Fort Dearborn—Con ict, Commemoration, Reconciliation, and the Struggle over “Battle” vs. “Massacre”
JOHN N. LOW Ohio State University, Newark
The 200th anniversary of the Battle of Fort Dearborn in the city of Chicago was celebrated in August, 2012. There have, in fact, been four “battles” over the razing of the fort. The rst was the actual battle itself; the second was over how the settlers of Chicago collectively memorialized the event; and more recently there were struggles in 2009 and 2012 over how the encounter should be commemorated. The resulting con ict over how the battle would be remembered re ects the powerful and often contentious nature of memorialization. The details surrounding the circumstances and nature of the so-called “Fort Dearborn Massacre,” as it came to be known, appear to have been sub- stantially supported by the literature and histories being written in the late nineteenth century, including Mrs. John Kinzie’s Narrative of the Massacre at Chicago, August 15, 1812 and of preceding Events (1844), Wau-Bun, the Early Days in the Northwest (1873), Joseph Kirkland’s The Chicago Massacre of 1812 (1893), and Heroes and Heroines of the Fort Dearborn Massacre, A romantic and tragic history of Corporal John Simmons and his heroic wife, by N. Simmons (1896). The idea that the battle was a “mas- sacre” was effectively written in stone (okay, bronze) with a monument commissioned in 1893 by industrialist George Pullman. The (in)famous statue of Black Partridge saving a settler, which originally sat across from Pullman’s home, eventually ended up in a Chicago Park District warehouse. That statue came to represent the dominant narrative of the battle as one of “red savages” attacking helpless settlers. In 2007, a local neighborhood association took possession of a small parcel of land near the site of the battle with the intent of creating a green space. Although intending to install the statue in the park and name the lot “Black Partridge Park,” the neighbor- hood association ultimately collaborated with local American Indian groups,
211 212 JOHN N. LOW historians, and others in using the park as an opportunity for reconciliation by leaving the park statue-less and naming it “The Battle of Fort Dearborn Park.” On the 200th anniversary of the Battle, numerous editorials and letters in the local press debated whether or not Chicagoans should let go of their massacre lore. Even politicians weighed in, with the Chicago City Council passing a resolution marking the 200th anniversary of the Battle of Fort Dearborn. The commemoration of the anniversary of the Battle of Fort Dearborn culminated an effort to reconsider and even reinscribe the history of “early Chicago.”
ROUND ONE—THE 1812 BATTLE OF FORT DEARBORN
The garrison of Fort Dearborn (built in 1803 at the mouth of the Chicago River) was evacuated on August 15, 1812. What or who provoked the hostilities of that day remains unclear, but just south of the fort, the eeing group of military personnel and non-combatants were attacked by Indians (primarily Potawatomi), and in the ensuing battle 28 regular soldiers and 14 civilians were killed. Thirty-eight soldiers and 13 civilians were cap- tured. Approximately 15 Indians are also believed to have died in the battle. Most of the captives were later delivered by the Indians to the British at Detroit.
ROUND TWO—MEMORY, MEMORIAL, MONUMENT, AND COMMEMORATION
Mikwéndek ‘What is remembered.’ (Potawatomi) Ni je ga je mikwéndek? ‘What was remembered?’ I yé i émikwéndek ‘That is what is remembered.’
Monuments are an opportunity to create a remembrance that is intended to inform the collective memory while marginalizing any counter-narrative (Halbwachs 1992:37). J. B. Jackson, a founder of critical landscape studies, wrote about monuments in his essay, “The Necessity for Ruins” (Jackson 1980:89–103). Monuments in the United States, according to Jackson, are often used as a teaching tool, civic in nature and purpose, which reminds us of some important event or individual that we are obliged to elevate and emulate. FORT DEARBORN 213
Memorials and monuments, as physical manifestations of public his- tory, appear often in the form of edi ces, obelisks, statues, and other objects of material culture and stand-in as a memory device recalling an entity, indi- vidual, or past event (Bederman 1995:19; Hass 1998:175; O’Brien 2010). The creator(s) of monuments hope to relieve the audience of the necessity of remembering or thinking for themselves. The makers hope the monument shapes “the History” as they wish it to be remembered. While monuments are most commonly thought of as structures, it is also possible to set aside PLACES to commemorate important peoples or events. For Pierre Nora, “sites of memory” are the xed, externalized locations of what was once an inter- nal socialized memory. According to Nora, History (with a capital H and as a national narrative) has the power not only to commemorate events and individuals but also to ossify remembrances (Nora 1989). Memory itself is a process by which some things are remembered, forgotten, imagined, and invented. The authority of memory is often insti- tutionalized in religious traditions, legends, songs, and literature; and our memories are stored in places of worship, museums, and archives, where they can then be rei ed, and reinterpreted for new purposes and a mul- titude of agendas. Rituals, myths, symbols, images, and practices are all a part of these ongoing engines of memory making and memorializing. Memory becomes “evidence” and we often compete for “who remembers best” (Schwartz 1982; Lipsitz 1990; Foucault 1991:59–60; Hall 1997; Stur- ken 1997; Crane 1997; Megill 1998; Stillman 2001). Collective memories are transferred from one person to another in order to make “remem- bering in common possible” (Connerton 2004). The power of remember- ing and forgetting is of particular importance since it is partly through the collective construction of the past that communal identities emerge (Taborsky 1990). Collective memory is both metaphoric and legitimizing, and often enshrines a shared past and a national/group identity (Young 1993:7). Most of what we know about the Battle of Fort Dearborn is drawn upon the (often self-serving) accounts of white survivors and family histo- ries. The only written account of the battle from an Indian perspective comes from Simon Pokagon. A Potawatomi Indian, he recounted 60 years after the con ict some of the stories his elders who had participated in the Battle had told him. His version of the events of the Battle emphasizes provocations by the United States as the cause of the confrontation (Pokagon 1899; Keating 214 JOHN N. LOW
2011). However, his memories of the accounts of his elders involved in the Battle were largely ignored as the collective memory of settler Chicago preferred to remember and commemorate the Battle of Fort Dearborn as a massacre of helpless white innocents by red savages. While later historians would attempt to complicate this simple storyline, the collective memory of “The Fort Dearborn Massacre” seemed secure (Kinzie 1844; Kinzie 1856; Andreas 1884; Kirkland 1892:111–112; Helm 1912; Quaife 1913; Quaife 1915; Quaife 1933; Barnhart 1945; Williams 1953). There are no shortages of monuments to Fort Dearborn.1 However, as noted above, the most famous memorial of the Fort Dearborn battle was created by Carl Rohl-Smith in 1893. His sculpture portrays the rescue of Margaret Helm from the tomahawk of an anonymous Indian by Potawatomi Chief Black Partridge (Gridley 1966:101). Commissioned by the famous “Captain of Industry” G. W. Pullman of Pullman Railway Car wealth, it was erected in front of his mansion at 18th St. and Prairie Avenue in Chi- cago near the site of the battle. Titled “The Fort Dearborn Massacre or the Pottawatomie Rescue,” the plaque at the front base of Rohl-Smith’s work describes the scene.
Black Partridge, the Pottawattomie chief, saving Mrs. Helm from death by . . . tomahawk. At the back of the group Dr. Van Voorhees, the post surgeon (meets) his death . . . an Indian . . . thrusting a spear through his breast (Chicago Daily Tribune 1892).
The design was inspired by Juliette Magill Kinzie’s problematic, but popu- lar, family history accounts of the attack of the Fort Dearborn evacuees (Kinzie 1856:16). It remains the most well-known “historical” representation of the events on August 15, 1812.
