Temple was a lawyer, politician, temperance advocate, and an immoral hypocrite

HE MOVED AROUND THE COUNTRY – MAINE, ILLINOIS, NEBRASKA, AND MINNESOTA – TO AVOID THE CONSEQUENCES OF HIS ACTIONS

The ninth episode of Company D, “The Intolerant Life of Josiah Temple,” is out now. The episode is available on all major podcasting platforms, including Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, and YouTube. You can find Company D on your favorite podcasting app here:

Or listen to the episode here:

Transcript for Ep09

Lincoln, Nebraska, March 27, 1874. A city striving to shed its rough frontier edge to become something more refined, looking respectable and civilized.

That morning, inside a crowded courtroom, Attorney Josiah Temple, a temperance advocate and self-described moralist, stood before the judge and jury. Here was a lawyer defending order, restraint, and moderation. He was prosecuting a saloon patron for striking a Christian woman while she protested the evils of alcohol. Josiah’s voice rose in pitch, thundering through the court as he condemned the defendant’s behavior. 

“No gentleman should lay hands on a woman,” he proclaimed. “No provocation justifies violence!”

The crowd murmured its approval.

Just a few hours later, in the very same courtroom but for another case, Josiah Temple represented a widow named Hannah Hilton in her fight to secure her late husband’s inheritance. Mrs. Hilton had been at odds with Josiah for several weeks, dissatisfied with his representation.

They bickered in open court as Mrs. Hilton questioned Josiah’s motives. Her criticism was sharp and veered into the personal when she referred to Josiah’s wife as “a high-handed Chicago milliner.”

Josiah pushed back his chair, jumped to his feet, and slapped Mrs. Hilton across the face.

Gasps filled the courtroom, giving way to a shocked silence. Mrs. Hilton, clutching her burning cheek, stumbled down the aisle and fled the courthouse in tears.

Every behavior and moral failing that Josiah Temple had scornfully pinned to the saloon patron in the morning session now belonged to him. His hypocrisy was laid bare for all present.

The incident ignited a months-long public scandal in Lincoln and marked the beginning of Josiah’s downfall in Nebraska. As he had in Maine and later in Chicago, Josiah chose flight over accountability, leaving behind the wreckage of his own moral contradictions.

Each time, Josiah sought a fresh start. And each time, he hoped his past wouldn’t catch up with him. But, unfortunately, it did.

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Welcome to Company D, a history podcast that delves into the personal stories of the everyday Union soldier during the American Civil War.

To bring these true-to-life personal experiences to life, we have chosen to explore the lives of the men who served with one regiment, the Third Maine Volunteer Infantry Regiment, and one company within that regiment, Company D.

One regiment. One company. Boundless stories.

The soldiers of Company D were primarily carpenters, shopkeepers, and fishermen from mid-coast Maine and the city of Bath.

Our goal at Company D isn’t to explore the extensive history of the American Civil War. The politics, military strategies, and stories of politicians and generals have already filled thousands of books. Instead, we aim to examine how the war impacted regular people—the soldiers and their families—and how this seismic historic event shaped their lives.

This represents microhistory at its best. At least we hope so.

We selected Company D of the Third Maine because my great-great-grandfather, Charles F. Snell, fought with them. He left behind a diary of the war that has become a foundational text for this podcast.

For us, this is personal.

I’m your host, George F. Snell III—just think of it as three for the price of one.

Today, on Company D, we take a deep look at a man who is his own worst enemy. We meet Bowdoin-educated lawyer Josiah Augustus Temple, a man scarred by childhood tragedy and the blood-soaked battlefields of the Civil War. However, rather than rising above his early trauma, he allows it to define him, all the while pretending to have conquered it.

Josiah led a life complicated by scandal, paranoia, harsh judgments against his enemies, and cowardly attempts to cover up his long list of moral and professional failings. His ability to justify indefensible behavior, shift blame to others, and dodge responsibility is truly awe-inspiring.

Josiah Temple didn’t serve in the Third Maine Infantry Regiment, but his experiences in the American Civil War stemmed from his complicated relationship with Captain William H. Watson, the second captain of Company D.

At times, it seems as if Josiah Temple tried to live up to the ideals he set for himself, but mostly he becomes a man who judges others harshly while excusing his own failings.

