Tag: Ohio and Erie Canal

Terry K. Woods’ Canal Comments – A 2010 Return to the Sugar Creek Crossing Site

I am going to detail a hike I took in January of 2010 to the Sugar Creek Crossing below Dover. I believe this is sort of timely. Members of the Canal Society of Ohio (CSO) and Stark Parks are sitting down to discuss the identity, location and status of the canal artifacts in Stark County that need to be preserved, restored or signed.

One artifact that I believe needs to be preserved (before it falls down) is the Big Sluice to the north of the Stark Parks Craig-Pittman Trailhead just south of Navarre. There are only three of those big sluices that I am aware of on the northern division of the Ohio Canal. Today’s column mentions the second one and it’s fate. I’d like to see something done with the one in Navarre to see that it doesn’t suffer the same.

THE SUGAR CREEK CROSSING (in 2010)i

The Ohio and Erie Canal crossed Sugar Creek in slack-water above a dam just south of (now) Dover Ohio. It was a fascinating place and sported a long wooden crib dam, stone dam abutments and a large basin. A guard lock was constructed about a half mile below the crossing and a short sidecut, outlet lock and a refurbished mill dam allowed boats to exit the Ohio Canal, cross the Tuscarawas River and enter the New Philadelphia Lateral Canal through a guard lock.

This is a slide of a postcard showing the crossing at Sugar Creek.

I was shown all this in the early 1970s by my long-time class mate and canal buddy, Richard Williams. He is the same fellow who took me canal hunting in his Piper Apache in the early ‘70s.

The early 1900s attempted rebuild of this division of the Ohio Canal, reduced the size of the basin a bit, replaced the upper stone dam abutment with a concrete big sluice, removed the guard lock, and rebuilt the dam.

This is another slide copy of a postcard.

And by the time I first saw this area, the dam was gone, but any number of very interesting artifacts remained. I went into this area many times and the CSO toured the area in the mid-’80s. Then, the plastics company that owned the area sold to a larger concern and access to this fascinating area was denied.

I had sent a letter to Arizona Chemical in mid December of 2009 asking for permission to get onto their water treatment facility property and check out the remains of the crossing. I received a phone call from a Paul XXXXXXX, the head of Human Resources, and he had me get in contact with a Randy XXXXXXX, who would escort me around the property. I called Randy after the holidays and we agreed to wait until there was a lull in the snowfall. I called him back on January 20th. We set an appointment up for the next day, the 21st. for 10:00am.

I got to the water treatment plant off of State Route 39 about 9:30 and Randy rolled up in his truck about 10:10. He invited me into the truck, so I got my 35mm camera and two throw-away cameras and got in. We drove down an old roadway that was in the canal bed. After about 250 yards, the “roadway” stopped and we got out to continue on foot. There was no longer a real trail, but I knew the artifacts were on the track of a power line so we kept going in a general direction toward Sugar Creek. Finally, after turning to my right a bit, I walked across a slight ridge of maybe 10” to 12” with small stone strewn along it and knew that we had crossed the line of the dam. Old photos of the dam show it to have been some 4 to 5 feet high, stepped, and maybe 200 yards long. ii It had evidently been a wooden crib dam. The wood had apparently long ago rotted away and most of the stone in the cribbing had been washed away. Now there is only this slight ridge going in sort of a straight line.

The concrete sluice as seen in 2010. Terry Woods collection.

I figured we had passed the lower dam abutment, so turned to my right and soon came upon it. From this side it is a rather unimpressive stone structure. It is only a dam abutment, however, so doesn’t have a great deal of substance. I was much more impressed with stumbling across it back in the ‘70s from the other direction. I took a couple of photos and slides then we turned to go in the other direction for a look at the other abutment.

I saw sort of a shallow channel with some stone lining along each edge, not too wide, maybe six feet, that may have been the main run-off channel over the dam. Randy spied the other abutment. This abutment was a large concrete sluice that had been part of the early 1900s rebuild. When I was last in here in the early to mid-’80s I had noticed that one corner of this sluice was in a flood channel that had exposed maybe 18” of the wooden pilings. I thought then that this entire structure was in danger of falling over. One section has. It has fallen in toward the main structure. The rest of the rather nice large sluice is still intact, however. The flood channel was running deep and swift making it impossible to get onto the towpath or examine the canal at the creek’s edge. There were the remains of an old wasteway teetering on the edge of the creek when I was last in here and some sort of concrete-filled pipe sticking out of the creek bed. We couldn’t get into that area this trip to check it out.

