MAKING A COMMUNITY SPACE FOR SCIENCE: WILLIAM WAGNER AND THE WAGNER FREE

INSTITUTE OF SCIENCE OF PHILADELPHIA 1812-1912

By

MATTHEW ADOLPHUS WHITE

A DISSERTATION PRESENTED TO THE GRADUATE SCHOOL OF THE UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT

OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA

2016

© 2016 Matthew Adolphus White

To Shelly, Mom, and Dad for their unwavering support and patience

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Though my name is on the title page as the author of this dissertation, I am by no

means the only one responsible for its creation and completion. I could not have

completed this work, indeed completed the entirety of my graduate career, without the

help of many people. First and foremost is my wife Shelly Felton. She encouraged me,

assisted me, supported me, edited my work, and kept me in good spirits for the many

years this project took to complete. She made more than a few sacrifices herself and I

can never truly repay her devotion and support. She will always have my love and my

appreciation. Secondly I could not have completed this project without the love and

support of my parents Marilyn and Max White. Even at my advanced age they are

exemplars of parental support and encouragement. I also benefited from the love of my

brother Max Albert (Chip) White, III, who did not live to see the completion of this

dissertation. Rest in peace, Chip.

Throughout my graduate career I had the privilege of working with a first rate

committee who are all top scholars and educators. First and foremost among these was

Dr. Vassiliki (Betty) Smocovitis, who was not only a knowledgeable and insightful chair

of my committee, but a friend, confidant, and a rock of support. The rest of my

committee was no less helpful and supportive. Thank you Dr. Frederick Gregory, Dr.

Sean Adams, and Dr. Sevan Terzian of the University of Florida. I would especially like

to acknowledge the friendship and support of Dr. Karen Rader of Virginia

Commonwealth University who, as an advisor and committee member from a university

668 miles from Gainesville, Florida had to deal with added barriers to participate on my

committee. I would also like to acknowledge Dr. Charlotte Porter Curator of the History

of Science Emeritus of the Florida Museum of Natural History and Dr. Maria Portuondo

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currently Associate Professor and Chair of the History of Science and Technology

Program at The Johns Hopkins University. Both of these scholars participated on my

committee at an early stage, but whose careers took them to new places and positions.

Throughout the research for this project I benefited from hospitality,

professionalism, knowledge, support and, yes, tolerance of many talented and hard

working archivists and librarians. Chief among these is Lynn Dorwaldt the Librarian and

Archivist of the Wagner Free Institute of Science. She not only served me promptly and

professionally with the documents I requested, but she was also a gracious host who

shared a small workspace with me for several weeks. She is a credit to her profession. I

would also like to thank the WFIS’s Director Susan Glassman who was always helpful

and generous with her time, but was also the person most responsible for turning the

venerable scientific institution into a site of heritage and history. At the Smithsonian

Archives I was served well by librarians Daisy Njoku and Ellen Alers and at the

Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia by Clare Fleming and Megan Gibes.

During a brief stint working at the American Philosophical Society I was the grateful

recipient of support and wisdom Earle Spamer and Charles Greifenstein. Dr.

Griefenstein specifically deserves my thanks for suggesting the topic of the Wagner

Free Institute of Science in the first place.

While studying at the University of Florida I met a number of wonderful people

who supported and assisted with this project. High on that list is the staff and officers of

the History of Science Society Robert Malone, Virginia Hessels, Michal Meyer, and,

after the HSS moved to Notre Dame, Greg Macklem. This was a wonderful group of

people to work for and with while finishing my graduate studies. The History Department

6

of the University of Florida had a number of Graduate Coordinators while I was in

attendance. I would like to thank Drs. Matthew Gallman, Sheryl Kroen, Nina Caputo,

and Elizabeth Dale for their support. And since none of us would be anywhere without

trusted support with the seemingly endless and endlessly complicated paperwork, I

would also like to thank Erin Smith and Hazel Phillips for their calm, reassuring

assistance. I would also like to thank the then chair of the Museum Studies Program at

the University of Florida, Dr. Glenn Willumson who provided a sympathetic ear, sound

professional and scholarly wisdom, and enough trust to let me teach a graduate

seminar in Museum Education. Special assistance was provided by Vivian Gornik and

her mother Susan Gornik who were essential in providing translations of

correspondence in German.

And finally, this dissertation would not have been possible without the financial

assistance and institutional support of a number of organizations including several at

the University of Florida. These were the College of Liberal Arts and Sciences, the

History Department, the Graduate Student Council, and the The History Graduate

Society. But the lion’s share of the research was funded by the Consortium for the

History of Science, Technology, and Medicine through a dissertation research grant

they awarded me in 2011-2012. For their confidence in me I thank Dr. Babbak Ashrafi,

Joseph Simon, and Bonnie Clause.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS page

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS .................................................................................................. 4

ABSTRACT ..................................................................................................................... 8

CHAPTER

1 INTRODUCTION .................................................................................................... 10

2 YOUNG WILLIAM WAGNER, MERCANTILIST AND AMATEUR NATURALIST ... 21

The Earliest Influences of William Wagner ............................................................. 23 Wagner’s Apprenticeship with Stephen Girard ....................................................... 27

Full Time Merchant, Part Time Scientist ................................................................. 45

3 CREATING AND CONTROLLING A SPACE FOR SCIENCE ................................ 57

The Honeymoon ..................................................................................................... 59 An Idea in Need of a Home ..................................................................................... 66

A Temporary Place for Science Downtown ............................................................. 69 Out of the Old and in to the New ............................................................................. 83

4 A COMMUNITY SPACE FOR SCIENCE AT THE WAGNER FREE INSTITUTE OF SCIENCE .......................................................................................................... 93

A Shared Space for Religion and Science .............................................................. 96 A Space in the Community for Science Education ................................................ 103 The Wagner Free Institute of Science’s Place in the Community ......................... 130

5 PROFESSIONALIZING AND EXPANDING 1885-1912 ........................................ 142

A Time Transition .................................................................................................. 144 A Space for Science at the Wagner Free Instate of Science ................................ 154 A Space for Community Engagement ................................................................... 169

The Wagner Free Institute of Science and University Extension .................... 172 The Wagner Free Institute of Science and the Free Library of Philadelphia .. 179

6 CLOSING THOUGHTS ......................................................................................... 185

APPENDIX: A BRIEF BIOGRAPHY OF STEPHEN GIRARD ..................................... 202

LIST OF REFERENCES ............................................................................................. 215

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH .......................................................................................... 225

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Abstract of Dissertation Presented to the Graduate School of the University of Florida in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy

MAKING A COMMUNITY SPACE FOR SCIENCE:

WILLIAM WAGNER AND THE WAGNER FREE INSTITUTE OF SCIENCE OF PHILADELPHIA 1812–1912

By

Matthew Adolphus White

December 2016

Chair: Vassiliki Smocovitis Major: History

This work explores the public science of the Wagner Free Institute of

Philadelphia (WFIS) and its founder William Wagner. Though a businessman by training

and vocation, Wagner maintained a strong interest and avocation in science from his

youth in Philadelphia during the early 19th century that he nurtured and practiced

throughout his life. Upon retiring from business in 1840 he dedicated himself full-time to

not only building on his already sizable collection in natural history specimens, but also

to bring scientific knowledge to the people of Philadelphia for free. He incorporated the

WFIS in 1855 and held lectures in a municipal building. In 1865 he opened the Wagner

Free Institute of Science in its own building compete with museum, lecture hall, library

and classrooms. Throughout its history the WFIS attracted the time and talents of some

of the most prominent scientists in Philadelphia in the 19th Century including Joseph

Leidy and E.D. Cope. More important than its association with famous scientists is the

network of lesser known scientists, educators, philanthropists, librarians, religious

leaders, and students who made the WFIS a vibrant place of scientific enquiry, free

education, and a diverse series of community activities.

9

The main theme of this project examines the influence of place on the practice of

public science and community engagement by examining the activities and people who

used the Wagner Free Institute of Science to advance the cause of science, as well as

how that role in the community, and the WFIS’ governing ethic of free access for all

citizens.

Historian and geographer of science David N. Livingstone noted that “Human

activities always take place somewhere” before embarking on a research and publishing

agenda that illustrated just how important the concept of “place” is in the history of

science. This dissertation benefits from his insights, and those of other historians of

science of a similar bent, to examine the unique ways in which the WFIS engaged in

both public science and science practice to create a shared space for enquiry,

education, social interaction, and combined those activities from 1855 through 1912.

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CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION

By the time a twelve year-old William Wagner graduated from the Philadelphia

Academy with a desire to continue his studies in science, Philadelphia had already

become the social, culture, political, and intellectual capital of the young United States.

In addition to the many artistic and literary institutions and movements that gave rise to

Philadelphia’s reputation as the “Athens of America,” Philadelphia had also become the

center of scientific activity in the country. Men such as John Bartram and Benjamin

Franklin had already made a name for themselves and the city in botany and the study

of electricity respectively; and medical men such as Benjamin Rush made Philadelphia

the center of medical education. The city was also awash in intellectual institutions such

as The Philadelphia Library Company and the American Philosophical Society both

founded by Benjamin Franklin. Philadelphia was also the site of a young medical

college that would become the University of Pennsylvania Medical School and home to

prominent physicians such as John Morgan and John Physick. Charles Wilson Peale’s

famous museum also earned a national and international reputation as a venue for the

public viewing of works of art, science, and anthropology dedicated to the exhibition of

the curious and exemplary. But as much as a young Wagner desired to be a part of the

world of ideas and investigation, he was unable to participate fully in this community. As

a member of a solidly middle class merchant family he was unable to join the elites at

the APS or Library Company, and his father did not allow him to study medicine as a

profession. And though he likely would have enjoyed spending idle days in the

exhibition halls of Peale’s museum, Wagner was more interested in the more focused

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collecting and study of natural history specimens. The Academy of Natural Sciences of

Philadelphia might have provided a more congenial home to the young Wagner since it

was founded by young middle-class professionals and amateur naturalists much like

himself. By 1812, however, the year of the Academy’s founding, Wagner was already

diverted by his father to an ship in the counting house of Stephen Girard, and had scant

time to devote to his passions.

This dissertation describes the life of science that William Wagner created for

himself after being excluded from the mainstream scientific discourse of his day, and it

explores the Wagner Free Institute of Science (WFIS) that he founded as a place to

provide free education in natural science to the people of Philadelphia. Of central

importance in this story are the various ways in which patronage, place, politics,

religion, and even personalities influenced the creation and maintenance of a space for

public science within the Wagner Free Institute of Science community and its

professional network. This project will focus on the work of the WFIS both during and

after the life of its founder. Throughout this dissertation I will be considering the answers

to four major questions; 1) How did William Wagner’s early life as an amateur naturalist

and mercantilist under the mentorship of Girard influence not only Wagner’s thoughts on

the role of science in a civil society and the responsibility of the wealthier classes to

contribute to the health of city, but also in his perception of himself as an outsider

among Philadelphia’s elite, especially its scientific elite; 2) How did the WFIS under

William Wagner’s leadership negotiate a complex network of existing institutions and

practitioners in a dynamic Philadelphia community to provide free science education,

and to become a shared space for community activity and life; 3) How were the

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professional scientists and educators who took over leadership of the WFIS after

Wagner’s death able to expand his vision while remaining true to his aspirations for the

institute bearing his name. 4) And finally, how did the complex history of public science,

patronage, and community engagement at the Wagner Free Institute of Science evolve

during the formative years 1855 to 1912 and what did those changes mean for the

WFIS and the founder’s vision?

This work focuses, therefore, on the life and work of William Wagner and the

institution he founded and which continues to carry his name. Each chapter examines a

specific time period that is crucial for understanding the creation and management of

the Wagner Free Institute of Science and the social and cultural context in which it

provided free education. Other scientists, naturalists, educators, and civic leaders

appear throughout the narrative. Most of them worked with Wagner at the WFIS or

provided leadership after his death. Many others provide context for comparison, and

often contrast and even conflict, with the major players in the WFIS narrative. Through

an examination of the WFIS, the people who contributed to its successes and setbacks,

and the content of the many and diverse activities of the institute, we may arrive at an

understanding of the scientific and civic community of an important yet under-studied

institution within a network of scientific practitioners, educators, politicians, and even

religious leaders.

Chapter 2 will provide an examination of the first half of William Wagner’s life, the

influence of Stephen Girard on the young Wagner, and the earliest years of Wagner’s

plans for the new institution.1 Born in Philadelphia in 1796 as the son of a successful

1 William Wagner and the Wagner Free Institute of Science have largely been excluded in the secondary literature on the history of science in Philadelphia, as well as the history of Philadelphia generally. For

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cloth merchant, Wagner developed a strong interest in science and natural history but

was prevented from pursuing his preferred career by his father who insisted he pursue a

career in business. I will demonstrate that while a young William Wagner may have

preferred to embark on a career in science or medicine upon graduating from the

Philadelphia Academy, his ambitions to live a life of science were likely better served by

following the path his father had chosen. That path took him around the world so he

could collect natural history specimens, begin a career as a merchant himself so that he

could amass the wealth to open the WFIS, and provided him with a model of civic virtue

in Stephen Girard. This chapter will then trace that influence through the next twenty

years of Wagner’s life as he embarked on his own mercantile career, got married twice,

and continued to collect specimens. Chapter 2 will close with a consideration of

Wagner’s attempts to participate in the scientific community between 1820 and 1840,

focusing on evidence that Wagner had gained an image of himself as an outsider from

Girard as well as an ethic of Republican Citizenship. Wagner took this attitude with him

into retirement and the creation of the WFIS where it would influence much of his work.

Chapter 3 begins in 1841 with William Wagner embarking on a honeymoon with

his second wife, Louisa Binney, after he retired from business. They traveled to Europe

where William was heavily influenced by many of the museums he visited on the

continent, an influence that was felt in the creation of the WFIS. Chapter 3 will then

basic information regarding the important events in Wagner’s life I relied on the primary documents in the Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science. These secondary sources were also helpful. Emma E. Garman, "History of the Wagner Free Institute of Science and Its Contributions to Education" (E.D. Dissertation, Temple University, 1941), with some fact and date checking help from the "National Register of Historic Places/National Historic Landmark Nomination Form for the Wagner Free Institute of Science of Philadelphia, 1700 West Montgomery Avenue, Philadelphia, Philadelphia County, Pa," United States Department of the Interior (Washington, DC: National Park Service, 1989). Found at the National Register of Historic Places, NPGallery, http://npgallery.nps.gov/nrhp/AssetDetail?assetID=64295ac4-c031-45ab-9a78-2da0f5eb991f.

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examine the earliest years of the WFIS. For a few years William Wagner gave lectures

in his home before moving into a downtown municipal building called Spring Garden

hall. I will examine how Wagner brought his earliest influences to bear in creating a

downtown space for free lectures in science. It was a space outside of his control,

however, so that this chapter will delve into Wagner’s growing frustration. Chapter 3 will

close with the WFIS ‘s departure from Spring Garden hall. It will discuss the growth of

Wagner’s feelings of isolation and exclusion from elite scientific and political society,

often descending into paranoia, and how that outlook continued to influence Wagner’s

decisions concerning the new hall he was building on his own property in the northwest

portion of the city.

Chapter 4 will focus on the years between the inauguration of the new hall across

the street from Wagner’s home in 1865 and Wagner’s death in 1885. These years were

marked by Wagner’s attempts to fulfill his ambition of creating and maintaining a space

for formal and informal science education available to the people of Philadelphia for

free. By and large his efforts were successful, but he also encountered obstacles and

setbacks that fell primarily into two categories. The first category was external forces

that shaped the space that Wagner tried to construct. These forces ranged from the

profound influence of the Civil War, to the smaller effects of petty crimes and vandalism.

The second set of obstacles was internal as he tried to expand the programs of the

WFIS while simultaneously maintaining personal control of all aspects of the institute.

Though he had notable weaknesses, Wagner had a tenacious will that kept the hall

open and growing throughout periods of scarce resources. His foresight provided for a

large endowment and leadership after his death. Chapter 4 will analyze how such

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internal and external forces shaped the science education at the WFIS at set it up for an

explosion of growth after his death.

Chapter 5 will pick up with Wagner’s death and the professionalization of the

leadership and staff of the WFIS. This leadership included prominent scientists such as

Joseph Leidy and less prominent, but still important, scientists such as Angelo Heilprin

and Henry Leffmann. Wagner’s death had a number of immediate consequences, most

of them tied to various problems that had festered while he was alive. But his demise

also freed up generous funds that allowed the newly empowered trustees to embark on

a number of ambitious programs including a research program, publication of The

Transactions of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, and a reinstallation of museum

exhibitions. In addition to expanding the scientific programs of the WFIS, the trustees

also initiated a series of partnerships that allowed them to expand the educational

science programs that were always central to the institute’s mission while at the same

time diversifying their educational offerings to include classes in the humanities and

social sciences, reaching out to the community with programs for children, and even

opening a lending library at the institute. Chapter 5 will end as the programs given a

boost following the death of the founder lost momentum and the WFIS descended into a

period of basic survival that would last for much of the twentieth century.

The current study will be the first scholarly examination of the Wagner Free

Institute of Science in almost 80 years. Awareness of the institute’s existence is

peppered throughout general studies of Philadelphia history and surveys of American

natural history, but with the exception of one doctoral dissertation in 1941, it has never

16

been the main subject of analysis.2 When it did merit a mention, it was always as a bit

player in someone else’s history, an example of a broader phenomenon, or as an entry

in a broad survey of like-minded institutions. An example of the latter would be Sally

Kohlstedt and Paul Brinkman’s 2004 article. Examining the golden age of natural history

museums. they credit the Wagner with being among the most public of museums akin

to early mechanic’s institutes.3 Similarly, when Steven Conn, the noted historian of

museums wrote a book on the heritage and historic buildings of Philadelphia, he

devoted two pages of discussion to the Wagner, mostly showing admiration for the fact

that the museum lecture hall is still there.4

The Wagner is probably best known for its association with the notorious “Bone

Wars” between E.D. Cope of the Academy of Natural Sciences and O.C. Marsh of Yale.

These two paleontologists battled for much of the late nineteenth century over access to

specimens, priority claims, and reputations. The WFIS is known as the place where

vertebrate paleontologist Joseph Leidy fled from the competitiveness of Cope and

Marsh and the possible damage to his reputation. This is certainly the role of the WFIS

in Leon Warren’s biography of Leidy.5 It also makes a brief, though anonymous

2 Garman, 1941. The Wagner Free Institute of Science was the subject of Garman’s dissertation, but that examination was a dissertation in education. Garman did offer some historical analysis, but mostly worked with the educational programs. It was wrong on many significant facts and dates and while it was a good guide for the present history, it was not overly relied upon.

3 Sally Gregoty Kohlstedt , and Paul Brinkman. "Framing Nature: The Formative Years of Natural History Museum Development in the United States." Proceedings-California Academy Of Sciences, 2004, 55:7-33.

4 Steven Conn. Metropolitan Philadelphia: Living with the Presence of the Past (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006)

5 Leanord Warren, Joseph Leidy: The Last Man Who Knew Everything (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998); Also see also Susan Glassman, Eugene A. Bolt, Jr., and Earle Spamer. "Joseph Leidy and the "Great Inventory of Nature"." Proceedings of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia, 1993, 144:1-19. http://www.jstor.org/stable/4065003 for a more thorough examination of the Wagner’s role in Leidy’s later years.

17

appearance in Ronald Rainger’s history of vertebrate paleontology at the American

Museum of Natural History which examined Leidy’s later career and mentioned his

association with Joseph Willcox and the fossils from Florida but doesn’t actually name

their shared institution.6 Historian Mark Jaffe finds a different, and even smaller role for

the Wagner in yet another exploration of the feud between Cope and Marsh in The

Gilded Dinosaur. In Jaffe’s narrative the Wagner is briefly considered as a source of

income for Cope after he beggared himself trying to keep up with Marsh.”7

The dissertation, thus, will fill in the picture with respect to this important yet

understudied Philadelphia institution. It will also draw on and contribute to a number of

areas in the history of science, most prominently the area broadly defined as the

geography of science. Pioneered by historians and geographers such as David

Livingstone and Harold Dorn, this research emphasizes on the place in the practice of

science. These places can be defined in terms of wide geographic areas or small, highly

specialized spaces such as laboratories, observatories, museums, or field stations.

According to this, where science is done matters, because different places have

different influences on how people think and act. Studies in this area are sometimes

broad comparisons of how different regions of the world engaged with similar problems

or reacted to new theories and explanations.8 Yet other works focus on

“microgeographies.” Veronica dellla Dora’s work examined the site of “mobile”

6 Ronald Rainger, An Agenda for Antiquity: Henry Fairfield Osborn & Vertebrate Paleontology at the American Museum of Natural History, 1890-1935. (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 1991).

7 Mark Jaffe, The Gilded Dinosaur: The Fossil War Between E.D. Cope and O.C. Marsh and the Rise of American Science, (New York: Crown, 2000) 291.

8 David N Livingstone, Dealing with Darwin: Place, Politics, and Rhetoric in Religious Engagements with Evolution (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2014)

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knowledge while on board educational cruises.9 Like Dora’s study of cruises, the WFIS

was a place of science that was on the periphery of professional experimentation and

exploration. Such marginal places of science can tell us much about the complex ways

and places science was practiced and suggests ways groups of scientists interacted

through these smaller institutions to form a network.

Yet another body of literature in the history of science focuses directly on the

architecture of space, and on the physical design of laboratories, study halls, buildings

and settings.10 Although my project takes “special turn” into consideration, it is mostly

focused on the more pragmatic or concrete aspects of Wagner’s wishes and the specific

challenges he faced, in terms of audience, mission, programmatic elements, as well as

funding restrictions.

Since funding the WFI, both at the outset and in the maintenance of its programs

after Wagner’s death, the literature on patronage and the role played by foundations

especially for the history of science in America will also be considered.. In a recent Isis

article Caspar Andersen, Jakob Bek-Thomsen, and Peter Kjærgard urged historians of

science to follow the money trail and to take account of the role “filthy lucre” has on

science proper.11 In the case of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, the “filthy lucre”

9 Della Dora, Veronica. "Making Mobile Knowledges: The Educational Cruises of the Revue Générale Des Sciences Pures et Appliquée, 1897 – 1914,” Isis, 2010, 101:467-500.

10 See Carla Yanni, Nature's Museums: Victorian Science and the Architecture of Display (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 2005); Peter Galison and Emily Ann Thompson, The Architecture of Science (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1999); Antoine Picon, and Alessandra Ponte, Architecture and the Sciences: Exchanging Metaphors (New York, N.Y. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton Architectural Press: Princeton University School of Architecture, 2003)

11 Casper Andersen, Jakob Bek-Thomsen, and Peter C Kjærgaard, "The Money Trail: A New Historiography for Networks, Patronage, and Scientific Careers." Isis, 2012, 103:310-315. For two works on the history of somewhat similar institutions and the effect funding had on them see Peter Philip Mickulas, Britton's Botanical Empire: The New York Botanical Garden and American Botany, 1888-1929 (Bronx, N.Y.: New York Botanical Garden, 2007); and Rainger, 1991

19

came from Wagner’s own wealth as well as that of his wife, with only occasional

supplements from government appropriations or tuition. Wagner dreamed of using his

money to create a public science institution, but it also served to enable a number of

scientists who distinguished themselves in a umber of areas: neurology, chemistry,

anthropology, and even elocution. For these scientists the patronage of Wagner, brief

as it may have been in some cases, was essential to get nascent careers started. The

WFIS also supported the careers of senior scientists such as Joseph Leidy, E.D. Cope,

and Angelo Heilprin. And though some of these were paid to conduct research and

publish their results, most were paid as lecturers in the WFIS that connected them

directly to the people of Philadelphia.

Finally, in addition to engaging such literature in the history of science, this

dissertation will contribute to, and benefit from, the many historical accounts of

Philadelphia and its many knowledge-communities. Indeed, as this dissertation will

show, William Wagner and his public institute for “free” science became a kind of

distinct if not unique institution in the Philadelphia area, one that carved out a special

niche for itself in the institutional ecology of the city.12

12 For histories of the American Philosophical Society see An Historical Account of the Origin and Formation of the American Philosophical Society Held at Philadelphia for Promoting Useful Knowledge (Philadelphia: The American Philosophical Society, 1914); and Murphy D. Smith, Oak From An Acorn: A History of the American Philosophical Society Library, 1770-1803 (Wilmington, Del.: Scholarly Resources, 1976). For the Academy of Natural Sciences see Robert McCracken Peck, Patricia Tyson Stroud, and Rosamond Wolff Purcell A Glorious Enterprise: The Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia and the Making of American Science (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2012); Charlotte M. Porter, The Eagle's Nest: Natural History and American Ideas, 1812-1842 (University, AL: University of Alabama Press, 1986) and Patricia Tyson Stroud, Thomas Say: New World Naturalist (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1992). For the Franklin Institute see Bruce Sinclair. Philadelphia's Philosopher Mechanics; A History of the Franklin Institute, 1824-1865 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press,

1974).

20

The historical reconstruction I offer here is based mostly on available sources

located in the Archives and Library of the Wagner Free Institute of Science. The WFIS

has extensive business records of the institute including trustee reports, minute of

meetings, correspondence pertaining to the institute, financial statements, and other

documents commonly associated with institutions of scientific knowledge. Wagner’s

own personal records of correspondence are not available, because they were

destroyed in a fire. but I have relied on methods of triangulation common to historians

by examining records left behind by his contemporaries as well as by examining

relevant secondary sources.

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CHAPTER 2 YOUNG WILLIAM WAGNER, MERCANTILIST AND AMATEUR NATURALIST

1796-1840

The daily audiences of citizens at the lectures, numbered several hundred… This was doubtless in a great measure owing to the manner in which the lectures on seven different branches of science were delivered. While they were strictly scientific both in matter and in form, they were nevertheless carefully divested of all needs technicalities, and all harsh unusual terms. This is expected always hereafter to be a characteristic of the mode of instruction at this Institute. The vigorous, transparent, and flexible English, we deem far more attractive and efficient in its native purity, than intermingled with strange Greek and Latin words.

—Annual Announcement of the Wagner Free Institute of Science for the

Collegiate Year 1855-1856

When William Wagner wrote the introduction to the first Annual Announcement of

the Wagner Free Institute of Science (WFIS) in 1855, he not only reflected on the first

lectures he delivered in his home in the 1840’s, but he also took the opportunity to take

a small swipe at the more established, elite institutions such as the Academy of Natural

Sciences of Philadelphia and the American Philosophical Society. He did so often in

public and in private. It is clear that aside from his love of science, Wagner had two

overriding motivations when he conceived of and opened the WFIS; his view that the

scientific institutions of Philadelphia were elitist and a desire to give back to the people

of Philadelphia. Like every other person who was as accomplished as William Wagner it

can be difficult to identify the motivations that drive him. Like all people he was a

complex individual. But if we listen to his own words, and his reflections on his own

influences, it is clear that he saw Stephen Girard, millionaire merchant and banker and

with whom Wagner apprenticed and eventually worked, as the inspiration. Girard

inspired Wagner’s belief in civic duty and good works in a city that often viewed them

22

both as outside the social and intellectual elite no matter how rich they were and what

else they accomplished.

Wagner enjoyed reminiscing about his work and his relationship with Stephen

Girard. In his senior years he often sat down with journalists to tell stories of the older

merchant. In 1883, at the age of 87, William Wagner in a conversation with one such

writer for The Evening News of Philadelphia, spoke of Girard’s influence on the

formation of the WFIS stating, “It was mostly due to the inspiration given me by my old

master—aye, I take pride in calling him master—in erecting Girard College that I

established the ‘Wagner Free Institute’ and allowed it to bear my name.”1 Stephen

Girard was a French merchant who found himself through circumstances of war trapped

in Philadelphia two months before the signing of the Declaration of Independence. The

26-year-old brought with him to America his ship, the Jeune Babe, a love of the French

Enlightenment, and a disdain for aristocracy and royalty. He stayed in the young United

States and became both a naturalized citizen and the nation’s wealthiest man. Though

he excelled in a number of commercial endeavors, he was probably most successful,

and most known, for his international trade and banking. Among his many notable

achievements were bailing out the United States during the War of 1812 and committing

the nation’s largest act of beneficence by leaving approximately seven million dollars to

found Girard College, a school for white orphan boys. This one example of Girard’s

munificence had a huge impact on William Wagner and his plans for the Wagner Free

Institute. Though he did not provide direct financial assistance to Wagner to create the

1“William Wagner: The Story of the Founder of the Wagner Free Institute of Science,” The Times

(Philadelphia, PA), July 6, 1879.

23

WFIS, it would be accurate to think of Girard as an important patron of both William

Wagner and the Wagner Free Institute of Science due to the influence the millionaire

merchant exerted on Wagner starting at a very early age.

The Earliest Influences of William Wagner

William Wagner was born the youngest of eight children on January 15, 1796 at

No. 25 South Second Street in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He was a descendant of

Tobias Wagner a renowned theologian and Chancellor of the University and Dean of

the Church at Tübingen. Williams’ grandfather, Magister Tobias Wagner came to

Pennsylvania as a Lutheran missionary from Hockheim in Wirtemberg around 1745 but

returned to Germany with his family. 2 William’s father, John Wagner, returned to

Philadelphia and fought in the American Revolution before becoming a successful

importer and dry goods merchant specializing in cloth. William spent most of his early

life at the family’s country home on the Wissahickon, Northwest of the City. It was here

that young William began to show his interest in nature by roaming the countryside

collecting curious specimens he found along the river. According to family lore, his

mother, impatient at the speed with which William ruined his clothes, began to construct

his pockets from buckskin to accommodate the quantity of sharp edged rocks and

mineral specimens he insisted upon bringing home. In this home he recalled having a

2 Genealogy of William Wagner, undated, box 1, folder 1, The Wagner Free Institute of Science Robert Chambers Collection, 90-015, Wagner Free Institute of Science Robert Chambers Collection relating to William Wagner and the history of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

24

room set aside for his collection not just of rocks and minerals, but also bottled snakes

and insects. 3

At an early age William Wagner entered the Philadelphia Academy and

graduated with honor in 1808.4 After graduation it was his desire to study medicine,

chemistry, geology, or something in the sciences. His father had other ideas. The elder

Wagner was remembered as a stern, proud merchant who had a strong disdain for the

professions that he thought led people to poverty and unhappiness. William Wagner

later recalled telling his father he had a love of the sciences and his father replied, “My

son, said he, there is fame in pursuits of that nature, but no money.” William then

suggested a career as a surgeon and that he could study under Dr. Phillip Physick at

the University of Pennsylvania. The elder Wagner, as William Wagner later recalled,

convinced Dr. Physick to discourage the young man behind his back. Dr. Physick

explained to William, according to the latter’s account, “My son, your father gives better

counsel than either of us. In this profession you’ll be climbing four flights of stairs and

feeling pulses and you’ll be gray as a rat before you attain competency.” The older

Wagner did not allow his son to follow his desires to study science and instead secured

positions in counting houses, first with William’s brother-in-law and ultimately as an

apprentice with Stephan Girard in 1813. Though William largely spoke well of his father,

or at least neutrally and with respect, it is difficult not to hear regret and bitterness

3 Richard Brodhead Westbrook, In Memoriam William Wagner (Philadelphia: hall of the Wagner Free

Institute of Science, 1885).

4 A Charge Delivered at a Publick Commencement, July 30, 1808 to the Senior Class of the Philadelphia Academy, box 1, folder 2, Wagner Free Institute of Science Robert Chambers Collection relating to William Wagner and the history of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

25

toward his father in a lecture on education he later gave at the Institute when discussing

the joys of learning science he wrote, “Yet even in this highly favored city how many

minds there are capable of culture of the highest intellectual accomplishments, of

reaching the highest intellectual heights in science that are deprived of it by selfish and

ignorant parents who have spent a life of ignorance and Wickedness.” 5

Although William Wagner might have been difficult to convince at the time, his

father and Dr. Physick were likely correct. There was little probability that Wagner could

have made a decent career out of studying the sciences, although it may have seemed

otherwise to an outside observer since Philadelphia appeared to be filled with

opportunities in science. By 1800 Philadelphia had become the cultural, intellectual, and

even scientific capital of the young United States. The city already hosted a number of

scientific and scholarly institutions, so much so some contemporaries knew the city as

the Athens of America.6 Benjamin Franklin founded the Library Company, America’s

first successful lending library in 1731. The American Philosophical Society, also

founded by Benjamin Franklin and associates such as John Bartram, Francis

Hopkinson, and others in 1743, was intended to be an American Royal Society. The

University of Pennsylvania was founded in 1741 and added a medical school in 1765.

The Pennsylvania Hospital was opened in 1751 for the cure and treatment of the sick

and the poor free of charge. And Philadelphia hosted Charles Wilson Peale’s museum,

which opened in 1786 and included displays of natural history as well as works of art

5 First Lecture on Education, undated, box 8-10, folder 105, William Wagner Lectures, 89-015, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

6 Edgar P. Richardson, "The Athens of America: 1800-1825," Philadelphia: A 300 Year History. Edited by Edgar P. Richardson. (New York: W.W. Norton, 1982).

26

and technology. As the official repository of specimens collected expeditions funded by

the Federal Government, including Lewis and Clark’s, Peale’s museum was an

important node on the network of early American science.

Philadelphia was indeed alive with scientific institutions, but they were not open

to every Philadelphian equally. Historians of science such as Simon Baatz and Joel

Orosz have demonstrated that, by 1800 science in Philadelphia was largely restricted to

the economic elites, or “gentlemen-savants with wealth and leisure” as Baatz phrased

it.7 There was virtually no route in 1808 for even a middle-class merchant’s son like

William Wagner to become a professional scientist without a connection to the old

money elite. The American Philosophical Society had become a club for people who

had already made their mark in some illustrious field, and not just in science. Museums

like Peale’s offered informal, passive experiences in a number of fields including art and

popular entertainments, but provided no formal education, training, or employment.

Even a medical education from the University of Pennsylvania was available to only

those who could afford the expense of a private college. It is possible John Wagner

could have afforded such an education for his son. But as Baatz demonstrated, even

physicians with a degree from the University of Pennsylvania found it difficult to

establish a career without money and connections to set themselves up in a practice

with enough paying patients to make the practice profitable. Many graduates of Penn’s

medical school found other employment in apothecaries, business, or even as

7 Simon Baatz, "Philadelphia Patronage: The Institutional Structure of Natural History in the New Republic, 1800-1833," Journal of the Early Republic, 1988, 8:111-138; Joel J. Orosz, Curators and Culture: The Museum Movement in America, 1740-1870 (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 1990); Charlotte M. Porter, The Eagle's Nest, 1986.

27

publishers and writers.8 The Academy of Natural Sciences was founded in 1812 by men

of more modest, middle-class means, and it might have proven a welcoming home for

William Wagner if he were older and more established. But even the Academy of

Natural Sciences was, in those days, more of a private club for men who were already

accomplished in a scientific field or were professionals in other fields with enough

knowledge in a scientific area to have achieved some renown.9 It was not a place for a

student to learn science. William Wagner would eventually become a member of the

Academy, but he never participated in the scientific expeditions or other projects for

which the Academy of Natural Sciences would become justly famous. This grip on

scientific education and research by elites in Philadelphia would only get worse as the

nineteenth-century progressed and science became more professionalized. An older

William Wagner would chafe at being excluded and fume over the lack of an accessible

scientific education for the people of Philadelphia. This feeling of exclusion would be

instrumental in the creation and operation of the Wagner Free Institute of Science at

mid-century. But in 1813 a younger William Wagner found himself, against his desires,

an apprentice in the counting house of Stephen Girard. It was possibly the best thing

that could have happened to Wagner for him to realize his aspirations in science.

Wagner’s Apprenticeship with Stephen Girard

Wagner was lucky to get the apprenticeship with Stephen Girard. First, the age of

apprenticeship in mercantile pursuits was generally considered to be eighteen and

8 Baatz, “Philadelphia Patronage,” 1988.

9 Orosz, Curators and Culture, 1990.

28

William was only seventeen and a half. His father represented William as eighteen and

signed him up for a three-year apprenticeship, though he stayed in Girard’s employ for

seven years. It probably helped that John Wagner and Girard were business associates

and friends, and Samuel Wagner, William’s older brother, already worked for Girard.

Wagner might have thought excluded from scientific society, but he was well connected

to Philadelphia’s business community. Second, and more importantly, these positions

were highly sought after by young men looking to get into business and were

considered by many in commerce to be the best source of a solid education in business

and finance. Many journalists, historians, and biographers during the years since

Girard’s death have favorably compared the experience of being the millionaire

merchant’s apprentice to the educational opportunities available to young men at West

Point, Annapolis, and the University of Pennsylvania.10

An apprenticeship with Stephen Girard was a unique educational experience and

a propitious first step in any young man’s mercantile career. 11 Girard often isolated

himself from other businessmen and Philadelphia’s merchant class. He was burned

early in his career by unwise choices in business associates and partners, and

eventually avoided business arrangements with fellow merchants or businessmen. He

10 George Wilson, Stephen Girard: America's First Tycoon (Conshohocken, Pa.: Combined Books, 1995); “William Wagner,” The Times, 1879.

11 The narrative of Stephen Girard supplied here is a synthesis of a number of different sources including Henry Atlee Ingram, The Life and Character of Stephen Girard ... Mariner and Merchant. With An Appendix Descriptive of Girard College, (Philadelphia, Pa., no publisher given, 1887) http://books.google.com/books?id=h5c4AQAAMAAJ; John Bach McMaster, The Life and Times of Stephen Girard, Mariner and Merchant (Philadelphia, London: Lippincott,1918); Stephen Simpson, Biography of Stephen Girard with His Will Affixed Together with a Detailed History of His Banking and Financial Operations for the Last Twenty Years (Philadelphia: T.L. Bonsal, 1832); Harry Wildes Emerson. Lonely Midas: The Story of Stephen Girard, New York (Toronto: Farrar & Rinehart) 1943; and Wilson, Stephen Girard, 1995.

29

distrusted agents, factors, and middlemen of all sorts because the tremendous

distances involved in global trade and the related communication limitations. This made

corruption, profit skimming, and theft common. Instead of partners and agents, Girard

preferred employees. He treated them well, and he earned a level of loyalty that other

merchants openly envied. Many of his ship captains and counting house employees

stayed with him for decades earning enough in fixed salary and bonuses to keep them

loyal and productive. Girard, being a former naval officer himself, knew how to keep

sailors happy and healthy and he was able to keep his ships at sea for longer than most

other merchants. Instead of relying on outside agents and factors, who often charged

high consignment fees in addition to being inclined to misrepresentation and fraud,

Girard relied on a constant supply of apprentices. He would take young boys, like

Wagner, into his counting house, lodge them in his own home, feed them at his own

table, and train them not just in business, but in Stephen Girard’s business. After a

suitable period an apprentice would be plucked from his duties in the counting house in

Philadelphia and assigned as a representative in a foreign port or in charge of

merchandise on one of his ships. These men were the best of the best as judged by

Girard himself. He valued their industriousness, loyalty, and trustworthiness, but mostly

their ambition and determination. According to Girard biographer George Wilson,

“Girard wanted and demanded 100 percent. He looked for people who would go the

extra mile, who would not just get the job done but get it done right and on time.

Apprentices who were unable or unwilling to meet his high standards fell by the wayside

. . . Thus Girard employees who rose to positions of authority were truly extraordinary

30

people.”12 These apprentices, extraordinary though they may have been, were still quite

young and inexperienced, but Girard knew they would follow orders and would be less

likely to cheat him. This practice ultimately decreased overhead, earned higher profits,

and ensured the long-term loyalty of a virtual army of young, highly-trained merchants,

many of whom went on to great success in solo careers. This was the opportunity that

William Wagner’s father found for him and William Wagner made the best of it.

The records of Wagner’s personal life during his younger years are fairly sparse.

Though we have official records of Girard’s business through day books, sales receipts,

and bills of lading, among other business records, we know very little of Wagner’s life

and thoughts. In order to build a narrative of the events of these formative years we

need to rely on Wagner’s reminisces that he shared with friends, journalists, and

students at the Wagner Free Institute of Science.13 Though these reminiscences can be

filled with embellishments and hyperbole we can nonetheless get a pretty good picture

of his experiences working for the merchant and the long-term effects it had on his life

and careers as both a merchant and the proprietor of a science museum. He received

no pay and no clothing, but did get meals with the Girard family with whom he

eventually developed a close relationship. He worked 14-hour days in the Girard

counting house and many nights and Sundays. He had to be available at all times in

12 Wilson, Stephen Girard, 1995, p.193.

13 The newspaper articles that include the most content in terms of Wagner’s reminiscences of Girard are, “Men and Things,” The Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, March 20,1902; “Points in Girard's Life: Reminiscences of an Apprentice”, The Times (Philadelphia, PA), November 3, 1882; “William Wagner, the Story of he Founder of the Wagner Free Institute of Science: A clerk with Stephan Girard,” The Times (Philadelphia, PA), July 6, 1879; and a letter to the editor written by Wagner to challenge a previous article critical of Stephen Girard, “To Readers and Anxious Inquirers,” The Sunday Dispatch (Philadelphia, PA), December 30, 1877. Later biographers of Girard would rely on these memories to reconstruct life as a Girard apprentice.

