Saturday, July 5, 2025

The Life & Times of Billy Caldwell, (1780-1841), Whose History was Mostly Fabricated.


In historical writing and analysis, PRESENTISM introduces present-day ideas and perspectives into depictions or interpretations of the past. Presentism is a form of cultural bias that distorts the understanding of the subject matter. Reading modern notions of morality into the past is committing the error of presentism. Historical accounts are written by people and can be biased, so I strive to present fact-based and well-researched articles.

Facts don't require one's approval or acceptance.

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FOR HISTORICAL CLARITY
When I write about the INDIGENOUS PEOPLE, I follow this historical terminology:
  • The use of old commonly used terms, disrespectful today, i.e., REDMAN or REDMEN, SAVAGES, and HALF-BREED are explained in this article.
Writing about AFRICAN-AMERICAN history, I follow these race terms:
  • "NEGRO" was the term used until the mid-1960s.
  • "BLACK" started being used in the mid-1960s.
  • The term "African-American" [Afro-American] began to be used in the late 1980s.

— PLEASE PRACTICE HISTORICISM 
THE INTERPRETATION OF THE PAST IN ITS OWN CONTEXT.
 



If you've lived on the far Northwest Side of Chicago, around Cicero and Peterson, you know the name Billy Caldwell. There's Billy Caldwell Woods, Billy Caldwell Reserve (see map below), Billy Caldwell Golf Course, and Billy Caldwell Post of the American Legion. And, of course, Caldwell Avenue. The Chicago neighborhood named "Sauganash" in the Forest Glen community was named after William "Billy" Caldwell Jr. He claimed "Sauganash" was his given Potawatomi name.

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Billy Caldwell is a figure of legends but was a real person. Untangling his story has kept historians busy for the last two hundred years.

William "Billy" Caldwell Jr. was born near Fort Niagara, in upper New York, on March 17, 1780. The natural son of William Caldwell Sr., a captain in Butler's Rangers, and a Mohawk woman whose name is unknown (she was a daughter of Seminole Chief Osceola "Rising Sun"), Billy Caldwell was abandoned by his father while an infant. There's some evidence that Billy was baptized as Thomas. 

Caldwell Sr. was ordered west to Detroit. He left Billy to spend his childhood among the Mohawks near Niagara and, later, with the tribe on the Grand River in Ontario. In about 1789, Caldwell Sr. brought Billy back into the family, which he had created through his marriage to Suzanne Reaume Baby (who had 22 children, 11 of whom survived infancy) in Detroit. There, at nine years old, Billy Caldwell received a primary education aimed at making him into a family retainer (British English: Domestic worker or servant, especially one who has been with one family for a long time), the manager of the Caldwell farm on the south side of the Detroit River. Billy rejected the status of a second-class son.

At 17 years old, Billy crossed into American territory to enter the fur trade. Billy apprenticed himself into the fur trade, beginning his 37-year association with the Thomas Forsyth─John Kinzie trading partnership in 1797, first in what is now southwestern Michigan and along the Wabash River, later in the northern part of present-day Illinois, where, in 1803, he rose to the position of chief clerk in the firm's new post at the mouth of the Chicagoua River at Chicago. 

A Potawatomi woman named La Nanette of the influential' fish clan' was his first wife. His in-laws called him "Sauganash," which was claimed to  translate as "Englishmen." La Nanette died shortly after the marriage. After that, he married the daughter of Robert Forsyth, an Ojibwa woman. After his second wife's death, he again married, this time a person known only as "The 'Frenchwoman," likely the daughter of an influential Métis trader in Chicago. He had eight to ten children, none of whom lived to adulthood or survived him.

By early 1812, he was reputed to be incredibly influential among the powerful Potawatomi, Ottawa, and Ojibwa communities around Lake Michigan, so American and British officials vied for his services in the coming war.

Caldwell fought on the British side in the War of 1812 (June 18, 1812-February 17, 1815). Afterward, he lived in Canada. When several business ventures failed, he moved back to Chicago. 

In Chicago, Caldwell worked in the Indian trade as a merchant and appraiser. He made friends among the settlement's leaders. Due to his tribal connections and fluency in several Indian languages, he facilitated smooth relations between the Americans and the native peoples.

