I noticed an anomaly as I pulled together the spreadsheet of every county named for a U.S. president for the recent Last Presidential Counties article. There was a single Millard County. It represented the only county designated for a president’s first name rather than his surname as far as I could determine. It got stranger. Millard County, Utah had its seat of government in the town of Fillmore. The president honored here was Millard Fillmore, so the county picked up his first name and the town adopted his last name. That would be like establishing a Richard County with its local government in a town called Nixon (assuming anything of significance will ever be named for Nixon). If anything it seemed backwards.
However that wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. Fillmore should have been Utah’s state capital instead of Salt Lake City and then it would have made perfect sense. The weird imbalance would never have existed. Instead, Millard County remained rather obscure with barely 12,000 residents, and offered 12MC an excellent opportunity to fill a blank spot on the Complete Index Map.
Utah Territorial Statehouse State Park by
Jimmy Emerson, DVM (cc)
Millard Fillmore wasn’t exactly the most towering icon of presidential history, in fact he’d been categorized consistently near the bottom of the pile by historians who tracked such things. He just happened to be president at a convenient time for him to benefit from some good-old-fashioned political pandering. It was an expedient choice:
Why Fillmore? Location (geographic center). Location (water, land). Location (wood, stone). After congress set the boundary and created the Territory of Utah in 1850, Brigham Young, as the newly appointed governor, chose a suitable location for a capital. This location, near the geographic center of the territory, had all the needed resources to build with, and was located on the major travel route. Brigham Young designated it Fillmore City and Millard County to honor the United States President.
Construction began on the new Capitol building and the Territorial Legislature met there in 1855 (map). Only the south wing was ever completed. The project was overtaken by financial difficulties and the Territorial Capital moved to Salt Lake City a couple of years later. The old partially-completed Capitol is Utah’s oldest intact government building and has been preserved at Territorial Statehouse State Park.
Millard County retained some significance in the early history of Utah. Mormon settlers continued to move into the Pahvant Valley. This created ongoing tensions over land and resources with Native inhabitants including the Ute and Paiute, and contributed to a conflict known as the Black Hawk War.
The years 1865 to 1867 were by far the most intense of the conflict. Latter-day Saints considered themselves in a state of open warfare. They built scores of forts and deserted dozens of settlements while hundreds of Mormon militiamen chased their illusive adversaries through the wilderness with little success. Requests for federal troops went unheeded for eight years. Unable to distinguish "guilty" from "friendly" tribesmen, frustrated Mormons at times indiscriminately killed Indians, including women and children.
In desperation the settlers sent word to President Brigham Young who authorized them to built a fort. As teams of men were chosen to build the fort, it was decided a contest would help encourage speed in erecting the defensive structure. The winners were to be recipients of a supper and a dance, while the losers had to furnish the food and entertainment… The fort was completed in 18 days by 98 men. It was 550-feet square with bastions at the northeast and southeast corner, and portholes giving a view of each side. The fort was never used for its primary purpose, but instead housed the livestock each night.
No other Adobe fort from this era of Utah history exists today. Even this site will eventually crumble back into the valley floor as it slowly erodes away.
Topaz War Relocation Center
Millard’s obscurity pushed it towards the forefront during a later historical era, during the Second World War. This was the site of the Topaz War Relocation Center, an internment camp for Japanese Americans.
In a shameful chapter of American History, war hysteria and fear led to the relocation and internment of 120,000 people of Japanese descent from the west coast of the United States to various inland camps. Approximately ten-thousand of them, primarily from the San Francisco area, ended-up at Topaz for the duration of the war. Topaz didn’t close until late 1945. The outline of the Topaz Relocation Center remains etched on the landscape, and memories are being preserved by the Topaz Museum.
An official Presidential apology wasn’t issued until 1991.
Twelve Mile Circle finds itself with an overflowing mailbag once again with lots of intriguing readers suggestions. Each one of these could probably form an entire article although I’ll provide the short versions today to try to clear a backlog. Once again, I’ll say gladly that 12MC has the best readers. I really appreciate learning about news things that I can now share with a broader audience.
