USA > Ohio > Allen County > History of Allen County, Ohio, and representative citizens, Part One > Part 13
Note: The text from this book was generated using artificial intelligence so there may be some errors. The full pages can be found on Archive.org (link on the Part 1 page).
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29 | Part 30 | Part 31 | Part 32 | Part 33 | Part 34 | Part 35 | Part 36 | Part 37 | Part 38 | Part 39 | Part 40 | Part 41 | Part 42 | Part 43 | Part 44 | Part 45 | Part 46 | Part 47 | Part 48 | Part 49 | Part 50 | Part 51 | Part 52 | Part 53 | Part 54 | Part 55 | Part 56 | Part 57 | Part 58
When Mr. Baxter reached Lancaster, he was pleased with the prospect offered, took charge of the business and subsequently pur- chased it. However, while succeeding mate- rially as well as he could expect, his ambitions were not satisfied, his aspirations leading to a professional life. Meeting with encourage- ment from that able lawyer, Ex-Governor William Medill, he began to study law in the intervals, when business duties permitted. In 1838 he came to Lima, still carrying his law books with his hat boxes, and opening a hat store here he still pursued his law studies, sup- plementing them with a winter of lectures in Cincinnati. He was admitted to the bar in 1847, having closed out his mercantile interests in the previous year. From that time until the close of his busy life, he continued in the prac- tice of the law at Lima, reaching a considerable degree of distinction. He became a man of large property interests, was thoroughly iden- tified with all the city's public enterprises and was noted for his largesses to the poor.
Mr. Baxter was twice married; first, in 1833, to Nancy Mason. They had three chil- dren, the two survivors being Alfred C. and
97
AND REPRESENTATIVE CITIZENS
Samuel A. The mother died in 1862. He married, for his second wife, Annie M. Mason, and they had one daughter, Nancy M.
1
THE DEMOCRATIC OX ROAST. (As told at the Pioneer Picnic.)
I one time heard Sam Jones, the notorious, if not famous, lecturer, say to a magnificent audience that "he had been a Democrat as long as any decent, self-respecting, upright, honest Christian gentleman could be a Democrat, and then he left the party."
As usual there was a loud-mouthed fellow in the audience who yelled out, "and turned Republican." To which Sam made quick re- ply, "No; thank God, I was never mean enough to be a Republican."
Well, the conditions Sam named for leav- ing the Democratic party have not been quite reached from my standpoint, although they often get pretty close to the edge. I am, at least, near enough to my old love to claim the privilege of not spoiling a story because it's my own tribe and kindred.
Being a farmer myself. I claim the farm- er's privilege of calling things by their right names in this talk; and shall so do. You will learn, however, before this thing is finished, that my idea of farm life is not so hilarious as that of the little boy who came out from town to spend a few days with his uncle, over here on the Auglaize, and wrote to his anxious mother :
"I got here all right, but I forgot to write before. A feller and I went out in a boat and the boat tipped over and a man got me out. I was so full of water that I didn't know any- thing for a long time. The other boy has to be buried after they find him. A horse kicked me over and I've got to have some money for fixin' my head. We are goin' to set a barn on fire to-night, and I should smile if we don't have some bully fun. I am goin' to bring home a tame wood-chuck if I can get him in my trunk."
Speaking of farms and farmers, I am look- ing forward with a great deal of interest to the time when our burthens will be made a great
deal lighter. Already we have the telephone, electric lines, mail delivery, and now some fellow says that invention of the Devil, that thing that was conceived in iniquity, born in sin and that has given rise to more profanity and is a greater nuisance than all the Canada thistles that ever sprouted-the Automobile- is to be our very best friend.
That is where I draw the line. Only think of it; after we have plowed all day, or raked the hay in the meadows gay, from early morn to close of day, we can, instead of going to bed, don our automobile clothes, jump into our "Red Devil," "White Destroyer" or "Blue. Demon," and whirl away to the town or city,. where the beer flows freely and the mint julep; sheds its fragrance on the air. We can enter- the club and have a game of checkers or poker,. according to taste, discuss the political situa- tion, get home in time to go to bed before breakfast, while the "auto" can be attached to the family churn, or grindstone or feed cutter, thus utilizing its power day or night.
When these suggestions are acted on by the farmers, a nice, tame, gentle, kindly dis- posed automobile will be worth more than. all the other stock on the farm.
A 33d degree pioneer, having lived here- since the beginning of time so far as I am: concerned, and hoping to stay until the day of judgment so far as I am concerned, I claim the privilege of telling my pioneer story in my own way, and in accordance with exact facts.
It will not go down in history as a "classic," but as a simple tale-the tail of an Ox.
