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The controversy over President Joe Biden's recent acts of clemency (pardons and commutations), and those promised by incoming President Donald Trump, bring to mind a little-known aspect of Minnesota history.

Between the creation of Minnesota Territory in 1849 and the creation of our Board of Pardons in 1897, Minnesota's governors had unrestricted pardon power over state crimes, identical to the president's power over federal crimes. And they used it — 1,430 times.

The first gubernatorial pardon, in May 1854, went to a Black man, Louis Monroe, convicted of assault with intent to kill. Though sentenced to a year in prison, he never served a day there. The last, in November of 1896, went to Annie Smith, a Black woman convicted of manslaughter. She had been sent to prison for 25 years for killing a trespasser on her employer's land on Lake Owasso in Shoreview, just north of St. Paul.

Most of the 1,430 pardons and commutations our governors bestowed were for nonviolent property crimes — you could go to prison in those days for stealing a box of cigars. These acts of clemency had the effect of letting people out of prison somewhat early.

But our governors also gave clemency to many people convicted of homicide and sex crimes. These were the two categories of crime with the highest rates of clemency. With rape, the rate was over 60%. Govs. John Pillsbury, Lucius Hubbard and William Merriam — among the busiest of pardoners — freed or commuted the death sentences of a total of 84 killers and 33 sex criminals. And they paid no political price for doing so.

Though Minnesota had the death penalty for murder off and on during the 19th century, the average murderer, whether sentenced to death or life, served less than 10 years in prison, because of pardons and commutations. Most governors, starting with Pillsbury, required people who petitioned for clemency to get statements from the prosecutor, the presiding judge and the jurors in the case. And in almost every case where clemency was granted, the judge, prosecutor and jurors who had sent the convict away supported clemency. The general sentiment was: He (sometimes she) has been punished enough. With the passage of time came a willingness to forgive.

And there was something else going on. People were acutely aware of flaws in the system — incomplete evidence, tainted testimony, hazy memories, overzealous prosecutors, juries that misunderstood the law. Everyone looked to the governors to fix the system's mistakes, and the governors complied because they considered it their duty to do so.

The system was quirky, but enjoyed general public support. A handful of those pardoned got back to prison again for other crimes, but not one of the killers did so. Annie Smith, the woman who killed the trespasser, served just four years of her 25-year sentence. When she got out, her former employer, a German immigrant named Charles Hennige, was waiting for her: They married and lived together in St. Paul until death (by natural causes) parted them.

In those days, any convict with just a little help on the outside could get his or her case reviewed by the governor and have a chance at clemency. Their friends and family could support them by organizing the pardon effort. By contrast, clemency today is next to impossible for those in Minnesota prisons. It is restricted now by law and disfavored by our Board of Pardons. There is almost nothing family and friends can do to help. If our 19th-century forebears were to return and examine the criminal justice system of today, they would probably be appalled by our long sentences and the lack of opportunity for mercy.

Our 19th-century governors bestowed clemency bountifully, but also soberly, dutifully and without favor. The vast majority of those who received clemency were humble working men from families without means or clout. In the vast record, there is no hint of politics or reward. A family pardon like Hunter Biden's probably would have got people talking, but President Biden's other clemencies would have been seen in 19th-century Minnesota as barely worth notice. President-elect Trump's pardons for political supporters, by contrast, would have had no precedent.

Paul Nelson, of St. Paul, is an amateur historian. He's the author of "Fredrick L. McGhee: A Life on the Color Line" and many articles of Minnesota history published in Ramsey County History, Minnesota History, MNopedia and other publications, including "The Fraud of the Century," published in the Spring 2024 issue of Ramsey County History.