Dad said the Merrimac area was the Wild West even by the time he was born and for sometime after. They were some pretty surly characters in the area and Dad had stories to tell about some of them. It is hard to imagine but there are some interesting evidence to indicate many of the stories are true.
Dad told me a story he heard about an island in the river just south of Merrimac. It seems that some bootleggers built a two-room shanty on the island. It had a door on each end. The rooms were not joined except buy a strange arrangement. A hole had been cut in the wall between and a large barrel just the size of the opening was placed upright in the center. It turned one way or the other on an axel right down the middle. The barrel had an opening on the side with a shelf.
Buyers would come in one door, place their money in the opening and the barrel would turn. Soon the barrel would turn again and their whiskey would appear in the opening. The buyer and seller never saw one another. Seems like an awful lot of work to get a drink.
The Fairfield Ledger of March 12, 1890 printed this story about the place:
"The sheriff of Jefferson County discovered a veritable ‘hole in the wall’ on a small island in the Skunk River a short distance south of Merrimac, Friday. The building was a rude shanty of two rooms, and in the partition dividing it was a revolving barrel with a shelf in it where money could be exchanged for a drink of liquor without the purchaser or seller seeing one another. It was locked up and abandoned, but the officer burst the doors and seized twelve bottles of beer and a small quantity of whiskey he found inside. Although liquor and tobacco were undoubtedly sold in the place, no government licenses were to be seen. The place was operated by a gang of toughs who have given the Federal and Henry County authorities no little trouble for a number of years past, and a dozen or more of them have been arrested by United States Marshals. Members of this same gang are the fellows who thought when they sold liquor on a boat in the river that they were amenable to neither state nor federal law. The liquor will be tried before a justice of this county."
I am a little puzzled by the last sentence? Did that mean “tried” as in tasted or “tried” as in court? How do you try a liquid? If that old shanty could talk think of the stories it could tell! Hmmm… It is clear that this area was as wild as Dad had said.
Sometimes when we would float down the river from Merrimac I would wonder about that island. Because of the constant changing of the river, islands come and go over time. We found some large sand bars but no islands in that area on our trips so the actual spot will probably never be found.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Rides VI
Early accounts describe Merrimac as one of the most picturesque spots for miles around. Even by the turn of the century it was still described as the “wilderness.” That was hard for me to grasp as I looked out across farm fields. Early accounts said the area was covered with hardwoods…oak and walnut among others.
But I have only begun to touch on the stories of Merrimac. Let’s go back, way back about twelve thousand years. The last glacier in Iowa was the western lobe of the Illinois glacier that had pushed the Mississippi out of it’s banks near the Quad Cities forming a large swamp like lake, now referred to as Lake Calvin, that extended west to the bluffs in what is now Iowa City. The water drained from the lake in a number of ways. One of those being southwest from around Columbus Junction to the channel of the present day Crooked Creek, on to the Skunk River and then south right over the top of Merrimac. When the glacier receded it left large deposits of sand and debris that had been carried by the torrent.
An account in the June 2, 1900, Brighton Enterprise (page 4, column 4) provides some interesting evidence.
"Dr. A. Dietz of Merrimac, last Friday brought to the office pieces of wood chipped from a large log found while digging at a depth of 128 feet. The wood retains its grain and exterior appearance, but is not in a state of perfect preservation. It is thought to be walnut, and the length of time it has been buried cannot even be surmised. For all anyone knows it has been buried for hundreds of years. The doctor thinks the wood has come in contact with copper and believes that ore of this metal is stored in the depths of the earth around Merrimac."
Dad speculated that the log must have been deposited there during the time of the glacier. He had no explanation for the notion that there was copper ore in the area and that has never been collaborated. It was known that copper acted as a preservative even back then and, perhaps, that is what the doctor thought contributed to the condition of the wood. The whole idea brought a sense of wonder to Dad and me, too. Just imagining what the place must have been like thousands of years ago occupied our minds on many occasions.
On two or three occasions we floated by canoe from Merrimac to Rome. We got in at the location of the old Merrimac Bridge where there was a boat ramp. It was a great joy for us to take these float trips and sometimes a new story or two would come up. The area and the river fascinated Dad. Telling and retelling the stories was a way to recall the days when he heard them for the first time. As I have said many times, storytelling is how we make sense of our experience. That was very true for Dad.
But I have only begun to touch on the stories of Merrimac. Let’s go back, way back about twelve thousand years. The last glacier in Iowa was the western lobe of the Illinois glacier that had pushed the Mississippi out of it’s banks near the Quad Cities forming a large swamp like lake, now referred to as Lake Calvin, that extended west to the bluffs in what is now Iowa City. The water drained from the lake in a number of ways. One of those being southwest from around Columbus Junction to the channel of the present day Crooked Creek, on to the Skunk River and then south right over the top of Merrimac. When the glacier receded it left large deposits of sand and debris that had been carried by the torrent.
An account in the June 2, 1900, Brighton Enterprise (page 4, column 4) provides some interesting evidence.