31

case one of Girard’s ships docked and needed attention. Though disappointed that he

could not continue his formal studies in science and in spite of the long hours he worked

for Girard, Wagner nonetheless kept up on his personal reading in Latin, French,

geology, and mathematics and continued collecting and trading mineralogical

specimens with fellow enthusiasts and naturalists.14 It was during this period, in 1815,

that Wagner became a Resident Member of the Academy of Natural Sciences and he

made his first specimen donations to the same institution in 1816. His contributions to

the Academy’s collection included the jaws and vertebrae of a shark and a large sample

of mica from Siberia.15

After only a year as Stephen Girard’s apprentice, William Wagner received his

first major assignment from the wealthy merchant. During the War of 1812 the British

captured and burned Washington D.C. and then aimed their ships and armies further up

the Chesapeake toward Baltimore in the summer of 1814. Many Philadelphians feared

that their city would eventually be attacked. Girard not only had a large inventory of

merchandise in his warehouses, he also had a good amount of silver on hand after he

acquired the First Bank of the United States in 1811. On September 13th Girard hired

ten six-horse teams and sent a quarter of a million dollar of specie and twenty-seven

wagonloads of fine Chinese imports and other valuable merchandise to Reading,

Pennsylvania for safekeeping. According to Wagner’s account, he was placed in charge

of the convoy and tells a tale of slow progress through rural Pennsylvania through

14 Letter from William Wagner to William Dixon of Willington, DE, June 1, 1814, box 5, folder 30, Robert Chambers Collection on William Wagner and the History of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, 090-015, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

15 “List of Donations,” Journal of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia, 1817, 1:213-218, http://hdl.handle.net/2027/njp.32101049101163.

32

steady rain, muddy roads, and crowds of onlookers. Once in Reading, according to

Wagner, the silver was placed in a bank and the goods warehoused. But Wagner

discovered that many of the fine Chinese silks had been damaged, so he purchased a

quantity of rope and dried the damaged pieces in the sun and sold them at a profit. As

with many stories Wagner tells of his years with Stephen Girard, this one is true in its

general outlines, but perhaps embellished in its details. It would have been unlikely that

Girard would have placed this large an operation in the charge of a young apprentice

who had only worked for him a year. In fact Wagner was only in charge of one convoy

of a series of three, not the entire operation. And it is also unlikely that a young

apprentice would have had the authority to open crates of fine Chinese fabric, though

his work drying the wet cloth is largely confirmed by correspondence.16

In 1816, after three years of apprenticing and clerking for Stephen Girard, William

Wagner was chosen to join his brother, Samuel Wagner, at sea on the merchant’s

ships. William Wagner “graduated” from Girard’s business school and was ready for

more responsibility. While Girard would not have promoted William Wagner without

complete confidence in the young clerk, William probably also benefited from the favor

in which his master held his older brother Samuel. It would have seemed natural to put

William under Samuel’s wing for his first voyage and Girard told Samuel in his letter of

instruction that, “Being desirous to promote the Interest of your brother Wm Wagner by

giving him an opportunity to commence his commercial career I have placed him

16 See McMaster, The Life and Times of Stephen Girard, 1943, p. 279; and Emerson, Lonely Midas, 1943, p. 344.

33

assistant Supercargo on bd of the Ship Helvetius subject to your direction and

control.”17

Serving as a “supercargo” on one of Stephen Girard’s ships meant that William

Wagner was in charge of the cargo on the Helvetius. He was responsible for selling

Girard’s goods in port, buying new merchandise, and keeping track of all accounts,

inventories, and communication regarding the merchandise. If fragile or perishable, it

was the supercargo’s job to keep it safe and fresh. As Girard’s supercargo, Wagner

would often leave the ship in port to make brief, short trips looking for both buyers and

sellers of merchandise, while also finding natural history specimens on hikes or in the

care of local collectors. Supercargoes were rarely part of the ships command structure

and Wagner had no authority over sailors or even stevedores who loaded the

merchandise one and off the ship. The Helvetius, however, belonged to the same

merchant who owned the cargo. And while William Wagner was in charge of the

merchandise on board, he also answered to his brother on the Rousseau since the

ships travelled together most of the time. It was not uncommon for merchants to have

their ships travel in fleets for safety and, in this case, to place a new supercargo under

the supervision of a more experienced merchant.

Speaking in 1879 to a journalist from The Times of Philadelphia, Wagner related

the story of being selected by Girard to be supercargo on one of his ships that was

familiar in its general outline to how others were chosen by the famous merchant. Girard

strode unannounced into his counting house, surrounded by young clerks and

17 Quoted in Garman, History of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, 1943, p. 7. Girard, being an admirer of the French Enlightenment had four ships named after prominent French philosophes, the Helvetius, the Voltaire, the Rousseau, and the Montesquieu.

34

apprentices, and looked at Wagner over all the other worker’s heads to tell him,

“‘William, you will go to the sea with two ships. You will go next week if you please sir.’

The merchant had not spoken to his young clerk before, and the young clerk, slipping

down from his high stool and blushing in the agony of pleasure and delight said, ‘Yes

sir.’”18 Wagner was to sail to Charleston, South Carolina with his older brother and

embark on a world tour trading goods. The two ships, Samuel serving as supercargo on

the Rousseau and Wagner serving the same function on the Helvetius, would travel the

world together on Girard’s business. Girard was in the habit of giving highly detailed

instructions to his captain’s and supercargoes and held them responsible for carrying

them out to the letter. Wagner’s instructions were no exception. He was given sealed

orders that he was instructed to open only when his shipped cleared sight of New

Jersey heading south. The orders told the Wagners to proceed to Charleston, wait for

the maturing of crops and the settling of prices and then to load the vessels with

tobacco, rice, and cotton. They were then to “sell the cotton at market price in Antwerp;

buy gin in London; sell it in the Brazils; bring coffee from Rio Janeiro to Liverpool, and

take fabrics up the straights. Buy olives, wine, and raisins in Marseille and sell them at

London. Load with general cargo for East Indies and buy Mocha coffee up the Red Sea

for nineteen cents a pound. Arrive at The Hague a few days before January 1, 1810

with both ships and sell for 30 cents a pound. Return to the East Indies and bring two

cargoes of tea, making forced passage from China to Amsterdam. Make another

voyage for Mocha coffee and bring it with dispatch to New York.”19 It was the kind of

18 “William Wagner,” The Times, 1879.

19 Ibid. The dates in this story are obviously wrong either because the journalist misheard Wagner or Wagner misremembers.

35

very detailed, years long instruction that Girard was famously gave his supercargoes

and captains, even predicting the price of commodities months and years in advance.

Though supercargoes had amazing autonomy in most merchant houses, Girard allowed

his very little. His motto was “Break owners, not orders.”

When regaling audiences about his voyages in the employ of Stephen Girard,

Wagner adopted the habit of sailors through time immemorial and accentuated the

danger and adventure of the high seas. He told tales of being chased by pirates through

East India Islands, narrowly escaping ship wrecks in the Red Sea, bartering with Arabs

for gold dust, with Turks for Rugs, Spaniards for olives, with the Dutch over the price of

cotton, the Javanese the price of coffee and the English in Hong Kong over the price of

gin. He told tales of illness, death, and shipwrecks. Though Wagner’s ship traveled with

his brother’s for the majority of their voyage, they often got separated. The letters

William exchanged with his brother or the Helvetius’ captain, Stephen Meginnes, during

absences and separation due to business or weather, tell of the more mundane aspects

of life on Girard’s ships. The topics were about exchange rates of currency, the cost and

condition of different goods, delivery logistics, transportation schedules, and of course

the weather. Though each brother enjoyed seeing the world and profited financially and

personally from the experience, Samuel probably captured the spirit of both Wagners

when he wrote in September of 1818 to William, when the Helvetius and the Rousseau

were separated, “I am almost tired of running about the world, and wish to get home

36

once more.”20 William Wagner returned to New York in the fall of 1818 and his brother

some months later.

There is some dispute in the sources concerning how many voyages William

Wagner ultimately took on behalf of Girard and how long Wagner stayed in the employ

of his mentor. The documentary evidence, which is admittedly incomplete and spotty,

suggests that William decided to go off on his own when he returned from his first

voyage in 1818. Other sources, sometimes based on Wagner’s own reminiscences later

in life, mention two more voyages to China on Girard’s behalf, leaving his employ in

1820 or later. Since Wagner embarked on his own career as a merchant, including

trade to China as a friendly competitor to his former master, it is possible an aged

Wagner misremembered for whom he returned to China. Since Wagner’s stories in his

later years also contain known factual errors, such as the dates of important events, as

well exaggerations, it’s quite possible his stories are just wrong. Regardless of where

the truth lies, it is clear that what time he did spend as Girard’s apprentice, clerk, and

supercargo had a profound impact on both the businessman and amateur scientist

Wagner would become.

By using a long voyage around the world to collect natural history specimens

and in general broaden his knowledge and professional network in science, William

Wagner joined a long history of men and expeditions including Joseph Banks,

Alexander von Humboldt, and Charles Darwin. Unlike those men, William Wagner was

engaged in an explicitly commercial enterprise and did little if any actual exploration.

20 Samuel Wagner to William Wagner, September 2, 1818, box 2, folder 2, The Robert Chambers Collection of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, 090-015, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

37

The Helvetius benefited from a mature international trade between Philadelphia, China

and the rest of the world that stuck mostly to stops at major metropolitan ports made

safe by an advance European empirical project.21 It was during this trip or trips that

Wagner expanded his specimen collecting on a much larger scale and he enlarged his

network of correspondents. There are few documents that record his personal scientific

acquisitions nearly as well as he recorded Girard’s business matters. But what we do

have in terms of a few letters, receipts, and reminiscences paints a picture of a young

man taking every opportunity in port to travel away from the wharfs to collect rocks and

minerals and to contact local collectors to trade specimens. A number of letters

addressed to William Wagner during his voyage, such as a series from Hamburg based

malacologist Peter Friedrich Röding, speak of cases of minerals sent in care of Stephen

Girard to await Wagner’s return to Philadelphia.22 Letters from his brother and fellow

apprentices speak of museums and collections of note in cities Wagner will some day

visit. There is some suggestion that William’s brother Samuel Wagner was also

interested in natural history and geological specimens, claiming in one letter home that

21 Though American trade with China is more popularly connected with Boston or Salem, Philadelphia also had a thriving trade with the Far East including China. Prior to winning independence from Britain, American traders were forced to work through British merchants for Eastern goods. After the Revolution, trade between US cities and China flourished. The first ships set sail from Philadelphia bound for the Orient in 1784 and once the monopoly of the British East India Company was broken in America, the flood of Chinese goods rushed into the city. Not only did Girard take advantage of the profitable trade, so eventually did William Wagner and Williams’s brothers Samuel and Tobias. And the Wagner Free Institute of Science was not the only Philadelphia cultural institution to benefit from the trade with specimens and artifacts. Different ships brought back items for the Academy of Natural Sciences, The Pennsylvania Hospital and Nathan Dunn’s Chinese Museum. Trade with China had begun to slacken as Wagner began to contemplate retirement in the late 1830’s. See Jonathan Goldstein, Philadelphia and the China Trade, 1682-1846: Commercial, Cultural, and Attitudinal Effects (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1978); Jean Gordon Lee and Museum of Philadelphia, Philadelphians and the China Trade, 1784-1844 (Philadelphia, Pa: Philadelphia Museum of Art, 1984).

22 See multiple correspondence from Peter Frederich Röding to William Wagner, 1818, box 5, folder 30, in the Robert Chambers Collection relating to William Wagner and the history of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, 90-015, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

38

Paris was awash in first class museums and libraries and noting to William that, “a

mineralogist might spend weeks among the collections.”23 Wagner also took the

interminable hours at sea between inspecting cargo and waiting out storms reading

books on science collected in ports. It was an once-in-a-lifetime experience for the

young amateur scientist, one which would resonate throughout his life.

But as important as specimen collecting was to the eventual creation of the

Wagner Free Institute of Science, Girard instilled in William Wagner two attitudes that

would influence the science educator and philanthropist; a strong sense of being an

outsider in the socially stratified city of Philadelphia and a strong sense of civic duty, or

Republican Citizenship. Though the United States was a very young country, was

founded in Philadelphia on republic ideals, and had no old-world style landed nobility,

the city already had an entrenched network of “old Philadelphians.” Historian of science

Simon Baatz referred to this group as the city’s “patriciate” due not only to their status

as the wealthy, upper-class, but also because of their role supporting select causes,

charities, and even naturalists and scientific organizations.24 Sporting well known names

like Cadwalader, Biddle, Binney, Rush, Hopkinson, and dozens of others, these families

were among the first settlers of the colony and helped found Philadelphia,

Pennsylvania, as well as the United States. They were mostly descended from

immigrants from England, Wales, and Germany and had deeply established traditions

and ties to the Quaker and Episcopal Faiths. They consisted of prominent politicians,

23 Letter from Samuel to William Wagner, September 2,1818, box 2, folder 2, Robert Chambers Collection relating to William Wagner and the history of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, 90-015, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

24 Baatz, “Philadelphia Patronage, 1988.

39

religious leaders, merchants, jurists, diplomats, and bankers. They served on a network

of interrelated boards of banks, colleges, and faculty of prominent local and national

institutions. In addition to their professional achievements, these “Proper

Philadelphians,” as they are still known, had social circles and leisure activities and

traditions typical of wealthy communities throughout the US including fraternal

organizations, hunting clubs, society dances, and changing fashions of dress and

deportment. Neither Stephen Girard nor William Wagner shared much with this group,

and each challenged them in their own ways.

Both Girard and Wagner excelled in businesses central to the identity of Proper

Philadelphians. But Daniel Kilbride appropriately cautioned reader’s not to define this

leisure class solely by wealth, “since upper classes in American cities were divided

based on religion, family, etiquette, and many other qualities” and further explained that

“Philadelphia was renowned for the reactionary sensibility and aura of entitlement that

distinguished its fashionable society.”25 Stephen Girard did not belong to this group and

made little effort to ingratiate himself to them.26 Likewise, when William Wagner was

denied a chance to enter the field of science upon graduating from the Philadelphia

Academy in 1808, it was the first of many snubs, real and perceived, Wagner felt at the

hand of Philadelphia’s social and scientific elite. That this exclusion put him under the

supervision and tutelage of the fellow outsider was likely not missed by the young

25 Daniel Kilbride, An American Aristocracy: Southern Planters in Antebellum Philadelphia (Columbia, S.C.: University of South Carolina Press, 2006) p. 3.

26 Girard was treated as an outsider by the Philadelphia elite for many reasons. He was a naturalized American citizen who came to Philadelphia by accident a month before the signing of the Declaration of Independence. He never had strong command of English. He was a secular French Catholic who was not active in any church. He disliked the idleness and extravagance of American aristocrats as much, if not more, than he did French aristocrats. And lastly, his businesses practices, while rarely illegal or unethical, often challenged established businesses and accepted practices.

40

apprentice. In both his public pronouncements concerning the Wagner Free Institute of

Science as well as in personal communications, he openly challenged, and sometimes

publicly mocked, the more established scientific institutions of the city such as the

Academy of Natural Sciences and the American Philosophical Society for their elitism

and their disconnect with common Philadelphians. Like Girard, Wagner was not

completely cut off from this world. Wagner was a member of The Academy of Natural

Sciences and even took the half-sister of Academy co-founder Thomas Say for his first

wife. But his founding of the Wagner Free Institute of Science as an alternative to these

established institutions was an implicit challenge to their hegemony. This challenge

would be made explicit when Wagner had the opportunity to announce his plans for the

Wagner and its role in Philadelphia society.

As important as Girard was as a model of independence, Wagner was inspired

more by the example his mentor set as a generous benefactor to the city of

Philadelphia. Wagner was very clear throughout his life that Girard served as his

inspiration in what one Girard biographer referred to as the merchant’s strong sense of

Republican Citizenship.27 This strong sense of civic duty on the part of Girard worked

with Wagner’s anti-elitist tendencies to inspire him to create the Wagner Free Institute of

Science. Girard was a strong believer in the new country and its republican values. He

was long critical of the idleness and extravagance of French, and later American,

aristocracy and supported the French Revolution until it reached its bloody extremes.28

27 Simpson, Biography of Stephen Girard, 1832.

28 Some biographers have jokingly referred to him as a saint, but we should be careful how far down that road we should go. He did own his own house slaves and profited from slave labor, though one of his failed business decisions was over estimating the price of whips in Saint Domingue. He made enormous profits trading in opium. He refused to lend money to the US during The War of 1812 until he got his terms and he was quite skilled in skirting taxes and maritime laws through chicanery.

41

Throughout the revolution in Saint Domingue he helped refugees off the island and

supported them in a small colony outside Philadelphia. During the Yellow Fever

epidemic of 1793, he stayed in Philadelphia and ran an impromptu hospital when most

citizens who could afford to leave, left, including most of the federal government with

George and Martha Washington at their head. And, as noted above, upon his death he

left millions for the creation of Girard College. Wagner was never shy about telling

stories of heroism and self-sacrifice about his former mentor and crediting him with

inspiring his own attitudes toward civic responsibility. In an 1879 interview with a

reporter from The Times Wagner credited Girard’s final beneficent act as the inspiration

for his decision to found the Wagner Free Institute of Science, “inspired by the example

of my old master, the fruit of whose great plan I saw spring from the seed, I viewed the

situation to see where I could do the most good. I looked at my great private museum

and it occurred to me how great the lesson could be taught by it, and my plan was

formed.”29

When telling stories about Girard’s acts of civic responsibility he most admired, it

was not uncommon for Wagner to place himself in the middle of the story, whether he

was actually there or not. When referring to being present and witnessing the idea for

Girard College “spring from the seed,” he is referring to this story related later in the

same interview:

One day after he [Wagner] returned from the sea and had taken charge of the book-keeping for Mr. Girard, the little Frenchman called him and together they walked up in what is now the upper part of the city. Then it was the suburbs of the town. “I buy that land,” said the merchant, indicating by a sweep of his hand a tract of forty acres that lay before them. “What you think of him, eh?” The book-keeper approved. “So,” said

29 “William Wagner,” The Times, 1879.

42

the purchaser, half interrogatively and half approvingly, “So: well, you make much haste and draw up a check for $40,000.” The book keeper did and with its transfer to the original owner of the property the land on which Girard’s College now stand pass into his possession.30

This story is obviously false to anyone who knows the history of Girard, Girard

College, and William Wagner.31 Stephen Girard employed William Wagner for seven

years, from 1813 to 1820. Girard purchased the forty-five acres of land that would be

the site of Girard College in the spring of 1831, so Wagner could not have been the

bookkeeper who wrote the purchase check for the land. 32 It is possible that Wagner

and Girard walked passed the land as fellow, independent merchants, because by all

accounts they enjoyed an amicable business and personal relationship after Wagner left

Girard’s employ, but this seems unlikely. While this story is fairly useless as an account

of how Girard actually acquired the land for Girard College, it does suggest the esteem

in which Wagner held Girard and how he viewed his own life and accomplishments in

relation to that of his old mentor.

William Wagner guarded the public memory of Stephen Girard’s good works

zealously, almost as if he were defending his own reputation. In addition to the

interviews he often gave to journalists on the civic virtue of Girard, he also lectured on

the old merchant at the WFIS, gave interviews and anecdotes to biographers, and even

sought out journalists and editors he felt did not write about Girard with enough respect.

30 Ibid.

31 Emerson in his 1943 biography of Stephen Girard was very clear that he considered William Wagner’s accounts of Girard’s life to be worthless. Indeed, for exact dates, times, and events Wagner could be demonstrably wrong at times. At other times, his stories agree with other accounts we have of the period. See Emerson, Lonely Midas, 1943, p. 344.

32 Wilson, Stephen Girard, 1995, p. 346.

43

He was especially defensive if Girard’s munificence for the people of Philadelphia were

misrepresented or challenged. In a 1902 retrospective on Wagner in the Philadelphia

Evening Bulletin entitled “Men and Things,” Wagner was described as being. . .

enthusiastic in the zeal with which he treasured his memories of the merchant and millionaire as late as a half century after Girard’s death. His paternal solicitude for his darling institute and the gentle care which he took men of the press should keep it in the public mind were hardly less confirmed among the habits of his old age than the vigilance with which he acted as something like an historic guardian of Girard’s fame.33

The column then went on to describe a typical example of Wagner accosting

Thompson Westcott, editor of the Sunday Dispatch, in 1877 in his office about a letter

that he had printed that reflected poorly on Stephen Girard. “‘Nonsense, Nonsense’ the

professor exclaimed, “nine-tenths of those stories came originally from beggars and

schemers whom Girard ordered out of the counting room.” Wagner then, apparently,

spent an afternoon setting Westcott straight and encouraging him to write a biography.34

The Sunday Dispatch ultimately printed a lengthy rebuttal written by Wagner that

answered each presumed calumny point-by-point. Chief among Wagner’s problems

with the original letter was a story that had first been told by Girard’s first biographer,

Stephen Simpson. Simpson claimed, according to Wagner, that far from being a hero

and friend to the refugees from the slave revolt in Saint Domingue in 1793, Girard was a

33 “Men and Things,” The Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, March 20, 1902. From clipping found in the

Wagner Free Institute of Science Scrapbooks, vol.1, Folder 2, 89-040, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science. The preponderance of the evidence, however, suggests that Wagner did indeed assume the part of a hero worshipper, but not without justification and his facts, while often wrong or embellished, were also more correct than the gossip he was correcting.

34 “Men and Things,” The Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, March 20, 1902.

44

profiteer who saved the worldly goods of his former countrymen only to sell them in

Philadelphia for a profit. Wagner responded to these charges, noting that Girard had in

fact kept the rescued goods in storage until the owners claimed them. Wagner

countered this slight whenever he found it, but he held Simpson in especially low

esteem for starting this slander. In Wagner’s view, “Anyone who reads Simpson’s

biography of Stephen Girard will perceive that the whole account is embittered and

venomous and that whatever he could find an opportunity to falsify or pervert he

improved to the utmost. He tortured facts to suit his purpose.” 35 Wagner attributed

Simpson’s venom to the fact that Girard did not replace George Simpson, a loyal and

trusted employee of Girard and father to the biographer, with the younger Stephen upon

the senior Simpson’s death. “From that moment Simpson became the uncompromising

enemy of Mr. Girard. Every invention of fancy and perversion of facts has been resorted

to by him to injure the reputation and tarnish and blacken the great and good deeds of

that benevolent and wonderful man.”

Many of the charges Wagner made against Simpson also appeared in an 1882

story in The Times that was mostly an announcement and discussion for a set of

lectures that were ultimately delivered at the Wagner Free Institute of Science on

Stephen Girard. Though written by Wagner, another faculty member delivered them due

to Wagner’s advancing age. These lectures were described as, “including anecdotes

and records of Girard. Most of them new and calculated to change the face of history.”36

35 William Wagner, “To Readers and Anxious Admirers,” Sunday Dispatch (Philadelphia, PA), December 30, 1877. From a clipping found in the Wagner Free Institute of Science Scrapbooks, Vol 3, Folder 8, 89-040, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

36 “Points in Girard's Life: Reminiscences of an Apprentice,” The Times , (Philadelphia, PA), November 3, 1882.

45

When William Wagner began to conceive of the Wagner Free Institute of Science of

Philadelphia as a place for the common people of Philadelphia to obtain a quality

education in science free of charge, he was inspired by many institutions including

lyceum’s, The Academy of Natural Sciences, The Cooper Union in New York, and other

institutions for common education and civic improvement. But ahead of all of these was

the example of his former master, Stephen Girard and his work for the people of

Philadelphia, and William Wagner recognized and defended this debt until his death.

Full Time Merchant, Part Time Scientist

Both Samuel and William returned to New York in November of 1818 and

embarked on different business ventures. Samuel Wagner continued to serve Girard

until 1821, when he entered into business with his and William’s brother Tobias as

auctioneers until they both retired in 1831. William Wagner went off to try his hand at

his own businesses immediately. Wagner went into the business of accepting

consignments of Holland gin in Philadelphia within a month of arriving in Philadelphia.

Working on behalf of himself and other merchants, Wagner accepted delivery of the gin

from Amsterdam and proceeded to sell it through the auction house of Taylor &

Wagner, a firm in which his brother Tobias was then a partner. In fact, the exporter in

Holland with whom he traded, Thomas Parker, was a frequent trader with Tobias and

William Wagner continued the relationship for some years.37

37 Receipt of sale at Taylor and Wagner Auctioneers, August 18, 1818, box1, folder 6, Robert Chambers Collection relating to William Wagner and the history of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, 90-015, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science. Working with family members remained a hallmark of Wagner’s career in both business and science education. The Wagner Free Institute of Science included family members on the faculty and on the board well after William Wagner’s death and into the 20th Century.

46

William Wagner’s stint at being an agent for Holland gin was among the earliest

ventures of what would become a long and profitable career in business that would end

when he retired in 1840 at the age of 44. In 1820, William Wagner signed papers of

partnership with local merchant Joseph Snowden to form the firm Snowden and Wagner

that engaged in trade of tobacco, gin, lumber, cotton, coffee, and various other goods

up and down the Atlantic coast. Wagner continued to travel on business spending most

of his time in the American South, especially Virginia and North Carolina, arranging for

shipments to and from his partner in Philadelphia and socializing and trading with local

business people. Snowden & Wagner were particularly well represented in North

Carolina where they traded very successfully in upland cotton, tobacco, and lumber. Of

particular note during this period is the fact that Wagner continued to do business with

Stephen Girard, serving as the older merchant’s agent for lumber and other goods while

Girard also served as a business and credit reference for Wagner. And Wagner of

course kept collecting minerals, fossils, and other natural history specimens that he

would later display and donate to the Academy of Natural Sciences back in

Philadelphia. When they signed the partnership agreement in 1820, Snowden &

Wagner intended to only stay in business together for three years. They kept their

partnership together for two extra years, dissolving their association in 1825.38

In 1823, during his partnership with Joseph Snowden, Wagner married Caroline

Say Moore, the daughter of Dr. Benjamin Say and half-sister to Thomas Say. Both

Benjamin and Thomas were prominent Philadelphians and descendants of famed

38 See the Contract for Co-Partnership with J. Snowden, January 1, 1820 for 3 Years, box 3, folders 3-6, Robert Chambers Collection relating to William Wagner and the history of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, 90-015, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

47

colonial naturalist John Bartram. Though a graduate of the medical school at the

University of Pennsylvania, Benjamin Say is best know as a politician at the local, state,

and national levels. He served as a member of the U.S. House of Representatives from

Pennsylvania. Thomas Say was much more active in the Philadelphia scientific

community. He was a practicing apothecary and a self-taught naturalist who made a

name for himself as an entomologist and conchologist. He was a founding member of

the Academy of Natural History in Philadelphia as well as that institution’s librarian,

curator at the American Philosophical Society, and a professor of Natural History at the

University of Pennsylvania. 39

Though there are not a great deal of personal records that shed light on the

courtship of Caroline Say Moore by William Wagner, it is not difficult to hypothesize how

they met and what might have attracted Wagner to Moore. Wagner remained active in

the Academy of Natural Sciences since becoming one of its earliest members in 1815.

Given Wagner’s participation in the work of the Academy and Say’s leadership, it is not

difficult to imagine how William met Caroline. It also likely helped that Caroline was a

scion of one of the wealthiest, most prominent, and most active political and scientific

families in Philadelphia. Wagner likely did not covet the family’s wealth since he had his

own family and business connections and worked tirelessly to make his own money.

However, it is possible that Wagner did covet the family’s position among the city’s

scientific elite and thought perhaps this marriage would gain him that position. Wagner’s

marriage to Caroline ended in divorce in 1836. We will never know much about the

marriage or divorce, but the fact that Wagner’s brief membership in the Say family

39 For a biography of Thomas Say see Stroud, Thomas Say: New World Naturalist, 1992.

48

ended in divorce might have added something to Wagner’s life long problematic

relationship with Philadelphia’s scientific and political elite.40

Wagner continued his business in trade after ending his partnership with Joseph

Snowden. Using the knowledge and connections in North Carolina he gained during his

partnership with Snowden, Wagner returned to the state to continue his trade in lumber.

In 1827 he began work on a steam-powered sawmill in Lenoxville, North Carolina and

he eventually maintained a successful general store in the same town.41 He engaged an

assistant named Thomas Wilson to look after his affairs in his Philadelphia office.

Wagner went into the wilds of North Carolina on business alone, his wife Caroline

preferring to stay back in Philadelphia. Wagner often sent notes through his assistant

Wilson that hinted at a difficult life in the wilds that was necessary to “relieve the

difficulties of our situation.”42 Wagner’s father reportedly had little faith in his son’s

success in Carolina and well he should. The mill was eventually involved in a lawsuit

40 See Certificate of Divorce, William Wagner vs. Caroline Moore Wagner, December 10, 1836. box 1, folder 7-8, Robert Chambers Collection relating to William Wagner and the history of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, 90-015, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science. According to the divorce certificate, William Wagner sued Caroline for divorce on the grounds of desertion. This would suggest that Caroline left William. However, as Merril D. Smith noted in her 1991 work on divorce in early Pennsylvania, it can be difficult to initiate the separation by deserting the home and women were as likely to leave a miserable marriage as men, though the law treated them differently. Normally, a man would be expected to continue to support a woman were he to be the one to leave the marriage and there is no record that Wagner had any such legal obligations. That suggests that Caroline left William. On the other hand, he was likely rarely home, being away on business in North Carolina during this period, so he may have de facto deserted the marriage before she left. We may never learn who initiated the separation and divorce, or why. Merril D. Smith, Breaking the Bonds: Marital Discord in Pennsylvania, 1730-1830 (New York: New York University Press, 1991).

41 Untitled communication printed in The Newbern Sentinel (New Bern, NC), June 30, 1827; Articles of Agreement with Wm. Mace, July 1, 1828, box 3, folder 13, Robert Chambers Collection relating to William Wagner and the history of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, 90-015, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

42 Letter from William Wagner to Robert Wilson, June 1, 1828, quoted in Garman, 1941, p. 14.

49

and he lost the mill.43 Returning to Pennsylvania Wagner turned his eyes towards coal

mining in Schuylkill County in one of many moves that mirrored the ventures of Stephen

Girard. Once again he absented himself from Philadelphia and moved to Pottsville,

Pennsylvania once again leaving his wife Caroline at home. Wagner’s coal business

was eventually dissolved in 1833. Throughout this period he maintained successful

trading concerns in cotton, turpentine, lumber, coffee and other goods between

Philadelphia and places such as Cuba, Jamaica, and the Southern United States.

Wagner continued his relationship with Thomas Wilson throughout this period, until he

retired in 1840 at the age of 44.

Throughout the period between his departure from Stephen Girard’s employ in

1818 and his retirement from business in 1840, Wagner maintained his scientific

activities. He continued to collect specimens throughout his business travels, favoring

areas near rivers where he could collect shells. While the majority of existing

correspondence from this period concerns the minutia of running a successful trading

business, some evidence of his scientific proclivities sneak through. An 1821 note from

a business associate in Murfreesboro, North Carolina to Snowden and Wagner closes

with a reminder that “Mr. Wagner left a small box of marine shells, obtained from the

earth near our place 50 or 60 ft. Below its surface which we have not yet sent, but will

not be unmindful of them, when the opportunity offers.”44 In another, much later, note

directly from Wagner in Ohio home to Thomas Wilson in Philadelphia, Wagner reported

43 See Garman, 1941,15; and announcement of Quinn v. Wagner in The Newbern Sentinel (New Bern, NC) February 10, 1828.

44 John E. Wheeler to Snowden and Wagner, March 16, 1821, box 3, folder 2, Robert Chambers Collection relating to William Wagner and the history of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, 90-015, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

50

“the Ohio is now lower than it has been known for 4 years, fine indeed for collecting

shells. I have already 7 boxes of shells and fossels [sic] packed up & some toward the

8th both abound.” 45 He donated many items from his collection beginning with a large

specimen of Mica he gave to the Academy of Natural Sciences in 1816, long before he

set sail for Stephen Girard. 46 He continued placing important pieces from his collection

in the Academy’s care and occasionally exhibited natural history specimens at

meetings. Thomas Say used fossils collected by Wagner in South Carolina in his

description of new species of the sea urchin of the genus, Echinus in a paper read at

the Academy and published in the 1825 issue of the Academy’s Journal.47

Wagner also maintained a very active correspondence and trading network with

scientists and dealers both locally and around the world. In the Wagner Free Institute of

Science archives are correspondence and receipts for exchanges and purchases with

naturalists here in America including the Sillimans at Yale and John Rogers president of

the Board of Admiralty in D.C. Across Europe he exchanged his local finds for more

exotic specimens with, among other people, Peter Friedrich Röding, a malacologist in

Hamburg, and French geologist Louis-Constant Prévost at the Sorbonne. The former

was a contact Wagner had made while in Germany on Girard’s business, while the

latter was through an introduction made by Philadelphia physician Alfred Stillé who was

studying in Paris at the time. Wagner also dealt with people closer to home, including

noted botanist, zoologist and early anthropologist Constantin Rafinesque and Samuel

45 William Wagner to Thomas Wilson, August13, 1838, WFIS. Quoted in Garman, 1941. p. 17.

46 Journal of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia, 1817, p. 216.

47 Thomas Say, "On the Species of the Linnean Genus Echinus, Inhabiting the Coast of the United States." Journal of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia, 1825, 5, p. 225.

51

George Morton, Philadelphia based physician, anthropologist, and noted originator of

the “American School” of ethnography.48

Wagner was also an active member of the Academy of Natural Sciences. In

addition to lending his specimens to naturalists like Say for study and description in the

Academy’s Journal, Wagner frequently exhibited his collections at meetings and

donated specimens. On at least one occasion he presented an original paper to the

Academy. The paper was read in January 1838 and published in the eighth volume of

the Journal under the title “Descriptions of five New Fossils, of the Older Pliocene

Formation of Maryland and North Carolina.” 49 In this paper Wagner presented

descriptions and engravings of five new species of shell fossils he had found during his

travels through the South, probably on business. This appears to be the only paper to

have been published by Wagner, or at least the only one for which references can be

found in contemporary databases, indices, and bibliographies. The Smithsonian

Malacologist William Healey Dall made reference to this 1839 paper in the Academy’s

Journal as being Wagner’s “best-known publication on American Paleontology” which

suggests there might be others. 50

48 For a biography of Rafinesque see Leonard Warren, Constantine Samuel Rafinesque: A Voice in the American Wilderness (Lexington, KY: university of Kentucky Press) 2004. The American School of ethnography held that the differences between human races was one of different species and NOT varieties within a single species. By publically and professionally espousing these views, Morton was part of a strain of scientific thinking that supported the scientific racism of the 19th Century. Morton’s study of the capacity of human skulls memorably “debunked” in Gould, Stephen JayThe Mismeasure of Man (New

York: Norton, 1981).

49 William Wagner, "Description of Five New Fossils, of the Older Pliocene Formation of Maryland and North Carolina." Journal of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia, 1839, 8, 51-53.

50 William Healey Dall, "Notes on the Paleontological Publications of Professor William Wagner." Transactions of the Wagner Free Institute of Science of Philadelphia, 1898, 5, 7-8.

52

In his 1898 article in the Transactions of the Wagner Free Institute of Science,

William Dall reviewed not just the 1839 paper in the Academy’s Journal, but he also

summarized a series of documents found in Wagner’s papers which suggest Wagner

was planning another paper on a similar topic.51 Though no article resulted from this

series of lithographs and associated handwritten descriptions, Dall concluded that the

information must have reached the broader malacological community somehow since a

couple of the names contained in the manuscript had found there way into the scientific

literature attributed to Wagner. How those names and descriptions migrated from

Wagner’s manuscript to the scientific literature was unknown to Dall in 1898, but a short

note at the end of the manuscript suggests the paper was read in a December, 1838

meeting of the Academy of Natural Sciences. However, no mention of that meeting can

be found in their Journal. The answer might be found in a series of letters elsewhere in

Wagner’s files. Dall seems to have missed a series of letters between Benjamin Silliman

at Yale and New Jersey geologist and malacologist Timothy Abbot Conrad that suggest

that Wagner tried to get the descriptions and lithograph published in the American

Journal of Science in 1840, then published by Silliman and his son Benjamin Silliman Jr.

That Wagner ultimately failed to get this article published, and why, speaks loudly to

Wagner’s amateur, outsider status in the scientific community as well as his

confrontational personality. Both of those traits would continue to define Wagner’s

position and outlook in the scientific community after he founded the Free Institute of

Science.

51 The lithographs and manuscript pages can be found in box 1, folder 6, The Wagner Free Institute of Science Robert Chambers Collection, 90-015, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science

53

In the Spring of 1840 Wagner received encouragement from Benjamin Silliman

the elder to submit a manuscript and lithographs of the specimens that were included in

an December 1838 talk at the Academy of Natural Sciences; specimens that Wagner

claimed were new species of shells. Conrad challenged that claim in a letter to Wagner

in April of that year stating that several of them had already been described in

publication, most by Conrad himself.52 People whom Silliman would not name ultimately

passed along this claim to the Yale scientist. In fact, in a reply to Wagner dated March

13, 1840, Silliman noted that it was his understanding that the Academy’s Journal had

declined to publish Wagner’s description of the “new” species because they were not

new and had already been described by others including Conrad and Thomas Say,

Wagner’s ex-brother in-law.53 Silliman also felt that Wagner might have tried to get his

paper published in the American Journal of Sciences under false pretenses since

Wagner did not tell Silliman that some Philadelphia naturalists questioned his claims of

prior discovery. Wagner, for his part, judging from drafts and copies of letters to

Silliman, denied all accusations and defended his claim to priority. He was offended and

“degraded” by both the accusations of unoriginality and that he had obfuscated the

issue to Silliman. Wagner dismissed the claims that others had described his species

before him as a plot among local professional scientists against him. “I feel convinced

[Samuel George] Morton’s in league with Conrad to prevent the insertion of my

descriptions, not because they are not new but because Conrad tells him to say so” he

52 T.A. Conrad to William Wagner, April 28, 1840, box 5, folder 31, the Wagner Free Institute of Science Robert Chambers Collection relating to William Wagner and the history of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

53 Benjamin Silliman, Sr. to William Wagner March 13, 1840, box 5, folder 31, the Wagner Free Institute of Science Robert Chambers Collection relating to William Wagner and the history of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

54

claims in a letter to Silliman. Silliman ultimately decided that the honorable route would

be to publish both Wagner’s paper and a paper by one of the naturalists challenging

Wagner’s claim of priority in the same issue. Wagner thought the move unprecedented

and refused.54 The matter was dropped and Wagner never published a second paper.

Though priority disputes are far from rare in the history of science this particular

controversy has a certain resonance when examined in the context of Wagner’s larger

career in science. Whether he was right or not in terms of his shells being new species

or whether he did or did not keep the issue of possible prior discovery from Silliman, the

extant correspondence suggests that Wagner viewed the issue as about more than just

an intellectual disagreement. He felt excluded from the scientific network of Philadelphia

and abandoned by “T. Say, my friend?! at least I thought him so.” In one of his last

letters to Silliman, Wagner concluded, “I must be permitted to remark that I consider

this…the greatest conspiracy I ever was assailed with and I will now have been left in

the dark as to who the leaders were.”55 Silliman did much to encourage ill-will between

himself and Wagner, and therefore between the scientific establishment and Wagner,

when Silliman asked Wagner for reimbursement for $50 worth of expenses. He

explained that, “Had I known that your claims were disputed by gentlemen of high

authority in science with whom I had long entertained friendly interactions & one of them

my particular friend & a man of the best moral feeling I would never have consented to

54 Draft of letter from William Wagner to Benjamin Silliman, Sr., March 25, 1840, box 5, folder 31, Wagner Free Institute of Science Robert Chambers Collection relating to William Wagner and the history of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

55 Copy of William Wagner to Benjamin Silliman, May 19, 1840, box 5, folder 31, Wagner Free Institute of Science Robert Chambers Collection relating to William Wagner and the history of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

55

incur the expense.”56 Though there is no reply recorded, it seems likely that Wagner

read these words as implying that while those scientists were “gentlemen of high

authority” and had the “best moral feeling,” he did not. It is difficult to say whether this

controversy led to Wagner’s feeling of being an outsider in science or if it was just one

brick in a wall between him and the growing professionalism of science. It is, however,

easy to see the long continuum of Wagner’s frustrated ambitions of being a professional

man of science. This feeling will be expressed most strenuously in his decision to create

the Wagner Free Institute of Science as an implicit, and often explicit, rebuke to the

scientific establishment in Philadelphia, which he felt, was not serving the people of the

city particularly well.

This controversy also serves as an excellent illustration of Wagner’s life-long

tendency to not work well with others. Throughout both his business and scientific

careers he was plagued with a personality that made it difficult for him to cooperate with

people and institutions with which he had little regard. Not only were his partnerships

short and his businesses often plagued with lawsuits, his correspondence with other

scientists was often strained and full of misunderstanding. During the same period

Wagner was placing his case before Benjamin Silliman, he was also engaged in a tense

correspondence with eccentric naturalist C.S. Rafinesque over whether Wagner had

borrowed or purchased a series of pamphlets from the Rafinesque. Wagner refused to

pay Rafinesque the money Rafinesque was sure he was due. 57 In addition to being

56 From Benjamin Silliman, Sr. to William Wagner, May 30, 1840, box 5, folder 31, Wagner Free Institute of Science Robert Chambers Collection relating to William Wagner and the history of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

57 Warren also noted that many of Wagner and Rafiinesque’s contemporaries would have applauded Wagner’s drubbing of the other naturalist. Tha’t just how unpopular Rafinesque was, See Constantine

56

involved in the priority dispute with Conrad, Wagner had accused Samuel Morton in

1839 of allowing other naturalists to cull his collection before Wagner paid hundreds of

dollars for it. Rafinesque’s biographer, Leanord Warren, referred to Wagner’s half of the

correspondence as “unnecessarily brutal” and a “merciless pummeling” that had the

effect of “reducing him to cinders."58 Disputes such as these between scientists are as

frequent as priority disputes and would not be notable save for the fact that this trend

would continue once Wagner founded the WFIS. His tenure as its director would be

marked by frequent disagreements with faculty, disputes with neighbors, law suits with

the city of Philadelphia and ultimately eviction from the Wagner Free Institute of

Science’s first home. By all accounts he was a difficult man to work with while at the

same time inspiring great loyalty in friends, family, and colleagues. It is a trait he shared

in large part with his mentor Stephen Girard.

