Tombstone Tuesday - Jefferson Peacock

Sometimes, when I am visiting cemeteries, I will discover a name that captures my imagination. On my most recent visit to Locust Grove Cemetery in Peebles, Adams County, Ohio, I happened to spy this tombstone which bears the name of Jefferson Peacock and I knew I had to find out more about him. 

According to his death certificate, Jefferson was born in Rainesboro, Ohio on 19 April, 1868, the son of William Peacock and a mother whose name is listed as "unknown".  He was married to Emma and his named  occupation is "common laborer".  His death came as a result of coronary thrombosis on 5 November, 1942.   In the census records, I discovered a "Thomas J Peacock" in the 1880 Highland County census, living with his father, William and his mother, Martha, along with 3 brothers and 1 sister.  It is possible that this could be him.  I don't find him again until the 1920 census.  At that time, Jefferson Peacock  was living in Pike County, Ohio.  He was single and was a laborer on a farm that he rented.  I have found no further information about Mr. Peacock, nor did I find any burial place nearby for Emma.  So for now, most of his life will remain a mystery, but his name will certainly stay in my memory.

Shot Through the Heart - The Story of Harry Odle

The cause of death listed on the certificate stated simply "Shot through the heart by officers."   The headline of The Portsmouth Daily Times on 1 March, 1927 proclaims "Coroner Starts Investigation in Death of Harry Odle -  Was Slain in Home in Rardon by Officers; Wife is Slightly Wounded in Gun Battle, Victim Insane, Alleged".   I stumbled upon that headline last night as I was doing a little "light" family history research on my husband's family.  On just another one of those days when I wanted to avoid doing the housework that is still waiting to be done, I discovered another compelling family story. 

As has happened so often in the past for me, researching newspaper archives had provided the beginning of a story that required more research to fill in the missing pieces and to finally put together a more complete picture of an event and a greater understanding of a distant family member.

Harry Odle, my husband's 1st cousin, 2 times removed, was born to John P. and Sarah Alice Cochran Odle on 20 April, 1883 in Nile Township, Scioto County, Ohio.  On 30 April, 1900, he married Iva Estella Freeman and between the years of 1902 and 1920, they had 8 children. 
According to the United States Census, in both 1910 and 1920 he was farming in Rarden Township,  Scioto County.  What could have happened that would have lead to his violent death on 28 February, 1927?

 I began with the lengthy article about the gun battle itself.  I learned that Harry Odle had been shot only once, with the bullet passing first through his forearm and then completely through his body. 
His wife, Iva, had been wounded when she was hit by a bullet that first hit a stovepipe, then the wall, a door, and then lodged in her calf.   Somehow, miraculously, Harry's mother who was also sitting in the room, was not injured. 
It had all begun when Deputy Sheriff Willis and City Patrolman Goodman had arrived at the Odle home with a warrant in hand certifying that Harry had been deemed "insane" and they were to return him to the state hospital in Athens, Ohio. He had been an inmate there in 1924 for the period of about one year.  He had run away at that time and was home for a year and half before being sent back to the asylum where he stayed until he was dismissed. The article states that the first time he was taken, it took more than a half a dozen men to handle him and while in his cell, he had torn out the iron bars with his hands.  During the short time following his release, he had worked off and on farming and working for the railroad with his brother, Nelson.  However, not long before the shooting incident, Harry's family and friends had complained to the sheriff that he had threatened their lives.  Harry himself  had also sent the County Clerk, Fred Warner, this threatening message: "To the Courts of Scioto County:  I herewith set my  hand and seat.  Harry Odle the ruler of Almighty God swear to do what is right by all people.  so I warn you to go according to law.  The first thing my trip to the insane asylum paid all my debts by law.  The second thing I seen in the paper where you appraised my place.  It is a d---- lie. It was never appraised as I know of, and I have been at home all the time.  I wasn't looking for trouble, but if that is what you want go ahead.  But, remember I am a citizen of the U.S. born and bred in Scioto County, and must be recognized."

On the Friday before his death, Harry had gone to the office of Mayor Walter Scott and threatened him with a gun, pointing it into the air and firing it several times. Then, on Monday, the day of the shooting,  Harry's daughter, Gertrude, sent the sheriff a telegram that stated, "Harry Odle dangerously insane. Family in great danger.  Come Immediately." 

