In the aftermath of the Civil War, Kansas City began to emerge as an important railroad hub. This was largely due to the completion of the construction of the Hannibal Bridge, the first railroad bridge across the Missouri River, in August of 1869. Urban Historian Charles Glaab observed that this first bridge, “has served as the city’s special symbol…the key to its success and a tribute to the bold resourcefulness of a small group of inspired city fathers.”¹ Boosters of Kansas City in the tension-filled decade prior to the outbreak of the Civil War, as well as in the chaotic postwar period, pushed for railroad construction as a means of building their community.² As a result of the completion of the Hannibal Bridge, Union Station’s predecessor, Union Depot, opened in Kansas City’s West Bottoms district in 1878. Over 180 trains passed through the depot daily. Union Depot’s location, however, quickly became a problem. While its site in the West Bottoms facilitated the transportation of cattle and other goods, the area was prone to flooding and the station was surrounded by “less desirable” landmarks such as gambling saloons and brothels.

The various issues with the West Bottoms location led city officials to decide to build a new train station in a new location. The station found its new home when twelve conjoining railroad companies committed to the project.³ The valley at 25th Street and Grand Avenue was chosen for the station due to its central location and high floodplain. Construction began in 1911, spearheaded by designer Jarvis Hunt, a trailblazer of the City Beautiful Movement.⁴ The building was designed in Beaux-Arts style with large arches throughout the grand hall to brightly illuminate the area. Other features included marble floors and ornate decoration. Construction took three years and heavily relied on the work of immigrants. Many Irish immigrants spent countless hours laying down railroad tracks and excavating the needed land. Without the help of immigrant labor, the station would not have been completed so swiftly.

Union Station opened on October 30, 1914. The 850,000 square footage building included nice floors of offices, a grand hall, ticketing stations, shops, and restaurants, including the Harvey House. The main headquarters for the Harvey House chain, which was founded by Leavenworth resident Fred Harvey and included restaurants and hotels along rail lines throughout the western United States, was located in Union Station.⁵ The building featured 95 foot high ceilings engraved with ornate moldings and showcased three chandeliers that weigh over 3,500 pounds. Three large arches defined the grand hall, with a grand central clock hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the station.  The clock was a prominent meeting point for both Kansas Citians and visitors. These spectacular architectural details are still on display today. The station boomed with the sounds of thousands of passengers and guests, peaking during World War I with 79,368 trains passing through the station. For instance, in one day, 271 trains journeyed through the station. Soon, it became the heart of railway transportation for the entire Midwest. During this time period, Union Station in Kansas City was the second busiest train station in the entire country, only after New York City.

Unfortunately, excitement for the popular station and its attractive architecture was quickly met with tragedy. On June 17, 1933, the station became the site of what became known as the Union Station Massacre. Two FBI agents and the chief of police from MacAlester, Oklahoma apprehended Frank Nash, an infamous bank robber with links to organized crime who had escaped from the United States Penitentiary in Leavenworth, Kansas, two and a half years earlier.  They transported him by train from Fort Smith, Arkansas to Kansas City, where they planned to turn him over to Reed E. Vetterli, the special agent in charge of the Kansas City FBI office.⁶ Kansas City policemen were present to reinforce them as they moved through the station and made the transfer. As the law officers loaded Nash into a waiting Chevrolet parked in front of the station, gangsters fired shots toward them in an attempt to free Nash. The suspected shooters included Charles “Pretty Boy Floyd” Arthur, Vernon Miller, and Adam Richetti.  Their attempt to free Nash failed when they killed him along with four law enforcement officers in the shootout. Gaining national attention, the incident led Congress to grant more protective power to the FBI.⁷ This resulted in the agency being permitted to carry protective firearms and make arrests.

Union Station became an important site during WWII. The station began to grow throughout this time as it was vital in Kansas City’s mobilization for war, just as it had during World War I. In 1945, passenger traffic hit a record 678,363 passengers as thousands of soldiers were traveling home from war.

