I don’t have much to add to these four photos of the lock(s?) at Ardenheim. Ardenheim is just east of Huntingdon where the Raystown branch of the Juniata River joins with the main branch of the river.
The shot from summer is dated June 1971.
These are all dated April 1969. It almost looks like two locks. This one is not nearly as deep as the second one.
I would say that these two shots are of the same lock.
That’s all I got. The oldest topo map of this area was from 1922 and there is nothing on the web. If you know more, leave a comment.
I have passed by this place many times as I traveled along Route 15 but never knew it was there until I scanned these slides. Amity Hall is/was just northwest of the confluence of the Juniata and Susquehanna rivers. It appears as Aqueduct in this 1907 topo map. You can see the dashed blue line of the old canal and where it crossed the Juniata on the aqueduct, hence the name.
A 1940s guide to the state says this; In Amity Hall, the State’s east-west and north-south canal systems intersected here, and the area is littered with canal remains. A short distance northwest of the junction are the stone piers of the old Pennsylvania Canal Aqueduct, which carried the Susquehanna Canal across the Juniata. The wooden trough of the aqueduct has long rotted away. Near by is a well-preserved lock.
I tried looking up the origin of the name Amity Hall and found this video of an old tavern/inn. The 1940s history says; The Amity Hall Inn (open May-Oct), built about 1810, is a two-and-a-half-story, red brick building, with gabled roof and dormer windows; the inn is furnished with many old household articles and old prints. A dormitory and lunch room here is much patronized by freight truck drives, and it is not uncommon to see from 50 to 100 trucks parked here at one time.
These slides were all dated April 1969. I don’t know if Earl took them or traded for them. You will see later that he did have a interest with the bridge at Clark’s Ferry, so I like to think that he might have been visiting and took these himself.
From Google Maps it looks like the lock and piers are still intact. Today the area is marked by the Amity Hall public boat launch.
I don’t know much about Plane 8 aside from what I see in these images from May of 1970. They were all labeled “Foundations at Plane 8.” The last image is labeled, “bridge at foot of Plane 8.”
From a site called Wikimapia it shows that the bottom of the plane was at what was known as Muleshoe Curve. The Muleshoe was a relative of the more famous Horseshoe Curve, built in the 1850s and closed in 1981. The Muleshoe and the alignment of the portage railroad can be seen on this 1902 map of the Ebensburg quadrant topo map.
The National Park Service has a lengthy report on-line about the APRR. You can download it here. The report is from 1973 so I wonder if these excavations were part of the study.
Historical Topographic Map Collection
If any of this remains intact, let me know. There is a trail along the old railroad in this area and I am surprised not to find more on-line concerning it.
In addition photos of the engine house and Lemon House at Plane 6, the Earl Giles collection has some showing the incline in that late 1960s period.
This is dated October 1969
Many of the slides were labeled and with the trail off to the side, I am reasonably certain that this is Plane 6. It looks as if it had been cleared and then regrew a bit. Honestly today it doesn’t look too much different. I took this on my visit last October 2021. I was remarking that it would benefit from a trim with a good boom mounted mower.
There are a couple others in the collection that say they are Plane 6.
Dated October 1969.Dated June 1970.
I noticed in my own shots that it can be difficult to tell if you are looking uphill of down. Also in the collection was this shot showing a man measuring the distance between the sleepers along the plane.
This was dated February 1968, so it is possible that someone exposed the stones and then it all regrew or maybe they decided to re-bury them all. The first image in this post seems to capture that regrowth.
If you have been to the park, you know that at the bottom of the plane is the skew bridge. What is surprising is that the only pictures Earl had of the bridge were of older photos like this postcard image. That mark on the left edge seems to indicate that it was taken from some collection.
The skew bridge is where the old highway passed over the railroad. It was constructed on an angle (or skew) which is a feat of engineering on its own. Here is the skew bridge today.
Old Route 22 (a four lane highway) splits just uphill and goes around the bridge site. At the split is this monument to the Allegheny Portage Railroad.
And here is a view looking up the incline from the bridge. The Lemon House sits at the top of the hill/plane and the National Park Visitor’s Center is off to the right, a walk of about a half mile.
