Bella’s Bookshelf

The Great Train Robbery of Hillsboro

2020-11-25T13:00:00.001-08:00

The phrase “train robbery” evokes an image of callous desperadoes raiding the midnight train for its valuables, perhaps stripping the riders of their money or holding up the conductor until the cash was gathered. John Barnes of Fairfax had a much different motive than greed. The infamous Highland County train robber stole the entire B&O passenger train to get to his date on time.

In September 1919, 30-year-old Barnes had plans to meet a young lady in Newark, Ohio at her home for a Sunday evening rendezvous, and he had no intentions of being anything but punctual.

Unfortunately, the B&O passenger train in Hillsboro was not running. All the train’s passengers and crew had taken off for lunch, and only the cleaning man was left to sweep up in the train cars. Barnes inquired when the locomotive would be running, and the man informed him that it would not move until 2:50 p.m.

Barnes was frustrated, as he would be late for his date. Instead, he took matters into his own hands.

When he was younger, Barnes had worked on a similar train, so he was familiar with the mechanisms of the B&O passenger train. In order not to leave his lady waiting, he hopped into the cab and prepared the train to leave the station.

The cleaning man had since left for the station. Upon looking back and realizing the train was moving, the man raised the alarm that the locomotive had been hijacked. A car chase was taken up to try and stop the train, but Barnes pushed full-steam ahead.

Unfortunately for Barnes, the speed at which he was going used up all of the steam, and in an anticlimactic end to his journey, he ran out of fuel and slowed to a stop. Barnes hopped off and started upon his journey, this time by foot.

Barnes was shocked when he was chased down and thrown into the county jail by the posse following closely behind.

He never made it to his date.

Once in court, Barnes claimed he saw nothing wrong with his actions. He had been mildly intoxicated during the event.

The train company didn’t press charges. However, the court diagnosed Barnes as suffering from an acute attack of insanity and sentenced him to the state asylum in Athens. He died there many years later.

And thus was the end to the wild tale of John Barnes and the great train robbery of Hillsboro.

Robert McKimmie: The Notorious Outlaw You've Never Heard Of

2020-11-25T12:53:00.001-08:00

“Was he good or bad? He was some fellow, that much you could be sure of,” – Judge Louis M. Day once said of Robert “Reddy” McKimmie.

There has likely never has there been such a figure of controversy in Highland County than McKimmie. Some viewed him as a scoundrel and a crook, but others insisted he was the victim of circumstance and history has painted him the villain. The story of McKimmie has been embellished over the years through legend and folklore, but the following account is what is believed to be the story of Southern Ohio’s own Jessie James.

His story begins in 1855, when McKimmie was born the illegitimate son of Rosie McKimmie and Charles Richards. McKimmie’s parents had plans to marry, but when Rosie became pregnant, Charles left her abruptly. Unprepared for life as a single mother, young Rosie gave her newborn to her married sister to raise.

Robert, or “Bob,” as he was sometimes called, was an exuberant and mischievous boy. By all accounts, his childhood was a lighthearted and carefree one, and friends recall fond memories of cavorting through the countryside and forests. He was particularly fond of the former Seven Caves area, where he explored the secret caverns and grottos.

Lean, red-haired Robert was a charming and honest boy, beloved by all. When he was 14, he went to Columbus to enlist in the army. For two years, his aunt waited in Rainsboro, oblivious to her nephew’s affairs. Then she received a letter containing $50 and a note which explained Robert’s discharge from the army and his new job — selling cattle in Kansas. He assured her that he would someday return a rich man.

In 1877, Robert made good on his promise. The town of Rainsboro welcomed him with open arms, eager to hear the great tales of his time in the West. In Rainsboro, Robert met and married the town heartthrob, Clara Ferguson. Robert purchased property in Rainsboro and opened a general store. He enjoyed showing off his newfound fortune and entertaining the customers of his store. Life was good for Robert. He was the perfect family man and an upstanding citizen, until one man rode into town and his newly-built life came crashing down.

In Deadwood, South Dakota, Seth Bullock had heard the rumors of the successful Rainsboro businessman, flaunting his wealth and sharing stories of the American West. Word had spread about the wealthy Rainsboro man, and Sheriff Bullock had a hunch that Robert was not who he claimed to be.

The real story began when Robert was not discharged from the army, but actually deserted his post. To escape, the 14-year-old boy stole a horse and shot down the rider. Robert was caught and sent to the Utah Penitentiary. This should have been the end of his story, but one year later he beat a guard to death with an iron bar and escaped.

His thirst for crime far from quenched, he joined a gang of infamous outlaws known as the Black Hills Bandits. Sam Bass and Joel Collins, notorious criminals, trained Robert
as they traveled the Wild West holding up stagecoaches and trains. It was there that Robert earned the nickname “Little Reddy from Texas.”

Robert participated in the Cheyenne and Black Hills stage robbery in 1877, but faced backlash from the rest of the gang when he impulsively shot and killed the stagecoach driver, Johnny Slaughter. Even among the Wild West’s most ruthless villains, Robert was too impulsive and violent for organized crime.

During his time with the Black Hills Bandits, Robert became especially close with the gang’s only female member, a woman called “The Kid.” Rumor has is the two may have had a romantic relationship. When The Kid heard of another gang member’s plans to kill Robert, she immediately told him, and the two made off with the cash the gang had stolen from the stagecoaches. They hopped a train to St. Louis with $12,000 in stolen funds, where they separated, The Kid taking $1,000 with her to start a new life. Robert, $11,000 richer, returned to Rainsboro, to all appearances a successful businessman.

The citizens of Rainsboro, oblivious to McKimmie’s devious schemes, were shocked when Sheriff Bullock of Deadwood sent “Little Reddy” to the county jail in 1878. Many friends, customers and family members begged the sheriff to release him, but to no avail. Robert was held in the county jail for several days under constant surveillance.

But the infamous Little Reddy was no stranger to daring prison escapes. While the sheriff was out of town, he placed his father in charge of watching the cell. The elderly man went to replenish the outlaw’s coal box when Robert brandished a smuggled pistol at the man. As he fled, the man was able to shoot Robert in a hand hand, taking the middle finger off clean.

After escaping yet another prison, Robert’s loyal friends smuggled him into their homes while the county searched high and low for the notorious bandit. Robert was able to stay in Rainsboro for a week or two, but when the police searched the house he was hiding in, it became apparent that it was time to make a break for it. Robert’s friends purchased him black dye to conceal his fiery red hair and one friend went so far as to cut off his own mustache to give to Robert as a disguise.

Robert boarded a train for Virginia, where he met Clara and set off for a new life. They lived in Virginia, North Carolina and Georgia, but they finally settled in Nassau, Bermuda. For a while the two lived in peace, but soon the money ran out. Robert, unable to pay for he and his wife’s board, was thrown into prison for debt. When he was released, he left Clara to return to Ohio, where he planned to make his money to return to Bermuda.

When he arrived back in Rainsboro, however, he returned to his old habits. He gathered a gang of friends and together they robbed houses, held up stores and banks, and even once tortured residents of a house until they told where the valuables were stored. While he plundered his hometown, he returned to a place he knew since childhood — the Seven Caves. He found a remote cave, known for many years as McKimmie’s Cave, and made his hideout. Legend has it that a portion of Robert’s gold is still hidden in the cave today.

While Robert hid in caves, famous detective John T. Norris was slowly tracking down his friends and throwing them in the county jail. His accomplices were tight-lipped, but Norris knew their wives would know something. One of the ladies broke down during interrogation, as she had been dining with stolen silverware. Around that time, the house of one of the imprisoned men was spewing smoke from its fireplace. Suspicious, a neighbor notified the police, whom immediately realized that Robert was inside.

Eyewitness accounts of the event describe a mob of angry citizens demanding his surrender. When Robert attempted to take a hostage, his plan was foiled and bullets grazed his body as he tried to escape. Finally, Norris was able to place Robert under the strictest security measures a Highland County jail had ever seen. Robert tried another getaway, but this time it was foiled. Robert was extradited to a Columbus jail and served a full 14-year term before being released.

Believe it or not, the story doesn’t end there. As if murder, robbery and daring escapes were not enough for one lifetime, Robert also had an esteemed career under a new name in the West. He was said to have served in the Spanish American War with the Rough Riders, where he befriended Teddy Roosevelt, whom was impressed by his horsemanship. Friends of Robert recalled that Roosevelt appointed him Territorial Governor of Oklahoma, although records do not substantiate that claim. Historians reported that he moved to Texas, where he is believed to have taught Sunday school and opened a dry goods store. He is said to have died in Texas with an estate worth $1 million, an amount equivalent to more than $25 million today.

