‘Box of neglect’ yields fascinating history

With all the public libraries and archives closed for the coronavirus pandemic, I have been spending a good deal of time in my home library. My collection of books, periodicals and ephemera about Arkansas, the results of more than a half-century of collecting, offer both reading and research opportunities. A large box of loose papers, accumulated over several years, provided some unexpected historical encounters.

Removing the dusty lid of the box, I found myself trying to read a badly discolored Thermofax copy of an article from the Arkansas Democrat dated Feb. 6, 1919, and titled “Country girl admits she sat on neighbor woman.” I don’t recall why I had taken the time and expense to copy this clipping, but it does document that journalists have always had a sense of humor, sexist though it might be in this case.

The country girl in question was “Lizzie Crook, a buxom, red-cheeked country lassie of 16, who was charged with assaulting Mrs. Essie Smith, aged 21, a neighbor …” It was alleged that Lizzie confronted Essie because she had made “slighting remarks … about Lizzie before a large gathering of neighbors one Sunday afternoon in December, while Lizzie was strolling past in the company of her first real beau.”

When put on the witness stand, Lizzie admitted she had “sat upon her less able bodied opponent in an effort to wring out of her victim admissions of guilt.” Several witnesses said Essie Smith had “hit first,” and the jury promptly found Lizzie innocent. This is not, however, the end of the story.

The unnamed author reported that when the clerk of the court read the verdict, “Lizzie’s father sprang to his feet and cried out, ‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ while a large clan of Crook factionists gathered around to congratulate him.”

It turns out that Lizzie and Essie were members of opposing factions in a long-running feud among families living “about 10 miles from Little Rock on the Arch Street pike.” The “two clans” were “both largely represented in the court room,” but no violence was reported.

Continuing through my box of neglect, I found a copy of a fascinating and lengthy 1883 account by a well-known local writer named Fay Hempstead of how Little Rock had changed in the 20 years since the city fell to Federal troops on Sept. 10, 1863. Hempstead, who would go on to become one of the leading historians of his era, was a keen observer and sometimes held strong opinions.

His piece was written as a letter to the editor, taking up almost a full page of small print. He provides an interesting account of the hurried evacuation of Confederates as it became clear the city would fall: “By 5 o’clock [Sept. 9] the confederates were streaming through the town in retreat, with the federal advance moving in, and from that time until 1 o’clock at night, [on] one of the dustiest days the sun ever show [sic] upon, the streets resounded with the rumble of wheels, the clatter of horses, and the tramp of men, and Little Rock was effectively in federal possession.”

Much of Hempstead’s remembrance is given over to describing buildings which were constructed since the war.

Eventually Hempstead’s tour reached the location of the state Capitol building on Markham Street at the foot of Center Street. Now known as the Old State House Museum, the stately Greek Revival building had never been well maintained, and Hempstead did not try to restrain his contempt for “this antiquated pile.”

Though he acknowledged efforts by the then secretary of state to repair the structure, Hempstead wrote: “Its native ugliness and acquired dilapidation was all the more conspicuous from the entire absence of carefully tended trees or smoothly shaved lawns, well defined walks and seat[ing] in the showy flowers, or a bubbling fountain.”