As told to Terry by Ben Ludenberger, January 1972.
Wick Ludenberger worked on his dad’s canal boat, the BOILVAR, from the time he was able to drive a team or handle the lock gates until his dad quit boating after the season of 1905 or ‘06. I was able to get Wick and his younger brother Ben to let me interview them both on audio tape at Ben’s home in Bolivar Ohio one Saturday afternoon in January of 1972. Since Christmas is rapidly approaching one of the short tales Wick related that afternoon seems to be quite appropriate. He remembers being four or five at the time this story took place. Wick was born in 1892, so that would mean that it was in 1896 or 97 that little “Wick” Ludenberger first saw Santa Claus.
“ We got froze in one winter just this side of Canal Dover. We had about a half load of coal on board so we decided to stay right where we were instead of trying to make it to the farm at Bolivar to winter at Grandma’s as we usually did.
“Christmas Eve came. There was snow on the ground and everything was froze up. A fellow named Jim Steiner was there that winter too. He had a daughter about 15 or 16 years old. Dad and Jim had been to Canal Dover on the team. I don’t know if they got that Santy Claus suit while they was there or not, but the Steiner girl, maybe somebody put her up to it, decided she was going to play Santy Claus for us kids in all those boats – there was six or seven boats froze up there with us then. I must have been about four or five, because I don’t think Ralph was born yet, but Ben was.
“We was all sitten in the aft cabin of our boat with Mom and Mrs. Steiner. I don’t know where Dad and Jim were. There was a hatch on top of the cabin, the stern deck was up there, with a step-ladder kind of arrangement leading down from the hatch into the cabin. I remember I was sitten on the bottom step. I suppose we were all playen some kind of game or something – when all of a sudden – that hatch flew open, AND THERE WAS SANTY CLAUS. He throwed a bunch of candy and nuts down through the hatch onto the floor. Us kids like to be scared to death. Back under the bunks we all scurried. And that’s the first time I saw Santy Claus.
“The reason I know it was the Steiner girl playen Santy Claus was that, to top things all off – – I don’t know whatever made her try to go around on the gunnel, on the outside of the boat. She could have gone along the catwalk from the stern cabin over the cargo holds and then onto the bank from the bow deck, but she tried to swing down to the gunnel from the stern deck and walk around on it along the outside of the boat to the bank, instead. She must have missed her footing when she swung down, because she fell right into the canal. The ice there along the bank wasn’t that thick and she went right through it into the water. There must have been six or seven feet of water there where she went in.
“We all ran up on deck and Mom and Mrs Snyder, and some of the other folks from the nearby boats, helped fish her out. With that Santy Claus suit on, and how cold it was, and the ice and everything, they had the devil of a time getting her back on board. It’s a wonder she didn’t drown. I don’t think she ever played Santy Claus again, and I know that I’ll never forget that Christmas.”
The Alleghney Portage Railroad used 10 inclined planes to lift the canal boats up and over the mountains that divided the eastern section of the Pennsylvania Main Line Canal from the western section. Today you can visit Plane 6, which was at the summit or highest level of railroad, at the Allegheny Portage RR National Historic Site.
In the Earl Giles collection there are slides showing excavation work on the engine house in 1968 and ’69. The NPS website only says that; “… and even the National Park Service excavations of the 1970s were done before an interest in evaluating the grounds was voiced.” So it is curious as to what is happening here and who was in charge. These images are dated July 1968. They show the first excavations of the engine house.
The sad thing is that even though we have these images, we don’t have names of the people.
Today the engine house excavation and display are covered with this large building.
The track sleeper stones were also uncovered in 1968.
And here is what it looks like when we visited the site in the fall of 2021.
A little background- I saw a post on one of the canal-related social media sites asking if someone was willing to digitize a few hundred slides that the poster had recently purchased. I enjoy the sense of discovery that comes with scanning these old slides as these personal collections can contain some real treasures. Ray Hall, who was the new owner of the slides, offered to donate them to the ACS in return for a copy of the digital files. A box of slides arrived in a few days and we were off to the scanner!
