The Pencilstorm offices will be closed for a few days for a much-needed summer break. In the meantime we leave you with the complete County Trippin' series (so far) by Nick Taggart. We post lots of cool things at Pencilstorm, but County Trippin' might be at the top of the heap. Please share these stories with your traveling friends and maybe you will visit some of these spots yourself. Thanks for supporting Pencilstorm! - Colin
Ohio County Trippin' Part Eight: Mahoning County - by Nick Taggart
Ohio County Trippin’ Part Eight: MAHONING COUNTY
By Nick Taggart - “Youngstown Tune-Up" - 28-29 April 2018 (Click here for previous County T)
The fish were most likely biting as we entered the county on an overcast Saturday morning along Mahoning Avenue. We crossed over the causeway of Lake Milton, a 1,685-acre reservoir, popular among anglers, as light drops of rain speckled the water’s surface. The only thing we were angling for, though, was breakfast, so we continued our drive east. The points of interest that caught our attention included the Jackson-Milton Middle and High School complex, built nearly a decade ago, and its neighbor, the Tri-Lakes Library, both constructed with natural stone. A nearby water tower displayed the school’s mascot and informed all visitors this was “Blue Jay Country.”
After ducking under the turnpike, we pulled in at The Korner restaurant, a popular, unassuming eatery that appears to attract hunters and other outdoorsy types, the kind of place where it’s necessary to post a sign, “No muddy boots.” After settling into an available booth, I went looking for the restroom and had to wait my turn behind two polite camouflage-adorned men wearing black NFL linebacker-like mascara. Had we been in the wilds, I would have bumped right into them, so well costumed they were to blend into their surroundings.
After our prerequisite coffees, Michele ordered the Sampler, which included a hotcake, two eggs, a choice of meat, and toast. I opted for the Italian Breakfast Bowl, a combination of any style eggs over a quarter pound hot sausage patty, home fries with peppers and onions, and topped with hot pepper marinara sauce. The diner behind me was regaling his companion with hunting tales. “I shot it and it went in and rode the ribs before it penetrated,” he said. “I saw blood coming out the side.” This narrative might have fouled my breakfast experience, especially with all that red sauce, had it not been for the supreme quality of the food (and my hunger) because I didn’t have a problem finishing every last bite in my bowl.
After our meal, we drove north on Lipkey Road with the sprawling Meander Creek Reservoir on our right. The vast preserve provides drinking water for the county, but is also a giant tease to anglers and hunters. Its community purpose prevents trespassing, but I read that the reservoir is well-stocked with fish, and, as we drove along its perimeter, Michele spotted a deer and wild turkey leisurely and tauntingly foraging behind a fence.
We continued north to just shy of the county border before turning into the parking lot of the Basilica and National Shrine of Our Lady of Lebanon. It is a replica of a shrine in Harissa, Lebanon. It’s difficult to miss because out front stands a 16-foot statue of the Virgin Mary atop a 55-foot round tower, resembling a sort of inland lighthouse. Unfortunately, the winding steps leading to the figure were closed to foot traffic, so we were left looking up the lady’s rose granite garments from below.
We stepped inside the religious gift shop. Being the heathen infidel that I am, I am always encouraged when I don’t spontaneously burst into flames when entering such establishments. There was another couple perusing the merchandise and I overheard them say they were looking for a gift in honor of their nephew’s first communion. Not knowing anything about the tyke, I’m still pretty sure he’d prefer an Xbox to any combination of religious tracts or rosaries that filled the shelves, but it wasn’t my decision to make. I did spot, however, an appropriate gift if the youngster planned to make a career in real estate. Wee statues of St. Joseph were on sale and the packaging guaranteed quick property sales if the little guy were buried somewhere on the property. “Faith can move mountains,” the box read, “and homes!”
Good natured ribbing of another’s beliefs comes with a price tag and our tab came to $19.18. That was the total on our receipt for a box of assorted saint notecards and a 26 oz. container of “Blessed Salt.” The latter may have looked like an ordinary package of Stonemill Iodized Salt, but the sticker on top confirmed it had been officially blessed, in this case upon inquiry, by Chorbishop Anthony Spinosa, the head honcho at the basilica. Both items are intended as gifts, but I feel as though we should keep at least a pinch of the latter to use at our next dinner party. (“I detect tarragon and mustard and…is that blessed salt I taste?! Oh, you must give me the recipe!”) A warning to consumers: excessive consumption of blessed salt in one’s diet can lead to high blessed blood pressure!
After a quick swing through the chapel, we got back in our car and returned to Mahoning Avenue for our eastward march toward the county seat. Along the way, we passed through the city of Austintown and a corridor of commerce that includes an everlasting string of ubiquitous Auto Zones and Burger Kings and Chevrolet dealerships. As we passed the cross street of Belle Vista Avenue, I could understand how the road got its name, for ahead of us was a clear view down to the Mahoning River Valley and the skyline of Youngstown.
We weren’t sure what to expect of the city. Neither Michele nor I had ever been to this part of the state and no matter how many of my friends I surveyed, neither had any of them. All I thought I knew was based on half-remembered rumors and innuendo. The area used to be run by the Mob, right? The collapse of the steel industry decimated the local economy, right? Well, sort of yes to both of those questions. A quick check on Wikipedia filled in some of the blanks.
In the late 1950s and early 1960s, the city did witness its share of gangland killings including enough involving exploding automobiles that “Youngstown tune-up” became national slang for a car-bomb assassination. As recent as 2000, an investigative journalism story in The New Republic reported Mob control of all levels of government. Two years later, former United States Representative James Traficant was convicted of bribery, tax fraud, and racketeering. His worst crime, however, may have been the scurry of squirrels he wore on his head that could easily be considered the worst rug in Congressional history.
The Mahoning River Valley had been a center of iron and steel production since at least the middle of the 19th Century, but when that industry took a nose dive at the end of the 1970s, four local mills closed and about 50,000 people lost their jobs. The city’s population hovered around 167,000 for three decades, but by 2010 it had dropped to about 67,000.
With those facts and figures swirling through my head, I aimed to get a better perspective at the Youngstown Historical Center of Industry & Labor on West Wood Street. Our Ohio History Connection membership allowed us free admission. (My favorite of all the admissions!) The permanent exhibit, “By the Sweat of Their Brow: Forging the Steel Valley,” does an excellent job telling the story of the steel industry. A combination of interpretive panels, video, photographs, and archival items informs visitors about iron and steel production and the toll it takes on the workers responsible for keeping the mills running, many of them recent immigrants to the country. Museum brochures suggest allowing at least an hour to tour the exhibits. Our own visit was double that time.
Back in our car, I pushed play on the CD player. We’d been listening to Emmylou Harris’s “Wrecking Ball.” Coincidentally, the first song to play after our labor lesson was “Blackhawk.”
Well, I work the double shift/ In a bookstore on St. Clair/ While he pushed the burning ingots/ In Dofasco stinking air…Hold on to your aching heart/ I’ll wipe the liquor from your lips/ A small town hero never dies/ He fades a bit and then he slips/ Down into the blast furnace/ In the heat of the open hearth/ And at the punch clock he remembers/ Blackhawk and the white winged dove
Dofasco is a steel company based in Hamilton, Ontario, but I’m sure the grueling and exhausting experience of a steel mill worker is common across international borders.
Before leaving town, we paused on Wick Avenue so I could snap a photograph of the Mahoning County Courthouse. It’s just over a century old, having been completed in 1910, and displays the grand majesty of a public building constructed in the Second Renaissance Revival style, with six Ionic columns rising two stories in its central pavilion.
We drove south out of the downtown, across the Mahoning River and along Market Street. Despite the severe drop in population, I hadn’t noticed much in the way of urban blight in the limited tour of the city we’d so far taken. There didn’t seem to be an excess of boarded up or abandoned buildings and no more check cashing establishments than I might find in Columbus. If I was to judge Youngstown and Mahoning County on the state of the roads, though, they both might receive failing marks.
Market Street was so pitted and pockmarked that its 35 mile per hour speed limit seemed rather daring. Even slaloming around the potholes, I couldn’t help but bounce down and up through a few I couldn’t avoid. I think the lethal “Youngstown tune-up” has been replaced by the costly “Youngstown realignment.” It’s not as though Market Street is just a local thoroughfare that has been neglected by local government. It’s also Ohio State Route 7 that runs top to bottom through the county and beyond.
We rattled our way along until we turned onto the much better paved South Avenue, which led us to the city of Columbiana. The municipal district actually straddles two counties, but fortunately for us, our night’s accommodation was located on the Mahoning County side of the border.
Das Dutch Haus Inn & Suites has been around awhile, but was recently renovated into a boutique hotel, which means they can charge more for the rooms. The thing is, the rooms were really nice. We had reserved a King Suite, which meant our room not only had a bed big enough for two people to swim around in without ever meeting, but also featured a kitchenette, a whirlpool, and a walled-off “room” containing a sofa and television.
As we checked in, we noticed a gaggle of teens in the nearby lobby dressed to the nines for their prom. All the young women were holding bouquets in their hands as if they were heading to a wedding. “When did that become a thing?” we rhetorically asked the desk clerk. She responded that she was just happy the bare midriff prom dress was no longer in fashion. We purchased a couple of drinks from Zeke’s Coffee in the lobby and retired to our room for a late afternoon siesta.
Being the rash and reckless couple that we are, when it came time for dinner, Michele and I risked life and bone-rattling limb with a drive back to Youngstown on cratered Market Street. Then, to add to our derring-do street cred, we pulled up to the popular Roberto’s Italian Ristorante on West Federal Street on a Saturday night without a reservation. That’s just the way we roll.
Fortunately, co-owner Roberto Faraglia didn’t bat an eye at our audacious behavior and found us an available table in the basement. That might sound akin to seating us at the best spot…next to the Men’s Room, but the lower level was actually a cozy place. An exposed stone wall, warm red carpeting, wood accents, and a fireplace at one end, made it feel like we were dining in a Tuscan cottage.
Our waiter, who resembled actor Chris Pratt, brought us glasses of wine and fresh bread with a delectable cheesy dipping oil. I started with Roberto’s Roasted Shrimp Cocktail before moving on to the Homemade Lasagna. Michele’s entrée was the house favorite fiocchi, “a beautiful blend of four cheeses and pear wrapped in pasta purses and served in a broth.” Everything was delicious.
We had after dinner plans, but didn’t disclose them to our waiter, who left us to linger with a post-meal glow a little too long before bringing us the check.
By the time we returned to our car and drove the few blocks to the Youngstown State University campus, it was 8:05 pm. A free program, “Oasis In Space,” was scheduled to begin at 8 pm at the Ward Beecher Planetarium. The website warned, “Once the show has started, latecomers will not be admitted.” Since we’d yet to find a parking space, we accepted our status as latecomers and just drove on by. We did, however, chance upon our own celestial show. As we crossed the Mahoning River on our way out of downtown, I glanced to the west horizon and was momentarily blinded by a fireball sun as it peeked through a sliver of an opening in the clouds.
We returned to Das Dutch Haus Inn, picked up a couple more drinks from Zeke’s and a couple of complimentary cookies from the lobby, and retired to our room. I’d like to say it was a peaceful evening, but if I was to critique the inn for anything, it would be for the thinly insulated space between our ceiling and the floor above us. For about an hour after 10 pm, it sounded as though King Kong and Jabba the Hutt were upstairs vying for the title, “Heaviest Pacer of the Universe.” I never knew a person could walk with such heft. The walking stopped by midnight, but erupted again the next morning between 6-7 am.