Armed with a warrant for Harry's capture, the officers arrived at the home with the hope that they could "nab" him before he had a chance to shoot.  They entered the house through the kitchen and upon stepping into the middle room,  Harry fired upon them with a .32 caliber revolver,  as he wordlessly sat in a chair.  The officers drew their guns and stepped behind the door, returning fire.  Even after the shooting stopped, so wary were the officers about approaching Harry, that they threw tear gas into the room to make sure he was incapacitated.  Upon the coroner's investigation, it was discovered that Harry also had in his possession a large knife and several packs of 32 cartridges in his coat pocket.

The portion of the article that I found most interesting came towards the end when it detailed the following:  "According to relatives, Mr. Odle was a hard, earnest worker and was a sober man always and was never known to use a profane word until after he was first taken mentally ill about six years ago.  At that time, a young daughter, Berlin, about six years old, died, and he turned to religion in the hopes of forgetting his great sorrow.  Instead, relatives claim, he gave every thought to his new religious faith and soon showed signs of insanity."

When I read those lines about the mental illness not manifesting itself until after the death of his precious little girl, I knew I had to find out more about her.  According to the 1920 United States Census, Harry and Iva had a daughter named, Elizabeth B., who was 8 years old.  I felt this was probably the little one I was looking for.  I researched the Ohio Death Certificate database at familysearch.org and there I discovered the information I sought.  Elizabeth Burlene Odle, aged 7 years, 10 months, and 10 days, had died on 1 November, 1920 as a result of typhoid fever that she had contracted at school.
Harry and Iva had buried their little girl just a few weeks before Thanksgiving, 1920.   Certainly, Harry Odle would not have been the first parent to have been driven "insane" by the death of a child.  Today, there are many resources where grieving hearts can receive support, love, and understanding.  But, in 1920, counseling, especially in very rural areas, would have been virtually non-existent.  In fact, in many instances, grieving families were expected to just move on once an "acceptable" period of mourning was over.  The newspaper article reveals that Harry had "turned to religion", but we don't know exactly what that meant.  I'm sure his clergyman and his family all tried to help him ease his grief, but severe depression and it seems in this case, pychosis, could not have been talked away or even "loved" away.

According to an article in The Portsmouth Daily Times, dated 9 April, 1924, the probate court first officially judged Harry as "insane" on 8 April, 1924, and sent him to the Athens State Hospital because he had become violent and had terrorized his neighbors numerous times.   It is possible that his mental condition would have deteriorated without the death of his little girl, but it is hard to look at Harry's life just preceding the incident and not believe that his grief was not the major contributor to his downfall.   The fact that Harry Odle was a different man before his illness was told by the story of his funeral in The Portsmouth Daily Times on 5 March, 1927,  which stated "The throng that filled the church until the obtaining of standing room was next to impossible testified to the wide friendship of the man."

Thankfully, his actions did not harm anyone else,  at least physically  However,  I can't imagine what life must have been like for Iva, his wife, who had to grieve for her child and then for her husband.  She survived the gunshot wound, but remained in serious condition for many weeks.

The tragic story of Harry Odle began many years before he was "shot through the heart".  I can't help but think that his heart was injured twice; the first time by the loss of his beautiful Burlene and the final time when the lawman's bullet took his life.

Family Recipe Friday - Mom's Tuna Noodle Casserole

In honor of my mother's birthday, I am sharing her recipe for Tuna Noodle Casserole.  This dish is a family favorite and she always has to make more than one casserole for my boys. It's delicious!