But one thing Josiah excelled at was avoiding responsibility

CHAPTER ONE: THE GRAVEYARD IS THE RICHEST PLACE ON EARTH

September 1842.

The illness was likely scarlet fever, known as canker rash. Earlier in the spring, the disease swept through Norway, Maine, claiming the lives of more than fifteen people, mostly children. However, it could have been diphtheria, also known as throat distemper. Scarlet fever was notorious for striking children, making it the strongest candidate for the cause of what occurred. Whatever it was, it ripped through Ivory Temple’s farm in Bowdoin, Maine, with furious intent.

Ivory married Rebecca Small in 1834, and they began to grow their family. In the summer of 1842, they had a five-year-old son, Josiah, and four daughters, including six-month-old Becky.

High fevers. Headaches. Vomiting.

Margaret, the oldest at 7, died first on September 16. Five days later, 4-year-old Rachel followed. Then the baby, little Becky, passed away on September 27. Finally, two days later, Mary, a two-year-old, followed.

All four of Josiah Temple’s sisters died within two weeks. Ivory, Rebecca, and their only remaining child, Josiah, buried the girls together at Woodlawn Cemetery in West Bowdoin.

A family of seven, now reduced to three. They tried to move on as best as they could. They planted an apple tree, raised twelve sheep, and grew potatoes.

But it was impossible not to think of the girls.

One decade later. August 1852.

Ivory and Rebecca Temple had begun anew. With Josiah now 16, they had welcomed three more children—two boys and a girl.

Then it happened again, like a sequel to a horror movie.

The disease, once again resembling scarlet fever, spread just as quickly as the first time. The first to succumb was Margaret, a two-year-old girl named after her deceased sister. She passed away on August 25. Six days later, eight-year-old Joseph died, and the very next day, five-year-old Charles followed.

And then, Ivory. Ivory held on until September 9—but then he followed his children to the grave. He was 45 years old.

Josiah and his mother, Rebecca, were the only ones left. They buried Josiah’s father, sister, and two brothers at Woodlawn Cemetery, so they could rest alongside the girls.

A family that could have been ten—now only two. The pain, the horror, must have been nearly unbearable.

But the mother and her son held onto each other tightly. Their world was shattered.

CHAPTER TWO: THE COLLEGE IS MAINTAINED…FOR THE COMMON GOOD

Mother and son relinquished the 25-acre farm in Bowdoin. How could they stay? 

They sold everything they could: the two cows, the pair of oxen, and the twelve sheep, along with as much equipment as possible, and relocated to nearby Bath.

Rebecca was in her mid-40s when she became a seamstress, specializing in men’s clothing such as shirts, trousers, and jackets, as well as women’s outerwear like mantles and coats. Josiah continued his primary education, most likely at nearby Litchfield Academy.

While his mother sewed for long hours by lamplight, Josiah studied beside her. At some point, mother and son decided that Josiah wouldn’t be a laborer. He wouldn’t plow fields, build ships, or work on the docks. Instead, they believed that learning was the way forward—school and scholarship.

They scrimped and ensured Josiah focused on school. One wonders how often they traveled the 20 miles to Woodlawn Cemetery in West Bowdoin to visit the rest of their family.

Against the odds, Josiah, the son of a poor widow, was accepted into Bowdoin College in Brunswick. He became a member of the Class of 1862.

Bowdoin College was known for educating the sons of politicians and wealthy businessmen in Maine. Distinguished alumni included U.S. President Franklin Pierce, Nathaniel Hawthorne, the author of “The Scarlet Letter“ and “The House of Seven Gables,” and poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 

Harriet Beecher Stowe began writing her bestselling anti-slavery novel Uncle Tom’s Cabin while her husband taught at the college in the 1840s.

Yet somehow, Josiah enrolled in classes at Bowdoin in the fall of 1858.

During his first year, Josiah continued living with his mother in Bath. Rebecca supplemented her income as a seamstress by renting rooms to Josiah’s Bowdoin classmates.

By 1860, Josiah was living on campus and integrating himself with the wealth and privilege of his fellow students in Appleton Hall.

Days after his graduation on August 6, 1862, Josiah joined his professor, Joshua Chamberlain, in the ranks of the Twentieth Maine Infantry Regiment as a private.