Fortunately, the beds were super comfortable, providing optimal rest. We arose around 9 am and descended to the inn’s basement for our complimentary hot breakfast of scrambled eggs and sausage links, donuts and coffee. Many of the other tables were occupied by older couples who all seemed to know each other. We had noticed quite a few vintage automobiles in the parking lot, so they may have been in town for a car show.
After checking out, we returned to State Route 7, but only followed it as far as U.S. Route 224, where we turned east. The scenery was once again an unbroken stream of stores as we motored through the communities of Boardman and Poland. At the latter, we turned north onto Poland Avenue which took us away from the commercial district and into a more residential area. We turned right at Wetmore Avenue and followed it down a steep stretch to a stream, over a bridge, and into the parking lot for Yellow Creek Park.
We hoped to follow a mile-long trail along the creek to the remains of the Hopewell Furnace. What remains in a thick portion of forest near the dam to Lake Hamilton is the cut blocks of stone that once made up the first blast furnace in the state and one of the first west of the Allegheny Mountains. You may have heard about it if you paid special attention to Bruce Springsteen’s song, “Youngstown.”
Here in northeast Ohio/ Back in eighteen-o-three/ James and Danny Heaton/ Found the ore that was linin’ Yellow Creek/ They built a blast furnace/ Here along the shore/ And they made the cannon balls/ That helped the Union win the war (listen here)
I hate to be the party pooping fact police, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that the Boss took a little literary license. While the Heaton furnace did mark the beginning of the iron and steel industry in the Mahoning Valley, it only operated until 1808, long before the American Civil War. Even had Springsteen found a good rhyming line referencing the War of 1812, it would have been a stretch. Whether it strictly aligns with the truth or not, I suppose it’s still pretty cool to have a Rock & Roll Hall of Famer write a song about your city.
We followed a primitive trail that led away from the parking lot, noticing early sprouts of skunk cabbage and white trillium, Ohio’s wildflower. The park literature cautioned that the Hopewell Furnace was accessible by trail only when the Yellow Creek water levels were low. I didn’t know how serious to take the warning until we came to the first of three creek crossings. The water was running fast and was indeed too high for a non-aquatic hike. As we scanned the area for any easy fording, I looked up and was surprised to see a deer on the opposite bank staring at us. Before I could ask its advice, it turned, gave us a few flicks of its white tail, and ambled off into the brush. Defeated, we returned to our car.
We ascended back up Wetmore Avenue to Poland Avenue and north to State Street into an industrial tract where the road ran parallel with railroad tracks. Turning left onto Indianola Avenue, we traveled west a few miles to Mill Creek MetroParks, a series of connected green spaces that encompasses over 4,400 acres. It’s a gem of a park with myriad activities and attractions to offer, but we zeroed in on Lanterman’s Mill and Covered Bridge.
In 1846, German Lanterman and Samuel Kimberly constructed a gristmill into the natural rock of Mill Creek Gorge, just south of present day Canfield Road. It was restored in the early 1980s and still operates today, grinding corn and wheat that can be purchased inside the gift shop run by MetroParks. With a picturesque waterfall next to the mill, this point in the park is a very popular spot.
We toured the mill and got an up-close look at the functioning waterwheel. Just a short hop from the mill is a recently constructed covered bridge. During our visit, a young couple was making use of the scenic nature of the bridge by posing for pictures with a professional photographer.
We hiked north away from the mill along the East Gorge Trail. It follows a series of boardwalk steps that hug the large rock outcroppings of the ravine, dipping to the level of the creek before ascending to a road. We followed the latter to an interesting silver suspension bridge topped with two spires at each end. As I’ve now come to accept at such structures, there was a young couple getting their picture taken. We walked across the span and poked around some bluebells coloring the roadside before turning back.
The return journey revealed cardinals and a tufted titmouse in the trees as well as swallows darting about the creek. Just as we were to leave the low level of the gorge, Michele spotted a blue heron standing very still in a quiet pool of the creek. We stood still and watched it. It didn’t move. We waited. It waited. We whispered to each other. It maintained its statuesque pose. We waited longer. Then…ZAP!...its beak darted into the water and came up with a fish! It wiggled for just a brief moment in the heron’s bill before disappearing down its throat. The bird’s patience, as well as our own, paid off!
After a bit of outdoor adventure, we headed back indoors for a bout of culture. Back in downtown Youngstown, on the campus of Youngstown State University, is the Butler Institute of American Art. Founded in 1919, the museum is dedicated to preserving and exhibiting art in all media created by citizens of the United States. Everyone finds their own favorites in an art museum, but some of my own personal highlights included Winslow Homer’s Snap the Whip, Norman Rockwell’s Lincoln the Railsplitter, and The Oregon Trail by Albert Beirstadt. If you should visit the Butler yourself, I would especially recommend finding Marc Sijan’s Seated Security Guard #2 and being prepared to be fooled and amazed. We didn’t quite make it around to all the exhibits. After a while, museum fatigue set in, so we left some art to be discovered another day.
Exiting the city along Mahoning Avenue, we crossed the Mahoning River, and then turned left onto McKinley Avenue where we found Fellows Riverside Gardens. It sits near the confluence of Mill Creek and the Mahoning River and is the northern tip of the Mill Creek MetroPark. The impetus for choosing Mahoning County for this particular weekend was the promise of blooming tulips. Each year around this time, over 40,000 tulip, crocus, and narcissus bulbs begin carpeting the grounds with colors. We may have been just a week or so early to enjoy the full effect, but there were enough blooming tulips to make it worth the trip. The afternoon air was still a bit nippy, maybe too much for a prolonged stroll, but there were quite a few other visitors willing to risk a shiver or two. The well-kept twelve acres of garden are said to attract over 400,000 visitors each year.
After an abbreviated stroll, we continued west on Mahoning Avenue to State Route 46 and then south for five miles to the village of Canfield. It seemed as though everywhere we looked, there were large metal plaques informing visitors of something important that had occurred on that spot. With a population of about 7,000, Canfield must have more historical markers per capita than anywhere else around. It helps that Canfield was the original county seat of Mahoning County. During a final flurry of county creation in the state, Mahoning came into existence in 1846 by combining spare townships from northern Trumbull County and southern Columbiana County.
Our purpose for stopping in Canfield was to see the original County Courthouse, a Classical Revival style building erected in 1848, soon after the centrally-located town was chosen to be the county’s seat of government. It held that status for thirty years, until Youngstown wrestled it away in a challenge that had to be decided by the United States Supreme Court. Afterwards, without any government business to conduct, the former courthouse functioned for four decades as a school before passing into private hands and continuing life in various commercial pursuits. The exterior was restored more than a century after its initial construction so that county trippers like us could continue to appreciate its form and history.
With our county itinerary complete, we turned west onto U.S. Route 224 and followed a direct route about twelve miles to the county line. The scenery wasn’t especially interesting except for a herd of long horn cattle we passed in a field. Our final action in Mahoning County was to cross over the Berlin Reservoir, which straddles Mahoning and Portage Counties and has the distinction of being Ohio’s fifth largest inland lake. With the sun shining brightly above us, I concluded it was a better day for sightseeing than for fishing.
Time spent in the county: 31 hours, 7 minutes
Miles driven in the county: 128 miles
Copy of Ohio County Trippin' Part Eight: Mahoning County - by Nick Taggart
Ohio County Trippin’ Part Eight: MAHONING COUNTY
By Nick Taggart - “Youngstown Tune-Up" - 28-29 April 2018 (Click here for previous County T)
The fish were most likely biting as we entered the county on an overcast Saturday morning along Mahoning Avenue. We crossed over the causeway of Lake Milton, a 1,685-acre reservoir, popular among anglers, as light drops of rain speckled the water’s surface. The only thing we were angling for, though, was breakfast, so we continued our drive east. The points of interest that caught our attention included the Jackson-Milton Middle and High School complex, built nearly a decade ago, and its neighbor, the Tri-Lakes Library, both constructed with natural stone. A nearby water tower displayed the school’s mascot and informed all visitors this was “Blue Jay Country.”
After ducking under the turnpike, we pulled in at The Korner restaurant, a popular, unassuming eatery that appears to attract hunters and other outdoorsy types, the kind of place where it’s necessary to post a sign, “No muddy boots.” After settling into an available booth, I went looking for the restroom and had to wait my turn behind two polite camouflage-adorned men wearing black NFL linebacker-like mascara. Had we been in the wilds, I would have bumped right into them, so well costumed they were to blend into their surroundings.
After our prerequisite coffees, Michele ordered the Sampler, which included a hotcake, two eggs, a choice of meat, and toast. I opted for the Italian Breakfast Bowl, a combination of any style eggs over a quarter pound hot sausage patty, home fries with peppers and onions, and topped with hot pepper marinara sauce. The diner behind me was regaling his companion with hunting tales. “I shot it and it went in and rode the ribs before it penetrated,” he said. “I saw blood coming out the side.” This narrative might have fouled my breakfast experience, especially with all that red sauce, had it not been for the supreme quality of the food (and my hunger) because I didn’t have a problem finishing every last bite in my bowl.
After our meal, we drove north on Lipkey Road with the sprawling Meander Creek Reservoir on our right. The vast preserve provides drinking water for the county, but is also a giant tease to anglers and hunters. Its community purpose prevents trespassing, but I read that the reservoir is well-stocked with fish, and, as we drove along its perimeter, Michele spotted a deer and wild turkey leisurely and tauntingly foraging behind a fence.
We continued north to just shy of the county border before turning into the parking lot of the Basilica and National Shrine of Our Lady of Lebanon. It is a replica of a shrine in Harissa, Lebanon. It’s difficult to miss because out front stands a 16-foot statue of the Virgin Mary atop a 55-foot round tower, resembling a sort of inland lighthouse. Unfortunately, the winding steps leading to the figure were closed to foot traffic, so we were left looking up the lady’s rose granite garments from below.
We stepped inside the religious gift shop. Being the heathen infidel that I am, I am always encouraged when I don’t spontaneously burst into flames when entering such establishments. There was another couple perusing the merchandise and I overheard them say they were looking for a gift in honor of their nephew’s first communion. Not knowing anything about the tyke, I’m still pretty sure he’d prefer an Xbox to any combination of religious tracts or rosaries that filled the shelves, but it wasn’t my decision to make. I did spot, however, an appropriate gift if the youngster planned to make a career in real estate. Wee statues of St. Joseph were on sale and the packaging guaranteed quick property sales if the little guy were buried somewhere on the property. “Faith can move mountains,” the box read, “and homes!”
Good natured ribbing of another’s beliefs comes with a price tag and our tab came to $19.18. That was the total on our receipt for a box of assorted saint notecards and a 26 oz. container of “Blessed Salt.” The latter may have looked like an ordinary package of Stonemill Iodized Salt, but the sticker on top confirmed it had been officially blessed, in this case upon inquiry, by Chorbishop Anthony Spinosa, the head honcho at the basilica. Both items are intended as gifts, but I feel as though we should keep at least a pinch of the latter to use at our next dinner party. (“I detect tarragon and mustard and…is that blessed salt I taste?! Oh, you must give me the recipe!”) A warning to consumers: excessive consumption of blessed salt in one’s diet can lead to high blessed blood pressure!
After a quick swing through the chapel, we got back in our car and returned to Mahoning Avenue for our eastward march toward the county seat. Along the way, we passed through the city of Austintown and a corridor of commerce that includes an everlasting string of ubiquitous Auto Zones and Burger Kings and Chevrolet dealerships. As we passed the cross street of Belle Vista Avenue, I could understand how the road got its name, for ahead of us was a clear view down to the Mahoning River Valley and the skyline of Youngstown.