Ray was able to provide me with the last name of the seller, a Mr. Giles, and he said that they had been taken by a canal/local historian from the Johnstown (PA) area. With this information, it was fairly easy to find that the collection belonged to Earl Giles. I found this article in The Daily News (Johnstown, PA) of July 8, 1968.
This article helped immensely as I was noticing that many of the slides had been labelled as ‘duplicate’ since Earl liked to trade. So now I knew that all the images were not his alone. However, the slides do point to Earl’s interests and that was the western division of the Pennsylvania Main Line Canal with an especial interest in the Pack Saddle region along the Conemaugh River and the Allegheny Portage Railroad. Most of the slides dated from the late 1960s and early ’70s. All the 357 slides were scanned at 2400 dpi as tiff files. When that was done, I went back through and used GIMP to reduce the slides to 400 dpi Jpeg files.
The images were a mix of Earl’s original images taken out on his explorations and slides that he traded for showing the same. About half of the slides were his photographs of older photographs, postcards, and maps. So I sorted out what I thought was interesting and will share them here.
We will start with some images of the Staple Bend Tunnel (constructed 1831-1833) which is claimed to be the first railroad tunnel dug in the United States. (There were two canal tunnels dug prior.) The tunnel is located near Mineral Point, about 5 miles slightly northeast of Johnstown. To reach the tunnel you need to park and walk or ride a bike two miles along the old railroad bed (now a stone-dust path). This site was added to the Allegheny Portage Railroad National Sites in 2001.
When Earl and his fellow explorers visited it in the late 1960s it was certainly a bit more rugged a walk.
This is labeled as the east portal. Apparently much of the stonework had been removed and used elsewhere by 1907.This is an old postcard that might be the same as the one above showing the missing stone-work.These were dated 1968.
The planes were numbered from west to east along the APRR and the 901-foot-long tunnel sat at the head of Plane 1. The image below shows one of the explorers sitting on top of the tunnel portal looking west along Plane 1 and the Conemaugh River valley.
It would take ten planes to lift the canal boats over the mountains and in the next post, we will see the work at Plane 6.
Today’s column is of a mill once operated by water from a section of the Sandy & Beaver Canal in Tuscarawas County. It was written from a taped interview in 1975 with the one time owner of the mill in Sandyville. (1)
Now Sandyville, in itself, is a very interesting place. When the Bolivar Dam was erected in the mid 1930s this town was literally moved to higher ground. As a result, it is very difficult (spelled IMPOSSIBLE) to locate much of the canal or any artifacts in this area.
The foundation to the mill can be found and a a bit of that part of the canal that was used as the mill race until 1935 but very little else. There was a lock (No 29) in or near the town. It was rebuilt by the Lessees in 1872, but I have not been able to confidently determine its location.
I’ve spent a lot of time over the past 40 years scouring the area for that lock location. Last March I spent a portion of three days down there. As I say, I’m not sure I know the exact location, though I thought I found it once in 1985.
THE WELKER FEED MILL ON THE SANDY & BEAVER CANAL
Our mill was located near the bend in the Big Sandy Creek just to the southeast of the old center of the village of Sandyville. One cornerstone of the mill bore the date 1836. That was also the year in which the Sandy & Beaver Canal was being built across the northern portion of Tuscarawas County.
The canal crossed Nimishillen Creek in a slack-water pool a half-mile east of the mill. Even after boats stopped using the canal, the dam across the Nimishillen provided a steady water supply to run the mill and the guard lock on the west bank of the creek acted as head gates to the mill race. The mill race consisted of a half-mile of the Sandy & Beaver Canal bed and a channel of a 100 yards or so that had been dug at right angles to the canal. The mill sat between the canal and the Big Sandy and our tail race flowed right into that creek.
I don’t know who built the mill originally. I think a man named Rolland or Voelum owned it at one time. There was also a McKinney mixed up in it somewhere. The way we got it was that my grandfather had gone in on a fellow’s note and had to make it good when that fellow defaulted. The only way my grandad could get anything out of that deal was to take over the mill. That was in 1893. My dad, Theodore “Dory” Welker, moved into the mill in 1894. It wasn’t running then and he had an awful time making it go.
