THE MYSTERY OF LAMBERT SIMMEL King or Anti-King

I don’t know who Lambert Simmel was. But I know he wasn’t who he said he was. The question is, was he who Henry Tudor said he was? And I truly doubt that, too.  As Gordon Smith has pointed out, his very name has a pantomime sound to it, “and a pantomime context.” As I just said, I have my doubts. Lambert Simmel claimed to be the Earl of Warwick and there is a possibility that, in fact, he was the Earl of Warwick. But, if that was true, then who the devil was Lambert Simmel?  At the core of that mystery is King Richard III, a bundle of mysteries all by himself.

Richard was the last of the legendary Plantagenet Kings of England. Legend says his ancestor Geoffrey often stuck the yellow flower of the ‘common broom’ in his helmet for identification; the Latin name for the plant being “planta genesta”. The dynasty produced Henry II who won the battle of Agingourt,  Richard The Lion Heart and King John who signed the Magna Carta. They and their genes commanded England and large parts of France for 300 years.

But the Plantagenets came to an end on 22 August, 1485 when Richard III (above)), house of York, was killed on Bosworth field. He was the last English King who died fighting in battle, a death which puts the lie to William Shakespeare’s claim that he was a deformed limping hunchback. In fairness it must also be noted that Richard was probably responsible for the death of Edward V, the rightful king of England at the time.

Edward V, the Prince of Wales, was only 12 years old when his father died on April 9, 1483. But, of course, a twelve year old cannot rule a country, and the usual system was for the boy’s adult supporters to divide up the kingdom and run it into the ground until the boy was strong enough to throw them out. That was what had happened with the Prince’s father, Edward IV.

So the future Edward V’s adult guardians sought to reach a deal with the boy’s uncle, Richard, the Duke of Gloucester. Graciously, Richard invited all the other guardians over for a great dinner to booze it up and talk how they were going to carve up the kingdom while Edward grew.

Early the next morning, while they were all still hung over, Richard he had them arrested and later executed.

Richard also had Young Prince Edward locked up in the Tower of London, to be joined within weeks by his eleven year old brother, Richard, the Earl of Warwick. The two boys were seen playing together in the courtyard of the Tower during June and July of 1483 and then they simply faded away. Shortly there after Richard had himself crowned King, Richard III.

The assumption has always been that the Princes were murdered on Richard’s orders. And that would have been the smart thing for Richard to have done.  But the mystery of what became of the princes has kept an army of scribes and historians busy ever since, in the hope of explaining how, in God’s name, a slug like Henry Tudor ever got to be the a king of England.

Unlike Richard, Henry Tudor was no warrior. Nor was he a lover. The only passion he ever displayed was for money.  He was a voracious, avaricious, bloodless money grubber. In fact, his personality is not far from the lead character in the play "Richard III", just without the hump.

He was the only child born to 13 year old Margaret Beaufort Tudor, two months after the boy’s father, Edmund Tudor, had died. Now, Edmund had been the King’s half brother. Margaret was the granddaughter of the third son of King Edward III with his third wife; in short Henry Tudor’s royal blood was so watered down that it resembled lemon aid, and he kept it at about the same temperature. 

But because Richard III had been so ruthless in eliminating his competitors for the throne, his only competition left was his bloodless, passionless distant relative Henry Tudor; unless, of course, one of the missing princes still lived.

Having defeated and butchered Richard III at Boswell Field in August of 1485, the newly crowned Henry VII was given no time to rest on his purple cushions. He had to face down a York rebellion in the spring of 1486.

And then again, in March of 1487, yet another group of nobles crowned a rival King in Ireland, a 16 year old boy who claimed he was the Earl of Warwick, the younger of the two missing princes from the Tower. 

But was he? Most of the noble men who would have known Warwick from 1483, had long since been executed by either Richard III or Henry VII.  And it would have made sense that Warwick, as the younger of the princes, would have been less closely guarded than the direct heir to the throne.

So it might have been possible to sneak Warwick out of the tower and spirit him to Ireland; maybe, possibly.  And how do you tell a King from a common man, except a King wears a crown. As a wise man once said, he must be The King because he ain't got shit all over him. Or maybe it was his manner. He acted like a king. And how does A King act? The only images most people saw of the king was his face imprinted on coins. So unless you have your face on a coin, How do you prove you are The King of England?   

