Category Archives: Research

You Can’t Always Get What You Want

Hocking Sentinel 7.24.1890 pg. 1

The Hocking [Ohio] Sentinel, July 24, 1890, pg. 1.

In the summer of 1890, newspapers across the country ran similar notices about an unusual situation. Readers in Ohio, Illinois, Pennsylvania, Minnesota, Wisconsin and even far-away Texas were informed that a woman had recently become a railroad contractor, and would soon be grading miles of track outside of Wellington, Ohio. At least nine separate publications printed the story in a six-week period. It is a wonderful story. The only problem? I cannot find a single piece of corroborating evidence to prove that it is true.

In the nineteenth century, before the widespread use of wire services, it was common practice for editors to exchange copies of their newspapers with publishers in other areas. These traded papers were mined for content to fill empty column space. So it is not surprising to see an atypical notice turn up in multiple places, often identically worded. Taken together, theses particular notices provide a detailed story, full of facts that, at first glance, seem easily verifiable.

A woman named Lavina Williams–familiarly known as Fannie or Fanny–was the recent widow of railroad contractor John Williams. John had been killed in Bedford, Indiana (the couple lived in nearby Columbus) in the fall of 1889, as he was finishing a job on the Evansville and Richmond Railroad for D. J. Mackey. Mrs. Williams intended to assume John’s role and complete a contract for twenty-five miles of grading work on the “Cleveland and Wellington road” outside Wellington, Ohio.

I am often asked by readers, how do you find so much information about a given topic? How do you know where to look? This post is a good example of something that should have been easy to research, but ultimately was not. I have been looking unsuccessfully for weeks for any evidence that John and Fannie Williams existed. I can find no genealogical records, nor any notices about John’s alleged accidental death in Indiana in the fall of 1889. I can find no burial records in Indiana for a John Williams who died in that location and period, nor for a Lavina/Fanny/Fannie Williams married to a man called John. Other than this batch of newspaper notices in June and July of 1890, I can find nothing further published about female railroad contractor Lavina Williams. I even searched through all the issues of the Wellington Enterprise for the summer of 1890, and found no mention of any such person or grading work going on in or around the village. (There is some activity noted around Litchfield, but that village is ten miles east of Wellington and does not fall on the rail line between Wellington and Cleveland.) D. J. Mackey was the president of both the Evansville & Terre Haute and Peoria, Decatur & Evansville railroad lines, but I cannot establish that John Williams or his widow ever worked for the man.

Was the female railroad builder a real person? I want her to be real. But as the song says, you can’t always get what you want.

UPDATE: The Bartholomew County [Indiana] Historical Society, where Columbus is located, have been undertaking an archival search at my request. They recently reported back to me that they have been unable to locate any reference to Lavina Wiliams or this story in their collections.

Park Place

Village of Wellington 1857

Detail of Archibald Willard’s painting, “Village of Wellington, 1857,” showing the area of town now known as Park Place. Original painting owned by Herrick Memorial Library. Permission to display generously granted by the library.

As you likely know by now, dear reader, 2018 is Wellington’s bicentennial year. There is a whole calendar of events planned in commemoration. One of the upcoming offerings is an historic house tour in the fall. My own 1883 carriage house will be one of the featured properties. Another home that will be on the tour is a white wood-frame beauty that sits at 139 Park Place, right at the center of town. It is owned by a dear friend of mine, Mrs. Linda Hatton, and she asked for my help in tracing its history. The Hatton family also owns the adjacent 135 Park Place–used as a rental property for decades–so we decided that I would research both homes. Mrs. Hatton has generously agreed that I might share with you the fascinating stories I uncovered.

I am often asked how one goes about researching the history of a house. First, start with what you know (or think you know). I asked Linda to provide me, to the best of her recollection, the year her family had acquired each property, and the name of the previous owner. She also told me all the stories she had heard about each house over the years. This creates a jumping off point for research, as you attempt to verify or disprove each story by looking at the existing documentary evidence.

