The School Sex Scandal in St. Paul

     They said Professor Taylor had been spending too much time with Miss Tinker. They said the two occasionally spent time together after school – for no apparent reason. He was “too partial, too attentive.” They said they were seen sitting together. Miss Tinker was young and pretty. He was married, a pillar of his church, and the principal of St. Paul High School. 

     In August 1872 they attended the state teacher’s convention in Minneapolis together, and “so conducted themselves,” they said, “that they were supposed to be man and wife." A teacher testified before the school board that since that convention, she did not like to hear Professor Taylor pray in church, where he was Sunday School superintendent.

     “They” were other teachers and pupils, who testified before the school board. The Professor and Miss Tinker vehemently denied anything improper.

     The board asked Samuel Sargent Taylor to resign. He refused, and requested an investigation. He and Miss Tinker each hired lawyers. According to them, the accusations were nothing more than jealousy on the part of older teachers. There was nothing untoward about their relationship – nothing. The superintendent formed a committee to investigate. 

     Prof. S.S. Taylor, as he was always referred to in public, had a life of success, acclaim, and overcoming challenges. Born in New Hampshire to an old New England family, he was just a newborn baby when his mother died. He was sent to live with an aunt and uncle, who raised him. He worked his way through Dartmouth College, serving as a waiter for a student dining club, and teaching and preaching intermittently. He finally graduated with the class of 1859 when he was 26. Samuel prepared for the ministry, but felt called in a different direction. Then too, adventure called. Like so many young men from New England, he went west, landing first in New Albany, Indiana, where he taught school.

     New Albany was quite a change from his hometown of Danbury, New Hampshire. It was a busy place along the Ohio River opposite Louisville. It had Indiana’s largest Black population, and Southern sensibilities. Louisville had a lively slave trade, with slave pens located downtown. New Albany had an active Underground Railroad. It was a heated time, the antebellum period, with much dissent about what to do about America's "peculiar institution."

     By 1861, he moved to Elmwood, Illinois. When the Civil War broke out, the mayor of nearby Peoria enthusiastically organized a volunteer regiment. Samuel reportedly wanted to join, but ill health prevented it. In June 1862 he married a fellow teacher, Mary Ann Putnam. She was from Hamilton County, New York and had come west with her family. He next taught in Sidney, Ohio, then St. Paul, Minnesota. St. Paul was where they finally put down roots. Not incidentally, her sister Elizabeth - Lizzie’s - husband settled in Stillwater, Minnesota. Samuel taught in four different schools in St. Paul, teaching classics at the high school level.

     In 1873 he invested in a newspaper business with his brother-in-law, Victor Carlton Seward. The two formed Seward & Taylor and bought the Stillwater Messenger. Newspapers then were expected to be town boosters, but Victor, as editor, believed in being more than a public relations mouthpiece for the town. 

     The purchase of the newspaper sent the brothers-in-law down a dark path in which both felt their lives threatened, along with the accusations Samuel was soon facing as principal. He was stunned when he was accused of “acts that not only would have disqualified him for the responsible position of teacher of children, but degraded him in the public estimation.” After he and Miss Tinker hired attorneys and a thorough investigation was conducted, the two were completely vindicated. There was “no evidence to reflect upon the moral character and standing of Miss Tinker and Professor Taylor.” However, the board charged Samuel with indiscretion. One must avoid even the appearance, so much as a hint, of impropriety. 

     He was fired, by a vote of nine to six. Miss Tinker kept her job. The board immediately faced a storm of dissent. The newspapers “denounced the Board most indignantly for ruining two people.” The St. Cloud Journal said that “ordinary attentions and common courtesies, such as mark the everyday-life of men and women of even passable politeness” had been twisted into damning evidence of guilt by the “evil-minded” superintendent of schools. The Minnesota Pioneer and The Press demanded that the board rescind their vote. The St. Paul Dispatch also was in on the action. The Star-Tribune leaped into the fray, calling the newspapers bullies and ruffians, even while they were not critical of Samuel. 

     Petitions were circulated and sent to the board protesting Samuel’s firing - petitions signed by the “leading citizens” of St. Paul, petitions signed by teachers, and petitions signed by students. A petition circulated to fire the superintendent. The school board yielded to the petitions and considered re-hiring Samuel. At a special meeting in March, the board voted not to reinstate Prof. Taylor. A group of citizens vowed to hold an “indignation meeting.” The board asked Samuel to select some people who might represent him at another meeting to consider his employment, with the agreement that he would get his supporters to call off the “indignation meeting.” He selected a committee of nine leading men, starting with the former governor of Minnesota, William Marshall, and ending with Rev. John Mattocks, a former superintendent of the St. Paul schools, and a board member until 1872.