Chamberlain, perhaps Maine’s most famous Civil War soldier, was immortalized in the novel “Killer Angels” and brought to life by actor Jeff Daniels in the movie Gettysburg. Chamberlain would eventually be elected governor of Maine.

Several of Chamberlain’s Bowdoin students joined the Twentieth Maine with him.

But days after enlisting, Josiah had second thoughts. Somehow, he was able to back out of his commitment. Instead of joining his professor and many classmates in the war effort, Josiah returned to his mother in Bath and became a schoolteacher.

We don’t know why Josiah quit the Twentieth Maine, but one wonders if his mother was part of the reason. She had already lost a husband and seven children. Perhaps the thought of her last child marching off to war was too much for her to bear.

CHAPTER THREE: BROKEN AMBITIONS

While Josiah took on the duties of a schoolteacher in Bath, William Henry Watson was promoted to captain of Company D of the Third Maine Infantry Regiment. Watson was a prosperous businessman in Bath with a politically connected father.

Six months after he was placed in command of Company D, Watson wanted out. Watson was eager to leave behind the petty politics of company command and rise to a higher post. In the summer of 1862, Watson launched an aggressive campaign for promotion to major.

But not with the Third Maine. He urged Maine officials to elevate him to a leadership position in one of the several new regiments being mustered in Maine. To make matters more pressing for the egotistical Watson, his younger brother Charlie had already risen from private to first lieutenant. Charlie was now the quartermaster for the entire Third Maine Regiment, and there were whispers that he would soon be promoted to captain.

In July of 1862, Watson lobbied Colonel Frederick Sewall, a family connection organizing the Nineteenth Maine Infantry Regiment in Bath, to recommend him for Major of the Nineteenth. 

Sewall wrote directly to Maine Governor Israel Washburn: “Captain Watson is now with the Third. I know him to be a capable, efficient officer who has done good service to his country.”

The letter didn’t work. Washburn appointed someone else to Major of the Nineteenth. Watson had been passed over. Frustrated, Watson wrote directly to Governor Washburn on September 5, 1862. His letter began by stretching the truth: “It is not often that I seek to promote my personal claims,” he wrote, ignoring the fact that he had been actively advocating for a new position for at least two months.

Watson continued, “But for a long time, I have felt as though I should like to be transferred from this service to some other regiment. Now that new regiments are being formed, and it is recommended that the officers should be taken from the old regiments, I do not consider it out of place for me to urge my claim for promotion.”

Watson was so confident he would be promoted this time that he posted his resignation letter simultaneously with his letter to Washburn.

And why wouldn’t he be confident? Many of his fellow Third Maine captains had already been promoted: Captain Heath to Lieutenant Colonel of the Fifth Maine, and his former Captain Charles Sampson was now a Lieutenant Colonel.

But Watson severely miscalculated. His promotion request was ignored once more, but his resignation was accepted on October 22.

Watson was mustered out of service and returned home to Bath in late 1862—likely in a huff, feeling unappreciated for his accomplishments.

Yet Watson was prepared to move on.

Imagine his surprise—his utter shock—when less than seven months later, he was drafted.

The military wasn’t ready t to let go of Watson. In the summer of 1863, Watson’s name was randomly selected as part of the Enrollment Act of 1863.He had been drafted and was being conscripted back into service for three years.

The circumstances must have stunned Watson. He had resettled in Bath with his wife and three daughters and was expanding the business he owned with his brother.

Now he was drafted, dragged back into the military that had shunned him. This time, he wouldn’t be an officer because he had formally resigned his captain’s commission.

He would be returning to uniform as an enlisted man, part of the rank and file.

CHAPTER FOUR: O CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN

The Enrollment Act of 1863 was the first law to allow legal conscription in United States history. It required the enrollment of every American male between the ages of 20 and 45 to enable the Union Army to draft new soldiers.

The act resulted in civil unrest throughout the country and riots in New York City.

One of the most controversial aspects of the new law was the substitution clause, which allowed wealthier draftees to hire a replacement, a substitute to take their place on the rolls.

And Watson took full advantage of that. There was no way he was going back into the military.

Of the 86,724 men drafted by the Enrollment Act, 47 percent of the draftees paid for a substitute to take their place. Watson was one of them.

