In 1818, James Postlethwaite — a 26-
year-old mathematically gifted Englishman
with no prospects or money, son of a poor
vicar at St. Gomonda-of-the-Rock in
Roche, Cornwall — boarded a ship bound
for New York.
A Royal Marine of low rank who had
re-enlisted the year before, he lived in Plymouth, near the naval base. When he first
joined the marines at age 16, James identified
his occupation as a “farm laborer.” He had
no formal education, and his father likely
had taught him at home. In 1814 at age 22,
he married Agnes Robins, who was six years
older; on their marriage certificate, Agnes
marked an “X” because she couldn’t write
her name. By the time James left England,
he and Agnes had two small children.
Despite his considerable intellectual
gifts, the best life that James could
hope for in England was the one he
already had: a dead end.
He decided to abandon England and pursue his dreams in
America. He left his wife and
two children destitute. He took
with him the informal education
his father had given him. He jettisoned everything, including his
name.
When James Postlethwaite
walked off that ship in New York City
in 1818, he was James Phillips, with no
accompanying family. The “new” James
also had a university degree and was a
scholar and gentleman, ready to open an
academy for boys in the promised land. On
his military record back in Plymouth, next to
his name was written the word “run,” which
means he was a deserter. Perhaps only in
America could a young Englishman, a
laborer with no money or formal education,
a military and family deserter, shed his class
and life so thoroughly. James transformed
himself into the man he obviously thought
he deserved to be.
In 1821, he married Julia Vermuele,
James Phillips
whose Dutch-American family in New
Jersey was well off. James was now a
bigamist. He did, indeed, start a private
school for boys in Harlem, and he began
publishing articles on mathematics. In
1825, a prominent mathematician recommended him for a position at a small university in the South: The University of
North Carolina was looking for someone
to be professor and chair of its math and
natural philosophy department. James was
offered the post, and he accepted.
Thus, through a complicated deceit, he
finally had achieved position and status. At
the time, UNC was made up of a handful
of professors, a rowdy bunch of male stu-
dents, four or five buildings and a lot of
mud. James transported his new family
to the village, where they moved into
the Widow Puckett’s house on East
Franklin Street. There they raised
Sam, Cornelia and Charles.
James was not a popular pro-
fessor. His UNC students com-
plained about his rudeness and
knew better than to ask him a
question in class. (One student
wrote that James acted like “a
malignant scoundrel” in class and
said the experience “left deep in
my mind the impression of his per-
fect contemptibility, and I henceforth
deem no revilings [sic] too severe.”)
James’ students were aware of his
naval knowledge and background from
Two churches in England, St. Gomonda-of-the-Rock at Roche and St. Peter’s Nevendon, show Richard Postlethwaite
among their rosters of rectors. He likely was responsible for his son James’ education in the home, which James par-
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November/December 2011