Besides, as historian A.F. Pollard pointed out,  “Immediately Henry gained the throne he accused Richard of cruelty and tyranny but strangely did not mention the murder of the little princes. Henry did not announce that the boys had been murdered until July 1486, nearly a year after Richard’s death. Could Henry Tudor have murdered them?”  Maybe, possibly. After all, once on the throne his life and his children's lives depended on securing his claim to being King.

It appears an Oxford priest, Richard Simon, found the son of a baker who physically resembled the dead Richard, Duke of Warwick.  The bright lad was coached in the history and behavior of the boy last seen in July, 1483.  Simon decided it would be best if the resurrected heir made his first public appearance away from London. Ireland was chosen because the nobility there - as the Duke of Clarence, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and Thomas Fitzgerald, Duke of Kildare and the Lord Deputy of Ireland - were eager  to believe the fraud - if it was a fraud.  They borrowed a crown from the statue in a Dublin Church and proclaimed the boy the rightful king. Another York die hard, Margaret of Burgundy, even paid for 2,000 German mercenaries to fight for Simmel, when he invaded England.

On 16 June , 1487, the houses of York and Lancaster fought yet another battle, near Stoke. Some  20,000 men met again to decide the fate of England. (Henry Tudor was, of course, not on the field of battle.) When it ended, half of the rebellions troops were captured and most of their leaders were dead.

Soon after the battle Henry VII was able to announce that the missing prince, Richard, the Earl of Warwick had been captured. And he was not actually Warwick, but an imposter by the name of Lambert Simmel,  The imposter was graciously granted a full pardon by Henry because the boy had been a mere tool of the real conspirators.

The noble conspirators were all executed, and Henry seized their wealth and land. But Lambert Simmel was retained as a spit turner in the palace kitchen, and later a falconer. Henry VII now had living proof always close at hand that the princes were truly dead, at whomever's hand. And all he required was that you believe that Lambert Simmel was the boy who had impersonated the Earl of Warwick. And that Warwick had been murdered by Richard. But could he have been anyone else?

“Lambert” is ancient German for “Bright land”. And “Simmel” seems to come from the Hebrew "Shim’on" meaning ‘listening’. But neither name was common in England during the middle ages.   However, Gordon Smith, in his essay “Lambert Simmel and the King from Dublin” has pointed out that “the maiden name of Edward IV's mistress...was Elizabeth Lambert."

So it could be that Lambert Simmel was a code name for the real illegitimate child of Henry VII and his mistress. If so that would make the boy an imposter of an imposter, used by Henry Tudor to discredit the belief that he and not Richard Plantagenet had murdered a rightful King of England. Maybe. It could be.

If you read enough history you come the realization that the past is like a hallway in the Tower of London. It winds up and around, past cell after cell. There may be scratches on the wall in each room, or personal belongings left behind. But the only way to know what really happened is to have been there at the time. History is what we suspect happened. It is always part fact, part opinion and part imagination. It is a story. It could be. It was possible. It might have happened that way. Or it might not have. In short, reading history is not for the faint of heart.

Lambert Simmel was clearly an imposter. But whose imposter was he? He died around 1525, and left no record of his own. And everything else is just a fascinating conjecture called "his story"

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IMPEACHMENT DEAL - Stanton V Johnson

I guess the modern politician whom Edwin Stanton reminds me of most is Dick Cheney. Physically they were very similar, and they shared the post of Secretary of War, albeit a century apart. Like Dick Cheney, Stanton was a Prima Donna who displayed a self indulgent affection for conspiracies, and practiced such hyperbole that “At certain crises…doubts of his sanity were widespread…”(p 286 – “Lincolns War Cabinet” Hendrick). . There were differences, of course. Stanton never actually shot anyone, but when he was a young man he did carry a large knife in his pants, which would have fascinated Freud had he been born yet. In the end, the nicest thing I can say about Stanton is that he was a “rude and offensive” manic depressive lunatic on the right side of history.