"Would I live my life over again?" What ? And go through the mumps,. measles, itch, stumped toes, stone bruises, boils where I sit down, toothache, worms and ague ; work on old Elliott's farm for board. clothes and three months' schooling in winter: get up. at 4 a. m., walk out to the barn through the lovely, oozey mud and so forth, and feed the sweet pigs and squeeze a little milk out of dear old "bossy :" split half a cord of wood and pile it in the kitchen : eat with the appetite of a roaring lion a delightfully informal breakfast
98
HISTORY OF ALLEN COUNTY
of leathery flap-jacks and fried pig; flee again as a bird to the barn, yoke up the oxen and harrow the sea of mush known as the "back 40" before dinner; gulp down some more pig, hot biscuit half-done and half pearl ash, and repeat the harrowing process in the after- noon ?
Not any more of that kind of sweet and gentle repose for me.
To live over again all that species of hum- ming bird gossip, that travels with eagle wings and has a voice like a fog-horn, and that has caused more trouble than all the bedbugs, ticks, fleas, lice, flies, mosquitoes, rattlesnakes, grass-hoppers and blizzards this great United States have ever known, or will know when the universe shuts up shop and begins the final invoice. From these manifold evils, O Lord, deliver your humble servant.
To have to learn over again how many kinds of a fool a fellow can be and not half try. No! No! It would be a bore to travel again the weary, tortuous road, more espe- cially if one would have to be haunted his al- lotted time by the memory of that famous Democratic ox roast.
Never heard of the "ox roast?" Why that event will go down in history, and is one of the things that happened in my career, that whenever memory is mean enough to "hike" back to it makes me feel like accepting at any time, Gabriel's bugle-call with perfect satis- faction.
The campaign was an exciting one, and both parties were well lined up for the fray. At the north end of the Square floated the proud pennant of pure Democracy at the tip of a tall hickory-at the south end, the op- position bade defiance from an equally tall ash.
An amiable rivalry, a desire to outdo the other fellows, alas and alack, an o'erweening ambition to do things up so magnificently that our political opponents would bow their heads in sorrow, resulted in Democracy's humilia- tion and their rivals' exultation.
Sam Collins, then as now, was an ardent Democrat, always willing to do something for the good of the cause. He wasn't much on the
talk; couldn't fling beautiful sentences, rounded periods, flights of eloquence and freaks of oratory from his tongue's end on slight provocation, but he could invent ways and methods for entertaining crowds and influencing voters.
He is with us to-day, loved, honored and respected. When he is laid away, it can be said of him what can be said of few of us. "The world was better by reason of his having lived."
Instigated by the Devil, or having looked at the new moon over his left shoulder or met a cat on the stair-case, Editor Dave Fisher of the Allen County Democrat, published an account of a Kentucky barbecue.
The description of the fragrant burgoo, the juicy joints of meat, the good bread and butter, the fine tasting pickles and the aroma from the steaming coffee, made Uncle Sam Collins' mouth water, and he resolved on a grand Democratic rally, an ox roasted whole, the crowning event, the multitude fed and an- other glorious Democratic victory in little Allen.
With much sign of importance and a large draping of dignity, preliminaries were held in which committees were appointed and glory was bundled up in small packages to be deliv- ered to the heads of the Sanhedrim.
Your humble servant was assigned to the "COMMITTEE ON BANQUET," with large capital letters, the accessories in outrage being Sam Collins, Dave Fisher, Bill Rich- ardson and Jim Townsend, the last named be- ing then a young and tender but most prom- ising statesman, with buds all over him that seemed ready to burst into full bloom at the very next refreshing political shower, and who was largely responsible for the whole "blasted" business.
In view of subsequent events, as has al- ready been shadowed forth in this story, I can say in all truthfulness that right then and there would have been a good time for me to have taken passage with old Charon across the river Styx, or any other wet boundary between this and the "Big Divide."
Many of us stay too long on this side any-
99
AND REPRESENTATIVE CITIZENS
how, and when one has to be haunted all the way through a busy and bothersome life with such memories as of that ox roast, it is one too many horses on him-night horses at that.
That things might be done in perfect style, and worth while, we sent a commissioner down to Kentucky to secure the services of a real live Kentucky colonel, who knew all about the barbecue business and then some more.
He came, and he was "IT." He was for several days the advance agent of the show. He was tall and typical. His frock coat and broad slouch hat, his high-heeled boots and spring-bottomed trousers, his long and re- bellious black hair, his able-bodied and roseate
LIGHTS
CS.
THE KENTUCKY COLONEL.
nose, his "Yes-suh" and "No-suh" were all "thar," and he was the observed of all ob- servers.