Although a poor copy, you can see the concrete sluice at the end of the bridge.

I took a number of photos and slides from various angles then turned and took a couple of the dam ridge with the stone structure in the background. There had been a culvert on either side of the slack-water basin to carry runoff back to the river. I looked around a bit for the one on the lower side of the basin, but couldn’t find anything. Back in the ‘80s it was crushed in with the hulk of a 55 Plymouth on top. I didn’t see any Plymouth this time.

Another angle of the sluice as it was in 2010. Terry Woods collection.

We walked a bit toward the river and returned to the truck along a waste-treatment line that had been cleared. It made the trip back to the truck fairly easy. I asked Randy if we could get permission to bring 20 to 25 people in on the April 26 hike. I thought it might make a fun outing for serious folk, but probably isn’t enough to see for the current crowd of CSO tour people. Randy said he would check, but he didn’t sound that confident.iii

I thanked Randy and gave him a signed copy of my latest book. He had been very friendly and cooperative and asked many intelligent questions about the operation of the artifacts here at the crossing.

I got back in the car and continued on route 39 until it crossed the river, then turned into the old Delphia Motor Inn/Days Inn/Hartford Inn. I drove to its rear and parked along the fence-lined river. The fence began just a short distance to my left so I went around it and walked up along the left bank of the river. I had one throwaway camera and the 35mm camera. I spied the old dam abutment on the right bank of the river about 50 to 75 yards above where the fence started. The abutment was originally to the Baker’s Mill and later for the New Philadelphia Lateral Canal. The dam abutment is easy to see as it is just at the point where the river has broken into the Route 77 “borrow pits”. This would be an easy walk some evening of the tour to let people see an artifact that is readily visible, but one not many people know about. I took a couple of photos and slides, then got back into the car. When I was last in here (1997) there was some stonework also on the left bank. I didn’t scramble down to the river to look (getting way too old for that) and the river was so high, that much of it was probably under water. What was visible on the right bank was a right angle stone support to the old dam.

I then headed for home. I got off at the Strasburg exit and stopped at the Magic Hobby Shop, but didn’t see anything I wanted. I then turned right on 212 and stopped at the Stark Parks Trail Head. Their mailings state they are working on the trail near here. There is a quantity of gravel and fines at the trail head and a parked Green-Frog Dump Truck, but I didn’t see any evidence of a new trail branching off from this trail head.iv

I got back home shortly before Noon. A pretty worthwhile hike from a personal standpoint, but no public access was obtained. I hope we can do something in the future to make sure that the fate of the Big Sluice below Navarre does not follow that of the one down below Dover.

i From notes made of a hike taken on January 21, 2010.

ii That’s what my notes say, but I think it was closer to 75 or 100 yards long.

iii We didn’t receive permission.

iv The new trail branches off some distance to the north and follows the berm bank of the canal to the

aqueduct site.

Terry K. Woods’ Canal Comments – The Sugar Creek Crossing

Terry begins with;

Hi Guys:

One of the perks of wring this column, with no editors and no publishers, is that I get to write what I want the way I want it. That is also one of the downsides. I have no one to make sure I write a good one.

This column was supposed to be a straight historical description of the Sugar Creek Crossing just below Canal Dover. Instead, it reads more like, “How a spent several summer vacations”. Anyway, here it is. Hope you like it.

THE SUGAR CREEK CROSSING

In the 306+ miles of canal between Lake Erie to the Ohio River, the Ohio Canal crossed over various streams fourteen times using an aqueduct, and eight times in a slack-water pool built up behind a dami. While an aqueduct is an imposing structure and slack-water pools are probably not considered such, the slack-water crossing of Sugar Creek below Canal Dover on the Ohio Canal has always held a particular fascination for many an avid canal buff.

The dam, itself, is described rather tersely in the Canal Commissioner’s Report for the year 1832.

“Ninety-Three miles south of Cleveland the Ohio Canal crosses Sugar Creek, a major tributary of the Tuscarawas River in the pool of a dam, this dam is constructed of a double row of closely spaced pilings, filled between the rows with stone, and brush, and gravel, and covered with plank, laid upon plates resting upon and secured to the heads of each row of piles with an extensive apron of hewn timber and abutments of cut stone founded upon bearing piles, the waters of the stream may consequently be commanded for the use of the canal, but the supply of water furnished by the feeder at Zoar is so abundant that it has been found unnecessary to appropriate any part of them to the purpose of navigation.”

