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| Joseph Jefferson (left) 1894 photo by Benjamin J. Falk (Courtesy Library of Congress) |
Some stories slip through the cracks of history—not because they’re small, but because they’re quiet. This one begins in a muddy Illinois winter, with a troupe of actors, a makeshift theater, and a town caught between revival and rebellion. It’s a story about the performing arts, politics, and the kind of help that arrives without fanfare.
The kind that shifts a moment—and maybe a town
It begins in the winter of 1839, in Springfield, Illinois. The legislature was in session. The streets were muddy. And a traveling troupe of actors had just arrived with a bold idea: they would build a theater.
Not rent one. Build one.
It was a gamble. They’d made some money in the weeks leading up to Springfield, and their manager—a man with more grit than caution—decided to invest it all. A lot was leased, ground was broken, and a wooden structure rose from the frozen earth. No paint. No ornamentation. Just a roof, four walls, and a stage.
One actor later said it looked “like a large dry-goods box with a roof.” But to them, it was a temple.
Then came the blow.
A religious revival was sweeping through town. The pulpit thundered against the “Devil’s workshop” rising near the square. And through a bit of political maneuvering, the city council passed a new law: a heavy license fee on theatrical performances—so high it was effectively a ban.o
The actors were stunned. Their funds were tied up in the building. The town was full of potential patrons. And now, they were barred from opening their doors.
That’s when a young lawyer came knocking.
He’d heard of the injustice and offered his help. No fee. Just a desire, he said, “to see fair play.”
The case was brought before the council. The young man stood to speak.
He didn’t thunder. He didn’t scold. He didn't posture. He told stories.
He traced the history of the theater from the days of Thespis, who performed in a cart, to the present. He spoke of acting and humor, of the human need for reflection and release. He peppered his speech with anecdotes, and soon the council chamber was echoing with laughter.
He didn’t plead. He persuaded.
And when he was done, the council voted. The tax was lifted. The curtain would rise.
The actors never forgot him. Many years later, one of them—Joseph Jefferson—wrote about that night in his memoir. He remembered the humor, the fairness, and the quiet resolve.
He remembered the way the council chamber filled with laughter. He remembered the way that curtain did, indeed, rise.
And Jefferson remembered the man, buried now near Springfield.
His name was Abraham Lincoln.
From the archives of Abraham Lincoln, Storyteller.
Mac
Afterword: Who was Joseph Jefferson?
Born in Philadelphia in 1829, Joseph Jefferson III came from a long line of performers. He made his stage debut at the age of three and spent most of his life in the theater. Though he played many roles, it was his adaptation of Rip Van Winkle that made him a household name. He toured with the play for decades, refining the character and bringing it to life for audiences across the country.
Jefferson was known not just for his comic timing and expressive style, but for his deep love of the craft. He became a symbol of American theater in its early days—when stages were still being built from scratch and actors traveled from town to town with little more than props and hope.
He died in Palm Beach, Florida in 1905, but his legacy lives on. The Joseph Jefferson Awards, established in Chicago, still honor excellence in theater today
📚 Works Cited
[1] Joseph Jefferson (1890) The Autobiography of Joseph Jefferson. New York, NY: Century Co., pp. 28-30.
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