The evolution of transportation in the postwar years shifted the role of Union Station. As air travel, the interstate highway system, and Americans’ love of owning cars became more prevalent and popular, railway travel began to decline. Similar to other train stations across the country, Kansas City’s Union Station lost its appeal and need. By 1973, only six trains operated, transporting about 32,842 passengers daily.⁸ With less foot traffic, retail shops and restaurants such as Fred Harvey Company, the Westport Room, and the Lobster Pot closed. In 1985, Amtrak ceased its services out of Union Station, ushering a period of decline and deterioration for the building.

In an effort to save the station, Kansas City officials partnered with Trizec, a Canadian firm, to redevelop the structure and the surrounding freight house area that was also facing decline. This proved to be unsuccessful, as Trizec made no meaningful improvements to Union Station. As the abandoned building continued to deteriorate, many advocated for its demolition. Union Station, a site that once represented the pride of Kansas City, became an “eyesore” in the city’s skyline.

Kansas Citians, however, did not give up on saving this once-thriving building. In order to save and redevelop Union Station, Kansas City approved a first of its kind, a “bi-state” tax which included five Missouri and Kansas counties in the Kansas City metropolitan area. This initiative raised funds for a $250 million renovation completed on November 10, 1999. The newly unveiled Union Station included shops, restaurants, theaters, exhibits, and Science City, which is a children’s science museum.⁹ Union Station has since hosted world-class exhibits, civic organization offices, live televised programs, and community events. The restoration of the building also attracted the railway company Amtrak to return and operate their routes through the station.

The history of Union Station provides a glimpse into Kansas City’s story as well as reflects national trends: a booming transportation hub, a city facing postwar urban decline, and recent revitalization efforts in cities across the United States. Union Station is beloved by Kansas Citians residents and has become a nationally recognized historic landmark and one of the defining sites of Kansas City. Today, Union Station still functions as one of the most utilized train stations in Missouri. Whether dropping off a loved one on their train departure to seeing a thrilling exhibit, everyone who steps into Union Station has a story of their time there, as did the millions before them.

Robert Ritchie Robertson, born in Burntisland, Scotland, was deeply dedicated to the development and continuation of Springfield’s Boy Scout Band. His knowledge of musical instruments and his ability to teach student musicians were critical to the band’s early success. His musical talents developed from an early age in Scotland. His father, David, directed choirs in the community and encouraged young Robert to pursue music. As a result, Robert learned to play the flute, concertina, piano, and violin between the ages of 6 and 12. Young Robert became conductor of the town band at age 18.

On August 25, 1900, Robertson departed for America, and this may be the first time his Americanized name “R. Ritchie Robertson” appeared on a U.S. government record. In 1902 he moved to Paola, Kansas, and while there earned the alliterative nickname, the “Star Spangled Scotsman” due to his interest in American patriotic music. He was named music supervisor for the Paola, Kansas, schools in 1912. Robertson accepted a similar position with the Springfield Public Schools in 1916. Among Robertson’s first observations of Springfield were the choices of music played in the city; it was “saturated” with ragtime. He wanted to change the city’s musical focus to classical, patriotic, and other varieties of popular music. In 1920, in his capacity as supervisor of music in the Springfield schools, Ritchie was offered the opportunity to create a Boy Scout Band.²

With the support of Springfield’s Rotary Club and the local Boy Scout Council providing sheet music and the more expensive instruments, the Boy Scout Band was organized in November 1920 to involve young people in programs outside Springfield’s school curriculum. Over time, other local civic organizations provided funds to make the Boy Scout Band self-supporting. Boy Scout leaders arranged fifty boys, aged 12-14, as the first members of the Boy Scout Band in November 1920. On February 22, 1921, the band played its first concert for a Rotary Club luncheon at the Colonial Hotel.³

Eventually, boys ranging from ages 12 to 18, participated in the band with the stipulation that they be registered members of the Boy Scouts. The boys played a varying repertoire of popular and classic music artistically. Will James of Martin Brothers Piano Company pointed out the Boy Scout Band did not play jazz numbers, only “clean, high-class music.” ⁴

