Michigan Trails/Jackson County -Genealogy Trails

Jackson County Michigan

News & Gossip

Concord Independent

Jackson Citizen Patriot

Jackson Daily Citizen
Other Papers

July 6, 1854 - Commemorated the 152nd birthday of the Republican Party. It was this date when, in Jackson, MI, the Republican Party was founded 'Under the Oaks.' A portion of one of these Oaks, recognized by the The National Arbor Day Foundation as one of the 'Majestic Trees of America,' resides here at Michigan Republican Party headquarters in Lansing. Drawn together as one voice against the evils of slavery, the group of roughly 1,500 Michiganders joined as one party to draft a platform for which they stood. One of the delegates wrote, "This [opposition to slavery] is not a question of party loyalty, but a great fundamental principle of freedom, justice and humanity, a tenet of truth, law and legal right." This bedrock of principles is as true today as it was then, as Republicans lead the way to rid the world of terrorism in the name of liberty and justice. A special placard in a park in downtown Jackson commemorates the historic location "Under the Oaks." If you are ever in the area, I encourage you to visit the spot where our great party found its beginning.

‘Pomeroy’s Democrat’ 1871-02-15
Editorial Correspondence

    This is one of the handsomest cities in the State - one of the most attractive in the West. Wide streets - fine stores - live business men and a reliable Democratic majority.
    It is on the line of that popular railroad, the Michigan Central, about three hundred miles from Chicago, seventy-six miles from Detroit, and is the county seat of Jackson county, one of the best farming counties in Michigan.
    This morning, after a good breakfast at the Hibbard House, we had a good time visiting incog. - with no one to ask why Grant is not popular, or who is to be the next President. It is real nice to be alone - sometimes - at liberty to go where you wish to, with no one to bother or weary by continual questioning.

ON THE TRAMP

We called at the office of the ‘Daily Citizen’ a Republican newspaper. In the press room we found the printers at work, and in the sanctum, the hottest room we have found or expect to, this side of - some other hot place! were three good-looking young editors, working over papers, manuscripts, and items.
In a bushel basket was the morning’s mail, and for half an hour read newspapers to our quiet content. Behind us was a sharp-eyed young man, looking to see if his manuscript was all right. Before us were two more. A sweet-faced, good natured, red-whiskered man came in from time to time, looked in a little safe filled with account books, looked at us, and then hied himself away, like as does a blue jay from a “corn stout.” Who he was we know not - but we took nothing from the safe - thanks to his watchfulness.
A picture of the great and good man, General Hiram Ulysses Grant, ornamented the walls, so we knew we were on loyal ground? The editors wrote and wrote. The red-whiskered man dodged in and out. The stove grew hot, hotter, and red-hotter as the fire therein roared and crackled away as if every subscriber paid his subscription to the Citizen in wood!
The three editors wrote and wrote. Off came hats - then coats - then vests - then collars - still they scribbled. Not knowing but they were intending or preparing of a sortie on our works, we purchased a paper and left, with never a word between us, and nothing to disturb the harmony of the increasing heat.

ANOTHER CALL

    Then we wandered up and down Main Street--a wide, beautiful street, line with elegant business houses, stores and offices. We looked into this store and that - bought lead pencils, candy, lozenges, postage stamps, apples, and little things, for “instance.” At the corner of Main and Jackson streets we read a sign and found the office of the Jackson Daily Patriot - edited by Carlton & Van Antwerp. In the sanctum we found two gentlemen at work. One of them sat by a little desk, over the top of which was a sign reading:
    “Etc que rous roulex Ice hommes, vous fassent, failel le leu aussl de meme!”
    Alsa, unhappy France! We knew how it was myself, and took the inscription down, just as the patriot who sat there to his work put on his Arctic overshoes, buttoned his coat about his throat, and sallied out. He left his desk - a bundle of papers and vial of pain-killer on the top thereof - five cigar-boxes, and some pamphlets on the little shelves; Webster’s Dictionary and three other leather-backed books, with some other things to keep the dead cigar boxed company.