I spent several days tracing each house backward in time via Wellington corporation tax records. The ledger volumes have been digitized and are publicly accessible, free of charge, via the Lorain County Records Retention Center. Depending on the specific locality you are investigating, the records go as far back as the early nineteenth century, and are available through the 1940s. You can look for the name of a specific person (the volumes are alphabetical by taxpayer) or, though it is more labor intensive, you can also search for the block and lot number of each taxable plot of land in the village.

 

I knew by looking at both contemporary records of the Lorain County Auditor’s office, as well as village maps dating from 1857 and 1874 (shown above, left and right respectively) that the Hatton residence at 139 Park Place sits on block 4, lot 13, while the rental property at 135 Park Place is on block 4, lot 12. The eagle-eyed among you will note that in the nineteenth century, lot 13 was subdivided and had two small buildings on it. Those structures predate the house that exists today, as we shall see.

I next visited the Lorain County Recorder’s office in Elyria, to compile what is called a “chain of deed” or “chain of title.” This is a process by which one traces a house backward in time through the official recording of property transactions. Using the information provided to me by the Hattons, the information I had compiled from tax records, and a few key biographical facts about some of the previous homeowners–principally their dates of death–I was able to craft a pretty clear timeline of ownership for each property.

Wall of Indexes

The wall of indexes at the Lorain County Recorder’s office, Elyria, Ohio. Photo by author.

The Hattons were uncertain when, or by whom, their residence had been constructed. Tax records clearly showed that block 4, lot 13 had been subdivided into two lots prior to 1910, each with a modest structure on it. (Those two structures are very likely the same two small brick buildings depicted on the right of Willard’s 1857 painting, shown at the top of this post.) Each half-lot and building was owned by a different individual. But in 1910, both lots were purchased by a single person, and in 1911, that person was shown as owning a single lot with a single structure, assessed for taxation at the impressive sum of $2,500. My working hypothesis, then, was that 1910 was the year of construction. In order to confirm that, I decided to look through the Wellington Enterprise for that period. Since the newspaper is not digitized after 1900, that meant checking individual issues on reels of microfilm.

I found what I was looking for in February 1910. “Mr. N. G. Hoyt Will Build. Mr. N. G. Hoyt has purchased the two brick houses and lot just south of Mr. George Robishaw’s home [135 Park Place], and will erect a new and modern residence upon the site, utilizing the brick from the two buildings in the foundation. This will add much to the appearance of the town” (2-2-1910, pg. 1). Eight additional notices over the course of the spring and summer charted the progress of construction, by local businessman Norton G. Hoyt and his second wife, Josephine. The final notice announced that the residence would be “ready for occupancy by the 1st of October” (9-14-1910, pg. 5).

139 Park Place

139 Park Place. Official photograph of the property from the Lorain County Auditor’s office.

The Hoyts occupied the house at 139 Park Place for twelve years. In 1922, they sold it to Lawrence G. Stemple. Stemple’s tenure is verified not only by deeds and tax records, but also by Wellington city directories and telephone directories that confirm the house as his family’s primary residence. After Lawrence died in 1961, his son Sidney D. Stemple purchased the house, and Sidney also lived in it until his death in 1992. The Hattons have resided at 139 Park Place ever since, only the fourth owners–and third family–to call it home in more than a century.

The history of the adjacent property is both longer and more complex. It has had at least ten recorded owners since the mid-nineteenth century, some of them not personally residing in the house but rather using it as a rental property–which it remains today. I will highlight just a few of the more interesting stories:

Blanche A. Sutliff was the young widow of local businessman George M. Sutliff, who died suddenly of typhoid fever in 1909. George seems to have left Blanche financially comfortable–he was described as “a man of affairs, a money maker” in one obituary–but also with two small daughters to raise, Marion (8) and Maxine (2). A third daughter, Mildred, died in infancy. Blanche purchased the house at 135 Park Place in 1911, does not appear to have ever remarried, and lived there until she died in 1942.

