He was born October 17, 1780 in Beargrass, near Louisville, Kentucky, to a couple who inexplicably left a beautiful family farm in Montebelle, Virginia (the general environs of Jefferson’s Monticello). They already had a big family by today’s standards – two boys and two girls – before Richard was born. Several more – all boys – would follow after they went back to the eastern part of Kentucky Territory. But that’s enough about Richard’s birth. It’s the kind of information – dates, places and names – that history teachers like me thrive on sharing.
How did I find this forgotten man? I was teaching American history and my 185 students, divided among five classes, varied in reading skills from college to second grade levels. I had a rare book shop at the time, and had some interesting old books about early American government leaders. Vice presidents seemed to be held a bit more in regard in the 19th century, although there were plenty of jokes even then about the spare wheel status of their position. Down the road about an hour was a city that had a series of streets named for vice presidents. So, I chose to prepare folders with pictures and stories about “Almost-Famous/Now Forgotten Men: America’s Vice Presidents.” By the time I reached the eighth president, Martin Van Buren, and his VP, I was really on a roll.
The first important image that caught my eye was a picture of one of my favorite historical figures: the great Shawnee leader, Tecumseh. As it turned out, RMJ got credit for slaying the great Native American at the Battle of the Thames in 1813. Even he knew it could not be confirmed – but he rode the wave of fame at the time, anyway.
The next item that popped up on my computer screen took my breath away. No, it stopped my heart and broke it at the same time: a political cartoon from early 1836, during the Van Buren/Johnson presidential campaign’s prime time. RMJ sat in a chair weeping, with two young African-American girls holding a portrait of their mother. The caption read “An Affecting Scene in Kentucky.” Surrounding them were comments similar to Marvel Comic bubbles over the figures of an abolitionist; an African-American man; a postmaster (RMJ was a champion of the postal service, a very big deal back then), and a heckler. But what touched me were these words: “When I read the…attacks on the mother of my children, pardon me, my friends, if I give way to feelings.”
I was off on a search for answers that would lead me to one of America’s greatest love stories, once forbidden, long forgotten.