1. Originally located at the intersection of what is now Michigan Avenue and Wacker Drive, in Chicago, the fort’s outline is embedded in the sidewalk. The entrance to the London Guarantee Building at 360 North Michigan Avenue has a brass bas-relief of the fort above its doorway. The fort was reconstructed for Chicago’s 1933 Century of Progress Exposition. On the southeastern bridge keeper’s house of the Michigan Avenue Bridge, the battle is commemorated with another bas-relief by Henry Hering titled Defense. The location of the fort was designated a Chicago Landmark in 1971 and Chicago’s city ag contains four red stars on a eld of blue and white—the rst star is in remembrance of Fort Dearborn. Figure 1. “Black Partridge Saving Mrs. Helm,” a.k.a. “The Fort Dearborn Massacre Monument” (Postcard from the personal collection of the author) 216 JOHN N. LOW
The statue, a grouping of six gures: two warriors attacking a white woman and man while a white infant reaches out helplessly, is typical of the “red savage” versus “good Indian” trope of the time and ignores the lack of American complicity in the Battle. As with most of the literature of this era, Indians are bifurcated into either noble or ignoble. Typical of the dominant narrative of the battle are the remarks of early twentieth-century historian Milo M. Quaife,
For nine years the garrison of Fort Dearborn upheld the banner of civiliza- tion west of Lake Michigan—a tiny island engulfed in a sea of savagery. Then, as an incident in a world-wide convulsion, having its center four thousand miles away in distant Europe, garrison and community were blot- ted out, and the forces of barbarism again reigned supreme at Chicago. (Quaife 1933:112)
In 1896, magazine editor B. O. Flowers noted the irony of the installa- tion of the Black Partridge statue in the then-most-expensive neighborhood of Chicago by one of the wealthiest members of the upper class (Flowers 1896). The mansions that surrounded that statue in 1893 were themselves monuments—to their owners and to conquest, power, resource exploitation, and the unequal distribution of wealth—made possible through the rise of capitalism, industrialization and the theft of North America from its First Peoples. One writer deemed the celebratory nature of the macabre monu- ment as clearly intentional.
I’m sure the railroad robber baron who commissioned this statue in 1893— interestingly enough a few short years after the nal defeat of the Sioux nation at Wounded Knee—intended it to strike fear into the hearts of little white boys and virginal white maidens. It’s surely some kind of triumphant monument to the nal defeat of the fearsome savages, and proof that the industrious white race deserved its victory, so recently having proved its mastery of the continent. It’s a justi cation for everything that happened between 1812 and 1893 as the United States moved west, pushing the indigenous residents onto smaller and smaller patches of land at bayonet point. (Anonymous, The Cahokian 2010)
The statue stood in front of the Pullman mansion until 1931. It was subsequently moved to the rotunda of the Chicago Historical Society until objections by local American Indian groups in the 1970s convinced the Society to turn the monument over to the city. In the 1980s the City rein- FORT DEARBORN 217 stalled the statue on the south side of the city but subsequently removed it and placed it in storage, ostensibly for “conservation” (Grossman 2009).
ROUND THREE—THE BATTLE OF FORT DEARBORN PARK
For many native peoples resisting the colonial agenda, memory is re-col- lection. Revisiting the past is how memory and history are recon gured (Steedman 2001:77). Memory serves not only as an agent in the preservation of the past but also as a means of producing knowledge for the present and the future. Monuments can either clarify or distort memories of the past— depending on perspective. As previously noted, land can also be a site of memory, and in 2009, a small park on the south side of Chicago became the focus of contest over whose version of the events at Fort Dearborn would prevail as the “collective memory” of Chicago. In 2007, the Prairie District Neighborhood Association (PDNA) sought to create a green space from a gravel and weed covered parcel of land owned by the city. As referenced at the beginning of this essay, the PDNA initiated an effort to commemorate “The Fort Dearborn Massacre” by nam- ing the small park located near the site of the original attack in 1812 after Black Partridge, and reinstalling the statue of Black Partridge. The Prai- rie Avenue neighborhood was undergoing substantial gentri cation at the time, and expensive townhomes and high-rise condominiums were replacing smaller and empty businesses and residences. However, reinstallation of the statue of Black Partridge met with staunch resistance from members of the Chicago American Indian Center, according to an article in The Chicago Reader (Isaacs 2007).
