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Photographs courtesy of the Missouri Historical Society’s Photograph and Prints Collection, the Saint Louis Art Museum, SIUE, MICDSIt’s not always the politico with the nuclear handshake and the three-piece suit. Or the judge, the archbishop or the tycoon. No, sometimes the folks who profoundly shape (or, as the case may be, scratch and dent) the history of a place are the rabble-rousers, muckrakers, crusaders, visionaries, wingnuts, artists and self-made men and women. Historically, St. Louis has had a generous share of all of these, from philanthropists to anarchists. Our goal was to round up a list of those who, now gone, affected the fabric and fate of the city most profoundly.
Some of the folks here you’ll recognize, like Pierre Laclede, who had the foresight to choose a long, clear bank along the Mississippi—one with a gentle incline, ideal for the docking and unloading of boats—and cemented our place as a commercial river port for centuries. Some names you may recognize—you probably know of Father Dickson Cemetery on Sappington Road, for instance—but you may not know that its namesake, Moses Dickson, was the founder of a secret African-American organization called the Knights of Liberty that was planning a military offensive to end slavery when the Civil War broke out.
In either case, we hope we’ve liberated St. Louis history from the mustiness of the history book, with its endless lists of dates and places and skirmishes, by bringing alive the people who made those dates memorable, gave this place its shape, fought, flourished and left their traces behind in ways both tangible and mysterious.
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The Beginning: 1764–1861
First France owned the land. Then it was handed over to Spain. Then a city was founded—under Spanish rule by French fur traders whose boats had glided upriver from New Orleans. Tension from the start.But St. Louis’ French Creole founders held sway far longer than could be expected, charming the Spanish authorities with satiny ruthlessness. St. Louis received an underlay of Creole culture—a love of gaiety, music and dancing, a deliberate lack of formality and a romantic nostalgia for an older, simpler age. The French Creoles made fun of the “Americans” as rough, unpolished, brutal and priggish. “It would take many French funerals to improve
St. Louis,” one WASP snarled back.
Land commissioner Frederick Bates plumped for “the superior genius of the Americans”—and in the end, he won. Even the Chouteaus couldn’t keep French as St. Louis’ second official language, couldn’t keep the Creole Sabbath that welcomed whiskey and dancing, couldn’t keep the French legal system. By the end of this era, Creole culture was a private affair.
But its influence remained.
Pierre Laclede Liguest (c. 1724–1778)
Who he was: A Frenchman “of good family” whose business in the New World was ruined by the war between France and England, yet who managed to grab a second chance: exclusive privileges for fur trading in the Missouri River county. What he did: Set out with his 14-year-old stepson Auguste Chouteau (today he’d be arrested for child endangerment). Chose a forested spot on the limestone bluffs with direct access to the river and, in 1764, drew the grid for a village. Gave St. Louis its first scandal by bringing the elegant Mme. Chouteau, abandoned by a tavern keeper and Laclede’s wife in all but law. Why it mattered: It’s where we live. The fur trade caused wealth to flow into St. Louis. The scandal left us hungry for propriety.
Louis Groston de Saint-Ange et de Bellerive (d.1774)
Who he was: The first military commandant and acting governor of the post of St. Louis. What he did: Coaxed French artisans and traders to cross the river from the Illinois country; showed up just in time to head off anarchy; provided steady government and protection until the Spanish arrived in 1770. Why it mattered: Using the kind of nonabrasive “niceness” later St. Louisans would take for granted, Saint-Ange was able to win over the Spaniards without jeopardizing his friendship with the French. St. Louis followed his lead.
Clement Delor (d.1805)
Who he was: A former French naval officer who settled just south of what was then St. Louis proper. What he did: Established the village of Carondelet, bordered by Meramec, the Mississippi River, the River des Peres and Morganford, in 1767. St. Louis annexed it in 1870. Why it mattered: As the name for the founder of a resolutely working-class community like Carondelet, “Clement Delor de Treget” sounds a bit effete, but there ya go. Delor founded Carondelet just three years after St. Louis itself was founded. Ever since, Vide Poche (“empty pocket,” the French moniker for the former) has anchored Pain Court (“short of bread,” the French moniker for the latter).
