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Antique News Antiques roadshow presenter Mark Hill: 'I've never seen anything like it' One of the BBC's most popular presenters, Mark Hill, has had a long and illustrious career in antiques, with his BBC series Antiques Roadshow being a particular highlight. The show has been running for over 40 years and has seen Hill visit some of the UK's most interesting and valuable antiques and collectible items. In an interview with the BBC, Hill said that he had seen some incredible pieces over the years, but that he had encountered something very special recently. Hill said that he had seen a unique vintage Japanese kimono that was thousands of years old, and that he'd never seen anything like it. He went on to say that it was a "remarkably well preserved" piece of clothing and that it was a "truly remarkable" item. He also said that it was a true testament to the skill of the makers of the garment, and that it was a "remarkable find". The kimono is now being appraised and is expected to fetch a very high price at auction. Articles 5 Tips to Help You Buy Antiques Antiques can

Capitol Art & Artifacts: Girandole | US House of Representatives: History, Art & Archives

In a quiet corner of today’s Speaker’s Ceremonial Office hangs a girandole mirror. “Girandole” derives from the Italian word girandola, meaning firework or candlestick. Commonly it refers to a framed, round, convex mirror, with curved arms that end in candle holders. When candles are lit, light bounces off the mirror. The House’s girandole dates from the first half of the 19th century and boasts a Capitol provenance from its association with an early Clerk of the House of Representatives.In mid-17th century Europe, the method of enhancing illumination with mirrors originated from a simple wall sconce (“plate candlestick”), a candle in front of a reflective surface. The practicality of the girandole developed from this modest tradition. More elaborate shapes bloomed in the 18th century through the influence of important designers such as English cabinetmaker Thomas Chippendale.Fast forward to 19th-century American interior decoration when imported furniture and design pattern books kept fashionable American clients current with trends in Europe. This included the popular girandole, now standardized by British designers to its familiar convex circular form. As universal as the design became, the House Collection’s example could have been made on either side of the Atlantic Ocean. The spread-winged eagle atop the mirror exudes the nationalistic spirit of the early 19th-century American Federal period of design, but that does not preclude an imported beginning for the mirror. This avian feature was already a staple among European girandoles.The House’s girandole is associated with Benjamin Brown French, a politically connected public servant from New Hampshire, who held the esteemed post of Clerk of the House of Representatives from 1845 to 1847. French managed a nearly 40-year career in Washington that culminated in his 1853 appointment as Commissioner of Public Buildings. This post made him an integral player in overseeing the care of important buildings in Washington, including the Capitol and the White House.According to anecdotal evidence, French acquired the girandole from the Capitol in the 1860s. Fortunately, he passed the mirror to his family, and it wandered its way through the careful hands and lives of his descendants. The family donated their heirloom back to the Capitol almost a century and a half later, connecting the girandole with its original home and bringing its journey full circle.Sources: Charles Boyce, Dictionary of Furniture, (New York, NY: Checkmark Books, 2001); Donald B. Cole and John J. McDonough, Witness to the Young Republic, (University Press of New England, 1989); Jonathan L. Fairbanks and Elizabeth Bidwell Bates, American Furniture 1620 to the present, (New York City, NY: Richard Marek Publishers, 1981); Harold Osborne, ed., The Oxford Companion to the Decorative Arts, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985); L.G.G. Ramsey, ed., The Complete Encyclopedia of Antiques, (New York City: Hawthorne Books, Inc., 1968); Peter Thornton, Authentic Decor: The Domestic Interior 1620-1920, (London: Seven Dials, Cassell & Co., 2000); https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/girandole; https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/3977; http://dumbartonhouse.org/federal-period-1790-1830; https://www.whitehousehistory.org/benjamin-brown-french-in-the-lincoln-period; https://www.aoc.gov/node/910; https://aoc.gov/about-us/history/architects-of-the-capitol/edward-clark.