Ingredients

2 - 16 oz. packages Extra Wide Noodles

3- 6 oz. cans Tuna Fish

2- 10.5 oz cans Cream of Mushroom Soup

1 or 2- 15 oz cans peas

1 c. + 1/2 c shredded cheese

Cooking Instructions

1.  Boil water in large pan.

2. Drop noodles into boiling water and cook for 8-11 minutes

3.  Drain noodles and rinse

4. Add tuna, soup, peas, and 1 c. of cheese to the noodles

5.  Add a little water if mixture seems too dry

6.  Sprinkle remaining cheese on top

7.  Bake at 350 degrees for 45-60 minutes



Those Places Thursday - Home Sweet Home

Have you ever thought about all the poems and songs that have been written about "Home"?  Think about it. Just off the top of my head I can remember "Be it Ever So Humble, There's No Place Like Home", "Back Home Again", "Green, Green, Grass of Home",  and one of my favorites, Michael Buble's version of "Home".   On one episode of "Little House on the Prairie", Melissa Gilbert as Laura Ingalls proclaims, "Home is the nicest word there is."  I certainly can't disagree with that.  In my nearly 50 years on this earth, I have had only 3 homes.  In one, I spent the first 10 years of my life. A typical suburban ranch style home built in the late 1950's, my parents and my brothers were the first family to move into the house, when the yard was still mostly dirt and the trees were barely more than seedlings.    The best memories of my childhood revolve around that house because it was there where we all lived together for the longest period of time.  We moved into a new home right after my oldest brother graduated from high school, and even though he and my sister in law spent an entire summer there when they married, it was just temporary and things were not quite the same as they were when we were all living in our home on Chinook Lane. My mother still lives in that second house, and she and my father certainly made that house into a "home".  It contains memories of laughter, love, sadness, and grief, the way only a dwelling lived in for 40 years can.  My third and current home is the place I moved into as a new bride, almost 31 years ago.  It was owned by my father-in-law and we rented it from him for many years before we took over it's ownership.   What a wonderful life we have had within it's walls.

But, there are other homes that helped to "build me", including that of my maternal grandparents, Leland and Gladys Norris.  A few days ago, I drove past their old home, which has yet again been renovated with several large rooms added.  My grandmother wouldn't even recognize the place.  I thought about all the times I spent there; drinking ice cold 12 oz. bottles of Coca-Cola, eating cookies out of the ceramic cookie jar, pretending to be a singer while using a part of my grandpa's bed as my microphone, imagining the glass doorknobs were diamonds.  My mother has told me stories of how she roller skated in the basement and how her father raised a field of dahlias and sold them during the depression. Stories not unlike those that everyone shares.  Since my grandmother's death, that house has been owned by several different families. They have remodeled the house, made it bigger and increased it's worth and then moved on.  They created their own memories during the periods of time in which they lived there. But, they couldn't possibly appreciate the rich history of the place; how the land had belonged to my great great grandfather, Henry Routsong in the 1840's before it was passed down to his daughter, Libby, and then to my grandfather, Leland. How Leland and Gladys had raised 6 children in that house with 3 bedrooms and only 1 bathroom.  They couldn't have known how our large family held picnics every Labor Day, playing croquet in the side yard and making ice cream on the patio. 

 Driving by the house is very bittersweet.  How I long to climb into the old wooden swing on the apple tree again; the one that Grandpa tied onto a branch that would swing and sway along with me. What I wouldn't give to sit on that back porch again and just listen to the conversations that were boring to a 10 year old, but priceless to the 50 year old me.

As I sit at my computer, in the little dining room of my home of almost 31 years, I realize that someday, this house will no longer be my home.  My children will all have established homes of their own and created their own memories.  I hope that somewhere within these walls, our voices and our laughter may still echo, and that the tears will fade away. I pray that this house will be a sweet home to whomever it may shelter.

 And now, I gaze around my humble home, with it's remaining holiday disarray and I am reminded of one final poem, "A house is made of brick and stone, but a home is made of love alone" (author unknown).  Think of how different the world would be if everyone could have the shelter of a "Home Sweet Home".

Veteran's Day - 11/11/11 Soldiers in the Family

In honor of Veteran's Day, November 11, 2011, I am sharing photographs of my family members who served in the military.

My Grandfather, Leland Vincent Norris ~  World War I Veteran

My Father, Estel "J" Shoemaker ~ Korean Conflict Veteran



My Uncles

Donald Norris & Edgar Norris ~ World War II Veterans



My Father in Law, George Hellmund, Sr.

