Welcome back to our ongoing series “Designing the University of Wyoming,” which explores the stories behind the campus’s architecture, landmarks, and artistic features that have shaped the university’s identity over the decades.
Standing proudly on the lawn south of the Arts and Sciences Building, the bronze figure of Benjamin Franklin has been watching over UW students for more than six decades. But this isn’t just any campus statue—it’s a piece of Wyoming history with an intriguing backstory, complete with artistic vision, generous benefactors, and even a bit of journalistic satire.
A Revolutionary Idea Takes Shape
The story begins in 1955, when the approaching 250th anniversary of Franklin’s birth sparked an ambitious idea. UW professor and sculptor Robert Russin (1914-2007) joined forces with Wyoming rancher and oilman Warren Richardson to create something special for the university. Richardson, along with his siblings Clarence and Valeria, saw the University as the perfect home for a commemorative statue of one of America’s most versatile founding fathers.
In a letter to UW President George Duke Humphrey on February 18, 1956, Richardson described their vision:
It is therefore particularly appropriate that a commemorative statue of this foremost American be placed on the grounds of our great state university as a guiding inspiration to the youth of Wyoming.
From The Branding Iron, March 23, 1956.
The trustees were convinced. At their March 9 meeting, they approved the proposal and accepted a check from the Richardson family for $17,500—equivalent to over $200,000 in today’s dollars—a substantial sum that would bring Russin’s artistic vision to life.1
From Clay to Bronze
Russin had already created a model, and the process of completing the seven-foot statue began in earnest. The bronze figure would rest on a large, polished granite base, positioned prominently where students, faculty, and visitors could encounter Franklin’s presence daily.
After considering several locations around campus, the trustees settled on the lawn south of the Arts and Sciences Building—a fitting spot for a polymath who embodied the spirit of learning and discovery. Long-time campus visitors might remember this area as the site of the beloved Peanut Pond, where students once gathered for fly-casting contests and tug-of-wars before the small cement-lined pond was filled in during 1962.
Dedication Day and Words of Wisdom
The statue was installed on April 1, 1957, and formally dedicated on May 24. At the dedication ceremony, sculptor Russin delivered remarks that captured both his artistic philosophy and Franklin’s enduring relevance to university life:
My remarks will be brief, and since the statue must speak for itself, in effect, I have already said my say. It is especially appropriate that a monument to Franklin be placed on a campus of learning…He was a student, in the truest sense, for all of his life. In his own words, ‘The doors of wisdom are never shut,’ and this applies truly to this campus.2
From The Branding Iron, April 5, 1957.
A Western First
What makes UW’s Franklin statue particularly special is its distinction as the first statue of Benjamin Franklin erected west of the Mississippi River. For the Richardson family and the university, this represented an opportunity to bring a piece of foundational American history to the frontier state.3
A Journalistic Jab with a Point
Not long after the statue’s installation, the campus newspaper The Branding Iron published a satirical piece that would become part of the statue’s lore. In a clever article titled “Inscription on Franklin Statue Hacks Stranger,” student journalists created a fictional encounter between a student and a mysterious figure named “Silence Dogood”—a reference to one of Franklin’s own pseudonyms.
The fictional Dogood character complained that the statue’s inscription listed Franklin as “scientist, man of letters, economist, politician” but failed to mention what he considered Franklin’s most important identity: “Printer and journalist!” The character argued passionately that Franklin’s career in printing and journalism was the foundation for all his other achievements.4
This playful critique highlighted an important aspect of Franklin’s legacy while demonstrating the kind of critical thinking and spirited debate that Franklin himself would have appreciated.
Franklin contemplates his key in this 1968 photo—perhaps deciding whether to unlock scientific secrets or just tell someone to go fly a kite. Photo from The Branding Iron, July 26, 1968.
Weathering Modern Controversies
The statue’s peaceful existence was briefly disrupted in September 2017, when a student group staged a mock protest to make a point about the national conversation surrounding historical monuments. The group organized a fake petition drive asking students to sign a petition to remove the Franklin statue. Students who signed were then given a flyer explaining that the group wasn’t actually trying to remove the statue, but rather protesting what they saw as the troubling trend of tearing down historical monuments across the country.5
The incident sparked conversations about historical memory, the role of monuments on campus, and how universities should navigate politically charged discussions about public art and commemoration.
Franklin has not only weathered controversy, he’s weathered… well, weather. Here he is in a University of Wyoming Foundation Facebook post from January 2025.
A Continuing Presence
More than sixty years after its installation, Franklin’s bronze form continues to occupy its prominent spot on campus. The statue has become part of the daily rhythm of university life, a familiar landmark that has appeared in countless graduation photos and served as an informal meeting spot for generations of students. Whether viewed as an inspiration, a conversation starter, or simply as a piece of campus history, Franklin remains a constant presence in the ever-changing landscape of the University of Wyoming.
Explore More UW History
Want to see how dramatically the University of Wyoming has transformed over time? The American Heritage Center offers two online exhibits that bring campus history to life. “University of Wyoming: A Brief History of Campus” takes you on a visual journey through the university’s evolution, while “Keeping History Alive: 136 Years of Progress” offers a then-and-now comparison, pairing 2023 photographs of campus buildings and features with historical images to reveal how much the landscape has changed. These exhibits provide a great backdrop for understanding how landmarks like the Franklin statue fit into the university’s ongoing story of growth and transformation.
This is Part 2 of our series on Bertha Klausner, Missed Part 1? Read it here to learn how she built her literary agency from the ground up.
Building a Literary Empire
After closing her Hollywood office in 1960 and returning to work full-time from New York, Klausner entered the most prolific phase of her career. Through it all, she thrived, building lasting relationships and forging new paths for her clients in both literature and entertainment. Her work with literary giants like Upton Sinclair, whose books she sold for nearly two decades, and Marcel Marceau, whom she helped introduce to American audiences, solidified her position as a key figure in the literary world.1
Klausner working in her Park Avenue office. Image courtesy of Rebecca Spence.
Her Hollywood connections were also sound and enduring. In a February 2025 interview, Klausner’s nephew, Dennis Torres, talked about a meeting he had with Stanley Kramer that was initiated by his aunt. Hoping to pitch his then recent novel to the producer/director as a film idea, Torres instead sat for an hour listening to Kramer extoll his aunt’s virtues.2 She was well-liked and respected in all circles. Her commitment to her clients was single-minded as she wove together an international network of publishers, and radio, film, television, and stage directors and producers.
Mime Marcel Marceau performing with a giant hoop in his one-man show. “Marcel Marceau On Broadway,” Billy Rose Theatre Division, The New York Public Library. New York Public Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 7, 2025.
For decades she would entertain and conduct business out of her home. A great-granddaughter, Rebecca Spence, recalls that her earliest memory when visiting her Nana at her Park Avenue apartment in New York was meeting Marcel Marceau:
When I was little Marcel Marceau would be in her apartment and he would do… private mime performances for me and my brother… we were little children, very young—three or four. That is my earliest memory—Marcel Marceau being in my Nana’s apartment and doing mime for me. Pretty amazing.3
She would oftentimes prepare meals for her clients and prospective business partners. Upton Sinclair mentioned one such event in his 1962 autobiography wherein he stated, “One of the most unusual occasions was a luncheon given by my faithful agent, Bertha Klausner, who invited only those people who are working, in one way or another, with my various books—publishing or reissuing or dramatizing them for stage or screen. And, there was a roomful of them!”4
Klausner’s family members would frequently be at the luncheons she hosted. Nephew Dennis Torres recounts having met notables such as Adam Clayton Powell and Claire Booth Luce at these events, both of whom were her clients. He also remembers his aunt sending him on errands. During these trips, he once met Ralph Bellamy, a renowned stage, film, and television star, and Tony Award-winning producer David Merrick.5 Torres remembers that Merrick “would always get great seats for her [Klausner] whenever she wanted to go to any play. In my mind she was like Gertrude Stein was to the ex-pats in Paris—I considered Bertha the Gertrude Stein of New York.”6
Great-granddaughter Rebecca Spence also recounts “going to her house and there is action, there are people there, important people, and artists and culture makers and we’re getting free tickets from Tommy Tune to go see…The Phantom of the Opera in the VIP section in the first row…I remember as a child, that [when] we visited…my Nana in New York she would give us free VIP tickets to…major plays and…Broadway shows.”7
Her New York apartment became the center of both her personal and professional worlds, where there seemed to be no boundaries between her personal and professional life. Jean Cappel (who worked from Klausner’s home), sent her a postcard in 1959 (special delivery, no less) addressing an inquiry that Klausner had made of her stating, “Dear Bertha, Bottom door—a box second from windows in your bedroom are bundles of scripts from article file. Ralph ______ should have a bundle & Cocos [sic] outline should be there (otherwise in book files under “H” or “W”).”8 Klausner’s granddaughter Maya worked for the agency for ten years while in high school and while attending college at Vassar. She related working from her grandmother’s apartment on Lexington Avenue from 1967 to 1975:
The one on Lexington Avenue was hilarious because it was probably at some point a residential hotel. There was no kitchen. It was a two-bedroom and one bath. She turned a closet into a kitchen. She used a hot plate and had a little refrigerator like a kid would use in a dorm room and produced amazing meals out of this closet. And, she entertained writers and editors and people in the business there. Usually lunch. And, the same when she moved to the big apartment [on Park Avenue].9
Those luncheons oftentimes bore fruit for Klausner. In 1972 she received correspondence from Lilly Poritz Miller, a senior trade editor with publishers McClelland & Stewart Ltd in Toronto. Miller had referred Canadian author and screenwriter, Seymour Blicker, to Klausner whose book, Schmucks, she represented in the United States and Israel. In Miller’s letters to Klausner dated June 27, 1972, she wrote, “Many times I have thought of those warm and festive luncheons with you and I miss seeing you.”10 Klausner continued to work and entertain from her home into her eighties.