Samuel Rafinesque, 2004. 175-176. Thomas L Montgomery, "Correspondence of C. S. Rafinesque and Professor Wm. Wagner." Science, 1900, 11, 449-51. http://www.jstor.org/stable/1625738.

58 Letter from Samuel George Morton to William Wagner, June 25, 1839, box 5, folder 31 of the Wagner Free Institute of Science Robert Chambers Collection relating to William Wagner and the history of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

57

CHAPTER 3 CREATING AND CONTROLLING A SPACE FOR SCIENCE

1841-1865

There is no question that Stephen Girard was the single most profound influence

on the founding of the Wagner Free Institute of Science. By his own frequent

admissions, William Wagner considered Girard’s conception of Republican Citizenship,

culminating in his bequest to found Girard College, to be the model for his intentions for

the WFIS. On a more personal level, Wagner also developed a sense of himself as an

outsider to the Philadelphia scientific establishment. This was likely born of his

unrequited desire to pursue a scientific career but was also nurtured by being mentored

by a foreign-born Catholic businessman who also viewed himself as something of an

outsider to the established local elite. Although we can never know if Wagner would

have developed his own sense of Republican Citizenship had he never worked for

Girard, we do know that his relationship with the older merchant set him on a course not

only to succeed admirably in business, but also to use that success for the betterment

of Philadelphia. Intrinsic in that sense of civic duty was Wagner’s confidence that

contemporary efforts in science education were elitist and exclusive and that only he

could fill the gap left by older institutions.

But if it is true that Stephen Girard had such a profound influence on Wagner’s

motivation to create the Wagner Free Institute of Science, it is also true he was

influenced by a myriad of sources at home and abroad. Starting with the people he met

and institutions he visited during his mercantile days first as an employee of Girard and

second on his own business, Wagner gathered lessons and influences from a hundred

58

different sources. After he retired in 1841, he accelerated this process by embarking on

a European honeymoon with his second wife, Louisa Binney. This two-year odyssey

encompassed more visits to museums and specimen dealers than cultural experiences

or social hobnobbing. Once he returned from this two-year scientific tour of the

continent, he began giving lectures in his home in which he also stored his still-growing

collection of natural history specimens. These lectures grew so popular that he was

eventually encouraged by friends and colleagues to start the Wagner Free Institute of

Science, which was incorporated in 1855. The first home of the WFIS was in a

municipal building in downtown Philadelphia, a site that Wagner was not able to hold on

to for his institute. He was forced out of that site and decided that in order to have the

type of scientific institution he wanted, he had to build his own.

This chapter will examine William Wagner’s influences abroad and at home from

his 1841 honeymoon through the opening of the Wagner Free Institute of Science’s new

building at its current location in 1865. Those influences interacted with Wagner’s own

mercurial personality to create and control a space for science education that was at

once a challenge to established scientific networks in Philadelphia while also being

intrinsically part of that same network. This chapter will also analyze how Wagner

brought his own experiences as a frustrated professional scientist to bear on the

character of the institution he founded and will demonstrate how those influences both

encouraged and stymied the WFIS’ s growth and influenced its character. Although the

WFIS would not grow into the major scientific or education institution that Wagner

hoped it would be, it did become an important institution for its students, faculty, and

community. This institutional character became the foundation on which later scientists

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and educators would build to create a shared space for science, education,

entertainment, and even religion for its community.

The Honeymoon

Having completed arrangements for my departure from Philadelphia on the 29th of March 1841, I married my wife Louisa Binney at 1/4 past Eight AM and departed for the Steam Boat Clifton…I had shipped out on that ship 67 boxes of minerals, Fossils, and marine, terrestrial, and fluviatile shells chiefly from the N. American Continent for great variety and beauty.

From the William Wagner European Travel Journal, Vol 1, Page 1, 1841

On the same day he married his second wife, William Wagner embarked on a

two-year honeymoon of Europe that included plans to see the great natural history

museums of the continent and trade specimens with some of its most renowned

dealers. Wagner had done so well in his many mercantile pursuits, even accounting for

the occasional failure and lawsuit, that he was able to retire in 1840 at the age of 44. He

also did quite well for himself in his choice for a second wife, marrying Louisa Binney,

the only daughter of Archibald Binny. Archibald Binny, along with fellow Scots immigrant

James Ronaldson, established the first successful type foundry in the United States in

1796.1 In addition to creating a very successful business, Archibald Binny patented

several improvements to the founding process that helped make him independently

wealthy when he retired to the life of a gentleman farmer in Maryland in 1815, one year

1 For a general history of the type foundry Binny & Ronaldson and its place in the history of American printing see James M. Wells, American Printing: The Search for Self-Sufficiency: The 1984 James Russell Wiggins Lecture in the History of the Book in American Culture at the American Antiquarian Society. (Worcester, Mass.: American Antiquarian Society, 1985). Archibald Binny spelled his surname in various ways throughout his life, settling on “Binny” while his daughter Louisa opted for “Binney.”

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after Louisa’s birth. Louisa thus brought to the marriage, in addition to an evident

fondness for William Wagner, the Binny fortune. And by all accounts she developed a

strong affinity for natural history. She is listed in some official histories as the co-founder

of the institute2.

Throughout their two-year sojourn through the scientific institutions and

personalities of Europe the Wagners kept a detailed journal of the places they visited,

the people they met, the specimens they bought and traded, what they ate, the weather,

and many other details of a European honeymoon. William Wagner did most of the

writing, but it was not uncommon for Louisa to take a turn on some days. Not only is

the journal an excellent record of the daily minutiae of their travels, it is also a good

record of Wagner’s responses to the design, collections, policies, and programs of

some of Europe’s most prestigious natural history museums. Although the founding of

the WFIS remained 15 years in the future, Wagner’s journal entries provide glimpses of

what the institution would eventually become.

The voyage to England was long and difficult. The sea was often rough while the

wind was still enough to bring the voyage to a halt for days. Wagner’s journal is filled

with descriptions of life at sea, and reflected a former merchant’s eye for other ships,

their country of origin, their design, and what they might be carrying. Although he

attempted to keep his scientific observations and activities to a minimum, he was

incapable of restraining his curiosity. For example, he carefully noted the marine fauna

they encountered including sperm whales and a type of stormy petrel called Mother

2 See for example Henry Leffmann “Historical Note,” The Transactions of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, 1923, 10:1-6.

61

Carey’s Chicken. He also occasionally indulged his appetite in collecting specimens

when they were pulled aboard as part of the daily routine or in hull maintenance,

keeping wet specimens stored in jars of spirits. In the journal he specifically mentioned

collecting samples of unspecified crustacea when the hull was cleared of seaweed and

some Sabelleria, a small sea worm, when it came back attached to the sounding line.

Louisa, for her part, was less than pleased with the early part of the voyage since rough

sea and damp weather kept her seasick and left her fighting a cold the entire time. As

the ship came within sight of the English coast on April 27, 1841 her outlook improved.

She won an impromptu fishing tournament aboard the ship, though there is some

indication Wagner bribed the crew to let his young bride win.3

Once Louisa and William arrived in London in early May of 1841 they lost no time

indulging William’s desire to see European museums and meet with European

naturalists and dealers. Starting with a behind-the-scenes tour at the British Museum’s

shell cabinet, they visited Somerset House and dealers in natural history specimens

such as conchologist George Sowerby, along with bookstores and numerous other

sites. Even at this early stage in his travels, Wagner seemed to be turning a critical eye

toward the museums, gardens, and other institutions he visited, describing the style of

exhibitions, architecture, collections, and always noting how much a museum charged

for admission and commenting on their relative accessibility to the general public. When

visiting the National Gallery of Art he noted that it is open, “the 4 first days of the week”

3 European Travel Journal Entry for April 27, 1841, vol. 1, The Wagner Free Institute of Science William Wagner European Travel Journals, 89-005, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science. (Hereafter cited by date, volume and “European Travel Journals.”)The European Travel Journal is not always consistent in its dating formats. Some entries cover single days while other cover weeks. No page numbers were provided. I will provide the date as recorded in the entry.

62

and that it is open for “gratuitous admission to the artist’s exhibitions.”4 Though pleased

with the free admission, the people who visited put him off. Echoing his former mentor’s

views of extravagance, Wagner noted, “The rooms were thronged with fashion but

regret not to be able to say with beauty, [but with] Nobles of varied rank and

ostentatious citizens.”5

William Wagner, like Girard before him, had little patience for the “ostentatious

citizens” among the upper class and nobility. But he and Louisa also had a dim view of

the lower classes of Europe, especially those of different races. While strolling around

outside the Royal Academy of Art they noted, “amongst the fashionable throng we were

surprised at seeing a young lady…leaning on the arm of a “nigger” this to our idea of

respectability was indeed revolting.” And approaching White hall Wagner noted, “…the

whole population were in the street as this day was fair and offering for sale all species

of cast off Garments both male & females. This street presented the most begardly [sic]

sight we had witnessed in London. It seemed as if the very scrapings of the earth had

assembled for one general carousal. After passing this very disgusting and revaulting

[sic] scene, fine wide streets, handsome dwellings, and magnificent public buildings

were presented to our view.”6 In Liverpool he appears to connect the decline of learning

to the growth of urban problems. “There appears but little taste in the good people of

this city for flowers, as nothing of the kind is seen at the windows with few exceptions,

science dwindles, but business ‘goes ahead.’ There are more beggars here than in

4 May 7, 1841, Vol 1, European Travel Journals.

5 May 9, 1841, vol. 1, European Travel Journals.

6 Ibid.

63

London, or any place we have visited in England they parade the streets singing Psalms

with a train of children in their wake to excite pity.” 7

The Wagners also frequently noted effects of industrialization on the cities and

communities they passed. While they were often enchanted with the grand buildings of

the factories and William spoke approvingly of the industrial processes he was able to

view up close, especially the cotton and silk mills in Northern England and mining

operations in Germany, they were less sanguine concerning the environmental effects

of these companies. On July 4th Louisa took over chronicling duties and wrote that,

“Birmingham is quite a large town with a great number of large manufactorys [sic] in it.

In all directions you see immensely high chimneys pouring forth volumes of dense black

smoke which quite envelops the town in a black cloud.”8

But by far the most common passages that hint at a future institute were those

that describe the many scientific and educational institutions the Wagners visited on

their honeymoon. In every city and town in which they stopped, they made sure to visit

the local cultural institutions and describe in depth the building, collections, policies, and

personalities. During most visits they were greeted warmly and often given behind-the-

scenes tours of collections and facilities. Sometimes the Wagners were turned away for

want of a letter of introduction or had to wait until the institution was open to the public,

a circumstance that chafed the American businessman. But the journal entries reached

the pinnacle of exuberance when they encountered a public institution that was not only

“worthy of any nation or people,” as William described the Louvre, but also open to the

7 June 5, 1841, vol. 1, European Travel Journals.

8 July 4, 1841, vol. 1, European Travel Journals.

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public for free.9 For example when visiting the Altes Museum in Berlin in October 1841,

William wrote, “The New Museum, this beautiful edifice was erected by the King and

was finished only 10 years ago. It is situated on a branch of the River Spree…The

Museum is open free to every one bravo! Every day from 10 to 4,” providing

uncharacteristic underlining and exclamations to make clear his enthusiasm. 10

Likewise, William found the School of Mines in Paris to be, “a fine establishment” that

had an amphitheater capable of accommodating a large class and a museum that was

open daily to the public and, “the lectures are delivered 5 months out of 12 Gratis owing

to Government funding.” 11

As the honeymoon began to wind down by July of 1842, the Wagners were in

Paris. William began to run low on both specimens to exchange and patience with the

avariciousness and treachery of local specimen dealers. He expressed some remorse

at not being able to offer Gabriel Delafosse, a professor of mineralogy at the Sorbonne,

more or better specimens due his shortage of supply. Conversely, he was livid at local

collectors who tried to gouge him on shipping charges and at least one who lied to him

about receiving Wagner’s correspondence. In the travel journal he ranted at some

length about continuing to “rake up” boxes of specimens “from the iron grasp of

European cupidity.” Wagner’s intentions of forming personal relationships in Paris might

9 July 4, 1842, vol. 4, European Travel Journals.

10 October 2, 1841, vol. 2, European Travel Journals. This museum is currently named the Altes Museum, or roughly in English “Old Museum” which is in contrast to the Neus Museum, or “New Museum” finished in 1859. Both are on Museum Island in Berlin on the River Spree along with several other institutions. In the journal, The Wagners refer to this museum as “The New Museum,” because it was only 10 years old and the actual “New Museum” was still 18 years in the future.

11 July 2, 1842, vol. 4, European Travel Journals.

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not have gone as well as he had hoped.12 But a visit to the Jardins des Plantes and the

larger Muséum national d'Histoire naturelle made a profound impression on the amateur

geologist when he started to think seriously about founding the Wagner Free Institute of

Science.

The Wagners were most impressed with the design of the geology and fossil hall

with its “combining all the advantages of light, space and convenience” and its large

cases that would serve as inspiration for the design of both his own personal cabinet as

well as the design of the Wagner Free Institute of Science’s permanent home. But more

importantly he was impressed with the civic-minded nature of the scientists, museum

administrators and the government funders, writing in his journal, “public lectures are

delivered by Profs appointed and paid for by Government on all the different branches

of natural science every day. There are lectures on some subjects of science as well as

at the Sorbonne… and must cost the government in paying the Profs down to the

labourers, feeding animals, purchasing specimens, a large sum of money, all these

lectures entrance to the Gardens, Museums, halls & are Gratis.”13

Paris was the last stop described in the travel journal, and the Jardins des

Plantes one of the last scientific institutions described by Wagner. It is likely he returned

to Philadelphia shortly after quitting the French capital. It is uncertain where and when

exactly William Wagner decided to found the Wagner Free Institute for Science. But it is

clear that he had already begun to think about what he would want from such an

institution not only in terms of the built space and displays, but also about the curriculum

12 July 4, 1842, vol. 4, European Travel Journals.

13 Ibid.

66

and the admission policies. The sites and people he met on his honeymoon in Europe

heavily influenced those ideas.

An Idea in Need of a Home

The Wagners returned home to Philadelphia late in the summer of 1842 and

immediately set about making themselves a new home.14 In 1843 they purchased a

colonial style estate on the northwest border of Philadelphia called Elm Grove. Built in

1760, Elm Grove was located on Stump Road and Turner’s Lane.15 At the time it

occupied an area marked by stretches of woodland and surrounded, as the name

suggested, by a grove of elm trees. On the east side of the house were greenhouses for

growing botanical specimens. To the southwest of the house the Wagners built a

specimen storage and display building, which they named “The Cabinet,” it 1847. The

influence of their European travels was evident in the design of the wing. According to a

short history of the institute, Wagner recalls that the, “(a)rchitectural design of such a

building being intended, to combine all requisite advantages of Light, Beauty, and Utility,

all of which united are difficult to concentrate. After long consideration, and reflection we

finally adopted, a reduced Model of the Museum of the Jardin des Plants, of Paris, a

sketch he drew when in that beautiful building…with this experience, he selected that

eminent School as his model, not only in Architecture but became fully imbued with the

14 William and Louisa Wagner had only one child, Tobias Wagner who died in infancy. Louisa would later adopt a daughter, Sadie Dewhurst who married Sydney Skidmore. Skidmore served the Wagner Free Institute of Science as a Trustee and faculty member in Physics.

15 Currently Berks and 18th Streets.

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benefits and advantages of its free principles.” Wagner laid the cornerstone himself,

“quietly and privately, unaided and unknown, on the 4th of June 1847, after which the

construction of his new cabinet at Elm Grove commenced.”16 The construction took the

rest of 1847 and the winter of 1848. By spring of 1848 the Cabinet, or Cabinet Building

as it was sometimes called, was completed and Wagner went to work classifying,

arranging, and displaying his collection for admiring visitors.

At some point in the next couple of years Wagner began to conduct lectures for

the public in his new home.17 In the Annals of the institution he described how this

evolved in typical William Wagner fashion mixing humility and pride in equal measure

and referring to himself in the third person, “The beauty and magnificence of the

specimens thus displayed soon attracted the attention of the learned and scientific, not

only of our own city, but from distant points, each one expressing his surprise and

astonishment, that such a fine Collection should be buried comparatively unknown, and

many using their utmost efforts to influence him to deliver a course of Public Lectures,

on those valuable and interesting objects. These arguments for a long time passed

unnoticed finally there were reiterated by every visitor and from every quarter, until

16 From the Introduction of The Annals of the Wagner Free Institute of Science of Philadelphia, 1855, p. 1. The Annals of the Wagner Free Institute of Science of Philadelphia, 89-020, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science. Like the European Travel Journal, The Annals do not maintain a consistent dating system. In the early years each day of the week has an entry. Later entire months and seasons are covered in one entry. Unlike the European Travel Journal, page numbers are provided. (Hereafter, citations from The Annals will be by date, The Annals, and page number.) Throughout the Annals Wagner refers to himself in the third person as he does here.

17 What year these lectures started is not clear. Official histories of the WFIS, such as those that appear in Annual Announcements as well as in a Leffmann’s historical essay the 1923 edition of the Transactions previously cited, claim these lectures started in 1847. And there are records of lecture notes on conchology dated 1847. Wagner, however, in his introduction to The Annals, cited a start date of 1851 or 1852. See the Introduction to The Annals, 1855, 3-6. The exact date is less important for these purposes than the fact that they did occur, were open to the public, and gained enough popularity that Wagner was convinced that he had an audience for founding the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

68

fatigued by the constant importunities of friends, he consented in the Spring of ’52 to

deliver an experimental Course, on one of his favorite subjects Conchology.”18 The

popularity of these lectures is all the more impressive because Elm Grove was rather far

from the population center of downtown Philadelphia, although it was served by a single

streetcar.

After spending the winter of 1851-52 preparing a course of 16 classes related to

conchology he gave his first lecture on May 10, 1852, according to the institute’s

Annals. It is a credit to the depth and breadth of his lifelong collecting in this field that he

was able to sustain 16 lectures on shells. Conchology would remain his favorite topic

and strength of the WFIS’s collections. According to Wagner, “a large and select

audience of invited Friends” attended this introduction. Wagner admitted that lecturing

did not come naturally to him and required great effort due to, “ a natural timidity of

entering the arena of Science at so late a period in life, and totally unpracticed habits of

public speaking.”19 The original set of lectures proved so popular that he decided to

develop a course on geology in the spring of 1853, and again the following September

on mineralogy.

Attendance at the Elm Grove lectures grew beyond Wagner’s expectations. The

list of attendees grew beyond merely his friends and colleagues as he began to post

notices and receive public announcements in the local newspapers. It was growing

clear to “Professor” Wagner, as he was increasingly being referred to in the press, that

his dreams were outgrowing the space he built to attain them. At the close of his last

18 Introduction to The Annals, 1855, The Annals, 2-3.

19 Introduction to the Annals, 1855, The Annals, p. 3.

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class on metallurgy it was reported in the local papers that the students formed a

committee to approve a number of resolutions. The first was to thank the professor for

the lectures and to encourage him to publish them. The second resolution was that “the

suggestion made by Prof. Wagner, that he intends to devote his valuable cabinet to the

establishment of a public institution for free lectures upon science appears to us as a

noble offer, which on behalf of our fellow-citizens, we gratefully accept and shall

thankfully receive.”20 And thus were plans for the Wagner Free Institute of Science

announced to the city of Philadelphia.

A Temporary Place for Science Downtown

The WFIS was officially incorporated by an act of the Pennsylvania State

legislature on March 9, 1855. Wagner wrote the Charter himself in consultation with

“men of sound judgment and abilities.”21 It placed in the hands of the trustees Wagner’s

collections of specimens and apparatus, The Cabinet Building, and an adjacent plot of

ground. It was the object of the institute, according to Section two of the charter, to be

“the gratuitous instruction in the Natural Sciences, such as Geology, Mineralogy,

Metallurgy, Mining, Botany, Chemical Agriculture, with their application to the arts of

other kindred sciences to all persons conforming to the rules of the institute.”22 The

charter also noted that the faculty would have full power to, “grant degrees and

diplomas in the Arts and Sciences to such students of the Institution and others, as by

20 "Interesting Proceedings," The Public Ledger (Philadelphia, PA) 1854.

21 Introduction to The Annals, 1855, The Annals, p. 9.

22 From “An Act to Incorporate the trustees of the Wagner Free Institute of Science,” quoted in First Annual Announcement of the Wagner Free Institute of Science for the Collegiate Year 1855-56. (Philadelphia: The Wagner Free Insitute of Science, 1855), p. 9.

70

their proficiency in learning, or other meritorious distinction, they shall think entitled to

them.”23 Granting certificates, degrees, diplomas and other marks of completion and

success would become a hallmark of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, though it

never achieved full status as a college or university as Wagner and various trustees

hoped.

In accordance with Section 4 of the Charter, the trustees of the institute met for

the first time in the Cabinet on May 1, 1855. The original trustees named in the charter

were William Wagner, who was designated president for life, William Allen, President of

Girard College, James Bryan, MD, who also served the institute as a Professor of

Comparative Physiology and Zoology, William Neal, a city councilman representing the

13th Ward, and George M. Keim, a Pennsylvania Politician who served in the US House

of Representatives from 1838 to 1843. The first business of that meeting was to elect

officers and form committees to plan the opening ceremony.24

William Wagner and the trustees recognized early that Wagner’s Cabinet at Elm

Grove would be insufficient for the proposed programs and facilities. It was far too small

to house the expected audiences and it was increasingly not able to accommodate the

growing collection and library. Building a lecture hall adjacent to the Cabinet on a plot of

ground donated to the institute for this purpose was considered, but this proved

financially difficult. In addition, the estate was too far from downtown to be convenient to

the majority of Philadelphians, the intended audience for the institute’s programs.

Wagner set his eye on Spring Garden hall, a municipal building once known as

23 First Annual Announcement of the Wagner Free Institute of Science for the Collegiate Year 1855-56, p. 5.

24 Introduction to The Annals, 1855, The Annals, p. 9.

71

Commissioners hall, at the corner of Spring Garden and 13th Streets. The Spring

Garden Gas Works and other municipal officers used the ground floor. The upper two

floors were vacant and used for various civic meetings. The trustees submitted an

application to the city, which was followed by several petitions and pleas in the press.

Ultimately the institute was granted free use of the second floor of Spring Garden hall

along with desks, tables, chairs, and benches to seat 650 people.25

The institute was formally inaugurated in Spring Garden hall on May 21, 1855.

Speakers included Pennsylvania Governor James Pollock, Philadelphia Mayor Robert

Conrad, The Reverend Alonzo Potter, Bishop of the Episcopal Church in Pennsylvania,

and other local dignitaries and officers of the institute. The opening ceremonies were

followed by a season of introductory lectures organized by the various faculty who

volunteered their time. The subjects included lectures in chemistry, geology, mining and

mineralogy, botany, comparative anatomy and physiology, chemical agriculture, and

anatomy. Audiences for lectures were reported in the hundreds.26 These informal

classes had no examinations or certificates. More formal lectures would have to wait

until the first full session that started the next autumn on the first Monday of October.

The plan for the new institute was to hold a series of lectures on a daily basis for

nine or ten months of the year, free of charge for all students. The lectures would be in

such fields as Astronomy, Geology, Meteorology, Mineralogy, Chemistry, Botany,

Natural Philosophy, Human Anatomy and Physiology, Ethnology, Mining, and several

more subjects. Though the institute planned for lectures in a wide of array of sciences,

25 Introduction to The Annals, 1855, The Annals, p. 13.

26 First Annual Announcement of the Wagner Free Institute of Science for the Collegiate Year 1855-56, 1855.

72

that first academic year of 1855-56 they only offered two lectures a day including

geology, anatomy, mineralogy, civil engineering, astronomy, and physiology. The

professors were drawn from the local medical and scientific community including local

archeologist Montroville W. Dickenson, botanist Harland Coultas, physician and

anatomist James Bryan, and others. Few of them were prominent scientists, other than

Dickenson who gained fame on expeditions down the Mississippi, but the lecturers were

all busy men and taught at the institute by the grace of their professional duties. It was a

rare week when at least one professor would not cancel or fail to show up for

professional reasons. Wagner would typically step in and deliver another lecture on

geology, mineralogy, conchology, or some other topic. According to the second

academic year’s Annual Announcement, the faculty collectively delivered about 450

lectures that first year, all “amply illustrated” and free of charge and open to all citizens

of Philadelphia, “old and young, rich and poor, male or female, in every condition of life,

as far as their attainment is possible.”27

The second and third academic years continued much as the first, although the

second year they added lectures in agricultural chemistry and architecture. By the

academic year 1858-59, they had added faculty and lectures in rhetoric, social

sciences, and English literature. This was done because Wagner and the trustees had

ambitions to make the Wagner Free Institute of Science a degree granting college on

par with the University of Pennsylvania. They understood that in order to achieve this

goal they needed to offer a more well rounded, liberal education. The institute was

27 Second Annual Announcement of the Wagner Free Institute of Science for the Collegiate Year 1856-57, (Philadelphia: The Wagner Free Institute of Science, 1856), p. 11.

73

determined to always emphasize science. As they noted in their Annual Announcement

of that year, “Instruction in the Natural Sciences is, and must continue, the

distinguishing feature of the Institution, the comparative neglect of such instruction

being the defect it is desired to remedy; but it cannot be forgotten that Science and Art

advance together, and are mutually dependent. A college, therefore, which aims to

dispense a liberal education, should, at its outset, make provision for tuition in both

department.” 28 Although science would always be the emphasis of the Institution, these

newer courses would prove to be the most popular lectures of the week, especially the

Saturday evening lectures in Rhetoric. It should also be noted that the faculty had seen

almost a complete turnover with only one lecturer returning. That was George Hewston,

a professor of anatomy at the Philadelphia College of Medicine during the day and a

lecturer in anatomy, materia medica, and Hygiene at the Wagner Free Institute of

Science at night. The reason for the turnover is not clear, but it was probably due to a

combination of the voluntary nature of the position as well as the personality of William

Wagner who could, at times, alienate faculty, trustees, and members of the community.

The latter would cost the institute more than one faculty member and cause the institute

some trouble throughout its history.

It was clear for years that William Wagner desired to emulate his mentor Stephen

Girard by founding an institution of education for the “gratuitous” benefit of the people of

Philadelphia. Given his aptitude and avocation in natural history, it was also clear from

the time he first began pondering such an institution that the various fields of science

28 Announcement of the Wagner Free Institute of Science for the Collegiate Year 1858-9, (Philadelphia: The Wagner Free Institute of Science, 1858), p. 5.

74

would be the main subjects taught at his institution. What is less clear is whether he had

a deeper educational or pedagogical philosophy for his new school or where he placed

his institution in the context of other institutions of higher or popular learning of the time.

He ultimately left few resources for us to pin any one theory or philosophy on him, but

myriad clues for us to consider the new Wagner Free Institute in a broader context.

First and foremost, it is evident that Wagner regretted his lack of formal scientific

education and wanted to create an institution that provided that opportunity for others.

For those that could afford them, and for those that attended public or private secondary

schools, there were some opportunities for higher education in the sciences in the

United States in 1855. In an 1856 lecture entitled Knowledge is Power, Wagner noted

that his institution was founded, “for the purposes of assisting those persons who had

not the telescope of Lord Rosse or the Laboratory of Faraday and who had not the

leisure of Herschel. It was founded for the purpose of benefiting all ingenious minds

whether young or old, male or female, and enabling them to gather as much information

as could be acquired.”29It is likely that someone of William Wagner’s class and status

could have attained a scientific education in mid-century that he could not have

achieved at the beginning of the century. But higher education was still the province of

the elite and Wagner made it clear that his intent was to educate the people of the city

of Philadelphia, not its leaders. When listing the intended audience for his institution in

the first Annual Announcement in 1855, the first entry on the list was “Citizens generally

29 Knowledge is Power, iox 8-10, item 102, William Wagner lectures, 89-015, Library and Archives of the

Wagner Free Institute of Science.

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whose leisure may permit them to attend either regularly or occasionally, for their

improvement or amusement.” 30

The institute took seriously its mission to serve students who attended “regularly

or occasionally” and those who only came for “improvement and amusement.” The

popular educational landscape was largely divided between institutions that provided

formal education and those that provided for the personal amusement and betterment of

the growing urban population. The former were largely in formal schools that provided

progressively more difficult classes in a series of subjects that would result in the

awarding of degrees, certificates, and other credentials upon completion of a set class

sequence. From elementary schools, public and private, to universities these institutions

used formal curricula, syllabi, exams, textbooks, diplomas, and other tools to teach,

assess, award, and graduate.31

The mid-19th century also saw the creation of a number of institutions that

provided for less-formal education, including lyceums and mechanic institutes that

sought to provide educational opportunities to adults outside formal educational

institutions. Josiah Holbrook, a traveling lecturer, founded the lyceum movement in

1826. By the 1930’s thousands of Americans were attending lectures for education and

amusement. But these lectures tended to be solitary affairs and were not part of larger

30 First Annual Announcement of the Wagner Free Institute of Science for the Collegiate Year 1855-56, 1855, p. 11.

31 For examinations of adult education during the nineteenth century see Malcolm S. Knowles, A History of the Adult Education Movement in the United States: Includes Adult Education Institutions Through 1976 (Huntington, N.Y.: R.E. Krieger Pub. Co., 1977); David N. Portman, The Universities and the Public: A History of Higher Adult Education in the United States (Chicago: Nelson-hall, 1978); Harold W. Stubblefield and Patrick Keane. Adult Education in the American Experience: From the Colonial Period to the Present (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass Publishers, 1994); Joseph F. Kett, The Pursuit of Knowledge Under Difficulties: From Self-improvement to Adult Education in America, 1750-1990 (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1994).

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educational programs that made anyone proficient in a field of study. And by the 1840’s

lyceums had turned from providing sound educational and intellectual content and

turned toward providing popular speakers and entertainment largely for profit.32 The

Wagner Free Institute welcomed informal students to enjoy individual lectures at their

leisure, but Wagner and the trustees would have rebelled at the lack of intellectual rigor

and the admission fees of the average lyceum.

Mechanics institutes were another form of education that was popular for he the

education of working men, artisans, and, eventually engineers. The two most popular in

Philadephia were the Franklin institute, which was founded in 1824, and the Spring

Garden institute founded in 1851. In its first years the Franklin institute, along with other

programs related to technology and science, held academic style classes in science

and mechanics taught by paid professional educators as well as more popular courses

in science for the public. They charged a fee for the popular courses and tuition for the

more formal classes. By 1855, the Franklin institute had become less about technical

education and more concerned with enrichment of the adult population for a fee.33 The

Spring Garden institute was located not far from the Wagner institute’s first home and

was founded to specifically teach mechanical skills such as mechanical drawing and

architecture.34 The Wagner institute would ultimately adopt aspects of both the formal

and informal educational institutions of its day. Indeed, it would at different periods

32Angela G. Ray, The Lyceum and Public Culture in the Nineteenth-Century United States (East Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 2005).

33 Bruce Sinclair, Philadelphia's Philosopher Mechanics; A History of the Franklin institute, 1824-1865. (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1974).

34 Annual Report of the Board of Managers of the Spring Garden institute Together with the Treasurer's Account Current. (Philadelphia: Spring Garden Institute, 1852). http://galenet.galegroup.com/servlet/Sabin?af=RN&ae=CY109498924&srchtp=a&ste=14.

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attempt to form a Polytechnic College, a Mechanic’s institute, stand alone popular

lectures, children’s programs, and other educational offerings. These attempts met with

varying degrees of success, but they were all part of Wagner’s attempts to provide

quality scientific educational programs even though he had no coherent philosophy of

education or pedagogy.

If there was an educational institution that Wagner admired and sought to

emulate it was the Cooper Union in New York City. The Cooper Union for the

Advancement for Science and Art was founded in 1859, four years after the WFIS. Like

William Wagner, inventor and industrialist Peter Cooper believed that education was the

key to personal prosperity and civic virtue. He founded the Cooper Union to provide a

free education to the working class of New York City in art, architecture, engineering, as

well as faculty in the humanities and the social sciences. Though Wagner’s institute was

founded 4 years earlier, it appears that Wagner was in fact influenced by the NYC

institution as judged by a copy of the Cooper Union’s Charter, Deed, and By-Laws in the

Wagner Free Institute’s Archives that is annotated by Wagner himself. Aside from

various grammatical and punctuation errors, Wagner seemed to approve of much of the

Cooper Union’s charter. Margin notes suggest Wagner mostly took issue with sections

on governance and wanted his institute to invest the founder with more lifetime power

over the institution than Peter Cooper was willing to give himself over the Cooper Union.

He also repeatedly marked out subjects that he felt were extraneous to the Wagner’s

mission like social sciences or political sciences and replaced the subjects with topics

more to his liking such as botany and astronomy. Interestingly, Wagner placed a large

“X” over a section of the charter that called for the Cooper Union to, “maintain a school

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for the instruction of respectable females in the arts of design.” That X does not reflect

Wagner’s distaste for scientific education for women. The Wagner Free Institute always

welcomed women to all its lectures and to use all of their resources. What he was likely

showing was his disagreement with the Cooper Union’s seeming attempt to segregate

female students. The WFIS would always welcome women to the same, rigorous

scientific lectures as the men.35

The Wagner Free Institute maintained a strong anti-elitist character from the first

days of it existence. Probably owing to William Wagner’s experiences at the hands of

the scientific and social elite of Philadelphia and beyond. Wagner sometimes mocked

the elitism of other Philadelphia institutions while expounding on the strengths of his

own. For example, in a short essay on the birth of the institution written for the first

Annual Announcement of the institution, for the academic year 1855-56, Wagner

explained the popularity of the previous spring’s introductory lectures by noting,

This was doubtless in great measure owing to the manner in which the lectures on seven branches of science were delivered. While they were strictly scientific both in matter and in form, they were nevertheless carefully divested of all the needless technicalities, and all harsh unusual terms. This is expected always hereafter to be a characteristic of the mode of instruction in this institute. The vigorous, transparent and flexible English, we deem far more attractive and efficient in its native purity, than when intermingled strange Greek and Latin words.36

35 Charter, Trust Deed, and Bylaws of the Cooper Union for the Advancement of Science and Art: With the Letter of Peter Cooper Accompanying the Trust Deed (New York, NY, Cooper Union for the Advancement of Science and Art, 1859). The copy annotated by William Wagner can be found in box 4, folder 15, Wagner Free Institute of Science Robert Chambers Collection relating to William Wagner and the history of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

36 First Annual Announcement of the Wagner Free Institute of Science for the Collegiate Year 1855-56, 1855, p. 7.

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In making this statement, Wagner was not just setting his institution apart from

other institutions whose educational programs were targeted at elite or professional

audiences, but was also taking a side in a pedagogical battle which had embroiled early

efforts at the Franklin institute and other educational institutions over the content of the

curriculum. Defenders of a traditional liberal arts education maintained that Latin and

Greek were central subjects to master for any field, whereas modern reformers sought

to replace them with modern languages more useful to scientific and technical

education. Wagner placed his support with the reformers and even when he attempted

to add a broader liberal arts curriculum, it never included ancient languages. Given his

lack of training or interest in formal educational pedagogy, no one philosophy or school

of thought ever dominated the institute except Wagner’s own strong will.

If the Wagner Free Institute of Science were imbued with any over-arching

educational philosophy it would be what historian Steven Conn referred to as an “object

based epistemology.”37 It is Conn’s contention that, “late-nineteenth-century Americans

held a belief that objects, at least as much as texts, were sources of knowledge and

meaning” and this belief combined with the growth of public and private collections in

art, history, and science during this era led to an explosion of popular new museums

that used a visual language to place order on a seemingly chaotic world. As in other

areas of intellectual pursuit, neither Wagner nor the institute he created adhered

formally or informally to this philosophy. But the WFIS was founded on what Wagner

would later call “object teaching.” When attempting to explain the success of the WFIS’s

37 Steven Conn, Museums and American Intellectual Life, 1876-1926, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1998).

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lectures in October 1869, he credited the style of lectures preferred by the faculty that

stressed the use of objects and illustrations thus “enabling them to convey to the minds

of their hearers through the eye as well as the ear.”38 Starting with the informal lectures

he gave in his own house, it was always Wagner’s practice to keep objects and

illustrations at the center of any productive lesson in science. Throughout these early

years of the institute he continued to amass natural history specimens, instruments,

contemporary inventions and models, cutting edge projection technologies, and a

sizable collection of images and diagrams. In later years as it became more and more

difficult to find lecturers of the caliber he desired, it was not uncommon for him to

dismiss teachers who did not use illustrations or objects enough and who lectured too

much.

In many ways Wagner’s educational philosophy that stressed “object knowlege,”

loose and ill defined though it may have been, was very reminiscent, and likely inspired

by, the pedagogy of Swiss educational reformer Johann Pestalozzi as it was interpreted

in America by geologist and Academy of Natural Sciences president William Maclure.

Pestallozi (1746–1847) was a product of both the Enlightenment and the Romantic

period, stressing that education should be a function of engaging the hand and the

heart, as well as the head. Though the more scholastic aspects of knowledge

acquisition should not be ignored, according to Pestalozzi, it was more important to

engage a student’s heart and hands through activity and through the study of things. He

believed that direct, concrete observation was the most efficient foundation of any

educational program. Many of his lessons for younger students were often conducted in

38 October 1869, The Annals, p. 202.

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silence as they contemplated scientific, artistic, and even everyday objects from the

home or a specific workplace. Studying nature in the field was a core principle of a

Pestalozzian education. Pestalozzi wrote a number of books on pedagogy and founded

a school in Yverdon, Switzerland in 1805 that influenced educators throughout Europe

and America.39

One of the most famous and influential missionary to America for Pestalozzi’s

work was William Maclure. Maclure was born in Ayr, Scotland in 1763. As an adult he

became a successful London-based merchant and retired at the age of 34 to dedicate

his life to geology, educational reform, and the utopian ideals of Robert Owen. In

retirement he immigrated to America in 1796. In America he studied geology, became a

generous patron of the Academy of Natural Sciences in Philadelphia, and, in 1817, the

ANSP’s president, an office he held for 22 years. In addition to generously supporting

the Academy’s many endeavors such as the publication of its journal, Maclure

attempted to influence the ANSP into adopting more of his philosophies of social and

educational reform. He eventually moved with Thomas Say and other Philadelphia area

scientists to join Robert Owen in his social utopian venture in New Harmony, Indiana. In

1805, during one of Maclure’s many trips through Europe, he visited Pestalozzi’s school

in Yverdon as well as a Pestallozi inspired school in Paris. He was impressed with the

schools for their social agenda as well as their emphasis on using objects and

39 Pestalozzi wrote several works explaining his philosophy. His most influential was How Gertrude Teaches Her Children a work for a popular audience to explain his method to politicians and the public as well as educators. Johann Heinrich Pestalozzi, translated by Lucy E Holland, Francis C Turner, and Ebenezer Cooke. How Gertrude Teaches Her Children; An Attempt to Help Mothers to Teach Their Own Children and An Account of the Method (London; Syracuse, N.Y.: G. Allen & Unwin Ltd. 1915). For a biography of Pestalozzi see Käte Silber. Pestalozzi, the Man and His Work (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1960)

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experience to teach students. Maclure was an avid social reformer who advocated for

the equality of all people and the use of universal schooling and the redistribution of

wealth to achieve a more equal and harmonious society. While not as radical as

Maclure, Pestalozzi also advocated for the economic and social leveling capacity of a

progressive education.40

Maclure brought Pestallozian philosophies to America where he funded a

number of schools and hoped to influence the Academy of Natural Sciences and other

scientific institutions. His desire to bring this philosophy to his adopted country was

largely without success. His attempts to found and fund schools that used this method

were compromised when he was forced to meld the Petalozzian method with the

dominant Lacastrian method that stressed rote memorization and recitation. His attempt

to introduce educational reform to the Academy of Natural Sciences was equally met

with compromise and ultimately failure. The membership and leadership of the

Academy was more inclined to support efforts to the increase of knowledge rather than

its diffusion, and the well-off members were not inclined to support efforts at leveling

society through education. Maclure resigned as president of the Academy of Natural

Sciences of Philadelphia in 1840.41

As noted in Chapter 1, William Wagner was active in the Academy of Natural

Sciences while Maclure was president, and it is likely they knew each other, though

40 For a complete biography of William Maclure see Leonard Warren. Maclure of New Harmony:

Scientist, Progressive Educator, Radical Philanthropist (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2009).