We weren’t sure what to expect of the city. Neither Michele nor I had ever been to this part of the state and no matter how many of my friends I surveyed, neither had any of them. All I thought I knew was based on half-remembered rumors and innuendo. The area used to be run by the Mob, right? The collapse of the steel industry decimated the local economy, right? Well, sort of yes to both of those questions. A quick check on Wikipedia filled in some of the blanks.
In the late 1950s and early 1960s, the city did witness its share of gangland killings including enough involving exploding automobiles that “Youngstown tune-up” became national slang for a car-bomb assassination. As recent as 2000, an investigative journalism story in The New Republic reported Mob control of all levels of government. Two years later, former United States Representative James Traficant was convicted of bribery, tax fraud, and racketeering. His worst crime, however, may have been the scurry of squirrels he wore on his head that could easily be considered the worst rug in Congressional history.
The Mahoning River Valley had been a center of iron and steel production since at least the middle of the 19th Century, but when that industry took a nose dive at the end of the 1970s, four local mills closed and about 50,000 people lost their jobs. The city’s population hovered around 167,000 for three decades, but by 2010 it had dropped to about 67,000.
With those facts and figures swirling through my head, I aimed to get a better perspective at the Youngstown Historical Center of Industry & Labor on West Wood Street. Our Ohio History Connection membership allowed us free admission. (My favorite of all the admissions!) The permanent exhibit, “By the Sweat of Their Brow: Forging the Steel Valley,” does an excellent job telling the story of the steel industry. A combination of interpretive panels, video, photographs, and archival items informs visitors about iron and steel production and the toll it takes on the workers responsible for keeping the mills running, many of them recent immigrants to the country. Museum brochures suggest allowing at least an hour to tour the exhibits. Our own visit was double that time.
Back in our car, I pushed play on the CD player. We’d been listening to Emmylou Harris’s “Wrecking Ball.” Coincidentally, the first song to play after our labor lesson was “Blackhawk.”
Well, I work the double shift/ In a bookstore on St. Clair/ While he pushed the burning ingots/ In Dofasco stinking air…Hold on to your aching heart/ I’ll wipe the liquor from your lips/ A small town hero never dies/ He fades a bit and then he slips/ Down into the blast furnace/ In the heat of the open hearth/ And at the punch clock he remembers/ Blackhawk and the white winged dove
Dofasco is a steel company based in Hamilton, Ontario, but I’m sure the grueling and exhausting experience of a steel mill worker is common across international borders.
Before leaving town, we paused on Wick Avenue so I could snap a photograph of the Mahoning County Courthouse. It’s just over a century old, having been completed in 1910, and displays the grand majesty of a public building constructed in the Second Renaissance Revival style, with six Ionic columns rising two stories in its central pavilion.
We drove south out of the downtown, across the Mahoning River and along Market Street. Despite the severe drop in population, I hadn’t noticed much in the way of urban blight in the limited tour of the city we’d so far taken. There didn’t seem to be an excess of boarded up or abandoned buildings and no more check cashing establishments than I might find in Columbus. If I was to judge Youngstown and Mahoning County on the state of the roads, though, they both might receive failing marks.
Market Street was so pitted and pockmarked that its 35 mile per hour speed limit seemed rather daring. Even slaloming around the potholes, I couldn’t help but bounce down and up through a few I couldn’t avoid. I think the lethal “Youngstown tune-up” has been replaced by the costly “Youngstown realignment.” It’s not as though Market Street is just a local thoroughfare that has been neglected by local government. It’s also Ohio State Route 7 that runs top to bottom through the county and beyond.
We rattled our way along until we turned onto the much better paved South Avenue, which led us to the city of Columbiana. The municipal district actually straddles two counties, but fortunately for us, our night’s accommodation was located on the Mahoning County side of the border.
Das Dutch Haus Inn & Suites has been around awhile, but was recently renovated into a boutique hotel, which means they can charge more for the rooms. The thing is, the rooms were really nice. We had reserved a King Suite, which meant our room not only had a bed big enough for two people to swim around in without ever meeting, but also featured a kitchenette, a whirlpool, and a walled-off “room” containing a sofa and television.
As we checked in, we noticed a gaggle of teens in the nearby lobby dressed to the nines for their prom. All the young women were holding bouquets in their hands as if they were heading to a wedding. “When did that become a thing?” we rhetorically asked the desk clerk. She responded that she was just happy the bare midriff prom dress was no longer in fashion. We purchased a couple of drinks from Zeke’s Coffee in the lobby and retired to our room for a late afternoon siesta.
Being the rash and reckless couple that we are, when it came time for dinner, Michele and I risked life and bone-rattling limb with a drive back to Youngstown on cratered Market Street. Then, to add to our derring-do street cred, we pulled up to the popular Roberto’s Italian Ristorante on West Federal Street on a Saturday night without a reservation. That’s just the way we roll.
Fortunately, co-owner Roberto Faraglia didn’t bat an eye at our audacious behavior and found us an available table in the basement. That might sound akin to seating us at the best spot…next to the Men’s Room, but the lower level was actually a cozy place. An exposed stone wall, warm red carpeting, wood accents, and a fireplace at one end, made it feel like we were dining in a Tuscan cottage.
Our waiter, who resembled actor Chris Pratt, brought us glasses of wine and fresh bread with a delectable cheesy dipping oil. I started with Roberto’s Roasted Shrimp Cocktail before moving on to the Homemade Lasagna. Michele’s entrée was the house favorite fiocchi, “a beautiful blend of four cheeses and pear wrapped in pasta purses and served in a broth.” Everything was delicious.
We had after dinner plans, but didn’t disclose them to our waiter, who left us to linger with a post-meal glow a little too long before bringing us the check.
By the time we returned to our car and drove the few blocks to the Youngstown State University campus, it was 8:05 pm. A free program, “Oasis In Space,” was scheduled to begin at 8 pm at the Ward Beecher Planetarium. The website warned, “Once the show has started, latecomers will not be admitted.” Since we’d yet to find a parking space, we accepted our status as latecomers and just drove on by. We did, however, chance upon our own celestial show. As we crossed the Mahoning River on our way out of downtown, I glanced to the west horizon and was momentarily blinded by a fireball sun as it peeked through a sliver of an opening in the clouds.
We returned to Das Dutch Haus Inn, picked up a couple more drinks from Zeke’s and a couple of complimentary cookies from the lobby, and retired to our room. I’d like to say it was a peaceful evening, but if I was to critique the inn for anything, it would be for the thinly insulated space between our ceiling and the floor above us. For about an hour after 10 pm, it sounded as though King Kong and Jabba the Hutt were upstairs vying for the title, “Heaviest Pacer of the Universe.” I never knew a person could walk with such heft. The walking stopped by midnight, but erupted again the next morning between 6-7 am.
Fortunately, the beds were super comfortable, providing optimal rest. We arose around 9 am and descended to the inn’s basement for our complimentary hot breakfast of scrambled eggs and sausage links, donuts and coffee. Many of the other tables were occupied by older couples who all seemed to know each other. We had noticed quite a few vintage automobiles in the parking lot, so they may have been in town for a car show.
After checking out, we returned to State Route 7, but only followed it as far as U.S. Route 224, where we turned east. The scenery was once again an unbroken stream of stores as we motored through the communities of Boardman and Poland. At the latter, we turned north onto Poland Avenue which took us away from the commercial district and into a more residential area. We turned right at Wetmore Avenue and followed it down a steep stretch to a stream, over a bridge, and into the parking lot for Yellow Creek Park.
We hoped to follow a mile-long trail along the creek to the remains of the Hopewell Furnace. What remains in a thick portion of forest near the dam to Lake Hamilton is the cut blocks of stone that once made up the first blast furnace in the state and one of the first west of the Allegheny Mountains. You may have heard about it if you paid special attention to Bruce Springsteen’s song, “Youngstown.”
Here in northeast Ohio/ Back in eighteen-o-three/ James and Danny Heaton/ Found the ore that was linin’ Yellow Creek/ They built a blast furnace/ Here along the shore/ And they made the cannon balls/ That helped the Union win the war (listen here)
I hate to be the party pooping fact police, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that the Boss took a little literary license. While the Heaton furnace did mark the beginning of the iron and steel industry in the Mahoning Valley, it only operated until 1808, long before the American Civil War. Even had Springsteen found a good rhyming line referencing the War of 1812, it would have been a stretch. Whether it strictly aligns with the truth or not, I suppose it’s still pretty cool to have a Rock & Roll Hall of Famer write a song about your city.
We followed a primitive trail that led away from the parking lot, noticing early sprouts of skunk cabbage and white trillium, Ohio’s wildflower. The park literature cautioned that the Hopewell Furnace was accessible by trail only when the Yellow Creek water levels were low. I didn’t know how serious to take the warning until we came to the first of three creek crossings. The water was running fast and was indeed too high for a non-aquatic hike. As we scanned the area for any easy fording, I looked up and was surprised to see a deer on the opposite bank staring at us. Before I could ask its advice, it turned, gave us a few flicks of its white tail, and ambled off into the brush. Defeated, we returned to our car.
We ascended back up Wetmore Avenue to Poland Avenue and north to State Street into an industrial tract where the road ran parallel with railroad tracks. Turning left onto Indianola Avenue, we traveled west a few miles to Mill Creek MetroParks, a series of connected green spaces that encompasses over 4,400 acres. It’s a gem of a park with myriad activities and attractions to offer, but we zeroed in on Lanterman’s Mill and Covered Bridge.
In 1846, German Lanterman and Samuel Kimberly constructed a gristmill into the natural rock of Mill Creek Gorge, just south of present day Canfield Road. It was restored in the early 1980s and still operates today, grinding corn and wheat that can be purchased inside the gift shop run by MetroParks. With a picturesque waterfall next to the mill, this point in the park is a very popular spot.
We toured the mill and got an up-close look at the functioning waterwheel. Just a short hop from the mill is a recently constructed covered bridge. During our visit, a young couple was making use of the scenic nature of the bridge by posing for pictures with a professional photographer.
We hiked north away from the mill along the East Gorge Trail. It follows a series of boardwalk steps that hug the large rock outcroppings of the ravine, dipping to the level of the creek before ascending to a road. We followed the latter to an interesting silver suspension bridge topped with two spires at each end. As I’ve now come to accept at such structures, there was a young couple getting their picture taken. We walked across the span and poked around some bluebells coloring the roadside before turning back.
The return journey revealed cardinals and a tufted titmouse in the trees as well as swallows darting about the creek. Just as we were to leave the low level of the gorge, Michele spotted a blue heron standing very still in a quiet pool of the creek. We stood still and watched it. It didn’t move. We waited. It waited. We whispered to each other. It maintained its statuesque pose. We waited longer. Then…ZAP!...its beak darted into the water and came up with a fish! It wiggled for just a brief moment in the heron’s bill before disappearing down its throat. The bird’s patience, as well as our own, paid off!
After a bit of outdoor adventure, we headed back indoors for a bout of culture. Back in downtown Youngstown, on the campus of Youngstown State University, is the Butler Institute of American Art. Founded in 1919, the museum is dedicated to preserving and exhibiting art in all media created by citizens of the United States. Everyone finds their own favorites in an art museum, but some of my own personal highlights included Winslow Homer’s Snap the Whip, Norman Rockwell’s Lincoln the Railsplitter, and The Oregon Trail by Albert Beirstadt. If you should visit the Butler yourself, I would especially recommend finding Marc Sijan’s Seated Security Guard #2 and being prepared to be fooled and amazed. We didn’t quite make it around to all the exhibits. After a while, museum fatigue set in, so we left some art to be discovered another day.