International Expansion
Klausner cast a wide net across borders and oceans. Her letterhead in 1954 indicated that her agency reached clients across the globe including Australia, India, Indonesia, Philippines, and South Africa.11 Her influence also extended into the Middle East, notably to Israel, where she established important connections with literary and film agencies.
In the early 1970s, Klausner reached out to Israeli businesses and explored opportunities for collaboration in film production. Her correspondence with Israeli agencies highlighted her interest in expanding the reach of American literature and film into international markets, particularly in Israel, where she sought to negotiate film rights and represent Israeli filmmakers in the U.S. and Canada.12
She began by sending a barrage of letters (over two dozen) to organizations such as Israfilm Ltd.13 And the bait worked! In a 1973 mailing, she secured a meeting with Israfilm and pitched several of her authors to them. In February 1974, Klausner traveled to Israel to meet with representatives from Israfilm and other agencies to discuss potential co-productions and the possibility of bringing Israeli literature and stories to a broader audience. Her efforts not only expanded her agency’s influence but also contributed to fostering cultural exchanges between the U.S. and Israel, making her a key figure in promoting Israeli content in the American market.14
She negotiated film and television rights for her clients, including Seymour Blicker and American author and longtime client Robert Payne. She carefully strategized and once she had established initial contact with an interested party, she would advocate on behalf of her clients with other reputable firms.
This letter from Klauser to Israfilm dated July 14, 1973, was one of dozens of form letters she sent to potential clients/business associates in Israel. Box 50, Folder 11, Bertha Klausner papers, Coll. No. 9462, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
An example of this can be found in her cordial but assertive correspondence with a representative from an Israeli publisher. While she had not secure a definitive agreement with Israfilm to produce Robert Payne’s unpublished manuscript, Love Stories from the Bible, as a television series, she leveraged this initial contact to attract interest from the Bar David Literary Agency.15
The letter to Varda Mor of Bar David contains both a personal note and an admonishment that exemplifies Klausner’s direct literary style: “I feel that your interest in Robert Payne should be stronger than it is.”16
Letter from Klausner to Varda Mor, 1979. Note the personal and cordial tone of the letter. This is commonly found in Klausner’s correspondence. She was a master at making people feel comfortable and heard while she concurrently conducted shrewd business deals. Box 50, Folder 11, Klausner papers.
Writing letters was an art for Klausner. Most often, they were the first introduction of herself, her agency, and clients to a potential publisher or producer. She often established a personal connection with prospective colleagues while maintaining a professional manner and strongly advocating on behalf of her clients. Screen writer and author, Pete Chaney, referred to his relationship with Klausner as one wherein he “could never refuse Bertha anything. My feelings for her range from admiration to deep affection, everything you can feel about a person you’ve known for 20 years but never met except by phone and letter.”17 In a 1980 article, Dick Boswell referred to her as a “motherly dynamo.”18
A Legacy of Relationships
The hallmark of Klausner’s career was her unwavering commitment to her clients and her ability to inspire and support them beyond mere business transactions. Her Park Avenue apartment became a hub for literary creativity, where writers, editors, and producers regularly gathered for lunches that often led to significant publishing and commercial successes. Klausner’s reputation for integrity, warmth, and her relentless drive earned her Upton Sinclair’s nickname “The Big Bertha of Literary Agents” a testament to her formidable presence in the industry.19 As Klausner continued to expand her influence, she remained dedicated to nurturing the next generation of writers and expanding the reach of her agency. Even in her later years, she showed no signs of slowing down, constantly seeking new opportunities and challenges, including those that took her abroad.
A Lasting Impact
According to journalist Morna Murphy, Klausner’s philosophy was “Never give up!”20 The more than 700 boxes in her papers housed at the American Heritage Center are a testament to this principle. Klausner’s work ethic and devotion to her clients is demonstrated time and again throughout. Her style was relentless and, as Murphy wrote about Klausner, at the age of 80 she remained “independent and unsinkable, working seven days a week extending encouragement (and often home cooking) to a host of writers.”21 Her legacy is one of innovation, resilience, and a profound impact on the literary and entertainment industries, making her a central figure in the history of American publishing and a pioneer in fostering international cultural exchanges.22
Post contributed by AHC Archives Aide Patty Kessler.
Howell Hurst to Bertha Klausner, May 7, 1987 (biography):4-6, Box 1, Folder 1, Bertha Klausner papers, Coll. No. 9462, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming. ↩︎
Dennis Torres, interview by Patty Kessler, February 13, 2025, interview transcript, American Heritage Center. ↩︎
Rebecca Spence, interview by Patty Kessler, February 26, 2025, interview transcript, American Heritage Center. ↩︎
Upton Sinclair, The Autobiography of Upton Sinclair,1878-1968 (New York, Harcourt, Brace & World, 1962): 325. ↩︎
This is Part 1 of a two-part series exploring the remarkable life of Bertha Klausner, one of America’s most influential literary agents. Read Part 2 here.
Bertha Klausner was among one of the most influential literary agents in the United States and internationally throughout the twentieth century.
Born in Brooklyn in 1901 to Austro-Hungarian immigrant parents, she was known for her tireless work ethic, innovative strategies, and deep commitment to her clients during the course of a career that spanned over six decades. Klausner played a pivotal role in the literary, art, and entertainment markets and solidified her role as a trailblazer for women nationally and internationally.1
Bertha Klausner, n.d. Biography File, Bertha Klausner Papers, Coll. No. 9562, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming
Early Years and Family Influence
As a child, and throughout most of her adult life, her father Jacob Adler—a prominent writer who was often referred to as the “Mark Twain of Jewish writers”—introduced Klausner into the world of literature and politics.”2 Her rich educational upbringing was set against a background of economic hardship; consequently she was no stranger to adversity.3
This fact, and the tenacity of her own father to realize his dream of being an influential author, served to shape her leadership and entrepreneurial spirit. These qualities led her to weave together an intricate sphere of influence. These inclinations would serve her well over the course of a career that was marked by resilience and an unyielding dedication to literature, the arts, and above all else her family and clients.
Innovation through the Women’s Exchange
After the 1929 Wall Street crash cost her structural engineer husband his financial backing, Klausner took the family’s last $2,000 and, with two young children in tow, invested it in researching and establishing a Woman’s Exchange in Asbury, New Jersey.4 At the turn of the century Woman’s Exchanges boasted approximately one hundred organizations and, while their numbers have diminished significantly, they continue to be one of the oldest operating charitable organizations in the United States.5 The Federation of Woman’s Exchanges’ website states that while women “received valuable training in retail organization and management, something they could not hope to attain in the male-dominated retail market in the late 1800s and early 1900s . . . its numbers began to die out shortly after women received the right to vote [in 1920] and began to join the work force.”6
Klausner patterned the Asbury Park Exchange after the historic agencies that were first established in the 1830s. They existed in part to address the lack of legal and economic protections for widows in accordance with the doctrine of coverture—the status of married women during the time that placed them lawfully under the control of their husbands, and erased any legal rights they may have had to own their own property, children, or to advocate on their own behalf.
This document predates Klausner’s exchange but shows how carefully exchanges were organized and managed throughout the 19th and 20th centuries. The Federation of Woman’s Exchanges still provides guidance for contemporary exchanges across the United States. “Rules of the Richmond Woman’s Work Exchange [broadside],” Social Welfare History Image Portal, https://images.socialwelfare.library.vcu.edu/items/show/545. Accessed April 15, 2025.
While the doctrine of coverture was gradually mitigated at the end of the 19th century and early in the 20th, the need for women to earn an income to support themselves and their families was not. These exchanges were run by women and provided an opportunity for women to submit handiwork which, in turn, would be sold at the exchange. It provided needed income for women and their families as well as charitable organizations.7 In light of this, her efforts did not go unrewarded. Klausner’s biographer, Howell Hurst, noted in his unpublished manuscript that, “[The Exchange] was an instant success. With over 300 carefully-selected women’s handcrafts for sale, Bertha garnered offers from the local mayor and the major department store for financial assistance.”8
Klausner’s initiative proved crucial after bank failures resulted in the loss of her husband’s engineering work, at which time she assumed the role as the primary provider for their family. She engineered an intricate network of housing for her family, rent free, in agreement with banks to take care of mansions left empty after the stock market crash, and afforded a place to live, not just for herself, her husband, and their children, but for a diversity of individuals. These members of her “extended” family provided child care, helped to maintain the household, and prepared meals for them. One of the chefs who resided with the family also cooked at a tea room located at Klausner’s Women’s Exchange.9
Community Leadership
Klausner was also involved in her faith and local communities. In November 1930, she attended a joint session of the Young Men’s and Young Women’s Hebrew Associations (Y.M.H.A. and Y.W.H.A., respectively). In an article published in The Long Branch Daily Record on November 14, 1930, it was noted that “Mrs. Edward S. Klausner, president of the Y.W.H.A. of Asbury Park” was on the itinerary and presented at the same program alongside her father.10
The first Y.W.H.A. was founded in New York in 1902 and provided “social recreational activities for Jewish working girls and, in some instances, temporary housing, all of which [afforded] ‘hundreds of hard-working girls with a chance of bettering their condition and of helping them, in many cases, from a condition of want and necessity to a place in the world where they can become independent and self-supporting.’”11 Both Klausner and her husband, Edward, were advocates of the communities they lived in and provided leadership and assistance wherever they were needed.
Klausner 1935. From the Ruth Adler Torres family album. Image courtesy of Dennis Torres.