He hired professional millers because he wasn’t one himself. Finally, around 1900, there was an old guy by the name of Charlie Seibert. He came to our place looking for a job and my dad took him in. He was a miller personified and knew all about the milling business. He just kind of made his home with us for the next 25 years. Occasionally some big company would have trouble with their mill and Old Charlie would leave us for a while until it straightened out, but he always came back to our place. He kept that old mill running “like an Ingersoll”.
Dad originally called the mill the “Sandy Valley Roller Mill,” but it was known mostly as the Welker Feed Mill. I spent all of my boyhood along the canal and must have skated a million miles between our mill and the dam and back. The Canton cut-off (otherwise known as the Nimishillen &Sandy Canal) joined the Sandy & Beaver Canal along our section. They joined at right angles to each other. You could plainly see the towpath and that the channel was intended to be a canal, though I don’t know if it ever held water. I did a lot of trapping for skunk and the like in that cut-off when I was a boy.
I joined Dad in running the mill in 1918. Sometime between 1920 and 1925 we rebuilt the dam and guard lock. We replaced the original wood and rubble dam with one of concrete 154-feet-long. The eastern end of the new dam rested on the original stone abutments of canal days, but the western end rested on the earthen embankment of the creek. The western stone abutment from canal days lies 50 yards or so west of the concrete dam. At the time we installed a concrete head gate at the lock. The original wooden gates were still fairly intact. The lock chamber had been lined with wood and most of the planking was still in pretty good shape.
During the Depression, we ran the mill from 6:00 in the morning until midnight and never took in a dollar! Everything was done by barter and the only way we could tell our profit was to see how big a pile of wheat we had.
I was never too interested in the history of the canal when I was a boy, but I do remember the “Old Timers” telling about the old canal warehouses. I believe there were two that stood along each bank of the canal near the center of the old town near where our mill race left the main canal. They both burned down in 1898 and some say the fires were deliberately set to get rid of them.
When I was a young man, the B. & O. had a spur running from the Sandyville Station into Magnolia. A train went to Magnolia maybe two or three times a week to take groceries, pick up milk, and distribute the few passengers who wanted to go from one town to another. That train consisted of an engine and one car that carried passengers in one end and luggage and freight in the other. You could see a lot of the old canal from that train, maybe you still could, because those bottoms up there are really in no man’s land.
The State built the Bolivar Dam on the Big Sandy in 1936 and the old village and mill were moved to higher ground. That part of the mill that had been built out over the water was torn down and the rest moved to its present location in the northwest corner formed by the B. & O. Railroad and Route #183. The B. & O. tracks were also moved to higher ground and now cross the plain on a high earthen fill. That embankment now covers the junction of the Sandy & Beaver Canal and the Canton cut-off but you can still see faint traces of the cut-off as it comes out from under the railroad embankment and heads north.
Shortly after the mill was closed someone, probably disgruntled farmers, dynamited the dam – blew the whole center out of it. You can still find the ends of the dam as well as both original stone abutments and what remains of the guard lock. The foundation of the mill is still there at the end of the race. In 1933 we had built a new penstock and, in the winter, when there is not much foliage, it should be easy to find.
The mill had two turbine wheels; one rated at 43 h.p. and the other at 36 h.p. Both ratings were with nine feet of water. When we closed the mill we pulled both wheels out and sold one to Mr. Wilson whose mill is still up along the Ohio Canal in Cuyahoga County. He wanted the other wheel but when we went down there one day we found someone had broken the wheel up with sledges and hauled the chunks of cast iron over the mill race and away. The Depression was still going pretty strong and they probably wanted what money that wheel would bring for scrap.
My son Bob, came into the business in 1947 after serving in the Army. Dad died in1950 and Bob and I continued in the feed business until the Fall of 1972 when the warehouse was sold to the Morrison Brothers.
(1) As told to Terry Woods (on tape) during a hike in the area in the early spring of 1975.
There have been a number of statements over the years in the press and media about the “end” of the Ohio Canal. Through traffic ran on it, these statements say, until 1913 when the flood destroyed the canal and the State abandoned it. Well, there are true statements in that and some, eh, not so true. I set about writing a column to set the record straight. I’m not at all sure I have done that.
