OHIO STATEWIDE FILES OH-FOOTSTEPS Mailing List *********************************************************************** USGENWEB NOTICE: These electronic pages may NOT be reproduced in any format for profit or presentation by other organization or persons. Persons or organizations desiring to use this material, must obtain the written consent of the contributor, or the legal representative of the submitter, and contact the listed USGenWeb archivist with proof of this consent. The submitter has given permission to the USGenWeb Archives to store the file permanently for free access. *********************************************************************** OH-FOOTSTEPS-D Digest Volume 99 : Issue 395 Today's Topics: #1 HAMILTON COUNTY - PART 15 [AUPQ38A@prodigy.com (MRS GINA M RE] #2 DEATH CERT---EMMA FRANTZ [Anitarippe@aol.com] #3 DEATH CERT---MARY CAROLINE WEBER [Anitarippe@aol.com] #4 SCRAPBOOK FOR FRED LEVY [AUPQ38A@prodigy.com (MRS GINA M RE] ------------------------------ X-Message: #1 Date: Tue, 15 Jun 1999 11:41:21, -0500 From: AUPQ38A@prodigy.com (MRS GINA M REASONER) Subject: HAMILTON COUNTY - PART 15 HAMILTON COUNTY - part 15 On the morning the city was put under martial law. I found the streets full of armed police in army blue, and all, without respect to age, compelled to report at the headquarters of their respective districts for enrolment. An unwilling citizen, seeing the bayonet levelled at him, could but yield to the inexorable logic of military despotism. It was perilous to walk the streets without a pass. At every corner stood a sentinel. The colored men were roughly handled by the Irish police. From hotels and barber shops, in the midst of their labors, these helpless people were pounced upon and often bareheaded and in shirtsleeves, just as seized, driven in squads, at the point of the bayonet, and gathered in vacant yards and guarded. What rendered this act more than ordinarily atrocious was, that they,, through their head men, had, at the first alarm, been the earliest to volunteer their services to our mayor, for the defence of our common homes. It was as sad sight to see human beings treated like reptiles. Enrolled in companies we were daily drilled. One of these in our ward was composed of old men, termed "Silver Grays." Among its members were the venerable Judge Leavitt, of the Untied States Supreme Court, and other eminent citizens. Grandfathers were seen practicing the manual, and lifting alternate feet to the cadence of marktime. At this stage of affairs the idea that our colored citizens possessed war-like qualities was a subject for scoffing; the scoffers forgetting that the race in ancestral Africa, including even the women, had been in war since the days of Ham; strangely oblivious also to the fact that our foreign-born city police could only by furious onslaught, made with Hibernian love of the thing, quell the frequent pugnacious outbreaks of the crispy-haired denisons of our own Bucktown. From this view, or more probably a delicate sentiment of tenderness, instead of being armed and sent forth to the dangers of battle, they were consolidated into a peaceful brigade of workers in the trenches back of Newport, under the philanthropic guidance of the Hon. William M. Dickson. The daily morning march of the corps down Broadway to labor was a species of the mottled picturesque. At their head was the stalwart, manly form of the landlord of the Dumas house, Colonel Harlan. Starting back on the honest, substantial, coal-black foundation, all shades of color were exhibited, degenerating out through successive gradations to any ashy white; the index of Anglo-Saxon fatherhood of the chivalrous American type. Arrayed for dirt-work in their oldest clothes; apparently the fags of every conceivable kind of cast-off, kicked-about, and faded-out garments; crownless and lop-eared hats, diverse boots; with shouldered, pick, shovel, and hoe; this merry chattering, piebald, grotesque body, shuffled along amid grins and jeers, reminding us of the ancient nursery distich: "Hark! hark! hear the dogs bark, The beggars are coming to town, Some in rags, some in tags, And some in velvet gowns." Tuesday night, September 9, 1862, was starlight; the air soft and balmy. With others I was on guard at an improvised armory, the old American Express buildings, on Third street near Broadway. Three hours past midnight from a signal tower three blocks east of us a rocket suddenly shot high in the air; then the fire-bell pealed an alarm. All was again quiet. Half an hour passed. Hurrying footsteps neared us. They were those of the indefatigable, public-spirited John D. Caldwell. "Kirby Smith," said he quickly "is advancing on the city. The military are to muster on the landing and cross the river at sunrise." Six o'clock struck as I entered my own door to make preparations for my departure. The good woman was up. The four little innocents -two of a kind -were asleep in the bliss of ignorance, happy in