Ethel Benedict was the brother of Jerusha Benedict Reed, wife of local dry goods merchant John S. Reed. When John Reed drowned while bathing in the Black River in 1855, Ethel Benedict relocated from Connecticut to Wellington to assume responsibility for his sister’s financial affairs. He eventually erected the three-story brick business block at the center of town that bears his name to this day. The Benedict family lived in the house at 135 Park Place from 1872 until 1906, though Ethel himself died in 1893.

Dr. Charles Beach and his wife Ann, or Anna, lived in the house while Archibald Willard created Village of Wellington, 1857. Ann Jackson Beach was from Belleville, Ohio. The family moved to Wellington in 1846, purchasing what we now call 135 Park Place from Isaac Bennett in 1850. They lived in the house for nine years, spending their later life in Pittsfield. Both are buried in Greenwood Cemetery.

1857 Map of Lorain Cty residence key detail

Key to an oversize 1857 hanging map (detail shown above) which lists “Dr. C. H. Beach” as having his residence on “Main Street”–later renamed Park Place–block 4, lot 12.

Just as with 139 Park, the final piece of the puzzle to lock into place was the name of the person who built the house, and the year in which it was built. Though Wellington tax records are available this far into the past, the block and lot numbers were not recorded so precisely prior to 1850, which forces us to make educated guesses using things like property values as tools. Using this method, I hypothesized that Dr. and Mrs. Beach had purchased the house from Isaac Bennett around 1850. One year Bennett owned one of the few houses in the southwest quadrant of the village valued at $546; the next year he did not, but the Beaches now owned a property in the correct location valued at $550. I guessed the properties were one-in-the-same.

On the trip to the Lorain County Recorder’s office, I was able to prove that theory correct, when I located an 1850 deed transferring ownership of the following lot, from Isaac Bennett to Anna Beach for $200: “…Bounded on the West by the Public Square on the South by John H. Wooley Lot [the northern half of block 4, lot 13] on the east by Land owned by Alanson Howk heirs on the north on land owned by me…Being part of Original Lot 22…” This is the correct location for 135 Park Place. The fact that the tax assessment of the property remains relatively unchanged over the entire course of Bennett’s ownership and that of the Beach family (i.e from at least 1847 until 1859), suggests that the Beaches purchased a lot on which a house was already constructed.

135 Park Place

135 Park Place. Official photograph of the property from the Lorain County Auditor’s office.

The house was certainly standing when Willard composed his painting of the village in 1857. A careful comparison of the architectural details of the house today with the white, wood-frame building in the painting (fourth structure from the right in the detail at the top of this post) shows them to be nearly identical. Looking at Isaac Bennett’s tax records, I believe he is the most likely person to have constructed the house, sometime around 1846/47.

Bennett was born in Guildford, Vermont on June 16, 1801. He married Esther Childs (1801/2-1891) of nearby Deerfield, Massachusetts. The couple moved to Wellington in February 1834. Bennett later asserted–in a reminiscence offered on his sixtieth wedding anniversary–that when the family arrived, “there were but eight frame houses in the whole township” (Wellington Enterprise, 12-26-1883, pg. 3). He also claimed to have manufactured the bricks for the first Methodist Church erected in Wellington. He served as township clerk from 1843 to 1845, and again from 1847 to 1849. Isaac and Esther Bennett are recorded as being interred at Greenwood Cemetery, but their graves are unmarked.

Bennett to Beach pg 1

First page of Lorain County deed transferring land in original lot 22 from Isaac Bennett to Anna Beach for $200. Book 5, pg. 446-447 (1850). Photo by author.

I do hope that all of you will attend the historic house tour on October 14th. All proceeds from the event will benefit Main Street Wellington, which keeps our downtown vibrant not only through beautification efforts, but also by promoting the growth of our local businesses. Many thanks to the Hatton family, both for volunteering their home for the tour and also for allowing me to share the histories of their properties with all of you.

“It’s A Major Award!”*

OGS LogoI am very proud to announce that the Ohio Genealogical Society today named my book, Fully Equal to the Situation: Nineteenth-Century Women of Wellington, Ohio, as the 2018 recipient of the Governor Thomas Worthington Award for best Ohio biography. I am honored and grateful to all of you for your ongoing support.

