for the work.

The factories at that time had simple machines that made V-bottom bags. Flat bottom bags were also made by the factory, but they had to be put together by hand.

Knight’s first job was as a bag bundler, tying up the machine-made envelope-style bags for shipping. From her vantage point at the end of the production line, she could see the workers guiding the simpler bags along from machine to machine. She also watched as another group—mainly women— painstakingly cut, folded, and glued what would be each flat-bottom bag. Because this labor-intensive process was so slow, flat-bottom bags were an expensive luxury item for merchants.

As Knight worked at her job each day, she also thought about how these processes could be automated.

Crafting Her Ideas

At the end of each day, she returned to her boarding house to test out what she felt would work. Her first invention was for a machine that improved on the V-bottom paper bag. For the patent, she called it a “paper feeding machine.” In 1870, she received a patent on that invention. She then applied her efforts to figuring out how a machine could be used to make a flat-bottom bag.

Working Model for Flat-Bottom Bag Machine

A few months later, she had a working wooden model that she was pleased with. Some who saw the device said it was “rickety,” but it cut, folded, and glued over 1,000 bags during her testing phase.

Just as she had done with her application for the “paper feeding machine,” Knight needed to find a mechanic’s shop where they could make her a working model in iron. She chose a machinist in Boston to help her.

The machine was extraordinarily complex, so in addition to leaving all her paperwork for the machinist, she checked in regularly to oversee what was being done.

Here’s How It Worked

The process starts with a roll of brown paper. A feeding mechanism draws the paper into the machine, where the paper is cut to size and then rolled into a tube.

Folding arms guide the edges of the paper inward to make a seam, along which a paste wheel applies adhesive. The paper is then pressed flat.

To create the flat bottom, special blades fold the sides of the paper inward. The top is left open and then the machine folds the two remaining flaps down over each other to create the flat bottom. As the folding arms move the flaps into place, glue applicators (timed by the machine’s gears) stamp onto the flaps the exact amount of adhesive to hold them shut. Finally, the completed bag is pushed through a set of heavy pressing rollers to firmly seal the glued bottom.

Ultimately, the finished bag is then ejected from the machine.

Margaret Knight clearly knew what she was doing. Her machines worked.

Knight’s Idea Stolen and Copied

During the time the machinist in Boston was working on Knight’s iron model, Charles Annan, another machinist, stopped in to visit. He noted what his friend was working on for Knight.

Annan saw the brilliance of what she developed, and he felt there was money to be made. He copied as many of the materials as he could and raced back to his own shop to make his own working model. He then submitted a patent application under his own name.  

When Margaret Knight received a message that her prototype was completed, she stopped by and picked it up. She brought with her the detailed paperwork she had prepared and took everything to the Patent Office.

Only then did she learn that someone had filed for the same device days ahead of her. 

But Charles Annan underestimated her. Knight was resolute, knowing full well who had put in the thousands of hours of sketching, problem-solving, and building to make the machine a reality. She was fully prepared to prove it though it would be costly. She scraped together what money she had and hired a patent attorney. She then sued Charles Annan for patent interference.   

Annan’s Defense

Annan claimed his device was somewhat different, and therefore, he deserved the patent. However, other sources noted that he told some people that he didn’t believe a woman possessed the mechanical ability to conceptualize such a complex machine.

Knight was a meticulous worker and had complete documentation of all the steps she took in creating her invention. She gathered her early journal entries and detailed mechanical drawings. She also gathered testimonies from everyone from the people in her rooming house to the machinists who built her prototypes.

The court case took 16 days, proving very costly for Knight, but she was determined. Ultimately, the judge for the patent office ruled in her favor. Charles Annan’s patent was thrown out, and Margaret Knight was rightfully granted the flat-bottom paper bag machine.

Knight’s machine was an important invention. It turned the flat-bottom paper bag from an expensive, hand-crafted luxury into the cheap, disposable basic bags we use today.

Knight’s Company Already Making Bags

In 1870—before her patent was granted–Margaret Knight and a business partner set up Eastern Paper Bag Company to make the bags. Knight overcame resistance as a factory boss because workers saw that she had complete command of the machinery and the factory process.

Once she received her patent, Knight made a new arrangement with her business partner. She asked for a royalty on the profits (capping her take at $25,000). The business partner was left to run the factory, and Knight was free to focus on inventing.

More Work Ahead for Margaret Knight

Her 1871 patent victory was just the beginning of a long, prolific, and highly unusual career for a woman in the 19th and early 20th centuries. She spent the rest of her life as a full-time, professional inventor.

She rented space in Framingham, Massachusetts. This gave her a place to experiment with what she was working on. Most of her devices had to do with manufacturing. One was a machine for boring holes, another was for a numbering machine, and yet another pertained to making windows and sashes. These were the types of challenges that interested her.

But Framingham was the seat of shoe manufacturing, so she heard new stories and wondered about ways to improve shoemaking. Between 1883 and 1894, she received six patents for massive, complex shoe-manufacturing machines. These included devices for cutting shoe soles and stitching different parts of the shoe together, which helped further automate another major American industry.

Automotive Industry

The automotive industry was making progress in the early 20^th century, and though Knight was in her 60s by this time, she paid attention to what was happening there.  Between 1902 and 1914, she designed and patented several components for internal combustion engines and rotary motors. She also patented a sleeve-valve automobile engine, a motor drive, and a compound rotary engine.

It was virtually unheard of for a woman of her generation—let alone one in her 70s—to be designing heavy automotive engines.

Fame Much Later

Margaret Knight passed away in Framingham in 1914. She was 76 At her death, she held patents for 22 inventions and had assigned patents for an estimated 60 more to her employers or financial backers.

Margaret Knight never cared about being interviewed or photographed for her inventions. She was always thinking about her next challenge, so the lack of recognition probably didn’t bother her.

But she was too talented to ignore. In 2006, she was posthumously inducted into the National Inventors Halls of Fame for her flat-bottom paper bag machine (Patent No. 116,842).

And the Smithsonian Institution has permanently preserved her working model of the paper bag machine. This is an honor afforded to only a few inventions of the 19^th century.

Margaret Knight is often remembered for one particular invention, but the true acclaim she deserves lies in her brilliant, problem-solving mind, her tenacity, and her indomitable spirit. She was far more than the creator of a single machine; she was a visionary who never backed down from a challenge. The work she did resulted in automating many businesses.

“The road to success is always under construction,” says Cheryl McKissack Daniel, President, CEO and now Chair of the Board of McKissack & McKissack, a New York construction company involved in many major infrastructure projects.

In her position as company head, Cheryl Daniel represents the fifth generation of the oldest family-run minority and woman-owned design and construction firm in the country. For more than a century, McKissack family members have stood on the shoulders of the previous generation to build what is now a multimillion-dollar company with almost 200 employees.

The company was founded in Nashville, Tennessee, in 1905 by Cheryl’s grandfather, Moses III (1879-1952). Cheryl McKissack Daniel’s father, William DeBerry McKissack (1925-1988), took over in 1968 and ran the company until 1983 when he suffered a heart attack. Next, his wife and Cheryl’s mother, Leatrice Buchanan McKissack, stepped in to manage and grow the business. She was succeeded by her daughter, Cheryl McKissack Daniel, who still runs the business.

Today their clients include infrastructure projects ranging from transit hubs to data centers.  As of 2026, the firm is currently a key player in several “generational” projects that will define NYC for the next decade. This includes the $9.5 billion New Terminal One at JFK Airport and the ongoing LaGuardia Airport redevelopment. Their involvement in these massive, multi-year contracts provides a stable financial “floor” for the business through the late 2020s.

About 15 years ago, I had the good fortune to write a story about McKissack & McKissack. I’m updating it and reprinting it here because Cheryl McKissack Daniel’s story is now in book form. The Black Family Who Built America: The McKissacks, Two Centuries of Daring Pioneers by Cheryl McKissack Daniel and Nick Chiles, published by Atria (Aug 2025). 

The Family Story in the U.S. Began with Slavery

For the family, working in the building trades to the first family member to arrive in this country. Their ancestor, Moses, was kidnapped from his home in West Africa; he was only 12 at the time. He arrived in the U.S. in 1790 and was purchased by a Scotsman named John McKissack. McKissack provided him with a surname and put the slave to work in the brick-building and construction business McKissack ran with his son, William.

The story expands when William McKissack’s daughter, Susan, caught the eye of a French Huguenot, but the young man’s father opposed the marriage. All the other men in the family lineage had married a “Sarah.” Nathaniel Frances Cheairs IV’s father wanted his son to hold out for a woman with the correct first name. However, William McKissack felt the two young people belonged together so he offered an incentive: free bricks for a new home for the couple and slave labor to build it.  The slave, Moses McKissack, would be part of the deal.

Susan and Nathaniel were married in 1841. Construction on the house was delayed and was finally finished in 1855. The mansion now known as Rippavilla Plantation in Spring Hill, Tennessee, still stands and is open to the public as a museum and an educational site. (Leatrice McKissack is on their Board of Directors.)

Moses McKissack Freed

At some point, William McKissack granted Moses his freedom. Moses married a Cherokee woman. Together, they had 14 children, 12 of whom survived. His ninth son, Gabriel Moses II, was the one who followed his father into the building trades. Gabriel worked out of Pulaski, Tennessee, and became well-known as a craftsman and builder. He was highly sought-after for his intricate work building spiral staircases and adding beautiful finishing touches to buildings.

Two sons of Gabriel’s were interested in construction — Moses III (born in 1879) and Calvin (born in 1890). This is the generation that started the family business that exists today. Moses III began work in Pulaski but started getting jobs in other locations. He soon moved to Nashville where he formally began the business in 1905.