quiet slumber. A few moments of hurried preparation and I was ready for the campaign. The provisions were these: a heavy blanket-shawl, a few good cigars, a haversack loaded with eatables, and a black bottle of medicinal liquid -cherry bounce -very choice. As I stepped out on the pavement my neighbor did the same. he, too, was off for the war. At each of our adjoining chamber-windows stood a solitary female. Neither could see the other thought not ten feet apart, a house dividing wall intervening. Sadness and merriment were personified. Tears bedewed and apprehension elongated the face of the one. Laughter dimpled and shortened the face of the other. The one thought of her protector as going forth to encounter the terrors of battle; visions of wounds and death were before her. The other thought of hers with only a prospect of a little season of rural refreshment on the Kentucky hills, to return in safety with an appetite ravenous as a wolf's for freshly dug pink-eyes and Beresford's choice cuts. We joined our regiment at the landing. This expanse of acres was crowded with armed citizens in companies and regiments. Two or three of our frail, egg-shell river steamers, converted into gun-boats, were receiving from drays bales of hay for bulwarks. The pontoon was a moving panorama of newly made warriors, and wagons of munitions hastening southward. Back of the plain of Covington and Newport rose the softly rounded hills; beyond these were our bloodthirsty foe. Our officers tried to maneuver our regiment. They were too ignorant to maneuver themselves; it was like handling a rope of sand. But in my absence they had somehow managed to get that long line of men arranged into platoons. Then as I took my place the drums beat, fifes squeaked, and we crossed the pontoon. The people of Covington filled their doorways and windows to gaze at the passing pageant. To my fancy they looked scowlingly. No cheers, no smiles greeted us. It was a staring silence. The rebel army had been largely recruited from the town. March! march! march! We struck the hills, The way up seemed interminable. The boiling September sun poured upon us like a furnace. The road was as an ash heap. Clouds of limestone dust whitened us like millers, filling our nostrils and throats with impalpable powder. The cry went up. Water! water! Little or none was to be had. The unusual excitement and exertion told upon me. Years before, I had, bearing my knapsack, performed pedestrian tours of thousands of miles. Had twice walked the lake; in the hottest of summer had footed it from Richmond to Lynchburg. No forty or fifty miles a day had ever wilted me like this march of only four. But my muscles had been relaxed by years of continuous office labor. I had been on my feet on guard-duty all night. Near the top of the hills, some 400 feet above the Ohio level, our regiment halted, when our officers galloped ahead. We broke ranks and lay down under the wayside fence. Five minutes elapsed. Back cantered the cortege. "Fall into line! fall into line! Quick, men!" was the cry. They rode among us. Our colonel exclaimed "You are now going to battle! The enemy are advancing! You will receive sixty rounds of cartridges! Do your duty men! do your duty! I fancied it a ruse to test our courage, and so experienced a sense of shame. I looked upon the men around me. Not a word was spoken; not one smiled. No visible emotion of any kind appeared, only weary faces, dirty, sweaty, and blowsy with the burning heat. I dropped my cartridges into my haversack along with my food. Our captain, in his musical, pleasant voice, gave us instructions, though he had never studied war. "Gentlemen! he again exclaimed, with a significant scowl and shake of his head, "I was mistaken; you must put the powder in first and the ball on top!" We did so. We had elected Billy captain, for he was genial and of a good family. We again shuffled upward. Suddenly as the drawing of a curtain, a fine, open, rolling country with undulating ravines burst upon us. Two or three farm mansions with half concealing foliage and corn-fields appeared in the distance; beyond, a mile away, the fringed line of a forest; above, a cloudless sky and a noon-day sun. The road we were on penetrated these woods. In these were concealed the unknown thousands of our war experienced foe. On the summit of the hills we had to laboriously gained, defending the approach by the road, ran our line of earth-works. On our right was Fort Mitchell; to our left for hundreds of yards, rifle-pits. The fort and pits were filled with armed citizens, and a regiment or two of green soldiers in their new suits. Vociferous cheers greeted our appearing. "How are you, H.?" struck my attention. It was the cheerful voice of a tall, slender gentleman in glasses, who did my legal business, John W. Herron. Turning off to the left into the fields in front of these, and away beyond, we halted an hour or so in line of battle, the nearest regiment