Col. William Chambers (1757–1848)
Who he was: Founding father of North City. What he did: In 1816—five years before St. Louis city incorporated—Col. Chambers, Maj. William Christy and Thomas Wright founded the Village of North St. Louis, using a stunningly progressive layout. Col. Chambers set aside three circular areas—Clinton Place (a school), Jackson Place (a gymnasium) and Marion Place (a house of worship and cemetery grounds for people of all faiths and backgrounds)—to respond to the physical, social and spiritual needs of the community. Why it mattered: Those three circles have continued to anchor the neighborhood for 191 years, buffering it against decades of block-busting, brick rustling and political neglect.
John Mullanphy (1758–1833)
Who he was: St. Louis’ first millionaire. What he did: Fought in the Irish Brigade in France; wound up here in 1804. Had the wit to buy cotton cheap and sell it high at the end of the War of 1812. Used what he didn’t spend on his 14 daughters and one son to give small tokens to his adoptive city: a convent, a hospital, a church ... Why it mattered: His daughter Ann Biddle founded a hospital and “foundling asylum.” His son, Bryan, was elected mayor of St. Louis in 1847; he later endowed the Mullanphy Emigrant Home, welcoming much of the labor force that built St. Louis. Described by polite historians as eccentric, he often wore a boot on one foot and a shoe on the other.
Carlos de Hault de Lassus (1767–1843)
Who he was: The last Spanish lieutenant governor of St. Louis and one of the most able, descended from French nobility yet sufficiently angered by the French king’s treatment of his family to be open to Spain. What he did: Dealt calmly with smuggling, Indians and land battles, then gracefully handed the city over to the Americans. Assured the Delaware, Abenaki and Saqui nations, “You will live as happily as if the Spaniard was still here.” Stayed on to advise the new authorities. Why it mattered: If he’d turned us over to the Brits instead, your neighborhood Starbucks would be offering shots of black tea.
St. Rose Philippine Duchesne (1769–1852)
Who she was:: French-born Roman Catholic sister (Society of the Sacred Heart), pioneer, educator, fundraiser, frontierswoman, saver of souls. What she did: Even as a girl in Grenoble, she wanted to be a missionary to the American Indian. She fulfilled that dream in 1818, when she founded missions in St. Charles, Florissant, New Orleans and St. Louis. Mother Duchesne was 49 and could barely speak English, let alone Pottawatomie—but nothing fazed her. She was canonized in 1988. Why it matters: She believed in education, especially for females. And she was the first in a long line of women who led St. Louis educational and healthcare institutions with shrewd authority and selfless dedication.
William Clark (1770–1838)
Who he was: Governor of the Missouri territory, then Superintendent of Indian Affairs. What he did: Kept order. Founded an Indian museum that didn’t reduce its artifacts to curiosities. Socialized with the French-Canadian elite. Turned his house, at Main and Vine, into a center of hospitality. Tried to keep Meriwether Lewis out of trouble. Why it mattered: At a time when the Anglo-American majority was trying to whack St. Louis’ French-Canadian roots and slaughter American Indians, Clark identified himself squarely with the groups in danger, risking his earlier popularity to control the damage.
Antoine Soulard (1776–1843)
Who he was: A refugee from the French Revolution who breathed more easily in America’s open spaces; he became chief surveyor of upper Louisiana for both Spanish and American governors. What he did: Wrote the first review of
St. Louis trade and commerce—$77,000 worth of skins, hides, tallow and boar’s grease—and tactfully suggested making use of native trees and plants as well. Planted the finest fruit orchard in the area, on lush green acreage that stretched from the river to Carondelet and from Park Avenue to Lesperance. Why it mattered: Not only did Soulard’s prodding broaden our economic base and his job as surveyor allow him to influence conflicting land claims, but his widow laid out “Frenchtown,” the historic Soulard neighborhood.
Bishop Joseph Rosati (1789–1843)
Who he was: An Italian who became the first bishop of the newly created St. Louis diocese in 1827. What he did: Cooperated with the Jesuits (bishops didn’t always do so) to reopen Saint Louis Academy; brought various orders of women religious here; is credited with establishing St. Louis Hospital, said to be the first of its kind in the country. (The Sisters of Charity did the bandaging.) Why it mattered: Rosati focused and concentrated DuBourg’s work, giving form and substance to the new St. Louis diocese.
