Give the man room

by Robert J. Casey; Mary Montgomery Borglum

The issue is really not an art issue at all. In essence it is historic and political, or rather sociological. Altgeld’s keenness as a thinker and debater no one who ever heard him doubts. That he showed moral courage in that historic pardon, most of his enemies will concede. Our guess is that Borglum will succeed in immortalizing him as the friend of labor, though many obstacles may first have to be overcome.

The surprising denouement was furnished by William H. (Big Bill) Thompson. He was then mayor and had made an appointment to discuss the matter with the Art Commission. They were waiting for him at the Art Institute where his messenger rather bluntly announced to them that the Commission was no longer in existence nor had any authority, its term of office having expired. “The statue looks good to me,” said the mayor, “and the committee doesn’t.”

So the memorial was unveiled as scheduled on Labor Day, 1915, before an immense crowd including thousands of labor-union men and women. Governor Edward F. Dunne presided, and William Jennings Bryan delivered the speech of the day. The sculptor made a puzzled comment:

I have been not a little surprised that in America, the foster mother of mankind, there exist no memorials of consequence dealing with the struggles and pathos of life. It is a matter of amazement and regret that Chicago, a city whose life has been crowned through sacrifice and struggle as it has been sweetened by suffering, should show antagonism to a memorial which develops or suggests a humane situation where one human being befriends another.

There is something stern and vital behind this. But censorship, be it ever so official, will not arrest one beat in the natural heart of mankind, nor stop the natural expression of what is true, of what is good. And that which is true and good is, at least, a full sister of that which is beautiful. Millet’s “Angelus” and his “Man With a Hoe” would be subjects of supreme beauty and pathos in sculpture, admirably composed for public parks. How much more human and akin would be this interpretation of life than the cheap allegories or conventional vagaries which the unthinking call art.

General Daniel Butterfield was a Union hero who distinguished himself at “Little Round Top” in the battle of Gettysburg. His wife outlived him and at her death bequeathed a fortune, part of which she specified should be spent on a monument for her husband. She left instructions for the unknown sculptor who might be chosen by her executors. He was to visit the battlefield, familiarize himself with Little Round Top and, so far as possible, incorporate the contour of that famous site in his design for the monument. He was also to study certain photographs of the general, one of which represented him standing with folded arms and wearing a cocked hat, “as in the bas-relief at Utica.”

In the contract all that was said about the figure was that it was to be over eight feet high, in the dress uniform of a major general, supported by a foundation of natural work representing Round Top. It was specified that the sculptor was to make a model forty inches high and that when that was approved he would proceed with a full-size model “which shall be submitted to the executors for their approval and acceptance and shall be in accordance with the will of Julia L. Butterfield.”

All that appears plain enough, but there was a catch which would presently cause the sculptor no end of tribulation. To him it seemed that in financial reward it was the best commission he had ever received, the only one from which he might expect a reasonable profit. For a single figure, with side panels at the base, he was to receive $54,000, a generous allowance. The chairman of the executive committee, Colonel E. M. Ehlers, a Dane by birth, showed him one photograph of the general in full-dress uniform, arms folded, wearing an imposing military hat with a plume. Another photograph showed him hatless, with his hands at his side. But this, said Colonel Ehlers, should be ignored because Mrs. Butterfield preferred the other.

Following his instructions in good faith the sculptor made a forty-inch model, using the selected photograph as a guide for the pose. One of the executors, Mr. Hagar, criticized the nose and mustache of the model and the sculptor changed these features to his satisfaction. All four executors then approved the model and signed the voucher for the payment due at this stage of the work. When the full-size model was accepted only three executors were present, but again the voucher for payment was signed by all four. The model was then cast in plaster and sent to the Gorham Company to be put into bronze.

Gutzon was delegated to find a place for the memorial, preferably in Central Park, New York City. He was told that the park was out of the question but was offered a site near Riverside Drive, opposite Grant’s Tomb, where the statue was placed in January 1917. The secretary of the executors, Dr. May, in formal acknowledgment that the work was completed, added this friendly, personal word: