Written by By Jim Heffernan for the DuluthNewsTribune/April 4, 2026Portrait at about 102-103
(Wikipedia)
I’ve been around Duluth for a long, long time — dipping a teensy-weensy toe in the final weeks of the 1930s and an old toe in the 2020s. That’s parts of 10 decades, although I’m not 100 years old…yet. I’ve seen a lot of Duluth history, much of which has understandably, even deservedly, been lost on younger generations of Duluthians.
Take Albert Woolson, for instance. Some local folks today likely never heard of him. He was the last surviving member of the Union Army during the Civil War. He lived here and died in Duluth in 1956 at the age of 107 or 109 — nobody was ever quite sure of his exact age. He was young when he served, doing duty as a drummer boy.
For a time back then he was probably Duluth’s most famous person. Coincidentally, he was a Central Hillside neighbor of today’s most famous ex-Duluthian, Bob Dylan. When Bob was a child, his family, the Zimmermans, lived a few doors away from the aged Woolson.
I saw Woolson a few times in his final years. He visited old Lincoln Junior High School for Memorial Day assemblies a couple of times when I was a pupil. The principal presented him with a box of cigars in appreciation. He also was feted in Superior Street parades late in his life, always wearing a dark suit coat, festooned with various medals, and a military-style cap.
Why all this now? A few weeks ago, in this newspaper’s Bygones column an item from way back in 1956 reported that Woolson smoked a few cigars while being treated in St. Luke’s Hospital for lung congestion. Nothing like a good cigar to treat lung congestion, I always say. The celebrated centenarian died later that year.
Whenever I am reminded of Albert Woolson, I am also reminded of a story once told me by an older friend in the Duluth news media that I think of whenever I pass by the statue of Woolson outside the St. Louis County Depot in downtown Duluth, depicting him as an old man seated with a cane in his hand.
Here is that story as I recall it being told to me (the historical perspective is mine):
It was an election year, and, as usual, American politics was a main subject in the 1956 news. President Dwight D. Eisenhower was running for a second term. Democrats would re-nominate Adlai E. Stevenson, former governor of Illinois, to challenge Eisenhower as he had four years earlier and, of course, lost. His running mate would be Sen. Estes Kefauver (pronounced KEE -foffer or kee-FOFFER, take your pick), a prominent Tennessee politician who was strong on fighting organized crime.
Seeking support on the campaign trail, Kefauver came to Duluth where he was warmly greeted by local Democrats who came up with a bright campaign idea: Bring Kefauver to the hospital to visit the last survivor of the Union Army in the Civil War, demonstrating the candidate’s deep respect and concern for this great American veteran and so on and so forth blah, blah, blah. Bring the press and never mind that Kefauver represented a Confederacy state.
They brought the press — the newspaper, TV, radio, all they could muster, including the reporter who passed this story on — and assembled in the hospital hallway to document the visit of this esteemed U.S. senator-cum maybe U.S. vice president with the ailing centenarian and last Union army veteran of the war between the states.
Unfortunately, Woolson, very hard of hearing, apparently was not aware of exactly who was coming to visit, or if he knew at all that a visit was imminent. When the moment arrived, Senator Kefauver entered the Woolson hospital room, local Democrats and members of the press watching nearby.
Woolson looked up at the approaching visitor and said, “Thank heaven you’re here doctor, I haven’t had a bowel movement in three days.”
Kefauver’s and the press’ reaction were not reported to me (nor was it reported to the pubic), and Woolson lasted only a few more months. He was given a huge funeral in the National Guard Armory on London Road, with special written condolences from President Eisenhower, who regretted he could not attend. Of course.
Today, as I occasionally walk by the statue of a seated Woolson outside the Depot in downtown Duluth, I reflect on that old hospital visit story and wonder what exactly it is he is sitting on. Three days can cause quite an explosion.
Jim Heffernan is a former Duluth News Tribune news and opinion writer and continues as a columnist. He can be reached at jimheffernan@jimheffernan.org and maintains a blog at www.jimheffernan.org.