"Dr. A. Dietz of Merrimac, last Friday brought to the office pieces of wood chipped from a large log found while digging at a depth of 128 feet. The wood retains its grain and exterior appearance, but is not in a state of perfect preservation. It is thought to be walnut, and the length of time it has been buried cannot even be surmised. For all anyone knows it has been buried for hundreds of years. The doctor thinks the wood has come in contact with copper and believes that ore of this metal is stored in the depths of the earth around Merrimac."
Dad speculated that the log must have been deposited there during the time of the glacier. He had no explanation for the notion that there was copper ore in the area and that has never been collaborated. It was known that copper acted as a preservative even back then and, perhaps, that is what the doctor thought contributed to the condition of the wood. The whole idea brought a sense of wonder to Dad and me, too. Just imagining what the place must have been like thousands of years ago occupied our minds on many occasions.
On two or three occasions we floated by canoe from Merrimac to Rome. We got in at the location of the old Merrimac Bridge where there was a boat ramp. It was a great joy for us to take these float trips and sometimes a new story or two would come up. The area and the river fascinated Dad. Telling and retelling the stories was a way to recall the days when he heard them for the first time. As I have said many times, storytelling is how we make sense of our experience. That was very true for Dad.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Rides V
(Continued)
Over the years Dad spent countless hours researching historical sites and events. Once he set out to find out about something he was insatiable until he satisfied his curiosity. He spent countless hours in the basement of the public library painstaking going through old records and books. He poured through the microfiche files at newspaper offices in Henry and Jefferson counties. He often visited seniors and talked with them about things from long ago that they remembered.
He collected his notes and documents in three-ring binders, folders and notebooks. We still have over 30 of them. They are chock full of all kinds of stories and information.
So it wasn’t so unusual that he would try to find out whether the gory story of the boy in the mill was true. He started with his living sources. Most had no recollection of any such story. A few had heard it before but knew few details that were new to Dad about it. One of his best sources said it absolutely didn’t happen.
Somewhere in his memory or in one of the conversations the name Zear came up. Dad thought that was the last name of the young man. So where do you go if you think you have a name? The cemetery. We have many relatives buried in Green Mound Cemetery so one day on one of our rides we stopped to visit some of the graves. That is when Dad thought we should try systematically walking through the cemetery looking for the name Zear on one of the stones.
Sound like looking for a needle in a haystack? Well it wasn’t as hard as you might think. In less than an hour I came across a broken stone that had the name David Zear on it. He died May 1, 1867 at 22years, 10 months, and 25 days. That could be him but how could we know for sure.
Dad went to the archives of the newspapers in the area. He found the following account in the Thursday, May 9, 1867 edition of the Fairfield Ledger. (Stop here if you are squimish!)
"Horrible Accident – David Zaher, Zear, or Zeher (names and even words were often spelled different ways before 1900, even sometimes in the same document) a young man about 20 years of age met with a horrible death at the Merrimac Mills on the Skunk River on the evening of May 1st. He had gone to the fourth story of the mill for the purpose of oiling the journals of some large wheels. Not returning as soon as he should have done, his brother went after him. He found him crushed and ground between the cogs of the wheels in a terrible manner, there being scarcely an unbroken bone in his body.
One of his legs was found about eighteen feet from the wheel. It is supposed that the cogs caught his coat and drew him between the wheels causing his instantaneous death. The floor for some distance around the wheels was covered with blood. His remains were buried the Friday following."
The story was true! Dad was elated that his research was successful, but deeply saddened by what had happened to the young man.
(To be Continued)
Over the years Dad spent countless hours researching historical sites and events. Once he set out to find out about something he was insatiable until he satisfied his curiosity. He spent countless hours in the basement of the public library painstaking going through old records and books. He poured through the microfiche files at newspaper offices in Henry and Jefferson counties. He often visited seniors and talked with them about things from long ago that they remembered.
He collected his notes and documents in three-ring binders, folders and notebooks. We still have over 30 of them. They are chock full of all kinds of stories and information.
So it wasn’t so unusual that he would try to find out whether the gory story of the boy in the mill was true. He started with his living sources. Most had no recollection of any such story. A few had heard it before but knew few details that were new to Dad about it. One of his best sources said it absolutely didn’t happen.
Somewhere in his memory or in one of the conversations the name Zear came up. Dad thought that was the last name of the young man. So where do you go if you think you have a name? The cemetery. We have many relatives buried in Green Mound Cemetery so one day on one of our rides we stopped to visit some of the graves. That is when Dad thought we should try systematically walking through the cemetery looking for the name Zear on one of the stones.
Sound like looking for a needle in a haystack? Well it wasn’t as hard as you might think. In less than an hour I came across a broken stone that had the name David Zear on it. He died May 1, 1867 at 22years, 10 months, and 25 days. That could be him but how could we know for sure.
Dad went to the archives of the newspapers in the area. He found the following account in the Thursday, May 9, 1867 edition of the Fairfield Ledger. (Stop here if you are squimish!)