What he did not know about roasting an ox had yet to be dug out of the opaque here- after. He buttoned his coat about his manly chest, told of his "pusn'l acquaintance" with Tom Marshall, Henry Clay. George D. Pren- tice, and other great men of that land of ora- tors and oratory, beautiful women, fast horses and bourbon whiskey, but boasted especially of his friendship for "Harry of the West." the greatest orator of them all; for Marshall, the wit and "ablest drinkah on earth." and
particularly for Prentice, "who notwithstand- ing his opposition to Democracy finally saw the error of his way, and was the most re- markable editor that evah slung a quill, suh."
He informed me privately that it had often been his pleasure to dance with Prentice's lovely daughters.
I discovered in after years that Prentice had no daughters.
In the hiatus between the glimpses of glory and the awful sequel, the Colonel, a personi- fication of self-satisfied and yet unobtrusive conceit, spent the greater part of his time at old Mad Anthony's saloon, swallowing pro- cessions of whiskey straights and chasing them down with rear guards of anything else that was "spirituous."
The time was September, in one of those seasons when the summer had laid up an over- plus of hot weather to be crowded into the end of dog days. It was intensely hot-that kind of hot that only comes in September when all the earth is parched, cracked, dry, dusty, dirty, when vegetable decay has reached its zenith. nasty hot-that kind of hot that makes one feel mean enough to say ugly things to his mother-in-law, when perspiration will neither dry up nor wipe off, when dogs are too lazy to hunt a bone, when chickens crawl under the barn too indolent to cackle and inform their husbands when they have laid an egg; so hot that you wish you might sit in your bones; so blankety hot, that hell, as described by my Hard-shell Baptist friend, lost all its terrors.
The slaughter house was over in the north- western part of town, on the Cairo road. There was no effort made in those day to utilize any part of an animal except the solid meat; all other parts were tumbled wherever most con- venient for them to land, and the whole field was covered with an assortment of heads, hoofs, horns, legs and inwards. Oh, it was the sight and the scent of a lifetime.
In the midst of this boneyard, this morgue. this charnel field, this everything that was nasty, our Kentucky Colonel had a pit dug. filled with dry hickory wood which was burned down into a fine mass of coals, and then the ox, a magnificent animal from the Hefner
HISTORY OF ALLEN COUNTY
farm, was suspended over the fire by means of an improvised derrick, and the process of roasting a whole ox was started.
That Kentucky Colonel was a "beaut." We soon found that he thought all whiskey was good, only some was a little better. During his respective spasms, he varied the stuffing of the ox's "innards." When his drinks came from Henry Beck's, a German, he would put in onions, cabbage and garlic. When from Dennis Collins', an Irishman, he would add sweet and Irish potatoes. When from Mad Anthony's, a Frenchman, he would com- pound a kind of vegetable hash, a potpourri,
"THAT KENTUCKY COLONEL WAS A BEAUT."
and dump them in on top. The result was that he had vegetables in all stages, rare, medium, steamed, baked, boiled, broiled, fricasseed, underdone, overdone, not done at all and done up brown.
About the second day of the cooking pro- cess, that fellow had a pretty well defined case of "snakes," in fact a whole menagerie, and was laid away in the fence corner-the com- mittee itself bordering on "jim jams."
The middle of the third day, "Old Ken- tuck" (we had dropped the Colonel) resur- rected and pronounced the roasting completed. We didn't dispute it-what was the use? We knew it was either done or ripe but couldn't tell which.
Elaborate preparations had been made for an imposing procession, a kind of grand en-
try to the Public Square, where the ox was. to stand in stately array, to receive the plaudits of the people at the meeting next day.
All the red, white and blue tissue paper in the town had been festooned over a truck ; four prancing chargers had been brought in from George Fetter's stone quarry ; Bill Pangle was to handle the ribbons and Gus Feiss was to ride ahead on Ben Faurot's jack, blow a horn and announce the coming of Ox Rex or Rex Ox.
In arranging for the grand parade, a part of the program was to be a chariot load of girls representing the different States, and as a centerpiece the Goddess of Liberty.
The county had been thoroughly can- vassed, and the girls were all ready to do their parts, including the decorating of the ox.
One of the nice features was that these young misses were all selected without refer- ence to politics-women didn't vote in those days-and any old politics was good enough for them so long as they rode in a procession, clothed in pretty white dresses, trimmed in red, white and blue ribbon.