The Haunting of Capitol Hill's House, Debunked | US House of Representatives: History, Art & Archives

“Sometimes you sit here and think you hear the funniest things a’ going on,” the colorful House Doorkeeper William “Fishbait” Miller once told an interviewer, Miller’s broad smile casting doubt on whether he actually believed what he said. “Wonder . . . if those sounds I keep a‘hearin’ are chicken ghosts?”In a building as old as the United States Capitol, it is perhaps unsurprising that history would mix with myth to create a folklore unique to the Capitol. Ghost stories might be popular this time of the year, but the spectral tales we tell ourselves are often rooted in very real events. Did Miller hear chicken spirits clucking in the dark corridors of the Capitol? No. But did livestock and barnyard animals from the surrounding neighborhood roam the Capitol grounds for many years? Yes.Here is the history behind two stories that have taken on a life of their own within the Capitol.The GrimalkinIt’s often the case that newcomers to Capitol Hill hear about the grimalkin—the Demon Cat—that reportedly has haunted the Capitol grounds for more than a century. The first mention of the feline phantom dates to 1862, during the Civil War when Union soldiers defending Washington, DC, bunked in the Capitol building. Night watchmen at the Capitol claimed to have seen an ordinary black cat appear and then grow to ginormous proportions before pouncing with an unworldly screech. One guard even opened fire at the mysterious shape. “When I shot at the critter it jumped right over my head,” he said. But then, just as quickly, the grimalkin disappeared for decades; newspaper reports mention a sighting of the spectral feline in 1898, noting that it had been absent for 35 years.Much like its inaugural appearance during the Civil War, the present-day grimalkin legend tells us the cat appears like a terrible omen during national emergencies. Modern retellings of the myth state that the ghost cat appeared before President Abraham Lincoln’s assassination in 1865, the Stock Market crash of 1929, and President John F. Kennedy’s assassination in 1963.The Demon Cat, however, is likely nothing more than an actual cat and a well-placed shadow. For much of the nineteenth century, and even into the twentieth century, stray cats were a common presence in the Capitol, especially the basement. In fact, they were welcomed visitors: alley cats helped to keep down the rodent population. At one point, guards reported bands of cats roaming the Capitol in 1892. “At about 10 o’clock every night they begin a mad racing through the empty corridors,” a Detroit newspaper reported that year. Given the Capitol’s marble floors, stone walls, and long hallways the sounds made by the cats left a haunting impression. “The acoustic effects produced are astonishing,” the newspaper continued. “Let a single grimalkin lift up his voice in statuary hall, famous for its echoes, and the silence of the night is broken by a yell like that of a damned soul, as loud as a locomotive whistle.” The sound of echoing, shrieking cats throughout the building would likely have been enough to have unnerved anyone within earshot.Although the number of cats began to fall by the mid-twentieth century, some Capitol mousers held on. Two notable felines, “Mary” and “Dirty,” produced such good results they earned a feature story in 1927. In the 1940s, as a House Page, Representative John Dingell of Michigan noted the rodent problem persisted in the Capitol. Instead of relying on the cats, however, he and his classmates used dogs and a BB gun. “We used to hunt rats in the basement with an air gun and a rat terrier when I was a kid,” he remembered in an oral history with the Office of the House Historian.The Capitol guards were the first to report the sounds of supposedly demon cats running around the building. But the night watchmen of the 1860s were not the same as the dedicated and professional Capitol Police force protecting Congress today. Back then, the night watchmen were often patronage appointees, some of whom were known to drink on the job. And their imaginations clearly got the best of them.Alongside their stories of the Demon Cat, these guards claimed to hear phantom footsteps throughout the building, especially in Statuary Hall. Many believed that the venerable John Quincy Adams of Massachusetts—who was known as Old Man Eloquent during his 17 years in the House and who died in the room adjacent to chamber—paced the floors and provided nighttime oratory in the “Old Hall of the House.” In one account, a Capitol guard tried to outsmart the strange footsteps. He procured a pair of soft shoes to silently complete his rounds. When he made his way to Statuary Hall he claimed the room was silent, but that suddenly the sound of footsteps came out of nowhere. Of course, Statuary Hall is known for its strange acoustics—in fact, the room’s poor sound quality was one reason why the House built the modern wing of the Capitol and the present-day Chamber in 1857. But Statuary Hall retains its echoey reputation: another person’s footsteps anywhere nearby would have reverberated across the space in unique and eerie ways.A 1906 report from a nameless watchman declared he had also experienced a ghost encounter in the Capitol and mentioned that “there have been others.” He told of a watchman named Jake Galloway, supposedly “the greatest fellow for seeing ghosts.”