Substitutes were typically found through a broker or via newspaper advertisements. The wealthy patron and the substitute would establish a financial contract and negotiate a fee, usually around $200 to $300.

We don’t know how Josiah initially met Watson or what their arrangement was, but the young teacher who had backed out of his commitment to the Twentieth Maine a year earlier now agreed to put on a uniform in place of the 32-year-old former Captain.

For a price, of course. Josiah became Watson’s substitute.

One can only imagine the anguish that Rebecca Temple felt when Josiah broke the news to her: her only surviving child was heading off to war after all, now with the Seventeenth Maine Infantry Regiment.

Three months later, at the Battle of Mine Run, Rebecca’s biggest nightmare came true.

Under the headline, “List of Casualties 17 Maine—Official” in the local newspaper, Rebecca found her son’s name in the second paragraph alongside other soldiers from Company A.

Wounded, it stated, Corporal Josiah A. Temple.

Leg.

Severe.

CHAPTER FIVE: A LOWLY GRUNT

As Watson’s substitute, Josiah was assigned as a private to the Seventeenth Maine Infantry on August 21, 1863. One fellow private was Edwin Emery, a classmate from Bowdoin.

They were sent to Portland, Maine, with hundreds of other conscripts and draftees. They were held under guard on Mackey’s Island in Casco Bay, several miles off the coast and only accessible by ferry. The reason for such an isolated camp? Many draftees and substitutes were deserting. Josiah and Emery conducted their own accounting of their fellow soldiers on Mackey Island and determined that about 1,400 men were present, nearly half of whom were conscripts.

Josiah and Emery shared a tent for a short time. Unlike the volunteers of 1861, the mix of conscripts, substitutes, and volunteers in 1863 was treated more like criminals than heroes. Emery was shocked by the quality of the men he was forced to train with.

Emery often complained about the slovenly appearances and low moral character of those around him—the camp was rife with profanity, gambling, drunken fistfights, and prostitutes smuggled over from the mainland. It’s likely that Josiah shared Emery’s disdain for his fellow recruits.

The 27-year-old Emery graduated from Bowdoin a year before Josiah. Like Josiah, he was educated, pious, and fiercely temperate; yet, the two never became close friends. Emery often pined for companionship; however, despite their shared histories, he never sought out Josiah for that role. They remained merely acquaintances.

In fact, Emery’s diary contains a few subtle digs at Josiah; on November 5, Emery notes that Josiah would have been promoted, if only he had performed better on a march.

Josiah seems to have had a similar type of relationship with his future captain, Charles Mattocks. Mattocks was a classmate of Josiah, and they even lived in the same dorm during their senior year at Bowdoin. Mattocks, like Emery, kept a diary and only mentions Josiah in passing.

Josiah’s personality, which became more extreme as he aged, may have been off-putting to both Mattocks and Emery. Josiah was fanatical in his opposition to liquor, and his righteous indignation could often erupt into personal attacks and violent rhetoric.

Mattocks and Emery both kept their distance from Josiah, perhaps realizing that his volatile personality was best experienced in small doses.

Josiah was promoted to Corporal within the first few weeks of being assigned to Company A. Captain Mattocks assigned Josiah the role of company secretary—assisting officers with daily rolls and other essential paperwork.

But Josiah’s role as the company clerk would conclude on November 28, 1863, in the woods near Mine Run, Virginia.

The Third Corps of the Union Army, which included the Seventeenth Maine, lost its way in a dense forest, and this mistake left them ill-prepared when they stumbled into Confederate forces.

Private John Haley of the Seventeenth remembered being ordered forward to relieve the front line, which was being battered by the more powerful force of Rebels.

Haley noted later, “The battle raged for the next hour. Neither side seemed to gain any ground or lose anything but men.”

One of those men was Corporal Josiah Temple. He was the first man shot in Company A—a bullet wound to the leg, just above his kneecap.

It was a serious injury that could have gone either way for Josiah. However, he survived, spending several months recuperating at a general hospital in Alexandria, Virginia.

Josiah wrote to Mattocks from the hospital on December 9, 1863, reporting that his wound was doing tolerably well but was “mighty troublesome.” He demanded that Mattocks issue him a furlough.

