Forgotten American: Freedom’s True Maker

A symbol of freedom standing atop the United States Capitol seems like the perfect representation of American ideals. But what if one of the people most responsible for bringing that symbol to life was himself enslaved? This week, Michael explores the remarkable true story of Philip Reid, the skilled craftsman whose expertise helped make the Statue of Freedom possible, and the extraordinary irony of a monument to liberty being completed during the Civil War by a man who gained his own freedom before it was finished. Then we play the Yap Yap Quiz with Comedian Glen Tickle!

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One of the things I love most about history is how often the names we remember aren’t always the names that did the work. We tend to attach accomplishments to presidents, generals, inventors, and famous figures. We build monuments to leaders, put faces on currency, and memorize the names that appear in textbooks. Yet behind almost every famous achievement is a much larger cast of people whose contributions quietly disappear into the background.

Think about some of the great structures of history. When people visit the pyramids, they often talk about the pharaohs. When people admire medieval cathedrals, they remember kings, bishops, and wealthy patrons. When tourists stand in front of famous buildings, they usually know who commissioned them. Far fewer know the names of the stonecutters, carpenters, engineers, blacksmiths, and laborers who actually transformed plans into reality.

Sometimes those forgotten names eventually resurface. Historians uncover a letter, a payroll record, or a diary entry that reveals someone who should have been remembered all along. Occasionally, the rediscovery is so striking that it changes the way we see an entire monument. Suddenly the story isn’t just about what was built. It’s about who built it and why their role vanished from public memory.

The United States Capitol is filled with stories like that. Millions of visitors walk through its halls every year. Schoolchildren stare upward at its massive dome. Tourists take photographs from the National Mall. Politicians hold press conferences in its shadow. Yet few people stop to consider the thousands of craftsmen whose hands shaped the building itself.

Even fewer know the story of the man who helped create the crowning figure atop the dome – the Statue of Freedom. For decades, many Americans knew almost nothing about him. His name was Philip Reid. He was an enslaved craftsman working in Washington, D.C., and without his expertise, the statue that became one of the nation’s most recognizable symbols might never have been completed in the way it was.

To understand how Philip Reid became part of this story, we first have to understand the building he helped finish. The Capitol that Americans know today did not appear overnight. Like many famous landmarks, it evolved over decades through expansions, redesigns, wars, setbacks, and political disagreements.

Construction on the Capitol began in the 1790s after the federal government selected Washington as the nation’s capital. The original building was impressive for its time, but America was growing rapidly. New states meant new representatives. New senators required new chambers. As the country expanded westward, pressure mounted to enlarge the Capitol to reflect the nation’s increasing size and ambitions.

The situation became even more complicated after the War of 1812. In 1814, British troops entered Washington and set fire to several government buildings, including the Capitol. The damage was extensive. Reconstruction efforts stretched over years, and by the middle of the nineteenth century, leaders were once again discussing major additions.

By the 1850s, the Capitol was undergoing one of the most ambitious construction projects in its history. New House and Senate wings were added. Architect Thomas Ustick Walter envisioned a dramatic new cast-iron dome that would dwarf the older structure. The dome would become one of the defining features of the Washington skyline, visible from great distances and intended to symbolize the strength and permanence of the Union.

There was just one problem. A giant dome demanded a giant finishing touch.

The idea emerged to place a monumental statue at the top. Such figures were common in European architecture. They served as symbols of liberty, victory, justice, or national identity. American leaders wanted something similar but uniquely tied to the United States.

The commission eventually went to an accomplished sculptor named Thomas Crawford. Born in New York in 1814, Crawford had become one of America’s leading artists. Like many ambitious sculptors of his era, he spent significant time in Rome, where the city’s artistic traditions, workshops, and marble resources attracted artists from around the world.

In the mid-1850s, Crawford began developing concepts for the figure that would stand atop the Capitol dome. His original design underwent revisions after discussions with federal officials, including then-Secretary of War Jefferson Davis. Some historians have noted that Crawford’s initial concept included a liberty cap, a symbol associated with emancipated slaves in ancient Rome. Davis reportedly objected to that element, arguing it was inappropriate for a nation whose citizens were considered born free rather than freed from servitude.

The final design took a different direction. Instead of a liberty cap, the figure wore a helmet adorned with an eagle’s head and feathers. She carried a sheathed sword and a shield decorated with stars and stripes. Her flowing drapery gave her a classical appearance while maintaining distinctly American symbolism. Officially, the sculpture became known as Freedom Triumphant in War and Peace, though it would eventually be referred to simply as the Statue of Freedom.

Creating a statue of that size was an enormous undertaking. The finished work would stand nearly twenty feet tall and weigh approximately 15,000 pounds. Crawford worked from Rome, producing models and designs that would eventually be translated into a full-scale bronze sculpture.