*I confess that the first thing that crossed my mind when I heard the news was the famous line from the 1983 holiday classic, A Christmas Story, filmed in nearby Cleveland.

We Interrupt Our Regularly Scheduled History Blog…

In July 2015, the Elyria Chronicle-Telegram published a supplement to its daily newspaper, focusing on the Wellington Cheese Festival. You may imagine my surprise when I immediately recognized that two of the three large color photographs on its front cover were taken from my blog. One image I shot myself; the other was taken of my home by a friend who is a professional photographer. There was no attribution anywhere in the insert, indicating where the photographs came from. Needless to say, nobody had asked permission to use them.

I called the Chronicle and after quite a long time, was finally connected with the person who created the cover. The only explanation she could offer was that the images were “on the Internet” and so she—a professional graphic designer working for a company that could be subject to legal action—thought that they were free for the taking to anyone interested in using them. It had not occurred to her that taking work someone else produced, then putting it on the cover of a publication that her employer sold for profit, was at all problematic.

I have been writing 19th-Century Wellington for nearly five years and have spent thousands of hours, and many dollars, on research. But I believe strongly in the exchange of information and ideas, so from the first this blog has been free and publicly available. And with the exception of the unpleasant experience with the Chronicle, it worked well. But possibly because 2018 is Wellington’s bicentennial year, that is now changing. Many more people are apparently interested in the village’s history. This is wonderful, and I am glad of it. But an unexpected consequence of that interest is that suddenly, content from this blog is appearing all over social media. And it is almost always unattributed.

I have obtained permission to use all of the images found on this blog that I did not shoot myself. I formally asked both the Herrick Memorial Library and the Southern Lorain County Historical Society for the use of images from their collections to illustrate these posts. I then formally asked for permission to use a few of the same images for publication in my recent book. As a thank you for their ongoing support, I donated copies of the book to both institutions. And whenever possible within the posts, I encourage readers to visit both organizations and see the images or objects in person. In those rare instances when I have found a photograph on another website that I cannot find anywhere else, I have contacted the owner of that page and asked for permission to use the image with full credit, pointing back to his or her work.

Historical research is not easy or straightforward. The narratives you read in these posts are carefully crafted to make the final story as clear and concise as possible. But I do not find this information wrapped up in neat packages. It is painstakingly pieced together from multiple sources. A standard subject takes weeks of work, from having the idea to hitting the “post” button. Many take months. A few have taken more than a year. I am currently working on a post about Frederick Douglass visiting Wellington 150 years ago this month. The story itself will not be very long or involve a great deal of primary document research, but to prepare I read two full-length biographies of Douglass, as historical context. That, by itself, took a month. I once looked into a topic that hinged on the date that two people were married. I spent six weeks trying to substantiate the correct date, including a visit to the Western Reserve Historical Society in Cleveland. Six weeks. All so I could accurately assert, “They were married in Wellington in 1828.”

Research is sometimes compared to piecing together a puzzle. It would be more accurate to say it is like piecing together a puzzle when you have no idea what the final image is supposed to be, nor do you know how big or small the overall puzzle is, nor whether all the pieces from the left side were burned up in a fire and so do not exist to complete the picture. Or perhaps they are just in a forgotten box in your neighbor’s basement, if only you knew to ask. Maybe the puzzle will be finished in a few days, or maybe you will work on it for more than eighteen months (as I did with one three-part essay, even traveling out of state to visit archives and museums) and still not feel that you are close to completion.

I have done this for the joy of the work. I have received no compensation. Not for the dozen public lectures I have given since I began the blog. Not for the myriad personal email inquiries I have received from folks, asking for help with their own family history research. I have photographed local houses for people in other states, given tours of town to visitors, met strangers at the library on weekends to give advice on family heirlooms, facilitated donations of objects to the library and museum. I received nothing in return, except the thanks of the people I helped, and until now that was more than enough.