Breaking into Publishing
As though this was “not enough” (which in the storied career of Bertha Klausner is really a phrase that held little or no meaning to her), Klausner was also instrumental in establishing a newspaper, The Monmouth Independent, which played a pivotal role in exposing and dismantling a corrupt local government in Monmouth County, New Jersey, through its investigative journalism and detailed reporting on bribery, embezzlement, and other illegal activities by local officials. Her activities in the publishing world included developing the Independent Publishers Syndicate, which served over 500 papers and became a model for current features such as Parade and This Week.12 These early ventures established her as a formidable businesswoman and paved the way for her later success as a literary agent.
Launching a Literary Career
In 1945, after a career of representing artists and illustrators, the mother of now two adolescents established the Bertha Klausner Literary Agency (which later became the Bertha Klausner International Literary Agency).13 This led to the beginning of a vast and lauded career.
Prior to launching her literary agency, Klausner represented artists (and later authors) including those who were influenced by the Harlem Renaissance (1918-1937).14 This is a facsimile of her business card, pre-1945. Box 13, folder 6, Klausner papers
Building on her success, “in 1945, Klausner transitioned to representing primarily writers, quickly gaining a reputation for her ability to sell diverse literary works, from radio scripts to full-length dramas, to major networks and publishers.”15 Through it all, Klausner challenged the status quo in the marketplace. She undertook this career within the framework of a male-dominated industry. In the early part of the twentieth century only 5% of “most [married] women in the United States [worked] outside of the home, and only 20% of all women were gainfully employed.”16
When Klausner began to focus her attention on the literary side of her agency, women had made some gains. Beginning in the 1940s “approximately 12% of married women were in the labor force and the overall total of women working had risen to 50%.”17 Klausner was well-positioned to capitalize on this growing trend.
The challenges for women in the workplace were further aggravated following World War II when the large number of women who had entered the workforce during the war faced pressure to leave and make room for returning servicemen. “Seventy-five percent of women who were employed during the conflict in the 1940s indicated that they wanted to stay in the workforce; however, despite this, there were mass layoffs of women at the end of the war.”18 Even so, 35% of women worked outside of the home and, by the end of the decade, approximately one-half of those were married. “This was a decrease in the number of women who were in the workforce prior to World War II, nevertheless, an increase in the number of married women participating.”19 Klausner maintained her employment status throughout this fluctuation of women’s participation in the job market. What’s more, she opened an office in Hollywood working on both American coasts until 1960.
Hollywood
Ten years after the establishment of her first agency in 1938, Klausner turned her sights to Hollywood and began maintaining an office and regular presence on the West Coast. From the late 1940s until 1960, Klausner fostered valuable relationships in Hollywood. In 1955, she wrote to her secretary, Jean Cappel, “I am convinced that I should be here every other month. I can sell fast—as I make friends & they are anxious to cooperate.”20
Klausner would often host parties to showcase her clientele. This image depicts author, inventor, and patron of the arts Caresse Crosby (shown left) with renowned archeologist Sam Lothrop with wife Eleanor at a Klausner cocktail party in 1953. Klausner took the photo. Caresse Crosby Photograph Collection, Special Collections Research Center, Morris Library, Southern Illinois University Carbondale
She entertained personalities from her Hollywood base. One such event in 1957 was reported on in the Los Angeles Citizen News: “Authors Robert Payne and Caresse Crosby were feted at a dinner party recently at the Hollywood Hawaiian Hotel. Bertha Klausner was hostess to guests, who includes Messrs. and Mmes. David O. Woodbury, Joseph Lederman, Jack Guss, . . . Art Cohn, . . . Vernon Duke, Ivy Crane Wilson, Whitney Stine, Leona Taub . . . [and] Lili Valenty.21 She also worked with top names in the film industry, which included individuals such as Stanley Kramer, who directed and produced such films as Inherit the Wind, Judgment at Nuremberg, Ship of Fools and Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner.
She likewise represented film notables such as Basil Rathbone, who was known for his Shakespearean roles, Sherlock Holmes films (1939-1946), and the film The Mark of Zorro. Among her many others clients were actors who worked across film, radio, and the stage. Klausner was Rathbone’s agent from the 1950s until his death in 1967; during that time, she encouraged him as he wrote his memoir which was published in 1962.22
Handwritten letters to Klausner from Rathbone chronicled the famed actor’s writing process and underscored the intimate relationship that she enjoyed with her clients. In one letter to Klausner, Rathbone wrote, “I may be going mad I don’t know! But I can’t stop writing way into every night.”23 In a later letter he pondered, “I am not a writer & this book cannot be treated as a literary project. Nor can anyone else assume to understand anyone else’s thoughts & feelings in this matter. Anxious as I am to go on with this book it must be a complete expression of myself or it will be no good.”24
Not all of her relationships with her Hollywood clients were as cordial, however. Klausner represented Joseph “Joe” E. Brown. A versatile entertainer, Brown performed in vaudeville, on the stage, and in film, starring in dozens of plays and movies. Two of his best known pictures were Show Boat, based on Edna Ferber’s 1926 novel by the same name, and Some Like It Hot, which starred Marilyn Monroe along with Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon. Klausner had solicited Brown to write his memoirs, which he agreed to.
She represented him through the publication of his autobiography, Laughter is a Wonderful Thing (1956), as told to Ralph Hancock. Temperaments certainly flared in her relationship with Brown. While Klausner had intimate and amiable relationships with most of her clients, her relationship with Brown was rocky at times. Hancock, who worked directly with Brown, had written to Klausner on January 20, 1955, concerning Brown’s dissatisfaction with her. In his letter, he reported that Brown was “fuming” because he believed that Klausner was “peddling” his idea for the autobiography. Hancock wrote, “He said he didn’t want you to peddle the idea [memoir] door to door and cheapen it that way. He was also peeved that you called him collect last week. And on top of all that he has a general dislike for agents as a whole.” Hancock also suggested that “he [Brown] is going to be very difficult to handle.” He went on to write, “I do not want you to promise him or me anything you can’t deliver, nor make any more statements about what you have lined up until you have it in writing. Neither he nor I can be fooled by such kidding. We’ve both been in business too long for that. And I think it hurts your own reputation too.”25
Klausner replied on January 24, 1955: “Your letter of January 20th certainly threw me for a loop. I thought that you knew me well enough to believe that anything I told you was on the level. I have built my reputation as an agent on my honesty and the complete sincerity I feel is due my clients… I seldom have any friction with anyone, as I have conducted my business on a very friendly basis and have made associations with my clients which have become lifelong friendships. Most people who work with me recognize that I have qualities which are not the usual in a relationship between agent and author. I like to keep my arrangements with clients a close and warm family tie. I thought you knew this, and that was why I am at a loss to understand how you could write a letter to me as you did.”26
Klausner was occasionally brought to task by clients, publishers, and others; however, she did not back down. She advocated for herself with the same vigor she brought to representing her clients. She went on to see Brown’s project through to completion.
The expense of maintaining an office on both coasts began to take its toll on the Bertha Klaunser International Literary Agency. A 1956 letter from Cappel, her secretary, underscored the inadequate financial condition of the agency: “I am sorry if I disturbed you with my plea for checks—I know the situation but didn’t quite know what to do with all the calls & letters I got from the clients asking for their monies. Hope things will go more smoothly next month.”27 By October, Jean was beseeching Klausner to send money to manage the day-to-day operations of the agency; she was paying for postage and office supplies out of her own pocket.28 In November, in reference to a debt owed by the agency, the beleaguered secretary mentioned that it was “a bit embarrassing for me to go in the story [sic] as he has asked for it now several times.”29
In the midst of this, always the optimist, Klausner later replied, “Today a miracle happened to me. Something so rare I still can’t believe it—but it will change my course for at least the coming year and during this year. I will have an opportunity to carry out plans which were always dreams. We have an angel. I’ll tell you more later… I have acquired quite a bit of new property & clients… I must sell all I can in New York on my return & collect payments to straighten out accounts.”30 There is nothing more to indicate what the “miracle” may have been; regardless, Klausner maintained her office in Hollywood until 1960 at which time she closed it down and returned to working full time from New York.
Coming up in Part 2: How Klausner built an international literary empire and became known as “The Big Bertha of Literary Agents.”
Post contributed AHC Archives Aide Patty Kessler.
Howell Hurst to Bertha Klausner, May 7, 1987 (outline of edited material and biography attached, 13), box 1, folder 1, Bertha Klausner papers, Coll. No. 9562, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming. ↩︎
Hurst to Klausner, May 7, 1987, notes from recorded interviews, Klausner papers. ↩︎
Klausner to Jean Cappel, Tuesday, 5 P.M., 1955, box 65, folder 11, Coll. 9562, Klausner papers. This is the first written suggestion that she was considering the establishment of her agency internationally. ↩︎
Rebecca Spence, interview by Patty Kessler, February 26, 2025, interview transcript, American Heritage Center. Later in the century, Klausner represented authors who were influential in the Black Arts Movement including Dorothy West. Dorothy West was an author during the Harlem Renaissance and a friend and one-time roommate of Zora Neil Hurston. ↩︎
Hurst to Klausner, May 7, 1987, 2-4, Klausner papers. ↩︎
Klausner to Jean Cappel, Friday, 8 P.M., October or November 1955, box 65, folder 11, Klausner papers. ↩︎
“March Party Whirl Roars In With Weekend Fetes,” Los Angeles Citizen News 52, no. 287 (1957): 10. The Jack Guss papers (Coll. No. 10899) are held at the American Heritage Center. ↩︎
After Rathbone’s death she continued to field questions and work on behalf of The Actors’ Fund (now known as The Entertainment Community Fund) to which he had bequeathed his papers and memoirs. She also continued to represent his wife, Ouida (Bergére), who was an actress, screenwriter, and playwright. ↩︎
Basil Rathbone to Klausner, April 30, 1961, box 99, folder 2, Klausner papers. ↩︎
Rathbone to Klausner, January 30, 1961, box 99, folder 2, Klausner papers. ↩︎
Ralph Hancock to Klausner, January 20, 1955, box 14, folder 16, Klausner papers. ↩︎
Klausner to Hancock, January 24, 1955, box 14, folder 16, Klausner papers. ↩︎
Cappel to Klausner, July 30, 1955, box 13, folder 5, Klausner papers. ↩︎
Cappel to Klausner, October 26, 1955, box 65, folder 11, Klausner papers. ↩︎
Cappel to Klausner, November 1, 1955, box 65, folder 11, Klausner papers. ↩︎
Klausner to Cappel, November 15, 1955, box 65, folder 11, Klausner papers. ↩︎
Imagine hearing the actual voice of someone who watched Civil War soldiers march past her childhood home, then lived to see the atomic age. That’s exactly what you can experience with Mary Godat Bellamy’s 1947 recordings—a remarkable audio document from Wyoming’s frontier era.