The greatest potential problem is public reaction, especially from the Native American community, which may object to the depiction of the Indians as aggressors . . . The day after he took the Black Partridge name to the Park Board, (Mark) Kieras (a member of the local neighborhood association) placed a call to Joseph Podlasek, director of Chicago’s American Indian Center. “Hopefully they’ll be interested in having it too,” Kieras says. “We feel if we get their support, it’ll be a slam dunk.” That doesn’t seem likely. After getting a look at a photo of the statue this week, Podlasek said the name for the park might be OK (though he’d have to see the research to be sure), but they’d need a different piece of art. “This is clearly the image that our elders had removed from the Chicago Historical Society many years ago,” he said. “We will not support this coming out of storage. Ever.” 218 JOHN N. LOW
I read about the brewing controversy in the online edition of The Chi- cago Reader, and wrote a response on behalf of the Pokagon Potawatomi community, of which I am a member/citizen. My letter criticized the failure of anyone to ask the Potawatomi how they felt about this representation of a historical event to which they were a party. To my surprise, developer Mark Kieras, the PDNA, and others invited me to participate in discussions about the future of the park. As a Potawatomi Indian living in Chicago, the Chicago American Indian Center welcomed my involvement, which was also approved by the Traditions and Repatriation Committee of my community, the Pokagon Band of Potawatomi Indians. In addition to whether the statue should be reinstalled was the issue of what to name the park. I, along with the Chicago American Indian com- munity and others, voiced objections to naming the park after the so-called Fort Dearborn “Massacre.” My research revealed that back in 1943, an Illinois historian had advocated for renaming the con ict as a battle rather than a massacre.
H. A. Musham, Chicago naval architect, chairman of the Fort Dearborn Memorial commission and for many years a student of Chicago and Illinois history, recently declared in an article in the Journal of the Illinois Historical Society that the Fort Dearborn action should be called the Battle of Chicago and not the Fort Dearborn massacre or Chicago massacre. ‘It was not a massacre for it was not an indiscriminate killing.’ Musham said. ‘Those who perished were killed in the ghting or soon afterward in accordance with Indian customs, or died because of the privations of their captivity. It was, in fact, a minor engagement, a physical struggle between two opposing forces, American and Indian. While it did take place at Chicago, it did not occur at Fort Dearborn. It is therefore correct to call it the battle of Chi- cago (Anonymous, “‘No Massacre’ Fort Dearborn Historian Says” 1943).
The Prairie District Neighborhood Association again suggested that the park be named after Chief Black Partridge. At subsequent meetings, I made clear that a park in honor of Black Partridge was insuf cient for the magnitude of the events that occurred there and too closely harkened back to the memory of the Pullman statue. Instead, I suggested that the park be named “Battle of Fort Dearborn Park” to better re ect the events of that day in 1812, and that a plaque rather than the statue be placed at the park. The precinct alderman’s of ce, the PDNA, the Chicago American Indian Center, and others ultimately came to a consensus, embracing my sugges- FORT DEARBORN 219 tion for the park’s name and forgoing the installation of the Black Partridge Statue. The plaque, which I helped write, reads as follows:
From roughly 1620 to 1820, the territory of the Potawatomi extended from what is now Green Bay, Wisconsin to Detroit, Michigan and included the Chicago area. In 1803 the United States government built Fort Dearborn at what is today Michigan Avenue and Wacker Drive, as part of a strategic effort to protect lucrative trading in the area from the British. During the War of 1812 between the United States and Great Britain, some Indian tribes allied with the British to stop the westward expansion of the United States and to regain lost Indian lands. On August 15, 1812, more than 50 U.S. soldiers and 41 civilians, including 9 women and 18 children, were ordered to evacuate Fort Dearborn. This group, almost the entire population of U.S. citizens in the Chicago area, marched south from Fort Dearborn along the shoreline of Lake Michigan until they reached this approximate site, where they were attacked by about 500 Potawatomi. In the battle and aftermath, more than 60 of the evacuees and 15 Native Americans were killed. The dead included Army Captain William Wells, who had come from Fort Wayne with Miami Indians to assist in the evacuation, and Naunongee, Chief of the village of Potawatomi, Ojibwe and Ottawa Indians known as the Three Fires Confederacy. In the 1830s, the Potawatomi of Illinois were forcibly removed to lands west of the Mississippi. Potawatomi Indian Nations continue to thrive in Michigan, Indiana, Wisconsin, Kansas, Okla- homa and Canada and more than 36,000 American Indians from a variety of tribes reside in Chicago today. (Anonymous, “The Story of a House” 2009)