“Jake firmly believed that Statuary Hall was haunted, and the wonderful echoes and the whispering gallery he attributed to spook influence,” the report stated. The nameless watchman noted that Galloway acquired what he called a “ghost speaking trumpet,” a Victorian-era tool used by mediums to hear the dead which looked like a modern party horn or megaphone. According to the unnamed narrator, Galloway “had listened to the most wonderful speeches through that speaking trumpet. . . . I began to think he was a bit ‘daffy’ at last. . . . But otherwise he seemed reasonable enough, and as he was very conscientious, I overlooked these lapses.” But Jake Galloway seems to be part of House folklore himself: there are no records of anyone by that name having ever been paid as watchman in the Capitol.The LibrarianBefore the main building of the Library of Congress, the Thomas Jefferson Building, opened in 1897, the entire library collection was housed within the Capitol. Simultaneously cavernous and cramped with books, the room barely fit the numerous library staff and the thousands of titles they tended. One legend (perhaps started by a night watchman) told of an old librarian who had accumulated a large sum of money which he hid among the stacks of books. The librarian, who never married and never had children, worked for the library for many years until he retired due to mental health concerns. But the librarian died before he could retrieve the money he had stashed away among his treasured books. Unable to take advantage of his fortune in life, the librarian refused to leave it in death and was said to have haunted the library. According to an 1898 account, the apparition could be seen in the subbasement of the Capitol searching the library stacks for a lost item. The stories also note that workers found $6,000 when the library relocated from the Capitol to the Jefferson Building, and suggest the ghost remained in the Capitol to continue his search.Who was this unlucky librarian? Well, in 1896, the Washington Post ran an obituary about a long-time congressional librarian who specialized in law books named Charles W. Hoffman. Appointed by the Librarian of Congress, Ainsworth Spofford, in 1873, Hoffman also served as dean of the Georgetown Law School as well as the law school’s first librarian. A lawyer by trade, Hoffman dedicated his career to what is now the Law Library of Congress. Additional newspapers reported that Hoffman lived on Capitol Hill, collected antique furniture, and hosted parties attended by legal minds like Supreme Court Justice Stephen Field. Hoffman never married and later lived with his mother at 927 Massachusetts Ave. But when his mother died “Mr. Hoffman suffered with a mental trouble and resigned,” according to the Washington Post. Hoffman passed away from pneumonia in Frederick, Maryland, where he had relatives. Remarkably, Hoffman left behind a substantial estate in excess of $80,000, equivalent to more than $2,000,000 in today’s dollars.Could Hoffman have squirreled away $6,000 among the books in the Capitol? Perhaps. But it’s likely impossible to know. Although the Library of Congress’s main building—the Jefferson Building—opened in 1897, the law library remained in the Capitol for another 37 years until 1935. Regardless of whether someone did, in fact, find thousands of dollars in the library, it may be more than pure coincidence that the life and death of Hoffman almost exactly matched the description of a would-be Capitol ghost searching for something in the library stacks.Over the two centuries during which the federal legislature has stood atop Capitol Hill, more than 11,000 lawmakers and tens of thousands of staff have come and gone. Thousands and thousands of intersecting and overlapping stories; an infinite number of perspectives and memories. Somewhere along the way some of those stories were embellished; somewhere they picked up a fanciful detail or two. Over time those stories were told and retold until fact transformed into fiction, until a regular alley cat became a hideous omen of national calamity, until a bookish librarian who died alone became a lost soul searching for the fortune he couldn’t take with him.Underneath the layers of exaggeration and fantasy, however, it’s possible to find a whisper of truth. Perhaps if Fishbait Miller had listened closely enough to “those infernal clucking sounds” from a mysterious chicken roaming the Capitol campus, he may have heard the real story behind the ghost story.Sources: Boston Daily Globe, 6 November 1892, 4 July 1909, 2 July 1927; The Butte Weekly Miner (Montana), 13 October 1898; Chicago Daily Tribune, 2 October 1898; Detroit Free Press, 2 October 1898, 15 November 1892; El Paso Herald, 1 March 1913; Los Angeles Times, 30 July 1893; New York Times, 13 March 1927; Washington Post, 28 December 1896, 2 October 1898, 8 July 1906, 30 June 1935; Washington Star, 21 August 1927; John Dingell oral history, History, Art & Archives, U.S. House of Representatives, The Honorable John Dingell, Jr., Oral History Interview, Office of the Historian, U.S. House of Representatives, February 3, 2012, https://history.house.gov/OralHistory/Detail?id=15032419659; “Charles Hoffman Photograph,” accessed 29 October 2019, https://repository.library.georgetown.edu/handle/10822/1041647; “History of the Law Library,” Library of Congress, last modified 24 June 2019, https://www.loc.gov/law/about/history.php; John Alexander, Ghosts: Washington’s Most Famous Ghost Stories (Washington Books, 1975).