Before the statue could be cast in metal, a large plaster model had to be produced. This process involved creating sections that could be transported and used as patterns for the final bronze casting. Crawford supervised much of the artistic development, but fate intervened before the project could be completed.

In 1857, Thomas Crawford died unexpectedly from a brain tumor at only forty-three years old. The artist never saw the finished statue. He never watched it rise above the Capitol. He never witnessed the role it would come to play in American history.

With Crawford gone, responsibility shifted to others. The federal government still wanted the statue completed. The Capitol dome remained under construction. Work continued despite delays, logistical challenges, and growing political tensions that were beginning to tear the nation apart.

The next phase of the project led directly to a foundry owned by a man named Clark Mills.

If that name sounds familiar to students of American sculpture, there’s a good reason. Mills was already well known for his bronze casting abilities. One of his most famous works was the equestrian statue of Andrew Jackson located in Lafayette Square near the White House. The monument had earned praise not only for its artistic quality but also for the engineering achievement involved in casting a horse rearing on its hind legs.

Mills operated a foundry in Washington, D.C., where large-scale sculptures could be cast and assembled. When the government needed someone capable of producing the Statue of Freedom, Mills became the logical choice. The massive plaster model arrived in sections and work began preparing it for bronze casting.

Among the skilled workers at Mills’s foundry was an enslaved man named Philip Reid.

The details of Reid’s early life remain frustratingly limited, a reality that reflects the historical record for many enslaved individuals. Historians believe he was born around 1820. By the 1860 census period, he was working for Clark Mills and had developed significant expertise as a craftsman. Contemporary records describe him as highly skilled, and later accounts repeatedly emphasize his technical abilities.

That expertise would soon become critical.

The plaster model of the Statue of Freedom arrived at the foundry in several large sections. Before bronze casting could begin, workers needed to separate the pieces properly. Unfortunately, there was a problem. The sections had been assembled in a way that made disassembly extremely difficult.

According to accounts preserved by the Architect of the Capitol and other historical sources, the Italian craftsman who had helped assemble the model refused to reveal the method used to separate the sections unless he received additional payment. Whether this was a negotiation tactic, a misunderstanding, or simply a labor dispute has been debated by historians, but the practical effect was clear. The project had stalled.

Nobody could easily determine how to take the model apart without risking damage.

This was where Philip Reid entered the story.

Reid carefully examined the plaster model and studied its construction. Historical accounts indicate that he recognized where the sections had been joined and devised a way to separate them safely. Using his knowledge and experience, he identified a hidden iron ring and pulley arrangement that allowed the upper portion to be lifted away from the lower section.

The solution worked.

What had become a costly obstacle suddenly disappeared. The model could now be dismantled, molds could be created, and bronze casting could proceed. In later years, Reid’s role in solving the problem would become one of the most frequently cited examples of his importance to the project.

It’s worth pausing here because this moment is easy to overlook. We sometimes imagine history as a series of grand speeches, dramatic battles, and sweeping political decisions. Yet many turning points come down to practical expertise. A skilled mechanic identifies a flaw. An engineer solves a structural problem. A craftsman notices something everyone else missed. Entire projects can depend on knowledge that never appears in official headlines.

Philip Reid possessed that kind of knowledge.

At the same time, the contradiction at the heart of the story becomes impossible to ignore. The figure being prepared for casting represented freedom. The statue would eventually stand atop the Capitol as a symbol of liberty and national ideals. Yet one of the key people making its creation possible was himself enslaved.

That irony has drawn attention from historians for generations. It is difficult to find a more striking example of the contradictions embedded within nineteenth-century America. The nation was approaching civil war. Debates over slavery dominated politics. The Capitol itself served as the center of those arguments. And above it all, a statue called Freedom was being brought to life with the help of a man who did not legally possess his own freedom.

As work continued at the foundry, the country moved steadily toward crisis. The election of 1860 intensified sectional divisions. Southern states began seceding from the Union. Newspapers filled with reports of political confrontation and military preparations. The future of the United States suddenly seemed uncertain.

Yet construction on the Capitol dome continued.

That decision was intentional. President Abraham Lincoln reportedly viewed completion of the Capitol as a symbol that the Union would endure. Even as war loomed and resources were stretched, work pressed forward. The unfinished dome rising above Washington became a visible statement that the federal government intended to survive the conflict.

And in the middle of that effort stood Philip Reid, whose life was about to change in ways that neither he nor anyone else could have fully predicted.

As the Statue of Freedom moved from plaster model to bronze reality, events outside the foundry were transforming the nation at a pace few Americans had ever experienced. The Civil War began in April of 1861 with the Confederate attack on Fort Sumter. Almost overnight, Washington, D.C., became a city on alert. Soldiers filled the streets, fortifications appeared around the capital, and government officials faced the very real possibility that the Union itself might collapse.