In the late summer of 1921, Robertson announced the first expansion of band members and called for the first “Beginners Band” to meet on September 15. Seventy-five new boys showed up that day, ready for practice. As membership in the band grew, the need for a mid-level group was recognized as a way for band members to advance, especially those who needed slightly more time to polish their skills with their instruments before participating in public concerts. The result was a Monday night band for beginners, a Wednesday night band for intermediate musicians, and the Thursday night band was for advanced band members.⁵

In 1923, the Boy Scout Band began to earn regional recognition. On June 19, 140 members of the Boy Scout Band “created a furor” when they performed a concert at the International Rotary convention in St. Louis, serenading a distinguished Rotarian in attendance, President Warren G. Harding. The following day, the band members marched in a parade in St. Louis. While marching along Ninth Street during the Rotary International Convention Parade on June 20, the 125 Springfield Boy Scout Band members lost their march discipline. Bystanders along the street and onlookers from the Frisco Building enjoyed the band and their music so much that they showered the band with coins and dollar bills. Seeing the money landing at their feet and nearby on the street, the Boy Scouts stopped playing and broke ranks to collect the money. The wild scramble for cash halted the parade for about five minutes until Robertson and other scout leaders restored order. As the band started forward again, more parade attendees showered the boys with additional money. The dismayed Robertson shook his baton and roared out, “Forward, MARCH!” Though the temptation to pick up more cash was great, the boys reportedly followed their band leader’s direction.⁶

Over the first three years, likely the Boy Scout Band’s most memorable moment was later that summer. On August 20, 112 selected members of the Boy Scout Band and a large group of citizens boarded a special train destined for the Missouri State Fair. The train had banners as decorations, and passengers wore badges advertising Springfield and the Boy Scout Band. On August 22, the Boy Scout Band demonstrated the quality of their musicianship during a band competition with a dozen other bands at the Missouri State Fair. Springfield’s Boy Scout musicians won first prize and were honored with a cash award of $150.⁷

After the Fair ended, the Missouri State Fair Board members fondly recalled Springfield’s Boy Scout Band as the key attraction at the 1923 state fair. The Board members contacted Robertson, who then received an additional honor. On September 29, 1923, the Missouri State Fair Board sent a letter to inform the Springfield band of their intent to present a silver loving cup to the boys at a local celebration in Springfield. By the end of 1923, the Boy Scout Band emerged as a source of pride for the Springfield community and the state.⁸

In February 1924, the band greeted the world-famous bandmaster John Philip Sousa and the “best band in the land.” On February 5, a frosty and very snowy day, the “March King” and his band arrived by train in Springfield for an afternoon matinee and evening concert. Earlier that morning, Robertson and the Boy Scout Band had marched through heavy snow and waited three hours for Sousa’s late-arriving train at the Frisco Railroad’s passenger station. Then, to the sound of drums, the Boy Scout Band escorted Sousa and his band to their quarters at the Colonial Hotel. After unfreezing the valves in their instruments at the hotel, Robertson’s Boy Scouts played a short piece, Sousa’s own “Our Director,” and then cheered Sousa. Later, the boys made their way to the afternoon matinee concert at the Shrine Mosque, where Sousa invited them to attend as guests of his band. Future composer of The Music Man musical, Meredith Willson, accompanied Sousa’s Band as a solo flutist. The band members likely were just as impressed as Sousa with the Boy Scout Band’s determination to march through snow and endure cold temperatures, just to greet Sousa and the other band members that day.⁹

In 1924, Springfield’s Boy Scout Band began summer “Goodwill Tours.” These goodwill tours consisted of three-to-five-day trips sponsored by the Springfield Chamber of Commerce. These trips included up to forty-car caravans and were very popular into the early 1930s, particularly in rural towns where entertainment was rare. Typically, the band would drive to a small town, circle the square, and meet with town officials before a short concert. The band visited up to nine towns daily. By 1930, the “Goodwill Tours” resulted in performances in 160 Missouri towns.¹⁰