William W. Williams: From Delivery Boy to Successful Manufacturer

2020-10-09T12:49:00.000-07:00

Facing the Paranormal: an interview with Father Mike Paraniuk

2020-10-06T12:45:00.000-07:00

Hiking Highland County: A Guide to Exploring Southern Ohio

2020-10-01T12:38:00.000-07:00

Advertising Through the Ages

2020-09-07T19:34:00.000-07:00

Nearly every product that can be marketed since the 19th century has been designed to catch the eye of the consumer and ensnare their interests in hopes of securing a purchase. Looking back, there have been some questionable ads, founded in some less-than-concrete claims. There have been medicine ads recommending cure-alls to every ailment imaginable and fashion and beauty ads, declaring reasonable prices for quality attire. There have even been transportation, food, livestock, and movie ads, all supporting local businesses.

In the 1800s, the main marketing strategy for newspaper ads seemed to be sporadically announcing sales with eye-catching titles. In fashion, claims of new trends came with nearly every edition of the paper.

One line from September of 1886 announced, “There is a new fashion of wearing ribbons around the neck with the ends almost falling to the feet,” while subtly advertising ribbons and lace on the same page.

Medicines were another common advertisement. One announced, “Dr. John Bull’s Tonic Syrup will cure fever, aches, chills and all malarial diseases!” along with the super-comforting claim, “contains no chloroform.”

Along with professionals and doctors, ads used testimonies from “customers” of the product, like one 1892 ad that read, “Rev. C. F. Brooks says his little girl is in trouble with malaria very severely, and that since he gave her Sulphur Bitters, he never thinks of leaving New York for his summer resort without a few bottles, for they always cure his family, and are far superior to quinine.”

The early 1900s saw many of the same types of ads, but one change was in the fashion section, where women’s clothing shifted dramatically from corsets and gowns to simpler fashion staples such as blouses and skirts. The main shift in advertisements was the transportation industry. The arrival of early cars caused a stir and a brand new wave of ads dedicated to the engines that were taking the world by storm.

Perhaps the most interesting era of marketing was the 1950s and 1960s. Page upon page of the newspaper is filled to the brim with ads of the newest innovations. Refrigerators, stoves, dishwashers, washing machines, and other new luxury items made a splash in local newspapers. Fashion pages declared new sales for every holiday and occasion, and new medicines claimed cures for common diseases or lotions and balms that would beautify the user.

These days, an online website has just as many ads as an old newspaper. Granted, the content is much different than the days where the majority of the ads were for livestock feed and tonics with mysterious ingredients. Advertisements can be a helpful indicator of the lifestyle of local Highland County citizens. It’s very clear looking back through all the fashion, food, medicine, agriculture, and commerce ads that the early Ohioans were passionate about supporting local businesses.

The 1918 Spanish Flu in Highland County

2020-08-25T19:29:00.000-07:00

As the world deals with the new reality of living amongst the COVID-19 virus, it is hard not to think back to the last time a pandemic occurred in Ohio. More than a century ago the 1918 pandemic killed 50 million people worldwide and changed the face of modern medicine forever. In Highland County, the 1918 “Spanish flu” or “The Grip” had some notable parallels to the current pandemic.

The first instance of the flu in Ohio back then likely came from soldiers coming back from World War I. The men happily returned from Europe, bringing the deadly virus to their wives and children back in America. The result was a massive pandemic even reaching to Highland County, where overwhelmed citizens panicked as their friends and family became ill.

There were numerous waves to the 1918 H1N1 pandemic. The first was very mild and resulted in very few deaths. The second wave, however, had symptoms that were actually very similar to COVID-19 — coughing, fever, and occasional gastrointestinal disturbances were observed. The second wave of influenza targeted healthy, younger adults, turning the skin blue and filling their lungs with fluid until they died only hours or days after showing symptoms.

In just one year, the U.S. life expectancy plunged a dozen years.

The local papers at the time printed a lot of misinformation about the flu. Some newspapers pointed fingers at the Germans, suggesting they created and distributed the virus using U-boats. In the earlier months, some people didn’t take the disease seriously. Dr. Gordan Henry Hirshburg, an optimistic journalist from Cincinnati, wrote: “Fortunately, our enormous progress in medicine and our material resources for combating disease give assurance that no plague epidemic of such magnitude as those of the past can occur in America at the present time.”

Unfortunately for Hirshburg, this line would prove to be wildly inaccurate.

In Highland County, local doctors were overwhelmed with patients. Barrett’s Mill in Rainsboro was used as an emergency hospital as beds filled with young men, women, and children. Highland County’s Doctor Boyd took charge of the scene, treating the flu victims and enacting quarantine measures for others.

In Cincinnati, orders for public gatherings to shut down contributed to the slow of the disease. Suspected carriers of the influenza virus were isolated and asked to remain home for an indefinite amount of time. For the most part, Cincinnati and the state of Ohio dealt with the 1918 flu better than most American cities. The exact death count of both Ohio and Highland County is unknown but is estimated to be significantly less than other U.S. cities such as Philadelphia and New York City, both of which were hit hard by the pandemic.

When the pandemic was over in the United States, families all over the country were devastated by the loss of family members and friends. Despite the tragedy, scientists and health organizations learned a lot from studying the strains of the virus that caused the disease and it helped them prepare for outbreaks in the future.

Then and Now: Masks in 1918

2020-08-21T19:23:00.000-07:00

In 1918, a raging influenza pandemic had grasped the nation. Around the country, organizations urged citizens to wear protective masks, open windows and doors, and stay home when possible. Sound familiar? Americans in 2020 are dealing with the same challenges from more than 100 years ago.

Just like mask mandates for COVID-19, protective measures had to be taken in 1918 in most American cities to prevent further spread of the virus. According to the one Cincinnati doctor, “Army doctors have found the ‘gauze face mask’ very useful in preventing infection.”

Although not as wide spread as the 2020 COVID-19 pandemic, masks in 1918 were still an important part of the public health’s response to influenza. Public spitting in streets was also outlawed in some states. Other practices included the closing of businesses, especially those that involved high contact between customers and owners.

Mask mandates were set in place around the country, some more strongly enforced than others. In San Francisco, a fine of $5 was charged to non-compliant citizens and violators were charged with disturbing the peace. The same fine today would be equivalent to more than 85 dollars. This San Francisco law eventually led to the creation of the Anti-Mask League, a group of angry business owners and citizens uncomfortable with the city ordinances.

To most citizens, wearing a mask was an act of patriotism. With so many soldiers having just returned from World War I, the Red Cross and government officials framed mask wearing as a way to protect troops from the viral attack. A sense of duty accompanied every citizen who wore a mask. As one Red Cross public service announcement said, “Every man, woman, or child who does not wear a mask is a dangerous slacker.”

Not everyone wore his or her masks for the right reasons. Upper class ladies used sheer, mesh masks as fashion accessories to flaunt their wealth and style. The material of the masks was hardly effective in preventing disease, but this way they would not be fined for failure to wear a mask. Other people poked holes in their masks so they could smoke. The effectiveness of masks was both under-researched and under-reported in 1918. The public’s knowledge of the virus and its transmission methods was lacking, resulting in a higher spread of influenza.

Over a century ago, the 1918 pandemic, what some called the “The Spanish Flu” and others “The Grip” changed the face of modern medicine forever. In Highland County, the disease some notable parallels to the current pandemic in 2020.

The first instance of the flu in Ohio likely came from soldiers coming back from the war. The men happily returned from Europe, bringing with them the deadly virus to their wives and children back in America. The result was a massive pandemic even reaching to Highland County, where overwhelmed citizens panicked as their friends and family became ill.

There were numerous waves to the 1918 H1N1 pandemic. The first was very mild and resulted in very few deaths. The second wave, however, had symptoms that were actually very similar to COVID-19. Coughing, fever, and occasionally gastrointestinal disturbances were observed. The second wave of influenza targeted healthy, younger adults, turning the skin blue and filling their lungs with fluid until they died only hours or days after showing symptoms. In just one year, the U.S. life expectancy plunged a dozen years.

In the end, the pandemic lasted more than two years, the worst of it coming in the fall of 1918. By the end of 1920, the flu had infected more than 500 million people, about one-third of the world’s population. The impact of the virus can still be seen today in the health care advances brought on by the tragedy. Today we can look back at the 1918 pandemic and learn some important lessons for facing COVID-19.

Sarah Dorney Stroup: The Lost Girl

2020-08-06T19:14:00.001-07:00

On a rainy April day in 1856, a small girl, no older than two, was left at the Hillsboro Train Station. Strangers bustled around and paid her no attention as they boarded the train. The wide-eyed, sandy-haired toddler, dressed in strangely lavish clothing, stood alone in the crowd. Her name was Sarah Dorney.