Bellamy witnessed and helped shape an extraordinary chapter in American political history. Wyoming entered the Union as something genuinely unprecedented: the first state where women could vote, hold office, and serve on juries. It was a bold move that raised more than a few eyebrows back east. There was a tradition here of creating firsts for women that was rare anywhere in the United States at that time. Bellamy was part of that tradition, and her voice tells us what that looked like from the inside.
A Voice from Two Eras
In 1947, at age 85, Bellamy began a set of interview with University of Wyoming archivist Lola Homsher to record her memories using a cutting-edge tool for that time – a SoundScriber dictation machine. Homsher, who would later become the first Wyoming State Archivist in 1951, was conducting these interviews as part of a larger collection documenting early Wyoming residents, conducted between 1947 and 1956 by employees of what would evolve into the American Heritage Center.
Bellamy’s interviews produced an extraordinary set of recordings—among the few where we can actually hear someone who lived through Wyoming’s transformation from raw frontier territory to established state. The original discs had deteriorated by the time they were digitized in 2010, creating scratchy audio with frequent skips. For this article, I asked AHC colleague Tana Libolt to enhance the audio so you can better hear Bellamy’s distinctive voice and personality that shine through with remarkable clarity.
Portrait of Mary Bellamy, photographed around 1910 by W.G. “Billy” Walker, one of Cheyenne’s leading photographers. Photo file: Bellamy, Mary Godat, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
A Civil War Memory
Bellamy’s matter-of-fact recounting of her earliest memories reveals the casual way extraordinary history unfolded in ordinary lives. Her child’s-eye view captures the kind of authentic details—the everyday reality of living through momentous events—that make oral history so valuable.
In these two interview excerpts, Bellamy recalls her earliest childhood memories, including from the Civil War years.
In these two interview excerpts, Bellamy recalls her earliest childhood memories, including from the Civil War years.
Journey to Wyoming
What began as a journey to help with family tragedy became the foundation of a remarkable Wyoming life. Arriving in Laramie at age 12, she would become one of the town’s first high school students and eventually one of its most distinguished citizens.
Bellamy explains how the death of her sister Alice brought her and her mother from Illinois to Laramie in 1873 to care for Alice’s young son.
“We Had Dances Every Friday Night”
Some of Bellamy’s warmest memories are of growing up in the brand-new town of Laramie, which had been founded just five years before her arrival in 1873. The young Laramie she describes was a place where social life thrived despite—or perhaps because of—the frontier challenges.
Hear Bellamy’s recollections of Laramie’s lively dance culture—square dances, lancers, waltzes, polkas, the Schottische, and the Varsouvienne, evidence of Laramie’s refined cultural life despite its frontier setting.This 1875 sketch of Fort Sanders shows the military post that still operated when Mary Godat arrived in Laramie in 1873. The fort, established in 1866 to guard the railroad and frontier settlement, would close in 1882. Photo file: Fort Sanders, Wyoming, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Musical Laramie and the “Scotland’s Burning” Incident
One of the most charming stories Bellamy tells reveals early Laramie’s surprisingly rich cultural life and her own infectious sense of humor about the musical activities of her youth.
Here she tells the delightful story of musical Laramie and a singing school incident that accidentally summoned the fire department.
From Joke to History
What started as deflection became history. Despite being on the Democratic ticket in a strongly Republican county, she won—proving that Wyoming voters were ready for capable leadership regardless of gender.
With characteristic humor, Bellamy recounts how her offhand comment about running for the legislature—meant as a joke to deflect pressure to run for school superintendent—immediately resulted in her nomination and eventual election as Wyoming’s first woman state legislator.
Recognition and Respect, and a Confession
Despite the era’s gender barriers, Bellamy earned genuine respect from her legislative colleagues. But that didn’t mean it was always a comfortable atmosphere. This endearing recollection reveals the delicate balance she had to strike as the sole woman in a male-dominated institution, managing both practical challenges and social expectations with grace and humor.
Bellamy fondly recalls a gift from the House and Senate, but also confesses some “unladylike” behavior.
Political Horse-Trading and Strategic Thinking
Her strategic thinking and political acumen shine through as she recalls this legislative victory, demonstrating that being the only woman in the room made her observant, not invisible.
With evident pride, Bellamy describes a time when she outmaneuvered her male colleagues in the legislature.Mary Bellamy at work in the Wyoming House of Representatives in 1911, where she served as Wyoming’s first woman state legislator. Photo file: Bellamy, Mary Godat, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
A Pioneering Spirit with Humility
Her approach to being a pioneer shows both strategic thinking and genuine humility, understanding that her success would pave the way for other women in Wyoming politics.
Bellamy reveals her strategic approach as the first woman legislator—and shares a compliment she received from future Wyoming governor Frank L. Houx.
A Life that Shaped a State
Bellamy’s interviews remind us that our state’s story is fundamentally about people who seized opportunities, built communities from scratch, and refused to be limited by conventional expectations.
Born in Richwoods, Missouri, on December 13, 1861—Friday the 13th, as she laughingly noted—Mary Godat Bellamy lived through nearly a century of American history, from the Civil War to the atomic age, before her death in Laramie on January 28, 1955, at age 93. Her earliest memory was of Confederate soldiers passing through her family’s Missouri farm; her final years saw the dawn of the nuclear era. Few people bridge such momentous historical periods, and even fewer left us their actual voice telling the story. She rests in Laramie’s Greenhill Cemetery beside her husband Charles Bellamy, who died in 1934. The couple raised three children together, though one died in infancy—a common tragedy of that era.
Bellamy’s voice connects us directly to Wyoming’s frontier past in ways that written records simply cannot. Her laughter as she recalls accidentally summoning the fire department with enthusiastic singing, her pride in outmaneuvering other legislators, her lingering embarrassment about chewing gum—these moments reveal the personality behind the historical achievements. Through these recordings, we meet both the spirited teenager who helped build a community and the experienced politician who helped shape a state.
The Mary Godat Bellamy oral history interviews are held in the Wyoming Pioneers Oral History project, and are available for research. Much of the project can be accessed digitally. The AHC also houses the Mary Godat Bellamy papers, which include artifacts from around the world, manuscript materials on Albany County and Wyoming, scrapbooks, and photographs of Laramie people and events. For more information about Bellamy, visit her profile on WyoHistory.org.
Discover More Pioneering Women in Wyoming History
Mary Godat Bellamy wasn’t the only woman making history in Wyoming politics. Her groundbreaking service as the first woman elected to the state legislature was part of a remarkable tradition that started when Wyoming became the first territory in the United States to grant women’s suffrage in 1869.
Want to learn about other trailblazing women who followed in her footsteps? Check out our online exhibit “In Pursuit of Equality,” which features three women who through their actions as elected officeholders, challenged and changed the conventional understanding of equality in Wyoming. Like Bellamy, these women used courage, wit, and political savvy to break barriers and expand what it meant to be the Equality State.
Post contributed by AHC Archivist Leslie Waggener and Archives Aide Tana Libolt.
I’ve been an archivist at the American Heritage Center for almost 25 years, and I thought I knew our collections pretty well. But as I was searching for the perfect topic for this year’s Independence Day blog post, I found myself drawn to a collection I’d never fully explored: the John H. Hull family papers. What I discovered there has deepened how I think about what we celebrate on July 4th.
Who Was John Hull?
The John H. Hull family papers contain a remarkable collection of Civil War correspondence—letters written by an Indiana farmer to his wife Agnes and their eight children during his service from January 8, 1864, to July 10, 1865, with the 120th Indiana Infantry Regiment, Company D. John Henry Hull was born on May 3, 1818, settled near Folsomville, Indiana, in 1836, and married Mary Agnes Phillips in 1840. At age 45, with a large family depending on him, he made the difficult decision to enlist as the Civil War entered its bloodiest phase.
The collection preserves Hull’s letters home during his service in some of the war’s most significant campaigns: the Atlanta Campaign, operations against Confederate General Hood in Alabama and Tennessee, the Battle of Nashville, and finally the Carolina Campaign that ended with Confederate surrender in April 1865. He served during what many historians consider the war’s turning point—the period when Union forces finally gained decisive momentum that would end the conflict within a year. His are not the polished memoirs of generals or the official reports of commanding officers—they’re the immediate, unfiltered thoughts of an ordinary American caught up in extraordinary circumstances.
June letter written by Hull.
An Unexpected Journey
I’ll admit, I was initially looking for something from the Revolutionary War era—something that would tie directly to 1776. But as I pulled up the digitized Hull letters on my computer and began reading his careful handwriting, I realized I’d stumbled onto something just as powerful: the story of how ordinary Americans in every generation have had to fight to preserve what the Founders started.
As I worked through Hull’s letters chronologically, I was struck by how much they revealed about the personal cost of preserving American independence. Hull wasn’t writing for posterity or public consumption—these were private communications with his family filled with mundane concerns about sick children, farm business, and the simple desire to stay connected across impossible distances.