Ebright Azimuth (Delaware Highpoint) — my own photo
I wasn’t familiar with Dall Island, however it formed a miniscule part of the border between the United States and Canada, as mentioned by reader "A.J." and as noted by Wikipedia:
Cape Muzon, the southernmost point of the island, is the western terminus, known as Point A, of the A-B Line, which marks the marine boundary between the state of Alaska and the Canadian province of British Columbia as defined by the Alaska Boundary Treaty of 1903. This line is also the northern boundary of the waters known as the Dixon Entrance.
A.J. thought it interesting that Dall Island was listed as internationally divided with 100% of the landmass in the United States and 0% within Canada. The boundary just touched the tip of the island so the portion within Canada would be infinitesimally small, literally only at the so-called Point A (map). How could the United States own all of an island but not really all of an island? It brought a lot of questions to my mind, too: Was there a border monument? Did the border change with the tides? Would someone get in trouble for touching Point A without reporting to immigrations and customs?
12MC received a bit of a riddle from reader "Brian" that amused me. Everyone educated in the United States should be able to get the answer although apparently it fools a lot people. I’ll go ahead and post the question and then leave a little space so it doesn’t spoil the answer. "Name the City: Of the 50 US capitol cities, this one has the largest population AND falls alphabetically between Olympia (Washington) and Pierre (South Dakota)."
Feel free to scroll down when you’re ready.
It’s Phoenix, Arizona.
I almost fell into the Philadelphia, Pennsylvania trap until I remembered that Harrisburg is the capital city of Pennsylvania. That may be just an instinctual thing showing nothing more than I’ve lived in the Mid-Atlantic my whole life. I’m sure people in Arizona wouldn’t have a problem with this one. It would be interesting to know if the incorrect "answer" varied by geography.
Yes, I realize it was horribly unfair of me to use an image of the Liberty Bell to further confuse the issue.
photo courtesy of reader Lyn; used with permission
Lyn, who’s frequent contributions has earned the exalted title "Loyal Reader Lyn" struck again with a trip to the Maldives (map). Lyn learned long ago that I love getting website hits from obscure locations and has a job that goes to interesting places such as Douala in Cameroon. I wish my job took me to equally fascinating places. Sadly, it does not. I’m more likely to travel to exotic spots like Atlanta or Boston — nice places for sure although nothing in comparison to the Maldives or Cameroon. Lyn should start a travel website. I’d subscribe!
photo courtesy of reader Bob; used with permission
Bob spotted an interesting intersection while wandering about Waterbury, Connecticut: Stewart Avenue & Granger Street (map). Stewart Granger was a British actor active primarily in the 1940’s through 1960’s (e.g., starring with John Wayne in North to Alaska).
It had been a long time since 12MC had done an article on street names and intersections, and this topic looked particularly promising. I thought off the top of my head that someone else from that era would be a good possibility, Errol Flynn. In more modern terms, maybe Taylor Swift? I’ll bet there’s a Taylor St. intersecting with a Swift St. somewhere. Unfortunately the latest version of Google Maps wouldn’t accommodate this type of searching as elegantly as its predecessor so I had to abandon the search.
This may be the largest geographic area affected by the recent renaming of things associated with the old Confederacy. I always thought it was a tad strange that an area of Alaska was named for a Confederate cavalry officer.
I found one surprising benefit to the tedious research that went into the recent Last Presidential Counties article: I could sort through the data differently and come up with several unexpected yet equally fascinating facts. It produced enough material for a second article. Don’t think of these as leftovers though. They stood on their own.
I expected that most counties would be designated in fairly close proximity to a president’s term in office, and that was the case generally. However I began to see that a noticeable number of counties were designated for their namesakes even before they served as president. That began to make sense as I thought about it a little more and began checking individual county histories. Consider that anyone who had the ability to became president of a nation — any nation — must have possessed extreme ambitions. These men didn’t simply drop out of the sky and land in the Oval Office without any effort on their part. The United States wasn’t a kingdom and nobody inherited this position. No, they were all governors or congressmen or generals or diplomats, or they filled various other prestigious positions, oftentimes multiple positions. Their efforts sometimes rose to a level of prominence that compelled states to name counties in their honor long before they served as president.