But it is upsetting to see my writing and photographs I have taken pop up daily, without any acknowledgement or attribution, on social media pages. And to then be criticized, to be characterized as egotistical or conceited, for “wanting credit” for years of my own work.

I do not believe that most people who copy content from the Internet and post it to social media do so maliciously, as an act of theft. I don’t think many people have ever had occasion to give these particular issues much thought. So it felt important to lay out, in a way I never before considered necessary, just how much time, effort and financial investment all of this involves. Please do not assume that anything you see on the Internet is free for the taking. Please acknowledge the sources of your information. And if you see someone else posting content that you know is not of their creation, politely encourage them to identify where it originated.

Thank you for reading.

50,000 Visitors!

This blog hit a significant milestone today, namely more than fifty thousand visitors have come here since I began writing it in the summer of 2013. WordPress statistics indicate that visitors to 19th-Century Wellington are coming from one hundred and twelve countries around the world. The vast majority, as one would expect, hail from the United States. But some of our readers are citizens of South America, Asia, the Middle East and as far away as Australia and New Zealand. I am both humbled and amazed. Thank you for taking time out of your busy life to read these posts, and for your thoughtful comments and kind words. It is all much appreciated.

Sacred Cow

ca. 1880

“HOLSTEIN HEIFER, 2 years old.” Hand-colored engraving printed ca. 1880.

I recently received an inquiry from a longtime reader of the blog. What did I know about Wellington’s most famous bovine citizen, the nineteenth-century Holstein cow called Molly Bawn? I had to confess that I did not know much. A quick Google search uncovered a parcel of self-described “legends” about the animal. Local cheese dealer Charles Horr went on a trip to Europe, where he discovered that Holstein cows produce much higher volumes of milk than their American counterparts. Impressed, he bought a two-year-old specimen called Molly Bawn (or Mollie Baun, or any combination of variant spellings) and brought her back across the ocean. Horr thereby introduced Holstein cows to America/Ohio/Lorain County…you get the idea. Molly went on to produce record-breaking amounts of milk, perhaps the most milk ever produced by a cow, and that is why Wellington became famous for cheese production–and why we still remember Molly to this day. The trouble is, existing historical documentation does not support any of those assertions.

Holstein Friesian cows (rather confusingly known as Holsteins in America, but Friesians in Europe) are the highest-production dairy animals in the world. The breed originated in the northern provinces of what we today call the Netherlands, namely North Holland and Friesland. The enormous black-and-white or red-and-white animals were being shipped to America as early as the 1600s, when Dutch settlers in New York brought or sent for “Dutch cows” to fill their pastures. The Holstein Herd Book, first published in 1872, noted that the initial import of “pureblood” breeding stock occurred with the shipment of a single cow to Massachusetts in 1852 (pg. 19).

Map of Holland province

Map of the northern provinces of the Netherlands, showing Holland and Friesland. Holstein Friesian cows originated as a breed in this region, and Molly Bawn was born here.

The first eight volumes of the Holstein Herd Book are available digitally, spanning the years from 1872 until 1885. Every breeding-stock Holstein cow or bull that was registered by its owner is found in the Herd Book, described in great detail and assigned a unique and sequential identifying number. Examining the first two volumes, I was able to determine that by 1875, there were nationally-registered Holstein cows in fourteen of the thirty-seven states then in existence. They grazed from Maine to California, though admittedly were predominantly concentrated in the northeastern quadrant of the nation. So Molly Bawn was certainly not America’s first Holstein, by two centuries or more. What about Ohio, then? I’m afraid not. The same series of volumes shows that by 1880, these overachieving milch cows could be found in at least fifteen different communities across the state, including Wooster, Franklin, Xenia, Toledo, Canton, Painesville and Hudson.

Charles Horr was a very successful businessman who made his fortune selling other people’s cheese and butter after the Civil War. His company, which had multiple names over the years but is most often referred to as Horr-Warner, at its high-water mark managed thirty cheese and butter factories in the region. The most visible signs of Horr’s status were luxurious offices in the busy commercial district of the village and an enormous estate on its still-rural outskirts. Horr visited Europe in 1877 and “made permanent arrangements for an export trade” of Ohio cheeses to foreign shores (Wellington Enterprise, 10/10/1894, pg. 1). While he certainly already knew about Holstein cows and their reputation for stupendous and reliable milk production, it is possible that Horr took a side-trip to Holland to see a few in person. As we have already established, though, there were multiple specimens a great deal closer to home.