1875 map of Canal Dover from the Everts Combination Atlas Map of Tuscarawas County.

I was first shown the remains of the Sugar Creek Crossing in 1967 by an avid canal buff named Richard Williams. Richard had a plane and several times we went “canal looking” from the air. I’ve had at least one column on these trips. This time though, we scrambled through barriers of high, thick brush to find the actual site. I was into that site several times again during the 1980s and ‘70s.

The crossing had been updated during the 1908-09 rebuild and the northern stone dam abutment replaced with a large concrete sluice (similar to the one in the canal towpath in the Craig-Pittman Trailhead just south of Navarre). In its most recent iteration, the dam was paced off to be some 50 to 60 yards long. That new Sugar Creek Dam and Sluice was constructed in 1909 (contract let on Oct 13, 1908) by Clark and Meldy for $5,761.71.

Apparently, the dam remained as a ‘refurbished’ wood-crib structure as little more than a raised line of fine stone marked it’s former location when I searched for it. The first time I was in that area alone and rediscovered the one remaining stone dam abutment, I approached it from the creek side and was quite impressed with the find.

1912 Topo map

A guard lock was located some 2,300 feet below the dam. It raised northbound boats to the momentary level of the slack-water crossing and protected the lower canal from high water, but it was, apparently, removed during the 1900s rebuild of the dam and crossing.

It took me quite a while to determine why the guard lock was so far below the slack-water crossing. Then, while perusing some Board of Public Works Reports, I ran across an item mentioning the need to repair the outlet lock for the New Philadelphia Lateral Canal. That sidecut exited the Ohio Canal just above the guard lock above a rebuild of the old Baker Mill Dam. The guard lock was required to be so far away from the crossing so that the Lateral could exit the main canal in the Sugar Creek slack-water level

In 1976, Don Baker, a reporter from the New Philadelphia Times-Reporter asked me to guide him to each of the remaining canal structures in Tuscarawas County for a Sunday Supplement segment he was preparing. We did this run in the month of July, and foliage was very high, almost too high, to get into the sites, let alone take coherent color photos, but the resulting Sunday piece was a good one.

1977 visit to the site. Terry Woods collection.

The Sugar Creek Crossing was one of those sites. The Union Camp Chemical Company was then occupying the entire area containing the crossing artifacts and had constructed some sort of processing plant and a cooling-water pond near the southern property line. The plant was vacant except for one security personnel the hot Sunday afternoon we made our journey and he was more than happy to relieve the tedium by showing us around. I gained a ‘perk’ by picking his brain concerning the New Philadelphia Lateral Canal which this security guard had swam in during his boyhood.

1981. Terry Woods collection.

In 1982, Ted Kasper and I led a Canal Society of Ohio tour of Tuscarawas County. Ted gained the friendship of a gentleman from New Philadelphia whose name I no longer remember, but happened to be the Public Relations Director for the Union Camp Chemical Company. This man gave us complete freedom to visit the canal artifacts adjacent to the chemical company. Naturally, it was a high point of the tour.

1982. Terry Woods collection.

I spent a great deal of time scouring that area in preparation for the tour. I came in through the chemical plant access road many times and once I even came in along the railroad tracks from the north, but couldn’t get onto the actual dam site from that direction as Sugar Creek was flowing strong and wide across my path. After the 1913 flood had destroyed the dam, the creek cut a new channel just to the north of the “new” concrete sluice.

During those last few visits onto the site I discovered that, during flood times, the creek was undercutting one wall of the sluice. At least 18” of the supporting wooden pilings were exposed. I was fearful that half of that concrete structure might soon collapse.

The rebuild had included concrete waste-ways about 30 yards before and after the dam, plus culverts to carry any surplus rain water away from the structure into the near-by Tuscarawas River. During one of my trips there in the ‘80s I discovered a wrecked 1955 Plymouth lying in the south culvert access ditch.

That whole area has been closed to the general public since the late ‘80s. Unfortunately, I may have been the cause of that censure. Shortly after the tour, I wrote to the head of the chemical plant suggesting that the company and the Canal Society of Ohio work together to get that area north of their plant declared a National Historic Landmark. Apparently, the company officials felt any such designation might jeopardize their work area and the Sugar Creek Slack-water Crossing was closed off. For that I am truly sorry.

