On December 27, 1869, Julia Newberry wrote in her diary, “This is the last night I shall ever be fifteen.”
Less than six years later, the younger daughter and heiress to Chicago shipping magnate Walter L. Newberry was dead.
Julia’s untimely death in 1876 from diphtheria-like symptoms at age 22, unmarried and having borne no children, was the last of her father’s line. Julia’s father, Walter, had already died aboard a steamer ship en route to Europe in 1868; Julia’s older sister, Mary Louisa, died in 1874, and their mother’s death came not long after in 1885. Walter’s will stipulated that if his two daughters produced no heirs, the estate would be “devoted to the founding of an immense library, to be known as the ‘Newberry Library,’” as reported in The New York Times on December 8, 1868.
A widespread cultural assumption, past and present, is that a person's legacy is determined by their offspring. For most of recorded history, our identities, property, possessions, and wealth (if we had any), passed through bloodlines. But Julia Newberry, who wrote in her diary at 17 that she never “fancied herself in love,” and who ultimately never married or produced an heir, still lives on in the Newberry. Her memory endures in part because she was the daughter of a wealthy family that had the means to establish a library bearing her surname. But more compellingly, Julia Newberry’s story and voice survive because she recorded her daily life in a diary — and never had children. The Newberry Library wouldn’t exist if she had, and her diary might have been lost.
Anyone 14 or older in possession of a Reader’s Card at the Newberry Library can immerse themselves in Julia’s life and times. The heiress’s slanted script graces the pages of the leather diary, and even as the binding has fallen away, Julia’s words dance across the centuries. The pages hold the ordinary—the friends’ names, rainy days, parties, and sicknesses. Also, the not-so-ordinary—the travels to Paris, Geneva, and Naples; gifts of velvet bonnets, gold, and an eight-inch alligator that Julia laments having met “a most untimely death” a few weeks later.
What may seem tedious, superfluous, or even petty during one’s own time can become a historical record, and a delight, for future generations. Julia writes about books she’s liked and hated—Disraeli’s last novel “Lothaire & it is simply horrid!” On page 113, she records that Charles Dickens died last Friday June 9th. She details the early days of the Franco-Prussian War and the besieging of Paris in real time. Her most poignant writing describes the Chicago fire's destruction of her childhood home and possessions.
Decades after her death, on May 28, 1933, Anita Moffett celebrates the publication of Julia’s diary in The New York Times, calling it “A Diary of Unusual Interest.” But Julia’s own words in her diary tell a different story. On July 4, 1869 Julia writes, “If I were obliged to earn my living I might make a name for myself that will last, but situated as I am, it is more than likely that I shall live a comfortable life and die and be forgotten.”
Despite the luxuries and eight-inch alligators in her possession, Julia was just as afraid of being forgotten as the rest of us. The diary of Julia Newberry, mirroring the institution that preserves it, stands as a testament to our individual cultural importance. Writing in a diary is no longer a privilege of the wealthy and the leisured. When we write in a diary and save it, we build an archive that future generations—may it be our own offspring or someone else’s—can read, explore, and marvel at. Because, as Julia Newberry writes on July 4, 1867, “What a curious thing life is anyway.”
Lisa Weiss is the creator of Object Diaries, a methodology for creating narrative through objects. A three-time Emmy Award-winning producer and writer, she holds an MFA in Prose and Poetry from Northwestern University. She leads Object Diaries workshops at cultural institutions and in communities. Her next workshop is April 24 at The Newberry: Object Diaries: Writing through the Things We Keep. Sign up to explore how the things you keep unlock memory and story.