I am currently tweeting (follow me at @keepapitchinin) pictures of my memorabilia of the 1909 encampment of the Grand Army of the Republic, which was held in Salt Lake City. In order to make background for those images easily available, I’m posting here the script for a talk I gave on 24 August 2001 – it is heavily skewed toward the issues that Salt Lake City was handling in 2001 as we prepared to host the 2002 Olympics. The photos and cartoons and other objects mentioned in this paper – given in the pre-PowerPoint days of overhead transparencies! – will be tweeted in the coming several weeks, and I’ll edit this post from time to time to include those images.

Ninety-three years ago tomorrow, 38 men and seven women left Salt Lake City with a mission to capture an army and bring it back to Utah. Their targets were the quarter-million members of the Grand Army of the Republic, meeting in national encampment at Toledo, Ohio, and their mission was to convince that Army to hold its 1909 convention in Salt Lake City.

The ranks of that association of Union veterans of the Civil War were thinning by the passing of aged veterans, but the Grand Army was still a formidable political and social power. Its national encampments – 1909 would be its 43rd such annual gathering – were prizes eagerly sought by cities who competed with promises of unsurpassed hospitality.

Salt Lake City may seem an unlikely host for an encampment: Utah had played a negligible role in the Civil War, and not 20 years earlier Mormons were refused Grand Army membership even though they may have given honorable military service years before religious conversion. Utah’s Grand Army enrollment was barely 350, nearly all of whom had moved to Utah after service elsewhere. Yet Salt Lake held undeniable attractions for the largely eastern organization: The romance of the Wild West affected nearly everyone in those years before the First World War. The natural wonders of the Great Salt Lake and curiosity about Mormons were almost irresistible draws. And finally, the timing was right: Most surviving veterans were past 70 years of age, and conscious that if they did not visit the West at this invitation, they might never have another opportunity. Utah boosters played off that sentiment by repeating the story of the Grand Army man who was turned away from the gates of heaven because he had never visited Salt Lake. “You had your chance at paradise,” Saint Peter told him, “and you let it get away.”

Salt Laker George Squires extended the formal invitation at Toledo:

There will be no trouble that we are not willing to go to, there will be no obstacle which we will not overcome; we will take care of you, and we will make you think you have had the time of your lives before you get out of Utah.

New Yorker James Tanner endorsed the bid in an emotional speech recalling an earlier trip west. A group of gaunt and weathered miners, learning that Civil War veterans were on the train, lined the tracks near a nameless desert water stop, bared their heads and gave “three cheers for the boys what did.”

Salt Lake City won the encampment by a vote of 461 to 104 over Washington, D.C., its only competitor.

Within hours of Salt Lake’s selection as host city and his own election as Commander in Chief, Henry Nevius of New Jersey made plans to visit Salt Lake. To minimize expenses, only four of his staff living west of Chicago were appointed to accompany him. Before their tickets were bought, however, they received an invitation from Fisher Harris, secretary of the Salt Lake Commercial Club, enclosing an unsolicited check to cover travel expenses of Commander Nevius and his entire staff. With that first action, Salt Lake gave proof of her pledge to take care of the old soldiers as no city had ever done before.

[transparency: Miss Salt Lake] Something under one year – from the September 1 award to the opening of the encampment on August 9 – was all the time given to Salt Lake to prepare. Most of the work would be organized by the Commercial Club, which was also responsible for raising the $60,000 cost of the encampment from government, business, and private subscriptions. Overall supervision belonged to the one-armed Commander Nevius, whose official liaison, Frank Sterrett of Ohio, came to Salt Lake in December. Realizing the plans of the executive committee fell to Salt Lake citizens – mostly volunteers, largely members of the Women’s Citizens Committee, who promptly organized sub-committees on accommodations, music, decorations, medical care, entertainment, security, and every other needful thing.

Time may have been short but Salt Lake used it to advantage, and by the first days of August was ready to welcome the Grand Army [transparency: Welcome GAR] and all their accompanying organizations: the Ladies of the G.A.R., the Woman’s Relief Corps, the Sons of Veterans, the Daughters of Veterans, the Associations of Army Nurses and Ex-Union Prisoners of War and Naval Veterans and Civil War Musicians – an estimated 60,000 in all.