Even if they did have to ask, "What's that man's name we are to shout for?" they were a thousand fold over more interesting in their beauty and innocence, than are the later- day Colorado Amazons, who talk politics until they dislocate their jaws, and who by their in- tensity would create a disturbance in Heaven -a kind of a cross between a jack rabbit and a bob-cat, with all the timid gentleness of the one left out and the vicious qualities of the other accentuated-the kind of a creature that the "Sultan of Sulu" would reject for his harem, and that no self-respecting man could caress without an attack of nausea. Universal suffrage is one of the coming evils, and I don't want to live in a one-sex world.
The girls were in the neighborhood to do the decorating, but there seemed a hesitancy on their part, a shrinking from publicity as it were. They came up to nose distance, looked, sniffed, spit and concluded they would go across the field and call on the Robb girls.
Did you ever see a girl spit at sight of some unpleasant thing? No? Well, it's a sight
RESIDENCE OF D. C. DUNN
RESIDENCE OF W. L. RUSSELL
RESIDENCE OF CHARLES C. MILLER
RESIDENCE OF DR. SAMUEL A. BAXTER
AND REPRESENTATIVE CITIZENS
103
and a sound. Now, when a well-trained man spitter spits, he does it artistically, both as to destination and sound-every consonant and the vowel is as perfectly articulated and modu- lated as though he were spelling out the word. Try it. There you have it-S-P-I-T.
Not so with the girl. She turns red, then pale, finally bringing up with a sort of garter- snake green, and ends with a sort of t-u-h, t-u-h, a run or a faint.
Being deserted by the girl decorators, Bill Richardson was pressed into the service, and managed to attach a few hangman's knots, in tri-colored ribbons, to the ox's horns and tail, and gave it as his opinion it was very "Pic- tu-res-que."
After a devil of a time to keep the beast from disintegration, we finally got him braced on a truck. He was scarcely the ideal we had pictured of head rampant, eyes blazant, tail
extant, etc., etc., but he was a whole ox roasted, and if we could ever get him out of that yard, and fan him off a little, he would be all right.
The procession finally started. It was not as imposing as we had hoped for. It was largely made up of a gang of kids who have since grown up strong in the faith, and have become important factors in the making and unmaking of statesmen. There was not that dignity and decorum we had a right to expect -- in fact there was a spirit of levity that was very unbecoming in the presence of the ox.
The procession was headed by Doan Robb, now the honored Mayor of Lima, and then
There was Gorman and Galvin and Mullen, O'Connell, O'Neill and O'Rourke, Fitzmaurice and Clifford and Brennen,
Fitzgerald, Rehally and Burke ;
Gangon and Dugan, Knokeley and Quinlan,
17
17 לו ה 17
THE IDEAL PARADE.
104
HISTORY OF ALLEN COUNTY
1
Murphy and Tehan, and Foley and Finn, O'Connor and Casey with Scully and Ducy And behind this quartette Mulcahi walked in. They were followed by Reardon, Riley and Toomey, O'Maley and Kelley came on in a pair, After them Coolohan, Kirby and Cooney, McCarthy, McAuliff, McGrath and Connair. Hughs came with Ginty, Ryan and Frawley, .Costello brought Lyons and Callahan, Hart, Kinnan and Carney, Corbett and Leahey, With Heffern and Lawler drove up in a cart. Says a voice at a window, "It's Noonan and Mulligan," "Go on with the shindy," says little Mike Sullivan; ""It's time for the fray," shouted Johnnie Conway, And in rushed Mahoney, Cummins and Corrigan Yellin', "Wait just one minute, here's Purtil and Shea. O'Keefe, Bland and Madigan are now on their way, Daly's just round the corner, Joyce on the run; Kevil, Doyle and O'Brien with Patsey Killoran, Hard pushed by Welsh, Coffey, Dempsey and Dunn." Kaliher, Goodwin, O'Neil and Malloy, Lovett and Moriarty found place in the gang; "All ready?" says Hennessy, "then give us the cue ;" "Go on with the circus," called Jim Donahue.
That little procession is scattered. Some of the poor fellows have gone over the "Great Divide," but most of them grew to manly manhood, filling their niche and doing their duty well.
Sam Collins, the master of ceremonies, was equal to the occasion. He never lost his sand. We had not proceeded far down West street, when we passed an old German gentleman named Amelong. Uncle Sam called out, "Come down to-morrow, Chris, and have din- ner with us."
"Denkst du Ich bin ein ascl?" came the ready reply, which being interpreted means, "Do you think I am a jack-ass?" and for the first time Uncle Sam seemed despondent.
As we passed the priest's residence, some one extended an invitation to the good father to "Come down to-morrow and eat with us;" the good man smiled and said, "Thank you, Oh, thank you, you are very kind, but it's Friday," and then Uncle Sam began to sus- pect.
