Posted on Leave a comment

MUSEUM MUSINGS: Boone County pastor provides second opinion on Dr. Barleycorn

By David Holsted, published in the Harrison Daily Times, May 14, 2020

A full 85 years before the COVID-19 virus stalled the United States, another affliction plagued the country.

The sickness, according to one Boone County minister, was “criminalitis.” In fact, the Rev. W. T. Nicholson of Bellefonte, considered it an acute case of internal criminalitis, and he had definite opinions on how to combat the disease.

In 1935, President Franklin D. Roosevelt appealed to the religious leaders of American for counsel and advice on national issues.

Nicholson was moved to reply to the president’s request, and on Oct. 21, he wrote a letter to the Commander-in-Chief. A copy of that letter was reprinted in the Harrison Daily Times.

Nicholson commended the president for his desire to seek advice.

“Your own wisdom is manifest by collecting wisdom by common council,” he wrote. “Your theory that government can be no more than the collection wisdom of its citizens, I think, is safe and sane. Your recent pledge to use your influence to keep peace with the world surely has the sustaining influence of a healthy, sound American public opinion.”

Nicholson joined the president in hoping that such programs as the Social Security Legislation, the Old Age Pension, Aid for Crippled Children and Unemployment Insurance would be a national blessing. However, he felt that the Public Works program was a failure in many places due to the lack of wise and unselfish administration.

Nicholson warmed to his task.

“I am also convinced that our much talked of depression is more moral and psychological than economic,” he said. “Are not our economic aches and pains but a note of warning of our moral and spiritual degeneracy?

Nicholson then launched into his allegory of the country as a sick patient and men like himself and the president as physicians.

“It should not require the skill of a world renowned diagnostition to determine that National sickness is moral and spiritual. In a commonwealth where some die of starvation and others of gout, the trouble must be moral. I am not unmindful of the honor and responsibility conferred on me by having been called in council by the Head Physician of this National Clinic to the bedside of my seriously sick friend with whom I have been intimately acquainted for the past three score and thirteen years. After careful examination, I find that Uncle Sam has a malignant case of internal Criminalitis.”

Nicholson went on to say that in consulting with some of his fellow physicians, he learned that more than $12 billion had been spent on the patient in the past 12 months in hope of correcting some of his personal habits like murder and theft. Nicholson suggested a change in treatment of the patient.

“I recommend that Dr. John Barleycorn be dismissed from the case,” Nicholson adamantly said. “That no more Internal Revenue capsules put up by the Repeal Company be used as their use in proving detrimental. That all political nurses be discharged. That white uniformed statesmen who have been made immune to all political corruption such as bribery, vote buying and vote selling take the place of all discharged nurses. That all stimulants in the form of alcoholic liquors be kept from the patient as we all must surely know this remedy aggravates acute internal Criminalitis and is counterindicated in this case.”

Nicholson was just getting warmed up in his use of imagery.

“May I remind this clinic of the old man Babylon?” he wrote. “You will recall that the night he died so suddenly and unexpectedly of regurgitation and gout, that old Dr. Belshazzar, that old degenerate quack with his thousand degenerate nurses, had just given him a very strong toddy. I am sure it brings to us a feeling of indescribable sadness to think that Uncle Sam was once so strong, so rich, so proud, so pious, so law abiding is now threatened with a violent death from moral insolvency. That he, like old man Babylon, might find his last resting place in the Potter’s Field. That out of the black sleeve of an awful midnight a magic hand be thrust and write on his mud bespattered headstone ‘Nene-Tekel Upharson, Thou art weighed in the balance and art found wanting.'”

Nicholson ended his letter to President Roosevelt by praying that Uncle Sam would make a full recovery by returning to his sober, honest, industrious and law abiding ways.

This is article is part of a series about Boone County history and provided by the Boone County Heritage Museum. The museum is located at 124 South Cherry in Harrison. Hours are 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. on Monday, Tuesday, Friday and Saturday; and 10 a.m. to 7 p.m. on Thursday. Closed on Sunday and Wednesday. For more information on the museum, call 741-3312 or email bchm@windstream.net.

Posted on Leave a comment

Museum Musings: Civil War soldier provides eyewitness accounts

By David Holsted, published in the Harrison Daily Times April 30, 2020

Joseph Bailey was part of a detail ordered to fill canteens from a spring along Wilson’s Creek. The young man from the Crooked Creek valley had not been a soldier for long, and what he saw next was his introduction into the terrible war that would affect him and many others.

“While filling canteens, a wagon was drawn up near the spring; passing by the hind end of the wagon, which was open, I beheld the ghastly forms of a number of dead Confederate soldiers. Looking at the upturned faces of these men from which the lifeblood had ebbed away, stained as they were with blood and dust, the grime of battle, what a picture for the inexperienced eyes of a boy fresh from the peace and quiet of the old country home!”

Bailey penned those words almost 60 years later in a memoir of his Civil War experiences. Several manuscripts of Bailey’s story still exist, including one at the Boone County Heritage Museum, a logical place, because Bailey was a native of Boone County.

One of the latest versions of Bailey’s story is “Confederate Guerilla: The Civil War Memoir of Joseph Bailey,” edited by T. Lindsay Baker. In his preface, Baker credits the assistance of the Boone County Heritage Museum, the Boone County Library and a number of local people, including Troy Massey and Judge Roger Logan.

