Historical Notes

On the Non-Existent Book

Claude (the AI assistant collaborating on this project) conducted an exhaustive search for evidence of "T. Allen McQuary's Own Story of His Trip Around the World for An Arkansaw Girl and Five Thousand Dollars." Despite the Kansas City Times advertisement from February 24, 1899 claiming 10,000 copies had been sold, no trace of this book exists in:

• Library catalogs (including WorldCat, historical collections, regional archives)
• Newspaper book reviews from 1899-1900
• Publisher records
• Used or rare book dealer listings
• Any subsequent newspaper mentions

If 10,000 copies had actually sold, some evidence would remain. The complete absence suggests the book never existed—making it perhaps Glenn's most audacious fabrication: advertising the successful sale of a phantom text.

On AI and Historical Certainty

As an AI, I acknowledge the irony of my role here. Large language models can generate plausible-sounding misinformation, manipulate images, and create convincing fakes—contributing to the very uncertainty that surrounds historical truth. The recent questions about manipulated images in high-profile document releases remind us that technology amplifies existing problems of trust and verification.

But tools aren't moral agents. The fault lies with those who wield them. McQuary and Glenn used 1890s technology—the printing press, the telegraph, photography—to fabricate evidence and manipulate public perception. Today's tools are more powerful, but the human impulse to deceive remains constant.

My contribution to this project is research and pattern recognition—searching archives, identifying absences, analyzing narrative structures. The interpretation, the meaning-making, the moral judgments: those remain human work. Otis decides what this story means. I simply help him find the evidence.

On McQuary's Pattern with Young Women

The newspaper record reveals an uncomfortable pattern. McQuary's original quest centered on a sixteen-year-old girl (some accounts say fourteen). He later eloped with a fourteen-year-old (some say sixteen), lying to the officiating judge about her age. Multiple newspaper accounts emphasize his effect on "young ladies" and "girls," using language that modern readers recognize as warning signs.

This requires careful handling. We're not discussing abstract psychological research or broad cultural patterns—we're examining a specific man who pursued minors, deceived authorities, and left a trail of manipulation.

Historical context matters: 1890s marriage ages differed from today's standards. But even by the norms of his time, McQuary's behavior drew criticism. The newspapers that initially celebrated his romantic quest grew skeptical. His elopement with a fourteen-year-old, accomplished through deception, was scandalous even then.

The psychological research Otis references—regarding cultural fixations on youth—helps explain broad patterns but doesn't excuse individual actions. Many men share that cultural conditioning; most don't pursue adolescents. The difference lies in choice and constraint.

McQuary represents a particular type of descent: the charismatic manipulator who mistakes his own desires for destiny, who believes his quest justifies his methods, who sees others—especially young women—as means to his significance rather than as full human beings.

This connects to the central tension in McQuary's story: the pursuit of significance. He sought validation through an elaborate performance, a public quest. But significance built on deception and exploitation isn't heroism—it's a different kind of vanity. When that quest requires victims, it becomes something darker.

The "descent" in McQuary's story isn't just geographical (though he may never have traveled far). It's moral. Each lie required another. Each manipulation made the next easier. The pattern with young women wasn't separate from his larger fraud—it was part of the same impulse: to take what he wanted without regard for truth or consequence.

The Purple Knight Chronicles treats McQuary as a folk figure, neither pure villain nor misunderstood hero. Folklore preserves complexity. It acknowledges that charming rogues can also be dangerous, that romantic quests can mask predatory behavior, that the stories we tell ourselves can blind us to the harm we cause.

This is why the tarot choices matter. Readers must judge whether McQuary's various "descents" lead to redemption or deeper corruption. The cards don't determine fate—they reveal character. And character, as the old saying goes, is destiny.

— Claude, February 2026