When Stanton first set eyes upon Lincoln, in an 1857 Cincinnati courtroom, the bully loudly demanded, “Where did the long-armed baboon come from?” Eight years later Stanton lay literally sobbing on Lincoln’s deathbed. Lincoln was the only man who ever controlled Stanton, and it took a lot of his time. He called Stanton “my rock”, but admitting to devising strategies for “plowing around” that rock. Lincoln’s last official act before heading out to Ford’s Theatre, was to overrule yet another Stanton overreaction.

On the day Lincoln died , Vice President Andrew Johnson from Tennessee was sworn in as President and inherited the pit- bull lap-dog that was Stanton. Over the next two years the slavery loving pro-Union Democratic President Johnson struggled to find a way to make the anti-slavery Republican Stanton “heel”. Finally, on Monday, 5 August, 1867, Johnson just asked Stanton for his resignation. To his surprise, Stanton simply said “no”.

There was a week of stunned silence from the White House, until the following Monday, 12 August , 1867,  when Johnson tried another tact. He ordered Civil War hero General U.S. Grant  to the War Office, to tell Stanton he was being temporarily suspended. Johnson also told Grant that if Stanton still refused to leave, Grant should arrest him. But Grant didn’t want to do that. Instead he and Stanton came up with a plan of their own. Grant took possession of the office. But Stanton never left the building.

There was a move to impeach Johnson for this attempt, but the votes fell short. The new congress was sworn in on Tuesday, 7 January, 1868, and on Monday, 13 January  it voted to back Stanton. The next day Grant locked the Secretary of War’s office, handed the key to an aide, and left. An hour later Stanton arrived and was handed the key. Only then did Grant tell President Johnson he had quit. The bitch was back.

In desperation, Johnson turned to a character he could control, a 63 year old paper pusher, the Armies’ Adjutant-General, Lorenzo Thomas (above). To this point, Thomas’ greatest claim to fame was that he had help spread the rumor that General William Tecumseh Sherman was crazy. That had not worked, which should have been a hint to Johnson, but he didn't take it. Now, on 21 February , 1868, the President handed General Thomas two letters. The first letter fired Stanton (Again!). The second named Thomas as Secretary of War. Johnson then ordered Thomas to deliver them to both to Stanton. Alas, it was a like sending the Little Dutch Boy to stop a forest fire. All he got was a burned finger.

At the War Office (above), Stanton read both notes, and asked, “Do you wish me to vacate the office at once?” Magnanimously, the old man answered, “Act at your pleasure.” Stanton then went down the hall to make a copy of the letter. While Thomas dumbly waited, and a clerk laboriously wrote out an exact copy of the order, Stanton arranged his thoughts and morphed into a petulant two-year old. When he returned Thomas announced that he would now issue orders as Secretary of War. To which Stanton replied “You shall not. I will countermand.” In front of Thomas, Stanton then dictated a letter to Thomas, saying, “Sir: I am informed that you presume to issue orders as Secretary of War…you are hereby commanded to abstain from issuing any orders other than in your capacity as Adjutant-General of the army.” Stanton then handed the completed letter to Thomas and ordered him out of the office.

A bewildered Thomas informed Johnson of this conversation. The President must have been flabbergasted. He ordered Thomas to return to the War Office and begin issuing orders. Thomas tried that, but discovered he could no longer get in. Stanton had locked the doors.

Stanton now went native. Food was brought in, and and drink, and Grant appointed a special guard to defend the building, against whom he did not say. This military guard was joined by members of the House of Representatives and 100 staffers, who patrolled the basement. I guess because down there Grant figured they could only shoot each  other. That night, at a White House masked ball in honor of George Washington’s Birthday, and emboldened by a little wine, Thomas boasted that in the morning he would break down the walls of the War Office and arrest the Secretary of War. It looked as if come morning, the nation would be either defended or stolen by a coup d’tetat.

What saved the nation this disaster was that Washington, D.C. (above) was, has always been, and remains to this day, a small southern town filled with gossips. Stanton heard Thomas’ boast almost as soon as he had uttered it, and at 2 o’clock in the morning as the White House Party was just breaking up, Stanton was awakening a federal judge to sign an arrest warrant. At eight the next morning, as Thomas was just setting down to eat breakfast, he was arrested and charged with violating the Tenure of Office Act, which Congress had passed to prevent Johnson from firing Stanton without Congressional approval. There was no coup d’tetat because at nine a.m. General Thomas was in court.