McKissack’s first big commission occurred in 1908 when he was hired to build the Carnegie Library at Fisk University. He obtained other plum assignments, building the home of Governor A.H. Roberts, dormitories at Roger Williams University, the AME Sunday School Union Building, and many residences and other churches. Four of the Nashville buildings built by the McKissacks are on the National Register of Historic Places.

Younger brother Calvin started his own company in Dallas, Texas. After building in both Texas and Oklahoma, he accepted a teaching position and came to Nashville where he devoted part of his time to helping his brother with the business.

New Requirement for Licenses in Architecture

The McKissacks were very much in demand, but in 1922. But Tennessee — along with some other states — began requiring building designers to be licensed. Up until this date, builders developed designs and executed what they planned.

Moses and Calvin began taking a correspondence course to learn the technicalities they would need to pass the exam. When they appeared before the state licensing board, the administrators did not want to permit the two Black men to take the test. This was unheard of.

“After discussing it among themselves, the board supervisors reluctantly decided it wouldn’t do any harm,” explains Cheryl McKissack Daniel. “It was unlikely that the men would pass the test anyway, so why not let them take it and fail?”

Both men passed, sending the administrators back into a huddle. Now what could they do to keep the men from getting their licenses?

By that time, the national press heard the story and was writing about the discriminatory practice. Negative publicity about Tennessee was increasing, so the board of administrators decided to award the licenses.

Then the board itself pushed for the men to be given licenses in 22 additional states.

Company Continues to Grow

Moses and Calvin were getting work throughout the South. As black businessmen, they knew the only safe time to travel was during the day, and they could not stop along the way because of Jim Crow laws. They had to carefully plan their travel and eating so that they could be at a friend’s or relative’s home by nightfall.

Both men were community leaders. Moses was director of the National Negro Business League of America and was a major stockholder in Penny Savings Bank of Nashville and the Universal Life Insurance Company of Memphis. Calvin was president of the Negro Board of Trade and was also a trustee at Fisk University.

In 1942, the men received national recognition when they secured the contract to build the 99th Pursuit Squadron Air Base at Tuskegee, Alabama. The job grew to be an almost $8 million dollar deal. At the time, it was the largest government contract ever awarded to African Americans. In 1942, Moses and Calvin were awarded a Spaulding Medal for operating the outstanding Negro business for that year.

During the Roosevelt administration, Their College Hill housing development in Nashville had come to national attention. The McKissack plans were for a master-planned community that directly challenged the discriminatory housing practices of the mid-20th century.  The plans included over 400 families living in a mix of single-family homes, duplexes, and apartment units. (Some of it is still standing.) As a result of this work, Moses McKissack was invited to the White House to confer on housing issues.

Succession

At Moses’ death in 1952, Calvin stepped in. Calvin had no children, so when he passed away in 1968, Moses’ son, William, succeeded him.

William had three daughters, Andrea, and twins, Cheryl and Deryl. Given the era, his initial dream was that the girls would marry and sons-in-law would join the business. But perhaps from the beginning, his parenting style went against this plan. On many nights and weekends when William returned to work, he took the girls with him. They were kept busy tracing documents or working with T-squares and rulers.

Clearly, the underlying family message was one of equal opportunity.

Graduation

In 1983, Leatrice traveled to Washington, D.C. The twins were graduating from Howard University. Leatrice would attend the ceremony, while William remained at home to organize a big graduation party. 

Unfortunately for the family, William McKissack suffered a heart attack. He never fully recovered, so other plans needed to be made for the business. After some thought, Leatrice knew she was best suited to step in. Lea had been a homemaker, but she was well-educated and aware of the issues her husband dealt with. She frequently accompanied him on trips to various jobs, so she heard him talk about the various client issues.

Telling the Extended Family

Many relatives worked in the business or had money invested, and they were all concerned. When Lea and the girls returned to Nashville, a meeting was scheduled, and over some objections, Lea announced her plan. “My husband ran a wonderful business, and I often said, “The good Lord let me rest for 15 years and then put me to work.”

“I found it more trouble being a woman than being an African American,” Lea said recently in a phone interview. “I had four brothers; I was the only daughter. We were all given the same education, and my parents always told me I could be anything.”

She took the company in hand and ran with it. In 1990, Leatrice B. McKissack was honored by President George Bush with the award for National Female Entrepreneur of the Year.

McKissack & McKissack Today

Cheryl McKissack Daniel grew up knowing she would work in the building industry in some way. She trained as a civil engineer, and an early job involved working as part of the team building missile silos. After a couple of years at Weidlinger Associates, she moved on to the “estimate” division at Turner Construction, a job she describes as excellent training for anyone.

Cheryl was not the only family member to follow the family passion; older sister Andrea was trained as a civil engineer and spent many years as an interior designer for Stickley, only recently retiring. Cheryl’s twin sister Deryl became an architect and runs McKissack & McKissack of D.C. The company provides architecture, engineering, program and construction management services in Washington, D.C., Chicago and Los Angeles, and Deryl was the chief architect for the Martin Luther King Memorial, established on the Mall in Washington in 2011.)

Moved to Nashville

Shortly thereafter, Cheryl, then living in New York City, decided she could ease the burden on her mother by commuting to Nashville to help out for a couple of days each week. After a couple of years of commuting, Cheryl Daniel set up a New York office. She began specializing in design and planning, but she soon found that she preferred construction. “The jobs span a longer time, and for that reason, they can be more profitable,” she says.

In 1999, her mother was ready to get out of the business, so Cheryl bought the company from her. Now her mother sits on her board of advisors, and the New York office is the hub of all activity.

Other Jobs

Cheryl McKissack Daniel’s first big job was the Germantown High School in Philadelphia, and while the company still does some work in Philadelphia, the firm mainly works in the New York area. The company was also hired to relocate the Atlantic rail yards in Brooklyn so the Barclay Center could be built. During that time, the company also had to move Carlton Street Bridge.

McKissack & McKissack also worked to build the World Trade Center Transportation Hub as well as the construction of the more recent Tappan Zee Bridge.

Being a minority and woman-owned business helped McKissack& McKissack get a foothold on certain jobs. “The challenge — and a place where we have succeeded — is converting that client contact into a long-term relationship,” says Daniel.

In 2005 McKissack & McKissack was hired to demolish Harlem Hospital in preparation for its re-building. They were kept on as a subcontractor for the construction phase. One of the issues Daniel felt strongly about was hiring workers from the community. As they began accepting resumés, Daniel saw that they had so many applicants that they could funnel workers to other businesses looking to hire. McKissack now has a Harlem office on 125th Street and still helps companies who are looking for qualified applicants.

Success Continues

Today McKissack & McKissack manages a portfolio of projects valued at over $50 billion (including the $9.5 billion JFK New Terminal One and the massive LaGuardia redevelopment).

This is quite an accomplishment for any business owner, but particularly notable because their success tells a particularly great American story.

***

During the time the McKissacks were building their business, another Black architect was finding a way for himself as well. Read Paul Revere Williams,Prominent L.A. Architect.

For decades, Horn & Hardart’s Automats served as a singular social crossroads within the urban fabric of New York and Philadelphia. It was a regional restaurant business beloved by the locals who frequented it, yet mythologized by a national media that saw the restaurants as unique and powerful social equalizers. Any customer who had a nickel could come in and enjoy a cup of coffee or a piece of pie. 

After a humble start with a single lunchroom in Philadelphia in 1888, Joe Horn and Frank Hardart went on to build a chain of restaurants that featured quality food at affordable prices.  To Frank Hardart’s great pride, they also served a French drip coffee that Hardart had long dreamed of introducing nationwide.  Hardart’s New Orleans brew was a great improvement over the boiled coffee that was the staple of most American restaurants. 

How They Grew

Both Joe Horn and Frank Hardart dreamed of running their own restaurants. When they initially teamed up and began with a small lunchroom, they were perfectly happy. After that beginning, they envisioned success as a chain of Philadelphia lunchrooms for working people.

But then a call from a European restaurant equipment salesman changed everything.  The fellow was representing a company that made an ornate brass-trimmed wall of glass that partitioned a restaurant’s front of the house from the kitchen. The partition featured small windows showing actual dishes that could be purchased (a sandwich, pie, macaroni and cheese).

The system worked like a vending machine. The customer inserted a coin in the slot by the dish he or she wanted. The coin triggered the opening of the small door, and the customer could reach in and remove the plate and take to the table. Behind the scenes much work was involved with making this happen, but to a customer it seemed magical—automatic.  The restaurants became known as “The Automat.”

It was clever; it was unique; and it meant that (almost) no waiters were needed.

The memory of Horn & Hardart’s Automat lies in the great coffee, good comfort food, and the pseudo-technology of waiter-less restaurants. But the true wonder of the restaurant chain begins with the two men who founded it.

The Men: Joe Horn and Frank Hardart

Joe Horn (1861-1941) was born into a big family in Philadelphia. His father died while Joe was young, leaving the children’s mother to manage the family’s successful surgical supply business.

Catharine Horn wanted her sons to go into their own businesses, but her grounding was in manufacturing. When Joe asked his mother to stake him in a restaurant, she responded with a firm no. She wanted him focused on a business that seemed more reliable than food service. Instead, she sent him to California (and eventually Boston) to look for other ideas.

But Joe was deeply interested in food. No matter where he went, all he could talk about afterward were the fascinating restaurants he visited. Horn found his greatest inspiration at Thompson’s Spa in Boston. He admired how the simple restaurant served quality food to working people quickly—a model he aspired to replicate.

His mother finally believed him, giving him $1000 in seed money. He was elated, but he was wise. His travels showed him that there was a lot he still didn’t know—he didn’t want to make a mistake.

Elsewhere: Frank Hardart

About 1200 miles away in New Orleans, another fellow was wrestling with his plans for the future. Frank Hardart’s family emigrated from Bavaria when Frank was 8. They had no money, so when the ship docked in New Orleans, they stayed.