Josiah wrote, “If you can help me, you must.”

Late in the winter of 1864, Josiah returned to Company A. He was promoted to Sergeant and mustered out of the Seventeenth a year later on May 29, 1865, a month after the war ended.

Josiah returned to Bath and to his mother, scarred yet alive.

CHAPTER SIX: HAIL CHICAGO!

Josiah found the return to Maine unsatisfying. Perhaps he felt locked into his past. He was admitted to the Maine Bar in 1866 and worked as a claims agent in Portland, helping veterans and their widows secure government pensions.

He had his first taste of politics by running for County Attorney in 1866. He lost that election and would face many more defeats throughout his life. 

However, the loss seemed to sour Josiah on Maine, and in 1867, he moved to Chicago.

Taking his mother with him.

Chicago after the Civil War was a booming, chaotic metropolis in the making. It was a city of grit, smoke, and ambition. The population surged to 250,000 as industry flourished and large numbers of immigrants—Germans, Swedes, and Irish—poured in. Wooden buildings crowded narrow lanes, soot blackened the sky, and the Union Stockyards filled the air with the sounds and smells of slaughtered cattle.

Josiah moved to the city’s West Side, likely using some of the money paid to him by Captain Watson to establish a law practice. Despite his moral absolutism, Josiah was more flexible in his own ethics, particularly when it came to business matters.

He had already demonstrated this tendency when he backed out of his commitment to the Twentieth Maine. He also owed tuition money to Bowdoin, which, four years after his graduation, he still hadn’t paid. And never would.

Case in point, in late 1868, one of Josiah’s disgruntled clients placed an ad in the Chicago Tribune with the headline “Caution.” The client warned the public that a promissory note he had issued to Josiah for $180 was invalid and should not be accepted as a legitimate payment, as he would not honor it.

By the spring of 1871, Josiah’s business was struggling so significantly that he took out a newspaper ad seeking a partner. The ad stated in part that Josiah sought “an active businessman with $300 to $500 to become an equal partner in a business promising large profits.” The ad had a tone of desperation.

Then came an event that upended Josiah’s life—the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. In October, the fire ignited in a barn and grew into an inferno. The flames burned for three days, devouring buildings while the air filled with ash and black smoke. The fire ravaged more than three square miles of the city, destroyed 17,500 buildings, and killed hundreds of people. 

One-third of the city was gone. More than 100,000 people were left homeless, including Josiah. His legal office also burned down. The city was placed under emergency martial law for several weeks to prevent looting and to assess the damage.

As Josiah picked through the wreckage of his home and business—unsure if he could rebuild—he faced another blow, one worse than the Great Chicago Fire.

His mother, Rebecca, his lifeline and sole guardian since he was 16, died at the age of 66.

Rebecca had been his only family, the woman who raised him alone after the deaths of his father and siblings, the woman who rented rooms and sewed dresses to put him through college.

Rebecca Temple had finally joined the rest of Josiah’s family.

His mother’s untimely passing, the devastation of the fire, and his failing legal practice proved to be overwhelming. Hoping for a fresh start, Josiah abandoned Chicago and moved to Lincoln, Nebraska.

CHAPTER SEVEN: PLAINS OF NEBRASKY-O

While still in Chicago, Josiah met a divorced dressmaker with the rather exotic name of Ruby Delight Sterling. Ruby was 38 years old and had two teenage daughters: her namesake Ruby, 17, and Emma, 14.

Ruby was from Pennsylvania and had divorced from her Scottish-born husband, a carpenter, two years earlier. She was five years older than Josiah, but they both shared a mutual interest in the Baptist Church and the temperance movement.

When Josiah left for Lincoln in 1873, he brought Ruby and her youngest daughter with him. Ruby’s oldest daughter had married a bank clerk and moved to Michigan.

Once in Lincoln, Josiah bought a house and joined the Lancaster County Bar Association. Both husband and wife became deeply involved in the growing temperance movement in Lincoln, becoming two of the city’s most outspoken anti-alcohol zealots.

Ruby joined the Ladies’ Reading Room Association, which evolved into a passionate anti-saloon organization. The women called themselves “Crusaders” and protested the evils of alcohol by blocking the entrances to saloons.