One thing is certain: Charles Horr did not see Molly Bawn on this 1877 European trip, nor did he purchase her there or bring her back to Ohio. Molly was not “calved,” or born, until February 24, 1880. This is reflected in both her official Herd Book entry, and in another volume called the Holstein-Friesian Advanced Registry.

Holstein Herd Book v5 1881

Holstein Friesian Register 1886

Though Molly did enter the world in North Holland, six months later she was on her way across the ocean, courtesy of a breeding operation called Smiths & Powell, based in Syracuse, New York. It was from Smiths & Powell that Charles Horr purchased Molly, along with two of the three other animals that made up his initial Holstein herd. The fourth cow, graced with the lyrical name Lady Ethelind, was purchased in Painesville, Ohio.

The name “Molly Bawn,” incidentally, probably originated from an Irish folk song–alternatively sung “Polly Vaughn”–commonly known since the late eighteenth century. A popular novel had also been published under that title in 1878, by Irish writer Margaret Wolfe Hungerford. (The novel was later made into a silent film in 1916.) Charles Horr christened his opulent home Bawndale–or Baundale–and while we know that construction on the house was completed in late 1872, we do not know if Horr named the house after the cow, or vice versa.

Barn cropped

This magnificent wood-frame barn, possibly once home to Molly Bawn, stood behind the Horr residence at 563 South Main Street. It was dismantled in the mid-twentieth century and relocated to the Hayden family farm, 1.5 miles north of the village. Photo courtesy of the Southern Lorain County Historical Society, “The Spirit of ’76” Museum.

In 1883, the Wellington Enterprise published an editorial about getting the maximum return on investment possible from cattle purchases. Choose the breed best suited to the task at hand, the paper advised. Holsteins were well understood to be superior milch cows. The Enterprise offered as an example C. W. Horr’s three-year-old “Mollie Bawn” who had birthed a calf of her own that winter and was reliably yielding more than sixty pounds of milk per day. In the following week’s edition, “to answer the many questions” that resulted from the previous report, a table was printed showing Molly’s production tallies for the first ten days of May. It was nearly seven hundred pounds of milk.

I believe this editorial and follow-up piece may be where Molly’s fame was born, not necessarily in the nineteenth century but perhaps in the twentieth. Ernst Henes, the editor of the Enterprise in the mid-1900s, liked to scan old issues of the newspaper and write about what he found, both in special commemorative issues and in print publications. I would hazard a guess that it was Henes’ work that ensured Molly Bawn a place in the current memory of the town. (She also served as de facto mascot of the now-defunct Wellington Cheese Festival for nearly two decades.) Charles Horr gave a lengthy speech to the Ohio State Board of Agriculture in 1891, describing how he had built a herd of 130 exceptional Holsteins over a decade. He mentioned several animals by name, but Molly was not one of them. When he wished to advertise the sale of cattle from his “Bawndale Herd,” it was not Molly’s image Horr published in the paper, but instead a cow called Nundine. In another advertisement, Molly’s name was one among many “celebrated” breeders including Aaggie, Lady Netherland, Sadie Vale and Saapke.

So Molly was not America’s first Holstein. Nor Ohio’s. Nor even Lorain County’s. Oberlin’s Ohio Weekly News is filled with early 1880s notices and advertisements referencing Holsteins with thoroughbred status and the Herd Book numbers to prove it. But surely Molly must have been Wellington’s first Holstein? Charles Horr must have been the first person from Wellington to import the breed? In fact, he was not. According to the 1881 Herd Book, O. P. Chapman, a breeders association member, was the first Wellington resident to register a Holstein. His bull, Captain John, was purchased in Painesville, Ohio sometime after its birth in 1880 and was the 619th registered in the country. (Horr’s first Holstein bull, Syracuse, was 822nd on the list.) Chapman’s cow, Queen Anne, was born in North Holland in 1880 but bought from the same operation in New York patronized by Horr. Queen Anne was the 1,256th female Holstein registered in America. The 1,292nd spot belonged to Chapman’s cow Mildred. Horr’s Molly Bawn occupied slot 1,298.

