Abraham Lincoln's Impromptu Speech At Burlington, October 9, 1858

 

Lincoln speaking at Burlington

Most people would’ve called it a day after giving a long political speech. Abraham Lincoln gave another one in Burlington.

 

It was Saturday, October 9, 1858. Lincoln was chasing Stephen A. Douglas’s seat in the United States Senate. He’d spent the afternoon speaking in Oquawka, Illinois, before traveling downriver to give Iowans their turn.

 

Burlington Republicans had been trying to get him to town for years. Now they’d finally landed him, and an estimated 1,200 to 1,500 people turned out at Grimes’ Hall to hear him.

 

Lincoln talked for two hours.

 

The Burlington Hawk-Eye didn’t complain. Its October 11 account called the speech “a logical discourse, replete with sound argument, clear, concise and vigorous, earnest, impassioned, and eloquent.”

 

The editor thought Lincoln looked surprisingly fresh after two months on the campaign trail, while Douglas was showing the wear. Unfortunately, the paper gave a review of Lincoln’s speech rather than a transcript. We know how long he spoke and how much the paper enjoyed it, but we’re not sure exactly what he said.

Before He Became President Ronald Reagan Was A DJ At WOC In Davenport

Before the speeches, before Hollywood, before anyone ever called him “Mr. President,” Ronald Reagan was just a young guy trying to get a job during the Great Depression.

He didn’t have a master plan. No five-year vision. No idea he’d end up in the White House someday. He just had a friendly voice, a little confidence, and the willingness to walk into a radio station and say, “I think I can do this.”

Somehow, that worked.

He landed in Davenport at WOC radio, and like most first jobs, it wasn’t glamorous. Early radio wasn’t slick or polished. It was closer to organized chaos. Equipment was finicky. Scripts were loose. And if something went wrong, you were already on the air when you found out.

WOC had a reputation, though. The Palmer family ran it, and they enjoyed pushing things forward—new tech, new programming, and fresh voices. That also meant expectations were higher than you’d expect for a Midwestern station in the 1930s.

So, if you bombed, people noticed.

Hoovervilles The Ultimate Dig At Herbert Hoover

(colorized image of a photo published in The World's Work in 1920)

They called them Hoovervilles, and the name stuck. Not funny. Not clever. Just mean and dead-on. The country was broke, jobs gone, banks shuttered, and people were out there hammering together shacks from junk like it might hold the world together one more night.

They spread like a bad rumor on riverbanks, rail yards, and empty lots on the edge of town. No water. No heat. Breadlines curling around the block like a slow funeral. People standing there with hollow eyes, waiting for a handout that might run out three bodies ahead of them.

Iowa Barely Noticed The First Plot To Kill John F. Kennedy

 

Watercolor drawing of a public domain image from Wikipedia

A plot to kill President elect John F. Kennedy in December 1960 barely got a mention in the Des Moines papers.

 

The Des Moines Tribune reported the story on page 7 in the December 16, 1960 issue. Headline: “Plot to Kill Kennedy, Man Seized.” The December 19 issue of the Des Moines Register buried the story on page 9, lumping it in with an article titled, “Kennedy Sets Talks On Bills.”

 

The Iowa City Press-Citizen was the only paper to run the story on the front page. It was one small column wedged between an article on the plane crash in New York and Christmas for missing airmen. The tiny headline said: “Hold Man In Death Plot On Kennedy.”

 

The story that claimed the front page that week was the crash of two airliners in New York, which claimed 126 lives. The Kennedy story faded into the background.

 

And yet, what happened in Palm Beach that week could have blown the entire decade apart.

 

The man at the center of it didn’t look like a villain out of central casting. Richard Paul Pavlick, 73, was a retired postal worker from Belmont, New Hampshire. The guy you’d expect to argue about stamps, not wire a car full of dynamite.

 

But he’d convinced himself Kennedy was dangerous. Too rich. Too Catholic. Propped up by “big money.” Pavlick decided the country needed saving.

 

So he bought explosives.

 

Not one stick. Not a little bundle tucked under a coat. Authorities later said there was enough dynamite in his Buick to level a building. He rigged it with blasting caps and a detonator. The plan was simple and horrifying: park close to Kennedy, hit the switch, and die along with him.

 

This wasn’t Dallas. No rifle. No long distance.

 

It was going to be a suicide car bomb in broad daylight.

 

Kennedy was in Palm Beach in December 1960, staying at his father’s estate and easing into the role of president-elect. He hadn’t taken the oath yet. The inauguration was still weeks away. Security was present, but nothing like the wall of protection that would surround presidents after 1963.

 

Pavlick followed him.

Herbert Hoover During World War I

 

Before he was president, Herbert Hoover was a mining engineer. A numbers man. A logistics wizard who’d made a fortune digging minerals out of the ground on three continents. Then, in 1914, war exploded across Europe.

Thousands of Americans were stranded with no cash and no way home.

Hoover organized emergency loans. Chartered ships. Set up offices. Within weeks, he’d helped get tens of thousands of Americans out of Europe.

He became chairman of the Commission for Relief in Belgium after it had been overrun by Germany. Millions of civilians faced starvation. Britain’s navy blockaded food shipments. Germany occupied the land. Hoover negotiated with both sides to move grain across oceans and through battle lines.

Under his direction, ships crossed the Atlantic loaded with wheat and flour. Warehouses rose. Distribution networks spread across occupied territories. The commission fed millions of people every day.

When America entered the war in 1917, Woodrow Wilson made Hoover the U.S. Food Administrator, a post he held from 1917 to 1919.

Hoover didn’t want heavy-handed rationing laws. He believed in voluntary cooperation. So he made food patriotic.

Abraham Lincoln, Grenville M. Dodge & the Transpacific Railroad

Abraham Lincoln arrived in Council Bluffs on August 13, 1859, looking less like a future president and more like what he was — a traveling lawyer with a worn suit, a dusty hat, and long legs that seemed to fold awkwardly off the steamboat. He came west partly to see the Missouri River country for himself, and partly to learn more about the growing railroad interests pushing toward the Pacific.

On this visit, he met Grenville M. Dodge, a young civil engineer whose surveys of the region were already respected. Dodge later recalled that Lincoln approached him with a direct question that bypassed all small talk:

“I am informed you are a railroad engineer, and that you have made surveys.”

Lincoln wanted just one thing: an honest engineering assessment of where a transcontinental line ought to begin. Dodge told him that the most practical starting point on the Missouri River was Council Bluffs, citing the favorable grades leading west through the Platte Valley. Dodge recalled Lincoln listened with intense focus, asking what he later described as “a series of minute questions” about routes, elevations, and obstacles.