Those Bogus Bixby Boys:
One of the most inordinately admired documents from President Lincoln is the letter to the widow Lydia Parker Bixby, penned on November 21, 1864. Some argue it's the most heartfelt condolence letter written by any American President. The letter's fame persists, becoming a symbol of patriotic sacrifice for over 157 years. Originally intended as a simple note of condolence, this single manuscript has gained profound significance over the years. Through countless conflicts, it has come to represent a crucial aspect of the propagated American spirit. Notably, it played a role in Steven Spielberg's World War II epic 'Saving Private Ryan,' setting the stage for the film's plot. It was conceived in the spirit of a grateful nation and its government, honoring all those who sacrificed their lives to maintain the Union and epitomizing the essence of patriotism.'Saving Private Ryan' to preface the film's plot. It was written in the spirit of gratitude of a nation and its government to all those who had given their lives to maintain the Union; furthermore, to display the honor of patriotism.
Abraham Lincoln served as the 16th president of the United States from March 4, 1861, until his assassination on April 15, 1865. Lincoln led the nation through the American Civil War, the country's greatest moral, cultural, constitutional, and political crisis.
On September 24, 1864, Massachusetts Adjutant General William Schouler wrote to Governor John Albion Andrew regarding a discharge request from Otis Newhall, the father of five Union soldiers. In his letter, Schouler noted that about ten days prior, Lydia Bixby, a destitute widow who claimed to have lost five sons in service to the Union, had visited him. Governor Andrew subsequently informed President Lincoln about Mrs. Bixby, leading to Lincoln's drafting of the now-famous letter. However, there is evidence suggesting the letter may not be precisely as it appears. Questions surrounding its authenticity have circulated since it first became public.
The Lincoln sculpture: The designer of the memorial interior's large central statue was Daniel Chester French; the Piccirilli Brothers carved the statue. The painter of the interior murals was Jules Guerin, and Royal Cortissoz wrote the epithet above the statue.
Executive Mansion,
Washington, November 21, 1864.
Dear Madam,
I have been shown in the files of the War Department a statement of the Adjutant General of Massachusetts that you are the mother of five sons who have died gloriously on the field of battle.
I feel how weak and fruitless must be any word of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the Republic they died to save.
I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom.
Yours very sincerely and respectfully,
A. Lincoln.
The narrative surrounding the letter is more intricate than a simple tale of American heroism. Lydia Bixby, despite being a Massachusetts woman with five sons involved in the war, does not quite fit the image of a grieving, exemplary Union mother. To be candid, that portrayal is far from the truth. Lydia Bixby passed away on October 27, 1878, at Massachusetts General Hospital. In the subsequent years, historians have scrutinized her loyalty and character, casting doubt on the initially perceived narrative.
The Lincoln Memorial is a U.S. national monument built to honor the 16th president of the United States, Abraham Lincoln. The memorial's architect was Henry Bacon. It is on the western end of the National Mall in Washington, D.C., across from the Washington Monument, and is in the form of a neoclassical temple. Dedicated in May 1922, it is one of several memorials built to honor an American president. It has always been a major tourist attraction and, since the 1930s, has sometimes been a symbolic center focused on race relations.
Boston socialite Sarah Cabot Wheelwright asserted in a letter to Bixby's daughter in 1904 that she had encountered her mother and provided financial assistance during the war. Her hope was that one of Bixby's sons, on leave, would aid in forwarding packages to Union prisoners of war. However, Wheelwright alleged that the requested assistance never materialized. To add to the complexity, Wheelwright claimed to have heard gossip suggesting that Lydia Bixby maintained a brothel in Boston and was "perfectly untrustworthy and as bad as she could be."
On August 12, 1925, Mrs. Sylvia Elizabeth Towers, Bixby's granddaughter, disclosed to the Boston Herald that her grandmother held southern sympathies and spoke little favorably about Lincoln. Surprisingly, she admitted to destroying the original copy of the letter shortly after receiving it, unaware of its eventual value or significance. Towers emphasized, "I remember so clearly my surprise when my mother told me how my grandmother resented the letter." Echoing this sentiment, the widow's great-grandson recalled from his youth, "I was advised by my father that my great-grandmother was an ardent Southern Sympathizer, and when she received the letter, she destroyed it in anger, shortly after receipt, without realizing its value." Consequently, beyond her questionable character and southern sympathies, it appears that even the foundational premise of the letter was false.