One of his earliest letters in the collection, dated April 1, 1864, immediately establishes the tone: “Dear wife and children I take this opportunity to let you know that I am well and hearty hoping that these few lines may find you all enjoying the same good blessing.” Here was a man hundreds of miles from home, trying to maintain connection with his family while serving in the army that would determine his nation’s survival.
Although the Hull family papers do not contain an image of John H. Hull or his wife Agnes, there is a photo of their son Thomas Jefferson Hull (1853-1916) later in life with his wife Adline Cox Hull. Thomas would have been a young boy of 10 when his father joined the Union army in January 1864.
The Reality of War
But Hull’s careful reassurances to his family would soon give way to the stark realities of warfare. Writing from an unknown location on May 21, 1864, with characteristic understatement he described one of his early combat experiences: “i was in a fight whear the big gun howl and the bullets whisled but we went right on and they ran like dogs. i think if they dont run me to death I dont think they will kill any other way for the bullets whisle les.”
He continues in the same letter: “we are in hear ing now of the Canon and I dont know how quck I will have to start. This is the days rest sense we left Charleston. We left thear the 5 of may… Thear was non of our Company killed. Thear was some killed in the riegment. The rebs and us was fiting 8 days. Thear was a good many killed on both sides but we keep them a running all the time so no more.”
This was likely during the grueling advance toward Atlanta, where General Sherman’s forces faced constant skirmishing and entrenchment battles that wore down both armies. Reading these words, I found myself thinking about the gap between how we remember the Civil War—with its grand strategies and famous battles—and how it was actually experienced by men like Hull. Eight days of continuous fighting. Bullets whistling overhead. The constant uncertainty about survival.
The physical toll of the campaign became increasingly evident as summer wore on. By June, writing from near Allatoona, Georgia, during the Atlanta Campaign, Hull’s exhaustion seeps through his careful script: “[W]e have a hard march sense this other letter and stood a Heap of heavy rains. We was hurried out and I did not git to mail this other letter. We are being in a lin of battle now and expecting a fight all the time but I think the rebs will skedadle and run us to death.”
His next lines reveal the true cost of Sherman’s relentless pursuit: “we have run them about 50 or 60 miles and have fit all the way. They are running more of us to death than they are killing. We have not had many man killed in our riegment but a heap sick and gave out on the march.”
Gaining control of the railroads leading into and out of Atlanta was key to Union victory during the Civil War. On June 3, 1864, Union general William T. Sherman overcame the Confederates at Allatoona Pass—near where John Hull would soon write to his family about the grueling march and constant fighting. The Allatoona train depot appears in the center of this 1864 photograph by George N. Barnard. Photo from National Archives and Records Administration.
Even in the midst of describing military operations, Hull’s thoughts turn to home and his oldest son: “Jim I want you to bee a good boy to your mother and the children til I get home again.” The juxtaposition is striking—tactical assessments mixed with fatherly advice, battlefield reports interwoven with domestic concerns.
Holding It Together
What emerges from these letters is a portrait of someone trying to hold multiple roles together under impossible circumstances. In August 1864, Hull writes to Agnes: “Dear Companion I dont feel Capable of in structing you much about any thing. I wat you to manage as you think best. If you want my advice about any thing write to mee and I will send it. I want you to give my respects to all inquiring friends and pray for me that when i dy i may be prepared for a better world. i am in a hard place but i think the same one made me will prserve mee til I get back with you.”
The weight of command responsibility added to his burden. A week later, his responsibilities as a non-commissioned officer become clear: “We had a pretty hard days march but thank god I am able to stand it yet and i am the only Corporel left in the Company that was first apointed.” By late August 1864, Hull was one of the few original corporals still standing in his company—a sobering reminder of the attrition that characterized Civil War service.
Despite everything, Hull maintained remarkable resilience. Writing from camp near Pulaski, Tennessee, on September 18, 1864: “Dear wife and children i once more take the opertunity to write you a few lines to let you know that i am well and heart hoping these few lines may find you all enjoying the same good blessing. i am whear in camp in a very pretty place. the boys is in good spirits. they think we are a going to get to come hear to the Election.”
Testing Hull’s Resolve
But this period of relative calm wouldn’t last long. Hull’s regiment faced Confederate General Hood’s forces at the Battle of Franklin on November 30, 1864, where they suffered significant casualties. Later, Hull would write about the fierce fighting: “we had a hot time at franklin. our mager was killed. we had one man killed in our Co. It was S [B]owers.1 tha was 5 kil and 15 wounded and missen out of the riegment but the Johneys died by the hundreds.”
Even after the losses at Franklin, Hull’s confidence in his fellow soldiers remained unshaken. By December 1864, as his regiment prepared for the Battle of Nashville, Hull remained optimistic: “we are whear at Nashville expecting a big fight. We are whear some said [H]ood is and some he is going to fight. whear and dont know what he will do if he forfites. We can whip him. We run after him and whipped him and i know we can whip him whear well.” The Battle of Nashville would prove Hull’s confidence well-founded—it became one of the most decisive Union victories of the war, effectively destroying Hood’s Confederate army as a fighting force.
Writing home after the campaign concluded, Hull’s December 26th letter reported on the pursuit of Hood’s retreating forces: “we are following them back south and taking prisoners.”
Union defenses at Nashville, December 1864, photographed from Fort Negley. John Hull’s 120th Indiana Infantry was among the Union forces at Nashville. Photo from Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division, Civil War Photographs, LC-DIG-cwpb-02089.
The Cost of Service
Throughout his letters, Hull’s concern for his family’s welfare never disappears. Writing from Raleigh, North Carolina, in February 1865, as the war was finally winding down: “Well old woman this leaves me well and hearty and i hope it will find you [and] the children the same… i will send you ten dollars in this letter. i am sorry i hant money to send you all i wanted but if i hant got any more let i come home and i wll tend to it my self.”
These weren’t wealthy people. Hull was sending what little he could from his soldier’s pay, promising to “tend to it” when he got home. The sacrifice wasn’t just his time or his safety—it was his family’s financial security, their farm’s productivity, everything they’d built together over two decades.
This patriotic song sheet celebrates the victories of the 23rd Army Corps—Hull’s corps—at Franklin, Murfreesboro, and Nashville. He sent it home to his family, telling his son Jim: “well Jim i will send you a song for you to read for your mother.”
A Different Kind of Independence Day Story
The more I read, the more I realized that Hull’s story illuminates something important about what we celebrate on July 4th. The Declaration of Independence wasn’t just signed once in 1776 and then safely preserved forever. Each generation has faced the choice of whether those principles were worth defending, often at enormous personal cost.
Hull left his Indiana farm, endured months of combat and hardship, sent his meager soldier’s pay home to Agnes and the children, and somehow maintained enough hope and determination to see the war through to its conclusion. His letters reveal no grand rhetoric about saving the Union or preserving democracy—just a steady commitment to duty and family that somehow sustained him through his years of service.
What I Take Away
I’ve been working with historical documents for many ears, but Hull’s letters affected me in ways I hadn’t expected. Maybe it’s because they’re so immediate and unguarded. Maybe it’s because I can picture him trying to write by candlelight in a tent, or imagine what it meant for Agnes to wait weeks between letters.
Whatever the reason, these letters have given me a different appreciation for what we commemorate on Independence Day. It’s not just the Declaration of Independence itself, but the ongoing commitment of ordinary Americans to defend those principles across generations. Hull and hundreds of thousands like him made that choice in 1864, just as others have made it in every era since.
Post contributed by AHC Simpson Archivist Leslie Waggener.
The John H. Hull family papers are available for research at the AHC. The collection includes biographical information, Hull’s Civil War correspondence, family letters, and photographs spanning from 1841 to 1976. Researchers can access digitized portions of the collection online or visit our reading room to explore the complete materials.
Did you know the University of Wyoming College of Engineering and Applied Science has a Hall of Fame? Among its distinguished members is Wayman Chung Wing (1923-2020), whose journey from facing discrimination to international acclaim exemplifies resilience, innovation, and barrier-breaking achievement.
Growing up in Evanston as a first-generation Chinese American, Wing enrolled at the University of Wyoming in 1941 to pursue engineering. But his academic journey soon revealed the barriers of his era. In 1942, despite his academic excellence, Wing was denied entry into an honorary engineering fraternity because of a “Caucasians Only” clause in their constitution.
This setback coincided with global turmoil. After news of Pearl Harbor reached the U.S., Wing’s education took a detour when he joined the Army Air Corps. “I joined the Army Air Corps and waited to be called up,” he recounted in his 2006 memoir housed at the American Heritage Center.
Excerpt from Wing’s memoir that details his feelings and reasoning for joining the Army Air Corps during WWII. Box 1, Wayman C. Wing Papers, Coll. No. 11463, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Finding Cultural Connection Through Military Service
By 1943, Wing’s aptitude for science earned him selection for specialized training. “I was an engineering student with a background in science courses. I was one of a group of 175 sent by the Army Air Corp to an accelerated meteorology course at New York University,” Wing wrote.
This deployment proved unexpectedly meaningful in ways beyond military service. Growing up in Wyoming, Wing had limited exposure to Chinese American communities. In New York, this changed dramatically: “I enjoyed the nine months in New York because I met more Chinese friends and experienced Chinese culture more than ever before in Wyoming.”
With characteristic humor, Wing noted he passed the demanding meteorology program despite “the large amount of beer [he] consumed.” After training, he served at a British base on Terceira Island in the Azores during WWII, where his weather forecasting supported critical Allied operations.
Lagens Field in the Azores in December 1944 as Wayman Wing would have known it. Photo from Warfare History Network.