The most wonderful thing about this, at least from my perspective, is that O. P. Chapman spent a quarter-century living in the house next door to my current home. He built the carriage house that is now part of my property. When it was completed in the spring of 1883, the Enterprise noted, “O. P. Chapman has the best arranged and finest finished horse and stock barn on his place on South Main St. we ever saw. It will pay any admirer of good things to call and see it. He has also some very fine blooded stock, and is giving special attention to their growth and improvement” (5-9-1883, pg. 3). I never realized that our cattle stalls once housed Wellington’s first Holsteins. Queen Anne, Mildred and Captain John may well have lived out their lives in my backyard.

Carriage House

O. P. Chapman’s carriage house. Originally built as part of the property for 318 South Main Street, it is now included in the parcel for 326 South Main Street. Photo by author.

Charles Horr spent nearly fifteen years building up a renowned collection of what he termed “deep milkers.” Initially he imported animals from locations in North Holland and Friesland with names like Purmer, Hoorn, Bovencarspel, Westwoud, Beemster, Wieringerwaard, Schermerhorn and Harwerd. But soon he felt that the quality of his stock was advanced enough that he no longer required outside blood. While in volume one of the Holstein Advanced Register, for the year 1886, he imported eleven of the fourteen cows listed, by volume two (1887 to 1889) he “owned and bred” twelve of the nineteen submissions.

He entered members of his herds (Horr also raised Ayrshires, Durhams, Herefords and Aberdeens) in cattle shows and agricultural fairs; served as president of the Holstein-Friesian Association of America; and was an organizer of the National Dairy Union. After Horr’s untimely death in 1894, the Enterprise commented on the speed with which his Holsteins were being purchased and shipped around the country. But the Bawndale Stock Farm endured under the leadership of his son, also called Charles, who continued to breed, sell, and host annual visits of faculty and students from the agricultural department at Purdue University in Indiana.

I suspect Charles Horr would be amused by the mythology that has grown up around the humble animal known as Molly Bawn. It was Horr’s considered opinion, after all, that “a dairy cow should be regarded as a machine designed for the conversion of food, air and water into milk” (Enterprise, 1/21/1891, pg. 4).  Whatever else may be said about Molly, the milk-producing machine discharged her duties exceptionally well.

UPDATE: I just finished rereading Frank Chapman Van Cleef’s excellent article, “The Rise and Decline of the Cheese Industry in Lorain County,” published in 1960. Van Cleef’s father was a longtime employee of Charles Horr, and the author himself also worked in the local cheese industry. In his twenty-five page examination of what made Wellington a national hub of cheese production, Van Cleef never mentions Holstein cows. In fact, he argues persuasively that the industry peaked in the late 1870s, and was already in decline by the time Molly Bawn and her herdmates came to town. Van Cleef also mentions Charles Horr’s 1877 trip to Europe. As the result of a visit to Wellington by a provisions dealer from Glasgow, Scotland, Horr-Warner agreed to produce five to eight hundred boxes of cheese for weekly or semi-weekly shipment overseas. Later that year, Horr made a reciprocal visit, to Glasgow and Liverpool. No day trips to the Netherlands to shop for cattle are mentioned.

Nearing the Finish Line

22540112_1462986340416558_4120680513426473012_nRegular readers of the blog may have noticed that it has been fairly quiet of late. That is because I have been spending a great deal of time on finishing up the manuscript and publication process for my forthcoming book! I received the first proof this week and have been busy copy editing.

The book was due to be shipped to those who pre-ordered a copy in December. We are currently running ahead of schedule and it looks as if copies may be mailed out in November. Fingers crossed!