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| Abraham Lincoln and Grant Goodrich waiting for the Parker v. Hoyt verdict in Chicago, June 1849. (This image is an AI-generated historical visualization, not a contemporary primary source photo.) |
How a Chicago patent trial turned into a Lincoln story
In the summer of 1850, Abraham Lincoln was still a newcomer in Chicago’s federal courts — a prairie lawyer stepping into the city’s U.S. Circuit Court for one of the most technical cases of his career. He’d been hired to help argue Parker v. Hoyt, a patent dispute over a reaction percussion water wheel. This was the second trial of the long‑running challenge, and in this round Lincoln was serving as Hoyt’s attorney — the defense — alongside Grant Goodrich. [1]
Most attorneys dreaded cases like this. Lincoln didn’t. Years earlier he had helped run a sawmill in the small Illinois hamlet of New Salem, and the moment he walked into the courtroom, he was back in familiar territory: water, force, motion, machinery. It was the kind of case where he could roll up his sleeves and explain the science like he was sketching it in the air.
William Herndon later wrote that Lincoln “manifested great interest in the case,” and it showed. He broke down the mechanics of the wheel so clearly and simply that the jury followed him without strain. Even the opposing counsel couldn’t shake the impression Lincoln had made. Lincoln had carried the room. [2]
But once the jury retired, all that confidence drained out of him.
🕵️♂️ The One‑Finger Signal
The jurors were sequestered in another building, its windows opening onto the street. After two hours, Lincoln and his co‑counsel Grant Goodrich were walking past when one juror — “a very intelligent man and firm in his convictions,” Goodrich said — leaned out the window and held up one finger. [1]
Lincoln froze. What did that mean?
Was that one vote for them? One vote against them? One stubborn man holding out? One man refusing to budge?
Lincoln’s mind leapt instantly to one of his old circuit‑court trials in Tazewell County years earlier — a divorce case. To calm down, Lincoln did what Lincoln loved to do: he turned to Goodrich and said, “That reminds me of a story.”
🌾 The Tale from His Circuit‑Riding Days
Lincoln was in Tazewell County to argue a suit for divorce. His client was a refined and interesting woman; the defendant, her husband, was a gross, morose, querulous, verbally abusive man — and in the view of many locals, entirely unfit to be her husband.
In those days, a divorce was almost impossible to obtain. State law required a high bar of proof: evidence of personal violence. Lincoln proved the husband’s verbal cruelty, but there was no evidence of physical abuse. In his summation, Lincoln appealed to the jury’s compassion and pleaded with them not to bind the woman to such a man for the rest of her life.
The jurors could find no legal basis to rule for her. Resigned, they drafted a verdict for the husband — all agreed except one man. When asked to sign, the juror stretched out on the floor and said:
“Gentlemen, I am going to lie down to sleep, and when you get ready to give a verdict for that little woman, then wake me — and not until then. For before I will give a verdict against her, I will lie here till I rot and the pismires carry me out through the keyhole.” [2]
Lincoln told Goodrich, “If that juryman will stick like the man in Tazewell County, we are safe.” [2]
⚖️ The Chicago Verdict
The Chicago jury returned a verdict for Lincoln’s client, Hoyt. The case would be retried — again — and the procedural tangle would outlive the moment. But Lincoln never forgot this first Windy City trial. Herndon later noted that Lincoln regarded it as “one of the most gratifying triumphs of his professional life.” [2]
And here’s the irony: Lincoln didn’t triumph by winning the jury’s compassion in this trial. He triumphed by winning the jury’s mind.
He had explained the water wheel like a millwright, argued like a master, and held the room with sheer clarity. The verdict was paperwork; the performance was the victory.
Two perfect Lincoln moments — a man who could reach a jury’s compassion, and who could teach a jury the physics of a water wheel.
Together, the two stories show the same truth: Lincoln could win a jury’s heart or its intellect — but his real gift was knowing exactly which one the moment required.
Two stories from the archives of Abraham Lincoln, Storyteller.
Mac
🎩 Before you go: To this day, there is no official record of what happened to Melissa Goings after she pleaded “Not guilty” in the Metamora courtroom on October 10, 1857. Legend says Lincoln pointed her toward a window; the archives show only an empty chair. For the researcher, the Goings case isn’t just a story — it’s a reminder that Lincoln was, in many ways, a man out of place in his own time.
📚 Works Cited
[1] "Parker vs. Hoyt." The Law Practice of Abraham Lincoln. Retrieved March 30, 2026. This internet site about Abraham Lincoln’s legal career was written for readers who may have little or no prior familiarity with his law practice. The editors did not attempt to analyze Lincoln’s work as an attorney; instead, they provide a structured foundation that allows researchers to pursue their own interpretations and deeper studies.
[2] William H. Herndon and Jesse W. Weik, Herndon’s Life of Abraham Lincoln, pp. 265-267.
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