Foreword: This website in the past has featured the charitable giving of a number of whiskey men and women, including posts on November 17, 2018 and March 22, 2021. This post is devoted to an additional three men, two of them distillers and one a wholesale liquor dealer, who were well known in their communities for reaching out with money and other assistance to those in need. That their resources came from making or selling whiskey often was deliberately ignored. In retrospect the truth can be told.
Although today Thomas H. Sherley, shown here, lacks the attention paid to other 19th Century Kentucky “bourbon barons,” his record of public service and most particularly his charitable endeavors eclipsed most if not all of them. He also made his mark in the whiskey trade, involved in creating and operating at least four distilleries.
At his death, the Louisville Courier Journal of November 30, 1898, in an extensive obituary related some of the philanthropy Sherley had performed during his lifetime. The newspaper recounted how the distiller had raised a fund to assist the victims of the Louisville Great Cyclone of 1890, a storm that killed 76 people, injured some 200, and devastated much of the city’s downtown. It inflicted the equivalent today of more than $86 million in damages.
Sherley organized a fund for the victims of the calamity that aided hundreds. Moreover, after the money had been exhausted, a young female victim repeatedly approached him for help. He could not turn her away. She never learned that the amounts he gave her came from his own pocket and not from the fund.
Serving six terms on the Louisville school board, at least one term as president, Sherley was passionate about providing education to those at the low end of the economic scale, including leading in the creation of night schools for workers. He also was credited with fostering Black students and championing schools for them. Sherley also helped dozens of Louisville’s young men and women enroll in business college, paying their tuition, and assisting graduates find employment.
A business associate told the reporter of an incident that characterizes Sherley’s view of his philanthropy. Without his knowledge the associate had begun to keep an account of the distiller’s giving. Sherley finally saw the list and was told: “That’s the charity account.” He threw the paper aside, saying, “I don’t want to know what is given away. We don’t need the account.”
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“On February 25th, near the somber hour of midnight, the noble and generous spirit of J. W. James, the noblest man that ever lived in all the tide of Time, took its flight from his elegant home to a far more splendid mansion in the sky.”—The Stanford KY, Interior Journal , March 2, 1906.
Thus did a local newspaper open its long laudatory obituary of John William “Willie” James, shown here. This eulogy spared no adjectives in praising James’ virtues. Missing from the entire encomium, however, was even a single word about the key to the Kentuckian’s wealth and philanthropy: James had made his money distilling and selling whiskey as the owner/operator of the Crab Orchard Distillery (RD#81, 8th Dist.), located not far from Louisville.
The extravagant praise heaped on J.W. James can seem puzzling. Here was a man who ignored his Baptist heritage by making and selling whiskey. Moreover, he based his operation near the spa at Crab Orchard Springs where many “people who indulge in strong alcoholic drink” retreated to free themselves of the addiction to liquor, Finally, finding a loophole in the law that forbade sales of alcohol in an adjoining county, James took full advantage of exploiting the opening. Should we take seriously this testimonial?
The answer lies in Willie James’ generosity. According to his eulogist: “His place here can never be supplied. His fortune was ample, his cash capital in the thousands, and his pockets always full to meet the demands of the borrower and the beggar…. He gave more to preachers, churches, Sunday schools, Christmas trees, and to feed and clothe the poor, than any other man in Lincoln County.”
A specific example was provided to illustrate James’ character. “On one occasion, a poor destitute man, (William Kidd) with a withered arm, passing James’ place of business with an empty meal sack on his shoulder, and a coffee-sack in which he had three hens, the only property he had in the world, stopped in to warm. Willie said…How are times with you? [Kidd] Might hard. I have in my coffee-sack my only three hens. The only things I have in the world. I am taking them to the store to buy me some meal and coffee. [James] Look here at this paper and see what your hens are worth in the market – 68 cents a piece. Take them back home to lay you some eggs, and take this dollar to buy you some coffee and meat, and take your meal sack up to my miller and tell him to fill it as full of meal as he can tie it.”
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John Francis Callahan, through the sale of liquor, rose in wealth and attained community recognition for his charitable and civic contributions in Boston, his home town. Callahan’s career culminated in his appointment as a Director of Public Institutions for the city, responsible for managing the feeding and shelter of Boston’s poor, a population he knew all too well.
The son of impoverished Irish immigrants himself, Callahan received six years of education in Boston schools before being forced at 12 to go to work to help support his family. His initial employment was in a local grocery store that featured wines and liquor. He rapidly understood the profitability of spirits and had an aptitude for the whiskey trade. By March 1879, he had opened a wholesale and retail liquor store in Boston. He called it John F. Callahan & Co. "Walkhill Whiskey" was his flagship brand. The 27-year old’s rapid business success brought him considerable attention in business and political circles.
After serving four years as treasurer of the Irish Charitable Society, a major force in assisting indigent Irish residents of Boston, Callahan’s combination of Democratic Party ties and charitable work resulted in his being appointed a Director of Public Institutions for Boston, among nine men charged with overseeing the operations of Boston’s public institutions involving the poor.
Those institutions included the almshouse, the structure shown above on Deer Island, actually a promontory jutting into Boston Harbor. Opened in 1853, the almshouse was administered for decades by the City of Boston to provide shelter for indigent adults and children. Callahan also had responsibilities for the Marcella-Street Home. That Boston institution housed orphaned or “street” boys, and later also girls, following a court hearing that determined the children were without adult support or supervision.
Following his term Callahan throughout his life continued to be active in civic and philanthropic causes. This “whiskey man” who rose from poverty and a childhood at labor to supervising Boston’s care for the poor deserves a final tribute. One occurs in the volume, “One Thousand Representative Men Resident in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts” (1899). The author has this to say: “…Mr. Callahan stands foremost among the Irish-American sons of the old Bay State.”
Note: Each of these three philanthropic whiskey men are treated at greater length in separate posts on this website. Thomas Sherley, October 24, 2021; John W. James, November 2, 2021; John F. Callahan, January 4, 2021.
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