Breaking Through Barriers
Following the war, Wing returned to Wyoming, completing his Civil Engineering degree in 1947. The sting of the “Caucasians Only” clause remained, but Wing wasn’t alone in recognizing this injustice. Several faculty members joined his fight against the discriminatory policy. Their combined efforts paid off—in 1949, seven years after his initial rejection, Wing was finally inducted into the Omega Chapter of Sigma Tau (now known as Tau Beta Pi).
Wing’s academic excellence earned him acceptance to Stanford University for his master’s degree. There, he found “the engineering studies much easier than at UW”—a testament to the solid foundation provided by his Wyoming education. At Stanford, Wing deliberately expanded his knowledge, taking additional courses in law and business alongside his engineering curriculum.
From Student to Revolutionary Engineer
After earning his master’s in 1948, Wing worked in the industry for about a decade before making a bold decision that would define his career: founding Wayman C. Wing Consulting Engineers in 1960.
His timing intersected perfectly with growing international demand for safer building designs. Wing pioneered revolutionary approaches to earthquake-resistant structures at a time when conventional wisdom often fell short. His innovations earned the trust of prestigious clients like the Hilton and Sheraton hotel chains.
Wing’s earthquake-absorbent designs shaped skylines worldwide. The Meridien Hotel in Egypt, the Great Wall Hotel in China (particularly meaningful given his heritage), the Hartford National Bank, the Indonesian Pavilion at the New York World’s Fair, and the Washington Hilton Hotel all incorporated his innovative approaches to structural safety.
Recognition and Hall of Fame Induction
The University of Wyoming recognized Wing’s achievements through the H.T. Person Endowment Committee and named a Civil Engineering classroom in his honor. His military service received recognition with a nomination for a Congressional Medal of Honor.
In 1999, nearly four decades after launching his firm and over half a century after facing discrimination as a student, Wing was inducted into the University of Wyoming College of Engineering and Applied Science Hall of Fame. The institution that had once been the site of exclusion now celebrated him as one of its most distinguished graduates.
Wing’s invitation to the honor society in 1949. Box 3, Wayman C. Wing Papers, Coll. No. 11463, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
A Legacy of Opening Doors
Wing understood how education had transformed his own possibilities. His commitment to helping future generations was expressed in his characteristic humility: “If I can contribute in some small way to enhance the College’s reputation and possibly motivate subsequent generations of student engineers, I certainly am deeply honored to give it a good old ‘Rag Time Cowboy Try.’”
Wing and his five siblings all graduated from college as first-generation Chinese Americans—a remarkable achievement for that era. His success opened doors for others, creating opportunities far beyond what he could have imagined when facing that “Caucasians Only” clause as a young student.
For those interested in exploring this Hall of Fame engineer’s remarkable journey in greater depth, the Wayman C. Wing papers at the American Heritage Center provides insights into a life defined by breaking barriers and building bridges—both literally and figuratively.
Information for this post provided by University of Wyoming English Department graduate students Katelyn Hayward, Cheyenne Hume, and Makayla Kocher for Dr. Nancy Small’s Spring 2025 course “Qualitative Analysis: Inquiry for Public Humanities Engagement.”
In February 1940, as war engulfed Europe, President Franklin D. Roosevelt sent an unlikely diplomat to Ireland – his wife’s 70-year-old uncle who had never held a diplomatic position. David Gray’s mission would become one of the most challenging diplomatic assignments of World War II.
Gray arrived in Ireland (or Eire, as it was then called) with a diverse background. Prior to this appointment, he had enjoyed a successful career as a journalist, newspaper editor, practicing attorney, and novelist. Now largely retired, he brought no formal diplomatic training to his role as Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary, but he did possess a fondness for the country after multiple visits since 1933.
During his visits to Ireland, Gray particularly enjoyed the hunting and fishing opportunities available in the countryside. While he married into the Roosevelt family through his wife Maude Livingston Hall, the aunt of First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt, Gray was straightforward in his papers that this connection was instrumental to his appointment.
David and Maude Gray. Box 21, David Gray papers, Coll. No. 3082, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
In 1940, the relationship between Eire and the U.S. was complicated. There were millions of Irish immigrants living in America and feelings of goodwill between people in both countries was strong. But Éamon de Valera, the prime minister (or Taoiseach) of Eire, was fiercely independent. On September 2nd, 1939, with World War II imminent, he had declared Eire to be in a state of emergency. The state of emergency gave sweeping powers to the government, including censorship of the press and correspondence and control of the economy. At the same time de Valera declared that Eire would remain neutral in any European war.
It was a popular position among the general population, although there were some factions in Eire that admired Germany, some Irish who rejected anything having to do with the British and some that believed Eire should support the Allies.
Éamon de Valera speaking at a rally in Dublin, June 16, 1940. Box 18, David Gray papers, Coll. No. 3082, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Once he arrived in Eire, Minister Gray discussed with de Valera their countries’ mutual positions of neutrality. (At that time, the U.S. had also technically adopted a position of neutrality.) About de Valera, Gray wrote, “I not only liked his country and his people, but I liked him.”
In June of 1940, British Prime Minister Winston Churchill told de Valera that the United Kingdom would push for Irish unity, under de Valera’s leadership, if Eire would abandon its position of neutrality and allow British use of ports in Eire. De Valera had long argued that Northern Ireland (which was part of the United Kingdom) and Eire should be united. But de Valera had turned down the offer, doubting that Churchill could deliver on his promise and fearing Eire would be flattened by a German attack. Despite de Valera’s official stance on neutrality, tens of thousands of Irish enlisted in the British Armed Forces to fight against the Germans.
As Gray’s diplomatic posting stretched into years, he maintained regular meetings with de Valera while corresponding with President Roosevelt twice monthly. De Valera came to Gray with requests – including asking him to lobby Roosevelt to provide American arms for Eire’s self-defense. Roosevelt remained noncommittal as de Valera continued to insist on neutrality.
Letter from Éamon de Valera to David Gray, April 15, 1942. Box 36, David Gray papers, Coll. No. 3082, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Through their many meetings, Gray had come to believe that de Valera’s perspective on Irish neutrality could change if the U.S. entered World War II. But that was not to be the case. Churchill had, in secret, offered de Valera a second chance to denounce neutrality and join the Allies when it became evident that the U.S. would enter the war.
Shortly after the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor, de Valera gave a speech in Cork. In his remarks, he recounted the long history of friendship between Ireland and America but reiterated that Ireland “can only be a friendly neutral.”
Extracts from a speech delivered by Éamon de Valera, December 14, 1941. Box 29, David Gray papers, Coll. No. 3082, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Gray’s frustration with de Valera mounted. Gray wrote, “this very peculiar man … could be extremely hostile one minute and the next sympathetic, without trace of rancor.”
With the entry of the U.S. into World War II, Eire and Northern Ireland became even more strategically important. Geographically the two countries occupied a critical position. They were both the guardian of the eastern approach to Europe from the Atlantic as well as the western approach to Great Britain. Ports and airfields in Eire were strategic militarily.
Map showing Eire, Northern Ireland, the North Atlantic and the west coast of Great Britain, January 18, 1942. Box 6, David Gray papers, Coll. No. 3082, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Before long, the decision was made to station American troops in Northern Ireland. But the border between Eire and Northern Ireland was porous. American troops stationed in Northern Ireland could easily be spied upon. In fact, Allied intelligence services knew that German spy Herman Goertz was working out of Eire, where the Irish Republican Army (IRA) had helped him evade capture. Additionally, it was known that the German minister in Dublin had a secret radio transmitting set, which was being used to relay weather reports and information gathered by spies to the Nazis. As D-Day (the planned Allied invasion of Europe, beginning in Normandy, France) approached, there was an enhanced need to shut down German espionage in Eire. De Valera refused to cooperate.
De Valera objected to the stationing of American troops in Northern Ireland. Cordell Hull, the U.S. Secretary of State, responded, saying, “The decision to dispatch troops to the British Isles was reached in close consultation with the British Government as part of our strategic plan to defeat the Axis aggressors. There was not, and is not now, the slightest thought or intention of invading Irish territory or threatening Irish security.”
Gray continued to discuss with de Valera Eire’s position of neutrality and the Allies’ need for access to ports, airfields and naval bases in Eire. He also relayed President Roosevelt’s frustration with de Valera’s stance.
First page of a letter from President Franklin D. Roosevelt to David Gray, December 18, 1942. Box 36, David Gray papers, Collection No. 3082, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
To the Americans, de Valera’s attitude made no sense. Eire was dependent on imports from Great Britain of coal, gasoline, wheat and medicine. Irish ships depended on British convoys when they crossed between Eire and Britain. And ironically, in May of 1941 German aircraft had even dropped bombs on Dublin, the capital of Eire. (The Germans claimed to have made a mistake, intending the attack to have been on Belfast in Northern Ireland. The Allies believed Germany was sending a warning to Eire.) Still, de Valera clung stubbornly to neutrality.
Gray wrote Roosevelt, encouraging him to implement an embargo on petroleum and other products to Eire and expressing Gray’s belief that Britain should do the same. Gray was determined to put pressure on de Valera. The friendship between the two men reached a new low. De Valera said to Gray, “You have never been able to understand the Irish point of view; often I would rather have had anyone else representing America than you.” Gray replied to de Valera, “The trouble is that you don’t understand that I am here to represent the American point of view and to try to make you understand it, in which I have always failed.”
From de Valera’s perspective, Eire largely escaped the devastation of German bombing campaigns by maintaining its neutrality. What remained of the relationship between de Valera and Gray dissipated further in 1945 when de Valera controversially visited the offices of the German ambassador in Dublin to offer his condolences on the death of Adolf Hitler. By July 1947, when Gray was finally recalled from his post in Dublin, seven years had passed, and World War II was over.
