Thursday, August 18, 2011
Sarah’s World: Fulton County 1890 by Alan Borer
Sarah Crosby Coe Alton had a hard life. Born in Swanton in Fulton County in 1841, she married Henry Coe, a native of Fremont, in 1865. She lost her first husband in 1878. In the census of 1880, she was living alone with her 77 year old mother and three children: Charley (age 12), Clara (age 10), and Viola (age 7). They lived together in Swanton, but life was precarious. At 12, Charley was already listed as a “laborer,” although he had also attended school in the last 12 months. But as the oldest male in a household of unemployed females, he had little choice to find what labor he could.
In 1885, Sarah Coe married a man named David Alton. Alton was a farmer in Swan Creek Township. He brought two boys to the marriage. Charley married a girl from Sandusky, but then fled to the West Coast. We don’t know why Charley Coe left Ohio. Maybe he just “lit out to the Territories,” as Huckleberry Finn famously said. In any case, the next place we hear of Charlie living was in the oddly-named town of Enumclaw in what was then (1890) Washington Territory. Charley eventually returned to Ohio, living in Toledo on Stickney Avenue, where he died in 1959.
Sarah was literate, although her spelling was haphazard. In March of 1890 she wrote to her faraway son (“Dear Sun” [sic]) and let him know the news from Swanton. As was common, she started by outlining the state of her health:
“I am not sick but my head hurts . . . . and I can’t see to read fine print without glasses….I think when it gets warmer I shall feel better….”
In 1890, central heating was a dream of the future, and we cannot but sympathize with this fifty-year-old woman.
Sarah went on to mention some births in the neighborhood and a funeral in Swanton. Then she mentioned a friend who refused to attend a family get-together:
“…wanted him to go a long but he wouldn’t. He staid; went and got oysters and had an oyster supper….”
Although still held at various events, oyster suppers were a favorite community gathering event in nineteenth century. Oysters were an uncommon delicacy, and before jet planes could bring them in from ocean fishing ports, it was a considerable chore to haul oysters to inland locations. Like all marine creatures, oysters have been overfished and exposed to pollution, so one must eat them with care. And of course, like any food, they are an acquired taste (one which this writer never acquired, but that’s another story).
“… John Perkins is a going to farm the old man Zares [Lares?] place. They are going to fix the old school house that sets near the house for him to live in….”
John Perkins was yet another farmer in Swan Creek township. Born in 1861 of English parents, he had two children when Sarah wrote her letter (more came later). We have a sentimental idea that most farmers in the old days lived on their own land. But even at the time of the Civil War, Ohio farmers, especially the younger ones, were as likely to rent land as plant soil they owned. Mr. Perkins certainly seemed to be among them.
The one room schoolhouse was another icon of our rural past. Made obsolete by school consolidation in the first half of the twentieth century, the abandoned schools (one in each township) were reused in a number of ways. They became township halls, tractor barns, and in a few cases, private homes. In Swan Creek Township, the old Lutz School, possibly the one lived in or considered by Mr. Perkins, is now the Township Hall, and, after having been moved at least once, can be seen at the corner of CR “D” and TR 5-1.
“We have got 12 or 13 little lambs….I have 10 little chicks growing nice…..”
Fulton County in our time is mostly corn and soybeans, with wheat running a distant third. In Sarah’s time, farms were more diversified, as the lambs and chicks attest. In 1890, farms had “backup” crops and livestock. If the wheat was poor, you could keep the wolf from the door and sell a sheep, a chicken, or their wool and feathers.
“The robins is [sic] singing for spring….”
We tend to think of the past in terms of only one of our senses, that of Yet the world of texture, sound, and odor existed, although we can only recover hints of it in letters like Sarah’s. Our world, so full of electronic and industrial sound, was different by far then Sarah’s world of birdsong, bleating, and clucking. Fortunately, the warbling of robins is with us still. When you hear a robin, think of Sarah Coe and how different, yet familiar, he world was.
[Information in this essay came from the United States Census of 1900 (the 1890 census was destroyed in a fire in the 1920s), and the website of the Fulton County Historical Society. Map information came from Combined atlases and map of Fulton County, Ohio, 1858, 1875, 1888, 1903 (1980).]
“Fatty” Squires and his Cartoon Saloon by Alan Borer
We are used to seeing cartoons and comics advertising products. Snoopy sells insurance. Popeye hawks spinach. Bart Simpson is a spokesman for Butterfingers candy bars. Some cartoon ads are genuinely funny, some are embarrassing; some are original, some bring to mind the adage that “too much is never enough.”
Once upon a time there was a saloonkeeper in Toledo named Oliver H. Squires, although he was universally known as “Fatty.” In an effort to increase his customer base, he used cartoons (today we would call them “comics” as this was long before the animated cartoon) to lure the curious who came to view his art collection. A clever idea, but Squires crossed the line on what kind of cartoons he displayed. And what happened to Fatty Squires may explain why SpongeBob Squarepants is never seen drinking beer, or why Garfield the Cat never smokes cigars.
Oliver Squires was born around 1837 in Indiana. In 1860 he was living in a boarding house in Lafayette, Indiana, working as a carpenter. He may be the Oliver H. Squires who did a short term of duty in the 109th Indiana during the Civil War. How he came to live in Toledo is unknown. We also don’t know why he was called “Fatty,” although we can guess.
Like many saloon keepers of the era, Squires lived on the premises of his Toledo establishment. In 1880, Squires was listed as the saloonkeeper; also on the premises were Edward Black, bar keeper, Billie Hostler, a cook, and Alex Rex, porter. The saloon at that time was listed in the census as being on Summit Street, nestled in a neighborhood of small tradesmen, clerks, journalists, and the like. Saloons were notorious for being hotbeds for petty crimes. Prostitution, assault, drunk and disorderly, and sanitation offenses were commonplace.
When Fatty went into the saloon business, around 1876, he attempted to run a “tastefully furnished” establishment. There is no record of how he came up with the idea of using “cartoons” as a draw for customers, but there is no question that it was a selling point. A contemporary Toledo guidebook described Fatty’s saloon thusly:
While his patrons pay close attention in sampling the quality of his goods, not a little comment is excited by his gallery of cartoons, furnished by Thompson, the eminent artist….
And in an advertisement,
Who’s got more fun on his walls
Than is found at any plays or balls,
And treateth well whoever calls
Then when you’ve got an hour to spare,
To FATTY’S Cartoon Show repair,
And best of all men you’ll declare
IS FATTY SQUIRES
Perhaps not the best verse Toledo has rendered, but it found its mark.
Squires was drawing enough customers that in 1878 he relocated to Cherry Street. Now calling his business the “Oliver H. ‘Fatty’ Squires Cartoon Saloon,” he went on selling beer and showing comic drawings until nearly the end of 1881. On that fateful date, Fatty was arrested for possessing fifteen “obscene” pictures. The prosecutor in the case had “tender feelings,” and did not want to upset the grand jurors by showing the pictorial evidence. Two of the pictures were described, but not shown. Apparently, some of the cartoons were definitely adult.
Fatty Squires pleaded guilty on December 23, 1881, and was fined $50 with the understanding that he would destroy the lewd cartoons. Squires was put in “protective custody” in May of 1882 for unknown reasons, and was arrested several more times before going out of business by the end of 1883.
We cannot judge Fatty Squires by his pictures, which do not survive. The only illustration that survives related to his cartoon saloon may be the advertising card shown. It shows what was very much a part of 19th century saloon keeping: a drunk or ne’er-do-well being tossed out the door. Fatty Squires likely knew this scene intimately.