During 1928, the Boy Scout Band reached its peak enrollment at 440 members. During this period, Robertson composed his “Bluebonnet March,” which some consider his best composition. The music that the band composed was after the Frisco Railway’s coach in which the Boy Scout Band traveled for performances in Kansas City, Sedalia, St. Louis, Chicago, Memphis, and Dallas circa 1927-1928. On November 21, 1928, Robertson was invited to be a guest conductor when John Philip Sousa’s Band performed at Springfield’s Shrine Mosque. There, Sousa’s band debuted Robertson’s “Bluebonnet March.” Later, Sousa was a guest conductor for the Boy Scout Band. The boys played two Sousa compositions: “Solid Men to the Front” and “Semper Fidelis.” Sousa also presented a silver cup to Robertson for his musical achievements and evolving the Boy Scout Band at the concert.¹¹

The Boy Scout Band’s illustrious reputation continued through the 1930s. Even during difficult economic times of the Great Depression, the community’s support of the Band continued. For example, the band was slated to perform at the Texas Centennial in Dallas in 1936 but did not meet its undraising goals. Frisco railroaders came forward with a last-minute cash contribution of $240, ensuring the band had $900 to cover their round trip expenses. On June 16, the Boy Scout Band, designated as the official Missouri band for the Texas Centennial, paraded through the Centennial’s 200-acre Fair Park Complex in Dallas. They passed President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, the second president to view them in person.

Robertson was in his twenty-third year as music supervisor of the Springfield Public Schools at the time of his death in 1939. His son, James P. Robertson, replaced him as Boy Scout Band director and as the supervisor of music for the Springfield Public School system.¹²

In the early 1940s, the Boy Scout Band adapted to the changing times. The United States’ entry into World War II resulted in the band’s shift from musical focus to mostly patriotic scores. The band’s sterling reputation was honored in February 1944 with a distinguished service citation from the Music War Council of America.¹³

Although many were unaware of it at the time, 1949 was the Boy Scout Band’s final year. Until his retirement in 1948, Springfield Boy Scout leader Allen C. Foster resisted all pressure to dissolve Springfield’s Boy Scout Band. Unfortunately, Foster’s replacement, Melvin Tudor, a native of St. Louis, did not recognize the Boy Scout Band’s widespread outstanding reputation throughout the nation, nor the band’s appearances in Ozarks communities as Springfield’s finest representatives. Tudor, therefore, was not supportive of the Boy Scout Band as a separate function of the Boy Scouts, and so he sought its dissolution. In part, James P. Robertson resigned as music supervisor for the Springfield Public Schools and the Boy Scout Band at the end of the 1949 school year. With James Robertson’s departure for a position at the former University of Wichita, Springfield’s Boy Scout Band disbanded, ending the Robertson era of influence on Springfield’s music scene. At the conclusion of its distinguished life, approximately 3,500 musicians had played in the Boy Scout Band. The Boy Scout Band established a reputation for high-quality music, disciplined musicians, and set a standard for school bands nationwide to model.¹⁴

The show launched the careers of performers such as Porter Wagoner, Wanda Jackson, and Brenda Lee, and regularly featured established stars such as Webb Pierce, Faron Young, Patsy Cline, and Johnny Cash, along with many locally based artists, including Slim Wilson, Speedy Haworth, the Philharmonics, the Promenaders, Zed Tennis, Bill Ring, and Goo-Goo Routledge. During its run of nearly 300 weekly programs, produced and broadcast for nearly six years with no hiatus, the Jubilee gave millions of national television viewers their first exposure to country music. For a brief time, Springfield ranked third in the country as a center for network television production—behind only New York and Hollywood.

The hillbilly variety show form of professional entertainment — a mixture of singing country songs, playing music on instruments like the guitar, fiddle, and banjo, comedy routines, square dancing, and such matters — has been around since the days of vaudeville, and it continues to this day. In the early 20th century, the Weaver Brothers and Elviry developed, expanded, and fine-tuned a hillbilly variety act that became very successful on the vaudeville circuit, including the east coast of the U.S. and even Europe. From the 1920s and 1930s onward, live hillbilly variety shows on stage and as radio broadcasts became popular. The National Barn Dance in Chicago, the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville, Korn’s-A-Krackin’ in Springfield at the Shrine Mosque, the Big D Jamboree at the Sportatorium in Dallas, and the Louisiana Hayride in Shreveport are notable examples of hundreds of such shows that sprouted up from New York to California. The hillbilly variety show tradition continued through the Hee Haw television program in the late 1960s and early 1970s to the present-day live shows in Branson, Missouri, Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, and elsewhere.