Dorney’s story begins somewhere in England, where the woman claiming to be her mother boarded a boat and set sail for America. Ellen Dorney was a widow as well as a mother to both a boy named Wystan and, supposedly, Sarah. Ellen came to America in search of her sisters, Mary and Margaret, whom she wished to live with in Hillsboro. Once in Hillsboro, Ellen was furious to find that Margaret had moved to Indiana.

As Ellen was boarding a train, she announced to the conductor and all of the passengers gathered at the station: “Whoever wants this child can have her! I don’t want to be bothered anymore.” She pushed the toddler away and was never seen again.

Four Hillsboro women from St. Mary’s Episcopal Church heard of Dorney’s abandonment. The wives of William Scott and Roger Smith as well as Eliza Jane Thompson and Alice Shanks took Dorney under their wings. Together they hired the widow Bessie Jones Harper to take care of Dorney at her home, and the others would pitch in with clothing the girl by sewing her dresses.

Dorney was taken care of, but she had to do her share of work as well. It was common for children, especially orphans, to be put to work outside the home to make enough money for the family. Seven-year-old Dorney worked at the sprawling mansion of General Charles Sheif and his elderly mother Clarissa. Dorney did not enjoy being away from home. Night after night she cried for “Mrs. Harper” and was eventually taken back to Bessie’s house, where she worked for her keep.

Dorney was a bright, hardworking student. She and Bessie Harper were very close, and Dorney became like a daughter to the widow. When Bessie Harper decided to move to Indianapolis, Dorney went with her. In Indiana, the two had a rich and happy life together. According to Dorney, her days in Indianapolis were full of adventure and excitement. As Sarah would later recall, she shook hands with nine governors and four presidents.

When Dorney was only 10 years old, tragedy struck. Bessie Harper was struck and killed by a train in Cincinnati. Dorney’s four “godmothers” from Hillsboro heard of this accident, and Dorney was sent back to Ohio, to the James Stroup family farm in Dodsonville. Dorney moved into the large, rural estate and cooked and cleaned the house.

Dorney found love and happiness on the Stroup farm. Young Dorney fell in love with John Stroup, the son of her employer. John was a widower with a daughter, Eldora. Dorney was 15 when she married John in 1869. John was a tall, thin outdoorsman and a gentle and kind husband. Dorney and her stepdaughter Eldora reportedly got along well. John purchased land in Danville, Ohio, and they settled down. Dorney referred to her marriage to John as “the happiest 37 years of my life”.

While Sarah Dorney Stroup lived happily ever after on her family’s successful farm, she still had questions about her past. Meanwhile in Hillsboro, a retired professor formerly from Bath, England, heard her story. Professor Isaac Ishmael Sams set out to discover Dorney’s true identity.

There were several clues to her origins, but the fact that Dorney had silky blonde hair, striking blue eyes, and dainty features was most apparent. Her “mother,” Ellen, was most likely her nurse, Sams and Dorney speculated. Sams theorized that Dorney was actually English nobility, kidnapped from her home and taken to America as a child to prevent her from inheriting royal status. Her facial features and expensive dress, lack of resemblance to Ellen Dorney, and the time period of her abandonment make this theory plausible. Dorney tracked down Ellen’s sisters in Indiana but learned that Ellen had moved to Missouri, and no one had heard from her. The clues to Dorney’s past were still hidden, but she continued to look for them throughout her adult life.

Dorney and John had a daughter together named Harriet. Sarah also adopted a 17-month-old boy who had been abandoned, whom she named Charles.

Later in life, Charles left to fight in World War I but went missing in Europe before ever seeing action, and Dorney never heard from him again.

Sarah Dorney Stroup lived with her daughter Harriet in her final years, reflecting on her past and always trying to figure out who she was. She died in 1942, the mystery of her family and true identity a mystery to this day.

Highland County's Black Widow

2020-08-03T19:09:00.000-07:00

Not only does the black widow spider bite quickly and deliver a deadly toxin, but the female black widow is also known for killing her partner. This phenomenon is why women who kill their spouses or lovers are known as black widows — just like the spider for which they are named, they are said to be poised, calculating and lethal.

One lady fitting the description of a black widow was Highland County resident Dorcie Campbell. She and her husband Andrew lived in the Enchanted Hills neighborhood near Rocky Fork Lake. Neighbors and friends noticed the husband and wife seemed to “get along well,” and Dorcie’s reputation was “generally good”. The Campbells had children and grandchildren, lived a comfortable life, and seemed to be a normal family.

On November 6, 1975, 53-year-old Dorcie was home alone. She had just received a call letting her know that her uncle had passed away and was feeling unwell because of the news. Andrew was at a neighbor’s house, and when he returned, he was intoxicated — an autopsy later revealed that his blood alcohol content level was .15 percent.

“He acted like a wildman,” Dorcie told police. Andrew became angry about that night’s dinner. The two argued about uncooked chicken until the bickering escalated to violence.

During Dorcie’s interrogation, police learned that Andrew threatened to “beat her brains out” with a shoe. Dorcie responded by threatening to “shoot him between the eyes.” Andrew then began cursing at her, which infuriated Dorcie. She retrieved her 32-20 revolver from her bedroom and returned to the kitchen where Andrew sat. She told him if he cursed at her one more time, she would pull the trigger. Andrew didn’t heed her warnings, and Dorcie fired at her husband in a moment of rage, hitting Andrew in the chest. The bullet passed partially through his heart as well as the kitchen table.

After the shooting, Dorcie called 911 and shouted from her porch to neighbors. First responders arrived at the scene and attempted to save the fallen husband’s life, but it was clear that Andrew’s injuries were fatal.

Reportedly, Dorcie was shaking and very agitated. She was also intoxicated, testing later showing her blood alcohol content to be .12 percent.

Through cross-examination on the stand, friends admitted Dorcie sometimes became aggressive when she drank.

Ultimately, Dorcie was convicted and charged with 15 years to life in prison after 6 hours of deliberation. Dorcie’s attorney attempted to appeal in 1977, but the judge upheld the original conviction.

The contentious case caused an uproar throughout the Rocky Fork region and all of Highland County.

Joseph B. Foraker: An Unlikely Hero

2020-07-30T19:03:00.001-07:00

Highland County has perhaps never seen such a brave soldier, politician and activist as Joseph B. Foraker.

Born in rural Rainsboro in 1846 to Henry and Margaret Foraker, young Joseph grew up on a comfortable homestead. At an early age, he developed a passion for politics as a staunch Republican and supporter of presidential candidate Abraham Lincoln. He attended rallies and marches with pro-Lincoln groups such as the Wide Awakes.

At age 16, Foraker enlisted in the Union army. He saw action in the Civil War a number of times, accompanying General William T. Sherman on his March to the Sea. Bu June of 1865, he had become a captain. He was only 19.

After his military days, Foraker pursued his passion for politics and law. He enrolled in the Salem Academy at Ohio Wesleyan University. He later studied law at Cornell University in Ithica, New York, becoming a member of Cornell’s first graduating class in 1869. Once out of college, Foraker set out to start his own law practice in the up-and-coming city of Cincinnati.

In 1879, Foraker first tried his hand at Ohio politics. He was elected as a judge in the Cincinnati Superior Court. He attempted to run for governor in 1883 but was defeated by the Democratic candidate, George Hoadly. Finally, in 1885, Foraker became governor of Ohio. During his term, he enacted policies to prevent voter fraud, approved a law that taxed alcoholic beverages, and established a state board of health. He was elected to a second term but failed to secure a third.

Foraker married Julia A. P. Bundy in 1870. They had five children. By all accounts, Julia was a supportive and loving wife.

Foraker also held the position of Ohio senator from 1897 to 1909. As a senator, he supported the Spanish-American War and most political policies of President William McKinley. Although Foraker identified as Republican, he frequently voted with his morals instead of with his political affiliation. He was the only Republican to vote against the Hepburn Act of 1906, a policy that would strictly regulate railroads.

Foraker was a man of morals and strict abolitionist beliefs. In one incident known as the Brownsville Affair, 126 African American soldiers camped outside of a rural town in Texas. During the night, a white bartender was shot to death and a police officer was wounded. Despite no evidence pointing towards the regiment, President Theodore Roosevelt dishonorably discharged the men. Foraker was furious. He strongly believed in the innocence of the men and made his thoughts known.

During the 1907 Gridiron Dinner, Roosevelt stood and gave a speech of humorous comments and small talk before dinner, defending his actions during the Brownsville Affair and poking fun at Foraker for his political views. Although it was not permitted, Foraker stood and challenged the president’s stance and spoke for racial justice amidst dozens of high-ranking political officers. Roosevelt was shocked and humiliated.