Exiting the city along Mahoning Avenue, we crossed the Mahoning River, and then turned left onto McKinley Avenue where we found Fellows Riverside Gardens. It sits near the confluence of Mill Creek and the Mahoning River and is the northern tip of the Mill Creek MetroPark. The impetus for choosing Mahoning County for this particular weekend was the promise of blooming tulips. Each year around this time, over 40,000 tulip, crocus, and narcissus bulbs begin carpeting the grounds with colors. We may have been just a week or so early to enjoy the full effect, but there were enough blooming tulips to make it worth the trip. The afternoon air was still a bit nippy, maybe too much for a prolonged stroll, but there were quite a few other visitors willing to risk a shiver or two. The well-kept twelve acres of garden are said to attract over 400,000 visitors each year.
After an abbreviated stroll, we continued west on Mahoning Avenue to State Route 46 and then south for five miles to the village of Canfield. It seemed as though everywhere we looked, there were large metal plaques informing visitors of something important that had occurred on that spot. With a population of about 7,000, Canfield must have more historical markers per capita than anywhere else around. It helps that Canfield was the original county seat of Mahoning County. During a final flurry of county creation in the state, Mahoning came into existence in 1846 by combining spare townships from northern Trumbull County and southern Columbiana County.
Our purpose for stopping in Canfield was to see the original County Courthouse, a Classical Revival style building erected in 1848, soon after the centrally-located town was chosen to be the county’s seat of government. It held that status for thirty years, until Youngstown wrestled it away in a challenge that had to be decided by the United States Supreme Court. Afterwards, without any government business to conduct, the former courthouse functioned for four decades as a school before passing into private hands and continuing life in various commercial pursuits. The exterior was restored more than a century after its initial construction so that county trippers like us could continue to appreciate its form and history.
With our county itinerary complete, we turned west onto U.S. Route 224 and followed a direct route about twelve miles to the county line. The scenery wasn’t especially interesting except for a herd of long horn cattle we passed in a field. Our final action in Mahoning County was to cross over the Berlin Reservoir, which straddles Mahoning and Portage Counties and has the distinction of being Ohio’s fifth largest inland lake. With the sun shining brightly above us, I concluded it was a better day for sightseeing than for fishing.
Time spent in the county: 31 hours, 7 minutes
Miles driven in the county: 128 miles
Ohio County Trippin' Part Seven: Sandusky County - by Nick Taggart
County Trippin’ Part Seven: SANDUSKY COUNTY by Nick Taggart
Previous County Trippin' from Nick Taggart: Meigs County - Medina County - Champaign County - Seneca County - Cuyahoga County - Fayette County -
“Hayes-y Shade of Winter” - 3-4 February 2018
If I’d been looking for an omen to foretell our weekend, I probably couldn’t have produced a better one than the bald eagle that flew over us shortly after our arrival in Sandusky County. We’d just entered from the south along State Route 53 and had turned onto Gillmore Road to look for the one and only covered bridge in the county.
The Mull Road Covered Bridge has been providing access over the east branch of Wolf Creek since 1851. Its Town Truss construction is named for Ithiel Town, of Connecticut, who created the lattice design in 1820. The Mull Bridge has been closed to vehicular traffic since 1962, but thanks to a 2015 restoration, its access for pedestrians should continue for years to come. We stepped out into a nippy 25 degree winter morning and strolled under the bridge’s rounded arch entrance. Up close, one can see the wooden pegs that hold the planks together (as well as the ubiquitous graffiti -- I wonder if “Ryan + Mell” are still an item). If the glassy ice below the 100-foot long red bridge hadn’t been enough to create a quaint rural image, the soaring bald eagle completed the picture. If we’d been driving a large pickup truck, one might have mistaken the scene for a car commercial.
Returning to State Route 53, we immediately turned into Wolf Creek Park, one of the many gems maintained by the Sandusky County Park District. The wooded park fills the space between the state route and the Sandusky River. During the summer, a primitive camp site is available. We made use of a mile and a half loop trail to stretch our morning legs. Since it was winter, the trees were bare of leaves, but the plethora of walnuts and black locust seed pods scattered about the path allowed easy tree identification.
On our hike north, we came quite close to a black and white chickadee who was too busy jumping from branch to branch to notice our approach. Above us, the glint of color on its tail feathers, identified a red-tailed hawk. The trail that led us back to the parking lot also serves as a section of the Buckeye Trail, the 1,444-mile footpath that loops through 40 of the state’s 88 counties. Now, when the subject of the trans-Ohio trail comes up at dinner parties – as it so often does – I can casually mention my own experience of walking a section of it, but not wanting to dominate the conversation, I won’t go into detail about how long, or short, that section might have been.
Back in our car, we continued north on South River Road, hugging the Sandusky River. We passed the Tindall Bridge, a tall, blue steel structure that was constructed across the river in 1915 to replace a previous span that had been destroyed in the Flood of 1913. At the bend in the river near Greensburg Pike, chunks of large spiky ice gathered, resembling something out of Superman’s Fortress of Solitude. Whenever I doubt myself regarding traveling in winter, regretting all the bits of blooming green nature that I’m missing, I remind myself of the curious oddities that arise only when the mercury drops below freezing.
Open space gave way to residential housing as we passed into the corporation limits of Fremont, the county seat. On a wedge of property on West Main Street, akin to the Flatiron building in Columbus, we found the AM Korner Café, a breakfast spot recommended to us by our sister-in-law. Without her personal say-so, we might have given this place a pass. Had we done so, it would have been our loss. The neon “Open” sign over its door gave the establishment just a hint of, "this place is for regulars and you don’t look like no regular", if you know what I mean. However, once inside the cozy close quarters, we found diners of all ages occupying the tables and an exceedingly friendly wait staff. Most importantly though, the food was delicious!
I ordered the “Big Breakfast,” which came with two eggs (scrambled), two meats (bacon and ham), two pieces of toast, home fries, and two large pancakes. Michele had an egg and bacon sandwich on ciabatta bread and also helped me with the pancakes, digging out bites from her side while I excavated from mine. Before meeting in the middle, we got full. What remained resembled what two mice might have left behind after randomly nibbling on the fried cakes.
Two blocks south of the restaurant is the Sandusky County Courthouse, the third oldest continuously used courthouse in the state. (I suppose you’re going to ask me what the two oldest ones are? Well, they’re Highland and Medina, if you must know!) Its original construction took place between 1840-1844, back when Fremont was still known by its original name, Lower Sandusky. An expansion in the 1930s altered its footprint, dramatically changing its appearance. Six original wooden columns were replaced with eighteen rounded sandstone pillars, and its cupola was moved to a newly constructed wing. Its Greek Revival façade is still classically handsome.
We left Fremont behind for the moment and drove southeast down U.S. Route 20 to the city of Clyde. There’s no mistaking its tax base as we passed the long expanse of the Whirlpool plant. The company has been manufacturing washing machines there ever since it bought the Clyde Porcelain Steel Company in 1952. Two years later, they purchased the adjacent Bendix Corporation that had been producing belt-driven washing machines. Ever since, Whirlpool has been an important and generous employer. The company’s 3000 workers make 20,000 washers a day, five days a week, in its 2.4 million-square foot facility.
To learn a little more about the city, we stopped by the Clyde Museum on West Buckeye Street. The museum was established in 1932, but it wasn’t until 1987 that it moved into its present location, the former Grace Episcopal Church. A garage annex and meeting room addition have since been added.
For being a relatively small city – population around 6,200 -- Clyde has quite the history. Special exhibits are devoted to writer Sherwood Anderson, author of Winesburg, Ohio, who spent his formative years in Clyde; and to Major General James Birdseye McPherson, the highest ranking officer to be killed in action during the Civil War. Also on display is a 1904 Elmore “Doctor’s Runabout” Car, built by the Elmore Manufacturing Company that built bicycles and automobiles in Clyde between 1893-1912.
A couple blocks down Buckeye Street from the museum is the gorgeous Clyde Public Library, constructed of multicolored Sandusky granite and sandstone. A red-tiled dome tops a round reading room. The library was built in 1906 thanks to a $10,000 donation by Andrew Carnegie.
On our way out of town, we paid our respects at the McPherson Cemetery. General McPherson’s final resting place is on a hill near the entrance, circled by cannons and topped with a statue of the General who appears in a jaunty pose pointing westward. The cemetery also contains the graves of two Congressional Medal of Honor recipients and a United States Navy sailor who holds the dubious distinction of being the first native born American to be killed in the Spanish-American War.
We drove north among the flat farm fields of County Road 260 until we found a patch of wooded wetland named the Blue Heron Reserve. If you’ve ever given money to the Nature Conservancy and wondered what they did with your money besides produce cloth bags containing unattractive pictures of birds, you’ll be happy to know you are partially responsible for this spot of reclaimed wetlands. The area was acquired by the Nature Conservancy and a Federal Land and Water Conservation Fund Grant and is maintained by the Sandusky County Park District. The 160-acre reserve provides a boardwalk constructed of 100% recycled materials so visitors won’t have to worry about sinking into a spring or fen while hiking around its meadows and woodlands. We did a quick stroll around the half mile East Meadow loop. The sky was still overcast and the wind had kicked up a bit, so we didn’t tarry.
We returned to Fremont via U.S. Route 6 and connected to U.S. Route 20, but this time we turned northwest. At Ohio Route 590, we turned north and pulled in at Creek Bend Farm, a recently acquired property that the Park District hopes to restore to a working farm demonstrating techniques from the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s. The grounds are also home to the Wilson Nature Center where all manner of stuffed birds, animal pelts, and live turtles and snakes are on display. There’s also a resident rabbit named Nibbles who has the run of the place. The Center provided us with a pleasant and educational respite.
The park is located just beyond the southern boundary of the village of Lindsey, well marked by its big blue water tower. We drove through the small town and then exited to the west along Knipp Road…just because we like to say, “nip.” We performed a zigzag maneuver on Hessville Road, Blue Heron Road, and Waggoner Road. We passed a farmhouse with chickens pecking at the ground around a llama whose bunched up winter fleece made it look as though it were modeling 1970s leg warmers and Ugg Boots.
Back on U.S. Route 20, we continued to the village of Woodville. The community would like outsiders to know it as the “Lime Center of the World” for its history of lime production dating back to before the Civil War. It claims that all its citizens are directly or indirectly connected with the lime plants. (By the way, I’m speaking of the alkaline substance, not the citrus fruit that goes so well with a gin and tonic.) Village elders can boast all they want regarding the local industry, but many visitors come to know the village as a SPEEDTRAP! (You’ve been warned.) The speed limit dramatically drops to a ridiculously slow tortoise speed of 25 mph in a most unlikely spot, catching unsuspecting drivers and filling the village coffers, as my sister-in-law – now, $90 poorer – can attest.
It seemed appropriate then that we should stop for a late afternoon snack at the appropriately named Speedtrap Diner, located on the eastern edge of town. If you’re coming from the east, the red, white, and black police cruiser parked on the roof of the building might warn motorists to slow down. If you’re coming from the west, well, it’s too late.
Inside, the walls are decorated with license plates, vinyl albums, and stickers. Diners are welcome to use markers to scribble their own messages. Michele refreshed herself with a butterscotch sundae while I opted for a hot dog and a Buckeye milkshake. The diner’s front window sports the message, “Cool people eat here.” Who am I to disagree?