A Boston Teaparty Party | US House of Representatives: History, Art & Archives

On December 16, 1773, colonists dumped British tea into Boston Harbor, a political protest and iconic event in American history. One hundred and one years later, the nation commemorated the event by doing just the opposite: serving tea at parties across the nation. Some were nostalgic celebrations and others as provocative as the original Boston patriots. The tea party staged in the Capitol Rotunda in 1874, arranged by the Women’s Centennial Executive Committee, was a grand affair that was still talked about decades later.The party raised money for the Centennial International Exhibition of 1876, the first world’s fair hosted by the United States. “Ladies’ committees” like the one that held the Rotunda tea party came about during the Civil War to support charitable causes. Through social events, these groups raised funds to support wounded soldiers, military hospitals, and other casualties and results of wartime. After the war, the ladies turned their attention to sponsoring patriotic events, and to promoting political reforms like civil rights, women’s suffrage, and child labor.For the tea party, the committee chose a nostalgic and patriotic celebration. It pressed Congress for use of the Rotunda and rounded up an impressive roster of Washington luminaries: the President and First Lady, cabinet members, and Hawai’ian and Navajo delegations. Navy Secretary George Robeson thanked the ladies for their work and “purifying and refining influence.” In one night, the committee raised the modern-day equivalent of $140,000.A look at a print depicting the tea party gives a sense of the scene. One breathless reporter described the roomful of “masquerading maidens, colored lights and flowers, and all the phantasmagoria of a society bazaar.” The usual airy emptiness of the space was filled with a canopy of flags, and patriotic bunting festooned the frames of the large-scale paintings. Compared with a view of the Rotunda on an ordinary day, shown in another print, it is clear just how much festive flair the party organizers added.Carvings over one door vanished beneath a miniature ship. Small boys in full sailor costume manned the schooner and sold packets of tea to the crowd. At tables, women donned colonial gowns and wigs to serve tea on tables crammed with 18th-century antiques. To some observers, it seemed as though all the colonial candlesticks and revolutionary relics on the Eastern Seaboard came to Washington. Ladies’ committees from each of the states vied to create the most enticing display. For example, Georgia’s offering, on the left in the print, was “a picturesque temple . . . twined about with rice straw, green sugarcane, and cotton in bloom.”Of course, tea was the main attraction. A table on the left holds a silver teapot, behind which a young woman stands ready to pour the next cup. Attendees could purchase their cups and saucers. Another anniversary, the centennial of the First Continental Congress, was inscribed on the saucers: 1774 Congress 1874.Not all American women celebrated the Boston Tea Party with fancy dress fundraisers. Women’s rights activists used it to protest women’s second-class citizenship. The New York suffrage tea party appropriated the revolutionary cry of “no taxation without representation” for their cause. Luminary Susan B. Anthony drove the point home, stressing that “if what was said 100 years ago of the colonists was true, it is equally true to-day of our women.” In the halls of Congress, however, it would be another 43 years before a woman, Representative Jeannette Rankin, arrived to cast a vote as a Member of Congress, and three more years before the suffragists would achieve the goal of full voting rights for women in 1920.Sources: Baltimore Sun, December 18, 1874; Daily National Republican (Washington, DC), December 18, 1874; Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper, January 2, 1875; New York Times, December 17, 1873; Washington Post, February 6, 1898; Congressional Record, House, 43rd Cong., 1st and 2nd sess. (June 18, 1874, December 17, 1874)In honor of the 100th anniversary of the election and swearing-in of the first woman in Congress, we will publish a series of blog posts about the early women Members and the changing role of women in the institution. Check back each month through 2017 to see the latest posts.Follow @USHouseHistory

Mr. Silversmith Goes to Washington | US House of Representatives: History, Art & Archives