Newspaper photograph of David Gray and Éamon de Valera, July, 1947. Box 19, David Gray papers, Collection No. 3082, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Upon his return to the U.S., Gray wrote about his experiences in Eire. Gray concluded that de Valera thought that Germany would win the war. De Valera kept Eire neutral in the hope that Northern Ireland and Eire would be reunited under his leadership if the Nazis won.
The David Gray papers at the American Heritage Center contain correspondence with Franklin D. Roosevelt, Eleanor Roosevelt, Winston Churchill, Éamon de Valera and many others. There are also manuscripts and research notes related to Ireland in World War II as well as various pamphlets and periodicals. Gray’s papers remind us of the complicated diplomatic realities that have shaped Irish-American relations.
Post contributed by AHC Writer Kathryn Billington.
“Deep in the heart of the American Heritage Center lies a small but rich series of archival puzzle pieces that tell the story of Mrs. Florence Maybrick, the American lady found guilty of murdering her husband in 1889 Victorian England.” So begins Andrea Hastings-Arrollo’s award-winning analysis of one of the most controversial murder trials in Victorian history—a case that reveals how gender ideologies could literally determine life or death.
Using materials from the Trevor Christie papers at the AHC, archives assembled by journalist Trevor Christie for his 1969 book Etched in Arsenic, Andrea uncovered a story that goes far beyond a simple murder trial. Her research reveals how “the doctrine of true womanhood had been hammered into the societal psyche, which made fairness virtually impossible” for women like Florence Maybrick.
Cover of Christie’s 1969 book Etched in Arsenic: A New Study of the Maybrick Case, which Kirkus Reviews praised at the time for its “objective and resolute” handling of the infamous 1889 Liverpool murder trial. Source: Amazon.com
The Impossible Position of Victorian Women
Andrea’s analysis centers on a fundamental contradiction in Victorian society. As she explains, women “had to cope with the irreconcilable perceptions of women as domestic angels and seductive whores.”
Florence Maybrick, an eighteen-year-old American who married forty-two-year-old English cotton merchant James Maybrick in 1881, found herself trapped by these contradictions. While James openly maintained mistresses and fathered children with them, Florence’s own romantic attachments outside her troubled marriage became the foundation for a murder charge.
Andrea discovered through AHC archives that the household staff at Battlecrease House “endured her because she was Mr. Maybrick’s wife,” and that “her multiple affairs were common knowledge in the household and discussed regularly with condemnation between the servants, and the double standards of the period guarded her spouse from the same brutal judgement.”
When Morality Overrode Evidence
What makes Andrea’s research particularly compelling is her analysis of how gender bias shaped the actual legal proceedings. When James Maybrick died in May 1889 after a brief illness, the evidence against Florence was remarkably thin—his body contained only slight traces of arsenic, not enough to cause death. Yet as Andrea notes, “Morality carried more weight than tangible proof before empirical science had been fully developed and incorporated into law.”
Florence Maybrick, from an illustration by H. Uhlrich published in The Graphic, August 24, 1889. The image appeared during intense media coverage of the Maybrick murder case. Image via Wikipedia, public domain.
Most damning was Judge Sir James Fitzjames Stephen’s explicit statement that Florence’s adultery proved she was capable of murder. Andrea writes: “He told the grand jury that her adulterous intrigue supplied motive, and he obsessed over this point throughout the trial.” The judge literally argued that sexual transgression equaled murderous intent.
Andrea’s archival research revealed an even more troubling detail: the death certificate was altered after Dr. Humphrey spoke with James’s brother Michael, who was convinced of Florence’s guilt after reading her love letter. Originally listing “acute inflammation of the stomach,” the certificate was changed to suggest “arsenical poisoning”—medical evidence rewritten to match moral assumptions.
The Double Bind of Victorian Womanhood
Andrea’s analysis illuminates the impossible position Victorian women faced: “Women were caught between the expectations that they are both incapable of sin and also most susceptible to it because of the unwitting quality projected onto them by a patriarchal system.”
This contradiction played out dramatically in Florence’s case. As Andrea explains, “Maybrick was perceived by the public as both a distressed damsel in need of rescuing and an abomination in need of cleansing.” The same gender ideologies that condemned her as morally corrupt also protected her from execution, leading to her death sentence being commuted to life imprisonment.
“It was precisely the true woman credo which compelled some to condemn the execution of any woman ever,” Andrea notes, while Queen Victoria opposed Florence’s release “primarily because of her moral lapses since no true woman could betray her family as she had.”
Memory and the Construction of History
One of Andrea’s most sophisticated insights involves her analysis of how the Maybrick case was remembered and retold decades later. Using Christie’s interviews from the 1940s, she examined how the journalist gathered memories from people like Florence Aunspaugh, who had spent time at the Maybrick house as a child.
Trevor Christie’s wrote this letter of introduction in November 1941 to Florence Aunspaugh asking her to “enlighten” him on her impressions of James and Florence Maybrick, their relations, “whether their children were well-trained,” their friends, the general atmosphere of the home and other details. Folder: Aunspaugh letters, Box 1, Trevor L. Christie papers, Coll. No. 3266, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Andrea astutely observes that these memories were “culturally and historically conditioned.” She writes: “The subjects and author Christie all brought their own preconditioned beliefs into the project in terms of gender values. Pre-suffrage events had to be reconciled with a post-suffrage culture, one that had been through World War I and was going through World War II as Christie gathered his research.”
This insight reveals Andrea’s sophisticated understanding of how historical memory works: “Miss Aunspaugh was eight years old when she spent a summer at the Maybrick house, and she recalled, or reconstructed, those childhood memories as a woman of sixty-five. Surely the combination of that singular childhood summer in England, the significant passage of time, and the overwhelming media coverage absorbed by society as a whole had some creative power over the memories she contributed.”
Excerpt from Florence Aunspaugh’s 70+ page letter to Christie with her impressions of Florence Maybrick and other details. Here she remarks, “My father said her eyes were a birth-mark. I heard him remark once that ‘a pair of birth-marked eyes had poor James Maybrick to hell.’” But in another excerpt she wrote that her father remembered Florence Maybrick’s eyes had “the look of a frightened animal.” Folder: Aunspaugh letters, Box 1, Trevor L. Christie papers, Coll. No. 3266, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
This excerpt draws a telling parallel between James Maybrick’s “bull-dog tenacity” in courting Florence and his brother Michael’s later relentless pursuit of her conviction. Michael Maybrick, who “hated Florence” according to historical accounts, orchestrated her house arrest and was instrumental in her prosecution. Folder: Aunspaugh letters, Box 1, Trevor L. Christie papers, Coll. No. 3266, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
A Tragic Aftermath
Florence served fifteen years in British prisons under brutal conditions, including nine months in solitary confinement. After her release in 1904, she initially lectured about prison reform and her experiences, but eventually became a recluse in Connecticut, living under her maiden name. She died alone and penniless in 1941, never having seen her children again.
The Lasting Significance
Andrea’s conclusion powerfully synthesizes her analysis: “What we do know for certain based on a widely studied dual definition of women is that Victorian gender ideologies damned Florence Maybrick to prison and a life of struggle, but they also saved her from the immediate finality of a noose.”
Her research demonstrates how the Maybrick case became “a lightning rod for wide social and gender anxieties” as “traditional gender notions were under tension in the late nineteenth century.” Through careful analysis of AHC archival materials, Andrea shows how this single case illuminates the broader contradictions and impossible expectations placed on Victorian women.
American petition for Florence Maybrick’s clemency, published by Chicago’s Inter Ocean, November 28, 1894. The appeal was signed by prominent women journalists and press league members nationwide. Folder: Pardon Crusade, Box 2, Trevor L. Christie papers, Coll. No. 3266, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Perhaps most importantly, Andrea’s work reveals how these historical patterns continue to resonate: “The Trevor Christie Collection exposes an intimate, lesser-known side of Florence Maybrick, but it also tells us a great deal about those who did the remembering in Trevor Christie’s research, including Christie himself.”
Discovering History Through Archives
Andrea’s award-winning research exemplifies the kind of original scholarship possible through careful work with primary sources. The Trevor Christie’s papers at the AHC contains the materials he gathered for his biography of Florence Maybrick: correspondence with Florence Aunspaugh and other witnesses, newspaper clippings spanning decades, photographs, research files on the trial and prison term, and even Christie’s original manuscript. These materials allowed Andrea to reconstruct not just what happened to Florence, but how that story was understood, retold, and reinterpreted across decades of changing social attitudes. As Andrea demonstrates, understanding how memory and gender ideology intersect can reveal profound truths about both past and present.
This post is adapted from Andrea Hastings-Arrollo’s award-winning paper “Gender Ideologies and Memory: A Case Study of the Murder Trial of Florence Maybrick,”written for Dr. Peter Walker’s HIST 3020: Historical Methods course. Andrea received the 2025 American Heritage Center Award for Graduate Student Research for this exceptional work.
About the AHC Graduate Student Research Award
The AHC annually awards $500 to recognize excellence in graduate student research using the Center’s primary sources. Open to University of Wyoming graduate students in any discipline, the award accepts projects in various forms—research papers, creative writing, exhibits, podcasts, websites—as long as they’re based substantially on AHC materials.
The next deadline for nominations is May 17, 2026. For more information, contact AHC Toppan Rare Book Curator Dr. Mary Beth Brown at Mary.Brown@uwyo.edu.
You know what they say: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. But then, what is the American Heritage Center of Wyoming doing with personally autographed photos from the likes of Nat King Cole, Sammy Davis Jr., and Dean Martin? Where did it get all these fantastic postcards from the Sands Hotel in its heyday? Well, my curious friend, it is my great honor to introduce you to Antonio Morelli and his music.