"Horrible Accident – David Zaher, Zear, or Zeher (names and even words were often spelled different ways before 1900, even sometimes in the same document) a young man about 20 years of age met with a horrible death at the Merrimac Mills on the Skunk River on the evening of May 1st. He had gone to the fourth story of the mill for the purpose of oiling the journals of some large wheels. Not returning as soon as he should have done, his brother went after him. He found him crushed and ground between the cogs of the wheels in a terrible manner, there being scarcely an unbroken bone in his body.
One of his legs was found about eighteen feet from the wheel. It is supposed that the cogs caught his coat and drew him between the wheels causing his instantaneous death. The floor for some distance around the wheels was covered with blood. His remains were buried the Friday following."
The story was true! Dad was elated that his research was successful, but deeply saddened by what had happened to the young man.
(To be Continued)
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Rides IV
(Continued)
Merrimac, Oh Merrimac! I hardly know where to start! My Dad had so many stories about Merrimac that I don’t think I can ever do it justice. Nevertheless, I’ll give it a try but it might take a couple installments.
Before we are across the bridge Dad starts talking about the Merrimac mills. He talks about Silas Deeds who built the first dam on the west side of the river in 1840 and a sawmill and gristmill followed in a few years. He calls it a crib dam and says logs were used to form a crib (rectangle) and then were filled with rocks. The river eventually provided the silt and debris that made the dam watertight. The little village around the dam became known a Deedsville.
Since the Skunk River was considered navigable to Brighton, Deeds was required to build a lock and had plans and specifications at the location. It is not clear as to whether it was ever built. By 1843 the government had approved the use of “slopes”, board slides on the lower side of the dam in lieu of locks. Dad had heard stories of boats shooting the dam and even told about one that sank not far down river. He speculated that it was probably still there preserved in the muck.
If you think that is unlikely, think again. During low water one year we found clear evidence of the cribs of the original dam including boards and spikes that were put there 150 years earlier. We still have some of both.
Dad interrupts the mill discussion to say that people were first attracted to the site because there was a ford there where Indian trails crossed the river. An early settler named Yorke built a ferry to get travelers across the river there. He says, too, that at one time there was a suspended footbridge across the river. It is not well documented but is mentioned in some historical accounts.
The gristmill on the west side of the river burned in 1865 and was rebuilt on the east side of the river. It was owned by W.J. and J.S. Rogers and was named Merrimac Mills and eventually included a sawmill, gristmill and carding and spinning mill. It was a three-story structure. Part of it was moved to a nearby location in 1924 when the mill was torn down and serves as a barn to this day. The present owner, Peter Salzman, once pulled out several of the old gears and, of course, Dad and I took several pictures of them. They are probably still there.
The gears of the old mill bring up another story. Growing up Dad had heard a gruesome tale about there being a large red stain on the floor of the third story of the mill where all of the big gears were. He even sort of remembered seeing it when he was a child. He said he was told that a young man was sent up there to oil the gears and apparently somehow got caught in them and was torn to pieces. In the early 1980s Dad set out to find out if this could be true.
(To be continued)
Merrimac, Oh Merrimac! I hardly know where to start! My Dad had so many stories about Merrimac that I don’t think I can ever do it justice. Nevertheless, I’ll give it a try but it might take a couple installments.
Before we are across the bridge Dad starts talking about the Merrimac mills. He talks about Silas Deeds who built the first dam on the west side of the river in 1840 and a sawmill and gristmill followed in a few years. He calls it a crib dam and says logs were used to form a crib (rectangle) and then were filled with rocks. The river eventually provided the silt and debris that made the dam watertight. The little village around the dam became known a Deedsville.
Since the Skunk River was considered navigable to Brighton, Deeds was required to build a lock and had plans and specifications at the location. It is not clear as to whether it was ever built. By 1843 the government had approved the use of “slopes”, board slides on the lower side of the dam in lieu of locks. Dad had heard stories of boats shooting the dam and even told about one that sank not far down river. He speculated that it was probably still there preserved in the muck.
If you think that is unlikely, think again. During low water one year we found clear evidence of the cribs of the original dam including boards and spikes that were put there 150 years earlier. We still have some of both.
Dad interrupts the mill discussion to say that people were first attracted to the site because there was a ford there where Indian trails crossed the river. An early settler named Yorke built a ferry to get travelers across the river there. He says, too, that at one time there was a suspended footbridge across the river. It is not well documented but is mentioned in some historical accounts.
The gristmill on the west side of the river burned in 1865 and was rebuilt on the east side of the river. It was owned by W.J. and J.S. Rogers and was named Merrimac Mills and eventually included a sawmill, gristmill and carding and spinning mill. It was a three-story structure. Part of it was moved to a nearby location in 1924 when the mill was torn down and serves as a barn to this day. The present owner, Peter Salzman, once pulled out several of the old gears and, of course, Dad and I took several pictures of them. They are probably still there.
The gears of the old mill bring up another story. Growing up Dad had heard a gruesome tale about there being a large red stain on the floor of the third story of the mill where all of the big gears were. He even sort of remembered seeing it when he was a child. He said he was told that a young man was sent up there to oil the gears and apparently somehow got caught in them and was torn to pieces. In the early 1980s Dad set out to find out if this could be true.
(To be continued)
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