Once upon a time, a young man came to Washington. He wasn’t sophisticated, but he had loads of ambition. He was destined to leave his mark on Congress. No, it wasn’t Jimmy Stewart's fictional character arriving in 1939 to clean up the corrupt Senate in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. This eager new arrival came in 1810. His name was Jacob Leonard, and he made what is now the oldest object in the House of Representatives. Small but venerable, it is the silver inkstand that is placed high on the Speaker’s rostrum whenever the House is in session. Commercial opportunity seemed unbounded when Leonard came to Washington in the early federal period. Energetic men of modest means could accumulate wealth as merchants, bankers, and dealers in every kind of trade. Upon his arrival, Leonard immediately entered the thick of things when he took over the business of silversmith George Riggs. He was soon advertising his wares as “the most fashionable jewelry.”The ravages of the War of 1812 and the 1814 British invasion of the city and burning of the Capitol did not prevent Leonard from continuing to gain influence. He relocated to the center of commercial action on Pennsylvania Avenue and became an established figure in town. Over the next 20 years, Leonard was named Washington’s Sealer of Weights and Measures, signed abolitionist petitions to Congress, and received official commissions for silverware from the Congress and Department of State. Around 1819, when the House of Representatives returned to the newly rebuilt and redecorated Capitol, Leonard supplied it with an inkstand that has become the oldest artifact in the House Chamber. No one knows how he got the commission, but he was certainly ambitious enough to seize an opportunity when he saw it. At the time, the inkstand was more than a symbol of government. It was a practical utensil, holding three bottles of ink for the busy Speaker. It is a rectangular, low-walled tray. Swags and medallions with eagles adorn the sides. The tray can be carried by a center hinged handle, and three crystal inkwells rest inside. The inkstand’s feet take the form of columns with snakes winding around them, a classical representation of wisdom supporting authority. The snake-and-column motif echoes sculpture carved at the same time for the old House Chamber. Because of its placement at the hand of the Speaker, the inkstand quickly became a marker of the Speaker’s power. Henry Clay’s 1821 portrait commemorating his Speakership includes the stand at his side. Samuel Morse’s gargantuan 1822 painting of the House during a night session includes a tiny, remarkably accurate rendition of the inkstand twinkling in the lamplight. As the decades rolled along, the inkstand bore witness to debates over slavery and suffrage, declarations of war, and all the business of the people conducted in the House. Even now, a quick glance at the rostrum when the House is in session shows the shiny tray, now a symbol rather than a tool, still at the Speaker’s side. Before the House comes to order, the inkstand is placed on the rostrum. Stamped on the bottom with its maker’s mark, it has given Leonard an enduring place in history.Sources: Spirit of ‘Seventy-Six, 15 February 1811; City of Washington Gazette, 22 May 1821; Charles Bird King, Henry Clay, 1821; Samuel F.B. Morse, The House of Representatives, 1822; “Memorial of Inhabitants of the District of Columbia,” 23rd Cong., 2nd sess., 1828; The Magazine Antiques, July 1878.Follow @USHouseHistory

George Washington’s Bling | US House of Representatives: History, Art & Archives

The oldest object in the House Collection is also one of the smallest. It’s less than an inch across, but the man who owned it was a giant figure in American history. This tiny gold pendant, or fob, holds a piece of red carnelian stone with George Washington’s coat of arms and initials carved into it. The seal would be pressed into wax to seal letters. Washington received this fob seal on September 18, 1794, the first anniversary of the laying of the Capitol cornerstone. The date is engraved around the rim of the fob, along with Masonic symbols and the name of Washington’s home lodge “Alexandria Lodge No 22.” Like most gentlemen of the late 1700s, Washington wore his fob seals prominently. He owned two at his death. They hung from a short ribbon, which he used to pull his timepiece, attached at the other end, from a tight waistcoat pocket. As men’s waistcoats grew shorter, fobs grew more popular and became an essential part of masculine dress. Some men, like Washington, wore two fobs on their watch. Fobs appear in several Washington portraits, including Gilbert Stuart’s “Washington at Dorchester Heights” and John Trumbull’s “George Washington before the Battle of Trenton.” In some portraits, he is wearing two fob seals. One of them may be this seal, which would be well known to both Trumbull and Stuart. Although it’s hard to imagine Washington wearing jewelry, even something as practical as a seal, into battle, the artists were accurate in including the fobs in a battlefield portrait. Washington had worn a seal during the French and Indian War and lost it in the disastrous 1755 defeat of Braddock’s troops. In 1794, when this seal was made, all battles were won, the nation was at peace, and Washington’s personal interest in the Capitol made it an apt gift. He laid the cornerstone in 1793 in an elaborate Masonic ceremony, the first large public event in the new capital city. Washington himself conducted formal exercises and afterward, a 500-pound ox was barbecued and those in attendance “generally partook, with every abundance of other recreation,” according to the Alexandria Gazette. A year later, on the anniversary engraved on the seal, the atmosphere was not so jolly. Washington was unhappy with the slow progress and shoddy workmanship of the Capitol’s construction. Only one of the original commissioners in charge of the building was still there, and he was staying only until a replacement was named. Indeed, the Capitol was not finished when Washington died in 1799, and barely habitable when Congress moved to the city in 1800. Perhaps the fob was a hopeful wish that the project would someday be completed. It was, of course, and two centuries later, the seal was reunited with the institution it commemorated, when it returned to the Capitol as a gift to the nation from Ambassador and Mrs. Mel Sembler. Sources: Alexandria Gazette, September 25, 1793; William Allen, History of the United States Capitol. Washington DC: (GPO, 2001); Benson J. Lossing, The Home of Washington. Hartford, CT: (A.S. Hale & Company, 1871); Martha Gandy Fales, Jewelry in America, 1600-1900. Woodbridge, Suffolk, UK: Antique Collecors’ Club, 1995.Follow @USHouseHistory