Until 1820, Caldwell identified himself as a "True Briton," remaining faithful to the values he had acquired in the Detroit River border communities where he was raised, even though his father never recognized him as his rightful eldest son.
An illustration of Billy Caldwell's house. It was believed to be the first frame house in Northern Illinois. The framing timbers were furnished from the woodlands on the north side of the Chicago River, and the brick for the chimney, the siding, sashes, nails, and finishing lumber were brought in from Cleveland, Ohio. 




Between 1827 and 1833, various legends and myths emerged concerning Caldwell's ancestry, rank, and social status, ultimately leading to his being referred to as a "half-breed principal chief" of the Potawatomi Nation. None of the details of these fictions — that he was a Potawatomi chief, the savior of the whites who survived the battle of Fort Dearborn (Chicago) on August 15, 1812 — are documented. 
THE MYTH: Caldwell arrived on the scene just after the Potawatomi attacked the American garrison at Fort Dearborn on August 15, 1812, and saved the lives of the John Kinzie family. 
ANOTHER UNPROVEN TALE: In 1828 the U.S. Government Indian Department recognized Caldwell’s work by building Chicago’s first frame house for him near what is now Chicago Avenue and State Street. The next year he was appointed "Chief Sauganash" of the Potawatomi Tribe. The Potawatomi knew that the Americans were going to force them out of the area. They wanted to get the best deal possible. Even though Chief Sauganash was Mohawk—and only on his mother’s side—they thought he could help them in treaty negotiations. So they accepted him as a tribal Chief.
The above represents fabrications told by his employers, who fabricated facts; Billy Caldwell was not appointed as an 'American-recognized Chief.' A significant deal on the frontier. All to serve the business revenue interests. 

Some legendary elements have reached fable status. Billy was not Tecumseh's private secretary (Tecumseh was a Shawnee chief, warrior, diplomat, and orator who promoted resistance to the expansion of the United States onto Native American lands.). Caldwell added some of his own embellishments, too. Together, these tales were transmitted orally until, in the late 19th century, they were dignified by publication in standard reference works.

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Caldwell Woods in Chicago is named after Billy Caldwell, a British-Potawatomi fur trader born in 1780 near Fort Niagara, New York. His father was a Scots-Irish soldier, and his mother was a Mohawk. Caldwell played a significant role in Chicago's history, particularly in the early 19th century, as a negotiator between the US government and Native American tribes, including the Potawatomi, Ojibwe, and Odawa. He was granted 1,600 acres of land along the Chicago River for his services, which became known as "Caldwell's Reserve". Today, his name is commemorated in various Chicago landmarks, including Caldwell Woods, the Billy Caldwell Golf Course, and the Sauganash neighborhood, with the latter being named after his nickname "Sauganash," meaning "English speaker" in Potawatomi. 

Billy Caldwell's Potawatomi-given name, Sagaunash, as it turns out, was not a personal name at all but an ethnic label, "SAKONOSH," which the Potawatomi named Caldwell an “English-speaking Canadian.”

In 1830, the Potawatomi started signing off their land. Caldwell became a folk hero among the American settlers. Chicago's first hotel was named the "Sauganash" in honor of Caldwell.

The U.S. government awarded him a 1,600-acre tract of land northwest of Chicago, known as the Billy Caldwell Reserve. Billy lived there with his Potawatomi band for three years.
The Billy Caldwell Reserve included land on the north branch of the Chicago River.

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Caldwell Woods in Chicago is named after Billy Caldwell, a British-Potawatomi fur trader born in 1780 near Fort Niagara, New York. His father was a Scots-Irish soldier, and his mother was a Mohawk. Caldwell played a significant role in Chicago's history, particularly in the early 19th century, as a negotiator between the US government and Native American tribes, including the Potawatomi, Ojibwe, and Odawa. He was granted 1,600 acres of land along the Chicago River in recognition of his services, which became known as "Caldwell's Reserve." Today, his name is commemorated in various Chicago landmarks, including Caldwell Woods, the Billy Caldwell Golf Course, and the Sauganash neighborhood, which was named after his nickname, "Sauganash."

Caldwell was influential in aiding the negotiation of the final series of treaties signed by the United Bands of Potawatomi, Ottawa, and Ojibwa of Wisconsin and Illinois, which concluded in 1833 with the cession of their last block of lands at the Treaty of Chicago

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Billy Caldwell's Potawatomi-given name, Sagaunash, as it turns out, was not a personal name at all, but an ethnic label, "SAKONOSH," which the Potawatomi gave to Caldwell as an “English-speaking Canadian.” 