The Capitol dome remained under construction throughout much of the war. Visitors to Washington during those years often saw a strange sight. The massive cast-iron structure rose above the city surrounded by scaffolding and construction equipment while armies fought hundreds of miles away. Photographs from the era show the unfinished dome looming over the skyline, creating an image that has become one of the most recognizable visual symbols of the Civil War period.

For Lincoln, the ongoing construction carried symbolic value. Historian Harold Holzer and other Lincoln scholars have noted that the continuation of work on the Capitol served as a visible reminder that the federal government intended to endure. Stopping construction might have suggested uncertainty or retreat. Continuing construction signaled confidence. Even amid war, the nation would keep building.

Meanwhile, Philip Reid continued working at Clark Mills’s foundry. Surviving payroll records provide some of the clearest documentary evidence of his involvement. One particularly important record from 1862 shows payments associated with Reid’s labor while he was still legally enslaved. Because he was owned by Clark Mills, most compensation for his work went to Mills. However, records indicate Reid himself received small amounts for overtime and Sunday work, a practice that sometimes occurred with skilled enslaved laborers in urban settings.

These records matter because they move the story beyond legend. Historical figures sometimes accumulate myths over time, and researchers are often forced to separate fact from embellishment. In Reid’s case, documentary evidence survives that places him directly at the foundry during the statue’s production. Historians are not simply repeating a family story or local tradition. They can point to payroll documents, government records, and contemporary accounts that establish his presence and contribution.

The casting process itself was extraordinarily demanding. The Statue of Freedom was too large to cast as a single piece. Instead, it was produced in multiple bronze sections that would later be assembled atop the Capitol dome. Each section required molds, furnaces, molten metal, careful cooling, finishing work, and extensive quality control. Any mistake could prove costly in both time and materials.

Bronze casting on this scale was equal parts art and engineering. Temperatures had to be controlled carefully. Molds had to withstand tremendous stress. Workers needed experience, patience, and technical skill. The process demanded teamwork among modelers, mold makers, metalworkers, and finishers. It was exactly the kind of environment in which a highly skilled craftsman like Reid would have been invaluable.

One of the unfortunate realities of history is that skilled laborers are often documented only when something unusual happens. We know the names of politicians because they signed legislation. We know the names of generals because they commanded armies. Craftsmen frequently appear in the historical record only when a problem emerges or when someone else decides to write about them. As a result, we rarely get a complete picture of their daily contributions.

That appears to be true for Philip Reid as well. Historians can confidently identify several key moments in his role with the Statue of Freedom, but they cannot reconstruct every day he spent in the foundry. What survives instead is a collection of records that reveal enough to understand his significance without pretending we know more than we do.

The timing of the project intersected with another major turning point in Reid’s life. On April 16, 1862, President Lincoln signed the District of Columbia Compensated Emancipation Act. This legislation abolished slavery in Washington, D.C., several months before the Emancipation Proclamation took effect in Confederate territory. Under the law, enslavers in the District could receive compensation from the federal government for the people they had previously held in bondage.

For Philip Reid, the law meant freedom.

Clark Mills filed a petition seeking compensation for several enslaved individuals, including Reid. Historical records indicate that Mills received payment from the federal government after emancipation took effect. The paperwork associated with those claims has become another valuable source for historians researching Reid’s life.

The transition must have been extraordinary. One day, Reid was legally owned by another man. The next, he was free under federal law. The change did not erase decades of injustice, nor did it guarantee prosperity. Freedom in nineteenth-century America came with enormous challenges, especially for formerly enslaved people. Yet the legal transformation was profound and immediate.

The timing creates one of the most remarkable dimensions of the entire story. Reid helped create a monument called Freedom while enslaved. Before the monument was completed, he himself became free.

History occasionally produces symbolism so striking that it almost feels fictional. This is one of those moments. If it appeared in a screenplay, some viewers might accuse the writer of being too obvious. Yet the chronology is real and documented.

Work on the statue continued through 1862 and into 1863. Piece by piece, the bronze sections were completed. Once finished, they had to be transported to the Capitol and lifted into place atop the dome. This was a significant engineering challenge. The sections were enormous, heavy, and difficult to maneuver.

By late 1863, preparations were underway for the final installation. The Civil War still raged across the country. The Battle of Gettysburg had occurred only months earlier. Casualty lists filled newspapers. Families across the nation mourned lost loved ones. Yet in Washington, workers prepared to place the final section of the Statue of Freedom atop the Capitol.

The culmination arrived on December 2, 1863.

On that day, the final bronze section was raised into position above the dome. According to contemporary accounts, a signal flag was waved after the piece was secured. Artillery stationed around Washington responded with a salute. Soldiers and civilians observed the event from across the city. After years of planning, sculpting, casting, transporting, and assembling, the Statue of Freedom finally stood complete.

