On a crisp fall morning in 2021 I hugged my young daughters as they boarded a school bus and waved as it disappeared down the steep incline of our neighborhood in the Philadelphia suburb of Bala Cynwyd. Inexplicably, a long-simmering curiosity pushed aside my worries about a looming work deadline. I felt compelled to finally investigate the history of our home of six years, a Dutch Colonial built in 1926. A neighbor directed me to the website of the Lower Merion Historical Society. I was soon scrutinizing 1908 and 1913 atlases showing the area that later became my neighborhood: two parcels intriguingly labeled with the names of Jane Viola Myers, M.D., Dr. Hannah E. Longshore, and Lucretia L. Blankenburg.  

Fast forward three years, and I am now pushing aside the bikes and tools in our garage to make room for a massive crate, the culmination of a journey of discovery and connection, of dusty archives and late nights, of tears and jubilation. Inside the crate is a luminous blue and gold Pennsylvania historical marker, awaiting its moment in the sun to reveal the long-hidden story of a family of remarkable women who also called my corner of the world home, a place they named Idenlea.

Although my training as a scientist prepared me to ask questions, then collect and analyze data to answer them, nothing prepared me for the thrill of the historical research that I began that fall day, because evidence is everywhere! In atlases and archives, in old newspapers and death certificates, in place names and living memory, just waiting to be pieced together into a historical marker nomination to honor Dr. Longshore (1819-1901), her sister Dr. Myers (1831-1918), and her daughter, Lucretia Mott Longshore Blankenburg (1845-1937). All three were determined leaders in the causes of abolition of slavery, women’s rights, suffrage, and women in medicine. They championed civic and municipal reform, especially during Lucretia’s years as the First Lady of Philadelphia alongside her husband Mayor Rudolph Blankenburg.

Here I share moments of discovery about compelling aspects of this family’s story–moments that connected with my awakening about the role of local history in helping us understand our own place and time.

Hannah

When I discovered that the connection between Idenlea and the names on the atlas was not yet something Google could reveal, I made my first research visit to a historical archive, the Longshore Family Papers documenting the some of the origins of women in medicine at the Legacy Center Archives and Special Collections at Drexel University College of Medicine.

Buried in this collection is the Autobiography of Thomas Longshore. As I skimmed the looping cursive it became apparent that this was not the life story of the writer and prominent abolitionist. but was in fact a detailed account of his wife, Dr. Hannah E. Longshore. I learned that Hannah and her sister Jane’s curiosity about the natural world and commitment to social justice was nurtured by their father, educator and abolitionist Samuel Myers. While both girls had big dreams about higher education, the family couldn’t afford tuition at Oberlin College, one of the few educational institutions open to women in the 1840s. With the support of their father, Hannah and Jane self-educated on topics ranging from botany to literature while they helped maintain the family farm in Ohio.

When Elizabeth Blackwell and her peers began to challenge the system of educating physicians in the United States, Hannah seized an opportunity to enter the profession of medicine. Along with her supportive husband and their infant daughter Lucretia, the family traveled by wagon to Philadelphia where she apprenticed with her brother-in-law, Dr. Joseph S. Longshore, a founder of the city’s new Female Medical College of Pennsylvania (later Woman’s Medical College of Pennsylvania), the world’s first school established to train women in medicine.

Hannah graduated in the first class of the college in 1851 in a ceremony that required police protection due to threats to the students. She became the first woman physician to open a medical practice in Pennsylvania and the first woman faculty member of an American medical school. The collection at Drexel contains a powerful memory in an autobiographical speech given at her alma mater when she was nearly 80 years old. “The first women physicians in Philadelphia did not find their paths strewn with flowers, nor their advent welcomed by the general public or by the profession. I went to one of the leading pharmacists to purchase some ounces of drugs. The proprietor said, ‘I will not sell the drugs to you! You are out of your sphere! Go home and darn your husband’s stockings! Housekeeping is the business for women!’ I informed him that my house was probably as well kept as his and that the stockings were darned. As a graduate of the Female Medical College, chartered by the Legislature of Pennsylvania, I proposed to practice medicine as long as the women of Philadelphia saw fit to employ me and I had the strength to work.”

