If a friend says they’ll meet you on “Montgomery Avenue”, you better ask for more specifics. Do they mean the residential street in Gaithersburg, the short stretch of road in a North Bethesda industrial park, the street in Takoma Park near the Metro, or perhaps the Bethesda road with two-way separated bike lanes? They are all named Montgomery Avenue.

In these parts, the name "Montgomery" is as ubiquitous as crab cakes, rectangular pizza, and council members at community festivals. Schools, streets, parks, businesses, even the county seal sporting a fierce coat of arms—it's everything Montgomery. But here's the quirky twist: The Revolutionary War hero behind it all, General Richard Montgomery, likely never set one booted foot in the Old Line State. So why is everything around here named after a guy who never even visited? The Montgonion took a deep dive to find out.

From Irish Lad to Yankee Martyr: Meet the Man Who Never Made It South

Born on December 2, 1738, in the misty fields near Dublin, Ireland (or Raphoe, depending on who you ask—family lore gets fuzzy), Richard Montgomery was the picture of an ambitious young gent.

Richard Montgomery with autograph, 1775 engraving by unknown artist.

He breezed through Trinity College in Dublin before joining the British Army at 18, rising to captain during the Seven Years' War. Picture him dodging musket balls in the wilds of Canada and the Caribbean, capturing French forts like it was a weekend hobby.

But by 1772, weary of redcoat life, he resigned, sailed to New York, and wooed Janet Livingston—a feisty heiress from one of America's most connected families. Her brother was Robert R. Livingston, future signer of the Declaration of Independence and negotiator of the Louisiana Purchase.

When the Revolution ignited, Congress snapped Montgomery up as a brigadier general in July 1775. His star burned bright: Montgomery spearheaded the bold invasion of Canada, snagging Montreal in a lightning campaign that fall.

But on New Year's Eve 1775, at just 37, he met his end charging Quebec's icy walls alongside Benedict Arnold (pre-traitor days). A cannonball or musket shot—accounts vary—cut him down, turning him into an instant martyr. George Washington penned a heartfelt letter mourning him as "a gallant and worthy officer," and Congress decreed the nation's first official war memorial. Poets like Washington Irving swooned over his tale.

*The Death of General Montgomery in the Attack on Quebec, December 31, 1775*, John Trumbull, 1786

It seems everyone respected Richard Montgomery. His humane treatment of prisoners earned him fans on both sides of the battlefield, and the British gave him a hero's burial in Quebec's walls before shipping his remains home to New York in 1818 for a grand reinterment.

The Revolutionary Nod: How a Quebec Hero Hijacked Maryland's Map

Fast-forward to September 1776. Fresh off declaring independence, Maryland's delegates were redrawing county lines like kids with crayons. From Frederick County's edges, they sliced off a chunk and pondered a name. Enter Thomas Sprigg Wootton, who piped up: "How about Montgomery—for the general who just gave his life for the cause?"

Richard Montgomery probably isn’t studying a map of Maryland – he never visited the state. Full length engraving of Richard Montgomery by Alonzo Chappel (1828-1887)

The Constitutional Convention greenlit it on September 6, just months after his death, cementing the tribute before the ink on the Declaration was dry. No visits required—just pure, starry-eyed patriotism.

And oh, how the name proliferated! From that one vote, "Montgomery" sprouted like kudzu: county agencies, street signs, businesses, entire neighborhoods, even local breweries toasting the legacy. It's a reminder that heroes don't need to RSVP to steal the show.

Coats of Arms and Everyday Emblems: Spotting Montgomery in the Wild

Take a good look at the Montgomery County seal. It's a stylized nod to the Montgomery family heraldry: a bold red shield with crossed golden spears, topped by a helmet and that armored forearm gripping tight—symbols of vigilance from the general's Irish roots. The family's full crest includes a silver field for sincerity and red for warrior spirit—fitting for a guy who fought fair but fierce.

Coat of Arms of Montgomery County, Maryland, derived from the family arms of General Richard Montgomery.

The motto? "Gardez Bien," French for "Guard Well" (because why not mix languages for flair?). Officially adopted in 1976 for the bicentennial, it's splashed on everything from council chambers to police badges.

Stroll around looking for the name, and it's the county’s easiest scavenger hunt: Montgomery Knolls and Montgomery Hills in Silver Spring, or the master-planned utopia of Montgomery Village. Life begins at Montgomery Medstar and ends at Montgomery Hospice. If you ate too many Montgomery Donuts you’ve got Montgomery Dental Group on speed dial. Pick new flooring at Montgomery Tile and you can hire Montgomery Floor Service to do the installation. Car need attention? Gas up at Montgomery Mall Exxon or Montgomery Shell, get some Goodyears at Montgomery Tire Service, and clean it up at Montgomery Hills Car Wash—or buy something different in Gaithersburg at either Montgomery Used Auto Sales or Mr. Car of Montgomery. Need we go on?

School Spirit and Star Students: The General's Classroom Conquest

Nothing screams "legacy" like a high school named after you, especially when it's pumping out talent. Richard Montgomery High School in Rockville kicked off as Rockville High in 1892 but got the rename in the 1920s to double down on the county homage.

Richard Montgomery High School as seen today. Photo Credit: Montgomery County Public Schools

Today, "RM" kids rock those initials on hoodies, likely oblivious that they're channeling a far-off fallen general. The school's churned out heavy hitters: Grammy-winning singer Tori Amos, who traded piano lessons for piano anthems; Olympic swimmer Norman Bellingham; and NBA vet Will Allen, now an urban farming guru, just to name a few.

Zoom out, and Montgomery College's campuses buzz with community classes, while the whole Montgomery County Public Schools system—serving 160,000+ kids—keeps the name in parents’ chatter daily. It's education with a side-history hack.

The Ultimate Plot Twist: Hero Everywhere, Here... Nowhere?

In the end, Montgomery County's a love letter to a ghost: You sue in the Montgomery County Circuit Court, snag a degree from Montgomery College, dial up Montgomery County 311, or hop a Montgomery Ride On—all saluting a dude who froze in Quebec, not frolicked in Foxhall.

And get this: He's not just Maryland's phantom. Thirteen U.S. counties—from Pennsylvania to Iowa—bear his name, plus cities like Montgomery, Alabama (the county there? That's for a different Montgomery—just a little confusing!). New York's got one too, near his old farm.

Richard Montgomery is the ultimate absentee landlord of American place names. Next time you spot his moniker, tip your hat to the Irish import who conquered hearts without conquering the Chesapeake. Who needs boots on the ground when you've got eternity on the signs?

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