41 On efforts by Maclure and others to bring Pestalozzianism to America seeGerald Lee Gutek. Joseph Neef: The Americanization of Pestalozzianism (Tuscaloosa, AL: University of Alabama Press, 1977), Nathan R. Myers, "American Pestalozzianism Revisited: Alfred Holbrook and the Origins of Object-Based Pedagogy in 19th Century America." American Educational History Journal, 2007, 34: 85-96.

83

we’ll never know how well. It also seems likely that Maclure had a significant influence

on the younger Wagner and his attitude toward education. Like Pestalozzi and Maclure,

Wagner believed in the social and civic benefits of education. Also like Pestalozzi and

Maclure, Wagner stressed the benefits of objects and learning through the senses and it

is likely Wagner picked up the important strains of Pestalozzianism through Maclure, but

we may never know how much. Where Pestalozzi and Maclure developed robust

philosophies and pedagogical methodologies, Wagner had more amorphous ideas and

feelings about how education should be done. It set the tone for the Wagner Free

Institute of Science in its early years, but it would take decades for a movement of

Progressive Education to catch up with Pestallozi’s, Maclures, and even Wagner’s

innocations.

Out of the Old and in to the New

Wagner’s institute thrived on the second floor of Spring Garden hall but it was

never a perfect space for the needs of the institute and the aspirations of William

Wagner and the trustees. It was certainly never a space they ever had much control

over to conduct the types of science programs envisioned by the founder. The most

inconvenient aspect was that there was no room for the specimen collections and library

that Wagner donated to the institute. The items used in lectures were a small part of the

whole and while some stayed in the hall; others probably had to be transported between

Elm Grove and Spring Garden hall. Secondly, the institute had to share Spring Garden

hall with other municipal offices on the first floor and a second meeting space on the

third. While there is no evidence the institute ever physically shared their space on the

second floor, it was not uncommon for meetings on the third floor to disrupt the institute

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lectures on the second floor with their noise.42 The third issue was that the hall was

owned by the city of Philadelphia. The city was a quiet landlord and charged no rent for

the use of the hall, but the situation made the relationship between the city and the

institute politically precarious at times. Professor Wagner’s occasional irascibility was no

help. A series of personality, professional, and political conflicts throughout the late

1850’s led to their relinquishing the space in the municipal building.

Although the years 1855 to 1859 seemed to go well for the institute with an

expanding lecture schedule and growing audiences, there was occasional friction

between trustees, faculty members, students, and staff. Many of these conflicts were

duly recorded by Professor Wagner in the Annals of the institute. For example, on

January 20, 1857 Professor Wagner confronted Dr. James Bryan, MD over two missing

crania that Wagner claimed Bryan had borrowed for a lecture. Dr. Bryan was a longtime

friend of Wagner’s, a trustee, and a faculty member of the institute. Bryan, claiming to

know nothing of the matter, took offense at the accusation and quit his position as both

trustee and faculty member.43 Another confrontation between Wagner and a faculty

member was initiated by Jacob Ennis, a former lecturer in geology, physical geography,

and meteorology. Ennis believed that he was due back pay, plus interest, for the

lectures he delivered for the institute. He believed he was owed approximately $380 to

$390. In his defense, William Wagner claimed that Ennis, as well as the rest of the

faculty, was brought on board for the gratuitous teaching of science and was not being

offered pay for his services. The case reached court in the winter of 1858 and just

42 In one cited instance one of Professor Wagner’s lectures on earthquakes was “much disturbed by a noisy meeting of Druids, in the upper floor.” February 6,1856, The Annals, p. 45.

43 January 20, 1857, The Annals. P. 78.

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about every faculty member and trustee served as a witness for either Wagner or Ennis.

The first trial ended in a mistrial. The second trial took place in September of the same

year. Wagner highlighted in the Annals that James Bryan was a prominent witness for

the plaintiff’s contention that he had a verbal contract with Wagner to be paid. The jury

disagreed this time and they decided for Wagner. When the institute struggled over the

space they used in Spring Garden hall, Wagner saw the influence of James Bryan in

those proceedings as well.44

Efforts to remove the institute from Spring Garden hall first came to the attention

of Wagner, according to the institute’s Annals, on May 4, 1857 when he made one of his

many attempts to secure the upper floor for the institute’s use as a museum. He

learned that there was a movement within the City Council and the Committee on City

Property to evict the institute from the hall. Wagner singled out Common Council

member from the 14th Ward, Edwin Booth, for, “being the prime mover, instigated and

urged on by his brother-in-law, Dr. Jas. Bryan, who to gratify a personal malace [sic]

sought to stab the founder through the institute.” When Wagner called on Mr. Booth

personally the council member acknowledged that, “he had done and would do all in his

power to expel the institute from the hall, pronouncing it all a humbug.” Efforts on the

part of the trustees to dissuade the Committee on City Property were useless as the

committee had already passed a resolution to give notice to The Wagner Free Institute

of Science to vacate Spring Garden hall.45

44 This case appears in The Annals of the institute sporadically throughout 1857 and 1858. See for example entries on January 13, 1857, p. 130, October 18, 1858, p. 156, & October 27, 1858, p.157; Also see “Jacob Ennis vs. Wm. Wagner,” The Public Ledger (Philadelphia, PA) October 29, 1858 for a short description in the local press.

45 May 4, 1857, The Annals, p. 96.

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After the initial notice that they were being evicted, Wagner, the trustees, the

students, and other interested Philadelphians tried several tactics to get the Committee

to change its mind. Two weeks later the institute presented five petitions to the city for

continued use of the hall and for the added use of the upper floor for a museum to

deposit their specimen collection for the people of Philadelphia. But according to

Wagner “evil minded individuals had set abroad false representations, to wit, that the

hall now occupied by the Wagner F. institute had been damaged and mutilated.” Not

only did the institute present its application and petitions for the upper floor, it also

added certificates from students, the janitor, and carpenters that the hwas in no way

damaged.46 On June 7 and again on July 24 of 1857 the Common Council of

Philadelphia failed to pass a resolution to sell Spring Garden hall, which allowed the

institute to request to stay in the hall, which was granted with the caveat that if the city

sold the property the institute would vacate the hall in 20 days.47

The institute narrowly escaped being evicted from the home in Spring Garden

hall in 1857. Though this was treated as a victory for the institute, it demonstrated how

precarious Wagner’s control over the space was. Whether or not Wagner was correct in

identifying James Bryan as the source of some conspiracy, there was a politically based

effort to get the institute out of Spring Garden hall and either use it for other purposes or

sell it to raise money for the city. This tenuous hold on the space in which the institute

conducted its classes limited the number and variety of programs it could offer and the

amount of long term planning it could accomplish. For example, Wagner and the

46 May 15, 1857, The Annals, p. 99.

47 August 31, 1857. The Annals, p. 107.

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institute tried repeatedly to get access to the third floor of Spring Garden hall to bring

more of his collection on site to open a museum. But this was never going to happen

without the cooperation of various politicians and bureaucrats who had other designs on

the space. Repeated entreaties from Wagner and petitions from citizens were submitted

to committees and subcommittees but never acted upon. Wagner even offered to

purchase the hall at least once but to no avail. Regardless of the temporary and

tenuous nature of the institute’s occupation of Spring Garden hall, it still came as a blow

when, on February 21, 1859 the city once again asked for the Wagner Free Institute of

Science to leave its home.

When the institute was told to move in 1859 it was not so the city could sell the

hall, but to move the Court of Quarter Session, or criminal court, of Philadelphia into the

building. The institute reacted much the same way it did in 1857, which was to sign and

present petitions, plead with the Common Council of Philadelphia and its Committee on

City Property and to reach out to the people of Philadelphia through the daily press. At a

meeting of the Select Council, Wagner pleaded one last time to be allowed to stay in

Spring Garden hall and, barring that, given more time to move the teaching specimens

and apparatus from the hall so as not to damage them in their haste to remove them

from the building.48 William Neal, Councilman from the 13th Ward and former trustee of

the institute, noted that even if the Court of Quarter Sessions did not want the hall, it

might be used by the Board of School Controllers and other city departments and save

the city a great deal of money.49 This argument won the day and the institute was told to

48 Journal of the Select Council of the City of Philadelphia Beginning November 11, 1858 and Ending May 5, 1859. (Philadelphia, PA, 1859), p. 544.

49 "Spring Garden hall,” The Public Ledger (Philadelphia, PA), March 26, 1859.

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leave Spring Garden hall. On March 29th the faculty, some students, and even the wives

of some of the faculty, including Louisa Wagner, began removing the collections of the

institute from the hall to the Young Men’s institute nearby. According to the final entry

from Spring Garden in the institute’s Annals, “The moving occupied five days and was a

very arduous and fatiguing operation. Which closed the connection of the Wagner Free

Institute of Science with the Spring Garden hall. Today. Friday April 1st anni domani [sic]

1859.”50

It was always the intent of the institute to build on the property donated for the

purpose by William Wagner near his house, but the economic difficulties of the mid-

1850’s made financing new construction prohibitive.51 With the final eviction from Spring

Garden hall, the institute had little choice but to build its own hall, though Wagner

ultimately chose not the plot of land he originally donated to the institute but a portion of

his own estate on the northwest corner of 17th and Montgomery Streets. This plot was

268 feet by 177 feet square and the original design of the building called for it to be 150

feet long and 60 feet wide. It was to be of stone foundation and a brick wall, plastered

inside and out. The bricks to be used in the building were to be made from clay found

on Wagner’s estate.52 The foundations were begun in March of 1860 with the

cornerstone being laid to much fanfare and speeches on June 2nd.

50 March 26, 1859, The Annals, p. 180

51 Introduction to The Annals, p. 12.

52 1859 & 60, The Annals, p. 181.

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As originally conceived by William Wagner the new hall was to have eight

classrooms for as many scientific departments of the institute, a large lecture room

explicitly modeled after a similar lecture hall designed by James Renwick for the

Smithsonian Institution in 1847, and a museum designed to take up the entire width and

breadth of the building on the upper floors. The main exhibition area started on the

second floor of the building and surrounded by two levels of galleries, capped off with

four skylights to provide the same marriage of light, space and convenience that

Wagner so admired in the Jardin les Plantes. An important aspect of the new building

was that it was a freestanding structure set back from the streets on all sides to allow

natural light access into the lecture hall and second floor galleries. The basic plan for

the hall was, ultimately, completed except for two towers. It was Wagner’s plan that

after the original construction was complete, he would erect two observatories, one for

astronomy and one for meteorology. Neither was ever built.53

John McArthur was chosen to design the new institute. McArthur was one of the

most prominent architects in Philadelphia at the time. He was primarily an institutional

architect designing banks, prisons, insane asylums, and three of the most prestigious

hotels in the city of the era. His expertise eventually brought him a number of

government commissions including Union hospitals during the Civil War. He was

eventually hired to design Philadelphia’s City hall in 1891.54 The ultimate design of the

institute’s new building exhibited the sturdy, well ordered lines typical of MacArthur’s

53 "Local Affairs: The Wagner Free Institute of Science,” The Public Ledger (Philadelphia, PA), October 24, 1860.

54 Roger W Moss and Tom Crane. Historic Landmarks of Philadelphia (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008) 160 – 165.

90

work on hospitals and prisons. Far from being one of the ornate “cathedrals of science”

and temples to empire the Wagner’s had seen in Europe, it was described at the time

as a “plain, business-like structure, surrounded by a large yard in which the patriarchal

trees rear their noble heads to stretch their bare limbs as if to catch from the

atmosphere the scent of existence, and communicate by some mysterious process to

those who are engaged in the preservation of specimens and investigation of

phenomena which effect mankind.”55 Described by observers of the period as “Greco-

Roman,” it more closely reflected the severe version of classicism that succeeded the

Greek revival style of the 1850’s.56

Construction of the new institute originally proceeded at a quick pace. Ten days

after the cornerstone was laid on June 2, 1860, the local papers were reporting that the

walls had been constructed up to the second story.57 By October those same papers

were reporting that the institute was “under roof.”58 But eventually events of the day

intruded and construction was slowed, when it didn’t cease altogether, during the Civil

War. In 1864 Wagner noted in the Annals that the efforts at construction were “gradually

assuming a state of forwardness, so as to enable the Professors to resume active

operations.” The only thing missing were students. “The young men and youths most

needed being all absent at war. It is thought best to defer for the present until more

55 Quoted in Wayne Curtis, "Evolution on Hold Why the Wagner Free Institute of Science in Philadelphia Failed to Adapt and Yet Survives," Preservation, 2001, 53: p. 52.

56 National Register of Historic Places/National Historic Landmark Nomination Form for the Wagner Free Institute of Science. Edited by United States Department of the Interior. Washington, DC: National Park Service, 1989.

57 “Another Improvement,” The Public Ledger (Philadelphia, PA) March 28, 1860

58 "Local Affairs: The Wagner Free Institute of Science," The Public Ledger (Philadelphia, PA) October 24, 1860.

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propitious times or until the war shall be ended.”59 Since the building was capable of

accommodating lectures and the museum was full of specimens, Wagner wanted his

new institute to be as serviceable to the people of Philadelphia. He therefore opened

the lecture hall for use for religious services “without regard to sect or persuasion where

all can worship free of charge” as one Philadelphia paper reported continuing, “After

the services in the afternoon the congregation are invited to visit the museum where

they can again see their God in His works60.”

The new building of the Wagner Free Institute of Science was officially

inaugurated on May 11, 1865. The ceremonies held in the lecture hall included the

usual speeches by William Wagner, members of the faculty and other dignitaries and

the deed for the lot including all of the specimens and material contained therein was

ceremoniously given to the trustees. Attendance numbered about 600, a total that

pleased the President especially due to threatening weather. William Wagner noted in

his speech that, “the institute, like a caterpillar, had been in the Chrysalis state for some

time, but that now it was about to emerge forth like the beautiful butterfly and bask in the

sunshine of science.” He then lifted a small glass shade and let loose a large, beautiful

butterfly, “who seemed to understand his part in the performance, made a circuit around

the room lighting on the large electric machine, much to the amusement of the

assemblage.”61

59July 30, 1864, The Annals, p. 184.

60 "The Wagner Free Institute." The North American and United States Gazette, (Philadelphia, PA)

September 27, 1864.

61 May 11, 1865, The Annals, p. 109.

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The new building of the Wagner Free Institute of Science was not a complete

butterfly when it emerged that May. There was still much work to be done on the walls

and not all the windows had been fully glazed, among the things left undone. Nor were

there yet students to fill the lecture halls. An attempt to begin collegiate instruction in

September 1865 attracted only ten students, the rest presumably still in uniform or

casualties of the recent war. But the institute had, finally, its own space over which it

had complete control. Or, more accurately, over which William Wagner had complete

control. And while his energy, finances, and ambition served the Wagner well in terms

of providing resources and direction for growth, his personality still made the operations

of the institute difficult at times. The new building gave the institute its own space for

science, but it was still situated in a city and neighborhood that was growing and

changing at a prodigious rate. The institute and William Wagner had little control over

the space outside the property, though it influenced the institute in myriad ways. While

the growth of the city toward the institute and Elm Grove would bring more students and

make its classrooms more accessible, it would also create a more crowded

neighborhood that would not always cooperate with the institute’s plans.

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CHAPTER 4 A COMMUNITY SPACE FOR SCIENCE AT THE WAGNER FREE INSTITUTE OF

SCIENCE 1865-1885

The Wagner Free Institute of Science at the corner of Montgomery and Seventeenth streets is so far completed that it has become an object of great interest to visitors. Scarcely a week elapses that three to five hundred persons are not to be seen examining the rich collections which are there arranged in cases for the gratuitous instruction of all who choose to visit there. This great privilege has a moral and intellectual bearing on the material interests of the times.

-North American and United States Gazette September 27, 1864

When the new building of the Wagner Free Institute of Science of Philadelphia

was inaugurated on that spring day in 1865, William Wagner brought to fruition a

number of different dreams and ambitions. Following in the footsteps of his mentor and

one-time boss Stephen Girard, he created a civic institution for the improvement of

Philadelphia and the enrichment of the citizens. Girard waited until his death to

bequeath a record amount of money to the founding of a school for orphan white boys,

but he maintained a great deal of control over the institution he founded through a will

that stipulated subjects to be taught, the design of the building, and even who could and

who could not visit the campus.1 William Wagner wanted to have no less influence over

1 Some of this micromanaging would eventually lead the will to be contested by surviving relatives. Girard’s will stipulated that “no ecclesiastic, missionary, or minister of any sect whatever shall ever hold or exercise any station or duty whatever in the said college; nor shall any such person ever be admitted for any purpose, or as a visitor, within the premises appropriated to the purpose of the said college.” This prohibition was challenged, unsuccessfully, on freedom of religion grounds up to the Supreme Court. See Wilson, Stephen Girard: America’s First Tycoon, 1995 on the will and subsequent court cases and Richard B. Westbrook, Girard's Will and Girard College Theology, (Philadelphia: Published by the author,

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the institute that would bear his name, but he managed to gain and maintain that control

during his lifetime. Of course, as we have seen, this desire started from the very

beginning of the WFIS when it was inaugurated in 1855. But since the Institute

depended on the hospitality of the city for the use of Spring Garden hall, Wagner’s

ability to completely define the character and content of the WFIS was always a

precarious thing. Though the space was well located near the downtown area and

accommodated individual lectures well enough, he never managed to gain the upper

floor for a museum for his specimens, and he always shared the building with municipal

offices that held meetings of various sorts. And though it was originally his intent to build

his own hall on the property near Elm Grove, which was given to the Institute for this

purpose, his repeated attempts to purchase Spring Garden hall show he had some

small ambition to keep the Institute downtown in the older building. With the new

building Wagner finally had his own institution that he could nurture and shape to match

his ambitions, even if that building was at some distance form downtown. Ultimately,

however, Wagner’s ambitions would, in turn, be shaped and even limited by

circumstances that he wanted to control, but could not. These forces included

incompetent lecturers, changes in the neighborhood, and demands of the city of

Philadelphia. Between the opening of the new Wagner Free Institute of Science in 1865

and William Wagner’s death in 1885, the institute was shaped by a number of

circumstances and events that influenced the scientific programs to be offered and the

1888) http://catalog.hathitrust.org/api/volumes/oclc/843424.html on Girard’s theology written by a friend of William Wagner’s and a Trustee of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

95

manner in which they were offered. This happened at the same time the WFIS likewise

influenced the community around it.

This chapter will look at the life of the Wagner Free Institute of Science during

these twenty years. It is a period marked by the strong and mercurial leadership of the

founder and president who sought to build a significant scientific institution in

Philadelphia while leaving his personal mark on that institution and the city. Wagner’s

control over his institution was influenced by a number of factors. 1) The Civil War

ended the same year the new building was completed, and the rebellion had a

significant impact on the first few years of institute’s new home in Northwest

Philadelphia, making a thriving scientific institution for the public near impossible; 2) The

people that Wagner selected to help run the institute and lecture to its students were not

always amenable to the president’s will as he liked this eventually had an effect on the

quality of the coursework; 3) The neighborhood surrounding the WFIS would change

dramatically during this period. In fact, the WFIS and its neighborhood would change

each other in important ways; 4) Similarly, the city of Philadelphia, and it’s government,

would continue to influence the WFIS as it improved the infrastructure, policed the

neighborhood, and repeatedly attempted to regulate and tax the institute. In many ways

the twenty years between the opening of the new building and the founder’s death is a

static period because William Wagner made himself president-for-life and he remained

in charge the entire. That apparent permanence, however, masked a tension beneath

the surface that resulted in profound change for the WFIS.

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A Shared Space for Religion and Science

Though the new building for the Wagner was mostly ready for occupancy in

1864, its opening was delayed; there weren’t enough students able to attend because of

War. The planned free science programs would have to wait for a more auspicious time.

Wagner, however, was not one to let his dream be deferred. He looked for ways to

make his empty institute useful to the community, even if it wasn’t to teach science. “In

the meantime,” according to the institute’s Annals, “Professor Wagner desires to make

the Building as serviceable to the public as circumstances of the times would admit,

offered the use of the lecture room for divine worship to be opened every Sunday.”2 For

the next several years Wagner, therefore, turned his attention, used his talents, and

activated his network of friends and colleagues with the goal of filling his lecture hall and

museum with worshippers instead of students. The northwest area of Philadelphia was

ill served for places of worship when Wagner offered the services of his lecture hall to

the local Presbyterians.3 Public services were first held in the institute’s lecture hall on

June 26, 1864 and were led by the Reverend Dr. Brainerd, rector of the Pine Street

Presbyterian Church. According to the Annals, “Although the day was oppressively hot,

the room was nearly filled, The Preaching and singing excellent, and all expressed

themselves much pleased. After services the museum is thrown open for inspection.”4

2 July 30, 1864,The Annals, p. 184. After the WFIS was asked to leave Spring Garden in 1859, entries in The Annals were much less regular. Entries were sometimes by day, month, or even year.

3 According to Alfred Nevin, the Wagner was one of two “preaching stations” in the entire northern part of the city. Eventually services were moved to a church on the corner of Montgomery Avenue and Twelfth Streets. Alfred Nevin, History of the Presbytery of Philadelphia, and of the Philadelphia Central, (Philadelphia: W.S. Fortescue, 1888) p. 33. http://catalog.hathitrust.org/api/volumes/oclc/5982334.html.

4 July 30, 1864, The Annals, p.184.

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After that Sunday in late June, religious services became a regular occurrence at

the institute, continuing off and on for several years. The services included a variety of

Protestant denominations including Methodist, Baptist, and Lutheran, though

Presbyterians were the most frequent. There was also a wide variety of officiates at

these services, with a new pastor almost every week. These included itinerant ministers

with no set congregation, local ministers, and even prominent religious leaders such as

the Reverend Matthew Simpson, a Bishop of the Methodist Episcopal Church and

speaker at President Lincoln’s funeral.5 These services not only filled the lecture hall on

a good Sunday, but they also increased attendance in the museum, which was open to

worshippers and general public alike on Sabbath afternoons. On a Sunday in July the

institute hosted the Reverend Mr. Henson from the Baptist Church at Broad and Brown

Streets. Wagner was pleased that the lecture hall was nearly filled to hear this eloquent

speaker. Noting the reaction of the crowd he recorded that, “the people seem to

appreciate the privilege of a free church, where all are wellcome [sic] without price or

favor, the rich and poor seated side by side.”6 It was a sentiment and ambition he

expressed later concerning the main mission of the institute, science education.

The services were quite popular according to both Wagner’s own judgment and

accounts in the newspapers. Wagner provided only impressionistic accounts of

attendance, the differences seemingly most dependent on the weather. A newspaper

article in the North American and United States Gazette on the Wagner Free Institute in

September of 1864 reported that lecture and recital rooms of the new institute were

5 August 7, 1864, The Annals. p.185.

6 July 17, 1864, The Annals, p.185.

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used on Sunday for religious worship, “without regard to sect or persuasion, where all

can worship free of charge.” 7 This article estimated attendance from between 600 and

1,200 people on most Sundays, meaning the lecture room was often filled to capacity.

The same newspaper article also made explicit what Wagner was mostly content to

allow to remain implicit—that the use of this lecture hall of this institution for religious

services was not an aberration or challenge to its central mission of scientific education,

but an expression of its mission through other means. As the author of the North

American and United States Gazette phrased it, “After the services in the afternoon the

congregation are invited to visit the museum where they can again see their God in His

works. I would advise those who are fond of walking to visit this institution on Sunday

afternoon, hear a good sermon, and spend an hour viewing the collections and ‘worship

nature up to nature’s God.’ ”8

As the program of religious worship progressed sporadically through 1864 and

early 1865, the Wagner institute attempted to form long-term partnerships with

community religious leaders. In 1864 Wagner approached the local Presbyterian

Church and offered the halls of the institute for use as a Sunday school. The church

had few facilities for such a purpose north of Girard Avenue and had been using various

makeshift spaces such as grocery stores and engine houses for holding Sunday school

classes. 9 A planning meeting was held in one of the classrooms at the institute on

7 "The Wagner Free Institute," The North American and United States Gazette (Philadelphia, PA) 1864.

8 Ibid.

9 See J S Cummings, A Fruitful Church: A Brief History of the Several Churches and Sabbath Schools That Have Been the Outgrowth of the Historic First Presbyterian Church, Washington Square, Philadelphia, During the Past Threescore Years ([Philadelphia, Penn]: [publisher not identified], 1892), p. 39-42 for an account of the various attempts by the Presbyterian Church in Philadelphia to create a stable home for Sunday School in the northern part of the city. The Wagner Free Institute of Science was only

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September 18, 1864 for the purposes of organizing the Sunday school. The meeting

opened with prayers and singing before it was decided to call their new creation the

Wagner Institute Sunday School, probably at the instigation of William Wagner who

exhibited a propensity for placing his name on new programs. The meeting was

attended by Abraham Martin, one of the founders of the American Sunday School Union

in 1824 and had been active in the promotion of Sunday Schools.10 The Sunday school

commenced sometime that fall and conducted classes with the assistance of the

Wagners.11 Attendance was originally sparse due to the distance from town but picked

up over the winter when they reached 80 “scholars” and continued to grow through the

spring of 1865.12 On September 30 of that year the Wagner Institute Sunday School

celebrated its first anniversary with cake and ice cream after which the “scholars”

gathered in the lecture hall to present Wagner himself with the present of a “very

elegant” bible. The day ended with everyone adjourning to the museum to enjoy the

natural history specimens on display.13

It is unclear how much longer the Wagner Institute Sunday School continued to

operate after the first anniversary in 1865. The institute’s Annals cease to record the

activity or any additional anniversaries. Evidence suggests, however, that Sunday

School continued sporadically for at least a couple of years after the institute officially

re-opened its new hall. According to a history of the Presbyterian Church in Philadelphia

one of many homes for the Sunday School, but it was one of its most stable until it found a permanent home in in a new church at the corner of Broad and Oxford Streets.

10 Ibid. 39; September 18, 1864, The Annals, p.186.

11 Nevin, History of the Presbytery of Philadelphia, and of the Philadelphia Central, 1888, p. 150.

12 March 1865, The Annals, p. 187.

13 September 30, 1865, The Annals. p.188.

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written in 1892, the Sunday school was moved in spring of 1866 to a new chapel

erected at the corner of Oxford and Broad Streets14. The Daily Evening Telegraph

reported in 1867 that a “fine Sunday School” was being operated in the institute and

attendees numbered over 100 students. The same paper advertised an anniversary

celebration for a Sabbath School for Sunday, May 26, though it is unclear which

anniversary was celebrated.15 The Reverend Francis J. Clere, rector of the Calvary

Monumental Church and Deaf Mute Mission of Philadelphia, reported that he and his

assistants held regular Sunday services and a Sunday School at the Wagner from

September 8, 1867 to March 29, 1868, with both William and Louisa Wagner serving as

lay-readers.16

Even church-related musical events were celebrated at the institute--a concert

was held at the institute on November 14, 1867 for the benefit of this Episcopalian

church. According to an advertisement for this event, the concert was to aid the

continuation of services in the lecture hall and the construction of a new church on a

plot of land adjoining the new institute donated for the purposes by William Wagner.17

Though the abandonment of those services was reported as a “sore disappointment,”

no reason is given for the cessation of the program or whether it was moved elsewhere.

14 Cummings, A Fruitful Church: A Brief History of the Several Churches and Sabbath Schools That Have Been the Outgrowth of the Historic First Presbyterian Church, Washington Square, Philadelphia, During the Past Threescore Years, 1892, p. 41.

15 "Religious Enterprise", The Evening Telegraph (Philadelphia, PA) June 15, 1867; "Wagner Free Institute of Science Sabbath School Anniversary", The Evening Telegraph (Philadelphia, PA) May 25, 1867.

16 Journal of the Proceedings of the Eighty-Fourth Convention of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the Diocese of Pennsylvania, 84-86 (Philadelphia, PA: Published by Order of the Convention) 1868. P. 165.

17 Advertisement for a Grand Concert, November 14, 1867, vol. 1, box 1, Wagner Free Institute of Science Scrapbooks, 89-040, The Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

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Regardless of the exact schedule or duration of the Wagner Institute Sunday School,

and whether it went by that name or not, it is clear that this was an important program in

which both Wagners had a lot of enthusiasm and fully participated. Interestingly, these

young Sunday school students were likely among the very first people to see the new

museum at the Wagner Free Institute of Science and enjoy the new display of the

institute’s natural history specimens, the latter providing a different way of worshipping

“nature up to nature’s God”.18

At the same time the institute was enjoying relative success with its Sunday

school program, Wagner was pursuing more regular partnerships with local religious

leaders that were much less successful. In October of 1864 Wagner wanted a more

reliable schedule of services and applied to Alonzo Potter, Bishop of the Episcopal

Church for Pennsylvania, for a more regular and formal assignment of a clergyman to

the hall. Bishop Potter agreed and the details were worked out between Wagner and

local clergy. They began a regular series of services on October 16, 1864 rotating

duties between a Reverend Goodwin and a Reverend Vaughn. According to the Annals

attendance at the first services were “very small” and never got much bigger.19 The

attendance on the succeeding two Sundays were equally dismal and, given the

approaching winter, Bishop Potter thought it best to suspend services until the following

Spring, but Episcopal services by either Vaughn or Goodwin were never recorded

again.

18 "The Wagner Free Institute," The North American and United States Gazette, 1864.

19 October 16, 1864, The Annals, p. 187.

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In March of 1865, just two months before the opening of the new hall, Wagner

tried to organize a formal agreement for religious services again, this time with local

Presbyterians. The Old School Presbyterians were interested in raising a congregation

in northern Philadelphia with the goal of building a church in the vicinity. According to

the institute’s Annals they “applied for permission to hold worship in the W.I. Lecture

room on Sunday mornings with the understanding that they will purchase of Prof.

Wagner the lot adjoining the institute building for the same.” These services

commenced on March 5, 1865 with the Reverend J. P. Conkey presiding. Conkey was

intended to be the permanent rector and pastor of the new church. These services

lasted until July of the same year when Wagner recorded merely, “after an unsuccessful

effort on the part of Mr. Conkey and the friends of this enterprise they suspended

worship in the hall and finally concluded it best to give up the enterprise.” 20

The Wagner Free Institute apparently stopped hosting regular religious services

and Sunday schools around 1868 since there exists no positive evidence that the

services continued much, if at all, beyond that period. The hall would serve again as a

site for religious worship in 1888 and 1903 when fires at a local church forced the

temporary relocation of services pending repairs. The services were originally meant to

fill the hall and serve the community until the end of the Civil War. The services also

brought hundreds, if not thousands, into the museum to see the institute’s specimen

collection and to see God’s works after hearing God’s word. Although religion was not

20 July 1865, The Annals, p. 188. Also see Nevin, History of the Presbytery of Philadelphia, and of the Philadelphia Central for a more full history of the Presbyterian Church in Philadelphia, 1888. It notes merely that the congregation was joined with another unsuccessful group on Camac Street a mile southwest of the Wagner Free Institute. The newly created congregation met in a hall at 17th Street and Montgomery Avenue.

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the first mission of the institute, the hosting of religious services should be understood

as an extension of Wagner’s ambition for the new hall and not an aberration or merely

serve as a place holder for the more important science classes. But more importantly

when Wagner opened the door of his new hall to worshippers he was also offering his

new space to the community as an expression of the same Republican Citizenship he

learned at the knee of Stephen Girard. If Wagner couldn’t serve the city of Philadelphia

as a space for free science education, then he would serve it as a space for equal, and

egalitarian, religious worship and on the same terms. Whether for science or religion, or

a mixture of the two, the Wagner Free Institute of Science was open to everyone gratis.

A Space in the Community for Science Education

The Wagner Free Institute of Science was officially inaugurated, complete with

the butterfly release, in May of 1865. That same month saw the first scientific lectures

given in the new lecture hall. These were considered introductory courses, because

they were not requirements for certificates, degrees, of diplomas. It was the first of what

became the popular lectures in science and technology at the institute. The pattern that

was adopted for subsequent sessions was set that spring. Lectures began at 5:00 pm

each night of the week, with each night dedicated to one topic. That first season

consisted of only three faculty members with two of those teaching two classes. William

Wagner taught geology on Wednesday and mineralogy & mining on Saturday, Charles

Gauntt of Villanova University taught chemistry on Monday and natural philosophy on

Thursday, and Charles Leech, M.D. of the Penn Medical University and University of

Pennsylvania taught human anatomy on Tuesday and physiology on Friday. According

to the Annals, the classes were well attended even though the weather was reportedly

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quite hot and stormy most of the session. The classes were suspended on July 3rd for

the summer season. The summer was spent planning for the fall, which marked the first

attempt by the Wagner Free Institute of Science to create a collegiate program

complete with diplomas and degrees.21

The following autumn saw two different programs offered at the institute. The

first program, which started on August 2nd, was a continuation of the basic class

schedule from the spring. These classes included courses of geology and mineralogy,

taught by Wagner, elocution taught by local poet and author N.K. Richardson, natural

philosophy and chemistry taught by Gaunt, and an Andrew E. Rogerson was scheduled

to teach civil and military engineering. Dr. Leech was again scheduled to lecture on

human anatomy and physiology but according to the Annals he did not make an

appearance and the chair for that class remained vacant. Attendance at these popular

lectures was lower than in the spring but classes were still moderately well attended,

especially elocution.

This second season in the new hall began to show evidence of two patterns that

defined the Wagner Free Institute for at least the next 20 years. First, as with the

previous incarnation of the institute, the faculty continued to be drawn from the local

ranks of college professors and other professionals. Wagner continued throughout his

life to have an extensive network of scientists and medical doctors willing to teach for

little or no money. These were mostly young professionals still making a name for

themselves in the local and national scientific community, though that would change as

21 May 15, 1865, The Annals. p. 192.

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the Wagner drew more prominent names and accomplished scientists later in the

century.22

Second, the institute would have difficulty relying on lecturers throughout the

nineteenth-century. For this specific season only one professor failed to show, which

kept the subject of anatomy and physiology from being taught that semester. In the

future, William Wagner scrambled throughout entire semesters finding replacements for

lecturers who cancelled or just plain did not show up to teach. There were also

instances in which lecturers failed to exhibit the appropriate level of skill at teaching or

knowledge of the subject that they were hired to teach and they were let go, sometimes

after teaching just one class. Wagner himself often substituted for the absentee

professors. Sometimes he lectured on an appropriate topic, other times he substituted a

topic of his own or spoke extemporaneously. Eventually, whether because of Wagner’s

personality, changing hiring policies or the growth of other opportunities for academics

to teach, the institute developed fairly high turnover rate. In 1883, two years from death

and looking back on three decades of being the institute’s director, Wagner would

lament, “No one but he who had the experience of operating a large institution can

appreciate the varied difficulties he is compelled to encounter, calls to the country,

business demands, sickness, etc are frequently recurring to call off one or another of

the Professors from duty, notice of which is not given in sufficient time to supply their

22 Since many, if not most, of the faculty during this period were less well known than would later be the case, it was sometimes difficult to gauge the age or professional level of each lecturer. However, the biographical information that is available suggests most were in their late 20’s or early 30’s. An Annals entry in 1878 seems to confirm this when discussing lectures by chemist Henry Leffman, whom he described as “our favorite lecturer.” Wagner also refers to him as the oldest member of the faculty at 34. 1878, The Annals, p. 256.

106

places. In such cases I (Prof Wagner) have occupied the desk and would do so weekly,

but for my impaired eyesight being unable to read my notes by lamp light.”23

The second program instituted that fall of 1865 was the creation of a collegiate

course of study. Almost from the outset it was the intent of William Wagner and the

board of trustees to create a traditional college offering bachelor’s degrees and,

eventually, graduate study and PhD’s. The original charter of the institute conferred

upon the faculty and trustees the, “full power to grant degrees and diplomas in the Arts

and Sciences, to such students of the Institution and others, as by their proficiency in

learning, or other meritorious distinction, they shall think entitled them.”24 The amended

charter of 1864 reaffirmed this power of the trustees, although it stipulated that the

Institution could only grant diplomas, “in the sciences, arts, philosophy, or letters” to

deserving students.25 This desire to be a degree, or diploma, granting institution on par

with the University of Pennsylvania or even such early technical schools as Rensselaer,

Rochester, or M.I.T, served as an undercurrent to all of the plans of the founder and

trustees. But this ambition received its most clear enunciation in the 1870 Annual

Announcement when, after listing all of the physical improvements to the building and

grounds in recent years, it predicted

It is confidently believed, that the Wagner Free Institute of Science with all these, and numberless other advantages, and acting under its liberal and ample supplementary charter, hereunto appended, will become, when the plans of its generous founder, Professor William Wagner, shall have been

23 1882, The Annals, p. 296.

24 Quoted in The First Annual Announcement of the Wagner Free Institute of Science For the Collegiate Year 1855-56, 1855. P. 5.

25 Quoted in Announcement of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, for the Collegiate Year 1870-71, 1870, p. 20.

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fully consummated, what he as ever designed to make it, — a first class comprehensive Technical College.26

And while this ambition remained a part of the institution’s plans for the bulk of its

nineteenth-century existence, it achieved only limited, temporary success.

The collegiate coursework that began on September 18, 1865 was the institute’s

first attempt at such a program. According to an advertisement printed for the first

session in the new hall, the collegiate coursework consisted of the same four subjects

that were taught as part of the popular courses. Interestingly, there was a charge for the

college coursework at the institute. This course of study required “fees for the

teachings” of $35 each term with a one time only matriculation fee of $5, $7 for special

subjects.27 Wagner had made it clear from at least as early as his European honeymoon

that he admired those museums that were offered to visitors free of charge. Both the

articles of incorporation and the deeds of trust for the WFIS are both clear that the

science lectures must be gratis. This instance is one of the few times that the institute

charged for instruction. That it was clearly approved by William Wagner makes this an

interesting, and unexplained, anomaly.

Regardless of the good intentions and careful planning of the trustees and

faculty, the collegiate instruction of 1865 was not popular. According to the Annals, the

institute only attracted ten students and, “the effort proved abortive owing to the lack of

energy evinced by the Professors, whose zeal soon gave way to despondency.” William

26 Announcement of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, for the Collegiate Year 1870-71, 1870, p. 16.

27 The Wagner Free Institute of Science, Department of Arts and Sciences, 1865, advertising circular, from vol. 1, box 5, Wagner Free Institute of Science Scrapbooks, 89-040. The Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

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Wagner himself, the author of the Annals entries, could have been projecting his own

dejection over the failed attempt as he continued the entry, “Thus the first collegiate

effort was unsuccessful for the want of that propper [sic] assistance to cooperate with

Prof. Wagner, for men of propper [sic] standing, influence, and cultivation necessary to

inaugurate a movement of so much importance, in fact it would seem that they desired

to make a good thing of it without any special effort on their part”.28 Notwithstanding the

poor attendance at the collegiate program, the popular lectures that opened a month

later with most of the same lecturers and subjects were well attended. At least William

Wagner expressed satisfaction with the crowds. It is unknown why the collegiate

courses were so poorly attended, whether it was because of the lack of lecturers with

the proper cultivation, the price of the program, or the lack of students due to the Civil

War. But it must have been clear to Wagner, the rest of the trustees, and faculty that

their ambitions of being a “first class comprehensive technological college” would have

to wait for more favorable conditions.

Regardless of the satisfactory attendance at the popular lectures in the fall of

1865, the coursework at the Wagner Institute ceased for another eighteen months.

Popular lectures would not start again until the fall of 1867. The reasons for this are

unclear. Along with issues of the effects of the late rebellion and a lack of enthusiasm

among the young lecturers, one reason may have been the condition of the hall itself,

which was not quite finished when the new building was inaugurated in 1865. The first

entry in The Annals after the lengthy hiatus from the winter of 1865 to the fall of 1867

was a list of construction projects that were accomplished in the ensuing months to

28 September 18, 1865, The Annals, p. 193.

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make the new hall more useful. Among the projects completed were stairway

balustrades, floors laid in the galleries, 22 tables constructed and covered with glass to

display artifacts, seating for 1,300 people, chandeliers for all the first floor rooms, and a

new furniture for the classrooms. The lectures that resumed in the fall of 1867 were in

new hall that was closer to being fully completed.29

Throughout this period William Wagner never stopped collecting specimens and

apparatus for the institute, nor did he cease corresponding with scientists around the

world, exchanging specimens, books, and honorary memberships. He often travelled

around the Philadelphia area even into surrounding states to attend auctions and estate

sales to bring back to his institute individual pieces and entire collections of fossils,

minerals, shells, and botanical specimens. He travelled to New York City to purchase a

collection of “saurian animals” and fishes from Lyme Regis, England. While in the city

he also purchased a collection that included ichthyosaurs from Westphalia, Germany.

In one typical entry in the Annals in 1871 Wagner noted that in one fall season the

institute had accepted a large donation of gold ore, silver, corundum, magnesium,

fossils, an electrical machine with a heavy battery of electro-magnets, “the heaviest

perhaps in the country,” an instrument to illustrate the geyser action of the Yellowstone

Valley, a double-headed calf [presumably stuffed], a large collection of human anatomy

specimen preparations, human bones and an articulated skeleton, illustrations for

lectures in geology, and several hundred books from the library including the

29 1867, The Annals. 194-95.