By the time he was 13, Frank Hardart (1850-1918) was washing dishes in a small restaurant in the French Quarter. Because the owner was rarely there, Frank also cooked, served, and closed up at night. It was a big job with little pay ($3 per week). Frank soon realized it was the best education he could have ever gotten.

Loved the Coffee

As Frank learned the business, he saw that New Orleans residents, from upper-class families to the working class, shared a deep devotion to their coffee. The city’s preferred method was the French drip, where hot water was poured over freshly ground beans held in a cloth bag. This produced a smooth, aromatic cup of coffee that stood in sharp contrast to the bitter “boiled coffee” common in the rest of America. That process often scorched the grounds or reused them until they were tasteless.

Hardart experimented constantly with different beans and grind levels, but he never strayed from the New Orleans method. By the time he was twenty, he had worked in several restaurants and gained a solid understanding of the industry, yet his true obsession remained the coffee. He was convinced that Americans would love this better coffee if they just knew about it.

Centennial Exposition

In the 19th century, people in Europe and the United States loved attending expositions (also called World’s Fairs) with displays from all over the world. For the public, it was an opportunity to learn about different countries at a time when few people could afford to travel. For vendors, it was the perfect showcase for their products.

Frank Hardart aspired to attend Philadelphia’s Centennial Exposition in 1876. The trip would be expensive for him, but he wanted to see whether he could make any connections for selling his drip coffee. 

Unfortunately, Hardart had no luck with his offering. He loved the energy of Philadelphia and was fascinated by all the items displayed at the exposition, but he went home with no buyers. 

After returning to New Orleans, Frank took another restaurant job and married. Soon, he and his wife were raising a young child. Despite these new roots, Frank convinced his wife that their future lay in Philadelphia, where he could finally realize his dream of introducing his superior coffee in a major city.

Philidelphia Restaurant World

By 1888, both future partners were living in Philadelphia, but they had not yet met.

 Frank Hardart arrived early in 1888 and took up residence in a rooming house. (His family followed a bit later.) Hardart took a job in a local restaurant, but he still wanted a way to introduce his coffee.

Joe Horn now had the financial backing of his mother, but he was cautious. He knew the stakes were high, and he didn’t want to goof up at this stage. Horn decided to advertise for a partner, specifying in the ad that the person he was looking for “should be someone who knew and loved the nuts and bolts of the restaurant business.”

To Horn’s disappointment, his advertisement received no response. Then two weeks later, an envelope arrived from a local rooming house. Inside was a note scrawled on the torn-off top of a sugar bag: “I’m your man!” It was signed F. Hardart.

While the presentation wasn’t exactly promising, it offered possibility. The two men met and agreed their goals could align. On the strength of a simple handshake, Joe Horn, 27, and Frank Hardart, 38, became partners.

Their first weeks together involved a street-by-street search of downtown Philadelphia. They found a tiny, 11-by-17-foot lunchroom at 39 South 13th Street, directly opposite Wanamaker’s Department Store. That would be their first location.

First Horn and Hardart Restaurant

On December 22, 1888, the first Horn & Hardart restaurant opened. There were no tables—just a long counter, and 15 stools.  The two men worked with pride. It was the beginning of their plan to serve good food for the working class.

On opening day, Joe Horn took the front of the restaurant while Frank Hardart was in the kitchen, cooking the food and preparing his special coffee.

Later in the week, people stopped in saying, “You have the best cup of coffee in town!” Soon enough, they had lines around the corner at lunchtime.

Adding new restaurants was the next priority.  They began picking up land or renting space in old buildings where they could establish new lunchrooms.

Sales Call Changes Plan

In the early 1900s, a European salesman heard about the duo that was setting up lunchrooms in Philadelphia and paid them a call. He wanted to introduce Joe Horn & Frank Hardart to a restaurant feature that was becoming popular in Europe.

The device was a mechanized partition that created a “waiter-less” restaurant. The mechanism wasn’t a machine in the modern sense—there were no motors or electrical belts, but it was interesting. The salesman presented them with drawings of the “machine,” which depicted a brass and nickel divider with many small compartments with glass doors. When a customer inserted a coin (or a token), the door popped open and a prepared dish could be removed.  While staff had to monitor and maintain the food in each slot, the customers could serve themselves. To restaurant patrons, it seemed instant and “automatic.”

Both Horn and Hardart were intrigued, but this would mean a huge investment. Frank Hardart worked out plans for a trip to Europe to see exactly how these things worked.

The European Version

The highly ornate devices used in Europe were beautiful and reduced staffing needs in the dining room, but for the kitchen staff, the work was about the same—only it had to be done faster. In the original European models, the glass compartments displayed only inedible samples rather than actual portions of food.

When a customer inserted the first coin, a bell rang to alert the kitchen staff as to the dish that needed to be readied. A few minutes later, the dish was available. Many kitchens were located on the floor below, so the food was brought up by a dumbwaiter, and the employee tending the back of the partition made it available to the customer.

As the system progressed, restaurant owners began to place simpler dishes (a cold sandwich or a piece of pie) directly into a compartment. That way customers could immediately access those selections. But in general, the European model was just a first step in what eventually was to become a more “automated” model.

Making the Evaluation

On his trip to Europe, Frank Hardart liked the new open feeling of the restaurant’s dining room. The primary person in the front of the house was a cashier who sat in a glass-enclosed box and made change for customers. No maitre’d was present.

Hardart saw that the customer-facing operation seemed smooth, but he noted how hard the employees in the kitchen worked to carry out the process. The staff had to keep close tabs on all the windowed compartments to assess which dishes were needed. Then the cooks needed to work quickly to live up to the idea that the food was available “automatically.” 

Overall, Hardart liked the concept and felt there were ways they could modify it for a Philadelphia restaurant. After consulting with Joe Horn, they decided to invest the $30,000 and have a unit sent to the United States.

The mechanized partitions were not easy to make, so after the order was placed Horn and Hardart knew it would take a full year for delivery. That gave them time to plan out what would be a new style of restaurant. 

Thinking Through Their Needs

Both Joe Horn and Frank Hardart believed in a refined atmosphere for regular customers. As they made their plans, they aspired to make their new restaurant elegant. They believed that high-quality food and beautiful architecture should belong to everyone, regardless of what was in any customer’s wallet.

Their lunchrooms had done well, so they could afford to furnish the restaurant nicely. They envisioned marble-topped tables and wooden chairs. Some tables would be eight-top for communal dining. Others would be for smaller group seatings.  

They also saw changes in the population in the city. Women were entering the work force as clerks, stenographers, and secretaries. They wanted a safe place to get a quick lunch that was efficient and made them feel respected. 

Their staffing needs would be different too. No maitre’d or waiters would be there, but every restaurant would need “nickel throwers”—women who could quickly knock off nickels from a roll of coins so that customers would quicky have in hand the coins they needed for the Automat.

The men saw from the European locations that black uniforms with gloves were the best choice. On both sides of the Atlantic, coins were dirty. Without gloves, the women’s hands were soon tinged with gray. 

As customers entered the restaurant and picked up their needed coins, they were free to sit wherever they wanted. A business executive who popped in for a bowl of soup might find himself at the same table as a secretary finishing a cup of coffee.  Everyone was equal.

Dispensing Drinks

The partners saw, too, that beverages also needed to be served from the vending wall. They knew from the start that they would need dedicated coin-operated dispensers for milk, tea, and coffee. By automating the drinks, they eliminated the need for waitstaff to weave through the dining room with heavy trays.

Initially the drink dispensers were simple and efficient. But on a scouting trip to Europe several years later, Joe Horn, became transfixed by the ornate fountains of Florence. He commissioned silver dolphin-head spouts for all the drink dispensers. These soon became an iconic part of the chain.

Waiting for Delivery

The partners were elated to hear that their partition was finally complete and en route to Liverpool to be sent by ship to America. However, their excitement was short-lived. Shortly after leaving port, the vessel carrying their order collided with another ship in a dense fog off the English coast and sank.

The entire shipment was lost to the bottom of the sea. Nothing was ever retrieved; While the equipment was insured, the disaster forced Horn and Hardart to wait another full year for a replacement set to be manufactured and shipped

The House that Nickels Built

Another year passed before Horn and Hardart could finally open their new restaurant.  Finally, the first Automat in the United States was established at 818 Chestnut Street in Philadelphia. 

When the first customers arrived, they were amazed by the operation. If they wanted a piece of pie or a sandwich, then they dropped their nickel in the appropriate slot and turned the knob. When the door opened, they retrieved their desired dish. 

With hot food, the process was a little different.  A bell signaled to the kitchen staff that a customer wanted a hot dish—beef stew or macaroni and cheese, for example. The cooks heated up the dish and then it up to dining floor via a dumbwaiter. 

It was “slow” fast food, but for Philadelphians in 1902, watching their meal ascend from the basement was the height of technological magic.

More Automats

With the success of the first Automat in Philadelphia, Horn & Hardart opened a second one on Juniper Street. A third and fourth soon followed. During this time, Hardart continued to order the “wall of windows” from Europe, but they were at work on a new plan with their chief engineer, John Fritsche.

Fritsche was deeply involved in setting up each restaurant, and soon he was willing to take on the task of building a made-to-order wall for Horn & Hardart. The new design was more American—less ornate. It was made from glass and chrome and looked sleeker, more in keeping with America. Instead of the more ornate and heavier European look, Fritcsche used Carrara glass (milk glass), polished brass, and eventually chrome. The look was bright and sanitary. It was a perfect look for the day as Americans were beginning to worry more about food and cleanliness.