Not wanting to risk a traffic violation, we drove away from Woodville south on Anderson Road for about four miles. Just beyond the intersection with U.S. Route 6 sits the first fruits of the Sandusky County Convention & Visitors Bureau-sponsored historic barn mural project. In the fall of 2016, after a review of designs and barns, Scott Hagan was commissioned to paint a 9/11 Public Safety Service Memorial mural. Hagan gained fame as the painter of Ohio’s Bicentennial Barns. David Thornbury, a graphic designer and marketing specialist for the SCCVB designed the mural. Tribute is paid to two people with Sandusky County connections: Teresa Martin-Miller, of Woodville, who was killed on 9/11 when the plane struck the Pentagon; and Georgine Rose Corrigon, a native of Woodville, who was on Flight 93 that crashed near Shanksville, Pennsylvania.
The barn was selected because of its proximity to our next destination, Gibsonburg, just two miles to the east. Just as Hagan was putting the finishing touches on the barn on the 15th anniversary of the terrorist attacks, Gibsonburg was dedicating its own Public Safety Service Memorial, in the town’s Williams Park. The centerpiece of the memorial was a bent and twisted section of antenna that used to top the North Tower of the World Trade Center. It measures nearly 36 feet long and weighs 7,000 pounds. The park is also home to the North Coast Veterans Museum and Reflection Wall as well as a United States Air Force jet. It is all a reminder of how “world events” can affect a seemingly remote village.
Gibsonburg is a good spot for a memorial that reflects resiliency. The village was only 15 years old when a fire struck in 1895 and destroyed the entire north side of its Madison Street business district. Then, two years after the community rebuilt, another fire struck, this time destroying the entire south side of the street. Again the town rebuilt. I’m not sure if that’s a sign of fierce determination in overcoming adversity or a stubborn insistence against “taking a hint.” I suppose it’s the former since Gibsonburg is still here over a century later.
We returned to Route 20 at Hessville and followed the county-bisecting thoroughfare southeast through Fremont and Clyde before stopping in Bellevue. Our night’s accommodation was the beautiful Victorian Tudor Inn, a gorgeous old home that was converted into a bed & breakfast nine years ago by Richard Stegman, a native of Bellevue who returned to his home town after 30 years as an administrator and dean in higher education. Much like his house, Stegman exuded charm and cordiality as he greeted us at the door and led us to the Nautica Suite on the second floor. According to the website, “This magnificent suite, artfully color and theme coordinated, is named in recognition of Bellevue's location to Lake Erie and the many years spent by the owner in Rhode Island.” We practically had to get a running start to get up onto the queen size carved mahogany four-poster bed. A spacious bathroom containing a shower and two-person Jacuzzi was located across a private foyer. Call it what you will, but sometimes a person just wants to be pampered!
We took a late afternoon siesta before returning to Fremont for dinner. Again, we took our sister-in-law’s recommendation for a restaurant, one that had just opened the previous fall. We made a 7:00 pm reservation at Scarpetta’s Italian on South Front Street and invited Michele’s parents from Tiffin, and her brother and sister-in-law from Huron, to join us. The food was good, but a moderately long wait between our starters and our entrees coupled with one or two dishes that arrived less than hot hinted at a few kinks still waiting to be worked out. The tables were filled with diners when we arrived, so the locals seem to have taken to this new dining option.
After an enjoyable family dinner and best wishes for a safe drive home, Michele and I returned to our Nautica Suite for a relaxing evening.
The forecast called for a chance of ice and snow overnight, so we weren’t sure what to expect, especially as we drifted off to sleep to the sound of ferocious wind gusts.
The wind had died down by the time we awoke the following morning. Sporadic traffic on Route 20 and the distant whistles of trains were the only sounds. A light coating of snow had begun sticking to the roads.
We descended to the first floor dining room at 9:30 am for our prearranged breakfast. Richard had fresh ground coffee awaiting our arrival. Fruit bowls were followed by ham and cheese omelets, local bacon, sausage patties, and bread from a local bakery for toast. After a little light conversational dancing, we discovered Richard shared our wing of political views, which led to a long and enjoyable bitch session regarding the current administration. It wasn’t until noon that we were packed up and on the road.
By that time, temperatures had risen enough that whatever snow flurries had fallen had also melted. We returned to Fremont and parked along South Arch Street next to the Birchard Public Library. The library hadn’t opened yet, but we were more interested in “Old Betsy” sitting out on the lawn. No, she’s not a “loveable” old eccentric who hangs out at public buildings and tells strangers about her dead dog, but rather an historic black cannon that was used to defend Fort Stephenson during the War of 1812.
Fort Stephenson was the last fort in Ohio to be attacked and was situated on the grounds of the current public library. The site had previously served as an important trading point due to its location next to the Sandusky River. Boats from Lake Erie could navigate this far up the river, thus providing a significant transfer point between Detroit and Pittsburgh.
Construction of a fort covering an acre of land and surrounded by 10-foot high stockade walls was completed in January of 1813. By late July, as enemy forces infested the vicinity, it was determined the fort couldn’t be adequately defended, so it was ordered to be burned and abandoned. Unfortunately, the order came too late and 21-year old commanding officer Major George Croghan determined it would be best to stay and fight rather than risk being wiped out by a superior force on open ground.
Croghan had only about 160 men under his command when the fort was attacked by a force of British and Native American troops numbering at least 3200. Old Betsy was the only cannon at Croghan’s disposal, so he fired it from various positions around the fort giving the British the impression he had numerous cannons. The British artillery failed to breach the walls of the fort and then, in a direct attack, Old Betsy provided a devastating defense that resulted in the siege being abandoned. The British had suffered over 100 casualties while the Americans had only one man killed and seven wounded.
Less than a mile away from that historical spot sits another on a 25-acre triangular piece of land. It’s now officially known as the Rutherford B. Hayes Presidential Library and Museums, but back when the former president lived there, it was called Spiegel Grove. Spiegel, the German word for mirror, references the reflection of the sky on the puddles formed under the tall trees after a storm.
The estate was originally purchased by Hayes’s maternal uncle and guardian, Sardis Birchard, a savvy businessman and lifelong bachelor who intended the property pass to Hayes and his heirs. Construction on the original two-story, eight bedroom brick home began in 1859. It was added onto and remodeled throughout the following half century. It is now a 31-room mansion painstakingly restored to reflect the time period during which Hayes and his family lived there following his presidency.
Tours of the house are given every half hour and are said to last approximately 45 minutes. We were the only ones there for the 1:00 pm tour so our docent Jim provided a thorough and interesting tour that lasted well over an hour. We learned much about the 19th President, although I must admit, my knowledge was pretty sketchy to begin with. Pretty much everything I knew, I learned from the Great Plains song, “Rutherford B. Hayes,” which, while a good song, plays fast and loose with the facts and confuses its Ohio presidents. It turns out that Rutherford B. Hayes was NOT the grandfather of Woody Hayes, nor was he shot by an anarchist. It was William McKinley who was downed by an assassin’s bullet. Ron House, you have a lot to answer for!
After the tour, we strolled under a light rainy mist to the President’s grave. He and his wife Lucy are entombed below a large granite stone. Their second eldest son, Webb C. Hayes and his wife Mary are also buried within the fenced-off area. It was Webb who, shortly after President Hayes’s death in 1893, deeded Spiegel Grove to the state of Ohio and his father’s personal papers and possessions to the Ohio History Connection, thus creating America’s first presidential library.
We returned on a paved walkway, past a group of the chunkiest fox squirrels you’ve ever seen who don’t think twice about brazenly confronting visitors, and entered the museum where we learned more about Hayes’s election to the presidency. If you thought the hanging chads of the 2000 election were something to behold, read up on the 1876 contest where Republican Hayes won by one electoral vote after disputes involving opposing electoral voters in several states resulted in the formation of special commissions to make the final decision. Oh, by the way, all the commissions just so happened to consist of seven Democratic representatives and eight Republican representatives. Can you guess how they voted?
Despite the spurious result, I think Hayes turned out to be a decent president, one that Ohioans can take some moderate pride in. That was my takeaway anyway. Before his presidency, he served as governor of Ohio where he backed the creation of a land grant college that eventually became The Ohio State University, so to all the Buckeye alumni, The Ghost of Presidents Past says, “You’re welcome!”
Along with exhibits detailing the life of the president and first lady, the museum makes room for temporary exhibits. We were fascinated with one regarding the ice harvesting industry on Lake Erie during the 19th and early 20th Centuries. (No, really, we were! I swear, it was a lot more interesting than it sounds!)
No museum stop is complete without a visit to the gift shop where I picked up a sticker and Hayes Presidential Library & Museums pen. Also available were candles from the Cleveland Candle Co. Unique Hayes-centric scents included “The Beard,” in honor of Rutherford’s impressive growth of facial hair, and “Purple Hayes.”
With brains bulging with new found presidential knowledge, we drove down Buckland Avenue to Greensburg Pike Road and over to Route 53, where we crossed the county line under an overcast Sandusky County sky.
Time spent in the county: 31 hours, 58 minutes Miles driven in the county: 145 miles
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Ohio County Trippin' Part Five: Cuyahoga County - by Nick Taggart
Previous County Trippin' from Nick Taggart: Meigs County - Medina County - Champaign County - Seneca County -
CUYAHOGA COUNTY
“Making Ohio Great Lakes Again” May 27-29, 2017
As soon as we selected Cuyahoga County as our next Ohio destination, we knew our biggest problem would be deciding what sights and activities with which to fill our itinerary. The area is large and the “big city” of Cleveland offered more activities than could be squeezed into a weekend. Even with the bonus day of a holiday weekend, we were aware we could run ourselves ragged if we allowed it. In an effort to make it more enjoyable, we cherry-picked from the plethora of tourist destinations.
We also got a jump on our trip, leaving Columbus soon after the sun was above the horizon, and arriving in the county early in the 9:00 am hour. If we were having trouble rubbing the sleep out of our eyes, the oft-dented and pockmarked Ohio State Route 8 was surely keeping us awake. As we rumbled through the communities of Bedford and Warrensville Heights, I wasn’t sure what was annoying me more, the road condition or the snail’s pace of the 25 m.p.h. speed limit. Perhaps the latter is necessary to keep one’s vehicle from rattling apart by the former.
Fortunately, road conditions improved as we traversed the posh neighborhood of Shaker Heights and the tree-lined boulevards of Cleveland Heights. My mood had so improved that I barely registered the uneven nature of the quaint red bricks of Murray Hill Road as we came upon Little Italy.
The neighborhood earned its name in the mid 1800s when Italian sculptor Joseph Carrabelli set up shop here and other Italian immigrants followed. Italian restaurants still abound, sustaining its ethnic identity. The vicinity has also gained an arty reputation due to its array of galleries.
We parked our car and crossed Mayfield Road to Presti’s Bakery & Café, a neighborhood mainstay for over a century, ever since Rose and Charles Presti, Sr. opened a bakery in 1903, specializing in freshly baked bread. We took a number and joined the throng of waiting customers. There appeared to be a mix of local regulars and out-of-town newbies, like us. The wait allowed us more time to peruse the display cases of delectable baked goods, so once it was our turn, we were ready. I opted for cannoli, while Michele selected an assortment of items that included a butter biscotti, an S-biscotti, and an apricot thumbprint cookie. We added coffees to our order, then found a table near the front window. After a couple customers left with large boxes of pizza, we found our hunger growing. For “dessert,” we split a slice of pepperoni and sausage pizza and a cappuccino brownie. Even though the morning rush kept the staff hopping, they remained friendly and treated each customer with respect rather than as just another rushed transaction.