Today the figure rises approximately 288 feet above the east front plaza of the Capitol. She remains one of the most recognizable features of the building. Countless photographs, postcards, television broadcasts, and films have included her silhouette. Yet many of the people who admire the statue have never heard of Philip Reid.

That began to change in the twentieth century as historians and preservationists dug deeper into the statue’s history. Researchers examining Capitol records encountered Reid’s name repeatedly. Government documents preserved evidence of his role in solving the plaster-model problem. Payroll records confirmed his work at the foundry. Gradually, his contribution received greater recognition.

The Architect of the Capitol, which oversees preservation and operation of the Capitol complex, has played a major role in documenting Reid’s story. Historical materials published by the agency describe his contribution to the project and acknowledge his importance in the casting process. These records have helped ensure that Reid’s name remains connected to the monument he helped create.

Recognition also arrived in other forms. In the Capitol Visitor Center, a marble marker honoring Philip Reid was installed in Emancipation Hall. His story has appeared in books, museum exhibits, educational materials, and scholarly discussions about slavery, labor, and American memory. While he is still less widely known than many historical figures, he is no longer entirely hidden from history.

One of the challenges historians face when discussing Reid is balancing celebration with accuracy. Popular retellings sometimes oversimplify his role, suggesting he single-handedly created the entire Statue of Freedom. That claim goes beyond the evidence. The statue was the product of many people, including Thomas Crawford, Clark Mills, foundry workers, mold makers, engineers, and laborers.

At the same time, minimizing Reid’s contribution would be equally misleading. 

Historical records clearly show that he played an important role in overcoming a critical obstacle and participated directly in the statue’s production. The challenge is not deciding whether he mattered. The challenge is describing his role accurately while recognizing the collaborative nature of large-scale artistic and engineering projects.

In some ways, that makes the story even more powerful. History does not need exaggeration to be remarkable. Philip Reid does not need to be transformed into a lone genius who did everything himself. The documented facts are compelling enough. An enslaved craftsman possessed expertise that proved essential to one of the nation’s most important monuments. That achievement stands on its own.

The story also invites broader questions about whose contributions get remembered. Monuments often focus attention on the subjects they depict rather than the people who made them. Visitors admire statues without asking who cast the bronze. They photograph buildings without considering who laid the stone. Entire categories of workers can disappear from public memory despite being indispensable to the final result.

The Capitol itself provides numerous examples. Enslaved labor contributed to portions of its construction. Free Black workers, immigrant laborers, artisans, engineers, and craftspeople all left their mark on the building. For many years, those stories received relatively little attention compared to the political history associated with the site. More recent scholarship has worked to broaden that narrative.

That effort reflects a larger trend in historical research. Historians increasingly seek to understand not only presidents and lawmakers but also the workers, families, and communities whose lives intersected with major events. Rather than treating ordinary people as background characters, modern scholarship often places them at the center of the story.

Philip Reid fits perfectly within that approach. He was not a senator. He was not a general. He never held elected office. Yet his work became physically embedded in one of the most important buildings in the United States. More than 160 years later, visitors still look up at the result.

There is another layer to the story that makes it especially meaningful. The Statue of Freedom was completed during one of the darkest periods in American history. The nation was divided by war. Hundreds of thousands would die before the conflict ended. The future of the Union remained uncertain.

And yet, at that moment, a symbol of freedom was placed atop the Capitol by a workforce that included a man who had only recently gained his own freedom.

That does not erase the contradictions of the era. It does not solve the injustices that preceded it. History rarely provides endings that neat. What it does provide is a reminder that progress often emerges through the efforts of people whose names are nearly forgotten.

When tourists visit Washington today, they usually notice the dome first. The structure dominates the skyline and serves as one of the defining images of American government. Far above the crowds stands the bronze figure of Freedom, facing outward over the city.

Most people never get close enough to see the details of her helmet, shield, or sword. Fewer still know the story of Thomas Crawford, the sculptor who designed her but died before she was completed. Even fewer know the name Philip Reid.

Yet perhaps that is beginning to change.

Every time historians tell his story, every time a teacher includes him in a lesson, every time a visitor reads the marker in Emancipation Hall, another piece of forgotten history returns to public memory. The monument itself has not changed. The bronze remains exactly where workers placed it in 1863. What changes is our understanding of how it got there.

In the end, the story of Philip Reid is not simply about a statue. It is about skill, perseverance, recognition, and memory. It is about the countless people whose contributions become hidden beneath larger narratives. Most of all, it is about the strange and powerful irony that one of America’s most visible symbols of freedom owes part of its existence to a man who had to wait for his own freedom before he could fully claim the credit he deserved.

And if there is a moral to this story, it might be that history is often standing right in front of us, hidden in plain sight. Sometimes the most important figure in the story is not the one on top of the monument. Sometimes it is the person whose hands helped build it.

The Internet Says It’s True.

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