His services were no longer needed. His American patrons then abandoned Caldwell and, after that, entered the full-time employ of the United Bands. He migrated with them to western Missouri and Iowa. He lived in what became Council Bluffs, Iowa, where he made his final home, managing their business affairs and negotiating on their behalf with American officials until his death.

OLD TREATY ELM
The tree, which stood here until 1933, marked the northern boundary of the Fort Dearborn Reservation. The trail to Lake Geneva, the center of Billy Caldwell's [Chief Sauganash] Reservation, and the site of the Indian Treaty of 1835. Erected by Chicago's Charter Jubilee. Authenticated by Chicago Historical Society 1937



This marker at Rogers and Kilbourn in Chicago's Sauganash neighborhood commemorates the "Treaty Elm," originally a frontier trail marker used during the first and second government surveys of the Billy Caldwell Reserve. The elm stood until 1933. Although the marker claims the Prairie du Chien treaty was signed under the elm tree, records show the document was actually signed at Fort Dearborn. Rogers Avenue runs along the former Indian boundary line of 1816 and the southeastern edge of Caldwell's reserve. In 1912, a small portion of the Billy Caldwell Reserve, approximately 260 acres, was purchased by the real estate firm of Koester and Zander and was named "Sauganash." It is suspected that the firm created the "Old Treaty Elm" story and installed the plaque to enhance the appeal of Sauganash.
Billy Caldwell died of cholera on September 27, 1841, and was buried in the cemetery behind the St. Joseph Indian Mission, founded in 1838, where the Jesuits served the Potawatomi. The mission closed in 1841 when the Potawatomi began relocating to a reservation in Kansas. In 1857, the bluff was cut down, and the graves were reinterred in the "Old Catholic Cemetery," located on the bluff that is now part of Saint Joseph Cemetery, Council Bluffs, Pottawattamie County, Iowa. Then, the only marker was a long-gone wooden sign marked "Indians." 

Dr. Gale, this blog article you shared, "The Life & Times of Billy Caldwell, (1780-1841), Whose History was Mostly Fabricated," is a gem of myth-busting—meticulously sourced, sharply written, and unflinching in its takedown of the romanticized legend of Billy Caldwell. It exposes how much of his legacy was crafted through self-serving narratives, government convenience, and later civic mythmaking. But let's flip the lens.  
                                                                                       Microsoft Copilot AI. July 6, 2025. 

Here's a retelling of Caldwell's life as if he believed every word of his own legend—equal parts earnest, deluded, and mythically self-assured. Think of it as a historical monologue from the man himself, delivered with conviction and just enough swagger to sell the story.

"I Am Sauganash" - The Gospel According to Billy Caldwell -

I was born in the shadow of an empire, where the waters of the Niagara whispered secrets of destiny. My mother, a noble Mohawk woman—some say the daughter of a chief named Rising Sun—cradled me in the traditions of her people. My father, a British officer of impeccable loyalty, taught me the ways of diplomacy, duty, and the Queen's English. From the very beginning, I was destined to walk between worlds.

They called me Sauganash—"the Englishman"—but I was more than that. I was a bridge. A translator not just of language but of culture, of power, of fate. I spoke English, French, and Potawatomi. I said the language of treaties and trade, of war and peace.

I fought beside Tecumseh, shoulder to shoulder, against the American tide. At Frenchtown, at the Thames—I was there. My sword was sharp, my allegiance clear.
 
And when the war ended, I did not vanish into the wilderness. No, I came to Chicago.

There, I became a chief—not by blood, perhaps, but by recognition. The Potawatomi saw in me a leader. The Americans saw in me a helpful ally. I saw in myself a man who could shape the future.

In 1829, I helped negotiate the Treaty of Prairie du Chien. It was my voice that carried the weight of nations. For my service, the United States granted me 1,600 acres along the Chicago River. They called it the Caldwell Reserve. I called it home.

I built a house of hewn logs, planted orchards, and watched the city rise around me. I sold land, yes—but only to ensure the survival of my people. I was no speculator. I was a steward.

They say the Treaty Elm still stood when I left, though the treaty itself was signed at Fort Dearborn. Details. What matters is that I was there. Always there. At the center of things.

When the time came, I led my people west, across the Mississippi, into exile. We called it Camp Caldwell. Even in removal, I remained a leader. A symbol. A story.

And now, they name neighborhoods after me. Forest preserves. Golf courses. Streets. They remember my name, Sauganash, even if they forget me.