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proceedings of scientific societies in Sweden, Norway, Austria, Italy, France, England,

Scotland and Holland.30

He even worked with local scientists and explorers to bring back specimens from

their journeys and institutions such as the Academy of Natural Sciences or to borrow

and exchange specimens to improve everyone’s collections. In 1869 he reported that he

had made arrangements with E.D. Cope to make a journey west and south with the

view of collecting “undescribed novelties which he might discover.” As of early autumn

of 1869, the institute had received three half-barrels of fish from the Yadkin and

Catawba Rivers of North Carolina as well as minerals and fossils form North Carolina

and Tennessee.31 While many of these acquisitions were thought by Wagner to be

undiscovered, or at least undescribed, it is clear from his notations in the Annals that

most of the collection was destined for purposes of education in the lecture hall and

exhibition in the museum. Attendance in the latter was slight when the museum first

opened in 1865, but according to Wagner it grew steadily between the inauguration that

year and his death as the community around the institute grew.32

In addition to specimens, books, and instruments, Wagner also started collecting

and creating illustrations for the use of the professors in their lectures. He purchased

one collection of illustrations from the Royal Geological Society of Penzance England

and even commissioned artists from time-to-time to create illustrations of specimens in

the collection and mount them for display in the lecture hall. In 1875 Wagner acquired

30 Ibid; December 9, 1871, The Annals, 208-09.

31 1869, The Annals. p. 202.

32 Ibid. See for example Wagner’s note that “visitors to the collections have increased largely over former periods and the attention and interest of the public is becoming very appreciative.”

111

from London a stereopticon with a microscopic attachment, a camera obscura, and 250

slides and numerous prepared objects.33 According to the Annals, “Professor Wagner

was particularly given to the getting up and perfecting of various apparatus in Optics,

Electricity, Galvanism, and Applied Chemistry.” He also acquired and set up a

stereopticon with calcium lights. Calcium lights created an intense light that Wagner

hoped would be useful in the classroom to magnify minute objects for the class. He

amassed all of the instruments, specimens, and projection equipment for the sole

purpose of using them in the classroom.34 Lectures would soon become well supplied

with demonstration objects and illustrations to support any scientific topic, and Wagner

insisted his teachers use them to enhance their lectures. In 1877 a professor of civil

engineering actually extinguished the lights and projected his illustrations on the screen

at the front of the hall. It was a resounding success and other lecturers adopted the

technique.35 In 1878 he spent $2,500 to photograph 2,000 specimens from the

museum collection for use in lectures.36 All of these teaching aids, the specimens,

instruments, artifacts, and illustrations were central to Wagner’s philosophy of “object

teaching.” And both Wagner and members of the faculty credited, at least in part, object

33 October 1875, The Annals. p. 232.

34 1867, The Annals. 194-95.

35 Wagner called the instrument that projected the images a “Marsey Lantern” but it is not clear what it actually was. Cohen in Jeffrey A Cohen, "Building a Discipline: Early Institutional Settings for Architectural Education in Philadelphia, 1804-1890", The Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, 1994, 53: 139-183. thinks it might have been a stereopticon, but since the WFIS had one of those since 1875, there is little reason to believe that its use would be notable and impressive in 1877; See also 1877, The Annals, p. 249.

36 "Wagner Free Institute: A Gracious Gift Generously Given", The Press (Philadelphia, PA) 1878. A clipping found in, vol. 3, box 8, The Wagner Free Institute of Science Scrapbooks, RG 89-040, The Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

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teaching and the increased use of visual aides and demonstration specimens and

artifacts for the growing attendance throughout this period.

Although there were no science classes or lectures during this period, the hall

was not empty and William Wagner was not inactive. The religious services described

earlier continued throughout the time the lecture hall was not used for science lectures.

The city newspapers regularly listed Sunday services during this period led mostly by

Presbyterian ministers and there were frequent pieces announcing Sabbath and/or

Sunday Schools at the Wagner, complete with ample time to tour the museum37.

It was also during this period that Wagner and his institute began to feel the

pressure of a changing neighborhood. Wagner’s residence, Elm Grove, and the

institute that was built on adjacent property originally occupied a rural section on

Philadelphia’s northern border. Development began in the general neighborhood as

early as the 1840’s with the construction of nearby institutions such as Girard College

and St. Joseph’s Hospital. The neighborhood immediately around the WFIS began to

see major growth and investment as Philadelphia grew and spread out to engulf once

sparsely populated suburbs and bring with it the benefits and problems of being part of

a major American metropolitan area in the nineteenth-century. The benefits included

amenities like streetcars that already ran from downtown, up Columbia Avenue, and

stopped within blocks of the new hall. Between the inauguration in 1865 to the death of

William Wagner in 1885, the neighborhood would eventually see the extension of many

new technologies to the hall including gas lighting, electricity, running water, and

37 For example see a regular column in The Evening Telegraph of Philadelphia entitled “The City Pulpits Tomorrow,” on October 20 and 27, 1866; Also a short article specifically on TheWFIS, “Religious Enterprise,” The Evening Telegraph, (Philadelphia, PA), June 15, 1867.

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sewers. By 1877, five railroad lines dropped potential audience members off within a

half block of the institute. As the neighborhood grew more crowded so did the Wagner

Free Institute’s lecture hall. The problems included a more crowded community that

encroached on the institute’s space, crime, and audiences that dropped in quality as

they grew in quantity. It would be another decade before the full effect of Philadelphia’s

growth north and westward would be felt at the WFIS, but a couple of incidents during

the 1860’s stand out as presaging the changes to come.

One early conflict between the institute, its founder, and “the locals” was fought

over the use of space by the latter for sport and entertainment. While many of the new

leisure hours acquired by working and middle class Philadelphians could be contained

in the bars, theaters, and dime museums downtown, the newly popular sport of baseball

could not. Needing large fields in which to play, baseball games in post-bellum

American cities were often found in rural areas already occupied by a more gentile

population unused to the drunken rowdiness of this urban game.38 One such field was

located next to the Wagner Free Institute of Science and was the home of the

Philadelphia Athletics. According to the New York Times, during a game between the

Athletics and the Active Club of New York on August 10, 1865, a ball was hit over the

fence between the field and the Wagner Institute when, “the principal of that Institution

secured the ball and resolutely declined to give it up to the owners, a circumstance

which created considerable indignation, and which it is stated has been done on a

number of similar occasions.” The home team went on to lose that game and they

38 See Steven A Riess, City Games: The Evolution of American Urban Society and the Rise of Sports (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1989). Steven A Riess, Sport in Industrial America, 1850-1920 (Wheeling, Ill: Harlan Davidson, 1995) for discussion of this problem specifically and the role of sport in the growth of late 19th century American cities more generally..

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blamed it, in part, on the fact that William Wagner had kept their favorite baseball.39

Among the many lessons that can be drawn from this admittedly small anecdote is that

William Wagner himself had lost none of his irascibility between his fight to keep the

institute in the Spring Garden hall in 1859 and the opening of his new hall in 1865. It

also shows, perhaps for the first time, the conflict that was coming to the WFIS as the

city, and it’s growing population, grew closer and pushed at the institute’s boundaries.

A year later a second incident further illustrated this trend and also showed

William Wagner’s often-difficult relationship with not only the city, but also the agents

who were tasked with keeping the peace. This event did not involve the institute directly,

but Wagner personally. During this period, however, there was little difference.

Regardless, the institute would have a sometimes difficult relationship to city peace

officers that may have started in 1866. Several newspaper articles from that summer

told the tale of a neighbor of Wagner’s who regularly allowed his horse to run loose.

According to these stories Wagner eventually caught the animal after it found it’s way

on to his property and sent a message to the owner that he could have his horse back

when he paid the charges for damages and board for the horse. The owner of the horse

swore out a complaint on Wagner and had a local constable proceed to arrest him in a

“shameful manner, tearing his coat, and dragging him like a common felon into the

presence of the magistrate…and thrust unceremoniously into one of the Station House

39 "Interesting Base Ball Match", The New York Times, August 12, 1865. There are, in fact a number of lithographs portraying baseball games at this specific field, one with the Wagner in view over the left field fence, that not only show baseball being played, but also shows strong evidence of many types of urban problems including gambling and fighting. Knowing what we know about William Wagner, he probably did not take well to these activities next door to his new Institute of Science.

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cells.”40 Wagner was arrested for obtaining goods under false pretense. According to

the Evening Ledger, Wagner was ultimately successful in not only getting an Alderman

involved in the case discharged, but also got the constable held on $1,000 bail to

“answer for an excess of zeal in the discharge of his official duties.”41 As the city grew

to envelope Elm Grove and the Wagner Free Institute of Science, crime and law

enforcement officers would become a more regular occurrence.

The popular course of lectures finally resumed on September 30, 1867. Only

three courses were taught with Wagner continuing his classes in geology and Charles

Gauntt in natural philosophy. The institute was joined by the young Lemuel Deal, a 1865

graduate of the Jefferson medical college; he was to teach chemistry. Dr. Deal stayed

with the WFIS until the end of 1873.42 Little is known about these first classes except,

according to Wagner, the crowds were always “large and appreciative” and well

attended by women. They suspended the season on December 1 due to inclement

weather. The added hours of darkness was also a problem due to the unpaved and

unlighted streets surrounding the institute.43

The spring classes of 1868 picked up with what became the standard slate of

classes of many years. These were geology, taught by Wagner in the spring of 1868,

40 See "A Constable in Trouble", The Evening Telegraph (Philadelphia, PA) July 2, 1866; 1. "False Pretense", The Evening Telegraph, July 10, 1866.

41 "A Constable in Trouble, The Evening Telegraph, 1866.

42 For a short biography of Dr. Lemuel Deal seen Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, University of Pennsylvania: Its History, Influence, Equipment and Characteristics; With Biographical Sketches and Portraits of Founders, Benefactors, Officers and Alumni, Volume 2, (Boston, MA: R. Herndon Company, 1902). 225. Before coming to the Wagner Free Institute of Science at the age of 25, Dr. Deal served as an acting surgeon in the Union Army and was in charge of the post hospital at Fort Macomb in Louisiana. After the war he continued to teach in a number of Philadelphia institutions until he was appointed a professor of chemistry and toxicology at the Pennsylvania College of Pharmacy in 1877.

43 September 30,1867, The Annals. p.195.

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chemistry, with Professor Deal, anatomy, taught by a Robert M. Townsend, physiology,

taught by a young Philadelphia doctor named J. Solis Cohen, and botany, taught by a

local professor of pharmacy A.S. Gerhard. Once again, while the attendance by the

students proved satisfactory, the attendance by the lecturers was not, with both Deal

and Townsend missing many classes.44

The new hall of the Wagner Free Institute of Science may have been inaugurated

in 1865 and a permanent series of popular lectures was started in 1867, but the new

hall itself was never fully completed in William Wagner’s lifetime. The finishing touches

that were put on the building during the hiatus following the fall 1865 schedule was only

the beginning of a process that would never really end. Immediately after the close of

classes in the spring of 1868, Wagner began making plans for the construction of the

institute’s laboratory building adjacent to the hall on the west. Part of the original plans

for the institute, the laboratory was built to serve as a teaching lab. It contained an

assay and evaporating furnace, both reportedly modeled on the furnaces at the U.S.

Mint in Philadelphia. It was stocked with instruments and equipment to teach subjects in

geology and chemistry.45 The laboratory was the last new construction of the hall that

was part of the original Deed of Trust. Although that document called for the erection of

two tower observatories, one for meteorology and one for astronomy, those towers

would never be built.

The popular lectures of the Wagner Free Institute continued like this for the next

18 years with very little variation. Elocution was added back to the schedule in the fall of

44 April 6, 1868, The Annals. p.196.

45 July 1868, The Annals, p. 197.

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1868 taught by Jacob W. Shoemaker, a 26 year old Union veteran and recent graduate

of Millersville State Normal School.46 The institute would always have a grudging

acceptance of elocution as a part of the curriculum. It was not considered central to a

scientific education, but it consistently drew the biggest and most enthusiastic crowds.

Otherwise, the courses continued for years with rotating topics under the general

departments of geology, botany, chemistry, natural philosophy, and physiology and

anatomy.

The typical lecturer hired by the institute was young, fresh out of school or the

Union Army, and stayed on for a few years before moving on. It was a part time job that

was often augmented by a series of other part time jobs lecturing at other Philadelphia

establishments such as the Jefferson Medical College, The Franklin Institute, or the

Pennsylvania College of Pharmacy. Many, such as Dr. Edwin Maxson who taught

anatomy and physiology in 1868 and 1869, and Dr. A.K. Munich, who taught botany off

and on between 1870 and 1873, were local medical doctors yet to start a practice.

While some lecturers stayed on for many years, others rotated off fairly

frequently. Sometimes those who left gave notice and sometimes they didn’t. A typical

pattern was set in the spring of 1869 when, “Prof. Gerhard, M.D., who filled the chair of

botany found it convenient to withdraw after the cards of exercises had been printed,

46 For a brief biography see Herringshaw's Encyclopedia of American Biography of the Nineteenth Century: Accurate and Succinct Biographies of Famous Men and Women in All Walks of Life Who Are or Have Been the Acknowledged Leaders of Life and Thought of the United States Since Its Formation , ed. Thomas William Herringshaw (Chicago: American Publishers' Association, 1904) p. 845. Like many faculty during this time period, Professor Shoemaker was quite young and inexperienced, but would go on to do bigger and better things. Shoemaker and his wife would eventually found the National School for Elocution and Oratory of Philadelphia and write and edit texts on elocution including J W Shoemaker, Practical Elocution; For Use in Colleges and Schools and by Private Students (Philadelphia: National School of Elocution and Oratory, 1886). and J W Shoemaker, Shoemaker's Best Selections for Reading and Recitations (Freeport, N.Y.: Books for Libraries Press, 1970) which ran to nine volumes and was still being published as late as 1970.

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extensively circulated, and published in all the cars and principal papers, without giving

an hours notice of his intention to do so.”47 In this particular case Wagner was able to

substitute a former lecturer, Dr. Gauntt, to take Gerhard’s place, otherwise Wagner

would have taken to the chair himself or cancelled the class outright. This latter option

happened during the spring course in 1871 when Dr. Townsend, who was advertised as

teaching Anatomy and Physiology, quit after teaching his first class claiming illness. The

first attempt to replace him was, “an unfortunate choice as on trial he made a grand

failure and was at once withdrawn48.” After some rearranging of the schedule that

session, Anatomy and Physiology were completely dropped from the schedule.

As this period of the institute wore on, the turnover of faculty grew more

pronounced and disagreements between William Wagner and other members of the

Wagner Free Institute’s family grew more acrimonious. Part of this was precipitated

after the fall course of 1873 made it a tumultuous season for the institute, seeing the

departure of four different lecturers under different circumstances. Dr. Lemuel Deal’s

attendance during the previous spring was fairly poor and he missed the first lecture of

the fall course. Wagner asked for his resignation, which was tendered, and that spot in

the schedule was filled, “each evening by desultory lectures from scientific gentlemen

throughout the whole course.” Dr. Minich, the institute’s lecturer in botany and a

professor of the same subject at the Jefferson Medical College, was also let go that fall.

He delivered three or four lectures when, “circumstances outside of his lectures and

intirely [sic] disconnected with the institute transpired which imperatively demanded a

47 June 1869, The Annals, p. 199.

48 1871, The Annals. p. 206.

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discontinuance of our friendly intercourse heretofore exiting of which fact he was duly

notified.” The third loss that fall was Professor Charles Mills, a recent graduate of the

University of Pennsylvania, who had been teaching natural philosophy for the institute

since 1870. His lectures, according to Wagner, “were not so acceptable as desirable

taking into consideration the onward progress of the institute and its surroundings.”

When asked for his resignation, Dr. Mills grew so irritable he convinced the lecturer in

anatomy and physiology, a De Forest Willard, to resign with him, leaving only the

Professor of Elocution, Professor Shoemaker, to return the following spring.49

The mass departures from the faculty in the fall of 1873 had two immediate

consequences on the WFIS. The first, and most profound, was that Wagner altered the

way he appointed professors. He changed from a tenure-like “once a Professor always

a Prof” system and henceforth would appoint professors on a session-by-session basis.

This decision would assure a higher turnover rate and in the future professors would be

let go fairly frequently and often on frivolous grounds.

The second consequence was the replacement of Lemuel Deal with Dr. Henry

Leffman in the chair of Botany. Leffman was a prominent chemist who taught at

Jefferson Medical College, The Women’s Medical College of Pennsylvania,

Pennsylvania College of Dental Surgery, and at the Philadelphia College of Pharmacy

and Science. When Leffman joined the faculty he was only 26 years-old, but he quickly

became one of the institutes most popular teachers and William Wagner’s favorite

lecturer. He would eventually remain affiliated with the institute for over 50 years as a

49 1873, The Annals. 213-214. Dr. Mills would go on to become an important neurologist and biographer of eminent medical doctors including Benjamin Rush. De Forest Willard served most of his career in the Dispensary at the University of Pennsylvania’s Medical School.

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faculty member and on the Board of Trustees, including several turns as the President

of the Board. He was a colorful scientist and lecturer who reportedly took great pride in

his Jewish ancestry on his father’s side and his Welsh Quaker ancestry on his mother’s

side. He served the city of Philadelphia as the Port Physician and was appointed by

President Cleveland to be Coiner of the Mint in Philadelphia in 1888. He researched

and wrote frequently on chemistry, pharmacology, and food science, including an article

on chemistry in the detection of crime, and a book on analyzing dairy products for

safety. During his affiliation with the Wagner Free Institute of Science he lectured

frequently not only topics related to his area of expertise, but also special lectures on

esoteric matters such as the probability of life on Mars. He even bragged to a local

Philadelphia newspaper that he invented a powerful new explosive in the WFIS

laboratory in 1910, but nothing more was heard about it. When he died on Christmas

Day in 1930 at the age of 83 he left a portion of his sizable fortune to the Wagner Free

Institute of Science. Though William Wagner lamented the trouble caused by the

absenteeism of Lemuel Deal and moaned about the work it took to replace him, Deal’s

replacement with Henry Leffman was a small personnel change that would ultimately

have a profound impact on the institute, especially after the death of the founder.50

When Dr. Charles Mills was let go in 1873 for unacceptable lectures that did not

take into account “onward progress of the institute and its surroundings” it is not entirely

clear what problem exactly William Wagner had with Dr. Mills’ style. Wagner did have,

however, a philosophical and financial investment in the various visual aids he created

50 For a biography of Leffman written by fellow chemist and WFIS faculty member Charles LaWall see Charles LaWall, "American Contemporaries-Henry Leffman AM, MD, PhD", Industrial & Engineering Chemistry , 1926, 18:648-649.

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and collected to support the pedagogy he called “object learning.” In later sessions he

would criticize, and fire, professors for not using the illustrations, specimens, and

instruments Wagner had so painstakingly made available to teachers to use in class. In

the fall of 1876 Wagner noted that an otherwise enjoyable and informative series of

lectures in “The Laws of Storms” by a Professor Peter Blasseus was marred not only by

the thick German accent of the lecturer, which made him difficult to understand, but the

poor use of visual aids. Although his lectures were illustrated with, “large and varied

Diagrams,” they were “so ill calculated to assist him in his demonstrations as to be of

little avail in demonstrating his principles.”51 Professor Blasseus did not return for a

second session.

A similar clash over teaching styles and “object teaching” occurred in the fall of

1878 when the institute hired three new professors; only to let them all go. When they

needed to replace Professor Vanderbeck, M.C. MacConnell of Jefferson Medical

College was recommended to William Wagner. MacConnell turned out to be, “a man of

profound learning in Anatomy & Physiology but failed in the great object of being a

Teacher. His ideas flowed with such rapidity that his class failed to comprehend his

meaning… His course would have been deeply interesting and instructive had he have

pursued the same course other Professors have done by projecting the many Photos I

had prepared for his illustration on the screen.” Because he failed to use the

stereopticon Professor MacConnell’s class was “rubbed through.” That same semester

introduced a new professor, D. Frank Woodbury, in hygiene, a new subject for the

institute. He, too, was an awful lecturer according to Wagner. “He was much imberrised

51 October 1876, The Annals, p. 239.

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[sic] and under heavy nervous excitement, evidently showing that he was a stranger to

his new calling.” Not using illustrations provided by the institute were the least of

Wagner’s concerns, for the young Dr. Woodbury who reportedly paced up to 40 times

back and forth across the stage. He was let go after two lectures only to be replaced

with a Thomas Clellan to teach elocution. Elocution was one of the more popular

subjects taught at the Wagner since it largely consisted of readings and/or enactments

of Shakespeare and other authors and plays. A full house greeted Professor Clellan’s

first lecture, which was delivered, “in a monotone which would not have been flattering

to a schoolboy.” After a second such lecture, he, too, was asked never to return.52

Perhaps the most dramatic incident of Wagner enforcing an object centered

approach to teaching occurred in the fall session of 1880. When Sydney Skidmore, a

teacher at the Philadelphia Normal School, took ill, the institute needed a professor in

physics. They ultimately brought on a Dr. G.H. Flowers of Park Avenue. It was clear

from his first lecture that he knew nothing of the subject. His second lecture, on

gravitation, was evidently copied from a book and read, “like a schoolboy.” But of course

the worst offense committed by Dr. Flowers was that he arrived at the hall a mere ten

minutes before the lecture and made no effort to prepare or use any illustration or

demonstrations. As soon as William Wagner discovered the drift of Flowers’ remarks, “I

selected from the cases such instruments as would illustrate his subject, all of which I

had to manipulate for him, he not understanding it. My experience of his inability to

lecture on Physics being confirmed I informed him he had better withdraw which he did.”

This is the only instance in which Wagner interrupted a lecturer to insist upon the use of

52 1878, The Annals. 257-261

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objects or illustrations to teach, but it shows how seriously he took his idea of the proper

way to teach at his institute. Unreliable and incompetent young lecturers would continue

to vex Wagner for years lamenting later in that entry, “It must be apparent to everyone

who reads these notes the impropriety of appointing inexperienced young men to

Professorships. It injured their own standing and that of the institute.”53

On the other hand, Wagner was also not fond of lecturers who needed support

beyond what was already available and clashed with professors over supplies and

materials. It seems William Wagner’s pride in the teaching objects and illustrations he

provided extended both to those teachers who didn’t use them as well as the teachers

who found them inadequate. This came to a head in the spring session of 1874 when

there was a small revolt of three lecturers over what they viewed as poorly supplied

facilities. Two lecturers were engaged to teach “steam engineering,” but the gentlemen

required so many expensive demonstration machines and artifacts that Wagner balked

at supplying them and judged the whole effort a failure and cancelled the class. That

same session, chemistry professor H.B. Hare, a physician at the Episcopal Hospital,

complained that the laboratory supplied by the institute was deficient in chemicals and

instruments. Wagner refused to purchase more supplies or instruments for the new

chemistry professor. Hare’s response was to foment rebellion among the faculty by

calling a meeting behind Wagner’s back at the Franklin Institute. Dr. Hare attempted to

get the entire faculty to sign off on a letter, presumably to demand better or more

teaching materials. Ultimately the only lecturers to sign were Hare himself and the two

professors of steam engineering. All three were let go after less than an entire session,

53 1880, The Annals, 280 – 282.

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their courses being picked up by the other lecturers.54 While it is unclear if this episode

had a long-term impact on policies or procedures, it can be viewed as indicative of

Wagner’s souring relationship with some of his lecturers, and probably helps to explain

some of the high turnover.

The trustees of the Wagner Free Institute of Science reflected a more

accomplished and older group of people. This is not surprising since most of them were

likely drawn from Wagner’s network of acquaintances and friends. Meetings were held

infrequently and there was not much for them to do. When the institute opened in its

new hall in 1865, the trustees consisted of William Wagner, president for life, Dr.

Charles Gauntt, who also served as chair of chemistry and Secretary of the trustees,

Robert Cornelius, a local chemist and early pioneer in photography, D. Rodney King, a

local manufacture and businessman and president of the Pennsylvania Horticultural

Society, J. Vaughn Merrick, president of the Franklin Institute an institution founded by

his father, Charles Stillé, Provost of the University of Pennsylvania, Henry Coppée

President of Lehigh University, and Samuel Wagner, Jr., William Wagner’s nephew.55

Aside from Wagner’s nephew, the son of older brother Samuel Wagner, it comprised of

a venerable group of educators, businessmen, and scientists from the Philadelphia

54 1874, The Annals, 221 – 222.

55 A biography of Cornelius King can be found in William F Stapp et al, Robert Cornelius, Portraits From the Dawn of Photography an Exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery, October 20, 1983 to January 22, 1984, (Washington, D.C.: Published for the National Portrait Gallery by the Smithsonian Institution Press, 1983). A short biography of Daniel Rodney King can be found in Gardener's Monthly and Horticulturist, Volumes 18-22, ed. Thomas Meehan (Philadelphia:C.H. Marot., 1876), p. 61.. John Vaughn Merrick’s life is summarized in Transactions of the American Society of Mechanical Engineers, 1906, 27, p. 832. A biography and obituary of Charles Stillé can be found in Historical Society of Pennsylvania and Robert Ellis Thompson, Proceedings ... On the Death of Charles Janeway Stillé; Held May 21, 1900 (Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott Company, 1900). A biography and obituary for Henry Coppée is in J G Rosengarten and American Philosophical Society, “Obituary Notice of Henry Coppée, LL. D.,” (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1895).

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area. The trustees would remain relatively stable and reliable over the next decade or

so.

Even though the trustees remained much more stable than the faculty during this

period, that body was not without its tension. In 1874 Henry Coppée resigned from the

board and needed to be replaced. The Deed of Trust for the institute required that the

nomination of new trustees be nominated at one meeting and elected at an ensuing

meeting. William Wagner put forth the name of William H. Wahl, an engineer, officer of

the Franklin Institute, and lecturer at the WFIS in applied sciences, geology, and

mineralogy. Though the trustees who were present at the meeting on February 23rd

approved of the nomination of Wahl, a difference of opinion arose regarding who had

the power to nominate new trustees, the board at large or William Wagner personally. A

few unidentified trustees suggested council be consulted, in effect questioning William

Wagner’s leadership. Though a couple of lawyers were consulted on the matter and

ruled in favor of the power of the trustees to appoint members to their board, the issue

festered and the appointment of Wahl was held up for some weeks while members at a

distance from the city could be consulted. Throughout the nomination and appointment

of Dr. Wahl, Wagner maintained that both the Charter and Deed of Trust invested him,

and only him, with the power to appoint new trustees and the Board merely approved or

disapproved his decisions.56

In addition to the regular schedule of the popular course of lectures during this

period, the Wagner Free Institute of Science also attempted a number of other

56 Minutes of a Special meeting of the Board of Trustees, February 22, 1874, in the Records of the trustees of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, 89-025, The Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science; 1874, The Annals, p. 220.

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programs to broaden its scope, fulfill its mission, and realize its dreams. In the spring of

1871 another opportunity arose that would have aided the institute in creating a degree

granting collegiate program, this time by partnering with an established local school.

According to the Annals of the WFIS, the University of Pennsylvania made informal

“overtures of amalgamation” through Charles Stilé who was both Provost of the

University of Pennsylvania and a Trustee of the institute. The original plan was for

University of Pennsylvania students to be able to attend scientific lectures at the WFIS.

While the plans were not spelled out explicitly, Wagner himself seemed to believe that

the institute would retain some vestige of its current name, going by “Wagner Scientific”

school or department of the University of Pennsylvania or the like. This seemed to be a

welcome development to Wagner, save for the fact that control and management of his

institute would devolve to the trustees of the University, as would the use of the

endowment and property of the WFIS. The discussion did not go particularly far since it

was Wagner’s opinion that the offer was, “completely inadmissible, and could not be

entertained for a moment, in accordance of the terms of the institute’s Charter.” In

addition to the legalities involved with any such merger, Wagner himself was unwilling to

cede any control to an outside body over his institution. Referring to himself in the third

person he wrote in the Annals about the “unwillingness of Prof Wagner to sink his

identity in the Institution he had created and thus merge his life labors into an Institution

which had been struggling through many years for its existence.” Though partnering

with the University of Pennsylvania and submerging his institution under the control of

the University would have given Wagner the technical school he wanted, he was not

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willing to cede control of his institute to the University he was unable to attend as a

youth.57

William Wagner’s dream of creating a comprehensive technical college never

waned during his lifetime. A paragraph in the institute’s 1883 Annual Announcement,

when Wagner was 87 years old, was still predicting that the Wagner Free Institute

would one day be a comprehensive technical college. “It is the intention of the founder,

Professor William Wagner, his successors and the Board of Trustees, to establish as

soon as the requisite arrangements can be made, in addition to the Spring and Autumn

Courses of Lectures open to the public, and for thirty-seven years in successful

operation, a regular course of scientific instruction, for which diplomas will be granted

for full courses, and certificates for specialties.”58 While this is not an exact quote from

Annual Announcements printed 30 years earlier, the sentiment is almost identical, and

the realization of that dream was just as far off. Later, the same 1883 publication

showed even more enthusiasm and certainty when it declared, “It is confidently believed

that the Wagner Free Institute of Science…will become, when the plans of its generous

founder, Professor William Wagner, shall have been fully consummated, what he has

ever designed to make it—a first-class comprehensive Technological College.”59

Notwithstanding the confidence of Wagner and his trustees, there was not another

attempt at a collegiate program in the founder’s lifetime. The last attempt to create a

57 1871, The Annals. p. 207.

58 Announcement of the Wagner Free Institute of Science for the Collegiate Year 1883 (Philadelphia: Wagner Free Institute of Science, 1883), p. 8.

59 Ibid. p. 14.

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collegiate course of study at the Wagner Free Institute of Science would have to wait

until after his death.

The dream of having a collegiate program was only one of the efforts during this

period that was not as successful as Wagner and his institute would have liked. By

1875 the institute had acquired a number of steam engines, boilers, electrical

generators and magnets, and similar modern instruments and working industrial

artifacts. He decided, at the suggestion of Dr. Wahl and Robert Grimshaw, a local

engineer also associated with the Franklin Institute and astronomy lecturer for the

WFIS, to hold a special monthly meeting for, “the purpose of bringing together

Inventors, Artisans &c to exhibit their various novelties, inventions, in the Art &

Sciences.”60 In other words, the Wagner Free Institute of Science was going create a

Mechanic’s Institute that largely duplicated the type of exhibitions put on at the Franklin

Institute for decades.61 The first monthly meeting of the new technology program was

held on November 13, 1875. The records of the event claim over eleven hundred

people were on hand to see demonstrations of various inventions and devices and

Trustee Wahl, himself of the Franklin Institute, read a paper on great engineering

achievements underway. Grimshaw described recent inventions for the crowd. The

second meeting was held on December 11th and was much less well attended than the

60 October 1875, The Annals. p. 233.

61 The timing is curious since two thirds of the previous year’s faculty revolt were J.B. Knight and S. Lloyd Wiegand, both affiliated with the Franklin Institute and the “conspirators” met at the Franklin Institute to discuss the letter presented to Wagner. It also appears that Wagner, and the Wagner Free Institute of Science, was not included in the planning or implementation of the Centennial Exhibition, a much larger and visible exhibition of modern science and technology. The initiation of the WFIS’s own technological exhibition in the fall of 1875 could have been completely coincidental, but the events surrounding the new program could easily have fueled Wagner’s ongoing feelings of conspiracies against him to exclude him from the mainstream scientific community and resulted in his own monthly technological exposition.

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first. It progressed much like the first meeting and featured a demonstration of a

typesetting machine invented by the A. Corey and J.M. Harper shop of Philadelphia and

featured at the following year’s Centennial Exposition. Of perhaps greater importance at

that second meeting was some initial movement to form a “Society for the Advancement

of Science & the Arts” at the institute to “discuss new inventions & discoveries in the

Arts and Sciences.” A mission statement was drawn up, about 100 signatures and

addresses were recorded, and plans were made to call an official meeting.62 In January

of 1876 the institute published a call for new processes, inventions, and articles of

manufacture in the local papers. Aspiring demonstrators only had to forward to the

institute “(expenses paid) a model, sample, or very large drawing, of the article

described” to get their ideas before the public.”63

As with the Sunday school, it is difficult to say how long the Mechanic’s Institutes

at the WFIS lasted, how regular they were, or how popular each meeting was, though

the call for inventions in January of 1876 claimed that the meetings averaged 1,000

people. There is no mention of this program after May of 1876 in the Annals of the

institute or the minutes of the trustees. A clipping in the scrapbook of the institute that

contained a very full report of one of these meetings on Saturday, March 11 contains

62 For a description of these events from the perspective of the WFIS, see 1875, The Annals, 232-234. For accounts in the local papers see “Wagner Free Institute of Science,” The Times (Philadelphia, PA) November 11, 1875, for the November meeting and “Science at the Wagner Free Institute of Science,” The Times, December 13, 1875 for the December meeting. Wagner did not inform the Board of Trustees about the new program until two days before the second meeting in December. The board approved the new program and even approved Wagner’s intention to create a school for instruction in mechanical architecture and free hand drawing. While these subjects would be taught at the Institute off and on over the years, and plans for such a school were included in other WFIS material, no such school was ever created. See Minutes of a Special Meeting of the Board of Trustees, December 9, 1875, Record of the trustees of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, 89-025, The Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

63 Advertising proof, January 1876, from vol. 1, box 1, of the Wagner Free Institute of Science Scrapbooks, 89-40 The Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

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the handwritten year 1877. This is unlikely since March 11 was not on a Saturday in

1877 but was on a Saturday in 1876. So the program of presenting the latest in

industrial advances and inventions in the arts and science probably did not last more

than six months or so. A history of the Wagner Free Institute of Science written for

volume ten of the Transactions in 1923 mentioned the “Mechanics’ Institute” and

concluded that, “conditions were not favorable, and the work was discontinued.”64 Why

conditions were not favorable is of course open to speculation, as no record was left.

However, it is probably relevant that while the WFIS was trying its hand at industrial and

technological demonstrations, the 1876 Centennial Exposition was opening and hosted,

among other displays, the very same type of exhibition and on a much larger scale.65

Elsewhere in the Annals of the institute, Wagner notes that the exposition had a

profound negative effect on lecture attendance. According to the 1876 Annual

Announcement, there were only three evenings a week at which lectures were offered,

a noticeable decline from previous years. The 1876 Exposition likely had a serious,

deleterious effect on the programs of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

The Wagner Free Institute of Science’s Place in the Community

The WFIS’s relationship with its community evolved steadily during this period.

When the new hall was inaugurated in 1865 it was still located in a mostly rural area far

from the center of Philadelphia. Though it was served by a streetcar that stopped only a

couple of blocks away, Wagner viewed this remoteness as an insurmountable obstacle

64 Transactions of the Wagner Free Institute of Science of Philadelphia, 1923, 10:p. 4.

65 For more on the Centennial Exhibition see Robert W. Rydell, All the World's a Fair: Visions of Empire at American International Expositions, 1876-1916. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984).

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to full attendance. Not only was the distance daunting to some students, especially in

foul weather, but also the lack of city infrastructure in these early years made the streets

difficult to traverse. Roads were unpaved, mostly dirt and mud with boards for walking,

there was no gas lighting in the street or in the hall, and no running water. This situation

improved steadily between 1865 and 1885. As early 1868 the city put in traditional

macadam roads of rocks and gravel for easier access. But it took years for Wagner to

convince the city to put in gas lighting on the streets to ease the passage of attendees

to and from the streetcar stop and to make the walkers feel safe. William Wagner made

this point most explicit when he noted in 1869 that, “the Spring course attracted but a

medium audience which we attributed to the want of light on Columbia Avenue every

exertion having been made with the gas office to lay the pipe and locate the lamps

without affect, and partly to the demoralized state of society, incident to the late

rebellion, precipitating upon society a large number of bad characters who carried out

their crimes in private places and unlighted streets.”66

Improvements and growth in the neighborhood began to be seen and felt by the

institute as early as 1871. In the spring of that year Wagner reported that the roads had

been further improved and curbs had been added in front of the institute. An advertising

card for this session also mentions that an additional streetcar had been added to the

neighborhood.67 By 1872 the streets were paved and lamps were installed on 17th

street and Columbia Avenue. In addition to improvements and new streetcars, Wagner

66 1869, The Annals, p. 200.

67 “The Wagner Free Institute of Science, an advertising card, 1871, vol. 1, box 1, the Wagner Free Institute of Science Scrapbooks, 89-040, The Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

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also reported that, “large rows of houses have sprung up on 17th street and on

Columbia Avenue, on the old ball club grounds and the whole neighborhood is rapidly

being built up.” Not coincidentally he also recorded that attendance at lectures that

spring had doubled, frequently surpassing a thousand students, and that his hopes for

the future of the Wagner Free Institute of Science were bright. He closed that year’s

entry in the Annals by directly comparing the centrality of his institute to that of a church.

“It is an old adage, build a church and you will build up a neighborhood which is verified

by locating the institute in its present position. Like a magnet it has attracted and

induced improvement in all directions around it.”68 By 1883 a newspaper story on the

growth of the neighborhood reported that of the original estates that once occupied all of

the land surrounding the institute, only William Wagner’s remained. All the rest had

been turned over to houses and businesses and thousands more were being built.69

The growth in the neighborhood and the concurrent growth in attendance was

not always a positive development, as the additional people were not always well

behaved either inside the institute or outside on the street. While some rowdy behavior

was suggested in the years at Spring Garden and the early years in the new hall, it

began to reach crisis proportions by the mid-1870s. In the fall of 1873 Wagner reported,

“the increase of population in the N.W. End of the City has brought a largely increased

attendance to the lectures. In most instanced the room was well filled but regret to add

that a party of young lads who were in the habit of coming gave us considerable

68 1871-1872, The Annals, 206-2011.

69 Clipping of The Public Ledger and Daily Transcript, (Philadelphia, PA) August 18, 1883, vol 1, box 1, the Wagner Free Institute of Science Scrapbooks, 89-040, The Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

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annoyance.” What they did to annoy the lecturers and audience went unexplained, but

the problem reached such a state that the local police were called in to help, “which they

failed to do making no effort to effect it sitting like so many statues perfectly regardless

of the disturbance going on around them.”70

The next year the problem got worse with a “disturbing element of young men

occasionally interrupting the quietude of our meetings” and Wagner applied to the

Mayor and a Lieutenant of the 29th Ward for police officers for protection but to no

avail.71 The lectures were not affected equally. According to Wagner, “boys and half-

grown men” mostly disturbed the Saturday night Elocution and Oratory lectures by

Professor Shoemaker. The problem got so bad the faculty began to question whether it

would be appropriate to cancel the class, “for the purpose of avoiding those mortifying

disturbances of the ebullient rogues.”72 Elocution and oratory was dropped from the

schedule the following term, due as much to the burgeoning career of Professor

Shoemaker outside the institute as to rowdy visitors.

The institute made some attempt to control the growing disruptions that occurred

both inside and outside the hall. In 1876 the WFIS adopted a ticketing system for the

first time, though only juveniles were required to carry them. Audience members under

18 were required to either be accompanied by a parent or present a red ticket with their

name and address on it upon entry. If they disrupted the proceedings they would have

their red ticket confiscated and would be kicked out. The new policy took some time to

70 1873, The Annals, p. 215.

71 1874, The Annals, 224-225.

72 1875, The Annals. 230-231.

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show any effects since the implementation roughly coincided with the opening of the

Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia which caused a huge drop in attendance until it

closed the following November. After a brief report of success in March of 1877,

Wagner judged the whole escapade a failure by the end of the session, reporting “in the

latter part of the course we were compelled to withdraw their tickets and keep them

altogether, this was a very disagreeable resort, and one which we would fain have

avoided if possible, but there seemed to be no alternative as the exuberance of youth

could not be suppressed.” 73 By 1878 young boys were excluded altogether unless

accompanied by a parent or guardian.74

Local vandals and criminals were more difficult to deal with. That same year,

boys in the neighborhood took to throwing rocks through the windows of the lecture hall

and the institute was forced to have iron window guards made and installed throughout

the building75. The following year, 1878, brought more serious crime to the hall of the

institute. In October of that year a young man by the name of Frank Hamilton, who lived

two doors down from the hall with his father, took advantage of repair work being done

on the institute’s roof, walked in among the workers, and walked out with several

precious stones from the museum including two large diamonds, polished garnets,

emeralds, sapphires, rubies, large Mexican opals and many others. Wagner claimed to

have seen the man in the museum with his hands in his pockets, but when confronted

by the President, the alleged thief claimed he just wanted to see the exhibitions since

73 First proposed and described in the June 1876 entry in The Annals, p. 238. The tickets were, of course, free. The failure was reported in 1877, The Annals, 246-247.

74 1877, The Annals. p. 247; 1878, The Annals, p. 252.

75 1877, The Annals. 245 – 246.

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the museum was free. Wagner kicked the man out before he discovered the theft. The

thief left in place of the stones a great deal of blood since he seemed to have cut

himself jimmying open the display case with a screwdriver belonging to the museum.

Mr. Hamilton ran away from his father’s house and was never heard from again.76

William Wagner personally and the institute would be victims of crime again and again

as the neighborhood grew.77

On balance, however, Wagner was appreciative of the growth of the city and the

extension of the population toward his institute. With the rowdier audience members

and additional crime, that growth also brought more students and more community

support. In 1877 he interrupted his regular recitation of classes and attendance in his

journal when he reflected that, “five lines of rail roads which can bring passengers within

half a square of the institute. This remarkable fact adds greatly to the number of our

classes together with the high and healthy part of our city have held out inducements to

very many families to build or locate in the neighborhood of the hall, indeed I may say

that it has acted like a huge magnet to draw to our doors those who are scientifically

inclined.” Wagner’s optimism encouraged him to open the doors of the museum on

Saturday afternoons during the summer with great success. Before this the museum

was only open during the class season.78

76 See “A Mean Thief: The Wagner Free Institute Plundered of Many Valuable Gems,” The Times (Philadelphia, PA), October 31, 1878; "The Wagner Institute Robbed", The Philadelphia Inquirer, October 31, 1878. found in vol 3, box 8, the Wagner Free Institute of Science Scrapbooks, 89-040, The Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science; and see 1878,The Annals, p. 260.