As Dr. Hannah created a career path that simply hadn’t existed for women, her sister Jane joined her in Philadelphia to enroll in the college. Within a few years, they were practicing medicine alongside each other, treating the women and children of Philadelphia, regardless of their race, class, or ability to pay, for a combined 70 years. During their long careers, these daughters of a struggling farmer earned enough to purchase a hilltop property in Cynwyd and commission architect Isaac Pursell to design a three-story stone house featuring distinctive arches and a clear view of Philadelphia from its windows. The home was the family’s country retreat from busy careers and activism in the city. They named it Idenlea to honor the matriarch of their Quaker family, Paulina Iden Myers.

Lucretia

In 1928, Hannah’s daughter Lucretia Blankenburg published an autobiography along with her biography of her husband. Copies of this book are scarce. When I finally tracked one down, I was delighted to see Lucretia had signed it herself in blue ink.

Lucretia was raised in a dynamic household at the center of the biggest issues of pre-and post-Civil War America, recalling that “the success of my mother as a doctor brought many advanced thinkers and reformers to our home.” Like her mother, Lucretia became an exemplary woman, her long life dedicated to service and progressive ideals. She was known as the “Grand Old Lady of Philadelphia,” a renowned leader who worked to make things better for people from all walks of life, whether that be through protections and playgrounds for children, representation and rights of women, education reform, or labor laws.

My visits to the archives of the Historical Society of Pennsylvania provided insights into the lives of the Blankenburgs. One item in particular encapsulated what this woman meant to the city and beyond. For Lucretia’s 80th birthday, notable figures in Pennsylvania organized a luncheon attended by over 100 civic and women’s organizations and assembled a commemorative volume testifying to the impact of her work. When I submitted a call slip for the volume, I had little idea what to expect, and was surprised to flip through hundreds of gilded pages with entries by political leaders and extraordinary friends like artist Violet Oakley and suffragist Jane Campbell. I could not understand how a woman of Lucretia’s stature had no public recognition in the city that she worked to transform, strengthening my resolve to bring her story out of the shadows.

Jane

Dr. Jane V. Myers is the most elusive of the three women of the Idenlea estate. Lucretia described “Aunt Jane” as a private person who did not seek the public attention enjoyed by the rest of their family, but let her successful medical career speak for itself.

The most evocative trace of Jane comes from a 1950 oral history by a Bala Cynwyd resident, hidden in the files of the Lower Merion Historical Society. “We also had characters in our neighborhood. Of these I must mention Dr. Jane V. Myers who brought me into this world. She was a strictly modern woman of her day, and felt that female attire of her time was ill-suited to the needs of a professional woman. And so instead of shirtwaists and feminine headgear, she wore men’s suits–coats, vests, trousers, and derby hats–that is until she was arrested for wearing clothing unbecoming a woman. This happened more than once. She fought it out and ultimately compromised to the extent of wearing a skirt instead of trousers, but kept the rest.” I found this profile to be utterly endearing, a small indication of the fierce self-determination that distinguished Jane’s life.    

Loved Ones Lost

Of all the ways that learning about these women has influenced my own life since I first read their names, one memory stands out. A visit to a cemetery turned into an enduring mystery.

First, some context. Philadelphia’s great reform power couple had a simple beginning. As the country emerged from the Civil War, Lucretia met a kind German immigrant named Rudolph Blankenburg. The city’s 1876 Centennial Exposition launched their political consciousness, and each found their own path in public affairs. They were blessed with three healthy daughters, birthed by the skilled hands of their grandmother and great aunt. And yet, over a period of 20 years, the family suffered crushing loss as all three girls succumbed, one by one, to infectious diseases and were buried in the family plot at historic Fair Hill Burial Ground in Germantown. Reflecting on these compounded tragedies that stole the next generation of this remarkable family, Lucretia wrote “We resolved to do all we could to help others and improve civic affairs.”    

Reading Lucretia’s words about the loss of her three daughters made my heart ache. I decided to visit their graves and stopped to buy a bouquet of white roses on the way, knowing it had probably been close to 100 years since someone had paid respects. I started at Chelten Hills Cemetery in North Philadelphia, the final resting place of Dr. Myers. I asked a staff member to direct me to the gravesite. She disappeared into the office before returning to tell me there was no record of her burial. Mystified, I then drove to Fair Hill Burial Ground to find the rest of the family. A groundskeeper pointed me to a section of dense headstones. I was stunned to find grass-covered gaps where the family’s markers had once been.