On August 15, 2009, the park was dedicated with participation from members of the neighborhood association and other residents of Chicago, members of the American Indian Center, representatives of the local Illinois National Guard, and members of the Pokagon Band of Potawatomi (Loerzel 2009). According to press reports,
During the dedication, (Pokagon) Potawatomi elder Roger Williams blessed the site. To commemorate its history, an Illinois National Guard honor guard presented the colors, and ritual performers offered traditional Native American singing, drumming, and dancing . . . Second Ward Alderman Robert Fioretti noted the dedication day focused on unity and healing, and Williams said the City’s invitation to the Potawatomi to join the dedi- cation “completed the circle” linking the past and the present . . . During the planning process, participants decided against naming the site after Potawatomi chief Black Partridge, who warned the soldiers and pioneers about the planned attack. The American Indian Center supported naming 220 JOHN N. LOW
the park after Black Partridge but opposed the statue, as did Fioretti. The statue “doesn’t symbolize how people can come together,” he said, noting it “portrays Native Americans in the wrong light. (Cintrón 2009)
Lively debate about the name of the park, and whether the event was a massacre or a battle, appeared online and in print in local media including The Chicago Examiner (“Murders at the Lee Farm a Portent to the Massacre” 2009), Chicago Magazine (Johnson 2009), The Chicago Tribune (Grossman 2009), and local public radio station WBEZ (Loerzel 2009). Explaining the objection to naming the park after Black Partridge, James Grossman, vice president for Research and Education at the Newberry Library, senior research associate in the Department of History at the Uni- versity of Chicago, and co-editor of “The Encyclopedia of Chicago,” said, “From their (Native) perspective, Black Partridge was a traitor” (Grossman 2009). At the dedication of the park, Russell Lewis, executive vice president and chief historian of the Chicago History Museum, pointed out that Simon Pokagon had criticized the battle being called a massacre: “When whites are killed, it is a massacre; when Indians are killed, it is a ght” (Cintrón 2009). While some bemoaned the failure in 2009 to reinstall the statue, oth- ers focused on the naming issue. Some mourned the “loss” of both. The following comment, taken from Chicago Magazine, December 2009, was posted in response to one of the numerous online articles about the new park, and was a view expressed by some:
I have followed articles about the controversy of the naming of the park with great interest. I nd it ridiculous that Chicago’s history is allowed to be distorted to mollify those who want to stand in the way of truth. Who is John N. Low and why should we care what he thinks? Why should the statue that honors Black Partridge be warehoused when he valiantly saved a white woman from being killed? It’s because some Native Americans still see him as a traitor for doing so. Isn’t that a sad commentary that any American would still feel that way today? Nearly 200 years have passed, but time doesn’t change facts. The American public is sick to death of political correctness getting in the way of truth. It’s time to tell it like it is and stop catering to fringe groups who want to retell history to their own satisfaction. Were there any descendents (sic) of the victims of the Fort Dearborn Massacre on this board that decided the name of the park? I doubt it. I’m surprised our government hasn’t apologized for building the fort there in the rst place. Maybe that’s next. Nancy Margraff, Chicago (Johnson 2009) FORT DEARBORN 221
Some predicted trouble for the new name. According to one Chicago Tri- bune columnist,
A tragic chapter in Windy City history known to generations of school- children as “The Ft. Dearborn Massacre” will be renamed by the Chicago Park District on Saturday. With a military honor guard and Native Ameri- can dancers, a patch of green at 18th Street and Calumet Avenue is to be dedicated the “Battle of Ft. Dearborn Park.” That apparent nod to political correctness won’t go down well with many Chicagoans who from bar stools to seminar tables, cherish their city’s legend and lore (Grossman 2009).