Country music had been played, sung, and enjoyed for centuries at various places in the British Isles and the American upland South in a form that could be characterized as amateur and diffused. However, the adoption and dissemination of phonograph records and particularly radio in the early 1920s created the technological conditions that enabled country music to emerge as a professional form of entertainment.

The impact of radio on the Ozarks was tremendous. Receiving wireless radio broadcasts in homes in the hills and hollers of the Ozarks was a disruptive, transformative technology. Suddenly the world entered the living room. With its down-home mix of news, weather, country music, farm reports, and sports, KWTO AM 560 (“Keep Watching The Ozarks!”) became an extremely popular and influential radio station in the Ozarks. The emergence of national radio networks exposed Ozarkers to many other nationally broadcast shows, including the network portion of the weekly Grand Ole Opry show. KWTO had to compete with those other nationally broadcast hillbilly variety shows. 

As radio entertainment developed in the 1940s, Springfield radio executives Ralph Foster and Si Siman decided to try producing a weekly hillbilly variety show that would be broadcast via KWTO one night a week. The show’s stable of performers could tour the region on other nights of the week, if local organizations would sponsor entertainment events in nearby towns, such as Marshfield, Mansfield, Monett, and Ava. They decided to call the program Korn’s-A-Krackin’, a riff on a recently popular Broadway show called Hell’s-A-Poppin’, which Foster and Siman had seen in Kansas City. The Weaver Brothers & Elviry, Bill Ring, Lennie Ayleshire and Goo-Goo Rutledge, and many others performed on Korn’s-A-Krackin’ during its six-year run in the 1940s. For a time, the show was broadcast nationally over the Mutual Broadcasting System. Interest in the show eventually declined, in part because it lacked a nationally known master of ceremonies and headliner. 

Television followed close on the heels of radio. By the late 1920s, television transmissions had been successfully demonstrated, but the onset of the Great Depression, followed by the Second World War, resulted in a long latency period between the development of television as a technology and its broad adoption. By the late 1940s and early 1950s, during the boom years after the world war, radio networks had become stronger, radio programs were quite sophisticated, and advertising revenues were substantial. Even so, television was beginning to make cracks and dents in radio’s sphere of influence. Forward-thinking radio executives like Foster and Siman recognized that television presented tremendous opportunities. The challenge was to develop and deliver a winning formula of compelling television programs. The hillbilly variety show offered promise.

Foster and Siman soon had to confront the persistent, confounding problem that had challenged them for years: they needed an established country and western star to host and carry the show and then they needed that star to thrive and stay in Springfield. They decided to approach Red Foley, who already was a big, established country music star, to host the show. For years Red had hosted the Prince Albert Tobacco segment of the Grand Ole Opry, which was a very popular weekly national radio broadcast.  Foley agree to make the move to the Ozark Jublilee. The show was an amazing amalgam of local and national talent. It was one of the first nationally broad television programs of any type, if not the first, to solve a problem that vexed the new medium: while some shows appealed to primarily to men, women, or children, no show had proven it could appeal to all three groups. Early viewer studies of the Ozark Jubilee revealed that its audience was almost an equal mix of all three groups, and the average number of viewers per TV set was higher than many other shows.  After a six year run, the Jubilee broadcast its final show on September 24, 1960.

Competing attitudes of reconciliation and resentment took hold along the border in the years following the Civil War. The war was especially brutal along the state line, as tensions that had been boiling since the 1850s erupted into full-scale guerrilla warfare. The localized combat resulted in citizens experiencing the full force of the war and the destruction of entire communities. Pro-Confederacy Missouri Bushwhackers terrorized Lawrence, and the Union Army removed residents and burned the properties of four western Missouri counties. Following these struggles, many region’s residents preferred both sides come together, and they attempted to foster an attitude of healing to memories of the war. These feelings were likely spurred on by the possibilities of economic growth, as intrastate commerce made the region more attractive for potential immigrants. Railroad expansion in particular prompted boosters to advocate for a more harmonious border, as they saw railroads as key to the development of post-war Missouri and the West.²

