Collection of 34 letters, principally written by or related to Charles M. Conrad (1864-1886)
...who studied at Dickinson Seminary, debated vaccination, pledged Temperance, went to Colorado, witnessed the hanging of Andrew Green, discovered sombreros, worked for the Union Pacific Railroad, got typhoid fever, convalesced in the company hospital, died from a doctor’s mistake, and was loved by someone who tried to hold the U.P.R.R. accountable.
34 autograph letters, signed, mostly written on single folded sheets of lined paper, several with original postal covers. Mainly 1881-1886 from Denver, Co., and Central Pennsylvania, with 8 letters from other family members spanning 1867-1899. Very Good. Individually sleeved and organized in two folders. With additional ephemera collected by his mother, including two small wrapped bouquets of dried flowers labeled with the names of her deceased children, tucked in the envelope from one of Charley’s last letters.
A great, and varied, collection. Highlights are described below, and an itemized description of the letters, with excerpts, can be found in this PDF document.
Charles M. Conrad (alternatively spelled “Charlie” and “Charley” in the letters), was born April 17, 1864, and raised in central Pennsylvania, where his father ran a general store and was involved with various other business ventures. 20 items in the collection were written by Charley, including 7 during his school days in Huntingdon, Pa. (1881-1882) and attending Dickinson Seminary (1884). Highlights from these letters include his description of schoolwide vaccination efforts and a reference to seeing Temperance lecturer John B. Gough in 1884.
The overall impression of Charley is that he is observant and easily enthused. His father makes him work in the mines for at least a year (around age 14) before sending him to school, but Charley is always well supported and makes sure to emphasize his moral fortitude when writing his mother. He’s a boy, lured by the romance of the West. In the summer of 1886, he set out for Denver, documented in 13 letters spanning his departure via Pittsburgh and Chicago to his untimely death in a Union Pacific Railroad hospital, just over two months later.
Upon arrival, he is immediately convinced to partner on buying out a business with his friend and petitions his father for $500 for the “rare chance” (see July 24 and July 27). You can hear the dubious sales pitch made to Charley, who is scorned by his father’s refusal: “It may be for the best what you say, but it is hard to think that one’s own father has no faith in his business abilities… a gentleman offered to lend me the money, but when you could not trust me, no one else shall… You misjudge the business; it is no saloon or loafing place… But there is no use explaining now as the chance is gone.” (July 31)
The letters to his mother attentively document his experience, offering scenes of the West in terms of landscape and society— “there is horse racing, baseball playing, and a balloon ascension, and downtown the saloons are all open” (of course, he never goes on Sunday). Most notable among his experiences: "This afternoon I went to see a colored man by the name of Green hung. It was public and fully 30 thousand people witnessed it. I do not care to see any more men hung. That was enough for me. The sight was terrible. He confesses his guilt before he was hung. He killed a street car driver in cold blood without any cause but robbery. I will send you papers giving full particulars of his life, crime, and hanging.” (July 27, 1886)
Charley refers to Andrew Green, a Black man convicted of murder, who was the last man to be publicly executed in Denver. It is estimated that 15,000-20,000 viewers witnessed his botched hanging, which became a catalyst for Colorado outlawing public executions in 1889. The Tribune-Republican reported: “Green's body shot into the air… It was plain to see that the hanging was a botch, and a thrill and horror ran through the crowd.… For a minute the body hung lifeless. Then set in fearful contortions to behold. His legs drew up, the arms pulled, the shoulders writhed, and the chest heaved: the entire frame was in violent motion . . . For five minutes the terrible contortions continued, and then they ceased except for a spasmodic twitch” (King 49)
Charley finally gets a job as a surveyor for the Union Pacific Railroad in August, and writes his mother about how great it is to travel, mentioning Leadville and Fort Collins, and how well the company takes care of him: “If I get sick or hurt, they care for me, they have a very large stone hospital built just outside the city, and if any of the employees get sick, while on duty or off, they are taken there and cared for until well, and they inform the relatives continually how they are. We get the benefit of this at the small cost of $.25 per month.”
Unfortunately, when Charley gets sick and ends up in that hospital, a mistake in administering medication causes his death. There are four letters written by Charley’s friend, A. C. Berry, to the Conrad family, first updating them on his improving condition, then offering assistance in settling his affairs. In what was likely little comfort, Berry mentions he had been fleeced by his partner in the business and awkwardly angles, “If my friend Charlie had gone in with me, I would not have been robbed…”
Green’s execution is the most striking depiction in the letters, but the triumph of the batch is a letter dated September 1887. The letter is addressed to a representative of the U.P.P.R., outlining the circumstances of Charley’s death, and asking the company to hold the doctor accountable and request his resignation.
“We understand by some mistake the doctor placed his name on the wrong list and in this way the wrong medicine was given him. Now, why does not Dr. Pfeiffer come out like a man and acknowledge the mistake instead of ignoring the fact entirely when we have such an array of proof against him. We know we are all liable to make mistakes, but at the same time or not too proud to acknowledge them. We have charity for others, but not as we would have were the circumstances different.”
Written in the penmanship of Charley’s would-be sweetheart, Sallie Weaver (but unsigned and not necessarily authored by her), it is a carefully worded appeal that releases pressure from the corporate entity, in turn hoping they will feel compelled to appear responsible. It also teases the question of criminality in medical malpractice. “We cannot think the officials of the U.P.R.R. would retain any such as he in their employ were they aware of such mistakes… we think it only just and right that they ask the resignation of Dr. O.J. Pfeiffer. It is a very slight thing to ask in comparison to what his almost criminal act would merit.” Naturally, Dr. Oscar J. Pfeiffer remained in their employ as the U.P.R.R.’s Chief Surgeon until he resigned in 1891.
A full transcription of the Loomis letter is in the PDF list, along with further descriptions and excerpts from all 34 items, which provide a breadth of material for research in many subject areas.
References:
King, W. M. “The End of an Era: Denver’s Last Legal Public Execution, July 27, 1886.” The Journal of Negro History 68, no. 1 (1983), 37–53.
Klein, Maury. Union Pacific, 1862-1893. U. Minn. Press (2006), 492-93.
Aldrich. “Train Wrecks to Typhoid Fever: The Development of Railroad Medicine Organizations...” Bulletin of the History of Medicine 75, no. 2 (2001), 254–89.