My first effort was to use two newspaper articles about the last days of the canal in their entirety and correct the wrong parts. Well, that didn’t work well at all. Then I decided to use an excerpt from the Board of Public Works Report for 1911 describing how the canal was in bad shape. But I couldn’t find one of the two statements from that report I wanted to use verbatim.
I knew, however, that I had quoted that bit in my 2008 GRAND CANAL, so I went to it, and sort of changed my mind, again, about the column. Today’s final column will be a slightly rewritten and shortened version of pages 64 to 71 of my GRAND CANAL.
It is basically about the results of the State pulling the plug on the early 1900s rebuild of the northern division of the Ohio Canal and then nature taking a hand in the final decision of keeping the canal open with her devastating 1913 Flood.
I hope you find today’s column informative and, at least a bit, interesting. It is a long one, and, “Yes Mary, no pictures.” And if you have read my book, this is all old news. Still, I think, in order to understand the history of Ohio’s Canal Era completely, it is important to look closely at that period between the ending of the 1909 construction season and the Spring of 1913.
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LAST DAYS OF THE OHIO CANAL
From the end of the 1909 construction season until the devastating March 1913 flood, the Ohio Canal lay, with its attempted northern rebuid stalled, manymiles from the coal fields of Tuscarawas County. Charles E. Perkins’s ninth consecutive term as Chief Engineer of Ohio’s Public Works expired in May of 1910. He was not reappointed; nor was he immediately replaced. There was no Chief Engineer’s Report to the State Legislature for 1910, and for over a year the Ohio Canal existed in a state of limbo.
Finally on July 3rd, 1911 John I. Miller was appointed to the position of Chief Engineer. In his annual report to the State Legislature presented on November 11, 1911, he stated that, “the canals of Ohio are in such a state of physical disability as to make it possible for navigation only in a very few instances.”
During the enforced hiatus of long distance canal traffic during the attempted rebuild, the few mills, mines, and industries that had regularly shipped and received by canal either shifted their business elsewhere or were forced out of business. The boatmen too, drifted away and into other jobs and lives. Only those few boats that had been dragged up on shore or sunk for the duration into the convenient basins and widewaters that still survived.
Mixed signals came from the Legislature and Board of Public Works regarding the future of the Ohio Canal. Major physical flood damages in the northern division during the fall of 1911 were rebuilt in 1912. However, the spoil from dredging the canal south of Clinton in the last days of the rebuild had been left in heaps. The towpath south of Clinton into Canal Fulton was not plowed smooth and leveled until 1912. Also, it appears that portions of the canal through Stark County to the Zoar Feeder in Tuscarawas County was never refilled with water after the rebuild and relocation of New lock 5-A and the new Cemetery Run Culvert south of Massillon in 1909.
Meanwhile, the State Legislature busied itself disposing of the lower portion of the Ohio Canal. Most of the canal line between the Dresden Sidecut in Muskingum County and Portsmouth was officially abandoned in 1911. Only that section between the Licking Summit Reservoir and a few industries in Newark remained and that was only for hydraulic power.
The remainder of the Ohio Canal was allowed to ‘just exist’. Then, on December, 31, 1912 the State Legislature abolished the Board of Public Works and replaced it with a one-man “Supervisor of Public Works”. But since John Miller was appointed to that position, perhaps the State Legislature wasn’t entirely ready to give up on its canal system. As it turned out, that question was soon taken out of the Legislature’s hands.
The snows were heavy in northern Ohio in January and February, 1913.(1) Then a rare thaw occurred in mid-March, and on March 23, Easter Sunday, it began to rain. A heavy downpour continued all over the State. By the wee hours of Tuesday morning the creeks and rivers throughout Ohio were at a high flood stage. Though western Ohio was hardest hit the rivers in eastern Ohio, including the Cuyahoga, Tuscarawas, Muskingum, Licking and Scioto, – rivers whose valleys carried the channel of the Ohio Canal – all were at a record flood stage.
Dayton Ohio during the 1913 flood. Library of Congress.
