Neither new nor rare

Historians have debated at length the question of when certain ideas about homosexuality came into currency. Here’s a piece of evidence, not previously reported to my knowledge:

In the Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts on 11 December 1868, a young man named Samuel M. Andrews was tried for murder. He pleaded not guilty by reason of “transitory insanity.” He was driven mad, he said, by Cornelius Holmes’s attempt to have sex with him.

It was a strange, sad case. According to the prosecuting attorney, Cornelius Holmes was not like other men. He was fifty-three years old at the time of his death and weighed 225 pounds. A bachelor, he lived alone in a boarding house. Though he had no occupation, he was said to be worth $20,000. The prosecution claimed that “The only person with whom he was at all intimate was the prisoner,” Andrews, who had killed him. The defense more or less agreed with this characterization of their relationship. Andrews “was almost the first young man Cornelius Holmes had ever met, who had not slurred him, & hooted at him,” Andrews’s attorney said. He added that Holmes “was not an idiot; . . . He was rather slow; played in childhood with children younger than himself.”

How intimate were they? The lawyers tried to bring this out. There was a telling exchange during the examination of a witness named Lysander Bartlett, a ship’s carpenter:

Question. Were Cornelius & Andrews intimate friends?

Witness. Mr. Andrews can tell you better than I can.

Chief Justice. You should not say to counsel that Andrews can tell you that better than I can. It is improper.

Witness. ‘Tis, eh? I knew they were intimate. . .

After Andrews was arrested for the murder, witnesses saw him kiss Holmes’s body.

In court, Andrews had a difficult task: he had to establish the nature of Holmes’s interest in him, and he had to make it sound plausible that he had resisted Holmes’s advances despite their persistence. He didn’t quite manage. He testified that “about nine years ago one stormy evening,” he and Holmes had shared a bed. “After talking awhile he turned towards me, & tried to put a part of his person between my legs, behind. I left the bed.” Though Holmes made other advances, the friendship continued. In fact there were hints that Holmes had thought of leaving his money to Andrews.

The murder came about one day when Holmes beckoned Andrews to follow him off the road and into the forest. Once they were alone, Holmes threw him down, tore open his pantaloons, put his hand in a relevant place, and said, “Now I’m going to have some, this time.” In a panic, Andrews grabbed a stone . . . That, at any rate, is what Andrews claimed in court, though he also claimed, confusedly, that he was “entirely unconscious of what took place.”

In summing up, the defense stressed how common Holmes’s tendency was:

Nor, gentlemen, is this any new crime. Go to our soldiers & sailors, inquire of our naval officers & see whether it is a new crime. The government would have you believe that this is an improbable story, because the crime is rare; gentlemen, this story is more than probable, for it is a crime which has always existed.

The prosecution, on the other hand, stressed how unlikely it was that Andrews would have had to kill Holmes in order to defend himself from rape. “Rape,” the prosecution insisted, wasn’t even the right word; in fact, the proper word didn’t exist, because the thing was impossible. The whole question of sex between men, the prosecution suggested, was probably a red herring: “There was in the present case no adequate evidence of any voluntary acts of indecency between the parties,” the prosecution argued, “but even if such existed, these had no tendency to prove an attempt to commit this act by force.”

In his instructions to the jury, the judge observed that Andrews had taken Holmes’s earlier advances quite calmly and had remained his close friend despite them. Taking the hint, the jury found Andrews guilty of manslaughter, and he was sentenced to twenty years.

(Source: Report of the Trial of Samuel M. Andrews, Indicted for the Murder of Cornelius Holmes, before the Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts, December 11, 1868, including the Rulings of the Court upon Many Questions of the Law, and a Full Statement of Authorities upon the Subject of Transitory Insanity. By Charles G. Davis, of Counsel for the Prisoner. New York: Hurd & Houghton. Cambridge: Riverside Press, 1869.)

Two Georgia peaches forever Clinging

According to a post on the History of Sexuality listserv, Simon Stern of Harvard Law School has discovered a depiction of gay marriage in an 1840 book of dialect sketches, Augustus Longstreet’s Georgia Scenes. (Hat tip to Leaves of Grass.)

The telling is remarkably free of panic and judgment. Maybe that’s because it appears in a joke: Just before they turn in for the night, two humorous gentlemen tell three old gossips that “George Scott and David Snow: two most excellent men, . . . became so much attached to each other that they actually got married – . . . And they raised a lovely parcel of children.” The puzzle of two men engendering children keeps the gossips up late speculating. “I reckon that one of them men was a women dress’d in men’s clothes,” one of the women proposes, but it isn’t so. The solution, revealed the next morning, is that the men “were both widowers before they fell in love with each other and got married.” (The complete text is available at the University of North Carolina’s Documenting the American South.)

Broken Angel, Brooklyn

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Superstructure of Broken Angel, seen from the southeast.

This will be slightly byzantine: Through Jenny Davidson’s post about my friend Lorin Stein’s excellent essay on Mary Gaitskill, I was led to an appealing blog titled Ben and Alice, among whose lusters was a photo of a strange building in Brooklyn I’d never seen before. Through Forgotten New York, I discovered that it’s located where Quincy Place bends and becomes Downing Street, and through Brownstoner, I found a link to a New York Times interview with the building’s designer and builder, Arthur Wood. The name of the building is Broken Angel. I visited this afternoon; here are a few pictures.

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Left: Broken Angel, seen from the east (along Quincy Street). Above: Two details from the lower part of the eastern facade. Below left: Broken Angel, seen from the south (along Downing Street). Below right: Three details from the southern face of the superstructure.

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Old signs, ailleurs

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Subway wall, Paris, October 2005. A little fuzzy, because it was taken with a handheld Canonet, no flash. The wonder is it came out at all. I’m posting it in memory of an old sign, formerly visible in my neighborhood, of a snowman, whose photograph is here. The snowman was recently replaced by a large commercial billboard of rotating wheat-pasted posters—this week, of the Strokes’ new album. Oh well.