He also made the mechanics more workable.   He patented a knob system that could be twisted by the customer and the door sprang open. The sandwich or piece of cake was easily within reach. He also added a rotating metal drum that made it “automatic” for food to be replaced. A worker on the other side of the wall could simply rotate a fresh plate into the empty slot. This allowed the “wall of windows” to stay constantly full, creating the illusion of a self-replenishing machine that never ran out of food.

Expanding to New York City

The pace of New York City with city dwellers traveling all over town and commuters making their way in and out of the train stations offered an environment that Horn and Hardart couldn’t resist. 

The first property they established was at 1557 Broadway (46^th Street) right in the heart of Times Square. As they undertook construction for this location, they spared no expense. They hired an artist to install a two-story stained glass surround to the main door, and the marble-topped tables and glass compartments trimmed with chrome were everything they could have dreamed of.   

With the opening of that restaurant in 1912, Horn & Hardart became a regional chain.

Continued Focus on Quality

While Frank Hardart maintained high coffee standards, Joe Horn felt the same way about the food. He wanted it to be consistently excellent throughout he restaurants in both cities.

Joe Horn assembled a 200-page manual to be used by all the restaurants. It covered everything from how to clean the coffee dispenser to how to prepare each dish. Instructions on how to monitor the food to be served was also important. Coffee dispensers were to be refreshed every 20 minutes and soup was never to be left uncovered. (If the soup had a lid, then the steam continued to recirculate and the salt and the flavoring remained consistent.)

With his eye on quality, Horn hired a master chef. Francis J. Bourdon had been trained at Cordon Bleu, but he was perfectly happy to have regular employment and to create good-tasting comfort food for working people.

Horn and Hardart Central Kitchen

Joe Horn also determined that each city needed a central kitchen from which to operate. If food was prepared in one place in large batches, the executives could check quality central location before the offerings were sent out to each location. The New York kitchen was at 50^th and 11^th Avenue, and Philadelphia’s central spot was near 10^th and Locust. 

Each day Horn and the top executives in Philadelphia and New York would gather at the “sample” table in their commissary kitchen. Each dish would be sampled, and if anything was even the slightest bit off, Horn was perfectly willing to trash the whole batch. After everything was approved, the containers of food were loaded on trucks and sent off to the various Automats.

Expansion Continued

By 1932, New York City had 42 Automat-cafeterias, and Philadelphia had 46 properties. About half of the restaurants in Philadelphia were lunchrooms. The rest were Automats.

As they watch the population needs change, Horn and Hardart also decided to sell prepared food from free standing retail stores. Their advertising slogan for these operations was “Less Work for Mother.”  She could heat up the food at home, but she didn’t have to prepare it.

Joe Horn Focused on Community

While Horn & Hardart worked their people hard, they also kept their eyes on what the staff needed. During the Depression, Horn & Hardart made certain that all staff members were fed at least one meal. 

Joe Horn had no family, so he treated the workers as extended family. He made sure they had disability insurance  and set up a loan program for people in need.  

How Horn and Hardart Became Part of Popular Culture

 How did a regional cafeteria concept become an enduring icon of American dining? The answer lies not in the “wall of windows,” but in the chain’s locations—they were in the heart of two important cities. Philadelphia was becoming the capital of the music business (Gamble and Huff and the Philly Sound), and New York was where the theater world thrived. 

While businesspeople, clerks, and secretaries were very much a part of the customer base, so were writers, composers, and actors. These people helped turn the Automat into a setting for a film, a scene for a Broadway show, or the subject of a song sung by the latest singer in vogue.  The most famous song specifically about the coffee (and pie) at the Automat is “Let’s Have Another Cup of Coffee,” written by the legendary Irving Berlin.

In the meantime, the New York Automats had Gene Kelly, Irving Berlin, Jimmy Stewart, Walter Winchell, Beverly Sills, Anne Bancroft, Dorothy Parker, Helen Gurley Brown, and Woody Allen coming in and out. Many weren’t luminaries at the time they first visited, but they rose to fame. As their careers progressed, they shared memories of the Automat, increasing its reputation and standing

To people in rural locations, the fact that movies were frequently set in the Automats, made it an iconic part of New York City. If you were coming in to see the Empire State Building, you just had to have a meal at the Automat.

Nearing the End

Automats remained popular into the 1960s, but the restaurants began to show their age as the popularity of true fast-food restaurants grew. At Horn & Hardart, the next generation of family stepped in with William Curtis, Joe Horn’s nephew, taking over.    

The new board saw that as office workers scurried for trains and buses to take them to the suburbs, the center-city business model was losing its restaurant magic.  The company tried setting up an Automat or two in shopping malls, but no one wanted comfort food if they could get a hamburger and fries.

Since Horn & Hardart had been taken public in 1960, there was added pressure to deliver shareholder value.  By the 1970s, Horn & Hardart prepared to pivot. They knew they had great value in real estate, so they secured franchise rights. They began gutting their own legendary Art Deco dining rooms to convert them into Burger Kings.

The business that was built on the personal integrity of Joe Horn and Frank Hardart was eventually dismantled. Horn & Hardart effectively stopped being a “restaurant business” and became a franchise holding company. 

In 1991, the very last Horn & Hardart Automat, located at 200 East 42nd Street in New York City, shut down, ending a nearly 90-year run of the regional chain. The ultimate irony of the Automat’s demise is that it wasn’t just defeated by modern fast food; it was consumed by it.

***

H and H Classic Baked Macaroni and Cheese

Horn & Hardart was known for its comfort food. What could be better than reprinting their recipe for Macaroni and Cheese?

(Yields 4 to 6 servings)

Ingredients:

• 1/2 lb. small elbow macaroni
• 1 1/2 Tbsp. unsalted butter (plus extra for greasing the baking dish)
• 1 1/2 Tbsp. all-purpose flour
• 1 1/2 cups whole milk
• 2 Tbsp. light cream (or half-and-half)
• 1 1/2 cups sharp cheddar cheese, freshly grated (avoid pre-shredded, as it won’t melt as smoothly)
• 1/2 cup canned diced or crushed tomatoes (drained slightly)
• 1/2 tsp. sugar
• 1/2 tsp. salt
• A dash of white pepper
• A dash of cayenne pepper

Instructions:

1. Preheat oven to 400°F and generously butter a shallow casserole or 8×8-inch baking dish.
2. Cook the elbow macaroni in salted water according to the package directions until just al dente. Drain well and set aside.
3. In a heavy-bottomed saucepan, melt the butter over low heat. Whisk in the flour, salt, white pepper, and cayenne. Cook for about 1 to 2 minutes, stirring constantly to form a smooth paste and eliminate the raw flour taste.
4. Gradually pour in the milk and light cream, whisking continuously. Raise the heat slightly to medium-low and bring it to a gentle simmer. Keep whisking for about 5 minutes until the sauce becomes thick, smooth, and coats the back of a spoon.
5. Remove the saucepan entirely from the heat. Add the grated cheddar cheese, stirring constantly until it is completely melted and the sauce is velvety.
6. In a small bowl, stir the sugar into the canned tomatoes. Gently fold this tomato mixture into your warm cheese sauce.
7. Fold the cooked macaroni into the cheese sauce, ensuring every noodle is perfectly coated. Pour the mixture into your prepared baking dish. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes, or until the edges are bubbling aggressively and the top develops a beautiful golden-brown crust.

Why is Election Day always on a Tuesday? This is a question I am often asked when I address groups about our election day history. 

In 1845, Congress chose the first Tuesday after the first Monday in November because it was the most convenient day for 19th-century farmers. They traveled on horseback or with wagons, so a Tuesday gave them travel time without interfering with Sunday church services or Wednesday market days.

That’s the simple answer, but there is more complexity behind it. 

Allowing for the Electoral College Timing

When voters cast a ballot for president every four years, they are actually voting for a slate of electors who meet in each state to cast their votes for a particular candidate. Those votes are then sent to Congress where they are officially counted, and the incoming president is announced. (This constitutes the Electoral College.)

The first effort for some sort of schedule and system began in 1792. At that time, electors met on the first Wednesday in December. Federal law specified that each state could choose its own electors, so long as it was within a 34-day window before the date when the electors would meet and cast their ballots.

Why a 34-Day Window?

The founding fathers picked 34 days out of respect for the lifestyles of the citizenry. Many landowners owned farms, and so they wanted to be sure the harvest was in. They also needed to allow travel time for people to arrive in town to vote.

But it was chaotic. States held elections at all different times. Government officials worried that if one state voted earlier than the others, then word of their vote might affect how people in other states voted. (We have a similar issue today, but they used to think they could control it.)

For that reason, Congress passed the 1845 law specifying that elections should take place the “first Tuesday after the first Monday…” keeping the date within the 34 days prior to the December Electoral College meeting date.  (The election of 1848 was the first time this new schedule was applied.)

However, like everything else in this world, “things change.” In 1887 the date of the meeting of the Electoral College was moved to the second Monday in January. Despite this, the states have maintained the “first Tuesday after the first Monday.”

More Changes: Earlier Voting and Mail-In Voting

As election officials evaluated voter turnout and listened to consumer feedback, states began coming up with changes that were intended to increase voter participation. (The Constitution specifies that states are in charge of elections.)  Administrators noted that citizens are more likely to vote if they don’t have to take time off from work or stand in a long line to cast their ballots.

As a result, states have tried offering many options over the last 20 years. Some states switched to more easily available mail-in ballots; others have broadened the opportunities for in-person early voting. Voting by mail or a more spread out time in which to vote also relieves the strain on poll workers.

In 2000, only about 14 percent of voters cast their ballots before Tuesday; by 2022, that number hit50 percent.

As of 2026, 47 states (plus Washington, D.C.) offer some form of early in-person voting. Three states—Alabama, Mississippi, and New Hampshire—do not offer early voting for general voters though people with specific excuses can usually vote absentee.