Rain had begun falling in northeastern Ohio around noon on Easter. More than eight inches fell during the next four days. Families in the river valleys were forced to leave their homes. Cities in those valleys were without power, shelter, food, and water. Firemen and police found it difficult to reach any emergency.
The Tuscarawas River bottom including the canal near Clinton and Warrick, were covered by water for a width of 12 miles. All that water had to be funneled through a valley that contained Canal Fulton, Massillon, and Navarre. The Tuscarawas River overflowed its banks at Canal Fulton and, together with the canal, raced through town, destroying much within its path.
Easter Sunday had seen the residents of Massillon going to special musical services through a diving rain. It continued all day and night and again through Monday. At 8:45 Tuesday morning the Tuscarawas River passed the previous high-water mark set in 1904 and continued rising at the rate of two feet per hour. Only the roofs of homes along the canal were above water.
At 11:00 am that day the only two schools in Massillon that had managed to open were closed. The raging Tuscarawas waters, reaching halfway up the sides of a house on Tremont, battered and pushed until the house rose from its foundation and floated off only to crash against a railroad trestle and disintegrate.
The rising waters covered the Ohio Drilling Company, the Massillon Foundry, and Shuster Brewery to a depth of three to four feet. A portion of the Sippo Creek Culvert under South Erie Street collapsed and the creek flooded the main business section of Massillon.
The three villages that made up Navarre were on higher ground and didn’t suffer as greatly as Canal Fulton or Massillon, but the canal through Navarre was utterly destroyed. Every bridge across the Tuscarawas in Stark County except one in Navarre was swept away.
Floodwaters in Bolivar exceeded the previous record by four feet, though damage to the actual town was minimized as much of the town had been built upon higher ground.
The Sad Iron Works, a plant of the Dover Manufacturing Company, and the Wagner Brothers Machine Shop, all located along the canal’s towpath just below the Factory Street Bridge in Canal Dover, collapsed due to flood waters. Every bridge across the Tuscarawas and Muskingum Rivers in Tuscarawas, Coshocton and Muskingum Counties was destroyed by the rapidly flowing flood waters which undermined the abutments.
Damage in Zanesville after the 1913 flood. Library of Congress.
Residents in Lockport, on the southeast side of New Philadelphia at Lock 13 were completely cut off from the surrounding countryside for days. Provisions had to be boated in. The residents of Port Washington and Newcomerstown were also isolated for several days and the canal channel through those towns was nearly obliterated.
Damage in Chillocothe from the 1913 flood. Library of Congress.
In Coshocton, floodwaters spread across 30 city blocks – 8 feet deep in some areas. In Zanesville, near the head of the main Muskingum Improvement, the river crested at 51.8 feet, the highest stage ever recorded up to that time, putting nearly 3,500 buildings under water.
The northern part of the canal above the Portage Summit wasn’t hit quite as hard as other areas, but its citizens reacted more violently. Over the years, a number of fine homes and vacation sites had sprung up along the shores of the Portage Lakes Canal Reservoir. Nervous home and land owners demanded that floodwaters be sent down the canal, away from their properties. Somehow, the banks of the reservoir were breached, sending thousands of tons of water cascading down the Tuscarawas and Muskingum Valleys.
Rumors quickly began circulating that Summit County residents, fearing for the safety of their homes and property, had dynamited the reservoir embankments to relieve local flooding. The Massillon City Council later investigated the alleged dynamiting of the Cottage Grove Dam near Paddy Ryan’s Inn on a feeder from Turkeyfoot Lake to the canal and river. Summit County Officials denied that there was any dynamiting of dams or retaining embankments to save Portage Lakes property. The blame was placed upon excessive pressure of floodwaters on the earthen embankments of the Reservoir.
Whatever the cause, the embankment was breached around Midnight on Sunday. The level of Turkeyfoot Lake dropped some six feet quickly, with a subsequent rise in the Tuscarawas River to the south and the Ohio Canal through Akron to the north.