But after slapping his female client on March 27, 1874, everything fell apart for Josiah in Lincoln. His involvement in morally and criminally prosecuting a bar patron for hitting a woman and then striking his own client, Hannah Hilton, just hours later, became a scandal in Lincoln for months.

Josiah made matters worse by defending his assault as justified and honorable. “I simply discharged a painful duty,” he claimed in a letter to the Lincoln Star Journal. Then he personally insulted Mrs. Hilton.

“Whether I had provocation or not, is best known to myself, but you all know that she is not a most excellent and peaceable lady,” Josiah wrote. “Some may have reasons why they defend such a character, but I have none.”

His brazen condemnation of Mrs. Hilton led to a second confrontation in court a month later when Mrs. Hilton charged into court and physically assaulted Josiah. The fight had to be broken up by court officers. At least this time, Josiah didn’t try and hit her again.

Josiah evaded criminal liability when a Lincoln Grand Jury chose not to formally charge him with assault and battery against Mrs. Hilton. But the scandal led to further charges against Josiah, allegations that he acted inappropriately with another female client while handling her case, what today would be called sexual harassment.

Additionally, Josiah sued a saloon owner who slapped his wife, Ruby, while she and other crusaders blocked patrons from entering his barroom.

The gossip and personal attacks became so severe that Josiah quit practicing law and purchased a grocery store in nearby Plum Creek, Nebraska, hoping to ride out the damage to his reputation and business.

But it was a futile endeavor. Josiah and Ruby had overstayed their welcome in Lincoln. By 1878, they left and moved to Kansas City, Missouri.

CHAPTER EIGHT: MINNESOTA

Kansas City proved to be merely a pit stop. By late 1878, Josiah had relocated to Minneapolis, Minnesota.

At that time, Minneapolis was a frontier town on the cusp of becoming cosmopolitan, with a population of 46,000. The city harnessed the power of St. Anthony Falls, which powered the saw and gristmills lining the Mississippi River.

Pine, flour, and smoke scented the city. Freshly cut lumber clogged the river, and the city boasted of producing the finest flour in the world. Most streets were still dirt, but streetcars were being built, and a skyline was emerging.

Josiah appears to have gone to Minnesota alone. By 1880, Josiah and Ruby had separated, living in different states. Perhaps the strain of Josiah’s scandals proved too much for her. Ruby moved back to Chicago to live with her daughter, Emma. 

Josiah didn’t seem to learn any lessons from his experiences in Lincoln. In fact, he became even more radical. He emerged as a tireless public speaker at temperance events and, in 1880, ran as a representative with the Prohibition Party.

During his nomination speech, Josiah stood up and shouted that if the convention was looking for a model man, they had better take his name off the ballot. The Minneapolis Star Tribune made light of his humorous remarks.

This may, however, have been Josiah in a rare moment of truth-telling. He was unanimously nominated anyway, but he lost in the general election.

Josiah was admitted to the Minnesota bar that same year and reopened his law practice. But it was his side career as a public speaker that gained real momentum. He developed a reputation for fiery speeches. A talk he delivered on March 28, 1882, to the Home Rule Party seemed typical of his brand of elevated victimhood mixed with scorching personal attacks against anyone who dared to question the moral certitude of the temperance movement.

In this speech, he read from an article from the Minneapolis Star Tribune that was critical of the temperance movement. Point by point, he made sarcastic and scathing remarks debunking what he called the newspaper’s falsehoods. He said he’d like to witness the writer of the article “kicked through the streets of Minneapolis in their dirtiest condition.”

The crowd erupted with laughter and cheers as Josiah smiled smugly on stage.

The Minneapolis Journal called Josiah: “The leading temperance orator of the city. He is a strong and plausible speaker who carries the crowd with him, with hurrah.” For the next several years, he spoke at churches, temperance meetings, and fraternal organizations throughout the city, sometimes several in a single month.

Yet, despite his newfound fame, scandal found Josiah again in 1885. He was suspended from the Minnesota Bar for six months after being found liable for defrauding one of his female clients.

He took no responsibility for his behavior, of course. He denied any wrongdoing and blamed the judge, his lawyer, and his political enemies for his suspension.