The anger brought on by the border conflict could not be smoothed over so quickly for others, however. Confederate sympathizers formed a perspective built around bitterness, regret, and a shared victimhood, resting on the idea that hard feelings lingered although the fighting was over. Confederates living in Missouri competed with Union commemorations after the war and made great efforts to explain why Missouri was worthy of an honorable place in the South. They argued that Missouri shared the same virtues as the true Confederate states and that the state’s location on the border led to an increased level of violence and suffering for the rebel cause. Groups like the United Daughters of the Confederacy (UDC) worked hard to place Missouri within the Lost Cause narrative, leading many in the state to adopt a Southern identity and memory of the conflict.³

The recollections of violence on both sides became central to this narrative, as groups like William Quantrill’s Bushwhackers and Jim Lane’s Jayhawkers were regarded as famous or infamous depending on which side of the state line you resided. One Southern sympathizer was William Napton, a former judge of the Missouri Supreme Court. Napton lost his seat after refusing to take a Union loyalty oath in 1861, and a year later, he lost his wife during childbirth amid harassment from a pro-Union militia. In the years following the war, Napton was known to keep an image of John Wilkes Booth in an album alongside a photo of his oldest son in a Confederate uniform. Men and women like Napton would lead the charge of remembering Missouri as a Confederate state, and Kansas City became the symbolic capital of this movement. They worked to keep the two sides separate, dividing Kansan from Missourian and Black from White. Straddling the turbulent border, the city gave former Bushwhackers and Confederates a chance to keep an eye on any would-be invading Jayhawkers.⁴

The hard feelings between the states deepened as the University of Missouri and the University of Kansas began competing in athletics. The schools first met in football in 1891, playing the game in Kansas City. The Jayhawks won that inaugural game 22-8 in front of 3,000 fans. The schools were rivals from then on, and even though the play on the field was peaceful in these early games, private security guards from the Pinkerton Detective Agency and the Kansas City police were used to ensure the crowds did not get too rowdy. The first men’s basketball games between the schools tipped off in 1907 and these contests became frightening because of the crowd’s proximity to the floor. At one game, Missouri fans nearly started a fight after a Jayhawk player stepped on a Tiger guard, and Missouri players reportedly practiced avoiding objects thrown at them when running onto KU’s court.⁵

The bad blood between the states continued outside of the sporting world, brought on in large parts by competing reunions. Members of Quantrill’s gang began meeting annually in Independence, Missouri, in 1898 to share war stories and hold on to the guerrilla way of life that had been so important in their youth.⁶ Lawrence residents were shocked to learn that the men who had once destroyed their town were now gathering in remembrance of their deeds, and the fact that the former guerrillas often met around the anniversary of the deadly raid was not lost on the Kansans. After a string of disagreements, Lawrence leaders were able to hold their own reunion in 1913, the 50th anniversary of Quantrill’s raid on the town. The reunion brought together 200 men and women and the Lawrence Journal recorded that it gave survivors a chance “to live the past 50 years over again.”⁷ The last of the Quantrill reunions was in 1929, as four men, including formerly enslaved Henry Wilson, gathered in Independence. Wilson was one of three elderly African Americans to occasionally attend the reunions. He claimed to have fled Union troops and served as a cook and bodyguard in Quantrill’s gang during the war. The reunions on both sides showed that wounds along the border had never really healed, and as the Topeka Daily Capitol noted in 1913, they resisted any notion of forgiveness and propped up the idea of revenge.⁸