     These nine men met with the board and demanded his reinstatement, offering to undertake an in-depth examination of his conduct. The board decided to reinstate Samuel to his position while engaging in another investigation. As part of this agreement, Samuel was to distribute a circular announcing that there would be no indignation meeting,

     So things were resolved for a time. But Samuel went ahead with other plans and opened a private preparatory school. It was quickly filled with “the children of the best families of the city,” the newspaper said. Samuel was also busy with professional organizations, such as his Dartmouth alumni group, and serving as secretary of the Minnesota Educators’ Association. He was in a literary society, remained active in church, and he and his wife spent a lot of time with their niece, Victor and Lizzie’s only child. 

     One of Mary Ann’s sisters, Martha, was an invalid and lived with them at their home on Sherburne Street,  requiring “much care.” Because of this, Mary Ann was up till midnight on August 13th tending to her. The sisters finally settled into bed, and Samuel stayed up in the sitting room adjoining his and his wife’s bedroom for another half an hour. Finally, he too went to bed. He awoke at about 3:00 a.m. hearing noises in the sitting room. He got up, thinking it was his sister-in-law and went to help her. Because of her, they left a lamp burning in the sitting room, and he could clearly see an intruder: a short man in light-colored pants and a baggy brown coat with a felt hat. As soon as the intruder saw him, there was the “sharp crack of a pistol” and a bullet struck the left side of Samuel’s head. With blood gushing down his face, he began a “death struggle” with the man, managing to pin the intruder to the floor. In the course of the struggle, the man shot at Samuel again, missing him but lodging a bullet in the casing of the door. Mary Ann was screaming, “Murder! Murder!” which awakened a neighbor. Weakened from his wound, Samuel let up on his grasp, and the intruder fled out the front door and down the bluff. Neighbors appeared, a doctor was summoned, and Mary Ann was described in the way women were expected to act in such a situation in this era: in a state of “nervous prostration.”

     His head wound was described in great detail in the St. Paul Anti-Monopolist. It “ploughed an open wound one inch long, then passing under the skin came out near the crown of the head, making another rough, open wound of about an inch.” There was another wound on the back of his head, presumably where he was hit by the assailant’s pistol. 

     The police believed it was a simple case of disrupting a burglar, who panicked. Others weren’t so sure. The Minneapolis Star-Tribune called it an assassination attempt, and speculated that it was a parent who was angry over Samuel disciplining his daughter earlier. No one was ever arrested in the case. The paper praised Samuel in one of its stories of the incident: 

     Prof. S.S. Taylor  is a man highly esteemed by all who know him, and possessing the entire confidence of the better portion of the citizens of St. Paul. He has long held a prominent position with the schools of that city, discharging his delicate duties in a highly satisfactory manner. Some time ago an attempt, instigated by jealousy, was made to bring his name into disrepute, but the citizens rose, almost as one man, to his defense and to the utter consternation of his accusers. His wounds are not considered dangerous and we hope he will speedily recover from them. Mr. Taylor not only has the sympathy of the citizens of St. Paul but of Minneapolis also in his present condition.

     

        Just a few weeks later he was reported to be recovered and preparing for the opening of his private school. 

     His reputation was such that after his firing by the school board, he was elected president of the Minnesota Educators Association and president of the Board of Trustees at his Congregational Church. In January 1875 friends and supporters circulated a petition to the governor asking that Samuel be appointed state superintendent of public instruction, something that had been suggested in the Minneapolis Star-Tribune. In May the newspaper reported that a school board member who voted for his firing went out of business, attributing it to the anger people felt towards the board member because of his vote.

          In 1876, there was a new superintendent of schools. This was certainly good news for Samuel. It paid off in 1878, when he was approached and offered the position of principal of the Jefferson School. Samuel decided to accept and closed his prep school. “Time makes all things even,” the St. Paul Globe noted. 

     His private school had been a success, and an article about the closing ceremonies for his last year, 1878, reported 104 students, some coming from a total of thirteen counties. His students presented him with a silver headed cane with the words, “Prof. S.S. Taylor - Presented by his pupils May 31, 1878.” They gave Mary Ann a silver napkin ring.

     Things had smoothed out for him in his chosen profession, but the years 1875 to 1883 were characterized as “dark days” in his other business. He and his brother-in-law Victor faced “terrible persecution and opposition.” A history of the Stillwater Messenger told the story:

     The paper endured many attacks in business and politics. The paper was sued, and the editors claimed assassins were even sent against them. Seward and Taylor’s main opponents were the men who operated the Stillwater Lumberman, a group of Republicans who were disaffected with Seward’s methods and his paper. These men leased the floor directly above the Messenger offices and attempted to destroy Seward, Taylor, and the Messenger. Seward and Taylor were eventually forced out of their building, but established offices elsewhere in Stillwater.