77 For example in 1881 one Jerome Jacobs broke into the Wagner Free Institute of Science and stole silverware, diamonds, and other items including cash. Jacobs was a disgruntled janitor fired by Wagner as well as a resident in the neighborhood. "Seen Through A Keyhole: Professor Wagner's Identification of the Janitor Who Robbed Him", The Times (Philadelphia, PA) December 10, 1881; for Wagner’s version see 1881, The Annals, p. 288.

78 1877,The Annals. 246-247.

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Physical improvements in the neighborhood and on the institute’s property often

occurred in tandem. Sometimes these improvements were instigated by the institute

and sometimes forced upon them by the city of Philadelphia. As the streets became

smoother, better graded, and even paved, the campus of the Wagner Free Institute of

Science was similarly graded and paved to keep the institute even with the

neighborhood. By 1873 both the new hall and the streets surrounding it were finally

equipped with gas piping to bring gas lamps to the building inside and out. The new hall

had been outfitted with gas pipes when it was originally built, but they were useless

without the support of pipes to bring the gas to the hall. The trustees and Wagner

himself had been lobbying the gas corporation for ten years for access to gas. The

president for life ranted in the Annals that, “no corporation ever evidenced such

contemptible disregard of the convenience of the people as did this Gas Company” for

ignoring their pleas for ten years and leaving their students, especially the females

fearing to attend lectures in the dark. “But as soon as the Gas was introduced our

audiences were largely increased.” Continuing his rant against the city in the same

entry he bemoaned, “the pavement on 17th street was torn up for the purpose of

building a sewer from Columbia ave. to Montgomery. We had never been consulted

upon the subject altho owning two thirds of the st. each side of the square and which

has become a charge against the institute of 165 dollars.” While modern sensibilities

may not find much to complain about with the addition of sewer service to our

neighborhoods, for William Wagner this gross injustice opened 14 year old wounds and

reignited his dislike for the municipal government of Philadelphia who dared yet again to

impinge upon his space. “This is the 2nd outrage committed by the municipal authorities

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upon our institute, 1st the deprivation of the Spring Garden hall next building a sewer

without consulting us which was entirely unnecessary and entirely useless to us.”79

While William Wagner often expressed displeasure with the city over issues

related to infrastructure improvement he felt were unneeded or, conversely, needed but

not built, he remained basically optimistic about the future of the neighborhood and the

institute’s place in it. Seeking to capitalize on the growth of the community, in 1883 he

contracted to build 13 houses on property he had previously donated to the institute. His

intention was to use the rents from the houses to benefit an endowment fund for the

Institution after his death. The income was estimated to be about $6,500 a year. He

believed that these houses would remain tax free, as per the articles of incorporation,

and would serve to underwrite the activities of the institute in perpetuity.80 In 1884 he

contracted to build eleven new houses on lots he had previously donated to the institute

Friction between the Wagner Free institute of Science and the city of

Philadelphia extended beyond differences of opinion over sewage, and these new

houses would become a sore point. As early as 1877 the Office for the Revision of

Taxes assessed the institute for property taxes, possibly due to the growth of the

neighborhood and the improved infrastructure. William Wagner resisted this attempt

based upon the articles of incorporation approved by the state legislature, which clearly

stated the property donated to the institute was free of taxes. After several meetings,

Wagner won the day, but this was only the beginning of the institute’s tax issues.81 The

79 1873, The Annals. 215-216.

80 1883, The Annals. p. 305.

81 March 1877, The Annals. p. 245.

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issue raised its head again in 1883 when the city attempted to collect taxes on the

portion of the institute’s lot that Wagner had built houses. The city maintained that even

though the houses were on institute property and the rents went to support the institute,

they were not part of the original Charter and were therefor liable for taxes on the

property and rental income. Wagner and the trustees obviously disagreed and engaged

lawyers to fight the city in court.82 The case would grind on for six years.

William Wagner was 85 when he finished the first round of housing construction

in 1881. Though he remained a vital member of the institute he founded, attending

lectures regularly, his health had begun to wane in his final decades. In 1873, at the age

of 77, he surrendered his teaching duties in Geology and Mineralogy to others due to

his failing eyesight.83 Though he is often listed as a lecturer after that date, he typically

provided the notes for others to lecture in his place.84 In a rant on the difficulties of

running the institute with such unreliable lecturers he expressed deep regret that he

could no longer substitute for absentee teachers due to his inability to read his notes by

lamplight.85 In 1880 he was so unwell that he missed the opening ceremonies of the

spring courses.86 By 1884 he had been confined to his house and reported himself to be

82 Minutes of a Regular Meeting of the Board of Trustees, December 28, 1884, The Wagner Free Institute of Science trustees Records, 89-025, The Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science; 1884, The Annals, p. 310.

83 1873, The Annals, p. 215.

84 For example in 1882, trustee secretary Charles P. Sherman delivered Wagner’s lectures on the life of Stephen Girard. “Points in Girard’s Life,” The Times (Philadelphia, PA)November 3, 1882.

85 1883, The Annals. p. 296. Which of course didn’t mean he couldn’t lecture without his notes as he did in 1882 for a lecture on volcanoes. See "Wagner Free Institute of Science", The Evening Star (Philadelphia, PA) Decemeber 18, 1882. From a clipping found in vol. 3, box 8, The William Wagner Free Institute of Science Scrapbooks, RG 89-040, The Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

86 1880, The Annals, p. 274.

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in very feeble health. Both the Board of Trustees and William Wagner had begun to

prepare for the demise of the founder well before his death. William Wagner, for his

part, began the construction on the houses that he hoped would provide an annual

income for the institute. Wagner and the trustees began a purge of the Board in order to

remove members who lived at a distance and replace them with local, and presumably

more active and attentive, members. This was made all the more urgent due to the

looming legal issues raised by the taxation of Wagner’s rental properties.87 In 1884,

new trustee and local scientist Joseph Willcox wrote to Joseph Wharton, co-founder of

Bethlehem Steel and founder of the Wharton School of Business at the University of

Pennsylvania, asking him to join the board. Though Willcox needed to recognize that

the board had little power now because, “Prof. Wagner has sole charge of the Inst.

Now, but being 95 years old, its affairs must soon be managed by the trustees,” the

explorer was quick to point out that the Wagner Free Institute was in great shape

financially and great things were coming. He continued, “The Prof tells me there will be

ample means, after his death, for conducting the affairs of the institute on a liberal scale

with an income of from $25,000 to $30,000 per annum.”88 Willcox was not wrong, the

death of the founder on January 17, 1885 due to “general debility from old age” brought

87 See copies of letter read into the minutes of the Board of Trustees, Wagner to T.K. Eskridge and William Wagner to Robert Cornelius, both from November 11, 1884, found in The Wagner Free Institute of Science trustees Records, 89-025, The Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

88 Willcox has Wagner’s age wrong in this letter, though he was likely mislead by Wagner who often confused dates and ages later in life. From Joseph Willcox to Mr. Joseph Wharton, box 4, folder 16, The Wagner Free Institute of Science Robert Chambers Collection, RG 90-015. Richard B. Westbrook was appointed to this opening. Westbrook was a former Presbyterian Minister who turned to industrial pursuits and in addition to being a close friend of William Wagner’s. He also wrote extensively on issues related to science and religion.

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new life to the Wagner Free Institute of Science that included new exhibits, scientific

exploration, a published Transactions, and new community partnerships.

In one of the last entries in the institute’s Annals, written when he was confined to

his home due to ill health, the 92 year old William Wagner pondered the changes in his

neighborhood, “The N.W. Section of our city on which the institute is located has

recorded great accessions to its populations recently and the streets are being built up

in all directions with amaising [sic] rapidity. Thousands of house are N.W. Of us. When

the institute was built it stood out in a field and not a street was opened North of

Columbia Avenue and now it is nearly all built up and densely populated. Many have

rented houses for the purpose of being contiguous to the institute thus enabling them to

attend the lectures. The rapid and unexpected increase of the population has so swollen

our classes that it is very encouraging to our Professors.”89 The professors were no

more encouraged than William Wagner, who continued in his decline to plan for the

future of the institute that would continue to bear his name. From its initial founding in

1855 through his eventual death in 1885, Wagner had fought to create a space for free

science education for the people of Philadelphia. To maintain the integrity of that space,

as he defined it, he had to fight city officials, incompetent teachers, an expanding

neighborhood and the pressures that brought to bear, and even his own irascible

nature. But on his death he and his wife Louisa had prepared the Wagner Free Institute

of Science for a period of expansion, renewal, and professionalization that would

replace young, inexperienced lecturers with some of the most renown scientists of the

89 1884, The Annals. p. 311-312.

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late 19th century and usher in relative golden age of scientific accomplishment and

education while maintaining Wagner’s ambition of free scientific education.

An obituary published in The Morning News in nearby Wilmington, Delaware

compared William Wagner directly and favorably with his old mentor when they wrote,

“With the exception of Girard, indeed, no man has done anything like the amount of

good for the youth of this city that this good citizen —alone, and often under

contemptuous discouragement — accomplished. He leaves behind him a name for

unselfish devotion to good works which assuredly will grow brighter year by year.”90

90 “A Dead Philanthropist,” The Morning News (Wilmington, DE), January 22, 1885.

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CHAPTER 5 PROFESSIONALIZING AND EXPANDING 1885-1912

The services for William Wagner’s death were held on January 20, 1885 in the

lecture hall of the institute he founded and directed for thirty years. The entire hall,

including the stage, chandeliers, and columns were draped in black. The hall was filled

to capacity with so many disappointed mourners clogging the hallway, vestibule,

entrance, and street that the funeral cortege had difficulty entering the building. The

burial service was officiated by the Reverend J.D. Newland of the Church of the

Incarnation. Also in attendance on the platform was the Rev. Dr. S.A. Mutchmore of the

Memorial Presbyterian Church. At the conclusion of the services, William Wagner was

laid to rest in the vault beneath the institute that was built for this purpose, a last

homage to his mentor Stephen Girard who had himself been laid to rest in Girard

College. Wagner lay under his institute for one year before he was reinterred in local

cemetery. There would be at least two more memorial services for the merchant and

scientist, one at the Universalist Church of the Restoration around the corner from the

institute and one in the lecture hall of the institute itself. While he may have been a

difficult man to work with or for, he was steadfastly loyal to friends and colleagues alike,

and he would be fondly remembered for decades after his death. More importantly his

legacy and influence would be felt for over a century more.1

William Wagner founded and was in sole charge of the Wagner Free Institute of

Science for approximately thirty years. In that time he had made almost every decision,

1 Death of William Wagner,” The Inquirer (Philadelphia, PA), February 2, 1885; “A Dead Philanthropist,” The Morning News (Wilmington, DE), January 22, 1885.

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for good or for ill, which defined the WFIS physically, geographically, and intellectually.

Now that he had moved on and left a dedicated and loyal team of trustees in charge of

the WFIS, that space would be defined by a group of people with different agendas and

visions for this relatively modest scientific institution in northwest Philadelphia. In fact,

Wagner’s death breathed new life into the institution he founded. Upon his death flaws

and problems at the institute were highlighted and those left in charge would seek to

remedy them. Simultaneously they took the programs in new directions and expanded

the space of the hall. This new team of people increasingly included locally important

teachers, scientists, and medical doctors, but also nationally prominent scientists like

Joseph Willcox, Angelo Heilprin, E.D. Cope, and the most prominent of all, Joseph

Leidy.

These new leaders had broader ambitions than to serve merely as a resource for

the local community and the city of Philadelphia. Under their leadership the Wagner

Free Institute of Science would undertake productive partnerships with local universities

and libraries, implement an agenda of research and exploration, and even publish a

journal that included important recent findings in a number of areas, but mostly geology,

mineralogy and, Wagner’s favorite topic, malacology. These trustees and the people

they hired would also have a profound impact on the physical space of the institute.

They made much needed repairs and upgrades to the building, added a wing for a new

library, and reinstalled and updated the museum displays. The last decades of the

nineteenth century and the first decades of the twentieth century would be an era of

expansion and professionalization. This chapter will examine those years of transition,

highlighting some of the challenges left behind by William Wagner’s tenure. Then it will

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concentrate on areas in which the new leadership of the institute sought to expand the

reach of the WFIS including an agenda of scientific research, initiatingThe Transactions

of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, and forming local partnerships that William

Wagner would likely have turned down.

A Time Transition

The death of William Wagner ushered in a new regime of management. Both the

original articles of incorporation of 1855 and the supplementary act of 1864, as well as

the Deed of Trust written by Wagner and his wife Louisa, gave the founder sole control

over all of the operations of the Wagner Free Institute of Science. Though this control

did not go completely unchallenged during Wagner’s lifetime, those few challenges that

did occur were largely ineffectual. With the passing of the original director, a new

system had to be put into place. The trustees needed to be converted from being

merely an advisory board into a group that actually needed to exercise control of the

institute. A series of committees were created to oversee specific areas of the

institute’s management including committees on instruction, the building, the museum,

and finance. They would ultimately form a committee on property to oversee the

management of the houses built by Wagner and a faculty committee. There were also

special committees appointed to take care of specific tasks, especially as these related

to repairs and upgrades to the building, such as a special committee on lighting or

heatng and ventilation. All of these committees reported to the Board of Trustees, which

at this time consisted of Samuel Wagner, Jr., President, Richard Westbrook, Treasurer,

Joseph Willcox, Sydney Skidmore, J. Vaughn Merrick, and Samuel Cramp, son of

famous Philadelphia shipbuilder William Cramp and one of the sons in the “Cramp and

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Sons” company. When needed, staff was also hired to run the institution and work on

special projects.

The transition was not always easy. Many problems that had either been created

or ignored by the founder demanded the immediate attention of the trustees and the

various committees formed to run the institute. For example, William Wagner’s

enthusiasm for collecting natural history specimens was well known during his day and

accounted for a large part of his life after he retired from business. Whether he was

walking the forests and hills around Philadelphia, trading pieces with other collectors or

buying entire collections from the estates of the recently departed, he never seemed to

stop collecting. He also amassed a wide-ranging collection of instruments, machines,

industrial inventions, illustrations for teaching, and other items he deemed useful for the

institute and the fulfillment of its mission. However, the sheer size of this collection must

have presented myriad problems for the institute at Wagner’s passing, because one of

the first acts of the Board of Trustees was to form a committee be authorized to, “make

such sales or exchanges of duplicated specimens in the Museum as in their judgment

shall be advantageous to the institute.”2 A couple of months later the museum hired Ida

Craddock, a local free speech and women’s rights activist and amateur naturalist, to

help with this project.3

2 Minutes of the Board of Trustees, July 27, 1885, box 3, folder 3, Wagner Free Institute of Science Director’s Files, trustees Records, 90-010, The Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

3 Craddock was also an advocate for women’s education and something of a controversial figure dabbling in the occult and performing a scandalous belly dance at the Columbia Exhibition in Chicago in 1893. She was a protégé of trustee Richard Westbrook who was a lifelong friend and fellow advocate for women’s rights and coeducation. See Leigh Eric Schmidt, Heaven's Bride: The Unprintable Life of Ida C. Craddock, American Mystic, Scholar, Sexologist, Martyr, and Madwoman (New York, NY: Basic Books, 2010).

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But foremost among the lingering problems was the building itself. Although

repairs and upgrades were almost continuous during the first 20 years, many of the

original plans for the institution were still unrealized. Some of these were large projects

that would never see fruition, such as the planned observatories for astronomy and

meteorology. Other items left undone during the original construction included stuccoing

the interior walls, which had been left bare, and windows in the upper story had been

left only partially glazed with the upper portions of each window frame remaining

boarded. Although the new building was inaugurated to much fanfare in 1865, the

building itself was never truly completed; it existed, according to one report, in an

“unfinished state, and is in need of extensive repairs and permanent improvement to fit

it for use in carrying out the work contemplated by the founder of the institute and set

out in the deed of Trust conveying the property to the trustees.” That same report

concluded that “the evident and expressed intent of the founder was to accumulate

during his life-time as large an endowment as possible for the institute, and he

expended very little money on the Building.”4 It was actually enough money to keep

the programs and projects of the institute operating, but not enough to repair, upgrade,

and complete the construction of the physical space of the institute.

One of the first acts of the new Board of Trustees was to engage an architect to

survey the building and make recommendations for needed repairs and construction.5

In addition to these improvements, the Board of Trustees also approved purchase of

4 See Opinions of Counsel on Indebtedness, April 18, 1885, box 1, folder 10, The Wagner Free Institute of Science Records of Montgomery Lynch, Actuary and Librarian, 91-040, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

5 Minutes of the Board of Trustees, January 28, 1885, box 3, folder 3, The Wagner Free Institute of Science Director’s Files and Business Records, 90-010, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

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such basics as blackboards for the lecture and classrooms and stationary for use in

institute correspondence.6 But lack of funding continued to impede the completion of the

building. Wagner’s will made available a large sum of money to be used by the trustees

to further the institute’s mission and complete needed repairs and upgrades to the

building. His estate was estimated to be worth about $1,000,000, and the WFIS and

Louisa Wagner were the sole beneficiaries. In addition to the natural history collection,

scientific instruments, library, illustrations, teaching instruments, and real estate,

Wagner left the institute an endowment that would yield an annual income about

$15,000 a year.7 As of 1885 the rental properties earned the institute about another

$11,000 a year.8 It was estimated that the total needed to finish all required repairs to

the institute would cost about $15,000. However, the institute could not afford that much

while still maintaining the programs and projects dictated by the deed of Trust and

desired by the new leadership. Though William Wagner left ample resources for the

continued operation of the institute, the amount was insufficient to complete needed

construction and repairs. The obvious solution was for the WFIS to borrow the money.

After a series of trustee meetings and consultation with council, however, it was

determined that according to the deed of trust, the institute was not allowed to incur

6 Minutes of meeting of the Board of Trustees, September 28, 1885, box 3, folder 3, The Wagner Free Institute of Science Director’s Files and Business Records, 90-010, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

7 "Professor Wagner's Estate," The Times (Philadelphia, PA), February 3, 1885.

8 This estimate is based on reports by Richard Westbrook the treasurer of the WFIS at this time. Treasurer’s Report, November 24, 1885, box 4, folder 18, Wagner Free Institute of Science Robert Chambers Collection, Board Reports, 90-015, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

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debt. Repairs, improvements, and construction, therefore, had to be stretched out over

a longer period of time.

Since the money available for repairs and upgrades was limited, the trustees

went ahead only with the work that was deemed necessary for the health of the

building. Other work was set aside as being not important. These deferred repairs

included brickwork in the cellar, strengthening the wood under the front galleries,

installing three “water closets,” putting in a heating system, redoing the plaster work

throughout the museum, and painting the inside of the entire second story.9 The next

few years saw a major refurbishment to the hall of the Wagner Free Institute that

included stuccoing the exterior brick, opening up upper arches, installing sashes. and

constructing a projecting entrance vestibule and entrance porch. In addition, new walls

and floors were installed, and the classrooms along the east side of the hall were

consolidated to form a library with chairs and tables designed by the architects. Far

more important were the changes to the museum of the WFIS. The architects designed

an extensive series of exhibition cases, shelves, and cabinets and built a curator’s office

on the first floor of the gallery level. The new floor plan and exhibition furniture were

central to the reorganization and reinstallation of the museum that would be

accomplished under the leadership of Joseph Leidy.10

9 Report of the Building Committee to the Board of Trustees, May 11, 1886, box 4, folder 19, The Wagner Free Institute of Science Robert Chambers Collection, Board Records, 90-015, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

10 For a history of the various construction phases of the Wagner Free Institute of Science see National Register of Historic Places/National Historic Landmark Nomination Form for the Wagner Free Institute of Science, ed. United States Department of the Interior (Washington, DC: National Park Service, 1989). D Kurtz, T L Heller and S Glassman, "Sitting on History: Conservation and Reproduction of 19th Century Auditorium Seats", Objects Specialty Group Postprints, 2000, 7: 46-78, and M.L. Goeke, "Assessment and Analysis of the Plaster Exhibit hall Ceiling at the Wagner Free Institute of Science, "M.A. Thesis, University of Pennsylvania, 2008.

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The rental properties that Wagner constructed on the institute’s properties may

have been financially rewarding, but they often proved to be a drain on the trustees’ and

staff’s other resources. Though they brought in a regular income in rents, they also

demanded trustee and staff time with repairs, difficult tenants, regulation and

interference by the city, and, of course, there was a lawsuit brought by the city looming

over the WFIS head. If the decision in that case went against the institute, the income

from those rental properties would be limited.

The truth was, that more than a few of the houses built by Wagner needed

repairs and upgrades not long after they were built. One or two of them were in such

disrepair that they were condemned by the city, some while Wagner was still alive.11 He

completed the repairs so that the properties could be occupied again. Others were in

such bad shape that the only alternative was to tear them down and start over.12 In

addition to these extreme examples, some of the houses needed new heating systems,

re-glazed and pointed chimneys, and windows repaired. 13 Just as repairs to the hall

itself were prioritized, work on the rental properties had to be limited to only the most

needful work. Eventually the Wagner Free Institute of Science would hire someone to

run the day-to-day business of the institute and handle these issues.

11 See letter from real estate agent Henry B. Foulke to Richard Westbrook, December 2, 1886, box 4, folder 10, The Wagner Free Institute of Science Robert Chambers Collection, Building Materials, 90-015, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

12 Letter from Richard B. Westbrook to Cramp, December 9, 1886. box 4, folder 10, The Wagner Free Institute of Science Robert Chambers Collection, Building Materials, 90-015, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

13 There are myriad letters between various trustees, real estate agents, and tenants concerning these issues. See for example letters between trustees Richard Westbrook and Samuel Wagner, Jr. and real estate agent Henry B. Faulks, box 4, folder 19, Wagner Free Institute of Science Robert Chambers Collection, Building Materials, 90-015 , Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

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In addition to the day-to-day problems of overseeing so many rental properties,

the institute had the lawsuit over their unpaid taxes still wending its way through the

courts. This issue, another holdover from William Wagner’s tenure, was an attempt by

the city of Philadelphia to collect taxes on the rental properties, as well as the income

from them. The institute maintained that according to their amended charter passed by

the state legislature in 1864, they were exempt from taxations, “so long as the same

shall be used for free lectures.”14 Since the money derived from the rents went to

support the free lectures, Wagner, and then the trustees after his death, thought it

logical that those buildings and rents were tax exempt. The city disagreed and a long

court case ensued that hung over the WFIS for several years. The case was ultimately

decided against the institute and the trustees had to find room in their budget for annual

taxes on the rental properties.15 This was estimated at the time to be about $2,500 a

year.

Despite these financial setbacks, the schedule of popular lectures continued

uninterrupted, even after Wagner’s death. After a Committee of Instruction was formed

at the first trustees’ meeting following the burial of the founder, that committee made

plans to open the spring 1885 lecture season on March 7, 1885. There were six

14 Quoted in the Announcement of the Wagner Free Institute of Science for the Collegiate Year 1883, 1883, p. 21.

15 The best overviews of this case can be found in various newspaper articles announcing the decisions. See "The Subject of Taxation: An Interesting Opinion by Judge Mitchell in the Wagner Free Institute Case", The Times (Philadelphia, PA), January 21, 1886; "Wagner Free Institute: Fighting the Taxation of Its Endowed Property", The Times (Philadelphia, PA) January 13, 1889, and for a breakdown of what those properties were worth and how much this cost the Wagner Free Institute of Science See "Wagner institute Taxes: A Decision in Favor of the City — Dr. Leidy's Mission to Europe", The Press (Philadelphia, PA) January 13, 1889.

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courses, one each in chemistry, botany, anatomy, elocution, geology and evolution, and

hygiene.

Unsurprisingly, the opening night of the 1885 spring course of lectures was

largely a second memorial for Wagner.16 The Board of Trustees chose Dr. Richard

Westbrook to deliver the keynote address. Dr. Westbrook was a close friend of

Wagner’s and an appropriate as well as interesting choice. Richard B. Westbrook was

an ordained Methodist minister who left his original calling over changes in his views on

certain theological issues and his view of the church’s activities in political and civic life.

He became a lawyer and ultimately distinguished himself in the coal mining industry in

Pennsylvania. In later years he turned against religious authority in the public and civic

affairs of the nation, as well as Philadelphia. In such books as The Bible — Hence and

What, Girard’s Will and Girard College Theology, and Man—Whence and Whither? He

argued for a truth-based theology that incorporated the latest findings of science,

including evolution.17 He ultimately had much in common with Wagner who himself

subscribed to a version of natural theology that trusted science to reveal the work of

God. It was likely this combination of deep faith, a distrust of religion in civic life, and a

trust in science for revealing God’s truth that drew them together as friends. In his final

memoriam to Wagner, Westbrook took on those who described Wagner as an agnostic,

or worse an atheist. It was an ironic development for the former Sunday School lay

16 Minutes of the Board of Trustees, February 24, 1885, box 3, folder 3, The Wagner Free Institute of Science Director’s Files, Board of Trustees Records, 90-010, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science

17 See Richard Brodhead Westbrook, Man--whence and Whither? (Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott & Co., 1884). Richard B Westbrook, The Bible--whence and What? (Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott, 1882) for a sampling of Westbrook’s work.

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reader. Westbrook’s oration that March evening drew several articles in the local papers

and was eventually published as a pamphlet.18

Though the spring course of lectures were largely the same size and scope as in

the years preceding Wagner’s death, the next couple of years saw a severe attenuation

of the popular course of lectures at the WFIS. The next series of courses, scheduled for

the fall of 1885, consisted of only three subjects which would continue to be the norm

until 1893 and the WFIS returned to six subjects a session. Also, from the school year

1886-87 to 1888-89, the WFIS only had one session of classes per “school year.”

Instead of a fall and spring course of classes, they had only one season that lasted from

about November until April, taking breaks for appropriate holidays and bad weather.

Although there is no record that explicitly explains why the schedule of popular lectures

was so truncated, it isn’t difficult to see the possible reasons. With the additional money

available to make repairs to the hall, access to the building needed to be limited. They

could not, however, restrict classes outright, because their charter required them to

teach science classes to remain tax-exempt. It is possible the trustees did not want to

tempt a city bureaucracy who was already challenging their finances.

The cessation of classes during this period had another consequence—it freed

up faculty to do other things for the institute. These activities would help expand the

scope of the institute’s work and therefore the WFIS had a stake in not burdening them

with lots of classes, or, in the case of Joseph Leidy, administering a rigorous academic

calendar. During the period between 1885 and 1893, the faculty consisted of only three

18 Richard Brodhead Westbrook, In Memoriam William Wagner (Philadelphia: hall of the Wagner Free Institute of Science 1885).

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people, plus a president of the faculty. The faculty itself shifted, based upon the classes

being taught but any given session might include William Wagner’s favorite lecturer

Henry Leffman in chemistry, newly appointed Angelo Heilprin of the Academy of Natural

Sciences in Geology, and Trustee Sydney Skidmore in Physics. While all of these

lecturers had day jobs and host institutions to maintain their livings, they also had added

responsibilities at the WFIS that kept them equally busy. Both Librarian and Secretary of

the WFIS, Leffman helped with repairs and upgrades related to the institute’s library and

modest laboratory. Sydney Skidmore, furthermore, was heavily involved with the

management of the rental properties and the ongoing repairs, while Angelo Heilprin had

a steady schedule of fieldwork in geology during his non-teaching months, and those

fieldwork excursions were, for at least for a few years, going to be supported by the

WFIS. And though he wouldn’t teach any courses at the WFIS, Joseph Leidy had plenty

to do at the institute including organizing research trips, coordinating the publication of

the institute’s first volume of its new Transactions, and, with the assistance of Trustee

Joseph Wilcox, getting William Wagner’s sprawling natural history collection under

control and reinstalling new exhibitions in the museum galleries that were in the process

of being upgraded. In short, if the new leadership of the Wagner Free Institute of

Science was serious about its new programs as well as expanding and

professionalizing its work, it had an interest in not overburdening the various members

of its scientific family, and truncating the teaching load was a logical step. Whether that

was part of the cause of the attenuated lecture seasons or a happy coincidence is

unknown.

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A Space for Science at the Wagner Free Instate of Science

Of all the events that occurred in the years immediately after Wagner’s death,

perhaps the most momentous was convincing Joseph Leidy to become the first

president of the faculty and the Curator of the museum. It reflected the desire by the

leaders of the institute to make it a serious contributor to scientific knowledge, and not

just a space for informal science education. The trustees had solid plans to support

original research, publish that research in the Transactions, and to have a first class

natural history museum to rival the Academy of Natural History. While other people

associated with the institute had the skills and knowledge that could accomplish these

tasks, Joseph Leidy had the contacts and leadership experience to make sure they

happened. When Leidy died in 1891, just six years after joining the Wagner family, the

trustees adopted a resolution that read, in part, “To the Wagner Free Institute of

Science the loss occasioned by his death cannot be repaired. The place he left vacant

cannot be filled. To him more than to any other man is due whatever has been

accomplished by the institute, since the death of its founder, in the cause of science.”19

By the time Leidy took these positions at the WFIS, he had already distinguished

himself as the father of vertebrate paleontology and parasitology and was one of the

leading scientists in America and possibly the world, maintaining working relationships

with some of the most famous scientists of the nineteenth century including Charles

Lyell, Richard Owen, and Charles Darwin. Perhaps more importantly for the history of

the Wagner Free Institute of Science, he was also the leading scientist in the city of

19 "In Dr. Leidy's Memory: The Board of Trustees of the Wagner institute Adopt Resolutions,” The Times (Philadelphia, PA) May 7, 1891. Also quoted in W S W Ruschenberger, "A Sketch of the Life of Joseph Leidy, M. D., LL. D", Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, 1892, 30: 135-184. http://www.jstor.org/stable/983169.

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Philadelphia. This was due not only to his accomplishments in a number of fields of

study (he published over 800 scientific articles in his life) but also because he was very

active in the leadership of a number of different schools and scientific organizations. He

was appointed librarian of the Academy of Natural Sciences in 1845 and its curator in

1846. He held each position for the rest of this life. Throughout his life he was affiliated

with colleges like Swarthmore and the University of Pennsylvania, founding the

Department of Natural History at the former and the Department of Biology at the latter.

He was the first president of the American Association of Anatomists and a member of

more than 50 societies including the American Philosophical Society, and he was the

recipient of awards and honors from around the world. While curator at the Wagner

Free Institute of Science and the Academy of Natural Sciences, he was also involved

with the expansion of the natural history exhibitions at the University of Pennsylvania.

He dominated American vertebrate paleontology from 1850-1870 and scientists and

collectors from around the world sent their specimens to him for study. He was not only

a great scientist, but also a leading figure in the field and the mentor, teacher, and

leader of a generation of natural scientists and biologists. The addition of Leidy to the

leadership team of the institute brought not only an accomplished naturalist to wrangle

the sprawling collection into submission and redesign new exhibits for the museum,

although he accomplished these tasks handily. He also brought an experienced

administrator and manager to the institute, someone who could organize people as well

as he could organize specimens to help make the WFIS a place as well known for

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creating new scientific knowledge through exploration and research as it was for free

science education.20

The WFIS appointed Joseph Leidy to be its first President of the Faculty and

Professor of Biology in July of 1885 at an annual salary of $500. In a sketch of Leidy

presented to the American Philosophical Society, William Ruschenberger, President of

the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia, noted that after bringing Leidy on the

trustees deferred to him in all matters of scientific policy and subjected all decisions on

faculty to his approval.21 Although he did not teach any of the courses himself, he did

provide occasional lectures to mark the opening and closing of the seasons, lecturing

on such topics as man’s place in the animal kingdom and the life of coral. His lectures

were reportedly well attended. His interest in the growth of the library and museum of

the WFIS was genuine as he often gave to its collections volumes and specimens from

his own collection. He was made Curator of the Museum in June of 1890 and spent his

final days at the institute reorganizing its exhibits and displays.

Leidy lost little time after his appointment to the presidency of the faculty before

initiating the projects that would bring change to the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

He quickly brought in new faculty including Angelo Heilprin from the Academy of Natural

20 Oddly only one biography of Leidy has been published in the last 50 years and that is Leonard Warren, Joseph Leidy: The Last Man Who Knew Everything (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998). However, there are a couple of works that have provided information more specific to the Wagner Free Institute of Science and those are Ronald Rainger, "The Rise and Decline of a Science: Vertebrate Paleontology at Philadelphia's Academy of Natural Sciences, 1820-1900", Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, 1992, 136:1-32. http://www.jstor.org/stable/986795; and Susan Glassman, Eugene Bolt, and Earle Spamer, "Joseph Leidy and the "Great Inventory of Nature"", Proceedings of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia, 1993:1-19. http://www.jstor.org/stable/4065003. After his death in 1891, a number of colleagues and students wrote short sketches and biographies of his life and work including Ruschenberger, "A Sketch of the Life of Joseph Leidy, M. D., LL. D,” 1892 and Henry Fairfield Osborn, Biographical Memoir of Joseph Leidy, 1823-1891 (Washington, D.C.: National Academy of Sciences, 1913).

21 Ruschenberger, "A Sketch of the Life of Joseph Leidy, M. D., LL. D,” 1892, p. 156

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Sciences who joined the WFIS as a professor of geology and the supervisor of the

museum. At the request of the board to create an inventory of the collection, he devised

a system to sort through the collection and identify items to save for the museum, keep

for instruction, hold for exchange, or disposal.22 But while these smaller decisions and

changes were important to instill some discipline to the institute, the more important

contributions to the scientific achievements of the WFIS were coordinating the work of

trustee Joseph Willcox and Heilprin to support a collecting expedition to Florida that

produced not only a seminal work on Florida paleontology, but also helped launch the

Transactions of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

Joseph Leidy dominated research and publication in what the National Museum

of Natural History’s paleobiologist Clayton E. Ray dubbed the “First Classical Period” of

Florida paleontology, which lasted from 1881 to 1896.23 He did so through his work with

the Wagner Free Institute of Science and William Healy Dall at the Smithsonian. At first

blush the choice of Florida as the site of the WFIS’s first collecting expedition and the

source of material for the first issues of the Transactions may seem like an odd one. It

was, however, the result of the state of vertebrate paleontology in America at the time,

Joseph Leidy’s place in that history, and the contingencies of personality and history. As

mentioned above, Joseph Leidy was for many years America’s foremost paleontologist

as well as a leader in a number of fields including anatomy, physiology, geology and

botany. Not much of an explorer himself, and largely from financial necessity, Leidy

22 See the Faculty Meeting Minutes for December 29, 1885, folder 1, The Wagner Free Institute of Science Department of Instruction, Faculty, 91-045, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

23 C. E. Ray, "An Idiosyncratic History of Floridian Vertebrate Paleontology,” Bulletin of the Florida Museum of Natural History, 2005, 45:143-170.

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depended mostly on specimens sent to him by collectors throughout the world. His fame

in vertebrate paleontology grew, especially after 1858 when he, Edward Drinker Cope,

and British artist and preparator Benjamin Waterhouse Hawkins assembled the first fully

mounted dinosaur skeleton in the world, a Hadrosaur found in Haddonfield, New Jersey.

It was so popular that the Academy of Natural Sciences increased its admission fee in

order to discourage visitors. Leidy’s ability to rely on the cooperation of other collectors

for new and interesting specimens was challenged by the entry into the field of his

protégé E.D. Cope and Yale’s O.C. Marsh. Both of these men were talented

paleontologists, intensely ambitious, and independently wealthy. Though they started as

amicable colleagues they soon developed a rivalry for specimens, argued about priority

claims on new species, as well as the interpretation of finds and accuracy of description.

The rivalry became so intense that some historians have dubbed it the “Bone Wars” or

the “Great Dinosaur Rush” of the nineteenth century. Joseph Leidy attempted to steer a

middle course but his reputation tended to suffer through his association with Cope and

Cope’s association with the Academy. The “war” between the Cope and Marsh

eventually alienated the older, and more amiable Leidy who commented to one of this

students, and fellow Wagner faculty member, William Berryman Scott, “I can’t stand this

fighting. It disgusts me and I am going to drop paleontology and have nothing to do with

it because of the way Marsh and Cope are in each other’s will all the time.”24

24 William B Scott, "Leidy's Paleontological and Geological Work,” The Scientific Monthly 1924, 18: p. 438. The “Bone Wars” have received ample treatment in the scholarly and popular press. See for example David Rains Wallace, The Bonehunters' Revenge: Dinosaurs, Greed, and the Greatest Scientific Feud of the Gilded Age (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1999) and Mark Jaffe, The Gilded Dinosaur: The Fossil War Between E.D. Cope and O.C. Marsh and the Rise of American Science (New York: Crown, 2000).

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The problem wasn’t just about reputations and feelings, however. Both Cope and

Marsh began to corner the market on new fossil finds through the indiscriminate use of

their independent wealth to outdo each other. Leidy was not independently wealthy like

Cope and Marsh and had to rely on his professorships for income, including his $500

per annum salary from the Wagner. He was not able to acquire the important fossils he

once did. Leidy lamented to English geologist Archibald Geikie, “Formerly every fossil

one found in the states came to me, for nobody else cared to study such things; but now

Professors Marsh and Cope, with long purses, offer money for what used to come to me

for nothing, and in that respect I cannot compete with them. So now, as I get nothing, I

have gone back to my microscope and my Rhizopods and make myself busy and happy

with them.”25 Significantly, Marsh and Cope were largely obsessed with the finds of

extinct charismatic mega fauna west of the Mississippi and mostly left places like

Florida alone. This resulted in little being known about the geology of the state.

Since his supply of significant vertebrate fossils had all but dried up with the

incursion of Cope, Marsh, and money into the profession, Leidy had to rely on the

largesse of new people sending him new fossils. These people included the

Smithsonian’s Spencer Baird, John Wesley Powell, and the Wagner Free Institute’s own

Joseph Willcox. Joseph Willcox has been described as a “somewhat shadowy” figure by

historians of science and an “intimate friend” of Joseph Leidy’s by Henry Fairfield

Osborn. Willcox was a longtime member of the Academy of Natural Sciences and a

trustee of the WFIS from 1878 to his death in 1918. He was long associated with Leidy

through those two institutions and published intermittently on mineralogy, paleontology,

25 Osborn, Biographical Memoir of Joseph Leidy, 1823-1891, p. 365.

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and geology. He was considered wealthy, though not as wealthy as Cope and Marsh,

and was a gentleman scientist of the type quickly going out of fashion in American

science. He often wintered on the west coast of Florida, where he developed the habit

of exploring and collecting samples, which he sent back to Philadelphia to both the

WFIS and the Academy of Natural Sciences. When Leidy and the WFIS considered a

research trip, it seemed natural to build on the work already done, however superficially,

by Willcox in Florida and thus paired Willcox with Heilprin.

Compared to the “shadowy” Willcox and the famous Joseph Leidy, Angelo

Heilprin fell somewhere in the middle. He was by all accounts a well-known and beloved

figure in American science. He was born in Hungary in 1853 and was three years old

when his parents emigrated to the United States. He was educated in Europe and made

special study of natural history. He returned to the United States in 1879 where he

quickly became affiliated with the Academy of Natural Sciences, publishing his first

paper in those organization’s Proceedings that same year. In 1880 he was appointed to

the Academy’s professorship in invertebrate paleontology and in 1883 Curator-in-

Charge. In addition to his work in paleontology, he was also well known for starting a

new monthly journal entitled Around the World, which was a popular magazine on

geography and is widely considered to be the prototype for National Geographic.

Establishing a popular, though highly literate, journal of geography was only one of

Heilprin’s many efforts to popularize scientific knowledge. He was instrumental in

developing lectures at the Academy aimed at popular audiences and along with E.D.

Cope advocated for the creation of a lecture hall. He also wrote what is considered to

be the first book on local geology for a popular audience, Town Geology: The Lesson of

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the Philadelphia Rocks.26 While his advocacy for popular audiences may have gotten

him branded as an upstart and radical in the staid halls of the Academy of Natural

Sciences, it endeared him greatly to Joseph Leidy and the leadership of the Wagner

Free Institute of Science who shared his views.

In 1885 Heilprin accepted an invitation from Leidy and the institute to join their

faculty and teach courses in geology and would ultimately be named curator of their

museum. In late 1886 he and Joseph Willcox left the cold Philadelphia winter to explore

the heretofore terra incognita of the west coast and interior of Florida.27 According to a

verbal report that Willcox and Heilprin made to a crowd gathered at the Wagner Free

Institute of Science, it was an adventurous and fruitful expedition. They explored the

floor of the Gulf of Mexico through a series of sea drags and an overland trek that took

them along the Caloosahatchie River to Lake Okeechobee and in to the Everglades.

They were pleased to point out that contrary to the view of many geologists, including

the late Louis Agassiz, this part of the Florida peninsula did not consist of recently

formed coral reef, but consisted of the same substrata as the rest of North America and

was just as ancient.28 The expedition produced hundreds of specimens of both

vertebrate and invertebrate fossils. Some of the specimens that were sent back were

26 Angelo Heilprin. Town Geology: The Lesson of the Philadelphia Rocks: Studies of Nature Along the Highways and Among the Byways of a Metropolitan Town. (Philadelphia: A. Heilprin, 1885).