Korean Conflict Veteran

My husband's Great Grandfather, Ernest Hellmund ~ Civil War Veteran

Sentimental Sunday - Hellmund Halloween Heartaches

George in his infamous Headless Man Costume

Once upon a time, there lived a little boy named George, whose favorite holiday was Halloween.  So great was his love of that spooky night that even before the current year's festivities were complete, he was busily planning his identity for the following year.   In a day and age when most most costumes were simply cheap, "step into, tie at the neck" outfits with plastic masks that hung on the head by a rubber band, our hero would devise elaborate masquerades that took months and months of planning.   With that kind of organization, how would it be possible that his holiday could be anything other than perfect? But somehow, year after year, fate would intervene and the evening that began with so much promise would end in disappointment.

Take for instance the "Zorro" year of 1968.  "Beggar's Night" had been moved to an afternoon, for the safety of children in the city. (The reason for that is another story. Much too sad to add to this "light-hearted tale.)  But, George wasn't going to let that stop him from having a great Halloween.  He had a clever costume, complete with a chalk-capped sword that would allow him to write a "Z" wherever he visited.  Of course, the sword was so wobbly that in order to make the mark, he would have to hold the end of it like a pencil, but, it was still pretty cool. He put on his cap, his mask and finally, it was time head out into the world to collect that candy treasure.  There was just one problem.  Another boy had decided that "Zorro" was the perfect costume as well, and he was on the same route as George......and just a few minutes ahead of him.  Several houses refused to give him any candy because they said he had already been there. When he protested that he had not been to the house yet, the inhabitants told him that he was trying to fool them by coming to the house the second time with a group of other kids. Poor George. It really cut down on the food haul that year.

And then there was the year he was a skeleton.  The little guy had barely begun his route when an "old lady" thought for sure she knew who he was and wanted to guess his identity.  When he told her she was wrong, she didn't believe him and promptly tried to lift his mask.  As she did, the mask broke, revealing that George had not been lying.  Now, feeling guilty, the "old lady" tried to fix the costume so he could return to his begging.  Against all his protestations,  she continued to try to repair the damage. Much to his chagrin, the job took most of his candy hunting time. Then, to further ease her guilty conscience, she poured the remains of her candy dish into his bag to make up for the candy he lost. Of course, the fact that it was all the SAME candy certainly removed much of the excitement of the holiday.

As he grew older, the outfits became more elaborate and at about the age of 12 he reached his costume zenith with the incredible "headless man" design.  With the help of his older sister, they created a head of paper mache', they stuffed every towel they owned into a coat to create wide shoulders, and covered George's head with a red hat to make a "bloody neck".   He could barely see through the slit between the coat's buttons, but he knew he was looking good.  With black gloves on his hands, he grabbed the treat bag and headed into the night with his "trick or treating" buddies.  Things were going great and he was making a pretty good candy haul.  The night was getting darker and it was harder to see, but he has having a such a good time.  Finally, a Beggar's Night without any mishaps.... until.  He noticed some people walking in front of him, so he stepped to the side. Suddenly, his knee his something hard.  His already top heavy form was thrown forward over the immovable object and he fell right on top of a child in a stroller.  As he struggled to get up, the little boy's mother began screaming, "GET OFF MY BABY!"  Every time he tried to get off the stroller, the crazed mom smacked him with her purse.   His trick or treat bag went flying and candy landed in the grass and street all around him.  Finally, he managed to pick himself up. Slowly and in pain, he gathered together what candy he could find and managed to limp through the rest of his Halloween. 

It wasn't only strangers that affected his joy of the holiday.  One year, he decided it would be a great idea to be a giant bird. He painstakingly created this costume, piece by piece.  He had everything he needed, except for the feet.  Then, he had a brilliant idea for what he could use.  His mother had the perfect pair of black boots.  He had some "glow in the dark" paint. What a great combination!  With skill and precision, he painted those bird feet on those boots.  What made it even better was that the paint was barely visible in the daytime, but after being exposed to light for several hours, they would glow like mad at night!  Something George's mother discovered several weeks after Halloween when she put on her brand new black boots for a night on the town and discovered to her dismay that in the dark of night she was sporting bird feet!  Needless to say,  it was a lucky thing that George even lived to see his next Halloween after that one!

In case you haven't figured out by now, the George in this story is my husband. Each year, as the calendar turned to autumn and our children began to plan their costumes for Halloween, the talk inevitably turned to the Beggar's Night's of times passed. No matter how many times they heard the stories of their father's trials and tribulations, they still found them funny. They are part of our family's story and a part of Americana as well!  I hope others will enjoy them as well.