William Carr Lane (1789–1863)
Who he was: An Army surgeon who became the city’s first mayor in 1823. What he did: Had streets paved—for the first time. Persuaded physicians to make weekly reports of deaths. Issued sanitation warnings that could have prevented the cholera epidemics, had anyone listened. Gave the city a sense of identity. Why it mattered: Inspiration. As the new mayor told the first board of aldermen, “The fortunes of the inhabitants may fluctuate, you and I may sink into oblivion, and even our families become extinct, but the progressive rise of our City is morally certain.”
Col. John O’Fallon (1791–1865)
Who he was: President of the St. Louis branch of the U.S. Bank. An easygoing Irishman who could talk anyone into anything, he traced his lineage back to the battle of Clontarf in 1014. What he did: Errands for his uncle, Gov. William Clark, and his Army general. Then he was elected to Missouri’s first state legislature. Then he started making money hand over fist, opening his fist and pouring the profits into St. Louis. Why it mattered: O’Fallon gave the ground for Saint Louis University, land for the city waterworks, money to Washington University and its future medical school, 15 acres to the Home of the Friendless ... He wasn’t the type to write checks and walk away, either; he got involved.
Francis Blair Sr. (1791–1876)
Who he was: One of Thomas Hart Benton’s many disciples, a Free-Soiler and U.S. congressman, nominated for president in 1868 by wealthy St. Louisan Lewis Bogy. Blair was a man of substance—but he wasn’t afraid of a stunt. What he did: Afraid Southern sympathizers would drag Missouri out of neutrality, he organized 1,000 men—the “Wide Awakes”—to sing and shout behind him as he stumped for congressional office. Upon hearing of a planned attack on St. Louis’ federal arsenal, he shifted the arms to Alton. He fought with both pen and sword and gave much of his private fortune to the Union cause. Why it mattered: Without his fiercely abolitionist strategizing, the secessionists might easily have broken St. Louis from the Union.
Edward Bates (1793–1869)
Who he was: Lawyer and statesman, tapped as a delegate at the convention that framed Missouri’s first constitution. Served as a judge of the county land court before becoming U.S. Attorney General, Lincoln’s first cabinet member west of the Mississippi. What he did: Led the St. Louis Bar for 40 years (his articulate pleas won the freedom of slave Lucy Delaney in 1844). Opposed slavery but disliked the “colored” and advocated return of free blacks to Africa. Drove home legislation that gave St. Louis title to crucial real estate. Why it mattered: In 1851 Bates’ support for the Pacific Railroad, which he thought would open the way to California, got the first 37 miles of track laid. The real estate he secured kept the St. Louis Public Schools in excellent financial shape for decades.
Samuel R. Curtis (1805–1866)
Who he was: St. Louis’ second city engineer, in an era when we were the second-largest port in the country. What he did: Inherited a list of failures and turned them around, completing Robert E. Lee’s project to re-channel the Mississippi River between 1850 and 1853. Why it mattered: The river was sliding toward Illinois, filling the St. Louis side of the channel with silt. Boats were already having trouble coming into the port of St. Louis—and if they didn’t stop here, neither would their money.
Capt. Isaiah Sellers (1802–1864)
Who he was: A tall, commanding steamboat captain who logged over 1 million miles on the Mississippi without a single accident. What he did: Invented a new system of signaling and new methods of navigation. Saw millions of pounds of cargo safely home. Wrote a column of facts about the river and signed it “Mark Twain” (Samuel Clemens stole the pen name). Why it mattered: Clemens called Sellers “the only genuine Son of Antiquity” on the Mississippi. After lampooning Sellers’ windy, plainspoken style in a column, Clemens regretted his meanness and came to treasure those exhaustively detailed I-can-top-that stories that started St. Louis’ river-city culture. When Sellers died, every flag on the river slid down to half-mast.
Elijah P. Lovejoy (1802–1837)
Who he was: Presbyterian pastor; editor of The St. Louis Observer and The Alton Observer, both religious, antislavery newspapers; a martyr for the cause. What he did: In the slave state of Missouri, he fought for three freedoms: of the press, from slavery and of speech. He emigrated to the free state of Illinois after the Observer’s press was gang-smashed. He was shot defending his press in Alton, Ill., on November 7, 1837—an early skirmish in the undeclared Civil War. Why it mattered: Lovejoy’s tragic death was a silent, constant reminder of the fight for freedom.