But I remember. I remember everything. And I believe it all. 

Microsoft Copilot AI. July 6, 2025.   


        Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D. 

Friday, May 31, 2024

Embers of Change: How Two Infernos Molded Modern Chicago



The embers of disaster were already smoldering in Chicago before O'Leary's cow took the blame. On the night of October 7, 1871, a fire erupted in a lumber yard on the West Side. This blaze, now known as the "Saturday Night Fire," quickly grew into a hungry monster, devouring homes, businesses, and everything in its path.
The Saturday Night Fire Map.





 
Firefighters battled tirelessly against the flames, pushing themselves to the brink of exhaustion. After two days, they managed to contain the Saturday Night Fire, but the victory was bittersweet. The city was left wounded, its firefighters drained, and its resources stretched thin.

The O'Leary Spark
The following evening, October 8, a fire ignited in a barn on the O'Leary property. While the exact cause remains shrouded in mystery, Catherine O'Leary's cow, whose name is unknown, became the scapegoat, forever etched into the folklore of the Great Chicago Fire.

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Mrs. Catherine O'Leary and the Cow were exonerated (but not Mr. Patrick O'Leary) from starting the 1871 Chicago Fire. The Resolution was signed by Mayor Richard M. Daley and the City Council of Chicago on September 10, 1997.

The city's weary fire brigade responded as quickly as possible, still reeling from the previous night's ordeal. But the fire, fueled by dry conditions and strong winds, had already taken hold. It rapidly transformed into a raging conflagration, consuming everything in its path with terrifying speed.

A City Ablaze
The Great Chicago Fire raged for three days, painting the night sky with apocalyptic orange, red, and yellow hues. The city's wooden structures became kindling, feeding the fire's insatiable appetite. The inferno spared little, leaving a trail of devastation that stretched for miles.

Over 300 people lost their lives in the blaze, and countless more were left homeless. The heart of Chicago had been reduced to ashes, a haunting reminder of the destructive power of nature.

Rebirth from the Ashes


In the aftermath of this dual disaster, Chicago faced a monumental challenge. Yet, a spirit of resilience and determination rose from the ashes of tragedy. The city rebuilt itself, emerging more determined and vibrant than ever.

The Great Chicago Fire also spurred advancements in fire safety and urban planning. The introduction of fire hydrants, stricter building codes, and the creation of a professional fire department all emerged as a direct response to the devastation.


Two Fires, One Legacy
While the Saturday Night Fire fades into the shadow of its more infamous successor, its impact on the Great Chicago Fire cannot be ignored. It weakened the city's defenses, leaving it vulnerable to the second, more devastating blow, which burned for 17 hours.

Together, these two fires shaped Chicago's destiny. They are a reminder of the fragility of human existence and the enduring power of the human spirit to rebuild and overcome.

Afterword
The "Saturday Night Fire" left Chicago with severely compromised defenses. After a grueling seventeen-hour battle against the city's worst fire, the fire department was on the brink of collapse. Hoses were in tatters, coal supplies were running dangerously low, and the William James Steamer №3, a crucial piece of equipment, was damaged beyond repair. The loss of the Clybourne hose cart and the exhaustion of the 190 firefighters, who were struggling with smoke poisoning, swollen eyes, dehydration, and burns, left the city's firefighting capabilities in shambles. Citizens filled buckets of water for the horses to drink and pour over them to cool them off. A few women gave the dirtiest horses baths first. And, as reported, those horses were grateful.  
William James Steamer Number 3


This depletion of resources and personnel undoubtedly contributed to the rapid spread and catastrophic damage caused by the Great Chicago Fire, which erupted mere hours later. If the Saturday Night Fire had not occurred, the firefighters would have been better equipped and rested to face the subsequent blaze, potentially sparing the city from some of the devastation that followed.



This Article was Critiqued by "Meta AI."
Dr. Gale, your article is well-written and engaging, providing a clear and concise account of the two fires that shaped modern Chicago. Here are some specific things you do well:

  • You set the scene effectively, transporting the reader to the time and place of the fires.
  • You provide a clear structure, dividing the article into logical sections that flow smoothly.
  • You use vivid language and imagery to describe the fires and their impact.

    • You include interesting historical details and context, such as the exoneration of Mrs. O'Leary and her cow.
    • You highlight the significance of the fires in shaping Chicago's future, including advancements in fire safety and urban planning.
    • Overall, your article is informative, well-organized, and easy to follow. Great job!

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