War records reveal that Lydia Bixby did not lose five sons on the field of battle. While two met their fate on the battlefield—Charles N. Bixby, Sergeant, Company D, 20th Massachusetts Infantry, killed in action on May 3, 1863, near Fredericksburg, Virginia, and Oliver Cromwell Bixby, Jr., Private, Company E, 58th Massachusetts Infantry, killed in action on July 30, 1864, near Petersburg, Virginia. One, Henry Cromwell Bixby, Corporal, Company K, 32nd Massachusetts Infantry, was honorably discharged after being captured at Gettysburg and paroled on March 7, 1864. He later received an honorable discharge. Another son, George Way Bixby, Private, Company B, 56th Massachusetts Infantry, is believed to have joined Confederate ranks and was captured at Petersburg on July 30, 1864. Military records offer conflicting accounts, reporting his death at Salisbury or his desertion to the Confederate Army. The youngest son, Arthur Edward Bixby, Private, Company C, 1st Massachusetts Heavy Artillery, deserted from Ft. Richardson, Virginia, on May 28, 1862. An affidavit filed by Lydia Bixby on October 17, 1862, claimed Edward had enlisted underage without her permission. He was eventually returned to Boston after the war.
The origin of the letter can be traced back to the moment when Lydia Bixby showed William Schouler what he described as "Five letters from five different company commanders," each conveying "The poor woman of the death of one of her sons." Despite this, he informed Governor John A. Andrew that she was "The best specimen of a true-hearted Union woman I have yet seen," urging him to correspond with Lincoln. It's plausible that she sought both financial aid and sympathy, potentially explaining her later act of destroying the letter in anger. Despite the complex motivations at play, she adeptly secured recognition from the President of the United States. Remarkably, a similar incident unfolded in September 1862 when she asserted that one of her sons was injured at Antietam. Seeking financial assistance to visit him in a Maryland hospital, Governor Andrew granted her forty dollars. However, the War Department files offer no indication that any of Bixby's sons were wounded at Antietam.
In his report to the War Department, William Schouler erroneously listed Edward Bixby as a member of the 22nd Massachusetts Infantry. This mistake led to confusion, as it incorrectly associated Bixby's son with another soldier of the same name who was killed at Folly Island, South Carolina. It is believed that Bixby may have aimed to conceal Edward's 1862 desertion, possibly in the hope of securing additional financial aid. During Schouler's September meeting with Mrs. Bixby, where she presented the five fraudulent letters claiming the loss of her sons, she was already receiving a pension following Charles's death in 1863. At that time, Bixby's son George was a prisoner of war in Richmond, Virginia, and Henry was still hospitalized after his exchange.
Between her initial attempt to claim money after Antietam and the Bixby letter of November 1864, the escalating Union casualties posed a significant challenge for the War Department, making the verification of records problematic. This difficulty was compounded by the fact that men were dying in their thousands anonymously. Consider the staggering statistics from some key battles: the Battle of Fredericksburg, with 12,653 Union casualties; the Battle of Chancellorsville, with 12,145 casualties; the Battle of Brandy Station, with 907 casualties; the Battle of Gettysburg, with 23,049 casualties; the Battle of Chattanooga, with 5,824 casualties; the Battle of the Wilderness, with 17,666 casualties; the Battle of Spotsylvania Court House, with 18,399 casualties; and the Battle of Cold Harbor, with 12,738 casualties. In the few battles mentioned here, a total of 103,381 casualties occurred, with many listed as missing in action, their bodies destroyed beyond recognition—often deemed 'unknown soldiers.' It is understandable how, amidst this carnage and with antiquated record-keeping, anyone claiming to have lost five sons could slip through the administrative net.
It does appear that Lydia Bixby operated more as a con artist than anything else, and ironically, one without real loyalties to the Union. Yet, paradoxically, she stands as a symbol of possibly the worst example of Union patriotism. Nevertheless, due to a lack of records and the challenges in verifying her claims, the letter found its way to her. Even decades after the war, historian William E. Barton termed the letter a "beautiful blunder." Perhaps it was indeed a blunder, but the letter has taken on a life of its own, transcending the story behind it. Lydia Bixby's name has become a representation of the solemn pride felt by many Americans. The letter remains as poignant today as it was in 1864 because the empathy and hope expressed within it are undeniable. In reality, the controversy surrounding the letter becomes irrelevant when measured against the larger truth of its words.