However, the new name stuck. Arguably, the park’s new designation recognizes that lives were lost on both sides and better re ects the complex nature of the overall war, with American Indians and early settlers battling over land and westward expansion, resources, and a multitude of other issues and grievances.
ROUND FOUR—THE 200TH ANNIVERSARY
The controversy over the demise of the “Fort Dearborn Massacre” narra- tive sparked anew in 2012 with the arrival of the 200th anniversary of the Battle of Fort Dearborn. Once again, those in favor and against the “name change” and the statue debated in the press and on Internet blogs/websites. Some of the comments were very supportive of what had been started in 2009. Lindsay Prossnitz (2012) wrote for the Chicago Tonight blog,
I get a little annoyed when people say it’s political correctness, as a practic- ing historian. For history to have value in our society, it’s great when you can nd it does more than entertain, but actually does something. When history is an agent for reconciliation, it’s a powerful and wonderful thing.
The Chicago Tribune and The Chicago Sun-Times, major newspapers in Chicago, embraced the designation “Battle of Fort Dearborn.” However, one opinion editor in particular was strident in his call for Chicagoans to rise up in support of the massacre moniker and reinstallation of the Black Partridge statue (Kass 2012:2). Thus far, nothing has come from this call to arms. In 2012, the Chicago City Council approved a resolution marking the 200th anniversary of the Battle of Fort Dearborn. The resolution included a request for city of cials to “encourage thoughtful and inclusive discussion 222 JOHN N. LOW and education allies involving Native American history and culture” (Burke 2012). The Council’s resolution re ected the power in securing a clearer understanding of our shared past. Its message highlighted the still-contested struggle over the “history” of Native/non-Native relations in early Chicago, how the struggle over memory of those events mimicked in some ways the struggle for the land two hundred years ago, and how an opportunity for reconciliation between contemporary non-Native and Native peoples was secured by those willing to reconsider a meta-narrative for the founding of Chicago. In a recent book, historian Ann Durkin Keating concludes that “(the battle) was not a ‘massacre’ but part of a declared war that the United States waged against Great Britain and their Indian allies” (Keating 2012:238). However, Keating also advocates for reinstallation of Pullman’s Black Par- tridge monument, at the Fort Dearborn Park site, the Administration Build- ing for the former Pullman Car Company on the far south side, or in a public display at the Chicago History Museum. She advocates for renaming the statue after Black Partridge and including a “reinterpretation” (presum- ably with some accompanying label) (Keating 2012:238–244). However, the problem with reinstallation of the statue with some form of textual reinterpretation is that most viewers of the statue will see only the worn out caricature of the noble red man saving the helpless white woman from the hands of another savage Indian. One wonders if any amount of labeling can overcome that visual (Bitgood 2003). On August 11, 2012, the Chicago History Museum held a com- memoration day for the “Battle of Fort Dearborn Bicentennial” complete with encampment of War of 1812 re-enactors and a “Reconciliation and Memorial Program.” On September 8th of that year, the Prairie District Neighborhood Association held its annual South Loop festival with a 200th year anniversary commemoration of the Battle of Fort Dearborn. American Indian musicians, educators, artists, and storytellers from the Chicago area participated, as did the Pokagon Potawatomi—led, as in 2009, by tribal member and head veteran Roger Williams. Heid Erdrich reminds us that Native peoples had monuments long before contact with non-Natives (Erdrich 2008). But for the last several hundred years, the mainstream of settler-colonists, and their descendants, in the United States have erected a multitude of monuments celebrating their “conquest” of North America. It is a rare occurrence when both Natives and FORT DEARBORN 223 non-Natives can share a commemorative space that acknowledges the dif- culties and complexities of early contact between the two. It is a good sign that Natives and non-Natives can share such a place in Chicago. The BATTLE over “The Battle of Fort Dearborn Park” represents a milestone for the City and the Nation. Not only were members of the Pokagon Potawatomi Indians and the Chicago American Indian Center invited to participate in the process of creating a memorial, they also had a signi cant voice in how Chicago history was reinscribed. Unlike August 15, 1812, today everybody wins.
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