A Seven-Dollar Handshake from 1886

“The decree does direct the costs of the suit to paid out of the estate of John Gwinn to the plaintiffs Laban & Brackenridge – So I must look to you for my fees & you have recourse on the estate -“

Come on in and pull up a chair, friends. I’ve found something special in the archives today that takes us right back to a summer morning in Lewisburg, West Virginia. It’s a short, honest letter written by Jonathan Mays, the Clerk of the Greenbrier Circuit Court, on July 7, 1886. He was writing to a man named Laban Gwinn about a bill for seven dollars and forty-five cents. It seems there was a bit of a mix-up regarding who should pay the court fees for a case involving the estate of John Gwinn. While the court said the money should eventually come out of the estate, Mr. Mays had to follow the strict letter of the law, which meant charging the folks he did the work for first. He was essentially telling Laban, ‘Pay me now, and you can get your money back from the estate later.’

This piece of paper has held up remarkably well over the last hundred and thirty-eight years. It is a single sheet of off-white paper that still feels sturdy, featuring a tidy, pre-printed letterhead from the Clerk’s Office. You can see where Mr. Mays dipped his pen into black ink, his handwriting flowing across the page with a few little marks where he went back to fix a word here or there. Those fold lines tell us this letter was tucked away in a pocket or an envelope, carried through the dusty streets of Lewisburg long ago. It is a tangible piece of the past that you can almost feel the weight of in your hands.

When we look at a document like this, we’re seeing more than just a bill; we’re seeing the gears of history turning. In 1886, West Virginia was still a relatively young state, and the legal systems were the backbone of order in these mountain communities. For Laban and his brother Brackenridge, this was likely just one more headache in settling their family’s affairs, but for us, it’s a window into the daily lives of our ancestors. It shows that even back then, people had to navigate the ‘red tape’ of the law and manage their household budgets just like we do today.

It is funny how a small request for payment can bridge the gap between generations. This letter reminds us that history isn’t just made of grand battles or famous speeches; it’s made of seven-dollar fees, family responsibilities, and the steady work of a clerk doing his job. It reminds us that we all leave a paper trail behind, and that every little note we write might one day tell our story to someone sitting in a quiet room, a century or more into the future. It is a gentle nudge to remember that our everyday lives are the history of tomorrow.

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