The first veteran arrived unexpectedly, coming not over the Denver & Rio Grande but down Emigration Canyon. Corporal DeHaas and his wife had set out from Oklahoma in April by horse and buggy, camping along the road. Their unorthodox appearance delighted Salt Lake, and the couple were welcomed as guests in a private home while their animals were stabled without charge.

The bulk of the visitors, of course, arrived via the railroads. [transparency: Still Arriving] What began as a corporal’s guard on Saturday, August 7, became battalions on Monday, August 9, as train after train – some scheduled but mostly specials – stacked up at the railroad terminals. Every train was greeted by a brass band, at first either the Ladies G.A.R. Band or John Held’s official encampment band. [transparency: G.A.R. March] Along with military marches and patriotic songs, the bands all played the official G.A.R. March composed by Salt Laker Harry Montgomery especially for this encampment. As the hours passed and bands arrived from Price and Ogden and Springville, carloads of veterans were escorted to their hotels by marching bands. [transparency: marching band] Some delegations brought their own music with them – Cook’s Fife and Drum Corps from Denver; the Lyndonville Band from Vermont, the Modoc Singers from Topeka – and impromptu parades were held in the streets. For the entire week of the encampment, these bands serenaded organizational headquarters and the newspaper offices, and played on street corners just for the pageantry of it all. [transparency; band on street corner] The Salt Lake music committee, headed by Tabernacle organist John J. McClellan, had hired 25 bands and singing groups, while numerous additional bands arrived with the visitors.

As Salt Lake’s guests marched with the bands, they paraded through streets dressed especially in their honor. Most public and business buildings were decorated inside and out with flags, bunting, and huge portraits of presidents and Union generals. Downtown streets were crisscrossed by wires from which flapped American flags and the banners of the army and navy signal services.

A minor scandal concerning those street decorations had rocked Salt Lake a week earlier. The proposal [transparency: proposed decorations] had looked quite promising: rows of closely-packed flags alternating with electric lights creating a canopy along several downtown streets. But when the eastern decorators arrived, they were stunned to find streets twice as wide and blocks twice as long as any they had encountered before; they had nowhere near enough banners to decorate as promised. The local committee understood the error and quickly revised their expectations, but rebelled when decorations began to go up. Many of the flags were old, ragged, and water-stained. Too, Salt Lakers unfamiliar with military signal flags were indignant that American heroes should be asked to march under “foreign” banners. They threatened to tear them down, declaring that “God’s blue sky” was a more fitting tribute. The decorators quickly removed the worn and dirty American flags, explained the nature of the signal flags, and asked to decorate a sample intersection. Thousands visited that intersection, and with general approval decorating went forward.

Salt Lake was especially proud of its electrical decorations, including the strings of bulbs across the streets, [transparency: Main Street a Blaze of Lights] and the illuminated flag attached to the Brigham Young monument. [transparency: illuminated flag]

Newly-arrived visitors queued up at information booths where they were directed to available rooms. About 5000 were lodged in hotels and rooming houses. A few thousand found free lodgings in elementary schools, where Salt Lake provided all-night janitors to regulate the ventilation: windows opened to catch cool evening breezes were gradually lowered throughout the night to protect guests from cold desert mornings. Another 5000 camped in their side-tracked Pullman cars. One enterprising veteran checked himself into the hospital, where he could have room and board and be waited on by a trained nurse, all for $20 for the week.

The greatest number by far, however, were directed to guest rooms in 10,000 private homes. For weeks the housing committee had canvassed the town, soliciting rooms, urging families to free their best beds for guests. Mrs. W.H. Jones with the help of a single stenographer had prepared cards for all offered rooms, noting address, streetcar line, whether bath or breakfast were included, and price – which in no case was allowed to exceed 50c per night or $1 with private bath. [transparency: Give Him a Good Meal] Prices were suggested for meals as well, but families were encouraged to act as hosts rather than innkeepers whenever possible.