Just a half mile away from Little Italy, on the north side of Euclid Avenue, is Cleveland’s museum central. Officially known as University Circle, named for the surrounding Case Western Reserve University campus, the neighborhood is full of educational opportunities. The lots around the beautifully landscaped Wade Oval include the Cleveland Museum of Natural History, the Cleveland Museum of Art and many others. An entire weekend easily could be spent chasing brainy pursuits here, but that wasn’t our intention, so we selected an institution we’d never visited: the Cleveland Botanical Garden.
Simply by walking through its doors and into the Eleanor Armstrong Smith Glasshouse, you’re transported from a sunny Cleveland landscape into a Madagascar dessert filled with strange spiny plants, a baobab tree, and a multi-colored chameleon. Another door leads to a Costa Rica rainforest teeming with butterflies. If all that wasn’t enough to surprise us, we also ran into an old Columbus friend who now lives in the Cleveland area.
Along with the diverse biomes found indoors, outside the Glasshouse, a variety of gardens adds to one’s experience; eleven in total, laid out attractively over the extensive grounds. There were quite a few people the day we visited, but we could always find a secluded nook just around the next turn to give us a spot of shade and a moment’s respite from the crowds. Intermixed with the real nature were 13 wildlife sculptures built with LEGO bricks by New York artist Sean Kenney, including deer and a peacock
After our relaxing tour of nature, we stepped back out onto East Boulevard. Directly across the street, the sun reflected off the reptilian roof of the Frank Gehry-designed Peter B. Lewis Building. The unique structure serves as the university’s Weatherhead School of Management.
Back in our car, we drove north to the neighborhood of Glenville, a hit-or-miss kind of area where well-kept modest homes sit next door to neglected houses with yards that could double as nature preserves. We were seeking two specific houses that represent ground zero in the world of comic book superheroes. Jerry Seigel grew up at 10622 Kimberly Avenue, just a few blocks from the corner of Amor Avenue and Parkwood Drive, where his friend Joe Shuster lived. Together, they created an iconic character known around the world: Superman! It wouldn’t have been much of a pilgrimage except one of the houses was marked with a large red “S” out front and the other was adorned with enlarged Superman comic strips on its picket fence.
We made our way south back to Euclid Avenue, to one of the premier final resting places in the state: Lake View Cemetery. The grounds are showered with interesting sepulchral architecture; many markers belonging to well-known people. The most prominent monument is the Garfield Memorial. It sits atop the highest hill in the cemetery and is a memorial to James Abram Garfield, Ohio native and 20th President of the United States. If you didn’t know anything about Garfield beyond the size and grandiose nature of his monument, you might think he was one of the greatest leaders this country ever had, rather than a former teacher and Civil War general who served less than a year as president before being assassinated.
The structure is impressive and ornate and offers multiple tiers containing a series of domes upon domes. After climbing stone stairs and entering the tomb, one passes a small gift shop before confronting a large marble statue of Garfield. Additional steps lead up to an outdoor porch where views of downtown Cleveland and, beyond that, Lake Erie, support the cemetery’s name.
The Garfield Memorial. No silly, not the cat, the 20th President of the United States.
Returning down the steps, one can continue to descend, past a sign that requests, “Please refrain from playing Pokémon GO inside the Garfield Memorial,” to the crypt containing two sarcophagi: one flag-draped for the former president and one unadorned for his wife. On the same level as the crypt is a restroom. I adhere to the traveler’s adage, “Always go to the bathroom when you have a chance,” but as I stood relieving myself, mere yards away from the earthly remains of a martyred president, I pondered the respectability of my actions. Does Emily Post speak on this topic? Once finished and zipped though, I lost interest in the matter.
The cemetery grounds are vast. It would have made for a pleasurable day to stroll among the graves and perhaps picnic near the lake, but our time was limited, so we opted to drive a portion of our tour rather than walk. We came upon the grave of “Untouchable” law enforcement officer Eliot Ness. (He busted this guy) I find it amusing what fans leave at the graves of their heroes, but it seemed appropriate that an empty bottle of Great Lakes Brewing Company’s Eliot Ness Amber Lager leaned against Ness’s headstone.
Nearby, a collection of pens and pencils planted in the ground drew our attention to the marker for cartoonist Harvey Pekar. A short walk from there we saw a black etched stone resembling a jukebox. It belongs to deejay Alan Freed who coined the term, “rock & roll.” Offerings there included guitar picks and symbolic rocks.
The final grave on our tour belonged to Raymond Johnson Chapman, a former Cleveland Indians baseball player who holds the dubious distinction of being the only major league player to have died as a result of being hit by a baseball. His death occurred in 1920. Old baseballs and Indians paraphernalia sat atop the large stone marked with his name.
Having satisfied our need to commune with the dead, we pulled back onto Euclid Avenue and took it west for a couple miles before dropping south a block to Carnegie Avenue. Skirting the downtown, we crossed the winding Cuyahoga River on the Hope Memorial Bridge where cool “Guardians of Traffic” art deco sentries stand guard at each end. We then turned left on West 25th Street to Clark Avenue and east to West 11th Street. Once we saw the Lady’s Leg Lamp in the window, we knew we’d arrived at A Christmas Story House & Museum.
We injected $5 into the local economy by parking in the front yard of one of the museum’s neighbors. Our timing couldn’t have been better as we arrived mere minutes before an hourly tour began. Tour guide Gary led a group of 15 of us through the house that was used as the Parker home in the classic Christmas movie. We learned all about the motion picture’s unlikely origin, explained succinctly on the museum’s website:
In the late 1960s, “A Christmas Story” director Bob Clark was driving to a date’s house when he happened upon a broadcast of radio personality and writer Jean Shepherd’s recollections of growing up in Indiana in the late ’30s and early ’40s. Clark wound up driving around the block for almost an hour, glued to the radio until the program was over. “My date was not happy,” Clark said, but he knew right away he wanted to make a movie out of the stories, many of which first appeared in Playboy magazine and were collected in Shepherd’s 1966 book, “In God We Trust: All Others Pay Cash.”
Clark’s adaptation, however, didn’t happen overnight. At the time, he was a journeyman director who specialized in low-budget B movies. For years Clark tried to find a studio to finance the film. But none were interested. Nevertheless, Clark held on to his ambition to bring Shepherd’s stories to the screen, and, in 1981, he directed Porky’s. Which became a hit at the box office. Suddenly he had some clout to bargain with. In the wake of that hit, the studio wanted a sequel to Porky’s. Clark agreed to make a sequel if the studio agreed to let him do “A Christmas Story” first.
None of the original movie set survives, but the house has been refurnished with period pieces to make people feel as though they’re visiting Ralphie’s home the year he wished for an official Red Ryder Carbine Action 200-shot Range Model Air Rifle. Michele was even able to crawl inside the kitchen cabinet and cry, “Daddy’s gonna kill Ralphie,” just as a scared brother Randy did in the movie.
In the backyard, we could stand on tippy-toes and see in the distance the steeple of St. Theodosius Church. Not only is it the state’s oldest Orthodox Christian church, but it’s also where the wedding scene in “The Deer Hunter” was filmed.” Overall, it was a fun tour, but maybe, just maybe, about 15 minutes too long. Hey, “A Christmas Story” is a holiday classic, but unless it’s the center of your universe, obscure trivia begins to wear thin after about 45 minutes. Only obsessed researchers need to know the production year of the Radio Orphan Annie decoder pin that Ralphie receives. (It was 1940, by the way.)
We drove back up West 25th Avenue to the Ohio City neighborhood, a resurging area home to two items on our itinerary. The first was the West Side Market. Built in 1912, it’s the only remaining public market in the city. A young woman tried to bum fifty cents off us as we entered.
It was near the end of the shopping day, but many of the booths were still busy. Customers were choosing from a wide selection of seafood and freshly butchered meat as well as cheeses, spices, and other edible products. We were feeling a tad hungry so we purchased a bag of tortilla chips and a small tub of hummus. We took it across the street to a concrete public park where we could sit at a table and watch the flow of humanity. Shopping bag-toting tourists mixed with hard-looking transients. The latter group included a bald man with a fully tattooed head. I would venture to guess he is not viewed by his peers as a wise maker of life choices.
After the last trace of hummus was licked off my finger, we walked a block to the Great Lakes Brewing Company gift shop. We had a little time to kill before our scheduled 6:00 pm brewery tour, so we stepped into the gift shop and stepped out a few minutes later with a Great Lakes t-shirt, magnet, and sticker.
Great Lakes charges a nominal $5 for its brewery tour, but for that price, we were given four tokens, each good for a small 5 oz. pour of Great Lakes beer. That’s worth the price of admission alone, in my book, but along with the suds, we also got a one-hour tour where the brewing process was explained. The time passed quickly as we strolled across the street to see where the large vats do their fermenting magic. Our tour guide, Peter, also did a nice job of mixing some Cleveland history and humor into his spiel.
By the time the tour was over, it was dinnertime, and we found most of the city had chosen to dine out. The brewpub had a 40-minute wait for a table, but we were told the basement beer cellar was governed by less formal rules and tables were available on a first-come, first-serve basis. As luck would have it, a small one in the corner was open and we quickly nabbed it. Service was a bit slow due to the demand, but with a Turntable Pils in hand and a deck of cards to pass the time, it didn’t really matter. Once my cup of clam chowder and Cleveland Hero sandwich arrived, it tasted all the better for the wait.
After dinner, we drove back to University Circle where our weekend’s lodging was located. The Glidden House is a beautiful and comfortable hotel set in a collegiate environment. Sure, it requires a wheel barrow full of money to stay there, but it’s worth the splurge. The red brick building began life in 1910 as the home to the Glidden family, who made their fortune in paint. In 1953, Case Western Reserve University purchased the property and later converted the French Gothic Eclectic home into a luxury hotel. We were warmly welcomed and lost no time falling into a state of relaxation after a busy day of sightseeing.
The following morning, we fueled up with a complimentary European-style breakfast buffet served in the sunroom on the first floor. I pretended this was a level of service I was accustomed to as I perused with a discerning eye the offerings of cheese, eggs, potatoes, cereal selections, and a variety of pastries. The pile of bacon I formed on my plate may have revealed my humble proletarian beginnings, but screw it, when it comes to most pork products, I lack pride and self-restraint.
Sunday’s itinerary was managed without the use of our car. We exited the Glidden House on foot and found our first site of the day just a couple blocks away. Hessler Court is a short street, only 60 yards long, but it holds the interesting distinction of being completely lined with wooden blocks. It would be easy to overlook, but a close examination reveals the telltale swirls of wood grain. Since before the time of the automobile, the street has been paved with blocks of Norfolk Pine. I’m not sure what the original idea for it was, but it’s now become a local curiosity. I read that people like to walk barefoot on the street, so we kicked off our sandals and did likewise. It was pleasant to the touch and felt as though we were striding along smooth concrete.
A half mile away, we found a Rapid Transit Authority station and caught the Red Line Rapid downtown to the Tower City/Public Square stop, located in the bowels of Terminal Tower. While the building is a tall drink of water at 708 feet, it’s not the tallest structure in Cleveland. That honor is bestowed upon the Key Tower, catty-corner across Public Square. At 950 feet, it is the tallest building in Ohio, as well as the tallest building between New York and Chicago. If one is interested in such matters, it also ranks as the 24th tallest building in the United States and the 165th tallest in the world.