The closed gates on each of the 15 locks within the city of Akron became small dams, building up a head of water as high as eight feet above the lock. There were bypass channels around each lock, but the sudden increase in the volume of water from the Portage Lakes was too much. The crowds of people panicked and demanded the lock gates be dynamited. The gates of several locks within the city were blown open with dynamite, beginning with Lock 1 at Exchange Street on Monday night and including Locks 8 and 9 , just south of Market Street around noon on Tuesday. This uncoordinated destruction probably did little more than destroy the lock gates, damage some nearby buildings, and hastened the flood of water down the valley.
Bridge swept away in Cleveland. Library of Congress.
Local papers questioned who had authorized the destruction of State Property. Years later, stories were told about the flood and John Henry Vance, an engineer at the B F. Goodrich plant, who took credit for supervising the destruction of Lock 1, a Mr. Madden for Lock 8 plus the nearby Alexander Building, and the City Police for Lock 9.
When the pent up water from the reservoir feeders and the pools behind the Akron locks were unleashed, it tore through the valley, shoving buildings from their foundations and destroyed the canal channel from Akron to Peninsula. At Boston, local residents used 200 pounds of dynamite to blow up the mill dam in the Cuyahoga, hoping to relieve flooding in their town and sending torrents of water down the valley, destroying property and life along its banks. Along the Cleveland Flats, at the junction of the Cuyahoga River and Lake Erie, devastation was tremendous, with docks, lumberyards, and businesses all swept away.
The Statewide extent of death and destruction due to the Flood of 1913 exceeds all other weather-related events in Ohio’s history. Rainfall over the State totaled 6 to 11 inches, and no part of the State was unaffected. The total death count was 467 and more than 40,000 homes were damaged or destroyed. The total property damage totaled more than $100 million dollars (in 1913 money). Homes, businesses and institutions across the State were destroyed by the flood and the State’s transportation system was severely damaged. With nearly every river bridge destroyed, trains swept off tracks, railroad yards destroyed, and railroad tracks torn up by the rampaging waters, it was months before the railways and highways were back to any semblance of their former efficiency.
Much of the northern section of the canal, that portion where the recent rebuilding had taken place, was in shambles, but there was never more than local efforts to repair it, and then only for hydraulic purposes. Through boating on the Ohio Canal had ceased during the height of the rebuild about 1905 or 06. The Flood of 1913, by washing away many of the canal’s feeder dams and seriously damaging it banks all along the line, put an end to the Ohio Canal as a viable, through transportation system.
(1) Editors note- The Flood of 1913 was a multi-state event caused by a winter storm. In addition to the damages to the Ohio Canals, it also great impacted work on New York’s new Barge Canal, which was being constructed at that time.
As the Ohio Canal neared completion from Lake Erie to the Ohio River, many in the small village of Cleveland, Ohio began to believe that their village was strategically placed on the shore of the Great Lake between the junction of the Erie and Ohio Canals that it was destined to become an important world trade center. One man who had that belief, and attempted to make it a reality, was James S. Clarke, a former Sheriff of Cuyahoga County and, in the decade of the 1830s, one of the biggest real estate speculators in the area. In 1831, James Clarke, Richard Hilliard (a wealthy dry goods merchant), and Edmond Clark (a prominent banker) formed a partnership and purchased 50 acres of land just south of Cleveland’s village limits.
The acreage constituted the southern portion of a peninsula bordered on three sides by the Cuyahoga River and located just south of the river’s first great bend. This land was then known as Case’s Point, but is currently that part of the Cleveland Flats known as Ox Bow Bend. The three-man-partnership platted a development on their acreage and called it CLEVELAND CENTRE.i This paper village featured streets named after foreign countries – Britain, France, Germany, China, and Russia, all radiating from a hub called Gravity Place. This, the promoters decided, was an appropriate name for a future center of world trade and business. Cleveland Centre was ideally located just south of the new Ohio Canal basin (Merwin’s) where canal boats and lake vessels interchanged cargo.