According to the Washington Post, Foraker, “gave the president the plainest talk he had probably ever listened to.” Roosevelt biographer Morris stated that “Never before, at the Gridiron or anywhere else, has a president been challenged before an audience.”

It seemed that Roosevelt held a grudge. He encouraged other political leaders to speak out against Foraker and contributed to his “banishment” from the world of politics. Foraker was so ostracized that he failed to secure the nomination for Republican candidate for president.

The final nail in the coffin for Foraker was his involvement with the Standard Oil Company. He served as a lawyer for the company and exchanged many letters with the huge enterprise throughout his career, but going into the 1900s, government involvement with private companies was frowned upon and highly suspicious to the general public. Roosevelt’s dislike for Foraker was apparent to all, and as Roosevelt gained popularity, dislike for Foraker grew. His career had been successfully put out by Roosevelt, all for speaking his mind on controversial racial issues.

Foraker died in 1917, a year after releasing his memoir, “Notes of a Busy Life.”

His impact on history is apparent. His controversial opposition to Roosevelt’s dealings in the Brownsville Affair was a bold and admirable move in the fight for racial justice. In 1972, the soldiers at Brownsville were officially pardoned and the record changed to classify their discharge as honorable.

Governor Foraker Place, which runs behind the Highland County Courthouse in Hillsboro, is named for him.

The Friday Club

2020-07-01T18:57:00.000-07:00

The year was 1890, and Highland County was a place of antiquated elegance. Ladies in their delicate lace petticoats and parasols paraded through the streets of downtown Hillsboro amid bustling horses and carriages. Men in their coats and hats jaunted merrily to their workplaces. The world was at peace. Benjamin Harrison was in office, the financial panic of 1873 had faded from the minds of Americans, and whispers of a new invention known as the automobile spread through the streets of small-town America.

One Friday in 1890, several young ladies met for tea on Marilou Mathew’s home on Willow Street. That day, a decision was made by the women to transform the social balance of the time. They wouldn’t stand for the way Hillsboro ladies were treated anymore, and they set out to change the status quo.

From that pivotal moment on, the meetings grew to include dozens of other ladies. Their mission was simple — elevate the education, opportunities, and etiquette of Highland County women. The club members spent their days reading the classics, playing music, writing poetry, and studying Shakespeare. Their husbands were tolerant of the “Friday Club,” as it became known, as most figured it wouldn’t last a month, and that their wives would return to their homemaking. The town men often joked about the Friday Club, equating it to nothing more than a glorified gossip circle.

As the years went on, the Friday Club became increasingly organized. Programs were neatly scripted for all members, complete with a full itinerary and noted speakers. They raised money for community events, including the creation of the Lynchburg Public Library. It was as if the town men’s cynicism fueled the club’s success. The club, though frowned upon, was booming, and the women of Hillsboro had never been so educated. In fact, famous members of the Friday Club included Mother Eliza Jane Thompson of the temperance movement. Perhaps her crusade against liquor was inspired by these Friday rendezvous. Another figure of significance is Dorothy Hodson, a Hillsboro leader and member of the Highland County Historical Society Hall of Fame.

The Friday Club lasted much longer than initially anticipated by the town men. Throughout the years, the women worked to improve themselves and their town. During World War I, the club knit clothing for soldiers. Even the fine ladies in all their sophistication did not protest when they were forced to wear their old dresses instead of buying newer gowns for the season. The 1918 minutes noted: “The ladies are donning their old left-overs so comfortable and ready these war times.” With the extra money saved, the club members bought U.S. War Bonds to support troops overseas.

The Friday Club celebrated its 100th anniversary in 1990 and is still going strong today. One hundred and thirty years of women’s empowerment, education, and community action have come from this club, an organization no one expected to last long. Now the club’s many members have the historical honor of changing the social climate of Hillsboro and introducing women’s independence to a small rural town. The extent of these women’s work reaches internationally, and the inspiration some received from the Friday Club has had an immeasurable impact on history.

The First Female Doctor of Hillsboro

2020-06-25T18:49:00.000-07:00

“The 1920’s woman bobbed her hair, even rouged her cheeks and oh, you kid! She smoked a cigarette in public. Such a progressive woman was Hillsboro’s first lady doctor, Elizabeth Edmonston. She must have given the establishment fits,” — Elouise Postle

Elizabeth Edmonston was an enigma to the town of Hillsboro. Born in far away New York, Edmonston obtained her medical license and become one of the only female physicians of her time.

As a young woman, Edmonston arrived in Hillsboro to visit a friend and fell in love with the quaint town. The charming downtown shops and rolling countryside instantly drew the young Edmonston in, and so she set out to become the first woman doctor of Highland County.

Edmonston was a unique lady. Author and close friend Elouise Postle noted, “She was a plain-looking woman. Her eyebrow-raising manner of dressing lent a masculine, authoritative look to her large-framed, monumentally statuesque figure.”

Edmonston’s appearance seemed to reflect the resilience of her character — she had worked her way through the male-dominated medical field in New York and Ohio.

Apart from her appearance, Edmonston was entirely non-
conforming to societal standards of the time. She wore men’s coats and gold cuff links with her skirts and blouses, smoked cigars, and sported a short bob haircut. Edmonston was perhaps the first sign of the budding feminism in Highland County, bringing with her the progressive mentality that would lend itself to several female doctors in the mid-1900s.

Elizabeth Edmonston died in 1931 after a life long lived. She paved the way for other women to enter industries many women had never even considered, broadening the horizons of Highland County as a whole.

Women’s rights and societal norms in America have come a long way. Gone are the days when women like Dr. Elizabeth Edmonston were frowned upon for wearing “men’s” clothing or donning a shorter haircut. Today, Highland County women can look back at historical ladies like Edmonston and appreciate all of their hard work in laying the groundwork for the future.

The Lost Tribe of Highland County

2020-06-23T18:46:00.000-07:00

Deep in the forests that blanket the rolling hills of Highland County, a group of unique individuals once called the woods of Carmel home. The “Carmelites” or “Carmel hill people,” as they’re known locally, were a secluded and private group that did not welcome outsiders. Although hushed whispers amongst townspeople were common and distrust for outsiders was apparent, one young girl was not afraid. Violet Morgan sought and befriended the Carmel hill people as a young girl and stayed close with them for her entire life.

The Carmel hill people had a long and complicated history. Historians know very little about how Carmel became a settlement, except that they likely came from Kentucky and parts of Virginia and Tennessee to seek isolation from others. The heritage of these settlers is also in question. Most claimed Shawnee and Cherokee Native American ancestry. Historians now call this group “Melungeon,” referring to an Appalachian settler descended from a combination of ethnicities, such as Native American, African and European.

Often called the lost tribe of Appalachia, the Melungeons were a very small and dispersed group of people. The Carmelites were known for keeping very close familial ties, having a distrust of outsiders, and living off of the land, choosing to forage and hunt rather than plant many fields and own livestock.

Violet Morgan was born not far from Carmel in 1895. She grew up visiting the community, always fascinated by their honest and self-sustaining lifestyle. Morgan became especially close with an elderly woman named Lizzie, who acted as somewhat of a mentor for Morgan, educating her on the ways of the Carmelites. These lessons helped Morgan later write one of her books, “Squaw Winter,” a love story set in the hills of Appalachia.

Morgan remained close with her Carmel friends as she grew. She attended Hillsboro High School, Wilmington College, and Miami University, returning to Highland County to teach at schools in Mowrystown, Lynchburg, and Marshall. She wrote hundreds of articles for local papers and a book on Highland County folklore.

Violet Morgan was without a doubt an incredibly intelligent woman educated on a variety of topics. According to an interview with the Times-Herald, her favorite subject was always people. She spent her life helping other people, always seeking a greater understanding and showing respect for all ways of life.

After World War II, the Melungeon hill people of Carmel were not a recognized group in the area, having married into the rest of the population. There is no indication of the tribe that once lived in the forest, no record of any sort of settlement at all. Only the writings of one compassionate and gentle woman remain as a testament to the power of kindness and respect.

The Painting Ladies

2020-06-22T18:43:00.000-07:00

“The art schools and studios of Paris are doubtless the most desirable of any land. There is such an inexhaustible field of study in the historic art around them, the picturesque Italian models are so interesting, and there is such a host of kindred spirits on the same highway that the very atmosphere is thoroughly saturated with artistic inspiration,” —Irene Detwiler

Looking back at the countless fine portraits, picturesque landscapes, and decorative china sets, the artistic talent of Emma Detwiler and her daughters Irene, Margaret, and Frances is unmistakable. The Detwiler women have left behind works in a variety of media, all ornately crafted in the Victorian style. The masterpieces of these talented ladies provide a window into the past and serve as beautiful reminders of the Hillsboro “Painting Ladies”.