Wherever the visitors stayed, they were given directions and very often escorted to their rooms by the high school military cadets, who quickly became the heroes of all. These boys, neatly uniformed and organized into around-the-clock shifts, answered questions, gave directions, carried luggage, and helped lost souls find their rooms again when the house they swore was at 200 East 300 South mysteriously moved to 300 East 200 South. They served as runners when bands were summoned to receptions. They helped visitors on the street who needed spectacles left in their rooms, or medicine left in Wisconsin. In short, they became the willing hands and eyes and feet of every needy visitor, and virtually every farewell letter published in Salt Lake’s newspapers expresses gratitude for the unfailing courtesy of Salt Lake’s army of high school boys.

Hospitality had been urged upon Salt Lakers for weeks before the encampment. [transparency: Don’t Put It Out of Reach] They were determined to be known not just for cordiality, but for honesty and fairness. Profiteering would not be tolerated – the menu of every eatery in town was collected, and threats were issued that should profiteering occur, a uniformed policeman would be stationed by the restaurant door to warn patrons against entering.

While overcharging for a meal was not precisely a crime, Salt Lake knew that genuine criminals were certain to follow the Grand Army crowds. [transparency: Scat!] Known local criminals were ordered out of town the week before the encampment. With little formality, suspicious persons apprehended during the week were given 20 minutes to leave town or be jailed. Detectives were borrowed from cities throughout the country to help Salt Lake detectives spot pickpockets at train depots and turn them back. Seventy-five temporary policemen were hired for crowd control and to guard nearly-deserted neighborhoods during the most popular events of that week.

And there were certainly numerous events to entertain the old soldiers and their friends. Besides the scheduled business meetings of all groups associated with the Grand Army, there were receptions to the Commander in Chief, to the old Army Nurses, to visiting Eagles and Odd Fellows, and to guests from the former homes of transplanted Salt Lakers. There was sightseeing on the streetcar lines – which donated 10,000 free tickets – [transparency: Army Nurses] and personal tours for Army nurses, arranged by a committee who solicited the loan of every available automobile, especially if the owner could also furnish a driver. Saltair admitted veterans and their wives free, as did the Salt Palace’s bicycle race track. Utah’s Hawaiian Troubadours performed. There were campfires every evening in both the Assembly Hall and the Armory building, with speakers, music, and war reminiscences. The Tabernacle Choir gave free concerts. There were fireworks atop Ensign Peak each night, and a parade featuring cowboys and Indians from the Wild West show which performed all that week. Then, too, there was visiting with old comrades and spinning war tales for wide-eyed children who followed the visitors everywhere. [transparency: A Dandy Time]

Thirsty visitors could drink at the newly-installed water fountains on Main and State Streets, or find a saloon for more serious refreshment. (Bars, closed by law at midnight, in fact stayed open later as long as everyone was discrete.) Veterans could pick up their mail at a temporary post office established in a downtown hotel. They could chat with friends on lawn furniture placed on the sidewalks by local businesses. [transparency: soldier candids] Public “comfort stations” were set up over manhole covers on many downtown streets, plumbed to empty directly into the sewers. For guests wearied by heat or altitude, the Lion House and other downtown LDS buildings were furnished with couches and electric fans, ice water and lemonade, and hostesses who could double as nurses; banners draped across the buildings urged visitors to come in and rest.

Guests could stroll through Temple Square, where they could view floral designs created especially in their honor. [transparency: Scenes Around Temple Grounds] If they were curious about Mormon matters, they could chat with the 25 additional guides deployed by the church to handle the crowds. Should they be so inclined, they could purchase copies of an anti-Mormon pamphlet published by the Salt Lake Tribune and offered for sale outside the gates on South Temple.