Happy Halloween!!



Wedding Wednesday - Estel and Imogene Huffman Shoemaker

This little, yellow newspaper clipping tells the story of the wedding party for my paternal grandparents, Estel and Imogene Huffman Shoemaker.

Estel was born in Adams County, Ohio on 3 April, 1907.  He left home for Sabina in Clinton County and a job at the Mac Tool Co..  It was there in Sabina that he met his future bride, Imogene Huffman, who was born on 16 July, 1907.  They were married in Covington, Kentucky on 23 November, 1929 and upon their return home, they were treated to a small family wedding reception, which is described in the above article.

They soon had two children, my father, Estel, Jr. and his younger sister, Joyce. Tragically, my grandfather passed away from a sudden heart attack at the age of 42 on 30 March, 1950.  My grandmother went to work in the town grocery store and she continued working until the day she retired. 

I was so very blessed to have two sets of incredible grandparents who were not only great role models for their children, but for their grandchildren as well!

My grandparents with my daddy.

Tombstone Tuesday - Grace Emert

On February 2 of this year, I wrote of the tragic story of Grace Emert.  (You can read my previous post here)   I had stumbled upon the information that Grace had been murdered by her brother, Raymond, who subsequently committed suicide.  According to her Ohio death certificate, Grace had been buried at Hillgrove Cemetery in Miamisburg, Ohio.  Even though a picture of her gravesite was already available online, I wanted to visit myself and take my own photographs.  It was a long, rough Ohio winter and it took me until our vacation time in June before we made it to the cemetery.   Even though the cemetery is still actively in business, we didn't go to the cemetery office for the directions to her gravesite. Like many people, I enjoy just walking throughout the area,  hoping I will find the persons I seek and making new discoveries along the way.  On this particular trip, we did locate many of the Emert family members, as well as a few persons I still need to research.  Luckily, it was a beautiful day because finding Grace took a while.  Interestingly enough, Grace and Raymond lie side by side and share their tombstone. I find that very strange considering the circumstances.
As of today, I have found no further information about Grace or Raymond.  So much of why they died as they did remains and may always remain a mystery.  But, I'm glad she can be remembered.

So, today, I am sharing the tombstone of Grace Emert, my 2nd cousin, 2 times removed.

The Gravesite of Grace A. and Raymond E. Emert

Soloman's Grandsons

It started with a simple signature and ended with the saga of a family tragedy. 

Lately, I haven't been spending too much time on family history.  The past few months have been filled with various "crises" and other events that have pushed my passion into the background. No matter how hard I have tried to find both the time and the desire to pull out the notebooks and fire up the research sites, I just haven't been able to "get up the gumption" to do so.  Today, due to the dreary Ohio weather and the sickness of numerous family members that left us homebound, I decided to sit down at my computer and begin working on some special projects I have had on my to-do list for awhile.

One of these items is the scanning of ancestor signatures from historical documents. After the signatures are saved, I then  attach them to portraits, if they exist,  of the ancestor to whom the signature belongs.  If no photograph exists, I simply attach the signature to both my Ancestry.com family tree and my own family history files. 

(For example, this is a photograph of my 2nd great grandfather, Henry Routsong, whose signature appears several times on the probate records of his father in law, Henry Sweadner.)

My Great Great Grandfather, Henry Mathias Routsong

So today, upon opening the estate files of my 4th great grandfather, Jacob Suman, I discovered several signatures of Suman family members.  One that I wasn't very familiar with is pictured at the top of this post;  Soloman Isanogel, the husband of my 3rd great grand aunt, Elizabeth Suman.

After scanning, cropping, and saving several signatures, I logged into my family tree and began adding each signature, one by one, to my history file.  When I opened the page for Soloman, I realized I had not spent any time researching the Isanogel family. Now was the perfect time to hit that "search records" button.  The typical matching census records were located, along with 2 "Public Member Stories".  I am always interested in reading the stories that members post and I can usually find some very interesting facts from those shared tidbits of information.  Choosing the first story listed, I discovered the following paragraph: (NO CITATION IS GIVEN)

The Pioneer:
"Soloman Isanogle entered land west of Chesterfield three miles and made a farm. His family consisted of 4 sons and 2 daughters. Jacob the eldest, was one of the lst school teachers in the township. Soloman was the grandfather of the Isanogle boys who were murdered by Statler. Mr. Isanogle died in 1844 buried in the Mt. Pleasant Cemetery in Delaware County. His
widow lived twenty-eigth years after his decease and died at the age of 82 yrs in 1876. She is buried beside her husband."