Emma Sayler Detwiler was born in Hillsboro in 1848. After her primary education, she graduated from Hillsboro’s only college for women, the Hillsborough Female College, then set out for the Cincinnati Art Institution. Upon graduating, Emma married Leander Detwiler, the owner of a bookstore in town, where Emma and Leander enjoyed teaching others to write Spencerian script, a formal type of calligraphy. Emma’s knack for oil painting earned her a name among the town’s residents, who would sit for portraits.

Leander and Emma had three daughters, each displaying the artistic talent of their mother. Irene, Margaret, and Frances, whom the family called Fannie, were all interested in painting.

Irene, the eldest daughter, took a special interest in watercolors. She went on to study in Cincinnati, Chicago, and Paris, adventures she would later recount in detailed letters to friends. She later taught at the Hillsborough Female College, the same school her mother Emma attended as a young artist.

Of the sisters, only Margaret married, moving to Missouri with her husband Charles Stafford. Irene and Fannie never married, preferring instead to devote themselves to their art. Their family home was often filled with the sisters’ latest masterpieces.

All of the Detwiler ladies lived into their 80s, creating beautiful art for years. Their countless works have been preserved through time and are a true testament of their legacy in Highland County.

Chief Waw-Wil-A-Way's Legacy

2020-06-08T18:37:00.001-07:00

Hundreds of years ago, the quiet hills of Highland County were home to hundreds of Shawnee Native Americans. One of these Native Americans, Chief Waw-will-a-way, was a noble and generous man who lived near Hardens Creek with his wife and two children. Unlike many Shawnee chiefs of the time, Waw-will-a-way advocated for peace between white settlers and Native Americans and was well respected by both settlers and Shawnee. Unfortunately, despite the chief’s friendly reputation, he became the victim of a crime that became infamous in Southern Ohio folklore.

Before the tragic death of the beloved Shawnee chief, the unsolved murder of Captain Herrod was weighing heavily on the minds of Highland County pioneers. The victim had been scalped and attacked with a tomahawk, supposedly by a Shawnee villager. Though the murder was most likely the work of a political rival, settlers cast suspicion upon local natives and hostilities intensified in the weeks leading up to the murder of Chief Waw-will-a-way.

It all came to a head one summer day as three white settlers — Wolf, Williamson, and Ferguson — traveled down a lonely path through the wilderness of Southern Ohio. David Wolf was a wealthy old hunter who lived on the north fork of Paint Creek in a small community known as Old Town. He traveled with Williamson and Ferguson, two young men from a neighboring village. On their trek back to Old Town, the posse spotted a lone Native American man. They greeted each other warmly, exchanging pleasantries. Wolf and the chief were good acquaintances, often doing business together. The pioneers questioned Waw-will-a-way about the rumors stating that Native Americans planned to attack the white settlers. Chief Waw-will-a-way, oblivious to the recent killing of Captian Herrod, was taken aback by this startling accusation. He denied that an attack was coming and that any of his people had killed Captain Herrod.

Perhaps unnerved by the allegations against the Shawnee, Waw-will-a-way soon ended the conversation with a brief goodbye and wished the men well on their journey.

As Chief Waw-will-a-way turned and walked away, Wolf leveled his rifle at the kind old Shawnee chief and fired a shot into his back. The chief, though mortally injured, did not fall. He refused to die without avenging himself, and with as much vigor as the dying man could exert, he raised his own weapon and fired back. Williams was struck and killed, and with his remaining strength, the chief plunged his knife deep into Wolf’s thigh, breaking off the wooden handle and implanting the metal firmly into Wolf’s leg.

The dying chief finally fell to the ground, bleeding intensely from his wounds and exhausted with his struggle with Wolf. He lay in a field of wildflowers and the murderer and what remained of his posse rode away on their horses.

The Shawnee people were devastated when the news reached Hardens Creek in modern-day Leesburg. Chief Waw-will-a-way’s funeral was held at the junction of Hardens and Lees creeks. In attendance were white settlers and Shawnee villagers alike, both joined in grieving for the cherished chief.

Meanwhile, Wolf was in hiding. A well-known Shawnee tradition stated that the brother of a murdered man must seek revenge on the killer, and Wolf had no intention of facing the wrath of one of Chief Waw-will-a-way’s family members. Fortunately for Wolf, the family of Waw-will-a-way shared the belief that Native Americans and white pioneers should be peaceful and understanding of one another. Despite the terrible betrayal of Chief Waw-will-a-way, the incredible forgiveness of his brothers allowed Wolf’s life to be spared.

The story of Chief Waw-will-a-way is one of tragedy and betrayal, but the forgiveness shown by the Shawnee people after the death of their esteemed leader is remarkable. The peaceful life of the old chief and the dramatic tale of his untimely death makes Waw-will-a-way’s story an incredible account of Highland County history.

The local chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution is named for Chief Waw-will-a-way.

A Tale of Cults and Comets

2020-06-05T18:32:00.000-07:00

In May of 1910, Halley’s comet was to pass over the night sky, its first appearance in 75 years, and Henry Heinman of Leesburg led 40 members of a cult known as the Select Followers in their mission to save the world.

The Select Followers were based in Oklahoma, and they were hurriedly prepared for the comet’s appearance, which they believed would mark the world’s end. They burned their earthly possessions and arranged their affairs in order.

High atop Oklahoma’s Glass Mountains, Heinman prepared for the end of times. Heinman told his followers that he had received a divine message from God that the world was to come to an end on May 18, 1910. He declared that the heavens would “roll up like a scroll” once the tail of the comet passed over Earth. The only way to avert the tragedy that would follow the comet’s appearance was a human sacrifice, he said.

Heinman found a willing victim in local Oklahoma teen Jane Warfield. She had just turned 16 and was determined to save the world from certain destruction. The Cherokee Republican, a newspaper based in Cherokee, Oklahoma, reported that Warfield was Heinman’s stepdaughter, though this was never verified.

On the day of the sacrificed, Warfield was dressed in a long, white robe, a wreath of white roses placed on her head, and her hands were bound.

Heinman’s followers formed a circle around Jane, worshipping and praying to the heavens. Some sang and danced; others knelt and cried. Jane trembled nervously, standing motionless in the circle, her hands still tied behind her back. Heinman brandished a long hunting knife, and he raised the blade high above his head, setting his sights on the young girl’s heart.

Heinman didn’t have time to lower the knife to Warfield’s heart before the local sheriff arrived on horseback, flanked by dozens of officers.

The men untied Warfield, who had fainted. Heinman was taken into custody, and the rest of the cult scattered.

Though the details of this story differ depending on the report, this is the original and most consistent account of the events.

George Braxton: From Slavery to Historic Figure

2020-05-29T18:25:00.000-07:00

Among the many historic figures of great figures that Greenfield was once home to the Rev. George C. Braxton, a former slave, two-time war veteran, and respected hero to the citizens of the town. He stood tall, sported a white beard and a distinctive grin, and is reported to have charmed just about everyone he met. He was friendly and heroic, beloved by all.

Braxton was born in 1827. John Quincy Adams was in the White House, slavery was the backbone of the American South’s economy. Slowly but surely, pioneers began to venture west to settle in the Appalachian Mountains. This was the age in which Braxton grew up as a slave on a Virginia plantation.

Braxton’s early life is undocumented. He was one of the estimated 50,000 plantation slaves living in Virginia and working in the fields. He was likely harvesting tobacco, a huge cash crop of the 1800s, although the details of his enslavement are unknown. Somewhere along the line, Braxton served in the Civil War alongside other slaves.

President Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation on Jan. 1, 1863. Once the Civil War was over and he was freed, Braxton moved to Greenfield to start a new life. Although his exact age is unknown, records say Braxton believed he was 42 years old when he arrived in Greenfield. His master had once kept a stick in which he carved a notch every year, keeping track of Braxton’s age. Braxton remembered 42 notches on his “birthday stick” at the time of his emancipation.

According to newspaper reports from the time, Braxton was gracious and polite to all he encountered. Despite the adversities of his childhood, he found solace in Christianity, becoming a Reverand at the Shiloh Baptist Church. He was a familiar figure in Greenfield and a beloved member of the community. Braxton claimed he was the first black man to be legally married in Ohio, and fathered 17 children.

During World War I, Braxton again served in the “Redman Colored Home Guards of World War I, Greenfield, Section 1” alongside 17 other African-Americans.