The dueling reunions that occurred heightened the polarized dynamic that stemmed from the border violence and conflicting memories of the war. Although Missouri never formally entered the Confederacy, the celebration of pro-slavery guerrillas and the embrace of the Confederate narrative by many connected the Civil War border state with the South.⁹ Meanwhile, Kansans embraced a free-state history based on racial acceptance, though that narrative did not always match the true story. Thirty-seven Black men were lynched in Kansas from 1864 to 1920.¹⁰ Racial segregation and racist rhetoric were also common throughout the state, and in 1905 newspapers from Emporia ran headlines calling for lynchings. Examples like these show how the racial utopia portrayed by many Kansans was a myth. In reality, its free-state origins were based more on white men maintaining political and economic power than on a sense of morality. Many in the state used violence and intimidation to oppress African Americans for decades after the war, and harsher racist attitudes in Missouri helped Kansans rationalize their views. Kansans openly embraced figures like John Brown and routinely blamed incidents of violence near the border on Missourians and other outsiders. This allowed Kansans to uphold an air of righteousness and separated the Midwestern state from Missouri and the rest of the Jim Crow South.¹¹These competing cultures added to the hard feelings that accompanied the memory of the Border War and entrenched both sides in their disdain for one another.

Efforts of Civil War remembrance became prevalent throughout the first half of the twentieth century, and various southern-sympathizing organizations worked to keep up with their Union rivals. Groups like the UDC relied on efforts of memorialization to keep the Confederacy at the forefront of Missouri history. Statues commemorating Confederate soldiers went up in Kansas City, St. Louis, and numerous towns in between.¹² In Higginsville, the home for Confederate veterans was converted to a memorial park. This space, the UDC noted, was meant as a place where Missourians could enjoy nature and celebrate the valor that was shown by Confederates during the war.¹³ These efforts kept the legacy of the Confederacy alive in Missouri and continued to stoke old tensions throughout the state.

By the late 1940s, college students across the South had adopted Confederate symbols to show pride in their schools. Confederate flags became a staple at college football games, as southern powerhouses emerged in a sport traditionally dominated by northern universities.¹⁴ This was also true at the University of Missouri, where Confederate culture had become fully entrenched by the 1960s. Confederate flags flew at sporting events, and the university band played “Dixie.” Fraternities also flew the flag, and the Ordinances of Secession were read annually at the “Old South Days.”¹⁵ This embrace of the Lost Cause enflamed the culture clash between the states, and the sports rivalry hostilities matched that level of escalation. Following a controversial football result, the two schools faced off on the hardwood in Columbia in March 1961. The game turned into a bench-clearing brawl, with kicking, punching, and hundreds of fans rushing the court. The contest ended with a 79-76 MU win and KU losing their chance at a conference title. That fight sparked a stream of incidents between the rivals that included Missouri football coach Dan Devine flipping off Kansas coach Pepper Rodgers and KU football coach Don Fambrough refusing to cross the state line to see a recommended surgeon in Missouri.¹⁶

By the 2000s, the border conflict between Missouri and Kansas had become fully ingrained in the rivalry between the flagship universities. The schools officially established the Border War series in 2002, with the name being changed to Border Showdown two years later.¹⁷ One of the biggest football games in the rivalry’s history occurred in 2007, when No. 3 Missouri beat No. 2 Kansas 36-28.¹⁸ The prestige of the teams and the history of the region was a perfect storm for many to make connections between the real war and the athletic competition. The Kansas City Star wrote “digital bushwhackers and jayhawkers” still battled, while Metro Sports said the rivalry was “the only American college rivalry derived from actual warfare.” Outlandish fan behavior also gained national attention. Missouri fans could buy shirts featuring a Tigers’ logo and the image of a burning Lawrence, with the word “Scoreboard” prominently shown. Meanwhile, KU fans wore shirts that said “Kansas: Keeping America Safe from Missouri since 1854” and included an image of John Brown. The schools continued to show disdain for each other even after the rivalry had seemingly ended in 2012. After Missouri joined the Southeastern Conference, KU’s public relations office responded by posting, “Missouri forfeits a century-old rivalry. We win.”¹⁹

A resolution considered in 2011 by the Board of Aldermen in Osceola, Missouri showed the level of contempt both sides have for each other and how real battles and sporting events have inherently become one in the same for many people. Around the 150th anniversary of a deadly raid on the town by Lane’s forces, the Board passed a resolution condemning the use of the mascot name Jayhawk by KU, citing the name’s origin as a “group of domestic terrorists.”²⁰

With the recent announcement that the universities’ plan to resume the football and basketball rivalries, the conflict between the University of Kansas and the University of Missouri lives on.²¹ Through those games, memories of the violence that took place along the border will also endure, and even though stories of deadly raids and reunions have turned into divided tailgate parties and fan-made shirts, the conflict still holds influence over Missourians and how they view their neighbors to the west.

