Last year, Dan Hillis — a local attorney
who is originally from Binghamton, N.Y. — purchased a home on
South Douglas Avenue that he is now in the process of renovating. A
curious metal plaque, prominently affixed to the house with screws,
greets visitors with a whimsical, if false, statement: “On
This Site in 1897, Nothing Happened.” In the true spirit of
historic preservation, Hillis intends to keep the sign, though he
doesn’t share the implicit apathy and indifference that its
message conveys. He intends to bring the former John E. Melick
residence, which has stood sentinel near the corner of Douglas and
Governor streets since the 1800s, back to a semblance of its former
glory. I had to laugh during a recent visit to Hillis’ house;
whoever placed the sign evidently had me, and all other historical
“snoopers,” in mind, as the objects of such a deadpan
zinger. I came snooping — and got zinged.
The reason for my visit was this: Having grown
up on Douglas Street, I was aware that the neighborhood was
formerly Camp Yates, predecessor of Camp Butler and the staging
area for Ulysses S. Grant’s entrance into the Civil War. Camp
Butler was established in part because of the problems inherent in
having a military base in such close proximity to the city limits.
Local residents found that the soldiers at Camp Yates helped
themselves freely to the fruits of their orchards, gardens, chicken
coops, and livestock pens. Such problems, plus the camp’s
distance from a railhead, led to the establishment of Camp Butler
in 1861-1862.
Camp Yates — named for Illinois’
wartime governor, Richard Yates — encompassed the approximate
area now bounded by Washington and Governor streets and Lincoln and
Douglas avenues. I also knew that a stone marker had been placed at
the corner of Douglas and Governor to commemorate the historical
significance of the camp, and I came looking for it. A little
microfilm sleuthing uncovered at least part of the story.
By reading old copies of the Springfield News from
the summer of 1909, I discovered that the placement of the monument
(in Melick’s backyard) was an impressive and dignified ceremony, held on the morning of Aug. 2,
1909. Both the mayor and the governor spoke, as did several clergy
members and military commanders, including Col. Charles F. Mills, who
was in charge of the day’s exercises. In introducing Gov. Charles
Samuel Deneen, he spoke these words:
“This historic ground has been
made memorable as the starting point of Gen. Ulysses S. Grant. . .
. It is fitting that the starting point of such an illustrious
career as that of General Grant’s should be commemorated by a
suitable marker. This site has been made memorable as one of the
first recruiting stations for state troops in the Civil War and has
a bright page in the patriotic history of Illinois that will ever
associate Camp Yates with the illustrious services of Richard
Yates, the great war governor of Illinois.”
Under the headline “Unveil Tablet at
Camp Yates Site,” the News reported: “The tablet is of granite stone, 18
inches square, two and one-half feet high, the slab surmounted by a
sundial and a large base. On the slab is the inscription
‘Camp Yates, 1861. Here General Ulysses S. Grant Began His
Civil War Career.’ ”
And there the tablet stayed until 1952, when,
through the joint efforts of the Daughters of the American
Revolution, the Chicago Civil War Round Table, and the Illinois
State Historical Society, it was obtained from Melick. At that
time, the tablet was in a severely degraded condition; the
inscription was illegible, and so a replacement marker was
positioned in the yard of Dubois School, where it remains. The
sundial disappeared, leaving only the stone obelisk to
ignominiously mark time in a forgotten corner of a residential
yard. Its presence begs the question: Is half (or a third?) of a
historical monument still a monument?
At some point the Melick property was
subdivided, and the site of the marker is now the back yard of
Graham and April Woerner, who have lived at the residence for just
over two years and whose house now occupies the corner lot. They
have been busy with interior improvements to the house and had no
idea that the obelisk in an overgrown part of their otherwise well-tended back yard is a nearly 100-year-old
historical marker and had only a vague idea that the area had some sort
of important historical distinction. With that knowledge, they are
considering seeking a small city or state grant to restore the marker
to a state of dignity and remove it to a more prominent area in the
center of the yard.
Graham Woerner says that he has discussed the
monument with his wife, who is originally from Bristol, R.I., where
historic preservation is taken seriously by city government. They
agree that it is something that they would like to see given new
life and say that they are flexible with regard to the privacy
issue, within reason.
“It would be selfish to keep it strictly
for ourselves, but we’d be glad to make it available to
anyone with a real interest in it,” says Woerner.
Mayor Tim Davlin said that he had no knowledge
of the marker but that he is a keen lover of history and is enthusiastic about
preserving Springfield’s past. He says that he would like to see
the monument, learn more about it, and perhaps discuss with the
Woerners options for the ultimate disposition of the decidedly simple
but (to a history lover) elegant and interesting piece of civic
history. Perhaps together they can restore it to a state of grace.
This article appears in Jun 30 – Jul 6, 2005.