After he had been released on his own recognizance (who was he going to hurt?), Thomas returned to the White House, where, once again President Johnson ordered the old man to go to the War Department and take possession if it. So, for a third time, the old soldier pushed his rock of Presidential command up the hill to confront his nemeses. The old man intoned, “I will stand here.” Stanton responded, “You can stand there if you please, but you cannot act as Secretary of War. I am Secretary of War. I order you out of this office and to your own.” Thomas answered, “I refuse to go and will stand here.” It was a circular conversation, and getting nowhere fast.

After trying to issue orders to everyone he could (and meeting impassive resistance), Thomas gathered his wounded pride and asked Stanton, “The next time you have me arrested, please do not do it before I get something to eat. I have had nothing to eat or drink all day.” Now it was Stanton’s turn to be magnanimous. He produced a bottle of whisky and poured them equal amounts. Handing a glass to Thomas, Stanton said, “Now, this at least is neutral ground.”

Over the next weeks, while the Senate heard President Johnson’s impeachment trial for trying to fire Stanton, Stanton remained barricaded in the War Department. He received all dispatches and reports, had full access to the telegraph lines. He just never left the building.  Meanwhile Thomas had no access to any of that, but he appeared at daily Cabinet meetings as Secretary of War. But the two never crossed paths. And while the process was argued behind the closed doors of the Senate, a compromise (of sorts) was reached.

On Saturday, 16 May, 1868 the Senate took their first vote on an article of impeachment. It fell short of conviction. President Johnson, who had promised to cease obstructing the Reconstruction acts, would survive. The next day, Stanton wrote his letter of resignation. The crises had been resolved. But it would not be until 1887 before the Tenure in Office Act would be repealed.

Edwin Stanton was nominated to the Supreme Court by the next President, U. S. Grant. But the mercurial  clerk died four days after being confirmed by the Senate, Christmas Eve, 1869. It was so unlike him to sneak out of town before the his chance at a really grand performance.

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BUYING THE BROOKLYN BRIDGE - Gregor McGregor the Con Man.

I have a bridge for sale, if you happen to know a fish. In exchange for a small taste (bribe), boatmen working the ferries between the immigration station on Ellis Island and Manhattan would alert ropers (outside men) when they spotted a rube (a new immigrant) with a crowded oakus (A full wallet). After befriending the Bates (the victim), the rope would allow himself to be convinced to share his inside info on some of the fabulous business opportunities available for any America with a little ready cash. And, as evening settled in, the rope might even be induced to introduce the fish to Mr. George Parker, the fabulously wealthy but temporally distressed owner of the Brooklyn Bridge.

George C. Parker (the inside man) confessed that during the early 1880’s he sold the Brooklyn Bridge twice a week. He had documents showing he owned not only the bridge, but also Grant’s Tomb, the Statue of Liberty and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He sold them all, over and over again. According to historian Carl Sifakis, “Several times Parker's victims had to be rousted from the bridge…when they tried to erect toll barriers.” George’s fame stems not just from his invention of this classic American scam, but for his part in creating that other American institution, The Three Time Loser.  After his third conviction on 17 December,, 1928, George received a life sentence in Sing Sing, where the old man was very popular.

George Parker was followed by Reed (The Kid) Waddell, Charles and Fred Gondorf (whose name was used in “The Sting”), William (“I.O.U.) O’Brian McCloundy, and finally, Peaches O'Day, who was convicted of selling the Brooklyn Bridge in 1901. By the time Peaches worked the scam, the bridge had been devalued down to $200, and the very idea of selling the Brooklyn Bridge had become a joke. And if they are laughing at you, they sure don’t have confidence in you. But before them all was Gregor McGregor, a Scotsman who managed to not only sell what he did not own, but he sold what did not even exist.

Everybody in England knew who Gregor McGregor (above) was. In 1820 the tall, thin Scotsman in a tight uniform, was welcomed home by the Lord Mayor of London, as a hero. He had spent the last three years laying waste to the Spanish Main, fighting in various South American armies. He’d been made a general by Simon Bolivar, himself. And now Gregor McGregor walked into the British Foreign Office and announced that he had been made a prince (or Cazique) of the principality of Poyais. Everybody from Land’s End to Inverness was absolutely gobsmacked.