            Bingham was born in Augusta County, Virginia, in 1811. He moved with his family to Missouri as a boy, and by 1820 lived on a farm three miles from the town of Arrow Rock.² During his youth, Bingham observed several itinerate portrait painters at work, fueling a desire to become a painter himself. Bingham spent his spare time sketching and gained skills as a cabinetmaker’s apprentice that gave him great “insight into drawing.” By the time he began his career as an artist, he sketched and painted with bold, straight lines and an eye for detail.³ A truly self-taught artist, Bingham’s skill as such only served to increase his notability.

            Though his genre paintings brought him considerable fame, Bingham’s primary source of income throughout his career was as a portrait painter. He was known both for the speed with which he painted and how everyone he painted appeared as unique individuals, although many of his paintings shared elements such as pose and lighting.⁴ This was due to Bingham’s belief that true art should mimic reality to such a degree as to be indistinguishable from it.⁵ A reporter once criticized him for this, saying Bingham “might be permitted, occasionally, a stroke or two more of flattery… In some instances, too faithful a copy of features is unfavorable to effect,” advice he readily ignored.⁶ This personal integrity was Bingham’s defining trait throughout his career as an artist and a politician.

            Bingham also had a strong interest in civil affairs. A political activist, he regularly engaged in Missouri politics throughout his life, holding a variety of political positions as a member of Missouri’s Whig party, including serving in the Missouri House of Representatives from 1848 to 1856.⁷ His Whiggish concerns bled into his genre art, which regularly depicted Midwestern civil and political happenings. Prior to 1848, these paintings portrayed scenes of Missouri river life, such as Watching the Cargo and Lighter Relieving a Steamboat Aground, reflecting his belief that government-sponsored improvements to the Missouri River would benefit his adopted home’s economy. However, later works such as his Election series captured Bingham’s belief in the will of the people and constituents’ ability to shape their public institutions through the democratic process.⁸ This belief in the “manners of a free people and free institutions” was another hallmark of Bingham’s political and artistic legacy.⁹

            Though he owned enslaved people prior to the outbreak of the American Civil War, Bingham believed slavery to be “incompatible with America’s democratic principles and ‘wrong in its origin’” as early as 1854; however, he favored gradual emancipation, fearing that the “demand for ‘immediate liberation’” would make “‘Emancipation [sic] upon any proper plan impossible,’” though this belief did not deter him from siding with the Union once the war began.¹⁰ He played a prominent role in Missouri’s provisional Unionist government as its state treasurer, during which he campaigned against the incessant partisan guerilla warfare that plagued the Midwest.¹¹ But Bingham’s greatest impact on Missouri’s perception of the war would be through his most infamous genre painting, General Order No. 11. For many years after its creation, the painting was seen as Bingham making General Thomas Ewing, a central figure in the painting, “infamous with my pen and brush so far as I am able” for issuing the namesake order.¹² However, recent scholarship believes the painting’s intended message was as an emancipationist allegory; Dr. Joan Stack defines the painting’s uncharacteristic “artificial theatricality” and “‘staging’ of the action” as artistic hints to its metaphorical nature.¹³ Regardless of the interpretation, General Order No. 11 remains a masterpiece of social commentary in its depiction of Missouri’s immense suffering as a result of the war and is a fitting capstone to Bingham’s role as an artist and public servant.

            Throughout his life, George Caleb Bingham was an artist, a politician, a state treasurer, and a political commentator, but perhaps his greatest role was that of archivist. Through his paintings, he provided a window into the experiences of Missourians as they and the larger United States were forming themselves into the social and political structures we know today. Through his steady hand and sharp eye, we see Missouri emerge from a borderland on the western edge of American settlement into a major social and economic player in the United States. Through his artistic skill, we see the love Bigham had for his adopted state and how he sought to show its beauty and history. Perhaps this is why George Caleb Bingham, “The Missouri Artist,” truly deserves his title as one of “America’s greatest artists.”¹⁴