In some areas, states are making mail-in voting easily available as a way to increase turnout.   In California, Colorado, Hawaii, Nevada, Oregon, Utah, Vermont, and Washington, every registered voter is automatically mailed a ballot before the election.

Federal Push for Voter ID and In-Person Voting

Though some communities worry about the safety of our voting system, studies show that statistically voter fraud is not really an issue. Studies have been conducted by major non-partisan groups including the Heritage Foundation (leans right) and the Brennan Center (leans left), and there is very little abuse of the system.

Despite the low statistics on fraud, some states are working on change. Florida has just passed a bill that requires voters to show IDs to register to vote. (This change occurs in 2027.)

Other states, including New Hampshire, Wyoming, and Louisiana, have passed laws requiring proof of citizenship to register.

Until recently, Utah offered universal mail-in voting, but they just amended that law. By 2029, voters may still vote by mail, but they will need to “opt-in” instead of receiving a ballot automatically.

Another troubling change has been put forward by Ohio. Their state legislature passed a law that strictly limits the time for returning mailed ballots. This means a foul-up by the postal system could cause voters ballots to not be registered in time. Election administrators hope more people will vote in person as a result.

And while the current federal government continues to push for more alterations to tighten up the voting system, changes cost money. Most states are currently taking a “wait and see” approach. What will happen with the court battles in states like Florida and Arizona? (In Arizona, they have been wrangling over proof-of-citizenship laws for 20 years.)

Because studies show that the system is sound, many states figure they might as well wait.

So as you can see, Americans may still honor the first Tuesday after the first Monday as Election Day, but they actually vote at a wide variety of times and places!

Matthew Henson (1866–1955) was the ultimate American explorer—brave, skilled, and unbreakable. For decades, however, history relegated him to the shadows because he was Black.

Hired originally as a personal valet by well-known explorer Robert Peary, Henson proved to be far more than a servant. He was the critical asset that made Peary’s obsession with the North Pole possible. Yet, in 1909, when Peary and Henson reached what was determined to be the North Pole, Peary was hailed as a hero. Henson, the African American who actually reached the point first, was largely ignored.

Only much later was he recognized for his achievements.

Matthew Henson: The Early Years

Mathew Henson was born in Charles County, Maryland, in 1866 to freeborn Black sharecroppers. His father took the family to Washington, D.C. in search of better job opportunities. However, before the family could settle in, both parents passed away.  The children were left in the care of relatives.

At age 11, Matthew ran away and found work as a cabin boy on a ship. The captain saw that he was a bright boy. He helped him improve his reading, taught him navigation skills, and familiarized Henson with all aspects of running a ship. The captain died when Henson was 18. With the loss of his mentor, Henson returned to Washington, D.C. and accepted a job as a salesclerk for a furrier.

Henson became a favorite of the store owner, and one day when Robert Peary, then a civil engineer for the U.S. Navy, came in to purchase items for a future trip to the jungles of Nicaragua, the store owner suggested Peary hire Henson as his valet. The owner knew that Henson would bring many skills to the work Peary expected to do.

Became a Team

For the first four years of their 22 years together, they struggled with the challenges of the jungles of the Southern hemisphere. Then when Robert Peary committed to an Arctic exploration (Greenland), they needed to hone new skills.

As they worked together, they developed a pattern. While Peary focused on logistics and plans, Henson mastered the day-to-day reality of Arctic survival. He became fluent in the Inuit language, earning the trust of the local guides who affectionately called him Maripaluk (“Matthew the Kind One”).

Henson also became the team’s master craftsman, building the sledges himself using Inuit techniques that could withstand the brutal terrain. From training the dog teams to building igloos for shelter in sub-zero temperatures, Henson possessed a unique combination of technical skill and physical endurance. His knowledge and his ease with the dogs also made him the best person to move forward to break the trails.

Greenland

In the 1890s, explorers were obsessed with reaching the North Pole, and Greenland was considered both the Arctic gateway and the bootcamp for Arctic travel.

In 1891 Peary was ready to take on this first challenge with an exploration of Greenland.  But Peary and Henson had never experienced Arctic ice, and it was much more difficult to navigate. Arctic sea ice is unexpected in every way, shifting from towering, jagged pressure ridges that have been built up over years to crevices that drop into deadly rivers of black water.

As their ship rammed along the coastline trying to break through the ice, a massive chunk of ice struck the ship’s rudder. The force of the ice spun the heavy iron tiller (steering lever) onto the deck, pinning Pary against the wheelhouse and causing him to break his leg.

Many thought they should return home. Eventually part of the group departed, but Peary and Henson remained until 1893. During that time, Henson continued to hone his skills since much of the time, Henson was bedridden.

A few years later their return, Peary mounted another expedition to Greenland to go further north to chart the ice cap. That trip was ill-fated as well. It was a large group, and they ran out of food and supplies and had to resort to eating their sled dogs to survive.

The North Pole: Only 174 Miles Away

After their first effort to reach the North Pole failed, they tried again in 1902. During this expedition, six Eskimos hired to accompany them died from starvation. Again, they had to turn around.

In 1906, Peary and Henson came forward with renewed energy. Peary had been able to give input on the design of the S.S. Theodore Roosevelt that was intended to be an ice cutter. However, the ship was no match for the Arctic ice.  They reached a point farther than they ever had—only 174 miles from the Pole, but they could go no further.

Peary and Henson left the ship to sledge forward on their own (sledging in the Arctic describes going by foot, but men are compelled to push, pull, and drag their sledges, as the sledges have all their provisions). They were halted by a huge black river that was miles wide. They eventually found their way back to The Roosevelt.  The “174-mile heartbreak” trip was a huge disappointment.

Final Attempt in 1908-09: Racing the Sun

In 1908, Robert Peary and Matthew Henson were getting older. Peary was 52 and Henson was 42. They had been close to death several times, and they knew the brutal temperatures and difficult conditions would be even more challenging. What’s more, there could be no “next time.” They were simply too old.

The S.S. Roosevelt spent a year in a New York shipyard being rebuilt and repaired. Finally, on a scorching hot day in July of 1908, it was ready to go. Peary and Henson left with 24 men, 19 sledges, and 133 dogs.

As they had before, they took the ice cutter as far as possible. Then Peary and Henson left with sledges. They were going to cover this last leg of their trip with four Eskimos and 40 dogs. Henson was expected to break the trail. Peary followed behind in a sledge as he was suffering seriously from frostbite.

They took the position needed for the final push and waited out the Polar Night (January and early February) in their chosen location. When Henson started out in late February, they had a full moon that reflected off the white snow, providing enough silvery light to navigate. As twilight arrived (early March), they pushed further north, journeying on.

By April 6 when they arrived at what was deemed the North Pole, the sun was peeking above the horizon. As Henson traveled, breaking the trail, he feared he overshot the mark and tracked back, running into Peary’s group at that time.

As the two together moved forward, calculating carefully where the Pole must be, they found Henson’s footprints.  Unknowingly, he had actually reached the Pole by himself. Initially, no one really addressed the matter. They planted the flag, took photos and measurements to prove their achievement and bedded down for the night.

The Return Trip

They knew they had to race back to the ship to avoid the spring melt. While Arctic ice does not usually fully melt, it does open and shift in unexpected ways, and it’s a dangerous time for exploring.

Throughout their expeditions, Peary and Henson had a custom. When they were ready to leave each morning, Henson or Peary would rap on the ice outside the tent where the other slept. That morning, Robert Peary got up and departed alone. Relations were cold between the two men for the remainder of the trip.

Meanwhile Back in the States

When they returned to the United States, the news did not get any better. Frederick Cook, an explorer who had been on one of the Greenland missions with them, claimed he reached the North Pole a year ahead of them—1908. (While exploring in the arctic, no groups ever received news from elsewhere. Access was too limited.)

Peary was devastated and angry. Cook had already begun making speeches and accepting awards. The general feeling was that Peary had missed out, so he began talking to those who were said to have accompanied Cook on the trip. As he listened to their stories, Peary became suspicious. Perhaps Cook had not actually reached the North Pole.

Robert Peary got in touch with the National Geographic Society and asked that they undertake an investigation. Eventually, Cook’s claim was exposed as a hoax.

Peary Was Recognized; Henson Was Not

While Peary was celebrated with parades and special events, Matthew Henson spent the next several decades working as a clerk in a federal customs house. His role in history was largely erased, though in 1909, a group called the Colored Citizens of New York sponsored a dinner in his honor and presented him with a gold watch.

In his free time, Henson decided to write about his experience. In 1912,  A Negro Explorer at the North Pole  was published  (available online today at no charge through Project Gutenberg). The book expanded public knowledge of Arctic travel as he explained so much about what each journey entailed. From the book, we learn a great deal about the expedition, the Inuit people, and about both Peary and Henson—a remarkable add-on to an extraordinary career.

Peary provided a foreword for the book, though he seemed to use the space to cement his own legacy as the expedition’s mastermind rather than sharing the ultimate glory with the man who actually led the way.

Henson Acknowledgment Comes Slowly

Acknowledgment of Henson began to funnel in slowly. Until Peary’s death in 1920, Peary controlled the story, so there could be only one hero. After he died, other explorers who knew Henson and knew what the expedition entailed, began to step forward. In 1937, the prestigious Explorers Club invited Henson to become a member, and in 1948 the Explorers Club made him an “Honorary member,” a designation given to no more than 20 living members at a time.

In 1944, Congress awarded him a duplicate of the silver medal given to the rest of the Peary expedition. Ten years later, President Dwight D. Eisenhower welcomed him to the White House.

Just before his death in 1955, he was given an honorary doctoral degree from Howard University and Morgan State University.

Since that time, a survey ship has been named in his honor, and the National Geographic Society awarded Henson the Hubbard Medal to Henson posthumously. There have also been streets and schools and centers named for him.