Despite the massive buildings that abound in downtown Cleveland, I was struck by the amount of green space and the number of large pieces of public art. The first of the latter we encountered was the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Monument. It dominates a quarter of Public Square. Its 125-foot column of polished black Quincy stone, topped with a statue of the Goddess of Freedom, was erected to commemorate the Civil War. Its square base is so large, one can walk inside.
Northeast of it, at the southern end of the Cleveland Mall, is The Fountain of Eternal Life, also known as the War Memorial Fountain and Peace Arising from the Flames of War. It depicts a male figure rising from a sphere that’s surrounded by four curved blocks containing various carved animals. Its creator, Cleveland Institute of Art graduate Marshall Fredericks, claims, “The four granite carvings depict the geographical civilizations of the Earth. The bronze sphere symbolizes the superstitions and legends of mankind. The bronze figure is man rising from the flames and reaching for eternal peace.” Some might find the interpretation to be rather grandiose, but it seems appropriate for a sculpture with so many names.
Our art tour continued a couple blocks away in Willard Park, where the whimsical Claes Oldenburg sculpture, “Free Stamp,” just begs to have photos taken of it. I later learned of its interesting beginnings. The original commission for the piece was made in 1982 by Standard Oil of Ohio. It was to sit in front of SOHIO’s new headquarters on Public Square, but during the subsequent years of creation, the company changed ownership, becoming British Petroleum, and the commission was cancelled. A committee to preserve the piece was created and space was eventually found in Willard Park, much to the delight of visitors.
Proceeding north on East 9th Street toward the lake, we reached the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum. Since its completion in 1995, the I.M. Pei-designed glass triangle façade has become an iconic image on the city’s lakefront. Gregg Allman had just died the day before and we heard “Whipping Post” as we entered the building.
It was our first time visiting and I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’d heard all kinds of opinions expressed regarding this house of music. Is it promulgating an important art form or sucking the life from it by treating it as a nostalgic commodity? Is it commemorating a significant piece of our culture or neutering its spirit by institutionalizing it?
The answer, I suppose, is “yes.” Being a perennial fence-sitter, I can sympathize with each side in this debate. I can easily roll my eyes at the lifeless display of some musician’s old hat in the Roots of Rock and Roll hall before stepping into the Cities and Sounds exhibit, --dedicated to Detroit’s Motown, New York City’s punk, and Seattle’s grunge -- and getting all excited over Joey Ramone’s leather jacket. I can audibly scoff at the image of Taylor Swift in the Right Here, Right Now room while giddily snapping a picture of the Royal Crescent Mob’s drum face where it’s featured with other bands from the Midwest. Life is full of contradictions and I’m one of them. The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame will provide the visitor with whatever evidence he or she wants for whatever argument he or she wants to make. I went into it with a positive attitude though, so overall, I ended up enjoying it. That’s not to say it’s not over-priced and doing its best to wring every cent it can from the visitor. In the end, I’m glad I went, but I probably won’t be returning anytime soon.
After a quick hot dog and burger from a food truck outside the museum, we meandered our way back to Superior Avenue where we found two of the four massive Beaux Arts buildings constructed around the Mall in the 1910s and 20s. The five stories of the Federal Building, constructed in 1910, is graced with majestic gray granite. The Cleveland Public Library was completed 15 years later and made of Georgia marble. Being Sunday, both establishments were closed, so we could only appreciate them from the outside.
Directly across Superior Avenue is the Arcade, another architectural gem, but one needs to step inside to appreciate its best attributes. Four levels of shopping and business arcade stretch back 300 feet. Cast iron railings ring the balconies and a view up will reveal a glass ceiling. The Hyatt Regency opened a 293-room hotel inside the Arcade in 2001. As soon as we’re able to fill another wheelbarrow full of money, we’ll return and stay overnight there. In the meantime, we settled for a couple of coffees in the Rising Star Café on the ground level of the building.
Heavy rain was forecasted for the late afternoon, so we returned to Tower City and rode the Rapid back to University Circle, arriving back at the Glidden House just before the first drops fell.
We’d previously made a date with Michele’s brother and sister-in-law, who planned to drive from their home in Huron to join us for dinner. As the skies opened up and deposited huge buckets of water on Cleveland, Michele called her brother to ask if he wanted to cancel due to the weather. When I heard her squeal with delight into the phone, I knew something was up. It turned out that Jeff and Nancy had already arrived in Cleveland. In fact, they had just pulled into the parking lot of the Glidden House, having made an impromptu decision to stay the night!
After settling in, we all met in the lobby and then piled into our car for the short drive back to Little Italy, where we had a 7:00 pm reservation at Mia Bella Restaurant, on the corner of Mayfield and Murray Hill Roads. It was fortunate we’d planned ahead because the place was packed and there was a small collection of hungry diners waiting for a table.
The meal had the proper ingredients for a successful dinner: convivial company and delicious food. I started with the Zuppa di Pesce, a spicy bowl of soup prepared with fresh seafood. That was followed by an entrée of linguini mixed with homemade marinara, basil, garlic, and shallots. I didn’t note what the others ordered, but no one seemed to have trouble cleaning their plate. A shared bottle of California pinot noir from Redwood Creek Winery helped wash everything down.
The neighborhood experienced another deluge while we ate, but the rain had stopped again by the time we finished eating and walked the two blocks to our parked car.
We returned to the Glidden House and hung out in the lobby area for another hour or so and then wished each other a good night and goodbye before retiring to our respective rooms. Jeff and Nancy are early risers, so we were pretty sure they’d be long gone before we ambled out for breakfast the next morning. We were correct.
After a leisurely breakfast, we took our time checking out before heading back out on the road. We followed the now familiar route on Mayfield Road through Little Italy one last time. Continuing east, we passed through the communities of South Euclid, Lyndhurst, and Mayfield Heights. Mayfield Road probably isn’t the best route to view these areas as it’s just one long, boring, multi-lane, strip of nondescript commercial entities.
When we turned south onto Ohio Route 91, also known as SOM Center Road (named for the fact that it runs through the centers of the original Solon, Orange and Mayfield Townships in Cuyahoga County), I was hoping for anything to break up the monotony. The change was dramatic. Suddenly, trees lined the two-lane road and I felt we’d just moved out of the city and into the country.
We turned left onto Hawthorne Parkway which led us straight into South Chagrin Reservation, one of Cleveland’s lovely Metroparks. A forest of hemlock trees makes up much of the nearly 1,400 acres. We followed the road to its terminus at the Squaw Rock Picnic Area. Most of the parking spaces were already taken. As we got out of our car, the aroma of holiday cookouts wafted delightfully toward us.
The rugged mile-long trail we chose was rather muddy in spots from the previous night’s rain, but we persevered as it led first along ledges of Berea sandstone and then down toward the fast moving Chagrin River. Along its bank, we found the namesake for the picnic area: a large sandstone boulder known as a slump rock because it had broken off from the ravine’s cliff face at some indeterminate date in the past. Its bank-facing side was the stone canvas on which blacksmith-turned-sculptor Henry Church, Jr. chiseled out a deep bas-relief of a half-nude Indian maiden beside a large serpent. In the mid-1880s, he would hike the two miles from his home in Chagrin Falls and secretly carve his work by lantern light. Other objects that fill the tableau include an Indian papoose, a quiver of arrows, and a reclining skeleton. Once discovered, it became popularly known as Squaw Rock, but has since been given a more PC title, The Rape of the Indian Tribes by the White Man. It may have a more potent political punch, but pithy it is not.
Back at the picnic area, we whiled away some time at a cement table in the shade watching various family groups enjoy their Memorial Day weekend.
Back in the car, we drove to nearby Chagrin Falls, which is totally contained within Cuyahoga County thanks to a small bump in its otherwise straight line border with Geauga County. The community of just over 4,100 residents must have had some sort of holiday celebration in the morning as there were still vendors and large groups of people filling the main street. We purchased some overpriced gourmet popcorn and a couple of ice cream cones. We leisurely licked at the latter while watching torrents of brown water speeding over the falls that give the town its name. Down the street, we perused the reading material inside the independent Fireside Book Store. One gets the feeling that Chagrin Falls is affluent, especially after spotting a Chico’s women’s fashion store, among the small community’s businesses.
With tickets in hand for a late afternoon Indians baseball game, we began our return to downtown Cleveland. Our route took us through the suburbs of Bedford Heights, Maple Heights, and Garfield Heights, but neither County Road 53 nor State Route 14 offered much in memorable scenery.
Back downtown, we followed my brother-in-law’s example from previous baseball outings by parking in a private lot off Bolivar Road, just a couple blocks from Progressive Field. At a cost of $15, it’s slightly less than its competitors while still being conveniently located.
Since money appeared to be no object on this county trip, we’d purchased club seat tickets for the day’s contest against the Oakland A’s. That entitled us entry into an area where we could eat all the baseball stadium food we could shovel into our bodies at no additional cost. I ate pulled pork and pasta and hot dogs and popcorn and pretzels and nachos. (What, no peanuts?!) I had to pull out my wallet in order to get a beer, but you can’t be expected to enjoy a baseball game in the sun without some sort of alcoholic beverage.
It turned out to be a game of the long ball with a total of six home runs rung up by both teams, but in the end, the hometown heroes were victorious, topping the west coast visitors 5-3. And of special note, Ketchup won the hot dog race.
We exited the stadium and made our way back to our car. Traffic was a bit bogged as it tends to get after a large sports stadium disgorges its occupants. Our weekend itinerary was complete, so we could have just hopped on the freeway and made a quick escape, but we stayed true to the county trip rules and followed Carnegie Avenue west across the Cuyahoga River one last time and then southwest on U.S. Route 42. Despite a width of four lanes, the speed limit slowed to a seeming crawl as we passed through Parma Heights and Middleburg Heights. We had a thoroughly enjoyable weekend and count Cleveland as a wonderful getaway destination, but after passing Strongville, I was so relieved to finally get out of the county, so I could make my way to the interstate and push the pedal to the metal.
Time spent in the county: 58 hours, 45 minutes
Miles driven in the county: 102 miles
County Trippin' Part Six: Fayette County - by Nick Taggart
Previous County Trippin' from Nick Taggart: Meigs County - Medina County - Champaign County - Seneca County - Cuyahoga County -
“It’s Got Spirit” - 11 August 2017
It does a city body good to get out into the country every so often, if for no other reason than to remind oneself that wide open spaces still exist. We got a sample of that as we cruised southwest on Ohio Route 3. With fields of soybeans to the left of us and field corn to the right, it was enough to make one break out into song; perhaps the theme to “Green Acres.”
Eventually we rolled into an urban setting, albeit one with just over 14,000 inhabitants. In this part of the state, though, that’s enough to make Washington Court House a seat of government. It handles all the official paperwork for Fayette County, named for the Marquis de Lafayette, the young French officer who fought for the American Army in the Revolutionary War.
I was surprised to discover that Washington Court House, a long-familiar name, has only been the official name of the city since 2002 when it was adopted into a new city charter. Before that, its name of record was City of Washington. The “Court House” was an early add-on to distinguish it from other Washingtons in the state (specifically the village of Washington in Guernsey County, which now goes by Old Washington).
Just past the Fayette County Memorial Hospital, Ohio Route 3 splits into two roads, Market Street and Court Street. Just beyond the split, we pulled into the parking lot for Our Place Restaurant, an eatery that straddles the land between Market and Court. A logo incorporating Grant Wood’s American Gothic painting appears under the restaurant’s name on a sign out front. Inside, framed photographs of barns decorate the walls.