Don’t Go Back to Danville: Joe Cannon’s Hidden Trunk | US House of Representatives: History, Art & Archives

Without evidence, such as records, important pieces of information are lost to history. How many times have you read or listened to a fascinating story that started with the words, “Recently discovered records revealed that . . . ”? Although the Antiques Roadshow–style discovery of a rare collection of documents in a dumpster is unusual, occasionally great finds are made in dark, dusty corners of long-forgotten spaces. Joseph Cannon of Illinois served in Congress for nearly half a century beginning in 1873. He was Speaker of the House from 1903 to 1911. During his Speakership, Cannon ruled the House with an iron fist, and his tenure redefined the office of the Speaker. Historians and political scientists of congressional history have been spilling ink over him ever since. When so much has already been written on a person, even one as significant as Cannon, it’s easy to think that there’s no new ground to cover. In 1994, offices were created out of storage spaces in the Cannon House Office Building. A staffer for the Committee on Appropriations came across a trunk in one of these spaces that was stenciled with the words “Cannon” and “Danville.” Luckily, this staffer knew his House history (or was tipped off by the name of the building he was standing in) and contacted the Office of the Historian. After some back and forth over ownership of the trunk (the rest of Cannon’s papers had been donated to the Illinois Historical Society, now the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library), the Clerk of the House granted permission to open the trunk and inspect its contents.The trunk proved to be an historical treasure chest: numerous letters requesting committee assignments to Speakers David Henderson (1899–1903) and to Cannon, letters congratulating Uncle Joe on his election as Speaker, and five bound books that had a page on every House Member, recording the Member’s name, district, Congresses served, and previous committee assignments. At the turn of the 20th century, before the modern committee assignment process existed, Speakers made committee assignments for all Members of the House. In the trunk’s volume for the 58th Congress (1903–1905), the entry for Democrat Charles Thompson of Alabama recorded a unique telephone conversation from one of Thompson’s constituents endorsing his request for a new committee assignment: Booker T. Washington of Tuskegee, national African-American leader and Republican figure. Washington nevertheless supported Thompson’s efforts to win assignment to Banking and Currency, Agriculture, or War Claims. Thompson, Washington was recorded as saying, was a “good friend of our institution.” He added, “I hope you can see your way clear to grant any request, both in the interest of our institution at Tuskegee and my race. It will help matters in many ways if you can do so.”Records like these would have been considered sensitive information at the time, so it makes sense the documents weren’t with the rest of his papers. But they help fill in gaps that illuminated Cannon’s Speakership. All of the records from Cannon’s trunk were recently digitized by the Center for Legislative Archives at the National Archives and Records Administration and are available online to explore in depth. The trunk is on display in the Exhibition Hall of the U.S. Capitol Visitor Center.Sources: National Archives and Records and Administration Preliminary Inventory for Records of Joe Cannon's Trunk, July 20, 1995; Forrest Maltzman and Eric Lawrence, "Why Did Speaker Henderson Resign? The 799 Mystery is Solved," Public Affairs Report 41, No. 4, September 2000.