27 For biographical information on Angelo Heilprin see Gustav Pollak, Michael Heilprin and His Sons: A Biography (New York, NY:Dodd, 1912); Spamer and Forster, A Catalogue of Type Fossils in the Wagner Free Institute of Science, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania: With a History of Paleontology at the Institute

(Philadelphia: The Wagner Free Institute of Science,1988).

28 The report at the Wagner Free Institute of Science was described in “Florida Explorations,” The Public Ledger, (Philadelphia, PA) April 28, 1886 found in vol. 1, Wagner Free Institute of Science Scrapbooks, 89-040, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science; On the dispute over the geology of Florida see Louis Agassiz, Report on the Florida Reefs, (Cambridge, Mass.: Museum, 1880); and Angelo Heilprin "The Corals and Coral Reefs of the Western Waters of the Gulf of Mexico." Proceedings of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia, 1890, 42:303-316.

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deposited at the Academy of Natural Sciences, possibly as a reward for giving Heilprin

time away on Wagner business, but most were sent to the collections of the WFIS

where many of them still reside today including several type specimens.29

The expedition lasted approximately seven weeks with Heilprin and Willcox

returning in April of 1886. Heilprin immediately set about arranging and describing the

fossils collected, a task that would take most of the rest of the year. Also almost

immediately upon the return of the expedition to Philadelphia, the faculty of the WFIS

met to discuss whether to publish a regular journal and to use Heilprin’s descriptions of

the expedition as the first number. It was decided that issuing a regular publication

would be too costly at the time. Although the official minutes do not state the reason, the

court case with the city of Philadelphia over taxes must have weighed on their minds as

much as it weighed on the trustees. The WFIS had lost it’s first hearing in January of

that year and while there would be appeals, it did not look good. With the future

finances of the WFIS so uncertain a long-range obligation would have been difficult to

support. Instead of a series of publications, the faculty discussed other options of

publishing Heilprin’s report, including absorbing the total cost, asking the Academy of

Natural Sciences to publish the volume, or having the U.S. Geological Survey publish

it.30 It was decided at a subsequent meeting of the faculty that the WFIS should

shoulder the entire cost of the publication and made that recommendation, which was

29 For different accounts of the expedition see Ray, "An Idiosyncratic History of Floridian Vertebrate Paleontology," 2005 and Angelo Heilprin and Wagner Free Institute of Science, Explorations on the West Coast of Florida and in the Okeechobee Wilderness: With Special Reference to the Geology and Zoology of the Floridian Peninsula: A Narrative of Researches Undertaken Under the Auspices of the Wagner Free Institute of Science of Philadelphia (Philadelphia: The Wagner Free Institute of Science, 1887).

30 Minutes of the Faculty, April 26, 1886, folder 1, Wagner Free Institute of Science, Department of Instruction, Faculty, 91-045 Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

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accepted.31 The first volume of The Transactions of the Wagner Free Institute of

Science was published in May of 1887 and consisted entirely of Heilprin’s report,

entitled Explorations on the West Coast of Florida and in the Okeechobee Wilderness.32

The publication of this volume was a major step forward in the professionalization

of the scientific work of the Wagner Free Institute of Science. In an interesting exchange

between Joseph Willcox and Smithsonian malacologist William Healy Dall, Willcox

expressed feelings of being on the cusp of a new era that many at the WFIS shared

when he asked Dall for a positive review, “Every person, of course, is at liberty to

criticize it; but when you publish anything about it I would like very much to have you put

in a good word for the institute for its first effort in its endeavor to contribute something

in the cause of science. It is practically a new institution, having only lately come into

possession of its trustees.” There was, of course, also a bit of insecurity on Willcox’s

part since he viewed himself as somewhat responsible. He wrote“[a]t my suggestion I

sent Prof Heilprin to the west coast of Florida to obtain material for a report to be printed

and distributed gratuitously to scientific men and Institutions throughout the world.”33

While the fear of a negative response by the scientific community may have been

natural, it ultimately proved to be baseless. Heilprin’s report was well received in many

quarters and the WFIS received many requests from scientific institutions and museums

31 Minutes of the Faculty, September 9, 1896, folder 1, Wagner Free Institute of Science, Department of Instruction, Faculty, 91-045. Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

32 Ibid.

33 Willcox to William Healy Dall, April 18, 1887, William H. Dall Papers, circa 1839-1858, 1862-1927, RG 7073, Smithsonian Institution Archives. Interestingly, the exchange between Dall and Willcox of which this letter is a part deals mostly with discussion concerning what Dall refers to as a “Marsh and Cope Matter.” There was some acrimony between Heilprin and Willcox over whose fossils were brought back from Florida and who had the right to write about them.

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for copies. The scrapbook of the WFIS is full of positive reviews and stories from local

newspapers. Both Willcox and Leidy reported that the volume was well regarded and

much discussed among naturalists in Europe when they both traveled there in late

1889.34

The volume was so well received, and the experience so valuable to the WFIS,

that they published a second volume in 1889.35 This volume again relied heavily on

specimens sent back from Florida by either Willcox or Heilprin. The volume opened with

an article by Edward Potts describing fresh water sponges collected in Florida by

Willcox, however the rest of the volume was taken up entirely by six articles all written

by Leidy and almost exclusively based on the fossils sent back from Florida by Heilprin

and Willcox during their 1886 expedition or by Willcox who returned to Florida during

subsequent winters. The most important of these articles was the “Description of

Mammalian Remains from a Rock Crevice in Florida,” which described, among other

fossils brought back to the WFIS by Willcox in 1888, the first saber-tooth cat remains

ever found in North America. The volume ends with a consideration of Platygonus, an

extinct species of peccary, and a short meditation on the nature of organic species

based, in part, on specimens obtained by Willcox in Florida. The entire volume was a

monument to the hard work of Joseph Leidy and the team of people he recruited and

led at the Wagner Free Institute of Science. As Willcox pointed out to Dall in the letter

quoted above, it was a whole new institution from the one William Wagner created.

34 See for example correspondence from Willcox to Montgomery Lynch of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, June 29, 1889, box 2, folder 22, Wagner Free Institute of Science Actuary and Librarian Records, 91-040, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

35 Joseph Leidy and Edward Potts, Transactions of the Wagner Free Institute of Philadelphia, 1889, 2.

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While the free scientific lectures continued unabated, Joseph Leidy had created a space

for original science and, again to paraphrase Willcox’s letter, the WFIS had, in the

words of Joseph Willcox, “something to contribute to the cause of science.” It was a

tremendous milestone in the history of the institute, one that would likely not have been

accomplished under the leadership of William Wagner.

The Transactions would continue to be published sporadically for 40 years,

producing 11 volumes during that time. Volume three was published in six parts

between 1890 and 1903. Every part was written by the Smithsonian’s Dall and the U.S.

Geographic Survey, and every part was on the tertiary fauna of Florida that was inspired

by the work of Willcox and Heilprin. This work motivated the Wagner Free Institute of

Science to award Dall their only honorary professorship, complete with a medal with the

profile of William Wagner. Volume four, published in 1896, was strictly a posthumous

work by Leidy on the fossil vertebrates of the Alachua clays of Florida and rested on

specimens from a number of different sources. Subsequent volumes consisted mostly,

but not exclusively, of research conducted by faculty members of the WFIS. The

Transactions of the Wagner Free Institute of Science ultimately ceased publication in

1927 with an article on the biochemistry of American pitcher plants.36 The Transactions

were replaced by the Bulletin, and while it did contain articles on important scientific

topics of the day, especially those connected to the topics associated with faculty

36 J.S. Hepburn, F.M. Jones and E.Q. St. Johns, “Biochemical Studies of the North American Sarraceniaceae,” Transactions of the Wagner Free Institute of Science of Philadelphia, 1927, 11.

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members of the WFIS, it was more of an organ for museum and lecture announcements

than a journal of original scientific research. That publication ceased in 1958.37

Leidy’s contribution to the scientific output of the WFIS was not limited to helping

inaugurate the Transactions, or to supervising the faculty, or giving lectures on sundry

scientific topics; during his final years at the institute he was appointed Director of the

Museum and given the task of reorganizing the institute’s museum. William Wagner was

a voracious collector and while he was a zealous advocate of his museum and the use

of his specimens in lectures, the collection had grown unwieldy and disorganized. The

faculty, mostly Leidy with the help of Heilprin and occasional assistants such as Ida

Craddock, were already engaged in organizing the collection and identifying specimens

and objects that could be exchanged, sold, or disposed of. In order to reorganize the

museum Leidy undertook one last trip to Europe with his family in 1889. The trustees

authorized him to spend up to $3,000 in the purchase of specimens for the museum and

allotted him $1,000 more for the same purpose when he returned to the United States.38

Upon his return he began rearranging the exhibits, integrating the new purchases with

the existing collection, including those brought back from Florida by Heilprin and

Willcox. Leidy sought to recapture a lifetime of scholarship in anatomical studies and to

integrate his own work with the evolutionary perspectives associated with figures such

as Charles Darwin.

Leidy largely eschewed grand generalizable theories in his own work, preferring

instead to focus on the individual specimens. He admitted as much in a previous work

37 See the Bulletins of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, 1926 – 1958, 98-049, The Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

38 Ruschenberger, "A Sketch of the Life of Joseph Leidy, M. D., LL. D,” p. 167

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on the extinct fauna of Dakota and Nebraska, “[T]he present work is intended as a

record of facts…a contribution to the great inventory of nature. No attempt has been

made at generalizations or theories which might attract the momentary attention and

admiration of the scientific community.”39 He was, however, an early adopter of

Darwin’s theory of evolution by natural selection, though according to his biographer

Leonard Warren the publication of On The Origin of Species in 1859 did not noticeably

change his research, nor was it obvious in his lectures.40 But he didn’t agree with

Darwin on everything, as Leidy believed in a strong role for progress as an agent in

evolutionary change and the inevitability of complexity and a place for humanity at the

top of the ladder. He expressed his views of evolution in a general way in an 1886

address to the graduating class of the Medical Department of the University of

Pennsylvania entitled An Address on Evolution and the Pathological Importance of

Lower Forms of Life. In the opening lines of that lecture he noted, “According to the

doctrine of the evolution of life, living beings have been derived from one another, the

most complicated and the highest forms of plants and animals being the slowly modified

descendants of less complex plants and animals, while these were the slowly modified

descendants of still less complex forms, and so on until we go back to the earlier plants

and animals.”41 It was this line of descent that Leidy wanted to illustrate through the

careful arrangement of his great “inventory of nature,” with one specimen after another,

39 Quoted in Ray, "An Idiosyncratic History of Floridian Vertebrate Paleontology,” p. 151

40 Warren, Joseph Leidy: The Last Man Who Knew Everything, 175-197. Also see Ronald L Numbers, Darwinism Comes to America (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1998) for a discussion of Leidy as an early adopter of Darwinism and Leidy’s efforts to make Darwin an honorary member of the Academy of Natural Sciences.

41 Joseph Leidy, An Address on Evolution and the Pathological Importance of Lower Forms of Life (Detroit, Mich.: George S. Davis, 1886), p. 2.

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placed alongside each other in a careful progression of evolution through the

comparison of anatomical structures. As a result, when visitors first entered the

redesigned museum in 1891 they were first confronted with the simplest organisms,

including corals and sponges, which were followed in evolutionary sequence past cases

of worms, insects, birds, reptiles, mammals, and finishing with a skeleton of Homo

Sapiens. Though the exhibition design was meant to showcase Darwin’s theory, it did

so only crudely by lining up the specimens in a sequence with only the simplest of

identification labels. Missing were any didactic explanations to explain the relationships

between the various forms embodied by the specimens; nor was there any attempt to

explain the actual process of evolution by means of natural selection. The arrangement

of the specimens in a hierarchical display was considered to be its own explanation.42 It

was a unique arrangement that worked well for the WFIS since its collection was not

large enough for separate rooms or displays for mammals, reptiles, birds, and other

large kingdoms, phyla, and classes of animals. They all had to share the same large,

open space. The basic taxonomic display, however, was quite traditional and one that

would go out of style quickly in the new century in favor of more naturalistic displays and

diorama.43

42 For a discussion of the new exhibition see Glassman, Eugene and Spamer, "Joseph Leidy and the ‘Great Inventory of Nature’,” 1993; Wayne Curtis, "Evolution on Hold Why the Wagner Free Institute of Science in Philadelphia Failed to Adapt and Yet Survives,” 50-55; Warren, Joseph Leidy: The Last Man Who Knew Everything, 1998; and Ray, "An Idiosyncratic History of Floridian Vertebrate Paleontology," p. 153.

43 Rader and Cain For discussions of dioramas versus taxonomic displays at the Academy of Natural Science see Conn, Museums and American Intellectual Life, 1876-1926, 1998, Orosz, Curators and Culture: The Museum Movement in America, 1740-1870, 1990, and Karen A. Rader, and Victoria E M Cain. Life on Display: Revolutionizing U.S. Museums of Science and Natural History in the Twentieth Century (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2014). On the development of naturalistic displays and the “biological perspective” in the US and Germany see Lynn K Nyhart, Modern Nature: The Rise of the Biological Perspective in Germany (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009). Interestingly, Nyhart draws the distinction between large civic natural history museums in the US that embraced the biological

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A Space for Community Engagement

New efforts to “create something in the cause of science” were not the only

alteration of mission instituted by the WFIS after the death of its founder and first

president. There was also a marked increase in the number of programs and

partnerships the WFIS took on in an effort to engage its community more robustly. The

institute under William Wagner had always engaged with its community in some ways,

though these were most often with local religious leaders and institutions or efforts of

limited success, such as the attempts to form a Mechanic’s Institute. There were

individual events that were sponsored by outside groups that were not religious, but

these were sporadic and unique. For example in May of 1881 the Women’s Silk Culture

Association held a “Silk Fair” at the institute that, according to one newspaper account

attracted, “one of the largest audiences that ever assembled there.” The event

consisted of exhibits on the science and biology of silk cultivation, products made from

silk, and a lengthy disquisition by William Wagner, among others, on the subject of silk.

While this event may have been popular and the audience may have been, according to

the same article, “one of the most intelligent to ever gotten together in the institute,” it

was not part of a pattern of community groups using the institute or form a long-term

partnership.44 While William Wagner’s civic mindedness was well established, his

desire for both control over his institute and the prominent use of his name in new

perspective and more naturalistic displays and German museums that largely did not, or at least not as early as in the U.S. In this regard the Wagner Free Institute of Science bears a strong similarity to their less well-funded German counterparts in that they did not have in-house taxidermists and artists to create these displays.

44 “Silk Culture,” The Times (Philadelphia, PA) May 3, 1881, clipping in vol.3, the Wagner Free Institute of Science Scrapbook Collection, 89-040, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

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projects probably prevented the WFIS from partnering more often with other groups in

the city.

Starting a few years after the “rebirth” of the institute under the control of the

trustees, outside organizations started finding a welcome home at the WFIS. Some of

them had only a tangential relationship to the subjects normally taught at the institute,

but all raised the profile and increased the utility of the WFIS. In 1891 a photography

club was formed that had semi-support from the institute. It was lead by Thomas

Montgomery, then librarian and actuary for the institute, and originally went by the name

The Photographic Association of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.45 It held club

meetings and exhibitions of its work in the hall. Within a few years the WFIS regularly

opened its doors to outside organizations for meetings and one-time events. In 1895 a

meeting of the Philobiblion Club was held in the institute. The Philobiblians were an

organization that had, “absorbed into its membership all the noted book-lovers of

Philadelphia.”46 Exhibitions consisted of bookbindings, rare books as old as 300 to 500

years, and an address by Ainsworth Spofford, then the Librarian of Congress. In

attendance was Judge Samuel Pennypacker, who eventually became the Governor of

Pennsylvania and was a longtime friend of the WFIS.47 Starting in the new century the

WFIS would host a number of different organizations, including the Philadelphia

45 For correspondence pertaining to the club see box 3, folder 30, the Wagner Free Institute Records of the Actuary and Librarian, 91-040. For newspaper accounts of the meetings and exhibitions see vol. 1, Wagner Free Institute of Science Scrapbooks, 89-040, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

46 "Beautiful, Rare, and Curious Books: A Loan Exhibition of Bindings at the Philobiblion Club at the Wagner Free Institute of Science", The Times (Philadelphia, PA), February 10, 1895.

47 For clippings and ephemera related to the Philobiblion Club see vol. 1, the Wagner Free Institute of Science Scrapbooks, 89-040, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

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Mineralogical Club, The Philadelphia Microscopical Society, The Pennsylvania Forestry

Society, The Delaware Valley Naturalists Union, and the Philadelphia Natural History

Society. The latter group was responsible for bringing a good deal of press to the WFIS

as their excursions, meetings, and lectures were often of interest to the broader

community. This was especially true of their 1910 meeting, which included a lecture by

renowned anthropologist Richard L. Garner, who brought a chimpanzee to the WFIS

direct from his travels in Africa and amused the audience with her behavior and amazed

them both with her seeming ability to select simple geometric shapes and to show some

utility with language.48

These meetings and events held in partnership with community members were

important in raising the profile of the WFIS and diversifying and enlarging the types of

programs and subjects hosted. They were not, however, the major efforts in community

partnership during the late 19th and early 20th century. During this period the institute

worked with both the American Society for the Extension of University Teaching and the

Free Library of Philadelphia to reach more people and welcome larger portions of the

community into their hall. These two efforts were central to the institute broadening the

scope of its programs and diversifying its audience. They both called upon the WFIS to

alter its mission in slight, but definite ways but both helped the institute to fulfill the

mission of the founder, even if he might have been dismayed at the fact that the

Wagner name was subsumed under the larger partner.

48 The event received numerous articles in the local press. See vol. 1, box, 5, The Wagner Free Institute of Science Scrapbooks, 89-040, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science. For more about Richard L. Garner and his work with Suzie see Gregory Radick. The Simian Tongue: The Long Debate About Animal Language (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007.); Richard L. Garner, "My Recent Work, and Suzie", The Independent, 1910, 69:518-523.

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The Wagner Free Institute of Science and University Extension

The WFIS had always occupied a unique place in adult education in the United

States. Although it had always aspired to be a first rate technical college, it had more in

common with the lyceum movement of the early and mid-nineteenth century. That

movement originally drew on itinerant and local speakers who gave lectures in local

communities around the country. Many of them also had small lending libraries

attached. Lyceums were especially popular in rural communities that had little else to

offer in the way cultural or intellectual enrichment. By the time that William Wagner was

hosting informal lectures in his home in the mid-nineteenth century, lyceums had

evolved to be more commercial affairs that involved celebrity speakers, agents, booking

fees, and climbing admission fees.49 When the institute was chartered in 1855, there

was little settled in the world of higher and adult education. In many ways, the Wagner

was ahead of its time. Its schedule of free classes for citizens who could not attend the

college anticipated parts of larger movements in adult education that would litter the

educational landscape later in the nineteenth century. These included the

Correspondence School movement started in 1873, the Chautaqua Literary and

Scientific Circle begun in 1873, and the Baltimore Experiment at Johns Hopkins

founded in 1879 and its informal lectures by prominent scholars such as chemist Ira

Remsen and historian Henry Baxter Adams.50 But though the WFIS may have shared

49 For more on the history of lyceums see Ray, The Lyceum and Public Culture in the Nineteenth-century United States, 2005.

50 Knowles, A History of the Adult Education Movement in the United States: Includes Adult Education Institutions Through 1976, 1977; Portman, The Universities and the Public: A History of Higher Adult Education in the United States, 1978; Stubblefield and Keane, Adult Education in the American

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much with these broader movements, it fell short of what the institute aspired to be.

Though it had tried, under its founder to become a technical college on two occasions,

those attempts never met with success.

The University Extension Movement began in England in the late 1860’s as an

adult, popular educational movement that provided itinerant lectures and a university

education “for all,” but especially middle-class adults away from the university centers.51

Much like the original lyceum movement in America, it was intended to blend quality

scholarship with popular education. It evolved into something more aligned with the

college model and began to stress the formal university model of sequential classes of

increasing difficulty, examinations, and certificates. The movement spread to the United

States in the 1880’s where individual universities, independent societies, and small

institutions like the WFIS sponsored sporadic classes. Early attempts at more formal

and systematic coursework, including exams and certificates, were attempted in Buffalo

and Brooklyn and while each served their local students, neither was particularly

successful or gained a large audience. In the spring of 1890 lawyer, educator, and

University Education advocate Richard G. Moulton came to Philadelphia and worked

with the University of Pennsylvania and its Provost, Dr. William Pepper to generate

support for extending the education available in colleges to the working people of

Experience: From the Colonial Period to the Present, 1994; and Kett, The Pursuit of Knowledge Under Difficulties: From Self-improvement to Adult Education in America, 1750-1990, 1994.

51 The University Extension Movement began writing its own history early in its existence; see "University Extension. -- History of the Philadelphia Local Movement", Science, 1891, 17:230-231.http://www.jstor.org/stable/1765126.; "University Extension", Science, 1910, 32: 97-104; Ten Years' Report of the American Society for the Extension of University Teaching 1890-1900 ([Philadelphia: American Society for the Extension of University Teaching, 1901), http://books.google.com/books?id=38Q2AAAAMAAJ. For a more scholarly look at the history of the movement see George M Woytanowitz, University Extension: The Early Years in the United States, 1885-1915 (Washington, D.C.: National University Extension Association, 1974).

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Philadelphia. The idea was picked up quickly and the Philadelphia Society for the

Extension of University Teaching was formed with Dr. Pepper as its first president. They

formed a general committee of 46 people representing major Philadelphia universities

and community centers where the instruction was to take place. The executive

committee of 10 members included Sydney Skidmore, a teacher at the Girls’ Normal

School as well as a trustee and faculty member of the WFIS.52 Samuel Wagner,

Skidmore’s fellow trustee and William Wagner’s nephew, served for a time as the chair

of the Committee on Courses and Centres.53 It quickly became the largest organization

of University Extension in America. It initially served the city of Philadelphia, but it

eventually reached throughout the Mid-Atlantic States and had changed its name to the

American Society for the Extension of University Teaching. It succeeded in large part

because courses were held in schools, universities, and community organizations like

the YMCA, the Franklin institute, and the Wagner Free Institute of Science. These were

organizations with built-in constituencies and programs that aligned quite well with the

mission and methods of the Extension Service, not to mention rent-free classrooms

already built and furnished.

52 Sydney Skidmore was not only a trustee and faculty member at the Wagner Free Institute of Science since 1870; he was also the husband of Sadie Dewhurst, Louisa Wagner’s adopted daughter. There is not much information available on Miss Dewhurst or her relationship to Louisa and William Wagner. It is notable that the marriage between Professor Skidmore and Miss Dewhurst took place eight months after the death of William Wagner. Regardless, the involvement of Sydney Skidmore in the early planning stages of the Philadelphia Society probably made the involvement of the WFIS fairly inevitable even aside from the clear similarities in mission and philosophy.

53 See The Proceedings of the First Annual Meeting of the National Conference on University Extension: Held in Philadelphia, December 29-31, 1891, Under the Auspices of the American Society for the Extension of University Teaching (Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott, 1892). http://hdl.handle.net/2027/uc1.$b69699

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After the initial meetings in the summer of 1890, smaller meetings were held

around the city in the educational centers where instruction would take place. The

meeting at the WFIS took place on November 5, 1890 and was intended to not only

inform the institute’s students of the coming changes, but also drum up support for the

Extension Service at the Wagner and to encourage students to attend classes in other

centers around the city. The speakers on University Extension pre-empted a scheduled

lecture by Leidy, but reports of the event included no word that people were

disappointed. The speakers who took the stage included Dr. Pepper from the University

of Pennsylvania, James MacAlister, the Superintendent of Public Schools, Joseph

Willcox, and Sydney Skidmore. Though all speakers spoke highly of the aims and

methods of the University Extension Service, Skidmore probably summed up the hopes

of dreams of both the WFIS and Extension when he said, “Let the college lecture room

be opened when the mills and factories close at night, so that those who work for

raiment for the body may acquire raiment for the mind.” When Samuel Wagner stepped

up to the podium to introduce Joseph Willcox to the assembled, he made the

connection between the aims of University Extension and the WFIS more explicit. “[T]he

idea of a people’s college was one of the fundamental ideas that animated the founder

of this institution. University Extension, or the extension of University teaching, is but

another name for the same idea. The extension of opportunities for higher education to

those who are unable to go to college was the dominant thought in the mind of the

founder of the Wagner Free Institute.”54 The meeting was a success and the Wagner

hosted its first University Extension class the next spring.

54 “University Teaching: Meeting at the Wagner instituted to Extend Higher Education,” The Public Ledger and Daily Transcript (Philadelphia, PA), November 6, 1890, clipping found in vol. 1, Wagner Free Institute

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The Wagner Free Institute of Science hosted two courses that were exclusively

offered through the Extension Society. These were Psychology, taught by G.S. Fullerton

from the University of Pennsylvania, and Euripides for English Audiences, taught by

Robert Molten, the university extension evangelist from Cambridge, England. Moulten

originally brought the idea to Dr. Pepper’s attention. The WFIS would continue to

augment its normal coursework in the sciences with coursework in the humanities and

social sciences under the auspices of the Extension Society until 1911. By then the

courses at the WFIS had suffered a similar fate as the larger University Extension

movement, especially the American Society in Philadelphia. They had grown less

rigorous, with many centers eschewing exams, textbooks, and certificates toward the

end. Many centers had stopped offering formal courses and settled for individual

lectures that had grown more popular. Worse, the Extension Society did not offer credit

or diplomas, which more professionals needed for jobs and credentials, especially

public school teachers. The quality of the courses at the WFIS remained relatively high

and few of their offerings descended into popular lectures; but by the time the WFIS

stopped working with the Extension Society the “Popular Lectures,” as they were

referred to at the institute, were offered under the joint auspices of the Extension

Society and the Free Library of Philadelphia.55 The WFIS ended any University

Extension coursework after the 1910-1911school session.

of Science Scrapbooks, 89-040, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science. See that same volume for further reports of the meeting and an announcement. The full text of Samuel Wagner’s introduction can also be found in folder 11, Wagner Free Institute of Science American Society for the Extension of University Teaching Records, 91-020, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

55 There is some confusion in the records as to where exactly these courses were offered. The attendance statistics for this time claim that the “popular lectures” were held in “the hall” which could refer to the lecture hall or anywhere in the building. See General Roll Book 1, Wagner Free Institute of Science Roll Books and General Attendance Records of the Faculty of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, 90-

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While the participation of the WFIS in this program seemed at the time to be an

obvious partnership that extended the reach of the institute and helped it fulfill the

mission of the founder, it was not without its challenges. In fact the challenges and

compromises of implementing the Extension programs had a profound impact on how

the WFIS operated long after the Extension Society had ceased to exist. Typically, the

Extension Society would offer a list, and eventually a catalog, of speakers and lecturers

that could be made available to the local centers teaching courses each session. The

local centers would request certain speakers and pay a fee for their services as well as

for the lecturer’s traveling and other expenses. The cost for the 1900-01 season for a

course of six lectures was $135. The local centers would then sell tickets, provide for

the teaching needs of the lecturer, take attendance, administer exams, and pass a list of

those students earning certificates on to the Extension Society’s office who would mail

these certificates to the recipients.56 Certificates could be awarded for individual

classes as well as for a series of courses in one subject area. There was the possibility

of receiving a “Higher Certificate of Continuous Study” which would have been, in effect,

a diploma, but they explicitly chose not to call it a “diploma.” It was thought that the

average student would take eight years to achieve this diploma-like certificate.57

030, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science. But a collection of announcements put out during this period claim the lectures were in the Wagner Free Institute of Science Branch of the Free Library. See vol. 1, the Wagner Free Institute of Science Scrapbooks, 89-040, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science. Regardless of where they were held, it is clear that these courses were no longer seen as part, and probably lesser than, the scientific coursework, at the WFIS. A slippage in prestige that was similar throughout the Extension Society network.

56 For an explanation of this process see Announcement of Lecture Courses Offered for the Season 1900-1901, The American Society for the Extension of University Teaching, Philadelphia, 1900, in box 5, folder 5, the Wagner Free Institute of Science Robert Chambers Collection, 90-015, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

57 For an informal discussion of the types of certificates see correspondence from Edward Devine, Director of the American Society for University Extension, to Thomas L. Montgomery of the WFIS,

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The first challenge to the WFIS was the fact that they were required to charge

money for the courses they offered. Both their charter and deed of trust explicitly

forbade the charging of fees for scientific instruction. However, there is no record that

this was a problem with the trustees or lawyers, probably because the lion’s share of

instruction was not in the sciences. The original act of incorporation of 1855 stated that

the object of the WFIS would be, “the gratuitous instruction in the Natural Sciences” and

none of the courses offered at the institute under the Extension Society auspices were

in the natural sciences, but in the humanities and social sciences. It was likely deemed

appropriate to charge money for courses not in the science. And though the courses

were not in the sciences, the WFIS had long had a history of offering coursework

outside this area, especially in the early years when elocution was among its most

popular offerings.

The diversification of subject matter ultimately steered more students to the

scientific coursework. In 1893, then Extension Society Director Edward Devine admitted

in a letter to the WFIS that, “we recognize the work of the Wagner institute as equal to

that of the best class of University Centres, and are willing, therefore, to give such

recognition for the single courses conducted under your auspices as will lead students

to count those courses in securing Higher Certificate.”58 Henceforth, the scientific

courses would become part of a college education, something William Wagner had

been aspiring to since he first dreamed of opening an institute. And those courses

would remain gratis for everyone.

October 3, 1893, series 2, box 20, folder 17, the Wagner Free Institute of Science Director’s Files, Correspondence, 89-055 and 90-001, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

58 ibid.

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But the inclusion of the WFIS’s scientific coursework under the umbrella, if not

outright sponsorship, of the Extension Society brought additional challenges. While it

might not have offered credit or diplomas, the Extension Society did offer a series of

certificates that required a level of formality that the Wagner Free Institute of Science

had rarely practiced. The Extension Society required syllabi, attendance, exams, and

textbook readings, none of which was something that WFIS did, or if it did it was fairly

rare. The institute rose to the challenge of these requirements and, in 1894, began

offering formally printed syllabi with every class beginning with a class in Historical

Geology being taught that year by Princeton Geologist William Berryman Scott. For

those seeking certificates they also began administering exams, keeping attendance,

and keeping track of all those who had earned a course certificate or higher. As the

Extension Society waned, many of these practices remained regular parts of the

classes still available. Most notably, the offering of certificates for courses remained as

a staple at the Wagner Free Institute well passed the middle of the 20th century.

The Wagner Free Institute of Science and the Free Library of Philadelphia

In 1891 Samuel Wagner, WFIS Trustee and nephew of the founder, joined with

four other Philadelphians to apply for a charter to form the Free Library of Philadelphia.

Philadelphia was arguably the home of the first library in the United States, most of

those early institutions required subscriptions or memberships. The city had never

benefited from a library open to all citizens. The group of five prominent Philadelphians

was armed with a $225,000 bequest from George Pepper, uncle to the University of

Pennsylvania’s Provost, William Pepper, for the purposes of founding a library in

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Philadelphia that was free to the public. But three private libraries in Philadelphia

disrupted the formation of the new library and challenged the bequest in court. In the

interim, Dr. Pepper convinced the city to charter a public library using public funds.

Placed under the control of the Board of Education, the Philadelphia Public Library was

inaugurated, but it took almost a year to find a suitable space.

The WFIS’s Sydney Skidmore approached the Board of Education in March of

1892 and offered the institute as a site. The offer was accepted and the first of six

branches opened in repurposed classrooms in the WFIS on October 18, 1892. When

the lawsuit was settled in 1894 and Pepper and his compatriots were free to continue

with their plans to spend the elder Pepper’s money as he directed, the Free Library of

Philadelphia was founded and Philadelphia had two distinct library systems. This

changed in 1895 when the Philadelphia City Council consolidated the two systems

under the Free Library of Philadelphia, moving the branch at the WFIS under the

umbrella of this new group. It was a convoluted beginning to what would become one of

the most successful programs at the institute, and certainly one of its longest running.

That it was not directly related to free science education was perhaps offset by the

increase in attendance, the expansion of free education to the community (unscientific

though it may have been), and the service the library served as a resource to the

lectures and museum.59

59 There has actually been very little scholarly work done on the origins of the Free Library of Philadelphia. The brief introduction here was taken from various sources including Russell Frank Weigley, Nicholas B Wainwright and Edwin Wolf, Philadelphia: A 300 Year History (New York: W.W. Norton, 1982), National Register of Historic Places/National Historic Landmark Nomination Form for the Wagner Free Institute of Science, general literature printed by the Free Library of Philadelphia, and a host of newspaper clippings found in vol 1., the Wagner Free Institute of Science Scrapbooks, 89-040, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

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The branch of the public library that opened in the WFIS in October of 1891,

dubbed “Branch No. 1,” was an instant success. The branch opened with 5,000 books,

but a year later it had over 12,000. That first year the branch circulated over 140,000

books, each book being checked out 12 times on average. But the WFIS began to see

benefits as well. According to one report, within a year the attendance at the institute’s

lectures had grown by 50%. With the addition of a lending library to augment their

existing reference library, students now had the luxury of checking out their textbooks

and taking them home for free. Before Branch No. 1 opened they either had to buy their

books or read them in the WFIS’s reference library.60 In a draft of an undated letter from

Joseph Willcox to the Committee on the Free Library of the Board of Education, Willcox

begged the Board of Education for more money to hire assistants for librarian Thomas

Montgomery. Montgomery was so busy with the library that his duties at the institute

were suffering. By then the library was averaging more than 500 loans a month and had

accessioned 1,400 volumes for a total at the time of 60,760 books.61 On November 21,

1895, Branch No. 1 checked out 1,925 books, which was the largest number of books

ever loaned out in one day in the city of Philadelphia, according to a report issued by

the Philadelphia Public Library.62 The relationship continued to develop to both

organizations’ advantage. By 1900 the WFIS was considering a tighter partnership with

60 "A People's University: The Free Library Movement in Philadelphia a Wonderful Success", The Times (Philadelphia, PA), November 30, 1893.

61 Draft of letter from Joseph Willcox to The Committee on the Free Public Library of Philadelphia, series 2, box 20, folder 13, the Wagner Free Institute of Science Director’s File , 89-055 and 90-001, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science. Though undated, textual clues suggest the letter was written between 1893 and 1895.

62 Report of the Philadelphia Public Library, 1895, vol. 1, Wagner Free Institute of Science Scrapbooks 89-040, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

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the Free Library of Philadelphia in order to maximize benefit to the institute as well as

raise money through a lease arrangement. There were a number of plans considered

including renting a portion of the lot to the library on which to build and turning over a

large portion of the museum to the library to expand its footprint in the institute. The

Board members rejected the second idea quickly and considered only whether they

could rent a portion of the WFIS’s lot to the Free Library on which they could construct a

new building to house the successful, and growing, Branch No. 1. But, as with so many

ideas at the institute, this one was not allowed by the deed of trust from William

Wagner. The institute’s lawyer reminded them that, “[s]ome of the members of the

board will no doubt recollect how jealous he was in his lifetime of any suggestions that

the institute should mingle its collections with that of any other institution, or in any way

lose its separate individuality or identity.” It was determined that the only avenue to

advance the project was for the institute to build the wing themselves and rent it to the

Free Library of Philadelphia.63 The new wing was completed in 1901 and constituted the

last major renovation or addition to the physical space of the building.

The addition of the library to the WFIS was more than just an enlargement of its

building or a service to the community surrounding the institute, although it was both of

those things. It was also an expansion of the types of people who visited the institute

and who worked there. In addition to the lectures and courses conducted under the

auspices of both the Free Library and the Extension Services, many of which were held

63 Correspondence between Thomas Montgomery and W.W. Montgomery March 17, 1900 and May 2, 1900, box 4, folder 27, the Wagner Free Institute of Science Robert Chambers Collection, Board Records, 90-015, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science. The lease seems to have

been done verbally and in five-year increments. See letter to John Rothermel from Joseph Willcox, September 15, 1910, series 2, box 21, folder 22, the Wagner Free Institute of Science Director’s Files, Correspondence, 89-055 and 90-001, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

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in the library, the WFIS also began offering half-hour programs for children on Tuesday

afternoons initiated by library staff members. In 1905 they offered 20 such lectures for a

total attendance of 9,055 children. By 1915 the institute hosted a Christmas Party for

150 local children that was arranged and hosted by the ladies of the library staff, the

following year they hosted a 170 children.64 It was a remarkable transition for an

institution that once had to strategize ways of keeping unruly youths out of its hall.

The truly remarkable thing about the first years of the Wagner Free Institute of

Science after Wagner’s death is that so many important developments that would have

long lasting effects on the institution happened simultaneously. The institute was reeling

from a number of problems that were left to fester during the twilight years of Wagner’s

leadership, such as an unfinished building, a looming tax lawsuit, and the headache of

managing rental properties that needed their own repair work. The trustees who took

over the reins in 1885, however, confronted those problems and managed to

fundamentally alter the institution in a decade without appreciably changing its mission

or the vision of its founder. Within only a couple years they managed to institute a

modest research program that created a new journal that brought important findings and

new species to the world’s attention as well as redesigning the museum to present

modern theories of life to the general public. The trustees had thus formed an important

partnership with local universities to finally offer some form of collegiate programming to

its students within five years of Wagner’s death. In that same time they formed a

partnership with the local school system and the Free Public Library of Philadelphia that

64 Director’s Report, January 17, 1916, box 1, folder 13, the Wagner Free Institute of Science Superintendent’s and Director’s Reports, 00-01, Library and Archives of the Wagner Free Institute of Science.

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would expand its reach, attract new audiences, better serve its existing audience better,

and enlarge its physical space. While many of these programs did not last or continue to

be as successful as they initially were, each program managed to change the institution

in fundamental ways. William Wagner was an energetic, ambitious man who had well-

defined dreams and the means to make them a reality. He was able to draw upon a

close-knit network of like-minded men to create and foster an institution that provided

science education to the people of Philadelphia for free. But as the lawyers for the

institute correctly pointed out he was jealous that his institute not mingle audience,

programs, or collections with other institutions. He was also wary of losing the identity

of his institution. By expanding the network of partners and patrons, and compromising

on many issues that Wagner held sacred, the new trustees, staff, and faculty were able

to accomplish more than Wagner had.

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CHAPTER 6 CLOSING THOUGHTS

In May of 2006 at the annual meeting of the American Association of Museums

(AAM) held in Boston, Massachusetts, Dana Semos, Director of Children’s Education at

the Wagner Free Institute of Science, attended an award ceremony hosted by AAM’s

Education Committee (EdCom). She was there to accept an Excellence in Programming

award on behalf of the WFIS for its GeoKids program. The GeoKids program was

instituted in 1992 to use nature and science to instill in Philadelphia area school

students a sense of curiosity about nature with the aim of increasing student interest in

science. GeoKids is a program of the WFIS, but it is a partnership between scientists,

local colleges, and local K-5 students and their teachers. GeoKids emphasizes the use

of real specimens and hands-on activities. The program also includes frequent visits to

the WFIS’s museum, where the students complete projects in and around the fossils

brought back from Florida by Angelo Heilprin and Joseph Willcox in 1887 that are part

of the exhibits created by Joseph Leidy and that were opened in 1891.

The Excellence in Programming award is sponsored by EdCom to recognize

“exemplary creativity and innovation in museum educational programming, as well as

leadership within the entire museum community.” GeoKids was specifically recognized

“as a program that contributes in vital and meaningful ways to its participants by

producing a quality science education to local school students.”1 In its own way the

1 Both quotations as well as a general overview of the award can be found in the press release found at the WFIS’s website at “The Wagner Free Institute of Science GeoKids Program,” accessed September 11, 2016, http://www.wagnerfreeinstitute.org/syllabi 2006-07/aamaward.html.

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GeoKids program is a successful fulfillment of the vision William Wagner had for the

institute he founded in 1855. The program contains all the prominent features of that

dream. It is for the people of Philadelphia, it uses real scientific objects, it is taught, at

least in part, by practicing scientists in cooperation with local degree granting

institutions, and it is available to the students absolutely gratis.

One notable aspect of EdCom’s award is that it was instituted to recognize

museum programs that embody the values and goals set forth in their vision statement

published in 1992, entitled Excellence and Equity: Education and the Pubic Dimensions

of Museums.2 This publication was a formative statement by the museum profession

that museums should strive to be dynamic members of their community for all

stakeholders. Among Excellence and Equity’s ten principles are strong statements on

placing education at the center of a museum’s mission, expanding learning

opportunities, reaching out to more audiences with economic challenges to museum

attendance, and to commit to ongoing collaborations with diverse community

organizations. It was a strong statement that museums should work with, and for, all

members of their community and not just the social, economic, and cultural elite. And

while it is possible to overstate the similarities and continuity between programs 150

years ago and today, it also does not take much effort to recognize the dream of William

Wagner in those principles. It also does not take much work to recognize the effect of

his dream and influence on the GeoKids program.

2 Excellence and Equity: A Report From the American Associations of Museums (Washington, D.C.: The American Association of Museums, 1992).