to the enemy. We waited in expectation of an attack, too exhausted to fight, or perhaps, even to run. Thence we moved back into an orchard, behind a rail-fence, on rather low ground; our left, and the extreme left of all our forces, resting on a farm-house. Our pioneers went to work strengthening our permanent position, cutting down brush and small trees, and piling them against the fence. Here, we were in plain view, a mile in front, of the ominous forest. When night came on, in caution, our camp-fires were extinguished. We slept on hay in the open air, with our loaded muskets by our sides, and our guards and pickets doubled. At four o'clock reveille sounded and we were up in line. I then enjoyed what I had not before seen in years -the first coming on of morning in the country. Most of the day we were in line of battle behind the fence. Regiments to the right of us, and more in the rifle-pits farther on, and beyond, it seemed a mile to the right, the artillerists in Fort Mitchell -all those on hills above us also stood waiting for the enemy. Constant picket firing was going on in front. The rebels were feeling our lines. Pop! pop! pop! one-two-three, then half a dozen in quick succession, followed by a lull with intervals of three or four minutes, broken perhaps by a solitary pop. Again continuous pops, like a feu-de-joie, with another lull, and so on through the long hours. Some of our men were wounded, and others, it was reported, killed. With the naked eye we caught occasional glimpses of the skirmishers in a corn-field near the woods. With a glass a man by my side said he saw the butternut-colored garments of the foe. -continued in part 16 ------------------------------ X-Message: #2 Date: Tue, 15 Jun 1999 11:45:00 EDT From: Anitarippe@aol.com Subject: DEATH CERT---EMMA FRANTZ Place of death; Stark Cty, Canton, Ohio Mercy Hospital Full name; EMMA FRANTZ Residence; Spring Ave. N.E. Sex; F Color; W Married Husband; Frank E. Date of birth; May 5, 1863 Age; 65 years 3 months 2 days Occupation; At home Birthplace; Louisville, Ohio Father; Peter Weber Birthplace; Germany Maiden name of Mother; Caroline Myers Birthplace; Germany Date of death; Aug 7, 1928 Cause of death; Organic heart disease, Mitral regurgitation, Uremia Informant; Frank E. Frantz Spring Ave. N.E. Burial; St. John's Cemetery Undertaker; Charles Paquelet Canton, Ohio Submitted by Anita A. Rippel ------------------------------ X-Message: #3 Date: Tue, 15 Jun 1999 11:53:50 EDT From: Anitarippe@aol.com Subject: DEATH CERT---MARY CAROLINE WEBER Place of death; Stark Cty, Louisville, Ohio Full name; MARY CAROLINE WEBER Residence; W. Main St. Sex; F Color; W Single Date of birth; Nov 7, 1902 Age; 28 years 2 months 15 days Trade; Garment factory worker Birthplace; Louisville, Stark Cty, Ohio Father; John Weber Birthplace; Louisville, Stark Cty, Ohio Maiden name of Mother; Laura Dorn Birthplace; Stark Cty Ohio Date of death; Jan. 22, 1931 Informant; John Weber Louisville, Ohio Burial; St. Louis Cemetery Louisville, Ohio Undertaker; F. Paquelet Louisville, Ohio Submitted by Anita A. Rippel ------------------------------ X-Message: #4 Date: Tue, 15 Jun 1999 12:07:57, -0500 From: AUPQ38A@prodigy.com (MRS GINA M REASONER) Subject: SCRAPBOOK FOR FRED LEVY On my last visit to the bookstore a scrapbook caught my attention. I couldn't leave it behind so I purchased it, I would like to pass it to family members of Frederick Levy. The scrapbook on the front inside cover says "This book is the property of Frederick Levy, University of Pennsylvania scrap book. Page 1, "started on October 2, 1919" and has several names of friends who signed the book; Jesse A. Eisner, Mt. Vernon, NY; Jack M. Falk?, Indianapolis, IN; Jack S. Goltman, Memphis, TN; Wm. A. Barron, Portland, Maine; John Franklin, Little Rock, Ark., and others that I am unsure of the spelling. It has 11 pages of items glued to the scrapbook and apparently he got bored with it. There is a letter from the University acknowledging receiving his application, invitation to a dance at the Quorum Club, certificate of admission, registration with grades, several invitations to fraternities for smokers, copies of tuition payments from the bursars office, a receipt from the Alamac Hotel in Atlantic City, NJ, and a couple of other items. There is also a card that I found amusing, it says: DOES IT LISTEN GOOD? I'd rather drink water than beer, I'd rather drink milk than champagne, A ginger high makes me feel queer, And claret cup gives me a pain; I'm really a buttermilk "fan", For whiskey I don't care a-slam; Soft drinks are my joy, So I'm happy - Oh, Boy- What a wonderful LIAR I am. Anyway, I would like this returned to someone who would cherish it. All I ask is that you verify where Frederick Levy lived prior to attending the University of Pennsylvania. Gina aupq38a@prodigy.com -------------------------------- End of OH-FOOTSTEPS-D Digest V99 Issue #395 *******************************************