Final Honor for Matthew Henson: Arlington Cemetery

When Robert Peary died in 1920, he received a burial befitting a hero. He was buried at Arlington National Cemetery. When Henson died in 1955, he was buried simply in a family burial plot at Woodlawn Cemetery in New York.

But in the 1980s, Professor Allen Counter of Harvard undertook a fight on behalf of the man he saw as the true hero. Counter had been studying the expedition and saw clearly that an injustice had been done to Matthew Henson. Henson’s contributions were not properly acknowledged. Professor Counter got permission from Presidnet Ronald Reagan to move Henson’s remains to Arlington Cemetery to be buried near Peary.

Henson and his wife Lucy were reinterred in Arlington with a monument that notes his accomplishments. Though Henson and Lucy never had children, Henson fathered a child with an Inuit woman, and that son and his children were present for the re-burial.

On Henson’s tomb is a quote from his autobiography: “The lure of the Arctic is tugging at my heart. To me the trail is calling. The old trail. The trail that is always new.”

Today, his monument stands directly next to Robert Peary’s, showing that on the ice, they were equals.

In the early 19th century, the American medical field was almost exclusively a men’s club. However, a few resilient women refused to accept the status quo, stepping forward as pioneers to carve out a new path.

Today, that landscape is shifting dramatically. While men currently account for 61% of active physicians in the U.S., women now make up the majority of medical students and residents. We are standing on the brink of a major demographic shift.

Below are the stories of six unsung women who challenged the establishment and moved the field of medicine forward.

Women Medical Leaders: Lydia Pinkham

Lydia Estes Pinkham (1819-1883) was one of the first people to take women’s health issues seriously.  She opened a closed door on the health matters that are unique to women. To help friends and neighbors, she created a vegetable tonic that helped with “women’s ills.” The family decided to package the product, and her sons soon took to the road to help place the tonic in stores.

Up until this time, women had no resources for health advice. Because Pinkham’s product became so popular, women wrote her for advice. Her responses were mostly common sense (eat well, exercise, and avoid the tight, restrictive clothing that was popular in the 19^th century). Eventually some of the advice was collected in pamphlets.

Though the compound has evolved to meet modern FDA standards, Lydia Pinkham’s Compound (now owned by Numark Brands) can still be found online and in major drug stores.

Clara Barton

Clara Barton (1821-1912) is well-known as the “Angel of the Battlefield”for her work during the Civil War. Later she brought the Red Cross to the U.S. and formed the American Red Cross.

Barton is less well-known for running the Office of Missing Soldiers. During the Civil War, the military had no official identification system. Sometimes soldiers caried a note in their pocket or wallet. Other times, their buddies buried them with something saying who they were.

Clara Barton set up an office in Washington, D.C. that operated from 1865-1867. She received 63,000 letters from families whose loved ones were missing, and she or her staff answered them all. They also managed to identify 22,000 soldiers.

Dr. Rebecca Crumpler

Dr. Rebecca Crumpler (1831-1895) was a Black woman who worked as a nurse for several white doctors in Massachusetts in the 1860s. She was so well-regarded by the men that they recommended her for admission the New England Female Medical College; she became the first African American to be admitted.  

Once she became a physician, she cared for Black patients in the Massachusetts area at a time when white doctors refused to treat people of color. At the end of her career, she wrote a home health guide for women about everything from nursing a newborn to managing cuts and wounds.  For the first time, households had a reliable reference as to how to manage various health issues.

Dorothy Harrison Eustis

Dorothy Harrison Eustis (1886-1946) was a dog breeder who became interested in training guide dogs for the blind.  While she was not a medical professional, her service to humanity was important to the health of people with impaired vision.

Eustis trained the first seeing eye dog brought to this country (1928). She went on to dedicate the rest of her life to breeding and training guide dogs. She and Morris Frank, the fellow who received the first dog she trained, created the school, The Seeing Eye. The school still operates today and continues to train and place dogs.

Dr. Virginia Apgar

Dr. Virginia Apgar (1909-1974) hoped to be a surgeon but she graduated from medical school during the Depression when men were taking all the available jobs.  She went into the relatively new field of anesthesiology. This placed her in delivery rooms where she had the opportunity to observe what happened with mothers and babies shortly after birth.

Apgar was alarmed that babies were only cursorily evaluated before being sent off to the hospital nursery. To solve the problem, she developed a method for assessing newborn health.  She originally called it the Newborn Scoring System, and it greatly changed the mortality rate for infants. The system is still used today but it is now referred to as the Apgar Score.  She then went on to run the March of Dimes.

Dr. Antonia Novello

Dr. Antonia Novello (1944–  ) grew up in Puerto Rico and became a physician. She is the first Latino to ever serve as U.S. Surgeon General. Appointed by President George H.W. Bush in 1990, she made many contributions to public health, among them working to improve medical care for women and minorities. 

Dr. Novello also targeted underage drinking and smoking, which involved a focus on cigarette advertising.  The cartoon image of Joe Camel was a particular target that she felt made smoking attractive to the young.

***

This information is based on my six-volume history of medicine as well as a speech I gave at Arizona State University for their Barrett Honors Program. If you’d like to see the full presentation given at ASU, click here:

Little-Known Women in Medicine Presentation with Kate Kelly.

Edmonia Lewis was a groundbreaking sculptor who achieved international fame during the 19th century. She was born to a Black Haitian father and a mother of Native American (Ojibwe) and African descent.

Sculpture was not a common art form in America at that time. The fact that Lewis achieved what she did is nothing short of remarkable.

Working almost entirely in white Carrara marble, Lewis’s style was neoclassical, but her subject matter often related to her upbringing. She created art forms that expressed her interest in social justice, racial identity, and gender. 

The artwork she left behind is extraordinary. Eight of her pieces are part of the Smithsonian collection.

Early Life

Edmonia Lewis (1844?-1907) and her family lived near Albany, New York, in what is now Rensselaer.  Her mother was a gifted craftsperson and weaver and may have inspired Edmonia’s love of beauty.

When Edmonia was a child, both parents died within a year of each other. She and her older half-brother were sent to live with her mother’s sisters. The women supported themselves by selling their hand-woven baskets to tourists visiting Niagara Falls and Buffalo.

Education

When her brother was old enough to leave home, he traveled West and had success as a gold prospector. Edmonia must have shown academic promise as he made an extraordinary offer for the era. He arranged to send Edmonia to college. 

She started at New York Central College, but it did not go well. Her brother suggested that she try Oberlin, a school that included women and people of color. 

Despite the school’s intended inclusiveness, Edmonia Lewis struggled. Other students mocked and shunned her. She was forced to leave before her last semester.

Learning from Abolitionists

She left the school with contacts that led her to a town just outside Boston (Woburn, Massachusetts) where many abolitionists lived. Self-taught sculptor Edward Augustus Brackett (1818-1908) was among the inhabitants, and she asked permission to study with him.

Written reports of her time there talked of how Brackett handed a lump of clay with an assignment: Make a foot (or a hand) and return for a critique. When she returned with what she crafted, he sometimes crushed it for her try again; other times, he offered advice and correction.

Edmonia Lewis came to the attention of journalist and social reformer William Lloyd Gararison who introduced Edmonia to people he thought might be future customers for her work. Union Colonel Robert Gould Shaw, the white lawyer who commanded the all-Black 54^th Infantry during the Civil War, was a revered member of the community. Shaw commissioned her to create a bust of him.

When the sculpture was completed, other people offered to buy it as well. Lewis created 100 plaster copies and sold them all. This brought her commissions for other projects. She did medallion portraits of John Brown and William Lloyd Garrison.

She longed to study in Rome where many sculptors had gathered. With the success of her recent sales, she was able to afford to become part of that community.

Moves to Rome

Lewis was intrigued by the neoclassical artwork being produced in Rome. The availability of her favored marble –Carrara marble—and the influence of the artists made a rich environment for her. 

She was also heartened to find a small group of women who were also working in marble. (American sculptor Harriet Hosmer was among them.)

Though the subjects of her art were still often American, they were likely to be dressed in classical robes and posed as if they were from the ancient world. She also sculpted mythical figures such as those of Hiawatha from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s famous poem.

Challenges for Women

Being a female sculptor was not easy. Most men hired laborers to shape a large piece of stone so that it’s more manageable for artistic development.  But both Lewis and sculptor Hosmer saw that wouldn’t work for them. The moment men were let in to the women’s studios, rumors would circulate.

Even when the marble mass weighted several tons, the women did all the work themselves.

Work Chosen for Centennial Exposition

One of Edmonia Lewis’s big successes was having her work accepted for the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia in 1876. The work chosen for the exhibition was The Death of Cleopatra.

In art at that time, the Egyptian queen was usually portrayed as a sleeping beauty.  Lewis rejected that scenario. She saw Cleopatra’s death—said to have come about from the bite of the asp (snake)– as much different scene.

As she worked, she developed a more realistic portrayal. Cleopatra’s head tilts back at an odd angle. One arm hangs down as if in sleep (or death). The other hand is in her lap, holding the asp that brought about her death. It is an intriguing depiction, particularly when compared with the views of a sleeping woman.

Once The Death of Cleopatra was delivered to Philadelphia, it became a “must-see” attraction. When the Centennial Exhibition ended, the sculpture was sent to be exhibited at an industrial show in Chicago.  

After that, the two-ton sculpture that stood about five feet tall was put into storage and disappeared from view.

Strange but True

While the exact sequence of what happened to the sculpture is not easy to trace, the next time The Death of Cleopatra is thought to have been on display was at a saloon near Chicago. (The price of the sculpture must have fallen to next to nothing.)

At the saloon, The Death of Cleopatra was purchased by a racetrack owner. The man had owned a beloved racehorse named Cleopatra. He saw the sculpture as the perfect way to commemorate his beloved horse. He had it transported to his racetrack in Forest Park, Illinois.   