Anthony “Antonio” Morelli. From Photo File: Morelli: Antonio, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
A New Dawn in Las Vegas
But before we can meet him, let’s set the stage: In the post-war era of the late 1940s and 1950s, Las Vegas, Nevada, found itself in serious need of a rebrand. American sensibilities were changing and the “sin city” image of a mob-run gambling capital and swinger’s paradise just did not fit the bill anymore. While the allure of gambling would remain the crown jewel of Vegas, the casino owners and businessmen of the city were determined to paint a new image of the neon oasis – One of high-class entertainment nestled in resort casinos, designed to attract both wealthy tourists and families looking for a vacation. But just how were they to bring this kind of refined sheen to the Mojave Desert?
For Jack Entratter, then president of the Sands Hotel and Casino, the key to revitalizing the Vegas image was to bring the pomp and shine of classical music behind his headliners. Thus, enter Antonio Morelli. Instantly recognizable by his finely waxed, pencil-tipped mustache, Morelli had previously been met by Entratter in New York City’s famous Copacabana Club, and in 1954, was recruited by him as the musical director of the Sands
“The Toscanini of the Desert”
Morelli’s time at the Copacabana was only one of many qualifications that made him fit the bill of a new Las Vegas. The son of a fine arts professor and symphony flutist, Morelli studied classical music for eleven years in Italy, first at Milan’s San Celso Military Academy, and then the Royal Conservatories of Music of both Milan and Parma.
In 1925, he returned to the United States to a dizzying number of roles across the country. He once served as the musical director of the St. Louis Musical Opera. In New York, he took on both choral composer and orchestrator for Radio City Music Hall and was the orchestra leader for Albany’s RKO Palace Theater. He toured the United States, conducting both civic orchestras in cities like Dallas, Denver, New Orleans, and Chicago, as well as to conduct the pit orchestras of various theater chains such as Warner, Paramount, Pantages, and Shubert.
Clearly, the Sand’s orchestra, purportedly the biggest the Strip had at the time, was in experienced hands. As Entratter brought in the stars, Morelli transformed the Sands’s Copa Room (named, funnily enough, for the Copacabana Club) time and time again to create performances worth paying for.
While many performers tended to bring their own musical directors to Vegas, Morelli insisted on constant collaboration, upping the Copa Room’s small brass band to a full stringed orchestra. The Sands saw performances and residencies from stars known far and wide, from figures like Nat King Cole, to, most famously, the Rat Pack. As the Sands championed headliners like Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, and Sammy Davis Jr., just below those big names on the marquee, and just behind them in the show, was Antonio Morelli and his orchestra.
Morelli (back left) watching the antics of Frank Sinatra (blindfolded, left), Sammy Davis Jr. (center), and Dean Martin (right). From Photo File: Martin, Dean Martin, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Beyond the Copa Room
Entertaining the new brand of wealthy, educated tourists on the Strip was far from Morelli’s only impact on the city of Las Vegas. Not only did he bring classical culture to the Sands, but he brought it to the vast population living in the valley. Not long after his arrival in 1954, Morelli established his Las Vegas Pops Concert Orchestra. These pops concerts, often referred to as “Shirt Sleeve Symphonies,” were free to attend, and offered a wide range of musical exposure to the Vegas community. Performed first at the Sands’s own convention center and then ballooning into the Las Vegas Convention Center, the Shirt Sleeve Symphonies offered anything from popular music to concertized versions of operas such as Aida.
Additionally, Morelli organized countless holiday concerts, often in collaboration with the Las Vegas Community Choir. These programs, again free to the public, drew thousands of community members – At one point, both the Christmas and Easter programs drew up to 5,000 audience members, with a Good Friday concert boasting more than 10,000.
Marquee of the Las Vegas Convention Center for a Morelli Mother’s Day Concert, undated. Box 61. Antonio Morelli papers, Coll. No. 6347, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Morelli cared about the musical and cultural health of the city he came to call home – a far cry from his childhood home of Erie, Pennsylvania. Outside of his accessible concerts, he also put forward a music performance trust fund to subsidize the salaries of his musicians, and he would often showcase young musicians in his pops performances as “Musicians of the Future.” To this day, a scholarship he arranged way back in 1969 continues to provide opportunities for students looking to pursue music at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas – the Antonio Morelli Friends of Music Endowment Fund.
Program to the Christmas Concert and Pageant, performed by Morelli and the Las Vegas Community Chorus, 1960. Box 6B, Antonio Morelli papers, Coll. No. 6347, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
After the Curtain Call
Today, despite his impact on one of the most notable eras of Las Vegas and midcentury America, this once so-called “Toscanini of the Desert” seems to have faded into the background of the great performers he supported. His legacy lives well beyond his passing in 1974 and the demolition of the Sands in 1996 – if you know where to look for it.
Now that you know his name and his face, maybe you can imagine him and his orchestra elevating the sounds of the Rat Pack when you listen to their live recordings at the Sands. Maybe you can keep an eye out for him in the background of those fellas making fools of themselves in the Copa Room, grinning at their antics behind that signature mustache. And maybe, if you’re a real Vegas nerd like yours truly, you’ll come scour the boxes of his collection at the American Heritage Center and see just how much of Las Vegas he touched.
Frank Sinatra, Antonio Morelli, and an unknown pianist. From Photo File: Sinatra, Frank, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Post contributed by AHC Audiovisual Archivist Aide Marty Murray.
This Pride Month, the American Heritage Center highlights the Roberta R. “Bobbie” Zenker papers, an important addition to our collection documenting varied experiences in the American West. Acquired in March 2023, this collection provides researchers with valuable primary source material chronicling one person’s unique journey through Montana’s legal, social, and natural landscapes.
A Montana Legal Career and Personal Transformation
Born in Silver Spring, Maryland, in 1957, Zenker established a distinguished legal career in Montana, eventually serving as Madison County Attorney from 1997 to 2006. The collection documents both this professional journey and Zenker’s subsequent personal transformation as a transgender woman, as chronicled in her memoir TransMontana: A Memoir of Transformation in Body, Mind, and Spirit.
Embracing freedom in the Montana wilderness. During her transition period, Zenker would occasionally drive into the mountains to be her authentic self in nature, capturing these moments with self-portraits. As she described in her 2024 oral history: “I had these photographs that I took of me when I would get dressed, get in the truck and drive up in the mountains and just me and my face in the sun. It was glorious.” This image embodies what Zenker called “coming out of the box” – the emergence of her true self in a space where she could experience joy and authenticity away from societal constraints. Roberta R. “Bobbie” Zenker papers, Coll. No. 12881, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming
“At the pinnacle. I was 48 years old. I was the county attorney,” Zenker recalls in her December 2024 oral history with AHC Archivist Leslie Waggener and collaborator Gregory Hinton. The collection offers researchers unique insights into both professional life in rural Montana’s legal system and the personal challenges of gender transition in a small-town context.
Faith Across Transitions
A distinctive aspect of Zenker’s papers is the documentation of her spiritual journey. Raised Catholic and later experiencing what she describes as a “born again” moment during a high school retreat, Zenker’s collection reveals how faith remained constant throughout life’s transitions.
“I think it kept me alive,” Zenker notes when discussing spirituality’s role during difficult periods. These materials provide researchers with nuanced perspectives on the intersection of faith and personal identity in rural America—perspectives that often defy simple categorization.
Bobbie Zenker in 2009, two years after her transition. Throughout her journey, spirituality remained a constant anchor in Zenker’s life. This faith was present even during her most difficult transitions. Her mother, who initially consulted with her parish priest about Bobbie’s transition, became one of her strongest supporters and was present for her gender confirmation surgery. Roberta R. “Bobbie” Zenker papers, Coll. No. 12881, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
The Photographer’s Eye: From Hunter to Observer
Perhaps the most visually compelling elements of the Zenker collection are her wildlife photographs, which represent another significant transformation. After decades as a hunter in Montana, Zenker eventually exchanged her rifle for a telephoto lens—a shift she describes poignantly in her oral history:
When you hunt, you train your scope on the vitals of an animal. When you take a photograph, at least I trained my lens on the eyes… And I believe that the eyes are in fact a window to the soul. And once you’ve looked into the soul of an animal, you can never shoot them again.”
This philosophical evolution is documented through photographs and writings that will interest researchers studying changing relationships with Montana’s natural environment.
Beyond personal narrative, the Zenker collection provides important documentation of Montana communities from the 1980s through the 2010s. Her experiences in Ashland, Virginia City, Helena, and other locations offer researchers windows into these communities during decades of significant change.
The Roberta R. “Bobbie” Zenker papers are available for research at the AHC. The collection includes correspondence, newspaper clippings, photographs, speeches, manuscripts, notes, and her published memoir, offering scholars a comprehensive resource for understanding multiple aspects of Montana history.
Bobbie Zenker at a Pride celebration. After her transition, Zenker became an outspoken advocate, conducting ‘Trans 101’ workshops throughout Montana for healthcare providers and various organizations. Despite being the ‘first and only transgender lawyer in Montana’ at the time, Zenker faced both acceptance and hostility, including at legislative sessions where she testified for transgender rights. Her advocacy work included serving as a plaintiff in an ACLU case and speaking on platforms like Montana Public Radio. Roberta R. “Bobbie” Zenker papers, Coll. No. 12881, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Explore More LGBTQ+ History at the AHC
The story of Bobbie Zenker’s journey reflects the broader narrative of LGBTQ+ visibility that evolved throughout the late 20th century. To explore how mainstream media portrayed queer experiences during these pivotal decades, visit our online exhibit “A Different Kind of Spotlight: How the media has portrayed queerness throughout the decades.”
This digital exhibition features materials from the Bennett Hammer collection, showcasing LGBT+ community representation in media from the ‘80s and ‘90s—the same era when Zenker was establishing her legal career and beginning her personal transformation.
Post contributed by AHC Archivist Leslie Waggener.