Some of the Grand Army men indulged passionately in the fad of collecting and trading badges. Many wore ribbons and medals proclaiming earlier encampments they had attended. Street merchants hawked buttons identifying hundreds of military units. The Utah committees contributed their share to this hobby by providing souvenir badges commemorating the Salt Lake encampment. [transparency: GAR badge] The official badge came in three parts: a gold top bar with eagle and cannon; a silver drop featuring a blue-enameled sego lily; and a final bronze drop celebrating the centennial of Abraham Lincoln’s birth. This basic design was modified as needed: the badge for the Association of Civil War Musicians, for instance, replaced the Lincoln pendant with one carrying the image of a harp. For a few very distinguished guests, the badges were molded of Utah gold, Utah silver, and Utah copper.

Other souvenirs were distributed. [transparency: Official Souvenir] The official souvenir booklet featured photographs of Salt Lake scenes and portraits of prominent Grand Army and Utah personages. A “bootleg” booklet – one bitterly protested by the concession holder of the official souvenir – was available by the end of week and featured scenes of the encampment. Visiting ladies were presented with souvenir autograph albums, fans, and postcards. The Salt Lake schools presented Commander Nevius with a large silk flag, sewn by the children themselves.

The visitors returned these favors with gifts of their own. The Ladies of the G.A.R. donated an oil portrait of Abraham Lincoln for the City and County Building. The Association of Civil War Musicians who, along with most of the other bands, had been quartered at Lafayette Elementary, presented a 6-foot panorama photograph to that school. [transparency: Civil War musicians]

The centerpiece of every Grand Army encampment was the grand parade of veterans. Salt Lake hosts were concerned for the safety of marching soldiers – especially after noting that two years earlier, in Milwaukee, five veterans had dropped dead while on parade. The soldiers were older, the altitude higher, the August sun hotter, and the visitors more tired by a long journey than in previous encampments.

Before the parade on Wednesday, August 11, the soldiers must be fortified by a good meal – ham sandwiches, pickles, and a cup of sweetened coffee. Miss Lucy Van Cott, head of the University’s domestic science department, had charge of the lunch. She secured donations of ham from Salt Lake packing houses and pickles from ZCMI. Ogden pledged 1,000 loaves of bread. Cache Valley provided the butter, and Park City donated sugar. There was one snag – some things haven’t changed in 90 years, and Miss Van Cott should have known better than to ask Provo to donate the coffee. The city council refused but private citizens, eager to be as patriotic as the rest of the state, came up with 400 pounds.

To aid any marcher who was overcome during the parade, Red Cross nurses were stationed along every block; a wave of their flags would bring a waiting horse-drawn or automobile ambulance, and the fallen marcher would be rushed to the emergency hospital set up on the sixth floor of the Boston Building, which Dr. W.F. Beer had equipped with an operating room and cots for recovering from heat exhaustion. The Sons of Veterans would circulate among the marchers as well, with buckets of water and lemonade.

The soldiers assembled early on Wednesday morning. [transparency: Colorado panorama] The parade began upon three blasts from the Tribune whistle. Prominent Grand Army officers on horseback preceded carriages carrying distinguished Utah officials and honored guests including a few surviving veterans of the 1846 Mexican War. Following them came the active duty soldiers from the 15th Infantry stationed at Fort Douglas, who the week earlier had practiced their drills downtown to accustom their horses to the newly-asphalted Main Street (as we all know, the first thing Salt Lake does upon winning a major convention is tear up the roads!). Following these preliminary groups came all the units in the Grand Army of the Republic, organized by state delegation, and interspersed with the dozens of visiting bands. Crowd estimates varied, but, on the conservative side, 100,000 onlookers lined the one-mile parade route down Main Street. [transparency: parade scene]

These onlookers cheered as the passing soldiers were pelted by flowers. While Salt Lake homeowners had planted thousands of packets of flower seeds that spring, a late frost followed by heavy flooding had destroyed most of Salt Lake’s crop – but Garland in Box Elder County had shipped in a full train carload; Park City children had combed the hills for wildflowers; the Blind School at Ogden had grown gardens especially for the encampment. As the parade passed down Main Street, the crowds laughed at the Oklahoma soldiers carrying oversized-baby bottles signaling their status as the Union’s newest state. They were moved by the sight of the long-haired Montana veteran who was supported by the stronger arm of his best friend – a man wearing an old Confederate uniform. They cheered for the Iowa men who carried ears of corn – and dozens of Salt Lake girls ran out to kiss the one who carried a red ear. And the spectators who cheered themselves hoarse during most of the parade fell silent in respect when the former prisoners of war marched by, carrying banners identifying the southern prisons they had survived. [transparency: parade scenes]