For decades, the statue sat by the entrance to the racetrack. Thousands of people must have passed by it, never knowing what the sculpture was or who the artist was who made it.

When the racetrack went belly up, the property was turned into a golf course. Still Edmonia Lewis’s masterpiece sat there—unidentified and unappreciated. Eventually vandals came along who hacked away at it. It was also painted over several times.

By the 1970s, it was largely forgotten, sitting in a storage yard under a tarp.

Re-Found

In the 1980s, a Forest Park resident who was active with the local historical society was shown the sculpture. The man must have known something about art, as he sent a photograph of the piece to someone at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. What did they make of it?

Good fortune prevailed. Despite the damage and the added paint, a curator at the Met thought of contacting Marilyn Richardson, an Edmonia Lewis scholar. Robinson had spent decades unearthing more information about Edmonia Lewis. Robinson called in other experts, and they definitively identify it as the lost masterpiece.

In 1994, it was donated to the Smithsonian American Art Museum. Restoration experts began their work. Between the many years of exposure to Illinois winters and the destruction created by vandals, there was much to do.

Career Slows

Long before the disappearance of The Death of Cleopatra, Edmonia Lewis was struggling to get by, By the time the Centennial Exposition concluded, interest in the neoclassical style of art was fading. She wasn’t certain how to develop her work so that she could continue to sell what she crafted.  

She remained in Rome for a time, but then departed, intending to return to the United States.

No one seemed to keep track of her.  Later it was clear that she stopped off in London and never left. Years later, a researcher found a death certificate for her, noting her death in London in 1907.

This was a tragic conclusion for a remarkable artist who expanded the possibilities for artists from all backgrounds.  It is significant that eight of her works are owned by the Smithsonian. She will no longer be lost to time.

William Shemin’s heroic effort during World War I is a profound testament to valor, resilience, and the enduring American spirit. His heroism was undeniably documented by those who fought alongside him, yet the recognition he deserved was delayed for nearly a century by the systemic prejudice of an era that resisted embracing its Jewish soldiers.

Despite not receiving the Medal of Honor in 1919, Bill Shemin (1896-1973) remained fully devoted to the United States. He saw America through the eyes of his parents, who fled the brutal pogroms of Russia to find refuge and opportunity on American shores. To Shemin, military service was not just a duty, but a proud repayment to the nation that had welcomed his family.

He moved through the rest of his life with a quiet nobility, instilling a deep sense of hard work and patriotism in his children and grandchildren—several of whom followed him into military service.

Justice Served

His legacy eventually became a catalyst for justice. One of his daughters fought tirelessly for his record to be reconsidered for the honor he deserved. Eventually, the William Shemin Jewish World War I Veterans Act was passed by Congress in 2011. This landmark legislation ensured that military accomplishments of those who were discriminated against would be met with an open mind. This allowed Jewish veterans of the past to receive the honors they rightfully earned. It also brought about the review of other minorities. 

On June 2, 2015, William Shemin was honored posthumously with the Medal of Honor—the highest military honor in the country.

In addition, Harlem Hellfighter Henry Johnson, a Distinguished Service Cross recipient in World War I, received a well-deserved Medal of Honor in the same White House ceremony at which William Shemin was honored. The Shemin family has generously shared stories of Henry Johnson’s military experiences when Bill Shemin’s story has been being told.

William Shemin’s story was brought to my attention by a staff member at the Weitzman National Museum of American Jewish History where they have an exhibit about him. They also have an excellent online exhibit about Shemin’s life and military career. Click here for the online Shemin exhibit: Above and Beyond the Call of Duty.

Shemin’s Early Life

William Shemin’s parents came from Orsha (modern-day Belarus) in Russia.  The government of Tsar Alexander III urged attacks against the Jewish people. Because of the violence, families like the Shemins fled if they could.

When the Shemins arrived in America, they began life on the lower East Side where Bill was born. With the start of a family, the parents moved to Bayonne, New Jersey.

The suburban environment was a great place for raising children. Bill loved being outdoors and became a great athlete. When he was 15, he was recruited to play for the Bayonne Sea Lions, a semi-professional baseball team. He loved playing ball and appreciated that it was a job for which he was paid.

Forestry School

While he was still in high school, Shemin became aware of a new program that interested him. Syracuse University started a forest ranger school that was to be located in Wanakena, New York, in the heart of the Adirondacks. (The school would eventually become the New York State College of Forestry—the first ever in the country.) 

Shemin applied and was accepted to the school. When he arrived, the students were put to work building classrooms for the program. They literally helped build the school and its curriculum from the ground up. 

Shemin graduated in 1914 and worked for a few years as a ranger. The physical and mental toughness required for the job likely gave Bill Shemin the background for surviving and leading his men on the Vesle River in France.

World War I

When the United States ultimately entered World War I, Bill Shemin was still too young to enlist in the military.  At that time, the required age for military enlistment was 21. But Bill was determined to serve.

In a video interview, his daughter Elsie Shemin-Roth says that her father told his parents that if they didn’t support his enlistment, he would leave and never come home. With that, his father agreed to go with him to assure the enlisting officer that his son was eligible, having just turned 21.

With that, Bill Shemin joined the Army and was sent to basic training in Camp Greene, North Carolina. He was assigned to be a rifleman in Company G, 47^th Infantry Regiment, 4^thDivision (“the Ivy Division,”) with the American Expeditionary Forces in France.

At the time the Ivy Division arrived in France, the fighting was fierce. The Allied forces successfully pushed the Germans away from the Marne River, but by August 7, the Germans paused to dig in and fight. They were on bluffs above the north bank of the Vesle River. The town of Bazoches (by then in ruins) was just below.

The Germans knew the Allies would have to cross the river to attack them, so they maintained their position and hid machine gun nests within the ruins of Bazoches.  From the bluffs, they could disperse mustard gas into the valley with less risk to themselves. This dispersal worsened the situation for the Allies as this meant that troops could not fight without cumbersome gas masks.

Crossing the River

The order for the 47^th Infantry came down the line. They were to get across the river and take Bazoches. As the troops approached the river with the intent to cross it, they were pinned down along a wheat field that ran to the riverbank. During the daytime, soldiers crawled to avoid being seen, but the German machine guns fired relentlessly in a grazing motion, and sharpshooters excelled at picking out any sign of movement. 

The Ivy Division had no time to dig trenches, so the soldiers created “scrapes.” Each man had a tool that looked like a gardening trowel. They moved forward when they could. Then lying flat on the ground, they dug as quickly as possible.  Dirt that was removed was piled on the side of the scrape facing the river to help make each man less visible. The hope was to create something 6-12 inches deep. When the machine gun fire began again, they lay face down, hoping that they would not be hit.  They longed for the time and opportunity to dig foxholes but the best they could usually do was to dig scrapes.

They Persevered

Their goal continued to be to traverse the wheat field (about 150 yards—a football field and a half) to the riverbank and then to cross the river to take out the guns on the other side. Small groups were sent forward looking for the best route. (Not everyone could swim so the area needed to be clear enough that soldier could help soldier as they crossed.)

But the scouting  groups kept being shot down. Several times, Bill Shemin sprang up from his scrape and ran toward the river (and the German guns) to pull men back. One of the three men he saved during these days was Jim Pritchard who remained a lifelong family friend. Pritchard always told his own clan that if there hadn’t been a brave and heroic Bill Shemin, there would not have been any Pritchard descendants at all.

Shemin in Charge

By this time, German sharpshooters had picked off Company G’s officers. It was easy for the Germans to see the glint of their medals, and by this time, Company G was reduced to noncommissioned officers like Bill Shemin who was left to lead the rest of the platoon in a desperate swim across the river to the north side.

Eventually the Ivy Division got the platoon across the river. The Germans were well hidden within the rubble of Bazoches.  The Americans fought with valor, but the pressure was too great.  Bill Shemin saw that his group was greatly diminished in number, and the German onslaught was too powerful. He navigated the men back where they could secure themselves on the side of the Vesle River that they recently left.

Shemin was shot during the fighting in Bazoches, but he refused to stop. A machine-gun bullet pierced his helmet and lodged behind his left ear. His body was also riddled with shrapnel, but he kept going until he finally lost consciousness on the original riverbank where they started. His men got him to a location where an ambulance could take him to a field hospital.  

Hospitalization

Shemin spent the next few months in the hospital recovering.  When he was discharged, he still had shrapnel lodged in his back, and the hearing in his left ear was gone. He was offered an honorable discharge to return home, but Bill Shemin wouldn’t consider it. He wanted to return to his unit.

By this time, the Ivy Division had been sent to the Moselle River Valley in western Germany where they were charged with maintaining order. Shemin was reunited with them, and he was given administrative chores to accommodate his injuries. The men knew well Shemin’s exemplary record, and they respected him.

The “Almost Assignment”

In 1919, Europe was shattered by the war, but John J. Pershing, General of the Armies of the United States, was intent on maintaining order and showing that Europe could recover.  As he traveled through the war-ravaged territory, he requested an honor guard be formed (the “bravest of the brave”). He specified that the force should consist of soldiers who had been decorated with a high-level medal for valor.  This work involved precision drilling and standing as a symbol of American victory.

Shemin was the right height, and his Silver Star had been upgraded to a Distinguished Service Cross. He was a perfect candidate, and his unit put him forward for the honor. 

But when Pershing’s advance man reviewed the personnel records, the officer noted that Shemin was Jewish. Despite his heroics at the Vesle River and the bullet hole in his helmet resulting in lifelong injuries, Shemin was removed from the honor guard. The advance man wanted an “All American” image for the guard. 

Shemin was disappointed, but stayed focused on his military assignment with his men.