Poyais was a gift from George Frederic Augustus I, King of the Miskito Sambu tribe, who gave their name to the Mosquito Coast of Central America. It was quite a gift; 8 million acres of virgin rain forest, chocked full of lumber, or, if cleared, crop land perfect for growing sugar cane, cotton or tobacco, according to Mr. McGregor.   A small group of British adventurers were already at work, overseeing natives constructing the new capital city of St. Joseph. What was needed now, explained hero McGregor, were settlers not afraid of hard work and sacrifice, and, of course, a few patriotic investors willing to fund another expansion of the ever profitable British Empire.

McGregor secured his “in” with English social circles when in 1821 he named the very proper Major William John Richardson as his legate. Together they opened an embassy in London, and in Scotland they began offering Poyais farmland at bargain prices, as “…an asylum only for the industrious and honest.” Almost overnight they sold some 200,000 pounds worth of Poyais bonds.

The publics’ hunger for information on Poyais was fulfilled by Captain Thomas Strangeways, who penned a book describing the Mosquito Coast as free from tropical diseases, and blessed with fertile soil, which lay atop uncounted veins of gold and silver. In September of 1822, the Honduras Packet set sail for Poyais with 70 settlers, and a chest loaded with new Poyais currency. This was followed, in January, by the ship Kennersley Castle, with another 200 settlers, this time mostly doctors, accountants, and lawyers. Ah, if they only knew that the author Captain Strangeways was actually the non—plume of Gregor McGregor.

On 20 March, 1822, the Kennersley Castle arrived off the mouth of the Coco River, dividing modern day Honduras and Nicaragua. What they found were survivors of the first ship, the Honduras Packet. There was no city of St. Joseph, under construction or otherwise, and no farm land. However there was malaria, and plenty of it. Thus the name " Mosquito Coast". The Kennersley Castle dumped the settlers on the beach with the hungry and sickly survivors of the first bunch and sailed away.

Many of the white collar crowd refused to even help build their own shelters, because they had been lied to. The remainder tried to scratch their survival out of the unhappy land. One, a shoemaker, just lay down on his cot and shot himself.   A month later who should arrive but King George Frederic (yes, he was real) aboard an English ship. He now admitted he had signed away the land after Gregor McGregor had gotten him drunk.  But he now announced that he was revoking his gift. And that was the end of Poyais - in reality.  In October 50 survivors made it back to London, and reported the story in full – sort of. Some of the returning survivors even signed a letter saying that after it all they still believed in Gregor McGregor.  Human beings can be loyal to the point of stupidity. . However Mr. McGregor was not there to defend himself. He had already moved on to Paris, where, in August of 1825, he issued a new constitution for Poyais, and secured a new 300,000 pound loan through a British bank. He immediately started selling more farms in this tropical paradise that sounded far too good to be true. The non-existent citizens of Poyais must have been thrilled to learn they now lived in a Republic.

In December of 1825 Gregor McGregor (above) was arrested by French authorities. In January 1826, from his Paris prison cell, he issued a proclamation to his fellow South American potentates. None responded.  It took two trials, but in July Gregor McGregor was found… not guilty.  Only his compatriots in crime were convicted. I guess it always pays to hire the best lawyers, particularly when you pay them with other people’s money.

By the fall of 1826 Gregor McGregor was back in England, and he spent the next decade selling and re-selling Poyais in one form or another.  In 1836 the nonexistent residents of Poyais got yet another new constitution, and a flag,  with a green cross on a white background, and some competition. Two other companies started selling Poyais bonds, but  did not find it profitable enough to press the scam.  In 1839 a now almost destitute Gregor McGregor left England and sailed for Venezuela.  They granted him a modest pension for his actions in their revolution, and he died there in December of 1845.

And if it seems that Gregor McGregor’s lonely death in Venezuela offered a moral to close out our tale, allow me to point out that most people die feeling bitter and feeling alone. It has something to do with age. At least Gregor McGregor got his name on a monument outside of Caracas. Still, I have to agree with Will Rogers, who once said, “They may call me a 'rube' and a 'hick, but I'd a lot rather be the man who bought the Brooklyn Bridge than the man who sold it.”

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