Tuesday, October 13, 2020

Where Was Chesterfield, Ohio?

 


                                            Zachary Taylor in 1848


Where Was Chesterfield?

               

                When I looked at the address on a letter from 1849, the address was clearly in “Chesterfield, Lucas County, Ohio.”  This stopped me cold.  Chesterfield?  No town that I knew of in Lucas County, and I had lived in and around the area for more than thirty years.  I finally found Chesterfield, although not where I expected, and during the journey I also caught a momentary glimpse of an early, shortlived President.  Here was the route I took.

County boundaries, at one time, were flexible, certainly not set in stone.  This was especially true in the northwest corner of Ohio.  Settled later than the rest of the state, owing in part to the daunting presence of the Black Swamp, counties such as Wood and Sandusky were organized only in 1820.  Other northwest counties were drawn and redrawn because of the “Toledo War” in 1835 over the correct location of the Michigan/Ohio boundary line.  And sometimes, old counties grew too large; boundaries that had fit once grew to be confining and were chopped up. 

Also created in 1820 was Henry County.  Lying west of Wood, Henry County once stretched all the way to the Michigan boundary, as did Wood County.  But when the Toledo War came near to shooting in 1835, lawmakers in Ohio advanced their claims to the most northerly boundary for their state by creating a new county.  Lucas County was created by lopping off the northernmost townships of both Henry and Wood.  Part of the new county of Lucas was a township named Chesterfield.  Chesterfield Township continued as part of Lucas until the state created yet another new county, Fulton, in 1850.  Chesterfield Township remains in Fulton County to this day, but in 1849, when my letter was written, it was still part of Lucas County.  The address on the letter, surprising to a modern Ohioan, was correct.[i]

There was never much of a town of Chesterfield, although there was a post office from 1837 to 1869.  Named for Chesterfield Clemons, at whose house early settlers voted, the area remained a wilderness for many years.  The Chesterfield post office was the only stop for 110 miles on the post road between Toledo and Lima, Indiana.[ii]  The usual list of founding fathers can be found in the old county histories, but the person to whom this letter was addressed was a man named Egbert Bickford.  Bickford (1828-1905) was born in New York state and died and was buried in Charlotte, Michigan, happened to be living in Chesterfield Township at the time of the 1848 presidential election.  The letter, from his brother Horace, writes in part:

Elder Brother Reid & his Wife got turned out of the Church and they are uniting all their forces together to prepare for action they are about to send for Old Zachary Taylor for their Commander in chief  we expect every day to hear their drums beating to arms   we are in hopes that the conflict will not last long   Mr Coon is about to be hung for slander   he stands shivering waiting for the day [of] judgment [sic]

We do not know why Egbert’s brother lost his church membership, but the report of it was dressed in military comparisons. Just a few weeks before the letter was written in January of 1849, the United States had elected General Zachary Taylor president.  Taylor, who has a regular army soldier his entire life, was elected with military flourishes and pomp.  The loser in the scramble to gain the Whig party nomination was none other than Henry Clay.  Clay, who had made three bids for the presidency before, could not overcome Taylor’s heroic reputation.  Clay’s nickname was “the old [rac]coon,” and in the gloomy aftermath of a lost election, he may indeed have shivered.

As exciting as the election of a famous general was in 1848, many Americans today have an uncertain memory of Zachary Taylor, who died after sixteen months as president.  Henry Clay never realized his lifelong ambition. Certainly Egbert Bickford never made headlines.  Humble as it was, this letter was worth some study.  Lessons in geography and politics were there for anyone with the patience to decipher the handwriting.

 



[i] Thomas Mikesell, The County of Fulton: A History of Fulton County, Ohio….(Madison, Wisc.,1905), pp. 41-43.

[ii] Ibid, p. 196.

Jack Livermore Watches 1887 Toledo Flood

 

                                            Wheeler Opera House, Toledo, Ohio

Jack Livermore Watches 1887 Toledo Flood                                                         by Alan Borer

           

            Many of us have had a boss that made life miserable.  From uncommunicative hermits to vociferous tyrants, bosses have to be obeyed and monitored.  The hardest ones may be the unpredictable ones that change from one sort to another, from ferret to wolverine at the drop of a hat.  Supervisors flakey enough to make it into written records are rare, but here are some fragments of a letter written by a Toledo office clerk who had the cheek to write his of boss’s quirks while the boss was in the room.   Here is the story.     

            In the wintry January of 1887, John A. Livermore (“Jack” to his friends) was a bookkeeper in the employ of W. H. Boos, a “dealer in wines and liquors” at 410 Monroe Street.  Jack also lived in the three-story building.  At some point in the day on the 24th, Jack passed a slow moment to jot a letter to his cousin Nettie in Kansas.  The short letter began with a recap of the recent Christmas holiday:

I was sorry to learn that you did not have a more enjoyable Christmas.  I received quite a number of presents and in the evening went to the Opera House which was packed from top to bottom.

            Doubtless Jack was referring to the Wheeler Opera House at the northwest corner of Monroe and St. Clair, only a few steps from where he boarded.  Opened in 1871, the Opera House was the place to take in a concert, play, or performance.  Seating an audience of 1400, the Wheeler hosted performances by many renowned singers and actors, including  Edwin Booth and Sarah Bernhardt.  The fortunes of the theater rose and fell with the times.  When Jack sat in a full house on December 24, 1886, prices had recently been lowered.  The Wheeler Opera House met the same fate as so many Toledo buildings of the period, and was destroyed by fire on March 17, 1893.  The Convention Center now covers the intersection where the Opera House once stood.

              If you was here this morning you would see a lively time.  Last night the ice busted and the flood commenced   most of the bridges are gone.  This morning wagons, drays, trucks, and almost every thing that can be used are hauling goods to a safe distance from the river.

            Jack’s account of a flood on January 23, 1887 is confirmed by contemporary news sources.  The Maumee River flooded pretty routinely in the nineteenth century.  Extensive and expensive floods in Toledo occurred in 1881 and 1883.  Clark Waggoner, in his 1888 history of the city, speculated the city was more liable to floods in that era because more buildings were being constructed near the river, and that extensive ditching to drain the Black Swamp had caused the river to rise.[i]

In spite of the flood danger, Jack was amused at the antics of his boss:

            My Boss is running around spitting tobacco juice and trying to make small bets that the water won’t touch him. . . . wouldent [sic] he look mighty glum to come back and find this old whiskey shop full of water.

We are not told who the boss was, or why he thought the rising water was no threat. William H. Boos founded and ran the company which bore his name.  Boos (1842-1920) was born in Toledo to German immigrant parents.  He entered the liquor business with his father Mathias Boos, and also was a shareholder and eventual director of the First National Bank. He and his brother founded the Toledo Chewing Gum Company.  Occupant of a beautiful estate at 1403 Jefferson, Boos loved horses, “and derives considerable enjoyment from behind a valuable and spirited team.”

            But was the tobacco-spitting “Boss” that Jack complained of William Boos, or one of Boos’s underlings?  Jack hurriedly finished, lest the Boss catch him goofing off.

            Well here comes the Boss swinging his arms in the air and his hair flying.  So I must bring my letter to a sudden close for I think there is something wrong.

            That does not sound like a wealthy, Gilded Age Toledo businessman.  But we cannot really say, nor can we know whether Jack Livermore was disciplined for writing a personal letter on company time.  As often happens, the letter mostly captures a moment of time



[i] Clark R. Waggoner, History of the city of Toledo and Lucas County, Ohio (1888), p. 672.