 

  The years weren’t all grim, of course. Mary Ann and her sister; and Samuel and Victor were very close. They were like a second set of parents to Minnie, Victor and Lizzie’s daughter. The families vacationed together. Samuel was a member of the Congregational Club, which met to read papers and debate issues. Samuel took a strong stance against polygamy and wrote senators about it. He was a delegate to the state Republican party. He gave scientific lectures, taught Bible classes to Sunday School teachers at the YMCA, was an officer in the Minnesota Sabbath School Association, and conducted services for men in jail. He and Mary Ann hosted the 14 girls in their Sunday School class at their home, and he organized a Dartmouth alumni group. 

     Professionally, he was back in the news in November 1879 when there was an inspection of his school, Jefferson School. It had the largest student population in the state, nearly 800 students, and was overcrowded. They were predominantly the children of immigrants, mostly Swedish and Bohemian, and typically arrived at school speaking no English. The building was only nine years old, but it already showed signs of wear and tear, and had poor ventilation. When it opened, a mishmash of old student desks of varying sizes and styles was brought in. Class sizes ranged from  32 to 76. The teachers were described as “overworked,” yet discipline was excellent, and the observers were pleased with the instruction they witnessed. 

     In addition to his responsibilities, he taught a class every day and filled in as a substitute when teachers were out.  

     An 1883 article described how Samuel implemented a fire drill system to have his entire school emptied in three minutes. This was at a time when children died in school fires and fire drills were not mandated or the norm. One time, he even had the custodian start a contained fire in the basement and allowed smoke to fill the halls before hitting the fire drill gong.

     Samuel must have felt a special sense of vindication when he was named superintendent of St. Paul Schools in 1886.  He served for three years and was walking home from a church meeting when he was suddenly stricken by a heart attack. City schools closed the day of his funeral to allow a large attendance, and a high school choir sang. In June, an obelisk was placed at his grave, a gift of the teachers of St. Paul. It was made of New Hampshire granite. Over 300 people attended the ceremony for its installation. On one side it reads, “Saint Paul Teachers’ Offering - The best repository of the virtues of the dead are the memories of the living.” A year after his death, the S.S. Taylor School at Highwood was named in his memory. 

Note: Samuel is what is called a collateral relative in my family tree. I orient myself to everyone in the tree as to how they are related to my grandmother, and to my great-great-great grandfather, Myron Fitch Barbour. Victor Seward was Myron’s nephew. As noted above, Samuel married Victor’s wife’s sister. So - Samuel is the brother-in-law of Myron's nephew's wife.    

Sources:

     Taylor, Harold Murdock. Family History - Anthony Taylor of Hampton, New Hampshire, Rutland, Vermont: Tuttle Publishing Co,: 1935.

     Minnesota Historical Society – Minnesota Digital Newspaper Hub, “Stillwater Messenger.” 

     “Scheming Aided by Cowardice,” The St. Cloud Journal, 26 March 1874, p. 2.

     “Public Schools - St. Paul News,” Star-Tribune, 24 March 1874, p. 3.

     “The School Scandal,” Star-Tribune, 8 April 1874, p. 2.

     “Burglary and Attempted Murder,” The Anti-Monopolist, 13 Aug 1874, p. 12.

     “Attempted Assassination,” The Star-Tribune, 13 Aug 1874, p. 1.

     “A Cowardly Attack - Prof. S.S. Taylor Nearly Killed By Midnight Marauder,” Star-Tribune, 13 Aug 1874, p. 3.

     “Prof. Taylor for School Superintendent -  A warm tribute to this good and excellent man,” Star-Tribune, 31 Dec 1874, p. 3.

     “Prof. Taylor,” Star-Tribune (Minneapolis, Minnesota), 5 Jan 1875, p. 3

     “Lost Business,” The Star-Tribune, 25 May 1875, p. 3.

     “Editorial Excursion,” The Worthington Advance (Worthington, Minnesota), 14 Aug 1879, p. 1.

     “The Public Schools - An Inspection of the Jefferson School,” The St. Paul Globe, 2 Nov 1879, p. 4.

     “The Happy Family - The Ramsey County Republican Roosters in Conclave,” St. Paul Globe, 13 Sept 1881, p. 2. 

     “The Congregational Club,” The Star Tribune, 26 Feb 1882, p. 7. 

     “St. Paul Matters - An Interesting Session - Prof. S.S. Taylor Chosen as Superintendent of Public Schools,” St. Paul Globe, 8 June 1886, p. 2. 

     “Tribute to a Tutor - A Granite Obeslisk, In Memory of the Late Superintendent Taylor,” The Saint Paul Globe, 8 June 1889, p. 2.

Copyright Andrea Auclair © 2023