Legend has it that Braxton once saved the Greenfield Town Hall from burning when a decorative kerosene chandelier fell and lit the building ablaze. Braxton leaped into action, beating down the growing flames with his only coat, successfully saving the historic building. The citizens of Greenfield, grateful for his heroism, raised enough money to purchase Braxton a new coat, which he accepted proudly.

Braxton died in Columbus in 1942. If his “birthday stick” was accurate, Braxton lived to be 115 years old.

After his death, the citizens of Greenfield honored Braxton with a monument reading, “George Braxton 1827—1942. Aged 115 Years. Slave and free man. Christian Gentleman.”

George Braxton was born into slavery, but he overcame hardships and exhibited unfaltering bravery in two major wars. This Greenfield man was able to overcome his tragic past and become a man of great respect and a historic Highland County figure.

Hidden Deep in Forested Hills: A Secret Cemetery

2020-05-01T18:20:00.001-07:00

Hidden deep in the forested hills of Highland County, a worn-down trail, barely visible beneath the fallen leaves, leads to the secret resting place of some of the county’s first pioneers. The gravesite sits untouched on a remote hill, wild violets carpeting the ground and climbing the stone grave markers. The headstones still display the names of six members of the Butler family.

Amazingly, the lineage of the Butlers has been preserved through historical documents and census reports. The original settlers, Leonard Butler and his wife Sarah, have descendants that stretched throughout the United States, some of which are living today. Unfortunately, some of the genealogy has been lost to history, suggesting that many more relatives of the Butlers exist today.

It all started with Leonard and Sarah Butler. Leonard is the oldest family member buried in the Butler Cemetery, born in 1792. The former Sarah Hart was born in Delaware in 1800, where she lived most of her early life. She met and married Leonard there, giving birth to her first son, Daniel Butler, at age 16. Two years later in 1818, Sarah gave birth to a baby girl, Rebecca Butler. Rebecca’s life is the most undocumented of all the Butlers buried in the cemetery. Her tombstone lists her birth year as 1818 but does not list a death date, suggesting that she died as an infant.

Another of Sarah and Leonard’s sons, Richard, was born in 1827. Richard served in Company G, 11th Ohio Calvary, from 1863 to 1866. The 11th Ohio Cavalry guarded the Overland Trail in the Dakota Territory. Sarah’s last child was William Butler, born in 1830. William eventually married Sarah Ellen Washburn, but any record of their children does not exist.

Daniel Butler, Sarah and Leonard’s firstborn, married Lydia Ann Bish Butler, also buried at the Butler Cemetery. Lydia was born in Virginia in 1820. Together they had four children — Sarah, Henry, Daniel, and Frederick. Henry “Doc” Butler became a respected physician, and Daniel Butler Jr. became the proprietor of a general store and hotel at the sight of Butler Springs Christian Camp. Daniel’s family experienced great success in their business ventures. The hotel they owned was famed for its spring waters, thought to heal and regenerate any illness. This resort of sorts was often called “Butler Springs” for the family and the healing waters.

Frederick Butler, the youngest child of Daniel and Lydia Butler, married a woman named Lydia Anna Milburn Butler. They had four children — twins Dora and Cora and sons George and Andrew. Dora, George, and Andrew all married, but their children are not known. Cora, however, married John Charles Edgington and had two boys — Earnest and Henry (census records list spellings as both “Ernest” and “Earnest” but the latter appears more often). Henry, who went by his middle name Everett, married Margaret Ann Webster and they had a daughter, Mary Ann. Mary’s spouse is unknown, but she had two children.

Those two men are still living in Springfield, Ohio today and are grandfathers themselves.

The lineage of the Butler family is fascinating to uncover and is well documented despite tracing back to the early 1800s. The legacy of the Butler family can still be seen today in the countless descendants of Leonard and Sarah Butler, many of which are still unknown.

All of the histories behind the little cemetery hidden in the woods is just another example of how Highland County’s pioneers have influenced the county today.

James T. Guthrie's Marvelous Machines

2020-04-09T18:10:00.002-07:00

Leesburg’s James T. Guthrie was an enigmatic character in Highland County history, a self-taught engineer and electrician who invented multiple contraptions in the mid-1800s, captivating the town of Leesburg with his innovative apparatuses.

Guthrie worked on many projects throughout his life, especially during his later years. His work was considered revolutionary to the citizens of Highland County and he achieved local fame, welcoming hundreds into his home to view his latest invention. Though his creations never reached national fame, Guthrie was a remarkable inventor beloved by his town.

Guthrie was born in 1801 in Campbell County Va. Not much is known about young Guthrie, but in 1820 he moved to Leesburg with his father. He married three women during his time in Highland County and fathered 12 children. It is unknown exactly how many inventions Guthrie created, but four have been patented under his name.

In 1879, he created what he described as a “combination of cooking stove and retort.” The stove attachment supposedly converted used coal fumes into energy. It was the first of Guthrie’s inventions to be patented. He didn’t stop there. He went on to develop an intricate two-bolt lock and a special latch for releasing horses from carriages. Both of those inventions were patented in the late 1800s.

Guthrie was undoubtedly inspired by Alexander Graham Bell’s 1876 invention of the long-distance telephone. In 1885, Guthrie announced his own device that was said to have worked more efficiently than Leesburg’s existing telephones and allowed for clearer listening. The feat is especially impressive considering Guthrie was 84 years old at the time. Guthrie tested a three-mile-long telephone line over which a clock could be heard ticking. Encouraged by the success of his invention, Guthrie secured a patent for his device.

Despite this reported advancement in technology, the world didn’t seem to notice Guthrie’s new invention. That may have to do with the attitude around telephones at the time. As one Greenfield writer wrote of telephones in 1885: “…If there is no more satisfaction in their use in general than in the line between here and the county seat, it is the opinion of this writer the system should be abandoned.”

Yet another reason Guthrie’s improved telephone didn’t take hold is the sheer number of wannabe Bells flooding the patent office seeking their own fame. Regardless of how revolutionary Guthrie’s inventions may have been, the public likely took his creation as another attempt by a small-town engineer to reinvent the wheel.

Guthrie lived out the rest of his days working on small inventions and tinkering with various electrical and mechanical machinery. Despite never achieving the national acclaim he sought, Guthrie entranced a town with his innovative gadgets, introducing a young Highland County to the world of advancing technology.

James T. Guthrie worked hard to improve the lives of Leesburg citizens and should be remembered as an intelligent and notable figure in Highland County history.

The Peculiar Will of Samuel P. Scott

2020-03-20T18:04:00.001-07:00

Samuel Parsons Scott, who was born in the Highland County Historial Society’s Scott House in Hillsboro and later lived there again, was undoubtedly a brilliant man. He was a historian, an author, a translator, a traveler, and a successful attorney. Scott began his career as a wealthy Hillsboro businessman operating his law practice and writing books of his travels. Near the end of his life, he spent his days as a recluse in his mansion, transcribing ancient laws and creating one of the more vengeful wills ever written.

Scott was born in 1846 and raised in Hillsboro. He received a classics-based education at Hillsboro’s The Academy, a private school for wealthy children in Highland County. Scott graduated from Miami University in 1866 as class valedictorian. During the years of 1868-75, it can be inferred that he spent much of his time traveling, though there are fallacies in this theory. Scott’s book, “Through Spain,” recounts his experiences in Europe, but key details and dates are incorrect. Some historians speculate that Scott may have never traveled to Spain, but instead used other accounts to add intrigue to his writing.

Despite possible errors in his works, Scott was a prominent, well-liked attorney with many friends and colleagues. He greatly enjoyed his small-town fame, remaining active in local events all while managing a successful law firm. Scott was the leader of the local Knights of Templar and the Freemasons, a member of Hillsboro City Council, and president of the 1894 Hillsboro Fair. He was also the single largest shareholder of three national banks in Hillsboro. At the time of his father’s death in 1886, Scott was wealthy, widely admired, and a leading Hillsboro citizen.

At age 49, Scott married Elizabeth Woodridge Smart. She was from a well-off Chillicothe family, and the marriage solidified Scott’s position in Highland County high society. Not much is known about Scott’s marriage in the earlier years, though their relationship became strained in later years.

Scott’s prosperity severely declined in 1896 when the bank he presided over closed and liquidized its assets. In the fallout of the liquidation, Scott was found guilty of malfeasance after turning a blind eye to embezzlement and fraudulent claims. After the embarrassment of losing his bank and his alleged wrongdoings, Scott became a disgraced name in Hillsboro. The once loved attorney shut himself into his late father’s mansion and poured over ancient law manuscripts. His marriage, one likely formed for personal gain, began to fall apart. Scott withdrew into his library, an impressive collection of more than 4,200 titles and 8,000 volumes.