William Henry Harrison became the earliest achiever. Harrison County, Indiana was named for him a full 33 years before his presidential administration began. He’d already been a delegate to Congress representing the Northwest Territory before Andrew Jackson appointed him to become the first Governor of the the Indiana Territory in 1800. The territory was huge, encompassing all of current Indiana, Illinois, Michigan, Wisconsin and part of Minnesota. Indiana established Harrison County in 1808 including land that Harrison owned, and established its capital there in the town of Corydon (map) where it would remain until moving to Indianapolis in the 1820’s.
Harrison then reinvented himself as a military leader and moved to Ohio. He defeated Native American forces led by the Shawnee leader Tecumseh at the Battle of Tippecanoe in 1811. Then he defeated British forces at the Battle of the Thames in the War of 1812 (albeit the battle itself happened the following year). That prompted Ohio to designate a Harrison County in 1813, this one established 28 years before Harrison became president. He served in Congress representing Ohio and then as a diplomat before retiring somewhere around 1829. Harrison had already experienced enough adventure for several careers when he was persuaded to run for president in 1836 (he lost) and again in 1840 (he won). Then he caught pneumonia and died after serving in office for only about a month. He probably should have quit while he was still ahead.
Andrew Jackson tied for second place. Jackson County, Tennessee was named 28 years before Jackson became president.
Some presidents became greater icons than others. Many of the presidents who led the struggle for independence still had counties named for them several decades after they left public office. It should come as no surprise that John Adams and George Washington fared particularly well, with counties named for them 110 years after they served: Adams County, Idaho and Washington County, Oklahoma.
Adams County, Idaho
There wasn’t much to know about Adams County, Idaho in a rural part of the state with fewer than four thousand residents. It did serve as the home of the increasingly rare Northern Idaho Ground Squirrel (Urocitellus brunneus brunneus)
Very small range in west-central Idaho; declined from about 5000+ individuals in 1985 to only 450-500 individuals in 23 sub-populations in 2002; most (20) subpopulations comprise fewer than 50 individuals. Threatened by habitat loss and fragmentation as a result of forest encroachment into meadows, agricultural conversion, road construction, and residential and golf course development, and also by competition with Columbian ground squirrel and some shooting.
Washington County, Oklahoma was considerably better know with its county seat at Bartlesville. Washington was a funny little county, long and skinny and the smallest in the state with only 424 square miles (1,098 square kilometres) of territory. While Bartlesville wasn’t the largest city in Oklahoma — it had only about 35 thousand residents — it played an oversized role in the oil and gas industry that was so important to the state economy. The Phillips Petroleum Company was founded there in 1905. It later merged with Conoco to become ConocoPhillips and then split to become Phillips 66 and ConocoPhillips in 2012. Both companies continue to retain a major presence in Bartlesville although now headquartered elsewhere.
Bartlesville was also notable for Price Tower (map), now known as the Price Tower Arts Center. It was designed by famed architect Frank Lloyd Wright, one of only two buildings he created in a vertical alignment.
In Wright’s design for a tower, he combined cantilevered floors with what is called "taproot" design. Borrowing from nature, Wright understood that a building’s floors and outer walls could be held aloft in the same way that a tree raises it branches and leaves – with a trunk-anchored in place by a deep, central foundation, or "taproot". The tower’s trunk consists of an inner concrete and steel core – actually four of them – that also serve as the elevator shafts. Cantilevered out from this central core are the tower’s 19 floors.
Thomas Jefferson also had two counties named for him more than a century after he left office: Jefferson County, Oregon (105 years later) and Jefferson County, Idaho (104 years later). While Adams and Washington had slightly later counties named in their honor, Jefferson deserved special mention for two counties nearly at the top. It’s unlikely that other presidents will join the century list unless the United States colonizes the moon or Mars or something. Even so, there probably won’t ever be a Nixon County.
Most Presidential State
I continued to sort and noticed that some states had more counties named for presidents than others. Nebraska took top honors with twelve presidential counties: Adams, Arthur, Fillmore, Garfield, Grant, Hayes, Jefferson Lincoln, Madison, Pierce, Polk, and Washington. Iowa came in a close second with eleven and Arkansas followed just below with ten.