Alexmagnet Explains: Ignatius Donnelly—Professional Crackpot and Discoverer of Atlantis · 2:39am Jun 4th, 2015
Hey! It’s this thing again! Man, it’s been quite some time since I last did one of these. A lot’s happened since then, but none of it is important to this blog, so let’s ignore it and move on.
Today’s historical oddity comes to us in the form of a curious 19th century crackpot by the name of Ignatius Donnelly. The founder of a city, a congressman, and rampant conspiracy theorist, Donnelly is the quintessential American crackpot, infamous for developing the theory of Atlantis as the seed of all civilization and for being a raving lunatic. But enough with the overview. Let’s dive headfirst into the wide wide world of Ignatius Donnelly.
As it seems to be with most crackpots of any note, Ignatius Donnelly came from relatively humble beginnings. The son of an Irish immigrant, he grew interested in law at an early age and ended up studying in Pennsylvania. His interest in law eventually grew political in nature and he took up the Democratic banner… for about three years and then he inexplicably withdrew his support for the Democrats and threw his lot in with his undoubtedly baffled Whig opponent. Of course, that didn’t last long either. The very next year he was a staunch supporter of the Democratic party again only to switch the very next year and declare himself a Republican. But all this is just the start of a lifetime of lunacy.
Ignatius Donnelly: Professional Crackpot
After leaving politics, married a school principal and decided that he wanted to be rich and famous, which was rather difficult in crowded Philadelphia. So, picking up his things Donnelly took his wife by the hand and headed off to Minnesota, the land of opportunity, or something like that. In that time, the mid-1850s, everybody and their grandmother was heading out west to find work or whatever, and Donnelly saw his opportunity for fame and riches in the form of one John Nininger. A man of equal ambition, but less charisma, John Nininger had an incredible plan, one that he was more than happy to get Donnelly in on.
Near St. Paul, Minnesota, Nininger and Donnelly decided they would buy a big area of land and then build a new city on it, a city that would serve as a trade hub between St. Paul and the rest of the Midwest. It was to be a wholly modern and scientific community with libraries and universities and all the things that make people think smart things, and surprisingly enough it even managed to get a few feet off the ground before it came crashing down like the Hindenburg, but with less explosions and death. So then, what happened to this veritable utopia? Well, to be fair it's not as though it was entirely Donnelly's fault. In 1857 the Great Panic happened, and Nininger crumbled. Lands which had been bought with poorly financed loans were reclaimed and many up and coming towns, including Nininger, saw their demise.
John Nininger, the “creative genius” behind the aptly named town of Niniger.
However, not a man to give up when the world seemed to be against him, Donnelly stayed on as mayor of his own personal ghost town, the head of a decaying house in an already dead town. It was at this point that Donnelly hitched up his trousers and dove back into politics where his natural gift for oration saw him become the Lieutenant Governor of Minnesota, and later the second half of its State Representative. For the next four years his life was rambunctious but otherwise unremarkable. He spent his free time reading books at The Library of Congress and his working time helping with The Reconstruction. Unfortunately for Donnelly, he wouldn't last much longer in politics as his particular brand of inflammatory speech eventually exposed his plans for taking over his rival Minnesotan Senator's seat in the house, a revelation which was not altogether surprising to Alexander Ramsey, the man whose seat Donnelly was gunning for.
Eventually a Senator from Illinois, by the name of Elihu Washbourne, got dragged into the mess when Donnelly wrote an angry letter to one of his constituents about Washbourne. In response, Washbourne called Donnelly liar and charged him with corruption while simultaneously hinting that he was hiding criminal activity in his past. A reasonable and sane man might have denied the charges and sought legal recourse, but Donnelly being neither reasonable nor sane went full tilt. He gave something which could generously be called a speech to the House in which he spent over an hour berating Washbourne and his supporters, three times ignoring the gavel and delivering a polemic as crazy as it is eloquent. To quote a book quoting Mr. Donnelly.
"If there be in our midst one low, sordid, vulgar soul... one tongue leprous with slander; one mouth which is like unto a den of foul beasts giving forth deadly odors; if there be one character which, while blotched and spotted all over, yet raves and rants and blackgaurds like a prostitute; if there be one bold, bad, empty, bellowing, demagogue, it is the gentleman from Illinois."
Seems like you didn't close your italics...
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What'chu on about, mate?
In the midwest, I don't think there was a single county without some sort of colorful oddity from around the turn of the century +/-. Perhaps it was lead in the water. Here, we have Moodyville, Kansas, where an individual (Moody, of course) built a town with a hotel around a spring (well, a trickle, at best) where he planned great things. There was a spur railroad line into neighboring Westmoreland (A Model T was the engine, with two cars, mostly open, which washed away in a flood), a hotel (which burned to the ground), and a cemetery, which is about the only thing left. (I used to mow the cemetery for $30 a month)
My wife's area of the country had the Davis Memorial, which proves you can't take it with you, but you can spend it all before you die so none of the money-grubbing relatives can get a dime. Very interesting place.