I scanned the paragraph and found myself reading it a second and then a third time to make sure I was comprehending it correctly.  "Soloman was the grandfather of the Isanogle boys who were murdered by Statler."  Grandsons murdered?

There was obviously more to be discovered about Soloman's grandsons.  I searched the records of the member who had uploaded the story, but she had no information about any murders.  It was time for a visit to my favorite search engine.  I decided to look for "Isanogle Murders Madison Indiana" which is where the census records told me that Soloman had lived.  The first hit I received was for a family history file that had been uploaded by a someone.  It was an unusal site and a little confusing, but what I did find was a listing of Soloman's family members.  I knew from the story that the boys were the children of Soloman's son, Jacob.  So, I searched for a link to his family.  Luckily, they were all included.  I went through the list of children's names, birth, and death dates to see if any of his  children had died in the same year. I found that William and Isaac had both passed away in 1868.  Further investigation showed they had both died on 17 March. This was not a coincidence.  Now I knew not only their exact names but I also knew the date they had been murdered.  With this information,  I could do a more thorough search.

 Entering the new facts, I received numerous results; including a Google books "hit".  The entire book, Historical Sketches and Reminiscences of Madison County by John L. Forkner and Byron H. Dyson, Anderson, Indiana, 1897, was available on their site and, amazingly,  it was filled with information about the tragic deaths and their aftermath.

 According to the book, on Saturday, 17 March, 1868, a man by the name of George Stottler went to the home of the Isanogle family.  He was drunk and for some reason decided he wanted the use of one of the family's horses.  William, 20 years of age, and Isaac, only 16 years old, refused to give Stottler a horse.  They began to fight and during the ensuing quarrel, Stottler pulled out a knife he had purchased only that day and both men were stabbed "to the heart".   Early Sunday morning, as word spread about the murder, people from the surrounding area became enraged and a "posse",  500 persons strong and armed with various weapons,  set out to find the accused.  Much of the crowd was ready to hang Stottler without a trial and when he was discovered at 11 o'clock that morning, hiding in a field only 1/2 mile west of the murder scene, it took some very determined lawmen to keep Stottler alive long enough to face legal judgement.   He was given a change of venue and he apparently had some of the best legal representation at the time because his life was spared and he ended up with "life imprisonment" at the Michigan City Prison.  During his first few years of incarceration, Stottler was "reckless and malicious" according to the written account, and he actually cut off two of his own fingers to avoid working in the prison cooper shop.  However, after a few years, there were many people who decided that he had paid his debt to society and they began working to get the murderer paroled. 
The Isanogel family and their friends fought hard to keep Stottler imprisoned and they were successful until January, 1897.  For some reason that I cannot personally understand, Governor Claude Mathews pardoned George Stottler and as of the writing of the history book, he was living in Illinois.
I guess my next mystery to solve is what happened to George Stottler after his release from prison.

And so this evening,  I sit here at my computer, amazed once again by how small fragments can be fit together to make quite an interesting tapestry, smiling over the fact that I have added an entirely new branch to my family tree, and a little angry that George Stottler served so little time for such a cold blooded crime.

Tombstone Tuesday - William C. Eagle

On our "staycation" in June, I told my family I didn't care what else we did, as long as I was given one day to visit some cemetaries. We had had an extended Ohio winter and I had been unable to go "ancestor hunting" for an extremely long time.  There were a couple in particular where I had some family research to conduct. So, early one morning, we headed out; notebook and cameras in hand. The first place I had on my list to visit was the Hillgrove Cemetery in Miamisburg, (Montgomery Co.) Ohio.  After finding the family members I was looking for, I managed to talk my family into giving me a little time to just explore this lovely place a while longer.   One of the sites that caught my attention was this beautiful stone of remembrance for a gentleman named William C. Eagle, who died at the age of 30 years and 15 days on 1 August, 1864.  I haven't done any research on this young man, but how tragic it was that he died at such a young age.