Louis Auguste Benoist (1803–1867)
Who he was: A banker in an era when a man’s word was either gold or dross—and there were no layers of bureaucracy to hide the difference. What he did: He studied medicine, then law, before building one of the nation’s leading banking houses. He saw his bank through the panic of 1857 and calmly continued to lend the money that would build the city. Why it mattered: Without money and its vote of confidence, commerce cannot thrive. Without level-headed bankers like Benoist, money cannot grow.
Where would we be without ... Cyprian Clamorgan, who wrote The Colored Aristocracy of St. Louis in 1858, before most whites realized there was one.
Joseph Charless (1772–1834)
Who he was: Irish émigré and escapee from the Brits after the Rebellion of 1795. On the way to Missouri, he befriended a fellow printer, chap by the name of Franklin, in Philadelphia. What he did: Founded St. Louis’ first newspaper, the Gazette. Annual subscription: $3 cash or $4 in “country produce.” He reported on Indian movements and the works of Congress, the St. Louis Board of Trustees and the Louisiana legislature; he editorialized against Indians and the English and for St. Louis—and though a slaveowner, he published antislavery letters. Why it mattered: By providing a forum for the opposition voice—and by being that voice—Charless encouraged transparency from the start.
Henry Boernstein (1805–1892)
Who he was: The undisputed leader of what may have been the strongest force in 19th-century St. Louis: the German immigrant community. What he did: Hung out with Karl Marx, wrote plays and managed grand opera in Paris, ran a theater, hotel and brewery and worked as editor of an acclaimed German press here, then became a colonel in the Civil War and U.S. consul in Bremen. In 1851, he penned an anti-Jesuit novel that kept the Black Robes on their toes. Why it mattered: Radical to the core, Boernstein could rally support—or disgust—for virtually any idea. He kept politics a lively art, full of scrapping and local intrigue.
Wayman Crow (1808–1885)
Who he was: A Kentucky business tycoon, two-term Whig state senator, major political player and benefactor. What he did: Secured a charter for the St. Louis Mercantile Library, the oldest library west of the Mississippi, in 1846. Got Wash. U.’s charter signed by the governor before any of the other principal parties even knew they were involved. Endowed what became the Saint Louis Art Museum. Why it mattered: The Merc remains a repository of wisdom. Wash. U. gained the national spotlight. And our art museum is respected worldwide.
Robert A. Barnes (1808–1892)
Who he was: A wholesale grocer who became president of State Bank. Independent, commonsensical and plainly spoken, he was a bit eccentric, a quiet giver. What he did: Married Louise De Mun, a devoted Catholic. Lost their children in infancy, and then lost her. Gave money to create Barnes Hospital—but refused to donate for the funeral of a man who’d given a $1,000 pin to an actress. “If a man wants to live like a fool and die like a dog, he ought not to be buried like a gentleman,” Barnes opined. Why it mattered: He stipulated that Barnes be a modern, Protestant hospital, setting a new tone in St. Louis healthcare.
Dr. Charles Alexander Pope (1818–1870)
Who he was: An eminent physician with the unbending standards of genteel Alabama. Dragged by softhearted philan–thropist James Yeatman to the bedside of a sick little girl, Pope arched an eyebrow at her drunken family and announced, “I prescribe soap and water. Good night.” What he did: As dean of what was then known as Pope’s College—it would become Wash. U. Medical School in 1891—he drew a top-flight faculty to St. Louis; as president of the American Medical Association, he expanded their reputations. Why it mattered: Anybody not know someone who’s received a grave, perplexing diagnosis and been cured by a Wash. U. doc or Wash. U. research?
Bishop William DuBourg (1766–1833)
Who he was: A Sulpician priest born in Santo Domingo, he fled the Reign of Terror, sailed to America and became president of Georgetown College. Sent to New Orleans to oversee the Louisiana territory, he squabbled with his local flock and moved to St. Louis. What he did: Arranged for Mother Duchesne, four nuns and several priests to come with him to St. Louis, starting a seminary and the first free school west of the Mississippi. Founded St. Louis Academy, the first incarnation of Saint Louis University, in a private home in 1818. Complained that his log church looked like a poor stable and charmed Creole Catholics into funding what’s now the Old Cathedral. Why it mattered: DuBourg prepared the ground, bringing religious education and formal practice to a city that would soon be dubbed “The Rome of the West.”