Scott died at age 83 on May 29, 1929. Though his life was filled with peculiarities, his will was a vindictive and unusual document that caused many conflicts even after his death.

When the will was read, his wife discovered that her husband had all but cut her out of his will, leaving her only $75,000 of his $1.25 million fortune. Today, that would equal about $18 million. Elizabeth received only 6 percent of her husband’s estate. The reason listed for Elizabeth’s meager inheritance stung the most.

“On account of the insults, outrages, cruelty, disgrace, and humiliation which she had constantly, and without reason, during my entire life, heaped upon me, she is wholly undeserving of my generosity,” one account reads.

Elizabeth was furious, suing for a greater portion of the estate. She eventually received 55 percent of Scott’s money. The remaining cash was donated to the Jefferson Medical College in Philadelphia, where Scott believed he had been cured of hay fever years ago.

The legacy of Scott is preserved in his works as an author and in historical accounts of his prominence as a Hillsboro citizen. Although he eventually became a bitter recluse in his estate, he is remembered for his eccentricities and vengeful will. He is buried in the Hillsboro Cemetery alongside his estranged wife. The inscription under her name reads, “Born Chillicothe, Ohio. Died February 8, 1946. Loved, admired, and most highly respected by all who knew her”. Her husband’s inscription simply reads, “1846-1929.”

It seems Elizabeth Scott had the last say in the bitter feud with her husband Samuel Parsons Scott.

The Greenfield Ohio Women's Raid

2020-03-09T17:58:00.000-07:00

On June 10, 1865, dozens of angry women congregated in downtown Greenfield. Armed with hatchets, mallets, and axes, the ladies of Highland County marched through the streets and into busy saloons. They broke open barrels of alcohol and poured containers of spirits into the street. The furious women were arrested and fined, but the message they sent was clear — the temperance movement had reached Ohio, and it wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

It all started with the death of a young boy named William Blackburn. The child was passing by Newbeck and Hirn’s Saloon when a stray bullet from a bar fight whizzed by and struck him. The boy’s tragic death as well as recent increases in alcohol-related violence began to worry locals, who feared liquor was becoming a problem in Highland County.

The final straw for the Greenfield women came when two ladies, Mrs. Pearson and Mrs. Crothers, were harassed by an inebriated man while passing a saloon one rainy day in July. The women, fed up with the men's’ drinking, assembled in the home of Elizabeth Love. They devised a plan to confront Mayor John Eckman and reveal their plans to obtain the liquor from local bars. The mayor all but laughed them out of his office, and the discouraged women took matters into their own hands.

That afternoon, 70 women gathered at the “Free Soil” African Methodist Episcopal church at 200 North St. in Greenfield. They armed themselves and made their way to the William S. Linn drug store in Greenfield. Logan, Love, and Young, leaders of the raid, presenting an ultimatum to the shop owner — surrender the alcohol or the women would take it by force. Linn locked his doors, and when the ladies attempted the same intimidation tactic at the Newbeck and Hirn’s Saloon, they were met again with barricaded doors.

The women were discouraged, but they didn’t give up. Drusilla Blackburn, the mother of William Blackburn, cried, “Here is the place where my boy was murdered!” This was just the reminder the crowd needed to reignite their passionate revolt. Mary Cool smashed open a window and unlocked the door of the saloon from inside. The women, dressed in their heavy hoop skirts, stormed into the tavern and began to haul barrels of alcohol into the gutters. They smashed casks and jugs of spirits in the streets and used hatchets to hack away at kegs of beer. Mere minutes passed and the Newbeck and Hirn’s Saloon had been completely emptied of drinks.

The women continued their crusade, robbing Robinson and Norton, Binder, and Morris’ stores. While the mutiny of women terrorized bars around town, Mrs. Widenour was able to prepare for their visit. Widenour ran a popular drinking parlor but claimed she had no alcohol on the premises. This seemed to be the case, but one woman lifted the tablecloth on one table and discovered it was made of whiskey barrels with planks on top. Mrs. Widenour’s whiskey met the same fate as the rest of the alcohol the Greenfield women had confiscated.

In all, it was estimated that approximately 3,000 gallons of liquor were dumped into the streets of Greenfield. The bar owners claimed the losses totaled around $2,000, the equivalent of $31,652.88 today.

The ladies were arrested and tried in January 1867 at the Highland County Common Pleas Court. They were found guilty and fined between $100 and $400 each.

The Greenfield Women’s Raid of 1865 laid the groundwork for the temperance movement in Highland County and is often associated with the Praying Crusade that came to Ohio eight years later. These fearless ladies went to the extreme to communicate their anti-alcohol movement, paving the way for the temperance and prohibition movements to come. The Greenfield Women’s Raid will forever be a part of the colorful history of Highland County and a dramatic tale of rebellion.

History of the Highland County Parker House

2020-02-24T17:45:00.000-08:00

The site’s history dates back to 1806 and at one time it was the site of a saloon frequented for its apple brandy and wild game menu. But it has been mostly empty for many years and on Monday its final chapter began as contractors started removing part of the Parker House facade.

But the site is expected to be vacant once again by the end of the week and crews bring the historic four-story structure down, according to the city of Hillsboro officials.

The building has assumed many names and many functions throughout the years but has been a mainstay of Hillsboro since the town’s establishment in the early 1800s. Although it is about to disappear from the city’s landscape, the history of the Parker House is one Highland County should take pride in.

What was then known as the Knox Tavern was the second building constructed in Hillsboro in 1806. The bar, owned by Joseph Knox, was a small, primitive spot where the town’s prominent men gathered to indulge in the saloon’s famous apple brandy and pure corn whiskey. The rough furniture and simple interior were modest, but the large portions of delicious food sold there drew many early residents to the establishment. The clapboard-roofed cabin often served wild game of many kinds, including wild turkey and venison, popular with the pioneers at that time.

The lot changed hands in 1826 when a man named Colonel Doggett purchased the building and started his own tavern. He named the new business the Eagle Hotel after Eagle Springs, a spot known for its barbecues and celebrations. Much like its namesake, the Eagle Hotel quickly became a popular weekend retreat.

The Eagle Hotel was a social hotspot for both young men and women. Elegantly dressed bartenders served spirits and victuals to patrons over an ornate wooden bar. Exquisitely dressed town socialites mingled with one another and enjoyed the sophisticated ambiance of the Eagle Hotel.

Guests at the tavern were called to eat by a dinner bell every night. The rhythmic chime reminded people of an old saying that often accompanied the ring of a dinner bell. The customers called out “pigtail done!” as it rang every night. This maxim became a sort of nickname for the Eagle Hotel, as many began to call the inn the Pigtail Done Tavern.

The success of the Eagle Hotel carried on into the era of the Ellicott House in the 1860s. The Ellicott House experienced less success than the Eagle Hotel but still served as a refined social scene for citizens of Hillsboro. It was around this time that the Ellicott House was renamed the Parker House after Silas Parker. In 1922, the Shannon family gained ownership. The prosperity of the Parker House continued into the Roaring ’20s. Since then, the building has changed ownership several times.

In the 21st century, the Parker House fell into disarray, according to city officials.

A lavish ballroom on the third floor hasn’t been danced in for decades. The bar was once home to lively conversation but is now quieted. Today, the building itself is unstable and uninhabitable. The structure began as a log cabin tavern, then becoming an extravagant saloon, and finally became the Parker House Hotel as it is today. Its demolition will mark the end of an era.

"Pigtail Done Saloon in Parker House"

The Story of a Sordid Life; Ohio Serial Killer Eugene Gall

2020-02-13T18:41:00.003-08:00

Hillsboro, Ohio, is a quaint town in rural Southwest Ohio, an idyllic place known for its friendly residents. The rolling pastures outside of town and the historic downtown buildings make this town a safe and pleasant home for many people. What many residents don’t know is that a serial rapist and murderer guilty of killing two adolescent girls once called Hillsboro home.

Eugene William Gall Jr. grew up in charming Hillsboro, OH, but his life was anything but pleasant. He lived in a violent and unstable household and was abused throughout his childhood. Though the exact incidence is unknown, Gall suffered an injury that damaged his brain and caused seizures throughout his early adulthood. It was an injury that would cause him suffering throughout his life and may have even caused him to commit his crimes.

At age 27, Gall moved to Middletown, Ohio to work for Armco Steel. It’s unknown exactly when he first began stalking the young girls of central Ohio, by 1970, he had become a serial rapist connected to several unsolved cases in the greater Dayton area. Gall gained the moniker “The Friday Night Rapist” due to his pattern of stalking the streets on his nights off (Beyerlein, 2013).

