I Am Going to Sit Right Down and Write Myself a Letter, Posted on September 25, 2025

• September 25, 2025
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• Posted By: Scott Family Collection

Do you have a favorite pen or writing instrument? I do.
My favorite is a fountain pen I bought years ago in a shop in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. The pen, a handsome Pelikan in black and green with a gold nib, sits on my desk at the Scott Family Collection.
By now, my Pelikan is old enough to qualify as a relic, and I was tempted to include it in the display case for our next exhibit, From Desk to Desk, A Journey Told in Letters. The in-house display includes various hand written letters, envelopes, dip pens, ink pots, and two handsome writing desks all testaments to how hard you had to work to communicate in the 1800s. Before the fountain pen took off, letters were written with ink, usually iron gall ink, and dip pens.
I have discovered that in the past, letters were often exchanged, that is, included in the envelope with a new letter. I also noticed that in many cases, the sender would give careful instructions about what parts of the enclosed letter to share and which portions to keep confidential. Of course, the reader must have been tempted to read out the confidential parts. They were often much more interesting and in some cases, hilarious!
But I digress. Back to the fountain pen.
I still don’t know why I wanted that pen. I was in graduate school at the time and spent most of my waking moments peering through microscopes at extremely tiny creatures who had no awareness of me or how much my degree depended on them.
A fountain pen is a messy thing. I do not recommend storing it in a shirt pocket, although the cap does have a cute clip in the shape of a pelican’s bill. Filling a fountain pen involved dipping it into a bottle of ink and pulling up a small amount into the pen’s reservoir. Even if you do this maneuver successfully, there is always the chance you will get ink all over your fingers when you use the pen to write.
As it turned out, my fountain pen came in handy when I was brushing up on my German. Back then you had to show proficiency in a foreign language to get your degree. I had brief encounters with French and Latin, but German was the only foreign language I had any hope of passing a test in. I used the pen to write out words and sentences, trying to renew my acquaintance with a language I had not studied in a very long time.
I took German, starting in junior high school. The curriculum at that time expected the student to learn German the way children learn languages, that is by hearing it spoken. We were not allowed to see the words printed on paper until about half way through the first year. The odd sounds crystallized for me at that moment. It did not hurt that in German, the nouns are capitalized. That was my light bulb moment and I loved German and German pens ever since.

A Painful Task: The Condolence Letter, Posted September 8, 2025

• September 8, 2025
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• Posted By: Scott Family Collection

Some years back, during  COVID, when it became clear that I would be working remotely for quite some time, I looked around for a project that could be completed at home. I knew that the Scott Family Collection housed a large number of letters, mostly personal, but some documenting business transactions, and these letters were a window into a lost time. One summer, I even opened the boxes and listed the contents, recording the writer, the intended recipient, and the date, hoping to get back to them.

Reading someone else’s mail is a guilty pleasure. You learn their innermost thoughts and find out about their daily lives. Some letters are very funny, full of anecdotes and foibles.

Mostly, this is an enjoyable task. Shared meals, trips taken, pleasant visits to relatives, all add to our understanding of a person’s life. I especially enjoyed reading about family gatherings to enjoy a grape harvest, or a Sunday afternoon ice cream party.

However, sometimes you come across a condolence letter. These letters are written for a specific purpose, that is, to acknowledge a death.

Today, when someone dies, we tend to just send a card, or a text, or even an email to convey our sympathy. You can even leave notes on the funeral home’s website, for all the world to see in perpetuity. But in the past, before all of these modern conveniences, people had to put pen to paper and arrange their thoughts on the page. A painful task.

Over time, I started to see patterns. The writer often asked to be excused for not writing sooner. They had only heard about the loss recently. Then they convey sympathy, expressing how much grief they feel individually and of course, share with the mourner.

Then they would write something about the deceased. How much they enjoyed their company. How promising they were, if young. For the loss of someone of advanced age, the comments might include how blessed a relief the end must have been when it finally came.

If the writer was a believer, they would often quote a Bible passage, sharing trust in God, comfort in their faith, assurances of how we would all see each other some day.

I was struck by this sort of absolute assurance when I worked at a divinity school. The dean said to a gathering of graduands that it was wonderful to be together, to spend time together, and that except for graduation this would be the last time we were all together before the Kingdom. It was a poignant moment, acknowledging the necessity of change and loss but hopeful and uplifting as well. I never forgot it.

Lies, Based on True Stories, a novel by Courtney Soling Smith, Posted on August 6, 2025

• August 6, 2025
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• Posted By: Scott Family Collection

Lies, Based on True Stories, is  only the second novel I have ever read that included footnotes. The first one was The Andromeda Strain. Here, however, the footnotes are historically accurate, which is why I like historical fiction. In this context, “lies” are not entirely made up; they refer to stories told so many times, they have been burnished like fine silver.

Footnote number 46 explains that  while there is no proof that General Stonewall Jackson liked lemons, this notion was popular at the time.

This is what happens when an historian discovered a story that unfolded in 1863 in Greenbrier County, West Virginia, during the Civil War. In this terrifying incident, the Elmhurst house was invaded, ransacked, and her outbuilding were destroyed. The only reason the house was not burned to the ground was the presence of a very sick relative dying in an upstairs bedroom. This story haunted the author, who at first turned it into a play. It has all of the elements of a good play, so that was a brilliant idea. The novel version is equally compelling.

The story is presented in fifty-four chapters, each an almost deposition-like narrative, told from the perspective of an eyewitness to the events. Each narrative is lively and entertaining. The entire story is book-ended with “letters to the editor.” The characters are based on people who lived at the time, and their voices are distinctive and compelling. Enjoy!

Have you seen this man? Posted July 22, 2025

• July 22, 2025
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• Posted By: Scott Family Collection

This ambrotype came to the Scott Family Collection with a little note identifying the man in the portrait as David White (1761-1837). David was the first of his siblings to be born in North Carolina. He is thought to have joined the North Carolina militia and was with General Gates at the battle of Camden, South Carolina in 1780.

David married Elizabeth Allen in 1799. Their daughter, Mary (Polly) White, married Samuel Kerr and went on to have four children including David White Kerr (1819-1879), Mary Kerr (1820-1828), Margaret Graham Kerr (1822-1892), and William James Kerr. After his first wife died, Samuel Kerr married Jane Currie and had six more children.

 It is unlikely that the image is of David White, as he died 17 years before the ambrotype was patented and became popular in 1854.

Could the man be Samuel Kerr? Probably not, as he was born in 1787 and died in 1852. However, I think David White Kerr, who was David White’s grandson, and Samuel Kerr’s son, is a possibility. He would have been the right age, between 35 and 45, and had the same dark hair and prominent cheekbones as his sister Margaret. 

If we can find out who this fellow was, perhaps we can figure out what happened to the buttons on his jacket.