Johns Hopkins

When most people hear the name Johns Hopkins, they think of hospitals, white coats, and maybe a university that sounds a little like a typo. But behind the name is a story worth telling—a story of grit, generosity, contradiction, and vision. Johns Hopkins was a man whose life shaped the very city he called home, and whose legacy continues to shape medicine, education, and philanthropy in America.

He was born on May 19, 1795, on a 500-acre tobacco plantation called White’s Hall in Anne Arundel County, Maryland. His family, strict Quakers of English and Welsh descent, had done well for themselves. Tobacco made men rich in early America, and the Hopkins family was no exception. But in 1807, everything changed. The Society of Friends declared that slavery was incompatible with their faith. Samuel Hopkins, Johns’ father, obeyed. The family’s slaves were freed, and with them went the household’s easy prosperity. Like many American sons at the dawn of the nineteenth century, young Johns was pulled from school and put to work. Life turned hard and lean, but the values that would define him—industry, thrift, and responsibility—took root in those fields.

At seventeen, Johns left the farm and traveled to Baltimore to apprentice under his uncle, Gerard T. Hopkins, a successful wholesale grocer. The city was bustling, the War of 1812 was stirring, and the young man quickly proved himself. When his uncle left town for several months to attend a Quaker meeting in Ohio, he left his business in the hands of his teenage nephew. Johns not only kept the business afloat—he improved it.

There was, of course, a love story tucked in there. Johns fell in love with his cousin Elizabeth. They wished to marry. But the Quaker community, strict as ever, forbade marriages between first cousins. Rather than defy the church, Johns and Elizabeth chose not to marry at all. They remained close for the rest of their lives. Johns never married another, and when he died, he left Elizabeth the house she lived in.

After a few more years with his uncle, the two quarreled over a very American issue: whiskey. Johns saw no harm in accepting corn whiskey as payment from farmers, and he sold it with great success under the label “Hopkins’ Best.” His uncle, more devout, would not abide it. They parted ways, though not without mutual respect—Uncle Gerard lent Johns ten thousand dollars to begin his own venture.

With a new partner, Benjamin Moore, Johns launched his first independent business. Moore, however, did not last long. He said Hopkins had an unquenchable thirst for profit, and left. From there, Johns teamed up with three of his brothers and created Hopkins Brothers Wholesalers. Their wagons traveled from Maryland to North Carolina, peddling dry goods and taking whiskey in trade.

Hopkins poured himself into business. He worked tirelessly, spent little on himself, never took a vacation, and avoided public life. By the time he retired in 1847 at the age of fifty-two, he was one of the wealthiest men in Baltimore. He had invested wisely in real estate, banks, warehouses, and—most significantly—the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad. He was not merely an investor. He was a director, then chairman of the finance committee, and eventually one of the men responsible for rescuing the B&O from financial disaster—twice.

Johns Hopkins was a creature of paradox. He was famously tight-fisted in private life. He lived modestly, dressed plainly, and shunned luxury. Yet he gave generously, often quietly. He bailed out the city of Baltimore more than once. He supported schools, hospitals, and causes that served the poor. He never sought recognition for it. He simply believed it was right.

During the Civil War, Hopkins stood firmly with the Union. Maryland was divided. Many wealthy men in Baltimore leaned toward the Confederacy. Hopkins did not. He hosted Union strategists at his summer estate, Clifton, and wrote directly to President Abraham Lincoln, urging him to keep troops stationed in Maryland and ignore the protests of secessionist judges like Roger Taney. He even offered the free use of his beloved B\&O Railroad for the Union cause.

For generations, Johns Hopkins was celebrated as a staunch abolitionist. He was remembered as a man ahead of his time—supporting schools for Black girls, founding orphanages for Black children, and promoting racial equality in the institutions he would create. But history, as it often does, took a turn. In 2020, new research suggested that Hopkins may have owned or employed enslaved people, citing census data from 1840 and 1850. It was a bitter revelation for a university that had long held him as a moral beacon. Some scholars disputed the findings. Others insisted that his legacy must now be seen in a different light. What remains clear is that Johns Hopkins lived through a time of moral turbulence, and like many Americans of his era, his actions do not always align neatly with the ideals he supported.

And yet, few can argue with what he built.

In 1870, three years before his death, Hopkins established two corporations: one to build a hospital, the other a university. He left $7 million in his will—by far the largest philanthropic gift in American history at that point—to fund them. He had no children. These institutions would be his heirs.

The Johns Hopkins University opened its doors in 1876. It was a radical idea: a university built not merely for teaching, but for research. Modeled on the German system, it prioritized discovery, scientific method, and graduate study. Under its first president, Daniel Coit Gilman, the university attracted leading minds in science, medicine, and the humanities. It was Gilman who famously said the university would “build men, not buildings.” That was fortunate, because the money for buildings ran dry when Hopkins’ railroad stock took a hit.

The hospital came next, in 1889, followed by the medical school in 1893. From the beginning, the Johns Hopkins medical institutions admitted women on the same basis as men—an unprecedented decision that came only after women donors, led by Mary Garrett, made their support conditional on equality.

Today, the institutions bearing his name span continents. The School of Advanced International Studies has campuses in Washington, D.C., Bologna, and Nanjing. The School of Medicine continues to rank among the best in the world. The hospital has treated millions. The public health school was the first of its kind. What began as the quiet dream of a Quaker bachelor has become a global force in science, medicine, and education.

Johns Hopkins died on December 24, 1873. He was buried at Green Mount Cemetery in Baltimore. He never saw the university or hospital open. He never gave a speech, never ran for office, and never sought the limelight. But he gave a city its mind and its heart.

In a nation that still struggles with its past and its promises, Johns Hopkins stands as a reminder that greatness is rarely simple. He was a product of his time and a force for change. He lived plainly, thought boldly, and gave generously. His legacy lives not only in the buildings and institutions that bear his name, but in the lives those institutions continue to touch.