In October 1970, Gall was indicted for the rape of a young girl in Franklin Township, Ohio. In the face of overwhelming evidence, Gall agreed to check himself into the Lima State Mental Hospital (Dixon, 2016). Gall was eventually convicted of armed robbery, abduction, and rape. He was sentenced to 3-20 years in the Ohio State Reformatory. In 1977, Gall was released after serving only 5 years.

Gall’s crimes only escalated. In October 1977, Beth Ann Mote was walking to school in suburban Dayton when Gall forced her into his car at knifepoint. While in Gall’s car, Gall attempted to calm Beth Ann by forcing her to write a ransom note in her heart-shaped notebook. This note would never be used, as Gall had no intention of leaving Beth Ann alive. Seven days later, 14-year-old Beth Ann was found stabbed to death in a wooded area of Miami Township, Ohio. It was Gall’s first murder, but unfortunately, it would not be his last.

In 1978, 12-year-old Lisa Jansen was abducted while walking to her school in Columbia Township, Ohio. A Kentucky woman discovered Lisa’s books along the side of the road just two hours after her disappearance and notified officials. Boone County police located Lisa’s jacket and purse and eventually her body. Lisa was shot and abandoned in a ditch alongside a quiet country road.

Meanwhile, Gall traveled to the small town of Gardnersville, Kentucky. Gall spotted Kentucky State Trooper Gary Carey parked along the side of the road and fired two shots into the trooper’s chest (Dixon, 2016). Luckily, Carey survived. After the near-fatal shooting, Gall robbed a small convenience store, shooting a female bystander. She too survived. Gall’s crime spree prompted a police chase that ended with his capture and arrest. Finally, after nearly a decade of crime, Gall was behind bars.

The May 1979 trial of Eugene William Gall Jr. began with Gall pleading innocent on all counts. Within ten days, Gall abruptly changed his plea to guilty (Fornshell, 2001). Gall was sentenced to death in the state of Kentucky. He remained on death row until 2000.

Gall’s trial was controversial, even for a serial rapist and murderer. Although Gall’s paranoid schizophrenia and brain damage were major factors in his crimes, the jurors and judges were not made aware of Gall’s mental state. Gall choose to serve as his own attorney. In October 2000, Gall’s conviction was overturned on account of his mental instability and the defendant’s failure to present medical records proving Gall’s brain damage at the trial (Gall v. Parker, 2000).

Although Kentucky had tried Gall for the murder of Lisa Jansen, the state of Ohio had not convicted him for the murder of Beth Ann Mote. As soon as Gall was released from Kentucky prison, Ohio officials took him into custody. Eugene William Gall Jr. is currently serving time in South Eastern Correctional Institution (Fornshell, 2001).

Gall was recently denied parole in November 2013 after serving 16 years at Madison Correctional Institution. In September 2021, serial rapist and murderer Eugene William Gall Jr. will be eligible for parole.

The deaths of Beth Ann Mote and Lisa Jansen were senseless and tragic. The two promising young girls had bright futures ahead of them until their lives were cut short by a ruthless murderer. Investigators often wonder if Lisa and Beth Ann were the only murder victims of Eugene Gall. Gall was a deeply disturbed individual capable of great violence, as he showcased on many occasions. Could he have been responsible for other unsolved rapes or murders?

Sources for this case are listed below:

From the Archives: Eugene Gall-Beth Ann Mote Case. Dayton Daily News, Cox Media Group, 2013. www.daytondailynews.com/news/from-the-archives-eugene-gall-beth-ann-mote-case/8qryrfrtyZEkuoVuvRq4bL/.

Fornshell, David P. Eugene William Gall. Warren County Prosecutor, Warren County Ohio, 2001. https://www.warrencountyprosecutor.com/Public/Prosecutor_Parole/details.aspx?OffenderNum=A416-846

Dixon, Deb. Mother of Murdered Girl Waits for Justice. Local 12, Sinclair Broadcasting Group, 2016. https://local12.com/news/local/mother-of-murdered-girl-waits-for-justice

Beyerlein, Tom. Parole Hearing Set For Serial Killer. Dayton News, Cox Media Group, 2013. https://www.daytondailynews.com/news/parole-hearing-set-for-serial-killer/zCXxckIvrBztfKgogD0pYL/

The Mummy Man of Sabina, Ohio

2018-03-09T17:37:00.000-08:00

Recently, I heard a story about a small town’s peculiar claim to fame and it really interested me. I wanted to share it with those who have never had the chance to read it before. Sabina, Ohio is home to one of the strangest, most morbid tales of rural Appalachia. It’s a story of mystery and an extremely unusual local hero. The story of this “Mummy Man” is both bizarre and complex, from his death to the 35 years that followed.

Let’s start from the beginning. An African American man in his mid to late ’40s was found dead from natural causes on a road near Sabina. He was alone and without identification, believed to be a wanderer in search of a job. Townspeople claimed to have seen him walking in town the day before, appearing to be ill. The only things in his pocket were $1.40 and a slip of paper with the address 1118 Yale Ave., Cincinnati.

Upon investigation, authorities arrived at the address only to find a vacant lot. The identity of the man was still a complete mystery so they decided that the name of a nearby neighbor, Eugene, would work for the time being, at least until they figured out who he was. Why name him Eugene after the neighbor? We can’t be sure. However, the real Eugene was probably a little disturbed that they named a corpse after him.

Eugene the Mummy Man was brought to Sabina’s Littleton Funeral Home and embalmed. They set the mummified man in a brick shed near a bus stop so that people could come by and identify the body. The typical 30-day period of viewing passed with no luck, but the Littleton family held onto the hope that someone would recognize Eugene. Pretty soon though, Eugene became a permanent resident of Sabina. Somehow, having an embalmed dead guy permanently housed in a shed by the funeral home didn’t strike people as that strange. In fact, they loved their odd town mascot. Eugene had a couch to rest on, was dusted and cleaned, and his clothes were changed when they got dingy.

The local kids inevitably pulled pranks and tricks on poor Eugene throughout the years, from putting him in different places to stealing his gold teeth. He became something of a local legend, and Sabina citizens and people from neighboring towns spread the news of their special story. Over a period of 35 years, it is estimated that Sabina’s mummy man was viewed by 1.5 million people.

Eugene had his share of meddling kids, but the tradition of using Eugene in high school pranks finally went too far when in 1964 Eugene took a trip to Ohio State University. He was set on a bench outside the campus in the middle of the night to surprise the students (I would definitely not like to be the one to find that in the morning).

The Littleton Funeral Home was notified and Eugene was sent back to Sabina because obviously, that’s where you call when a mysterious mummy shows up at your college. After this stunt, it was decided that maybe dead people should actually be buried. A plot in the local cemetery was bought and a stone with “Eugene, Found Dead 1929, Buried 1964” was prepared. Eugene finally settled down in a nice grave — although the inscription is incorrect. He was actually found in 1928, not in 1929.

“It was a simple but dignified committal service and was the concluding chapter of 35 years of mystery,” the Sabina News-Record reported about the occasion. Thus ended the era of Eugene, the Mummy Man of Sabina. Although Eugene was never recognized and his real name is still unknown, he became a local celebrity and roadside attraction for many years. I decided to visit Eugene’s final resting place (for real this time) in the Sabina Cemetery.

I took the pilgrimage out to Sabina on a Sunday while the sun was setting. After some searching and researching, I found Eugene’s plot under a large shade tree next to the road. His tombstone is flat to the ground and completely ordinary looking, except for the hundreds of coins scattered around the inscription. A tiny red Buddha figurine, a large silver coin with Bible verses and a dove, and several smooth stones are among the trinkets and gifts also on the gravestone. The coins are a symbol of people who have visited over the years, tokens of remembrance of Eugene. The other trinkets from various religions are gifts of respect for the dearly departed.

It is amazing to see how many people knew of Eugene and his incredible story and cared enough to visit. Some of the pennies on top of the layers of coins are dated 2018, so I know he’s had visitors even recently. After a long look at Eugene’s grave, I took a short trip to the place he spent 35 years in — an old brick shed at the Littleton Funeral Home. Just down the road, the small shed is now quiet, and there’s nothing there that suggests it once housed a famous body. The door was locked, but I peeked in the back window. Disappointingly, there’s nothing but boxes and normal shed stuff in there. I took several pictures and then headed home.

That concluded my investigation of Sabina’s Mummy Man Eugene, the strange corpse that fascinated people for many years. I have no doubt that as long as people remember him, Eugene will be visited by many, from curious travelers to nostalgic locals. As bizarre as his tale is, he amused and intrigued generations of people, and he will not soon be forgotten.