I ordered the daily breakfast special consisting of two scrambled eggs, bacon, and French toast. Michele requested “Grandpa’s Favorite,” which was the same as mine, but with home fries and regular toast in place of my French variety. The food was good, but when we overheard our coughing waitress tell another table she wasn’t feeling well, we worried that the full cost of our meal might not all be registered on the bill. (We’re happy to report a 72-hour incubation period passed without any sneezing, sniffling, or dripping symptoms, so all’s well that ends well …with bacon.)
Further along Court Street, we came upon the town square, dominated by the Fayette County Courthouse. Opened in 1885, it is the quintessential 19th Century courthouse with its Second Empire style and twelve-foot tall statue of Justice.
We visited on a Friday, which meant the government building was open for business…once we found an unlocked door! A flight of stairs leads up to a pair of doors on each side of the courthouse. We began by pulling on the south facing doors, but found them locked. We continued around the building in a clockwise direction. Wouldn’t you know, it was the last of the four entrances that allowed us access. (Had there been a suggestion box, I would have put forth the idea that a simple sign directing visitors to the east side would have been helpful!)
The courthouse is a beautiful building with lots of gorgeous dark wood throughout, including doors and handrails and balustrades. The third level is where one finds three large 19th Century murals by Ohio artist Archibald Willard. Willard is best known for his painting, “The Spirit of ’76,” the patriotic work showing a drummer, piper, and flag bearer marching together after battle. For the Fayette County Courthouse, he painted three diaphanous women, one in each mural, representing “Spirit of the U.S. Mail,” “Spirit of Electricity,” and “Spirit of the Telegraph.” He was obviously a very talented artist, but perhaps overly predictable when it came to naming his works.
We wandered the floors of the courthouse, poking our noses into a courtroom here, finding the county’s Bicentennial Bell hanging in a corner there. Perhaps the most unique feature of the courthouse is the spray of bullet holes in the south doors! The historic marker on the south lawn tells the story:
On October 16, 1894, a crowd gathered outside the courthouse with intent to lynch alleged attacker William "Jasper" Dolby. Governor William McKinley ordered Ohio National Guard troops sent in to subdue the crowd. The mob was initially thwarted, but on October 17, while Dolby awaited transportation from the jail to the courthouse, the riots intensified. Despite Dolby's guilty plea to rape and a 20-year sentence, the crowd sought vengeance. They rushed the courthouse doors, and were warned to "disperse or be fired upon." They ignored the warning and continued to batter the doors. Colonel Alonzo B. Coit ordered his troops to fire through the courthouse doors; five men were killed. Colonel Coit was indicted for manslaughter and was acquitted at trial. After the trial, Governor McKinley stated, "The law was upheld as it should have been...but in this case at fearful cost... Lynching cannot be tolerated in Ohio." The bullet holes are still visible in the south doors of the courthouse.
The sun was shining the day of our visit so the light shone brightly through the holes. I thought it was pretty cool to have a courthouse with century old bullet holes, but then felt guilty. Afterall, those holes represent death. I got to thinking more about it and questions arose. Why are they still there? Why didn’t someone plug them up decades ago? Do they just represent a story in history or are they meant to convey a more sinister meaning: a reminder from Government (with a capital G) that they are the authority in these here parts and shouldn’t be messed with. I can’t fault the sentiment, Lynching cannot be tolerated in Ohio, but I’ve got to wonder whether there might have been a slightly less lethal (and scattershot) solution to the problem.
Leaving the courthouse behind, we walked around the square and its near vicinity perusing some of the shops. Delicious aromas drew us into BB Cakes & More while a lack of interest kept us from the pawn shops on Main Street that advertised that they “buy dvds” and “sell guns.” We perused a craft shop on Court Street and stopped in at North Shore Primitives on Hinde Street. I’m usually in a mood to rummage through a good antique store, but the establishments selling “primitives” can get very boring very quickly, and so many places sell primitives these days. Those are the crafts that are newly made, but meant to look old, such as weathered-looking signs containing meaningless statements of affirmation (“Simply Dream” or “Believe in Miracles”) and all manner of stuffed animal put together with buttons and cloth and dressed in a bonnet.
Around the corner, back on Court Street, we had a fun time in Back-En-Thyme Flower & Gift Shop. It wasn’t so much for the knick-knack Michele found to purchase, but for the conversation we fell into with the friendly woman behind the counter. Sure, the store had a nice selection of home décor items, but it was the staff’s knowledge of Ohio brewpubs that I found most interesting. You can never know too much about where to quench your thirst around the state.
A block away, we came upon a large colorful painting in a small pocket park. It depicts a historic town scene. Apparently, Willard isn’t the town’s only muralist. Harry Ahysen, a distinguished artist from Texas, retired to Washington Court House in 1986 and spent the final decade of his life painting more than a dozen murals that now brighten up various spots throughout the county.
On the directionally challenged South North Street, we popped into the public library housed in a Carnegie-funded building. A couple of wings have been added since the original structure, designed by Columbus’s own Frank Packard, was built in 1904, but the facade still retains that early 20th Century classical look. Inside, the original century-old circulation desk is still in use.
Nearby was a more recent addition to the downtown. Pour Boys Brew House is a casual bar/restaurant specializing in craft beer. They usually have about ten rotating beers on tap, as well as 70 varieties of bottled beer to choose from. We opted, though, for a brew they produce on the premises. Michele and I both ordered a 16-ounce “Hot Blonde,” a habanero-infused ale that left just the right amount of heat on my tongue and in the back of my throat. It went well with the boneless wings and chips (homemade?) and salsa we snacked on. (Unfortunately - Pour Boys recently closed it's doors )
Thus fortified, we drove out of town along Robinson Road, pausing at the Fayette County Engineer’s Office so I could pick up the latest edition of their complimentary county road map. I know it pegs me as a Luddite, but I prefer navigating the old fashioned way, running my fingers along the roadways on a paper chart.
And speaking of such, Michele and I switched positions in the car so she could drive and I could navigate. Our next destination was the Shaw Wetland, a near 10-acre patch of former cropland that was converted in 1991 to developing wetlands. It abuts the Tri-County Triangle Trail, a well-kept bike trail that connects Washington Court House and Chillicothe. A short boardwalk about 1/3 mile long provides easy access into the shallow wetlands. During our short stroll, we came upon three different varieties of frogs and toads without even looking for them. The small preserve is a treasure trove of diverse flora and fauna.
Continuing south on State Route 753, we turned off just shy of the village of Good Hope so we could visit its cemetery. A tall stand of trees on both sides of the road leads into the graveyard. Among its many residents is David Jones, a Civil War veteran who fought with the 54th Ohio Volunteer Infantry. During Grant’s campaign in Vicksburg, Jones was one of 150 volunteers who stormed the city’s defenses. Even at the time, the mission looked futile and was known as “Forlorn Hope.” The attack did not succeed. Jones, however, succeeded in reaching the defenses of Fort Pemberton, but could not overtake them. He spent all day in the hot sun just four or five feet from an enemy cannon that continued firing all day. He had to wait until dark to make his escape. His pension application says "his head became badly and permanently injured from concussion of cannon fire.” As a result, Jones was awarded the Medal of Honor, the highest military decoration presented by the United States government to a member of its armed forces.
The Medal of Honor was created during the American Civil War and was awarded to 1,522 individuals during that conflict. Of those, 120 were presented to Ohio soldiers and sailors for valor during the campaign to capture Vicksburg, Mississippi.
We returned north up Route 753 to Flakes Ford Road and then roamed our way west across the county to Mark Road. A few light drops of rain began to fall as we approached the Mark Road Bridge, a 103-foot long Pratt through truss bridge that spans Sugar Creek. It was built in 1883 of wrought iron and is just the kind of old bridge that gives Michele the willies, but she was a trooper and got us safely to the other side. We paused long enough for me to walk across it and snap a photo before we continued on our way.
On U.S. Route 62, we drove north back to Washington Court House and made an impromptu stop back at the library. Not only are such institutions important storehouses of knowledge, but they also provide clean restroom facilities for out of town travelers.
We left the city on North Street, also known as Ohio Route 41. At the Jefferson Township line we spotted a mother deer and young spotted fawn near the road, but Michele used her Dr. Doolittle-like mind control to keep them from running into our path.
A bit farther along, we saw two military helicopters flying by us in a northwesterly direction. Our initial reaction was, “What did Trump do now?” but more likely, they were just returning to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in neighboring Greene County.
We eventually arrived at Jeffersonville, a hamlet of just under 1,200 residents. In the center of town is the Jeffersonville Veterans Memorial. The statue of a military cross (A helmet on top of a rifle stuck into a pair of combat boots.) stands across from a smooth black stone etched with the names of over 1,100 local veterans, from the Revolutionary War to the present day.
We followed Ohio Route 734 out of Jeffersonville, driving west to County Road 16. A turn south at that intersection led us to the town of Octa and to Werner’s Smokehouse on Allen Road. What began as a sandwich concession stand at a fair in 1991 is now a favorite local BBQ restaurant. We slid into a booth where I ordered the Sampler, allowing me to fill up on a ¼ rack of baby back ribs, smoked sausage, a hog wing, mac & cheese, and apple sauce. Michele asked for the Pulled Pork Hotshot, a generous portion of pulled pork served over mashed potatoes and gravy. Green beans and corn accompanied the pork. A coupon out of a tourist brochure entitled us to a free dessert, so we split a slice of peanut butter pie. We were so taken with our meal that Michele added to our tab two pints of their spicy BBQ sauce to go.
After our satisfying meal, we proceeded to NOT check out what might be the county’s largest tourist draw. One of the purposes of the county trips is to explore an area and experience its attractions, but Title IV, Section 2, subparagraph 3B of the County Trip Rules specifically forbids patronage of chain-owned establishments, so we passed without stopping at the Tanger Outlets, a mall featuring “a variety of brand-name and designer outlet stores.” Just be aware that such a place exists if you’re in the market for it, but you will not find a review of it here.
We headed back east across the county to the village of Bloomingburg. It’s been around for over two hundred years now, having been laid out in 1815, but is yet to get its population into four figures; 938 residents were tallied in the 2010 census. A big blue bulbous water tower marks its spot in the county. Tradition says the town was named for the many flowers kept in the yards of the townswomen.
On its eastern edge sits Midland Acres, one of the largest horse farms in the state. It began as a small one-man veterinary business by Dr. Don “Doc” Mossbarger in the mid-1960s, but over time, he diversified his venture by breeding Standardbred horses. The farm expanded to over 500 acres and by the mid-1990s, over 700 horses a year were being bred there. My interest in the farm though, had to do with its main building, an 1853 Greek revival-style mansion that served as a stop for runaway slaves on the Underground Railroad.
Our final stop was the Bloomingburg Cemetery, a flat field of grave markers on the southern edge of town next to Ohio Route 238. It’s interesting to note that the small town cemetery marks the final resting place for six soldiers from the American Revolutionary War, nineteen from the War of 1812, and over 100 from the Civil War and Spanish-American War, including that of Henry Casey, another Congressional Medal of Honor recipient who was distinguished for his valor at Vicksburg.
We left Bloomingburg behind and pulled up to the stop sign at Ohio Route 3. Late afternoon traffic had picked up and we had a bit of a wait before an opening allowed us to pull onto the northeastern bound lane. Nine miles later, we were saying goodbye to another Ohio county.
Time spent in the county: 8 hours, 14 minutes
Miles driven in the county: 79 miles