Thomas Hart Benton (1782–1858)
Who he was: Statesman, teacher, farmer, lawyer, politician, Missouri’s first U.S. senator (1821); father of sharp cookie Jessie Benton Fremont and father-in-law of frontiersman John Charles Fremont, great-uncle of cranky artist by the same name. What he did: Benton was the Democratic leader of the Senate, held office for three decades and concentrated attention on the fiery issues of banking (whence his nickname “Old Bullion”), westward expansion and the abolition of slavery. Why it matters: A patriot to the core, Benton advocated “manifest destiny,” homestead laws and transcontinental railways—all of which encouraged shopping for goods, trading furs and securing grubstakes at the Gateway to the West.
Dred Scott (1799–1858) and Harriet Scott (dates unknown)
Who they were: A married couple, both born slaves in Virginia. They were moved to Jefferson Barracks. Then things got complicated. What they did: Dred and Harriet each sued for freedom in 1846. When their cases were consolidated as Dred Scott v. Sandford, Harriet was virtually written out of history; today she is considered the driving force behind the lawsuit, because, as a mother, she refused to see their daughters enslaved. Taught to read (which was illegal), she tracked their case all the way to the Supreme Court in 1857. They lost. Why it matters: The Scotts’ lawsuit, tried here in the Old Courthouse, was one more provocation to civil war—and one more cry for justice.
The Chouteau Dynasty
Who they were: “The royal family of the wilderness”: the crown prince, Auguste Chouteau, who built St. Louis’ first buildings at the age of 14; queen, Mme. Marie Therese Bourgeois Chouteau, wife (OK, not legally) of Pierre Laclede; the other prince, Pierre, who was sent to live with the Osage at age 17 and eventually became President Thomas Jefferson’s Agent of Indian Affairs. What they did: After that first scouting trip, Auguste was told to go back and build some cabins while stepfather Pierre Laclede kept warm at the Fort de Chartres fort. Eventually Mme. Chouteau arrived, started St. Louis society and married her daughters to young men of substance who expanded the family’s sphere of influence. When the Baron de Carondelet, Spanish governor of the territory, threatened to slaughter the Osage, the Chouteaus calmed him (the Osage were the fur trade’s middlemen) and said, “Let us handle it.” Why it mattered: The family consolidated the city’s economy and reigned long and well, ending British, Spanish and American spitball fights with charm and wiles.
Where would we be without ... George Caleb Bingham, who showed the world, with canvases like Fur Traders Descending the Missouri, the rough poetry of life at the frontier’s threshold.
The Busch Dynasty
Who they were:: The saga started with Adolphus Busch, who joined his father-in-law, Eberhard Anheuser, at the brewery in 1866 and built it into a powerhouse. Through the years, Busch’s heirs have grown into a maze of Busches, Anheusers, von Gontards, Orthweins and miscellaneous in-laws. What they did: Historically, in eastern towns, there was always one family who owned the textile mill and lived at the top of the hill. The Busches are our family. Their mill? The king of all breweries, Anheuser-Busch. And the Kennedy clan doesn’t have much on our own Busch brood in terms of tragedy and controversy—accidental deaths, passionate love affairs, even a police chase with a gun slid under the seat. Why it mattered: Because for all their bluff and bluster, the Busches have contributed more to St. Louis than could be expected of any family. Adolphus gave us the brewery; August A. gave us Grant’s Farm; Gussie bought the Cardinals, led the building of Busch Stadium and added the Clydesdales. When St. Louis Country Club repeatedly denied the Busches admission, they built Sunset Country Club. August III can be credited with Wash. U.’s new law school building—and with selling the Cardinals to DeWitt and chums. The Busches’ empire now spans the world, but they’ve remained players in their hometown. Hopes now rest on the broad shoulders of August IV.
William Greenleaf Eliot (1811–1887)
Who he was: A Unitarian minister with big, progressive ideas and the political connections to see them realized. An abolitionist, temperance crusader and women’s libber dubbed the “Saint of the West” by Ralph Waldo Emerson—oh, and the grandfather of poet T.S. Eliot. What he did: Fought slavery. Established the First Unitarian Church of Saint Louis and Mary Institute (now part of MICDS). With Wayman Crow, cofounded the Saint Louis Art Museum and Washington University. Why it mattered: Have you seen the size of Wash. U.’s endowment these days? MICDS, the Art Museum and the Unitarian church have similarly thrived.