Land lots in the new development initially sold well, and soon a small village had sprouted there. Commission houses, warehouses, and docks were built along the western side of the village primarily on Merwin Street. A residential neighborhood formed on the eastern side of the village along Columbus Street (now Columbus Avenue), the main thoroughfare running north and south through the Centre. Clark gave the area a boost in 1835 when he financed the construction of the first bridge across the Cuyahoga River in the Cleveland area – the Columbus Street Bridge
In 1836 the area received another boost. Clarke and others sponsored an additional new development named Wileyville. This new village was on land directly across the river from Cleveland Centre. The two villages were connected by the new Columbus Street bridge. The initial prosperity of the area was so great that it attracted Cleveland’s attention and that city annexed Cleveland Centre in 1835.
Then the nationwide Financial Panic of 1837 struck and all early chances of the Cleveland Centre district becoming a center of world trade collapsed along with the nation’s economy.
During the nation’s economic doldrums that lasted for more than seven years, many working class immigrants moved from building the canals to being out of work from Cleveland’s industry. Also during this period (1838) the first Roman Catholic Church in the Cleveland area, St. Marys, was constructed in the Centre to cater to the many them Irish-Catholic local residents. Incidentally, it was also during this period that James S. Clarke found himself financially ruined.
The nation’s economy finally righted itself in the mid-to-late 1840s and the canal trade began booming again, however, severe flooding of the Cuyahoga in 1847 slowed the Centre’s rebirth. Then with the beginning of the 1850s another specter loomed over the horizon of Cleveland Centre.
Attracted to this area of Cleveland by the industry and commercial district built near the canal/lake interconnection, railroads began entering the area in a big way during the mid-1850s.
The Cleveland, Columbus & Cincinnati Railroad entered the Centre first. In 1851 the railroad purchased 12 acres on the south side of the Centre – taking up almost one quarter of the original development. The C. C. & C. RR constructed an engine roundhouse and other service and yard facilities on that land.
In the immediate years that followed, many of the area’s new industries and manufacturing facilities were constructed to be near the railroad. Often the construction of these industrial complexes necessitated that portions of the streets that radiated from Gravity Place be vacated. Over the years much of the beauty and symmetry of the Centre was lost. The residential neighborhood on the east side of the development also suffered disruption from the invasion of the railroads and industry.
The canal’s terminus, including the commodious Merwin’s Basin was transferred from state to city control and leased to the Connoton Valley Railroad during the mid 1870s. A new canal terminus, weigh lock, and outlet lock into the Cuyahoga River were built some three miles south. Those facilities were operational by the beginning of the 1878 boating season and the original terminus closed.
The old Cleveland Centre drifted toward no longer being a desirable place for a residential area and many moved away. With the loss of the majority of its parishioners, the Catholic Church, now known locally as St. Mary’s of the Flats, closed its doors in 1880. Even the name of Cleveland Centre faded from the memory of Clevelanders and by the late nineteenth Century, the area was known, city wide, only as The Flats.
When Cleveland and the entire area of northeastern Ohio experienced a devastating loss of industry in the mid-Twentieth Century, that Cleveland area known as The Flats and the remains of Cleveland Centre languished, too. That entire area became known nationally only for its closed factories, and businesses and empty warehouses.
That area of Cleveland experienced a brief rebirth as an entertainment and recreational center during the late 1970s and through the ‘80s, but most of the portion that once contained the Centre was too far south to reap much of the economic benefit. And even that small upbeat in the local economy soon faded.
Recently however, with the dawning of the twenty-first century, a number of acres in the southern part of The Flats, that area that contained the Centre, and was formerly owned by the C., C. & C . RR and its successors, was obtained by the City and re-purposed for recreational purposes. Parts of the old Cleveland Centre development are now home to facilities as the Commodore’s Club Marina, and the Cleveland Rowing Foundation. Then Cleveland Metro-Parks initiated their Rivergate Park which featured a riverside restaurant called Merwin’s.
With the Cleveland Centre area becoming a trendy destination once again, proposals (we hesitate to call them plans) have been made to have historical markers placed in the area commemorating the historical existence of Cleveland Centre, and that the original radial streets and hub at Gravity Place be marked and lighted so that people, both on the ground and in the air could see, remember, and commemorate this early attempt to build an international trade center on Ohio’s north shore. Along with James C. Clarke’s spirit, we can do little more than hope.
(Note that this article was first written a few years back and as the links show, much development has taken place in this area.)