His Men Knew

His unit felt differently. Those with whom Shemin served remembered all he had done for them during the war. They knew he deserved the Medal of Honor.

To be considered for the highest military honor in the country, eyewitness accounts were needed as well as testimony from company officers. It was not hard to get men who served with Bill Shemin to speak up.

They knew they had been saved because this 19-year-old  soldier not only executed three rescues (bringing men back from open territory) but he stepped forward to command the platoon—first getting them across the Vesle River, and then spearheading a retreat when the German fighting became more than their surviving group could withstand.  His men wanted to ensure that the story of the “Jewish kid who saved the platoon” wasn’t lost to history.

Despite their efforts, Shemin was not awarded the Medal of Honor at that time. But thanks to those men, all the necessary documents were collected and were available when his daughter finally brought attention to the matter almost one hundred years later.

Back Home

Bill Shemin returned home and was determined to move forward with his life, despite a limp, shrapnel in his back, hearing loss, and what we now know as PTSD.

By this time, Syracuse University had expanded the forest ranger school and had a full-scale College of Forestry. Bill Shemin did not have a college degree, so he enrolled in the forestry program and was an asset to the school. He played varsity football and then lacrosse, graduating in 1923.

He married Bertha Schiffer and they raised three children: daughters Elsie and Ina and son Emmanuel.

His love of growing things continued, so he soon opened his own greenhouse and nursery in the Bronx. The name he chose referred back to his military service with the Fourth Division: Ivy Floral and Landscape (IV or Ivy).   Shemin’s business was very successful, and he became one of the main nurseries from which the parks in New York City purchased their plantings.

In addition to work and family, Shemin also dedicated his time to issues regarding his religion and the military. He was involved with both the Legion of Valor and the Jewish War Veterans. Many men needed assistance finding health care and employment, and Shemin was happy to help. He also stood strongly for Jewish rights.

The Impact of Elsie Shemin-Roth’s Mission

Like many soldiers who fought in World War I or II, Shemin had little interest in talking about his war experience. His daughter, Elsie Shemin-Roth, was always curious. She gained more information when fellow soldier Jim Pritchard, one of the men Bill Shemin carried to safety, came to visit. Pritchard was open about the fact that Shemin was denied the Medal of Honor because of his faith.

In a Legacy Video about her father, Elsie, who became a registered nurse and volunteered for overseas service during the Gulf War, describes how furious she was…and how puzzled she was that her father bore no anger.  But he told her: “War is not about medals. I love my country. I love my men. That’s all that counts.”

The Jewish WWI Veterans Act

In 2002, Elsie Shemin-Roth, saw that Congress had passed legislation that veterans of WWII, Korean, War, and Vietnam would be considered for honors posthumously if the family and friends could show that they were denied because of religion or race.

To Elsie, this was a no-brainer. Why not push for an amendment to the law that included World War I veterans?  She began working through friends, organizations, and her representatives from her Congressional district in Missouri, to push for an expansion of the law.

In 2011, with the passage of the William Shemin Jewish World War I Veterans Act (part of the 2002 National Defense Authorization Act), the Pentagon was compelled to go back and look at all Jewish veterans who received the Distinguished Service Cross or Navy Cross.

Fortunately, her father saved documentation from his war service, so he had the required testimonials from three officers and three enlisted men as well as reports from review boards of the era. 

Medal of Honor Awarded

On June 2, 2015, nearly a century after his acts of valor, Sergeant William Shemin was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor in a ceremony held in the East Room of the White House. President Barack Obama presented the nation’s highest military decoration to Shemin’s daughters, Elsie Shemin-Roth and Ina Bass, finally correcting a historical oversight rooted in the prejudices of the early 20th century.

Medal of Honor Citation

Sergeant William Shemin distinguished himself by extraordinary acts of heroism at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty while serving as a Rifleman with G Company, 2d Battalion, 47th Infantry Regiment, 4th Division, American Expeditionary Forces, in connection with combat operations against an armed enemy on the Vesle River, near Bazoches, France from August 7 to August 9, 1918. Sergeant Shemin, upon three different occasions, left cover and crossed an open space of 150 yards, repeatedly exposing himself to heavy machine-gun and rifle fire, to rescue wounded. After officers and senior noncommissioned officers had become casualties, Sergeant Shemin took command of the platoon and displayed great initiative under fire until wounded on August 9. Sergeant Shemin’s extraordinary heroism and selflessness, above and beyond the call of duty, are in keeping with the highest traditions of the military service and reflect great credit upon himself, with G Company, 2d Battalion, 47th Infantry Regiment, 4th Division, American Expeditionary Forces, and the United States Army.

Amazing Accomplishment

The ceremony served as a powerful conclusion to Elsie’s fifteen-year crusade, ensuring her father’s legacy was officially etched into the highest level of American military history.

Also honored at the same White House ceremony was Henry Johnson, the Harlem Hellfighter who fought valiantly in France during World War I but was also overlooked. (The Shemin family graciously includes recognition of Henry Johnson at events when William Shemin is being honored,)

Among President Barack Obama’s remarks in the East Wing that day were these: “It’s never too late to say thank you.” 

The story of William Shemin remains important in 2025 because it serves as a powerful reminder of historical injustice and the ongoing need for equality and recognition within American society and its institutions.

Each year on December 31 at one minute before midnight (Eastern Standard Time), people from around the world welcome the new year when the shimmering 12,300-pound crystal Waterford ball drops slowly into Times Square.

As in most years, this year an estimated one million people are expected to be in Times Square, thought of as the “center of the universe” for this night. An audience of a billion more people are expected to watch via television or live-stream directly to their phones or other devices.

This year’s ball is a new one—the ninth iteration known as the “Constellation Ball.” It weighs more than 12,300 pounds and is covered with 5280 crystal discs (double the crystals used formerly). The discs are in three sizes and placed carefully to enhance the sparkle.  The ball is lighted by 32,256 Philips Luxeon LED lights.

The Double Drop

To kick off America’s 250^th birthday (the Semiquncentennial) there will be what is being called the “Double Drop.” At approximately 12:04 AM on January 1st, the ball will be relit in a unique red, white, and blue America 250 design. It will rise up the pole as pyrotechnics are set off to the playing of Ray Charles’s “America the Beautiful.” Those in Times Square will be showered with 2000 lbs of red, white, and blue confetti.

And for the first time in the 120-year tradition, the ball will make a second appearance. On July 3 at 12 midnight, the ball will drop in celebration of the Semiquincentennial.

The Party Tradition Begins

The first New Year’s Eve celebration in Times Square occurred in 1904, just after the New York Times relocated to a new building in what had then called Longacre Square. Publisher Adolph Ochs successfully pushed to rename the area for his newspaper. The triangular area where the new building sat at the intersection of 7th Avenue, Broadway, and 42nd Streets has since that time has been known as Times Square.

That year Ochs wanted to celebrate the new location and he threw a huge all-day street festival capped off with a fireworks display that night. An estimated 200,000 people were said to be in attendance.

Up until this time, many New Yorkers celebrated the new year at Trinity Church with the ringing of the bells. With Ochs sponsoring festivities in Times Square, customs changed, and Times Square was the place to be.

A few years later the city banned the use of fireworks. That led to the creation of a new tradition using lights. At the end of 1905, the “1905” lights were configured to read “1906.” These electric lights flashed from the tower of the Times building, reportedly visible from miles away. The Times tower was also festooned with electric streamers that lit the building’s four corners.

The Idea for the Ball Drop

The idea of a ball drop was first used by the Royal Observatory in Greenwich, England. In 1833, the Observatory installed a ball at the highest point in Greenwich Park. At 1 p.m. each day, the ball dropped to mark the time and allow the captains of nearby ships to set their chronometers. (When the telegraph was invented, telegraphers communicated the exact time to ships and businesses that could not see the ball drop.)

This tradition is the one mimicked by the dropping of the ball in Times Square.

The First Times Square Ball

The first ball made for Times Square was iron and wood and weighed 700 pounds; it featured light from one hundred 25-watt light bulbs. It was made by an immigrant metalworker whose company, Artkraft Strauss, took responsibility for the creation and dropping of the ball for most of the 20th century.

The ball must have been ordered during much more optimistic times. By the time it arrived for its use in 1907, its introduction was met with little joy and less fanfare. The “Bankers Crisis” occurred in October of 1907, causing a 50 percent drop in stocks at the New York Stock Exchange and leading to the spread of a nationwide recession.

There was no central bank to avert the disaster, and there was little public feeling of optimism in late December. (The following year, Congress undertook a study of the country’s financial structure that led to the creation of the Federal Reserve Bank.)

As a result, that first drop of the Times Square ball was met by a subdued crowd. The New York Times put a decent face on it with its report: “The dropping of the illuminated ball on the tower of The Times was awaited by an expectant crowd with upturned faces. The square was thronged. As the ball dropped on the stroke of twelve an involuntary cheer arose from many thousands.” (NYT 1-2-1908)

Ball Drop Cancelled Twice

During World War II, the United States was adhering to a wartime “dimout” to prevent enemy forces calculating where people might gather.  As a result in 1942 and 1943, there was no ball drop.

The tradition was so strong, however, that people still gathered in Times Square. At midnight during those war years, a minute of silence was observed followed by the ringing of chimes from sound trucks parked in Times Square.

In 2021, the ball drop occurred but public officials barred the public from coming into Times Square. There were a few groups of invited first-responders who had been heroic in their actions during the pandemic. Otherwise, everything was staged to be virtual. The sentiment was that there were too many bodies in morgues across the country.

By this year, community life has returned to normal. Security is always high for these occasions, but there is little doubt that people enjoy gathering in Times Square — or watching via television or the Internet — to mark the beginning of a new year.

To read about why we sing Auld Lang Syne on New Year’s Eve, click here.

Happy new year to you all.