I took my white roses back home and pulled up the cemetery’s records. My heartache turned to bewilderment as it became evident that on the same day in 1921, the remains of 11 family members were disinterred and cremated at Chelten Hills Crematory. I reached out to Chelten Hills for more information. The answer arrived as scanned pink notecards that constituted the cemetery’s filing system a century ago. The cremains of the remarkable women of Idenlea and their family members were retrieved by Quaker undertaker Ellwood Heacock, the first president of the Philadelphia NAACP. But then what? And why? The historical record contains no clues other than the timing of the disinterment, a date that has everything to do with Idenlea.    

What has Become of the Mayor?

The mystery about the final resting place of this family hinges on how Lucretia came to live in her Aunt Jane’s Idenlea estate, which, in turn, links to the story of her husband, the only independent mayor in the history of Philadelphia.

Rudolph Blankenburg married into a family of powerhouse women and was determined to leave a worthy legacy. After the loss of his last surviving child, he shifted his focus from humanitarian causes to launch a 20-year battle against the entrenched political machine of Philadelphia and its corrupt business associates. His pursuit of good government earned him the nickname “Old Warhorse of Reform.”

In 1911, he ran for mayor on a platform that foreshadowed modern campaigns: a focus on education, reducing wasteful use of City funds, transparency and accountability, and an administration “not for the profit and gain of the few, but for the benefit of all.” During his years of service at City Hall, he delivered on his promises, despite the efforts of the machine to oppose his reforms.

After leaving office in early 1916, Rudolph’s health faltered. He was interred alongside his beloved daughter, Julia, just a month after a stroke took Dr. Myers. Bereaved Lucretia relocated to the family estate of Idenlea to grieve their losses. A few years later, Congress passed the 19th amendment granting women the right to vote, and Lucretia resolved to move back to Philadelphia to resume her social activism. She sold Idenlea to a developer, moved into the Bellevue-Stratford Hotel, and inexplicably chose to disinter the remains of her entire family and relocate them to a place that is now unknown and lost to time.

Of the 31 male mayors of Philadelphia from the Civil War-era to the election of Cherelle Parker, six are still living and all others remain in their final resting places. For many, that is Laurel Hill West, which is less than a mile away from Idenlea. However, there can be no visit to the final resting place of Mayor Blankenburg who battled the political machine of his day and fought for women’s rights alongside his family. I hope that a final piece completing this puzzle will emerge one day so that those of us inspired by this family’s stories can pay our respects.

A Profound Legacy

The house that Jane and Hannah built in 1890 is perched at the highest point of our neighborhood. Since I did most of my research while my daughters slept, I often found myself gazing at it from the windows of my home office, musing about how my findings might connect with conversations that happened behind its stone walls long ago. While I was often moved by the persistence of these brave and brilliant women, there was only one discovery that brought me to tears because of its profound significance. A few months into my research, I was scrolling through late night search results when something unexpected caught my eye: in 1921, as Lucretia was busy relocating to Philadelphia from Idenlea, she gave a stunning gift. Lucretia used the proceeds of Idenlea’s sale to establish two memorial scholarships at Bryn Mawr College, in honor of her mother and her aunt, for women who also had big dreams of pursuing medicine. These two scholarships have supported the careers of women in medicine to this very day, over 170 years after the first women physicians received their medical degrees. Together, Hannah, Jane, and Lucretia created a legacy of generations of changemakers who continue to shape our lives today and carry on the purpose of those who came before them.

---

A dedication ceremony for the Pennsylvania historical marker honoring the women of Idenlea is scheduled for Sunday, September 15 at 2 p.m. See Lower Merion Historical Society’s website for more information: https://lowermerionhistory.org/events/women-of-idenlea-estate-state-historical-marker-dedication/

For a comprehensive exploration of Erin Betley’s research on Idenlea, watch her 2022 public presentation for Lower Merion Library System: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wu47lDIk55o

---

---