Here Is Where: A Box, a Baron, and a Letter

In conjunction with his upcoming book, Here Is Where: In Search of America's Great Forgotten History, we're following historian and Legacy Project founder Andrew Carroll as he drives, flies, walks, boats, buses, bikes, and hikes to seek out little-known historic sites in all 50 states. Bookmark all of his posts here.

It's terrible to say, but before embarking on my 50-state journey, I had made little effort as a traveler to find hotels and bed & breakfast lodgings designated as historic landmarks. I hadn't stayed in many before, so my prejudice was unfounded, but I just assumed that "historic" was code for outdated air conditioning/heating, unreliable Internet service, and lumpy beds.

While researching hotels in Denver, however, I came across the Brown Palace Hotel & Spa in a terrific hotel guide put out by the National Trust for Historic Preservation (it was also featured in National Geographic Traveler's annual Stay List in 2008). Built by Henry Brown in the last 1800s, the name jumped out at me and I immediately made a reservation.

When I began preparing for this trip more than a year ago I did extensive reading on the Underground Railroad, and while its existence is hardly unknown--I think most of us have at least a vague awareness of its significance in our nation's past--the specific stories have been mostly forgotten.

One of the most extraordinary involves a crate shipped from Richmond, Virginia, to 131 Arch Street, Philadelphia, at 4:00 am on March 29, 1849. When the wooden box arrived at 6:00 am at the Pennsylvania Anti-Slavery Society more than a day later, members of the abolitionist Vigilance Committee were there to receive it but, knowing its supposed contents, dreaded opening it for fear of what they might find. One of the members tapped on the crate and asked if everything was "all right within?" A muffled voice replied in the affirmative, and the members
quickly pried open the box and let an escaped slave named Henry Brown experience his first breath of freedom. Brown had survived an excruciating almost 27-hour journey, and despite bold lettering on the box directing that it be kept "This Side Up," the crate was repeatedly dropped upside down, putting almost fatal pressure on Brown's neck and head.

I had read that Brown became a successful businessman and moved to Colorado, where he opened one of the most elegant hotels in the city. After I made my reservation, I was shocked that although the hotel's own website repeatedly mentioned how historic the building was, there was no picture of Brown and no mention of his daring escape--just a brief description that he was a "Denver carpenter-turned-entrepreneur." Which is a little like referring to Beethoven as a piano tuner.

There is, it turns out, a good reason for this: I had the wrong Henry Brown. Henry C. Brown, the founder of the hotel, was indeed a local craftsman who opened the hotel in August 1892. But he was no relation whatsoever to Henry "Box" Brown, who ended up fleeing the U.S. for England because slave catchers were relentlessly after him. I had conflated Henry "Box" Brown story's with that of Barney Ford, who was another fugitive slave with a remarkable escape story, and he did in fact move to Denver and build an upscale hotel in the city. (There is a plaque on the Barney Ford Building at 1514 Blake Street, left.)

Once I realized my mistake, I considered canceling my reservation but eventually decided against it because I had a very affordable rate at the Brown Palace, and it turns out that the hotel has a lot of other great history to it, albeit unrelated to the Underground Railroad. From both the hotel's website and their wonderful concierge, Katie Pilkington, I learned that when the Brown Palace opened its restaurant, the Palace Arms, in 1950, the head waiter was Baron Gottfried von Kroenberger--a World War I ace who flew with Manfred von Richthofen, better known as the "Red Baron." I was especially intrigued by the wrought iron grillwork panels that ring the lobby from the third to the seventh floors. (One of them is upside down, which is apparently an intentional craftman's tradition to remind us that Man is not perfect.) Katie told me that during World War II, U.S. soldiers who were lodged temporarily at the Brown would practice rapelling down the sides of the lobby. My stay at the Brown could not have been more enjoyable, and it changed my whole outlook on historic hotels. [Ed.: For more authentic, historic hotels, check out Traveler's Stay List]

Quick postscript: When I returned to D.C. for a brief visit to check mail, pay bills, make sure the home hadn't burned down, etc., I received a packet of war letters (addressed to the Legacy Project) by an American soldier from New Jersey named Allen "Hutch" Hutchinson Jr., who had served in World War II.

By sheer coincidence, one of the letters was written from the Brown Palace Hotel on May 30, 1944, before Hutch was deployed overseas with the Army Air Corps. There isn't much he could say, but he ended it with sentiments expressed by so many young servicemen well aware that the time away from girlfriends, spouses, and fiancees was putting an enormous strain on their relationships. "I hate to let things drag along," he wrote to his sweetheart, Lucile Rayzor. "Not that we don't have plenty of love + faith, but wars play dirty tricks at times as well know all too well already. This is an old record by now, but you know I will do all I can as soon as I can. With all my love, Hutch."

Hutch survived the war, and his relationship to Lucile only grew stronger; the two were wed in June 1944 and remained happily married until Hutch passed away in May 2006.

All photos and text © Andrew Carroll.

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