But he plowed on. By 1898, Josiah was nominated for Justice on the Minnesota Supreme Judicial Court by the Midroad Populist Party. The Midroad Party described Josiah as “the oldest of our three candidates for the supreme bench. His dignity, gray hair, and his word place his age at 60 years.”

He was, in fact, 62 years old.

The party noted in their newspaper, the Representative, that Josiah was from Maine, a Bowdoin graduate, and a veteran of the Civil War who was severely wounded in 1863. “His life has been spent as a lawyer,” they noted. “And we believe that our readers will read in his face on our front page, a clear title to their votes.”

The photograph depicts an intense, round-faced man with a high forehead and cropped gray hair. Josiah is clean-shaven, with a bulbous nose and thin lips. The photograph casts heavy shadows over his eyes, making him appear untrustworthy.

His opponents showed no mercy towards Josiah. They unearthed his past bar suspension in 1885 and persistently targeted his record and character.

He was referred to as a scoundrel and called odious. His law practice was described as “anything but flattering.” He was labeled immoral and a deadbeat.

Most of these attacks focused on his six-month disbarment in 1885 for defrauding a client. He should have been thankful that none of his opponents dug into his past in Lincoln—slapping a female client in the face, being investigated for assault and battery, and having inappropriate contact with another female client.

Instead, Josiah went on offense. His opponents were deceitful liars. He was targeted for suspension due to his political beliefs. He labeled the charges as false and described the attacks against him as vicious.

If he were alive today, Josiah would likely have used the term “Fake News.”

He described his suspension as an “infamous outrage.”

However, he never disputed the facts concerning the underlying charges that resulted in his punishment. He avoided discussing that.

Much ink was spilled in the back-and-forth regarding his character. Ultimately, Josiah lost his election in a landslide, which effectively ended his political career.

Josiah continued to work as a lawyer and a public speaker, but his time in the limelight gradually diminished and ultimately came to an end.

CHAPTER NINE: LONELY AND ALONE

Josiah and his wife, Ruby, never formally divorced. There were periods where the couple tried to reconcile, but from 1880 on, they appeared to have lived mostly separate lives. Ruby spent much of her time with her daughters. In 1899, for example, Josiah and Ruby lived at different addresses in Minneapolis. Ruby was often said to “wintering” at different locations, mostly with her daughters.

Both of Ruby’s daughters married into wealth. Her oldest, Ruby, wed a successful bank auditor who was appointed Deputy Bank Commissioner of Michigan. Her youngest, Emma, married a successful businessman in Chicago and later in California.

Ruby died on Christmas Eve in 1908 in Los Angeles while living with her daughter. Ruby’s obituary mentions both daughters by name but does not reference Josiah or her marital status. It does briefly note that Ruby was formerly from Minneapolis. But Josiah is nowhere to be found.

Ruby was even buried in LA.

There’s little evidence that Josiah had any meaningful relationships with his step-daughters before or after his wife’s death at the age of 77. It not even clear if Josiah went to Ruby’s funeral.

In 1912, an old classmate from Bowdoin found Josiah living alone in a boarding house in Minneapolis and wrote to invite him to the 50th reunion of the Class of 1862. Josiah was 76 years old and refused the invitation. Josiah’s letter in response was suffused with melancholy and regret.

Josiah wrote that he hadn’t seen any of his classmates in more than 40 years and admitted that he deliberately avoided any contact with people from his past.

“I never go back to my childhood home,” he wrote. “I wish to remember the past only as it was when it was present.”

He wrote that seeing his young classmates, now old, would spoil his memories of Bowdoin and be too emotionally painful to endure.

Josiah ended on a haunting note that dripped with existential fatigue and heartbreaking guilt about the way he had chosen to live his life.

“The circumstance of my life may account for my peculiar feelings,” Josiah wrote. “But I will now say only this: that life seems to be only a dream, touched here and there with dark shadows, with joyous, sometimes tragic details. I am only anxious to be awakened out of this dream with a full consciousness that there is a real purpose in our creation.”

Josiah Augustus Temple died seven years later—alone and forgotten—fully engulfed by the dark shadows he so dreaded.

He left instructions for his body to be shipped home to Maine to be buried with his family. But his last wish to lay down with the rest of his family never materialized.

Josiah lies in an unmarked grave, somewhere.