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William Wagner’s dream was to create a scientific institution for the benefit of the

working people of Philadelphia so that they could attend and visit for free. He realized

that dream when he created the Wagner Free Institute of Science in 1855 and built a

permanent home for it in 1865. When he created and administered this unique space

for informal science learning, he did so heavily influenced by his early experiences, the

successes as well as the frustrations, in the city of Philadelphia in the first decades of

the nineteenth century. It was a city that was paradoxically teeming with naturalists and

scientific institutions that excited a young man’s mind while simultaneously offering few

avenues to supply a scientific education or a scientific career to a person of middling

wealth. It was also a city that would welcome an amateur like William Wagner into its

circle of naturalists and elite citizens, but only as a junior partner. These early

experiences of frustrated scientific ambition, isolation, and perceived exclusion shaped

not only the creation of the scientific institution that bears his name, but also how he

defined that institution and the manner in which he strived to control the space in which

it operated. During his lifetime Wagner sought to exercise almost total control of the

WFIS. This control extended even to the management of the teaching styles of the

faculty. It was an incomplete control, however, as circumstances ranging from events as

grand as the Civil War to the smallness of petty criminals challenged his command at

every turn and helped shape the WFIS and its subsequent history. Once he died, his

impact continued through his deed of trust and the loyalty of friends and colleagues, but

his institution was taken in new directions. His successors on the board of trustees

struggled to continue his legacy, and extend his dream, while at the same time extend

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the mission and programs of the WFIS to achieve more as a scientific educational

institution than it could have under Wagner’s direct control.

This dissertation identified the basic influences on William Wagner, his dreams

for his scientific institution and how those formative experiences effected programs at

the WFIS. When Wagner’s father denied his son the opportunity to study science he no

doubt suspected that decision would have a major effect on his son’s life. He was right,

but not exactly in the way he would have predicted. Wagner’s memories of being denied

an opportunity for a scientific education and career inspired him to create an institution

that would help those in similar situations and offer an education to those not able to

attend a university. As demonstrated in Chapter 1, Wagner developed an insatiable

appetite for studying the natural world from a very young age. In the forests northwest of

Philadelphia as a child he spent uncounted hours collecting rocks and other natural

history specimens. This would become a habit he cultivated throughout his years at sea,

on his honeymoon, and in his retirement from business. He took advantage of every

opportunity to familiarize himself with the latest literature in science through a voracious

appetite for books and scientific journals. That he was not permitted an education or a

career in science was clearly one of the most profound disappointments of his life. This

disappointment was certainly offset by his apprenticeship to Stephen Girard. Wagner’s

experience in Girard’s employ, I argued, was probably the best thing that could have

happened to Wagner’s eventual career in science since there were so few paths

forward for him to achieve the scientific life to which he aspired. Also, Girard’s personal

influence on Wagner was profound. Working for Girard set Wagner on the path that

allowed him to accumulate the wealth that would make the founding of the Wagner Free

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Institute of Science possible. And the example Girard set in Republican Citizenship, and

especially his part in the founding of Girard College, was equally transformative to the

young Wagner. Ultimately, being denied a scientific career in his teens is what made

achieving a scientific career in his forties possible.

But it is likely that Wagner did not interpret his life events in that manner, and he

probably regretted, to a greater or lesser degree, his lack of a formal scientific education

for much of his life. And the importance of that lack of education on the founding of the

Wagner Free Institute of Science can be clearly seen. Wagner created an institute for

people who were left out of formal education and lacked the academic preparation for a

class in the sciences as it was taught in elite classrooms. He demonstrated this by his

insistence that lectures be delivered in “the vigorous, transparent, and flexible English”

and eschewed the “strange Greek and Latin words” as he stated in the first Annual

Announcement of the WFIS in 1855. As the president of the institute he also vigorously

enforced his preference for what he called “object learning” as the superior form of

instruction for the general public. He had little patience for the academic lecturer who

made no use of illustrations, specimens, instruments, or demonstrations but chose to

lecture monotonously from the stage. To put the matter bluntly, William Wagner wanted

the WFIS to appeal to, and benefit, people exactly like his younger self; people with the

desire for a scientific education but not the preparation or opportunity.

Wagner’s isolation from the Philadelphia scientific community, moreover, fueled

his desire for complete independence from that same community for his new institute. It

was not to be total independence, however; Wagner was an active member of local

scientific institutions such as the Franklin Institute and the Academy of Natural

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Sciences. He even gave talks at the Academy and published at least one paper based

on those talks. He traded, bought, and sold specimens with some of the most important

naturalists in the Philadelphia community and eventually called upon a couple of them

to help lead and teach at the institute. But he also felt separated and excluded from

these same networks, often getting into disagreements with locally and nationally

prominent naturalists and community leaders. As the president-for-life of the institute, he

not only periodically taunted the more elite institutions in print and in speeches, he also

jealously guarded the independence of the institution and the prominence of his name.

The attorneys for the institute were correct when he reminded the trustees how, “jealous

he was in his lifetime of any suggestions that the Institute should mingle its collections

with that of any other institution, or in any way lose its separate individuality or identity.”

Although understandable, this quest for independence and emphasis on individuality

often stood in the way of the WFIS and may have actually thwarted the realization of

Wagner’s own dream. Though we will never know if partnerships such as the one

proposed with the University of Pennsylvania would have gone anywhere, it is likely the

closest the WFIS ever came to being a first class technical college. And let us recall that

this was one of the more ambitious dreams Wagner had for the institute. Had he been

more open to tighter partnerships with different community organizations other than

those that were religious, it is possible that the WFIS could have realized even more of

Wagner’s dream in his lifetime.

But Wagner’s attitude toward the elites of Philadelphia did not stop with an

isolationist philosophy. As demonstrated in his correspondence with Benjamin Silliman

at Yale, he often blamed his difficulties with political and scholarly leaders in terms of

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conspiracies and plotting. Other than his brief correspondence with the New Haven

naturalist, this was demonstrated most clearly in the political fights over the WFIS’s

occupancy of the Spring Garden Institute. Whether the eviction of the WFIS from that

hall was the product of a conspiracy between Wagner’s enemies or not, it is clear he

perceived the city’s decision that way. This attitude earned him no political support for

the WFIS to stay in Spring Garden or even allowed him to buy the hall from the city.

This attitude affected his management of WFIS and its programs. He made himself

president-for-life with almost complete control over every aspect of the institute and

reacted harshly when challenged by faculty or trustees. The revolt of members of the

faculty associated with the Franklin Institute likely prodded him to create a mechanic’s

institute to compete with the other organization. Although the mechanic’s institute at the

WFIS was reportedly popular, it was short lived and probably used resources that could

have been spent on other projects.

To be fair, these more negative traits have to be viewed in the context of William

Wagner’s positive qualities. His tenacity and sincere desire to do good things for the city

of Philadelphia, for example, cannot be questioned. His feelings of isolation and

professional frustration might justifiably be viewed as impediments to productive

community and professional partnerships. But those same feelings should also be

viewed as background forces in founding the institute and in furthering the success of

the core educational programs. The image of Wagner shagging an errant baseball and

refusing to return it to the professional players in the next field might remind modern

readers of the stereotypical grouchy old man determined that no one should have fun.

But the same man was also willing to protect the boundaries between his new hall of

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science and the growing encroachment of rowdy urban life. And that same man

defended and nurtured the space he created for science against less comical pressures

and challenges, including rowdy audience members, petty crime, vandalism, and

incompetent faculty. He might also, as William Wagner did, work proactively to create a

more conducive community space for the institute and the neighborhood because he

understood that the continued improvement and growth of the immediate community

would directly benefit the WFIS. The existence, survival and success of the WFIS were

products of the very traits that often frustrated its growth and expansion.

Wagner’s death thus gave new life to his institute not only because it

resulted in a quick infusion of extra money into the WFIS’s budget, but also because it

mitigated the negative aspects of the founder’s personality. The true contradiction of this

turnover was that it was accomplished by professional scientists and educators, some

personally recruited by Wagner himself, who were from among the very elites he once

railed against. The reasons for this are twofold. First, Wagner was not as much of an

outsider as he liked to portray himself. He was actually quite well connected and often

recruited new lecturers and trustees from some of the same institutions he often decried

as elitist and referred to as “dead letters.” Although he might write disdainfully about

institutions that traded in the strange Latin and Greek words, he nonetheless welcomed

young scientists and doctors from some of those same institutions, often at the

recommendation of friends and colleagues from the senior staffs at those places.

Second, in many ways William Wagner was ahead of his time. By the time he died,

many in the scientific and museum world were beginning to agree with him that their

institutions should be doing more to engage the general public and become active

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agents for civic improvement. Angelo Heilprin, for example, was seen by many of his

colleagues at the Academy of Natural Sciences as something of a rebel by the old

guard like president William Ruchenberger because he advocated for popular lectures

and free admission. Heilprin’s “rebellious” nature made him welcome at the WFIS.

Wagner was a strong defender of popular education in science museums and was a

steadfast advocate for free admission. And as he neared death, more and more

museum entrepreneurs agreed with him and were on hand to take over the reins of the

Wagner Free Institute of Science

The Wagner Free Institute of Science is one of many natural history museums

and scientific institutions founded in the United States in the second half of the

nineteenth century, but it has a unique history that makes it worthy of a historical

analysis and suggests some ways in which this present study is important to the history

of science. Its uniqueness suggests that there is more complexity to the history of

natural history institutions than has been explored before. Many natural history

institutions of the nineteenth century were founded by groups of men who came

together through a mutual love of science. Societies and academies in Boston,

Philadelphia, New York and Charleston all fit this model.3 Other institutions were

founded on or near college campuses and benefited from association with research

3 For a history of the Boston Museum of Natural History see Kohlstedt, Sally Gregory. "The Nineteenth-Century Amateur Tradition: The Case of the Boston Society of Natural History." in Science and Its Publics: The Changing Relationship. Edited by Gerald James Holton and William A Blanpied. (Dordrecht, Holland; Boston: D. Reidel Pub. Co., 1976); For the Academy of Natural Sciences in Philadelphia see Peck, Stroud, and Purcell. A Glorious Enterprise: The Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia and the Making of American Science, 2012; For New York see Simon Baatz. Knowledge, Culture, and Science in the Metropolis : The New York Academy of Sciences, 1817-1970. Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences (New York, N.Y.: New York Academy of Sciences, 1990); and for Charleston see Lester D. Stephens, Science, Race, and Religion in the American South: John Bachman and the Charleston Circle of Naturalists, 1815-1895. Chapel Hill, N.C.: University of North Carolina Press, 2000.

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scientists and leading academics, such as the Museum of Comparative Anatomy at

Harvard, the Peabody at Yale, and even the Florida Museum of Natural History in

Gainesville, Florida.4 Still others, including Barnum’s American Museum, succeeded

more as businesses of popular entertainment and spectacle.5 The Wagner Free

Institute of Science fits with none of these models. If anything, its history suggests

affinity more with art museums and galleries, organized around the collection of a

single, wealthy individual, than a natural history museum.6 The WFIS was founded not

only by an amateur (many of the early academies were founded and run by amateurs in

their early years,) but by a self-described outsider who sought to create an institution

with a definite culture and personality. That his success was limited when judged

against the standard of other natural history institutions of his day, suggests limitations

on what true amateur scientists could continue to accomplish in the second half of the

nineteenth century. But the WFIS should not be judged by the standards of the larger,

better funded, and better-connected museums of the era. It was, and is, a community-

based space for science and should be understood on its own terms as an institution

with more modest ambitions.

4 For the Museum of Comparative Anatomy at Harvard see Mary P. Winsor, Reading the Shape of Nature: Comparative Zoology at the Agassiz Museum (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991); The museums at Yale and the University of Florida have not been the subject of many historical accounts. For a brief one of the museum in Florida see C.E. Ray, An Idiosyncratic History of Floridian Vertebrate Paleontology, 2005.

5 See John Betts, "P. T. Barnum and the Popularization of Natural History," Journal of the History of Ideas, 1959, 20:353-368. http://www.jstor.org/stable/2708114; Andrew McClellan, "P. T. Barnum, Jumbo the Elephant, and the Barnum Museum of Natural History at Tufts University," Journal of the History of Collections, 2012, 24:45-62; and Paul Semoni. American Monster: How the Nation's First Prehistoric Creature Became a Symbol of National Identity (New York: New York University Press, 2000).

6 The Walter’s Art Gallery (now Museum) in Baltimore certainly fits this model, as does the Metropolitan Museum of Art. See Jeffrey Trask, Things American: Art Museums and Civic Culture in the Progressive Era. (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2012); and The Walters Art Gallery, The Walters Collection. (Baltimore: Lord Baltimore Press, 1900).

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This dissertation has examined a significant part of the WFIS’s narrative and

place it into historical context, but there is certainly more work that needs to be done on

this important institution. This is especially true because it has received too little

attention in the past. One issue worth pursuing would be a deeper study of how

patronage and networks operate. Existing studies on the topic have typically focused on

how specific scientists raised money to run expensive expeditions or projects or how

money warped the scientific enterprise.7 The present work has focused on how

Wagner’s wealth was used to create and support the institute. But there is another story

to be told about how scientists used funds from the Wagner just to support themselves.

Certainly people like Leidy, Cope, and Heilprin saw the WFIS as a source of financial

support during lean times. Many were young scholars such as Charles Mills and Henry

Leffman, who used the WFIS for added funds and experience before they became

prominent in neurology and chemistry. And though elocution is not a science, Jacob

Shoemaker used the support and experience he gained at the WFIS to launch a career

as a famous writer and lecturer in the subject. Other scholars found a long-term home

at the WFIS not just to make a little extra money, but also as a venue to become

popularizers outside of their normal positions in academia.

How the Wagner shaped the careers of the many younger lectures it hired is yet

another dimension that requires further exploration. For example, the historian of

7 For two different examples of how 19th century scientists received funding see James G. Cassidy, Ferdinand V. Hayden: Entrepreneur of Science. (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2000); and Hugh Richard Slotten, Patronage, Practice, and the Culture of American Science: Alexander Dallas Bache and the U.S. Coast Survey (Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 1994). On science and the military industrial complex see Stuart W. Leslie The Cold War and American Science: The Military-Industrial-Academic Complex at MIT and Stanford (New York: Columbia University Press, 1993); Jeff Hughes, The Manhattan Project: Big Science and the Atom Bomb (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002).

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science and religion Edward B. Davis touched on the Wagner in his consideration of

Samuel Christian Schmucker of the West Chester Normal School and a lecturer and

president of the faculty at the WFIS from 1907 to 1943.8 Schmucker’s position at the

WFIS allowed him to engage a more popular audience in both his personal

appearances and in the books he wrote with his wife to be used in nature study

courses.9 Schmucker’s story may be unique, but so are the stories of the other WFIS

faculty. Examination of people like Schmucker, might turn the exhortation of Andersen,

et al, to “follow the money” on its head. Focused on the “macro level” or in big studies

with big effects on big people or with who the military industrial complex has directed

and deflected science on campuses, Anderson et al, might be surprised by studies at

the “micro level,” and on how money supported a community of scientists and science

educators at the local level.

Lastly, historians might benefit from examination of the interplay of science and

public history, especially as it relates to the historic preservation of institutions such as

the Wagner. Currently designated as “a museum of a museum,” the Wagner may

provide an opportunity to reflect on the importance of preserving historic sites of science

alongside the more traditional sites such as battlefields, railroads, gardens, or even

municipal buildings.

8Edward B. Davis "Fundamentalism and Folk Science Between the Wars." Religion and American Culture: A Journal of Interpretation, 1995, 5:217-248 and Edward B. Davis, "Science and Religious Fundamentalism in the 1920s: Religious Pamphlets by Leading Scientists of the Scopes Era Provide Insight Into Public Debates About Science and Religion." American Scientist, 2005, 93: 253-260.

9 Schmucker is one of the few faculty members we know much about in terms of their teaching styles or pedagogical philosophies, other than William Wagner himself. He wrote a series of books for use as part of nature study. See Sally Gregory Kohlstedt, Teaching Children Science: Hands-on Nature Study in North America, 1890-1930 (Chicago; London: University of Chicago Press, 2010).

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Scholarly and popular attention to historic sites of science not only provide us

with a broader, more inclusive view of our own history, it can also help revive the

practice of science in those same institutions. Refocusing its efforts on heritage and the

history of science helped the WFIS embark on another renaissance. The twentieth-

century may have started well for the Wagner Free Institute of Science, with its

University Extension Service programs, it’s new wing serving the Free Library of

Philadelphia, and the growth of special programs for children, but it would not last and

ultimately the new century was not kind to the WFIS. The institute did not adapt to

changes in either the museum or scientific worlds, and was ultimately overwhelmed by

the changes its community.

The WFIS missed almost every major museum and natural history innovation of

the first half of the twentieth century. The museum and its Darwinian display of

specimens, for example, were competing with more engaging and popular dioramas to

be found at larger and better-funded museums.10 Leidy’s biographer, Warren Leon,

dismissed the exhibit design adopted by the paleontologist for the Wagner as old

fashioned and lacking any modern biological interpretation. He lamented with hindsight,

that “[t]he entire enterprise was founded on long held notions from the past, both in its

menial theoretical component and in its descriptive methodology. The new, expensive,

experimental science, practiced by the most able and imaginative people, seem to be

ignored.”11 At the same time, commentators of the period had equally harsh opinions of

10 For a combination scholarly and picturesque review of this form of display see Stephen C. Quinn and American Museum of Natural History, Windows on Nature: The Great Habitat Dioramas of the American Museum of Natural History (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 2006).

11 Warren, Joseph Leidy,1998, 216

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the method of display adopted by Leidy and some of his contemporaries. Writing in

1896 the British paleontologist and malacologist Francis A. Bather wrote a stinging

attack on such dull display methods when he wrote that, “[we] know how to strike

dullness through the hearts of thousands by our funereal rows of stuffed birds with their

melancholy lines of Latin names; we know how to chill the enthusiasm of the young and

to disgust the susceptibilities of tender souls but the display of entrails and abortions

stewing in some brown concoction in the depth of antiquated pickle-jars.”12 The display

that Joseph Leidy worked so hard on was no longer popular among the public or

respected by modern biologists.

The Transactions continued to be published sporadically until 1926 when it was

replaced by other publications, which, with a couple of notable exceptions, slowly

slipped from original scholarship to syntheses of current scientific discoveries and

controversies.13 Faculty and Board members who joined the WFIS during the

professionalizing period of the late 1800’s and early 1900’s stayed on well into

retirement, turning their positions into semi-permanent sinecures and preventing

younger faculty to revive the institution the way Heilprin, Leffman, Willcox, and others

had revived the WFIS decades earlier. Adult education also changed rapidly as the

enrichment that lyceums and the WFIS favored in the nineteenth century gave way to a

desire for vocational training and credentials to advance careers.

12 F. A Bather. "How May Museums Best Retard the Advance of Science?" Science, 1897, 5: 677-83.

http://www.jstor.org/stable/1623676.

13 W Curtis, "Evolution on Hold Why the Wagner Free Institute of Science in Philadelphia Failed to Adapt and yet Survives," 2001. Among the exceptions are Carroll Lane Fenton, Studies of Evolution in the Genus Spirifer, Publications of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, (Philadelphia: Wagner Free Institute of Science, 1931).

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The WFIS’s endowment kept the doors open and lectures scheduled, but it was

too little to change and upgrade. When originally constructed, the institute occupied a

rural suburb served by a single streetcar. As the neighborhood expanded and became

more crowded in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, it achieved middle-

class status before descending into urban overcrowding. Gradually the old landmarks

began to disappear, replaced by thousands of middle-and working-class row houses

serviced by a growing network of cable cars. At first the WFIS thrived in this suburban

milieu, charging rent for the row houses on their property and offering free library

lending services and teaching. But by World War II long time residents had abandoned

the neighborhood giving way to poorer residents and boarded up buildings, drying up

income from the rental properties.14 In 1962, the library branch closed and in 1964 the

worst riots Philadelphia had ever seen occurred just blocks from the WFIS’s front door.

By 1970 lectures were held at offsite locations, the attendees not being willing to drive

to the now largely African American community. It was an era of quiet survival in which

some programs for children may have grown, but the WFIS itself largely contracted.

In December of 1990, however, The Wagner Free Institute of Science changed

direction and adapted Wagner’s vision just slightly in order to emphasize its historic

nature and its place in the heritage landscape of Philadelphia. It became a National

Historic Landmark that year as part of a conscious effort by WFIS staff and its board of

trustees, including descendants of the founder, to reenergize a sleepy institution.

Saddled with a 130-year-old building and exhibits, they embraced their history. What

14 Inga Saffron, "The 1880's Never Looked So Good: Brighter Outlook for Museum," The Philadelphia Inquirer, November 14, 2004.

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was once a musty building in need of repairs and stagnant, outdated exhibits became,

with this new emphasis, a snapshot of the science of a bygone era. This change of

emphasis proved enormously beneficial for the Wagner. Visitation rose, a number of

grants were acquired to restore there building and exhibits, and outreach to the local

community grew and expanded, including the creation of the award winning GeoKids

program. It was a rebirth equal to that experienced by the institute after the William

Wagner’s death, yet, as illustrated by the success of the GeoKids program, still in line

with the founder’s original dream.

A hoary aphorism about the study of the past is that history is always written by

the victors. When discussing the histories of the military, politics, and social movements

it is often easy to see just who they are and how they might have influenced the

interpretation of a past in which they were the victors. But if this adage is true of the

history of nineteenth century scientific institutions, the Wagner Free Institute of Science

is clearly not a winner. Except for one or two student papers and dissertations, the

institution has largely been absent from the standard histories or relegated to marginal

status. But as this examination has taught us, it is a mistake to equate being larger with

being better or with being victorious, and being famous is not necessarily the same as

being important.

In short, the Wagner was, and still is, an integral part of the fabric of the history of

science in Philadelphia. Its halls hosted some of the most important scholars of the

period, providing many with experience and support long before they became prominent

in their fields. The museum now contains type specimens that were discovered under

institute auspices, and its lecture hall has hosted tens of thousands of students, for fun

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as well as for profit. The history of science museums in America needs to re-think its

definition of winning and success to include those intuitions, like the Wagner Free

Institute of Science, that have strong, if short, reaches into their community.

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APPENDIX A BRIEF BIOGRAPHY OF STEPHEN GIRARD

As I argue in Chapter One, Stephen Girard had an outsized influence over both

the business and scientific careers of William Wagner and, therefore, over the Wagner

Free Institute of Science. Girard provided Wagner with the opportunity to collect both

specimens and money that would ultimately make the WFIS. The French-born merchant

also provided a model that helped Wagner create an image of himself as an outsider in

the scientific and social community of Philadelphia. Given Girard’s influence on Wagner

and ultimately the WFIS, a brief consideration of the life of the older merchant is

important in understanding the lessons learned by Wagner from his mentor.

Girard was born in Bordeaux, France in 1750. He lost his mother at the age of 12

and took over much of the household work due to the regular absence his merchant

father. He also lost sight in his right eye and became dedicated at an early age to hard

work, both of which set him apart from his peers growing up. This sense of isolation

would dog him as he grew up and became more successful. He had little formal

education and went to sea as an apprentice in 1764 at the age of 14. He earned his

license to be a captain in 1773. Throughout his many voyages he tutored himself not

only in the ways of the sea, but also in trade and the more traditional aspects of a liberal

education such history, literature, and math. His numerous voyages had him

crisscrossing the Atlantic several times trading in California, New York, New Orleans,

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and several ports in the Caribbean, all the while amassing capital and an appreciation of

the American market.15

In May of 1776 Girard was sailing between Cape Francais in Saint Dominique

and New York when storms and a British blockade forced him to port in Philadelphia.

Girard found himself stuck in Philadelphia in the middle of the American Revolution by

the British fleet just two months before the signing of the Declaration of Independence.

Girard found America to his liking and chose to stay for the rest of his life. He started his

own shipping business in his new home in addition to several other enterprises

including a dry-goods store and a farm. He became a naturalized citizen of the United

States in 1778.

For the rest of his life Girard expanded his network of maritime trade and

enlarged his personal fortune while maintaining a relatively simple life-style. As with

many Philadelphia merchants, Girard turned his attention to China after the war,

profiting greatly from the trade of fine linens and other exotic goods. In 1788 he made

his final voyage as a merchant taking cargo to France. He settled past debts and saw to

his recently deceased father’s estates. The completion of the new United States

Constitution in 1789 greatly simplified trade in and out of the new country and provide

Girard with the opportunity to achieve even higher levels of success.

While Girard saw continuous success in his business interests, his family life was

less harmonious. In 1776 he married Philadelphia native Mary Lum who was 18 years

younger than Girard. His decision to remain in Philadelphia after his last voyage to

15 This narrative of Stephen Girard is a synthesis of a umber of different sources that were also used in the main narrative. These Ingram, The Life and Character of Stephen Girard, 1887, McMaster, The Life and Times of Stephen Girard, 1918, Simpson, Biography of Stephen Girard and His Will, 1832, Wildes, Lonely Midas, 1943, and Wilson, Stephen Girard: The Life and Times of America’s First Tycoon, 1995.

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France was as much because he wanted to stay at home with Mary as it was

recognition that his growing interests needed him to stay in Philadelphia. Shortly after

the marriage, the couple moved to Mount Holly, New Jersey not far from Philadelphia

and Girard’s businesses, but away from the British occupation. As the British moved out

of the area and the city, the couple moved back to Philadelphia. In 1785 Mary began to

show signs of declining mental stability. She moved between periods of deep

depression and manic outbursts of emotion. At first Girard tried to isolate her in the

home, but eventually her manic spells were accompanied by violent outbursts directed

at Girard and the household staff. In 1790 she was committed to Pennsylvania Hospital

where Girard supported her for the rest of her life. Shortly after her commitment she

gave birth to a baby that died in infancy. The paternity of the child was never

determined. With Mary’s commitment to the hospital, Girard brought a mistress into his

home to serve as a surrogate wife. He would ultimately have several mistresses

throughout his life, a common occurrence during that period. But the entire episode

would encourage rumor and scandal that dogged Girard for the rest of his life.16

While his home life settled down, his business life reached new heights. Though

the 1790’s were a tumultuous time for international trade and civic affairs, Girard

weathered them well. Global shipping and trade grew more uncertain as conflict grew in

Europe and US merchants were caught in the middle. Privateers from France, Spain,

the Caribbean, and North Africa made some passages risky. The revolution in Saint

16 Rumors and speculation concerning the real roots of Mary’s mental health and Girard’s subsequent commitment of his wife survive into the twenty-first century. Playwright Lannie Robertson wrote a one-act play entitled The Insanity of Mary Girard which dramatizes Mary’s plight in Pennsylvania Hospital as the result of Girard’s jealousy and betrayal. That play ran in Washington, D.C. and New Orleans in 2015 and 2016. See “The Insanity of Mary Girard at Capital Fringe,” The D.C. Theater Scene (Washington, D.C.), July 17, 2015.

205

Domingue that began in 1791 forced many merchants, including Girard, to look for other

ports and customers. Nevertheless Girard’s fortune from global trade continued to grow,

as did his influence in politics, both national and local. He backed policies that

supported free trade and America’s merchant class. He used his position as a wealthy

merchant and prominent local citizen to lobby President Washington to take France’s

side against the British in their growing conflict. Girard’s position was likely based at

least partially on loyalty to his homeland, but mostly on the toll British attacks on

American merchant ships were taking on his profits. While Washington did not follow

the merchant’s suggestions, Girard remained interested in national affairs.

In addition to being a successful merchant and banker, Stephen Girard was a

responsible Philadelphia citizen who made good works a life-long mission whether it

made him money or not. Girard was a strong believer in the young United States of

American and its republican values. He was long critical of the idleness and

extravagance of French aristocracy and supported the French Revolution until it

reached its bloody extremes. Throughout the revolution in Saint Domingue he helped

refugees off the island and supported them in a small colony outside Philadelphia.

During the Yellow Fever epidemic of 1793, he stayed in Philadelphia when most citizens

who could afford to leave, left, including most of the federal government with George

and Martha Washington at their head. He endangered his life by volunteering to run an

impromptu hospital in a vacant mansion north of the city and completed the most menial

chores caring for the patients, cleaning up after them, and even transporting them to the

hospital. After the outbreak subsided in late 1793, Philadelphia publically recognized the

heroism of Girard and other residents who stayed behind to nurse the victims of Yellow

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Fever. This event solidified Girard’s place not only as a prominent local businessman,

but also among its most important citizens.

Girard was not just generous to the city of Philadelphia. He was supportive of

those closest to him as well. Perhaps because his wife had grown ill before the Girards

could have children, the merchant supported numerous families; his, his wife’s, and his

mistress’s, and paid for their training, education, and, when appropriate, their dowries.

In 1811 he became proprietor of this own bank and was not beholden to shareholders

or trustees. During his life the bank specialized in short-term, small business loans for

local merchants, artisans, and families. He also supported various charities during his

life including, but certainly not limited to, the Pennsylvania Hospital, The Public School

Fund of Philadelphia, The Pennsylvania Institute for the Deaf and Dumb, and the

Orphan Society.

Some biographers jokingly referred to him as a saint, but we should be careful

how far down that road we should go. He did own his own house slaves and profited

from slave labor, though one of his failed business decisions was over estimating the

price of whips in Saint Domingue. He made enormous profits trading in opium. He

refused to lend money to the US during The War of 1812 until he got his terms and he

was quite skilled in skirting taxes and maritime laws through chicanery and

misrepresentation.

Although Stephen Girard had made himself the wealthiest American of his time

and a positive corporate citizen of Philadelphia, he remained relatively isolated in his

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wealth.17 This was for any number of interrelated reasons, but first and foremost it was

because Stephen Girard was an outsider in almost every way. Though the United

States was a very young country, Philadelphia already had an entrenched network of

aristocratic “old Philadelphians” that historian of science Simon Baatz referred to as the

“patriciate” due not only to their status as the wealthy, upper-class but also because of

their role in supporting select causes, charities, naturalists, and scientific

organizations.18 Sporting well-known names like Cadwalader, Biddle, Binney, Rush,

Hopkinson, and dozens of others, these families were among the first settlers of the

colony and helped found the city and the country. They were mostly immigrants, or

descended from immigrants, from England, Wales, and Germany, and had deeply

established traditions and ties to the Quaker and Episcopal faiths. They consisted of

prominent politicians, religious leaders, merchants, jurists, diplomats and bankers and

they served together on a network of interrelated boards of banks, colleges, and faculty

of prominent local, state, and even national institutions and legislatures. In addition to

their professional achievements, these “Proper Philadelphians” had social circles and

leisure activities and traditions typical of wealthy communities throughout the US

including fraternal organizations, hunting clubs, and society dances.19 Stephen Girard,

to say the least, had nothing in common with this community and his success seemed

to challenge them at every level.

17 Harry Emerson Wildes even titled his work Lonely Midas to emphasize Girard’s wealth and isolation in Philadelphia society as the two most defining aspects of his life. Wildes, Lonely Midas, 1943.

18 Baatz, “Philadelphia Patronage,” 1988.

19 For information on “Proper Philadelphia” see E. Digby Baltzell. Philadelphia Gentlemen: The Making of a National Upper Class ( New Brunswick, U.S.A.: Transaction Publishers, 1958), Nathaniel Burt, The Perennial Philadelphians: The Anatomy of An American Aristocracy (Boston: Little, Brown, 1963), and Baatz, “Philadelphia Patronage,” 1988.

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Stephen Girard excelled at several businesses and careers central to the identity

of Proper Philadelphia and certainly made enough money to be counted among their

number. But historian Daniel Kilbride appropriately cautioned readers not to define this

leisure class solely by wealth, “since upper classes in American cities were divided

based on religion, family, etiquette, and many other qualities” and further explained that

“Philadelphia was renowned for the reactionary sensibility and aura of entitlement that

distinguished its fashionable society.”20 Stephen Girard did not belong to this group and

made little effort to ingratiate himself to them. He was a naturalized American citizen

who came to Philadelphia by accident a month before the signing of the Declaration of

Independence. He never had strong command of English. He was a secular French

Catholic who was not active in any church.21 He was decidedly unattractive; being short

even for the period with an injured, unseeing eye that grew steadily more unsightly as

he grew older. He did not frequent the coffee houses or public houses where local

business was often conducted and news was shared. But more importantly he

disdained the normal trappings of wealth. He disliked the idleness and extravagance of

American aristocrats as much, if not more, than he hated French aristocrats. He actively

and publicly disdained fashionable clothing, choosing serviceable, plain garments he

designed himself and wore until threadbare. He never owned an opulent four-wheeled

carriage staffed with liveried teamsters and coachmen that served as status symbols for

20 Kilbride, An American Aristocracy, 2006. P. 3.

21 There is very little evidence of Girard’s religious or spiritual life. He was born a Catholic, but his biographers note that he gravitated toward the Quakers later in life. He might have done so for business reasons since Quakers were a major influence in Philadelphia political and merchant community. But it is probable he was also drawn to the Society of Friends’ emphasis on simplicity of life and worship and humility in faith. It was reported by attendees that the funeral service of his wife, Mary Girard, was conducted “after the fashion of the friends.” Wilson, Stephen Girard, 1995, p. 348.

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many old Philadelphia families. He preferred a comfortable two-wheeled gig he drove

himself. When he designed a new building to house both his family and his business in

1796 on Water Street, he built a perfectly adequate home and office complex with

enough space for his life and work, but no ballroom, parlor, or other spaces for the

conspicuous display of wealth and leisure.22 And, as noted, his personal life and

marriage invited rumor and scandal.

There were many reasons why Stephen Girard was not part of the Philadelphia

aristocracy, but one of the more important causes of this isolation was due to his

business practices. Girard’s life and joy was his work. Today he would likely be called a

workaholic because he worked all day, every day and rarely took time off. But George

Wilson, his most recent biographer, concluded that Girard worked so hard not out of

some deeply ingrained Protestant work ethic, but because he loved his work. According

to all contemporary accounts Girard loved commerce and business. He loved the risks

of investment, the strategies of trade, and the art of the deal. Although he appeared to

take great risks with his business and with his money, he actually had a voracious

appetite for information and reading. He read every newspaper and dispatch. He was in

constant contact with a global network of agents, apprentices, captains, and

supercargoes that kept him informed of world events, markets and prices, and even

weather patterns and tides. Historians and biographers have speculated that he was

better informed than the US State Department on the politics of foreign powers. He also

kept at his disposal some of the top business lawyers of Philadelphia with whom he

22 See Wilson, Stephen Girard, 1995 for an excellent description of Girard’s habits and a description of his new home and office. None of this should be taken to mean Girard was not sociable or did not have friends among Proper Philadelphians. He counted many Copes, Biddles, and other old names among his friends, but they were mostly people with whom he had business of one sort or another.

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would consult for advice before making legally precarious business decisions and he

always went into such ventures firmly convinced of his legal position. What looked like

luck to outsiders was in fact the sound decisions of a well-informed man playing a very

long game, and Stephen Girard loved every deal.

An excellent example of how Girard’s fastidious research in business made him

both rich and unpopular with the state and local ruling class was how he was able to

obtain and operate the First Bank of the United States when its charter expired in 1811.

Though an outspoken champion of both US Banks, Girard nevertheless knew

opportunity when he saw it and purchased most of the stock, the building and the

furnishings of the first bank. He had the cash on hand because he had been bringing his

assets back to the US and Philadelphia for years, correctly believing that war with Great

Britain was inevitable and near.

Stephen Girard, however, was never supposed to be a banker. In 1810 the

Pennsylvania legislature enacted a law that was intended to make it illegal to not just

open an unincorporated bank, but also to be a customer of an unincorporated bank or to

circulate money from an unincorporated bank. This was not an uncommon law, as the

number of banks was tightly controlled at the time, not out of any zeal for consumer

protection but to control who ran the banks and how many there were. An interrelated

network of wealthy aristocrats ran local Philadelphia banks and they had little desire for

more competition for customers or money. Stephen Girard hired two prominent local

attorneys who determined that Girard could, in fact, operate an unincorporated bank

because the state legislature had outlawed only those banks run by an “unincorporated

association of persons” and Stephen Girard was only one person. The state legislature

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did not conceive, could not conceive, of one individual being so wealthy he could open

his own bank much like a person would open a grocery store. Stephen Girard’s Bank,

the official name of the new enterprise, was owned by one person and answered to

neither shareholders, trustees, nor co-owners. He had a much lower overhead, needed

to show no one a quick return, and operated his bank with a distinct and sizable

competitive advantage to other Philadelphia banks. The established banks, being

owned and operated by some of Philadelphia’s most prominent citizens, of course did

not look this upon favorably. Other banks refused to honor Girard bank notes and they

tried to prevent their customers from accepting them as well. There were many attempts

both locally and in the state legislature to make Girard’s bank illegal, even as he saved

the United States and eventually the state of Pennsylvania from insolvency with timely

loans. None of the efforts to shut down Girard’s bank or hinder its prosperity were

successful and Stephen Girard proved to be as successful in banking as he was with

maritime trade.23

Though Girard was known for his generosity, he was also known for his miserly

cantankerousness. As noted in Chapter 1, Girard was noted for eschewing partners and

agents, including those from prominent Philadelphia families, in favor of employees

whom he trained himself and rewarded handsomely. By avoiding the use of these

independent companies and people, Girard saved himself from the fraud other

merchants counted as the cost of doing business, but he also isolated himself from the

network of local, national, and even international, merchants.

23 See Donald R. Adams Finance and Enterprise in Early America: A Study of Stephen Girard's Bank, 1812-1831 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1978), and Robert E, Wright and David Jack Cowen, Financial Founding Fathers: The Men Who Made America Rich (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006).

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Girard continued successful operations of his bank, trading interests, farm, and

other businesses for the rest of his life and he never ceased jumping on new

opportunities. When war with Great Britain finally arrived, Girard was to play an

important role in the conflict. By 1813 the War of 1812 took an enormous toll on the

finances of the United States. Girard and his bank were available to loan his country in

excess of 8 million dollars to keep the war effort going. After the war he continued to

prosper and his influence was strongly felt in national politics, especially his support for

the Second Bank of the United States that was formed in Philadelphia in 1818. At the

age of 79 he sought new investments in the coal counties of Pennsylvania and at the

age of 81 he invested in railroading.

Stephen Girard died on December 26, 1831. He succumbed to an influenza

epidemic that swept through Philadelphia that year. The city of Philadelphia mourned

his loss through official proclamations recognizing both his business success and good

deeds on behalf of the city. His funeral was a major event attended by rich and poor

alike. Girard began writing his will long before he died and he and his lawyers rewrote it

several times. He bequeathed modest amounts to individuals such as Hannah, a slave

who had served his household for fifty years. She was granted her freedom and an

annual income to last the rest of her life. He also left money to other relatives, friends,

and the captains of his ships. He gave modest amounts to various charities in the

Philadelphia area. But the largest total, about seven million dollars, was to create a

“college for poor white male orphans” to be named Girard College. It was the largest act

of beneficence in the United States at that time and it was this single act of charity that

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William Wagner cited most often as his inspiration to create the Wagner Free Institute of

Science.

Girard’s will was meticulously written over a long period of time because he had

a very strong opinion about how it should be spent and he knew his requirements would

be controversial. In regard to Girard College he dictated such details as the height of

each ceiling of each floor of the main building and he required that modern languages

such as French and Spanish be taught rather than Greek or Lain. The most

controversial clause in the bequest that founded Girard College was his expressed will

that the school remain unattached to any religious authority. In fact he went even further

stating

I enjoin and require that no ecclesiastic, missionary or minister of any sect whatsoever, shall ever hold or exercise any station or duty whatever in the said college; nor shall any such person ever be admitted for any purpose, or as a visitor, within the premises appropriated to the purposes of said college.24

Though the text of the will clearly and intentionally stated that all religious leaders

were banned from even stepping foot in Girard College, Girard was absolutely clear it

wasn’t because he was hostile to religion, but that he didn’t want the studies of the

students distracted by the disrupting influence of religious controversy. He explained

In making this restriction, I do not mean to cast any reflection upon any sect whatsoever; but as there are a multitude of sects, and such a diversity of opinion amongst them, I desire to keep the tender minds of the orphans, who are to derive advantage to this bequest, from the excitement which clashing doctrines and sectarian controversy are so apt to produce;25

24 Taken from Simpson, Biography of Stephen Girard, 1832, p. 22. Simpson includes the entire text of Girard’s will in his biography.

25 ibid

214

Girard’s praises were sung in the press for the generosity of his final will and

testament, but not everyone celebrated. Girard and his lawyers anticipated a challenge

by his relatives, business acquaintances, and others who thought they had a claim to

the dead merchant’s money and they were right. Girard’s surviving relatives challenged

the will based on the clause forbidding religious leaders, instructions, or services in the

college. They argued, through their lawyer, renowned politician Daniel Webster, that this

clause was illegal because it violated the first amendment guarantee of freedom of

religion. Horace Binney, who was also a politician and famous lawyer of the period,

represented the executors of the will against Girard’s family. The case went all the way

to the United States Supreme Court, which affirmed the will in 1844. It is still

considered as a milestone in the maintenance of donor intent in philanthropic law.

Girard College opened in 1848. The college admitted its first African American students

in 1968 and its first female students in 1984. Girard College continues the legacy of its

founders today.

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BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

Matthew White received his Doctor of Philosophy in history from the University of

Florida in December of 2016. Prior to achieving this degree he earned a Bachelor of

Arts in history, with a minor in psychology, from the University of Maryland, Baltimore

County in 1987. He also received a Master of Arts in history from UMBC in 1988 and a

Master of Arts in Teaching from The Johns Hopkins University in 1993. Between his first

M.A. and beginning work on his PhD, Matthew worked for over 20 years in museums

including the Baltimore Museum of Industry, the B&O Railroad Museum, and the

Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of American History. He currently works as

the Director of Education at the Smithsonian’s National Postal Museum.