About the time we crossed the Pennsyl- vania tracks, Tom Fitzmaurice's enthusiasm got the better of his judgment, and he grabbed
the ox by the tail. Now that tail had been made a special feature. The hide and switch had been left on, and had escaped the ravages of the fire, but one yank of Tom's strong arm peeled the thing from start to finish, from soda to hock, and left it under bare poles.
We tied it with strings, pinned it with pins, and glued it with glue, but in spite of all efforts it wouldn't stick and we had to give it up.
We finally reached the Square without ac- tual disaster. The shades of night were fall- ing fast, and none would have cared if there had come total darkness, and with it a cyclone that would have lifted that ox into the un- known whence. But, as it was, we braced the
THE LITERAL PARADE.
thing as best we could, covered it with disin- fecting cloths, chose a committee to "wake" it, to the end that the irreverent enemy might not serve us any "Yankee tricks," and left it in its charmed circle, within which no one would have dared enter if he had known what he was about. However, we had a general under- standing that all should meet at the place, or near it as possible, at dawn next morning, in order to hold a coroner's inquest, or something. and arrive at some decision as to what was best to do with the ox and ourselves.
The morning came and so did we, but the morning was brighter than we were. Pos- sibly the birds sang as sweetly as if there had not been an ox roasted whole, with a whole
105
AND REPRESENTATIVE CITIZENS
lot of other things, but the only sound that we could distinguish was that of the carrion crow.
The sun did not rise; instead there came a great blazing ball of fire, thousands of times larger than the earth, and completely envelop- ing it in a torrent of heat.
There was not a cloud in the sky and no promise of one which, paradoxical as it may seem, made it darker for us. We wished for the hardest rain that could come in order that there might be an indefinite postponement of the "banquet."
Ravenous cats looked down from house tops, rats with glittering eyes peered from under the wooden sidewalks, hungry dogs had to be kicked out of the way, and even the hogs, which in those days ran at large, were gath- ered in squads, companies, battalions and reg- iments.
The poor old ox had shriveled and shrunk until he looked like a combination of last year's bird's nests and a veterinary's sign. His abdomen was distended by gas until it looked like an inverted balloon, and down his sides trickled little rivulets of rich, creamy yellow liquid and settled in pools on the ground be- low, and thousands of flies enjoyed such a des- sert as never did fly before. In folds of flesh and cracks, writhed little innocent white worms, fighting for position, and on that heavy air, murky and close, arose the most intolerable stench it was ever the lot of mortal man to smell; it was the very quintessence of compounded, double-distilled, rectified, con- centrated stink; lothsome stink, such a stink as you could cut in chunks, carry around and distribute among your enemies to drive them from their happy homes.
Pole cats, rotten eggs, sulphuretted hy- drogen, "carbon di-sulphide," that vile stuff shoemakers use in repairing old rubber boots, but which the shoemaker's cub gives a differ- ent name, much more expressive, and all other bad smells were as attar of roses, compared to this "Democratic Ox" smell.
Many remarks were made that would hardly do to put in cold storage-they were too hot.
Louie Gottfried, a grand fellow, long since dead, rest to his soul, was famous for his pro- fanity ; he had as choice a collection of exple- tives in his swearing vocabulary as was ever given to a man with but one tongue, but this was too much for him; he couldn't rise to the occasion, and it was painful to listen to his efforts, especially when one was so much in sympathy with what you knew he wanted to say ; he could only gasp, "Well by -- , Well I'll be -, Great -," and other tentative. exclamations.
Editor Parmenter, of the opposition press, wanted to know of Editor Fisher, if that was. an ox roasted whole, or an ox hole roasted. That Parmenter always was a cynical cuss !
Robert Mehaffey came around the corner, leading little Willie, now the dignified editor of the Times-Democrat; he got a sight and a smell at the same time, and Willie, in his inno- cence asked his papa if he hadn't "cut his foot." Robert walked away, murmuring, "Too bad, too bad."
John Meily and Thomas K. Jacobs, noted for irascibility, only laughed, and then the rest of us got mad because they didn't.
Nelson McBride shed tears of repentance when he thought of that fiver he had contrib- uted to the banquet.
George Schooler, Gabe Hefner, Ross Crossley, Andy Duff, John Cremean, Doan Fisher and a number of others, as good Dem- ocrats as ever rain wet or sun dried, came along with hickory canes and butternut but- tons. Schooler had his own peculiar formula of swear words, and almost shrieked out "Hell to Coshocton," and then by common consent the little group wended their way over to Mad Anthony's.
Need help finding more records? Try our genealogical records directory which has more than 1 million sources to help you more easily locate the available records.