The old soldiers marched from the Brigham Young monument at the head of Main Street down to Seventh South, where, because of the width of the streets, they were able to turn around and march up the other side of the road – the first time in their history they were able to watch their own parade. During their march they waved to the crowds, danced with each other during short delays, and possibly stood their tallest as they passed cameras making the first motion picture of any Salt Lake parade. The movie film was processed overnight and displayed for the rest of encampment week, and copies were soon distributed to movie houses around the country.

Before turning back at Seventh South, the old soldiers paused to view what was billed as the greatest single feature of encampment week: [transparency: Living Flag] the Living Flag, composed of 1700 Salt Lake children, posed on a grandstand the width of Main Street, dressed in ankle-length capes and mobcaps of red, white or blue cheesecloth, some carrying silver-paper stars above their heads. The children sang patriotic songs and recited the Pledge of Allegiance, and, directed by Professor W.A. Wetzell of the Salt Lake School District, danced to mimic the waving of a flag in the breeze. Even allowing for excess of sentiment expressed by the newspapers, the Living Flag was without doubt an emotional, spectacular success.

Plans called for the Living Flag to fall into the line of march when the last group of soldiers turned to retrace their steps up Main Street. The mid-August day, however, was clear and sunny, with little breeze, and temperatures soon climbed to 97 degrees. The children, with no protection from the sun and despite the water and lemonade constantly passed to them, began to droop and finally to drop. The Flag continued singing as one child after another passed out and was carried to the ambulances. But when the children began to faint in numbers too large for the ambulances to keep up with them, and as their watching parents broke through restraining ropes and threatened to collapse the grandstand as they reached for their children, Professor Wetzell dismissed them, many being then carried to the shady lawn of a nearby house reserved especially for the Living Flag. In all, some 60 children and 40 marching veterans were taken to the emergency hospital, while an untold number of others fell out but revived with medical attention on the parade route.

Because so many were disappointed by not seeing the Living Flag, a parade was held the following Friday in the cool of early evening, the only performers being the costumed children of the Living Flag and the bands that accompanied them. [transparency: Living Flag parade]

The campfires and receptions and business meetings of the encampment continued until Saturday, August 14, and some groups, notably the old musicians, were having such a good time that they stayed another full week. [transparency: Tired Out] Most of the soldiers, though, left within a day or two of the parade. Salt Lake City soon turned its attention to other matters, beginning with the dedication of the Cathedral of the Madeleine the day after the encampment closed. But before closing this chapter of its history, Salt Lake tallied the costs and the gains: Sixty-thousand visitors had been welcomed and entertained, within budget and to all reports beyond everyone’s expectations. Those visitors, assured the editors of the Deseret News,

know now that the people of Utah are as patriotic, as loyal, and as warm-hearted … as any citizens anywhere. They know that Utah, notwithstanding slander, is an American state in every sense of that word.

Corporal James Tanner reminded his hosts that:

if it had not been for the fight I made at Toledo, Salt Lake would not have had the encampment, and I went to Salt Lake feeling that I had considerable at stake … I came home perfectly satisfied and glad that I had done as I did.

The Grand Army’s chaplain-in-chief reported to his Tennessee newspaper that “They treated us … royally. … I am quite sure they have been abused more than they deserve.”

Five years later, an encampment visitor wrote to a Salt Lake friend:

We will never forget you people and what you did for us while in your city during the G.A.R. encampment. We haven’t had such good treatment before we came here and never expect such a good time again. The old veterans have a warm spot in their hearts for you and your people.

Three generations have passed since Salt Lake’s Main Street witnessed the marching of 7,500 Civil War veterans, half a continent away from the scenes of their battles. As we look forward to the coming of the world next year, we should not forget that week in 1909 when the Grand Army was “welcome here.”