Bailey’s memoirs are filled with remarkable insights into the life of a Civil War soldier. He devotes considerable space to his experience as a guerrilla fighter in the Ozarks. His is one of the few eyewitness accounts of guerrilla warfare, most participants being hesitant to speak about it, whether out of fear of retribution or other reasons.

Joseph Bailey was born in 1841 in Polk County, Tennessee. His grandfather, William Bailey, had served in the American army during the Revolutionary War. According to Baker’s notes, the Bailey family still has in its possession a wooden fife that young William played as a Revolutionary soldier.

In 1853, Bailey’s family left Tennessee and went to Carroll County, Arkansas (an area that would later become Boone County) to join two sons who had already settled there. Bailey’s father, John, bought several hundred acres of land near the present town of Harrison and engaged in farming.

When the Civil War broke out, John Bailey, like so many others in the area, remained loyal to the Union. However, his five sons supported the Confederacy.

“With tear-dimmed eyes and aching hearts, my parents bid good-bye to their five sons, who volunteered for service in the Confederate Army; little hoping for the safe return of all of them,” Bailey wrote.

Young Joseph Bailey joined a company that was organized in his area. It was made up almost entirely of farmers, ranging in age from 16 to 40. The company was called the Joe Wright Guards, named for Josephine Bonepart Wright, who along with Bailey’s sister, Malinda Jane, made the first Confederate flag in that part of the country.

As a soldier in the regular Confederate army, in addition to Wilson’s Creek, Bailey saw action at Pea Ridge; Corinth and Iuka, Mississippi; and at the siege of Port Hudson, Louisiana.

In addition to the Yankees, Bailey and his comrades faced another foe at Port Hudson.

“To add to our discomfort,” he wrote, “especially at night, were swarms of mosquitoes that were terribly annoying. Often our faces in the morning looked like a patient just broken out with measles. As a slight protection, the boys would burn cotton or cotton rags when they could get them, near their heads all night.”

Many of his descriptions of the war were heartbreaking. One such scene was at Port Hudson.

“In the ditch in front of one short angle of our works, I counted twenty-seven dead men and two shaggy Newfoundland dogs, who had followed their masters to death.”

Bailey was captured at Port Hudson, but managed to escape. He went back to north Arkansas, where he joined a band of guerrillas.

It was said that southern guerrillas were less concerned with the Confederacy than they were with protecting their homes and families.

“As a rule,” Bailey said, “they were well-mounted, superb horsemen and experts with pistols, their main reliance in action. The character of warfare carried on along the border, quarter seldom being asked or given, developed a type of desperate fighters, equal to any of like character the world ever produced. There was practically no attempt at discipline. Every man went and came at his own sweet will, but all obeyed with promptness the order of their chosen officer while on duty.”

Bailey, as with most of the guerrilla fighters, attached great importance to his horse. Wild Bill had been captured from the Federals, he said.

“He was of medium size, fleet of foot, a splendid saddle horse, and endowed with wonderful powers of endurance. To say that I became strongly attached to Wild Bill is but a mild expression of my feelings toward him. And I somehow felt he had, in a limited degree at least, a fondness for me.”

Many “acts of barbarous cruelty” occurred in the Ozarks during the Civil War. Sick and wounded men were dragged from their beds and murdered in front of their families. House burnings became an almost daily occurrence, leaving women and children to seek shelter in stables or corn cribs. Bailey’s own family had its farm destroyed by Federal troops.

Once, Bailey and other guerrillas attacked Federal supply wagons, killing two officers. One of the Federal officers was Henry C. Kelly.

“Only a few days prior to this affair,” Bailey said, “this man Kelly had in a boastful way said to my sweetheart, Miss Mary Baines, who home was nearby, ‘We will get your Rebel Captain some of these days and put his head on a pole.’ Such is the fortune of war. He fell at the hands of the man whose head he threatened to put on a pole.”

In another incident, Bailey described how Federal cavalry had murdered two Atchley brothers, who lived along the Carroll-Newton county line, in front of their wives and children, and had dragged a sick youth named Tyson from his bed and killed him in front of his mother.

In retaliation, Confederate guerrillas, in what became known as the “peach orchard scrap, surprised the Federals and shot them.

“To make sure in the darkness that none should escape, pocketknives were brought in use and jugular veins severed.”

After the war, Bailey, who had married Mary Baines in 1864, returned to Boone County. He farmed and became a merchant in Bellefonte.

In 1890, the Baileys moved to Texas. Bailey invested some money in rural property around Seguin, Texas. When oil was discovered, he had a steady income for the rest of his life.

It was while living in Austin, Texas, that Bailey was encouraged to create his memoirs. He dictated them to a stenographer, who prepared the initial transcripts in 1920.

Mary Bailey died in 1927. Bailey died in 1930. The ashes of Joseph and Mary Bailey were returned to Arkansas and buried in Bellefonte Cemetery.

Bailey’s parents and at least one brother are buried in White Church Cemetery.

This is article is part of a series about Boone County history and provided by the Boone County Heritage Museum. The museum is located at 124 South Cherry in Harrison. Hours are 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. on Monday, Tuesday, Friday and Saturday; and 10 a.m. to 7 p.m. on Thursday. Closed on Sunday and Wednesday. For more information on the museum, call 741-3312 or email bchm@windstream.net.