I did get into that area one more time. In December of 2009 I wrote to the chemical company asking for permission to explore the area. The CSO was again planning a tour of Tuscarawas County and I wanted to include that area. On January 10, 2010, I was escorted around the area by a company official. He was quite gracious and let me see whatever I wanted to see, but access for the tour was denied. I took notes of that last excursion and may use it as a column in the near future.

i A GLOSSARY OF TERMS of the Ohio & Erie Canal, Terry K. Woods, KENT STATE UNIVERSITY PRESS, 2008.

The Changing Landscape of Lock 2 in Akron, Ohio

The history of a canal doesn’t stop when the canal is abandoned. As long as the canal, or parts of it are present, what happens after maintenance stops becomes part of the story.

Canal historians have been aware of this and have been keeping track of the changing landscapes. By finding a vantage point and returning year after year to document the site, the changes to the landscape can be recorded. And if the canal or lock or aqueduct is gone one year, well then, at least it was documented for the future generations.

Terry Woods worked in Akron and was able to document the changes to Lock 2, mostly from West State Street, between 1964 and 1986. He also wandered down to the locks and took a couple shots of what was to the north.

1964- Lock 2 in Akron
1967
1980- Terry labeled this one as “destroying the lock.” Maybe he thought that they were.
1982- This was from the south side. You can see the West State bridge and another building that is no longer present.
1967- looking north from lock. The building appears to have been built over the canal route.
1986

This last one is from Google Maps. I “drove” over West State and looked south. The changes are remarkable.

If I run across any more in the Woods collection I will be sure to add them to this post.

Terry K Woods Canal Comments- Driving Along The Tuscarawas in 1907

Terry’s introduction- Last Saturday the Canal Society of Ohio held its annual spring tour of a portion of Ohio Canal Land. This tour ran from Newcomerstown on the Ohio & Erie to Coshocton then up the Walhonding Canal to the Muskingum Conservancy’s 1935 “answer” to the 1913 flood – The Mohawk Dam.

The first portion of the tour went from Coshocton along the River Route (there is a shorter Hill Route) through Canal Lewisville to Newcomerstown. As luck would have it, I recently ran across something I’ve had in my files for many years, an account of a motor tour from Coshocton to Newcomerstown in 1907! Apparently I had never read it thoroughly before as, buried in its contents, was reference to a mill at Wild Turkey Lock (No. 25) and another one, probably at Lock 24.

Anyway, I thought you might like to have a look at the Ohio Canal, the roads, and the Tuscarawas River in the wild (then and still little bit now) section of Coshocton County.

UP THE TUSCARAWAS – 1907.i

John promised to meet us at the corner Main and Forth Streets at 7am sharp, but we knew that was to avoid contention. Seven is not on his day trick. His folks have no knowledge of his ever having seen the sun as early as seven. If he had his way he’d have it rise at 9 instead of 5.

By an extraordinary struggle with the bed covers, he managed to turn the corner at 8:15, but not with that dash and exuberance of spirits characteristic of him when a party of the other sex awaits him. His look seemed to say that this thing is going to be mighty monotonous with nothing but men. And he began to recite his fears as to one of the tires, a leak in the water tank, the weather, the obstinacy of the sparker and other vicissitudes of autoing; but to no avail, for we insisted on going at all hazards.

We started up the River Road for West Lafayette. The Hill Road is the shorter; but the camera whispered something about the river, the canal and the old locks – the picturesque things.

John held the throttle. Ed puffed clouds of smoke from his two-fors, with nothing on his mind but a derby, while C. M. and the writer kept a sharp lookout for the pretty spots.

We dashed across the Tuscarawas river bridge into that uncertain triangular piece of land between Coshocton and Roscoe and the Tuscarawas and Walhonding rivers, known as “The Forks.” Circling around the mill, we started up the river bottoms along the fields of corn, but not without a look back over our shoulders at picturesque Roscoe, holding on to the steep hillside.

Roscoe is the quaint old canal metropolis of Coshocton county, now more of a residential adjunct to Coshocton.

The water power from the Walhonding canal rolls the wheels of two flouring mills and a planning mill only, but is being harnessed by the State for greater things. The Coshocton Electric Light Company will build a mammoth power plant where the water spills over into the river below.ii

Roscoe always appeals to the artist, with its quaint, old early-canal-day buildings backed up against the canal. Much oil and water-color has been spread over its scenes; and being stuck up on a hillside, it affords some remarkable birdseye views of three rivers, two canals, three basins, an aqueduct and a railway trestle, to say nothing of the hills and valleys leading out in various directions, and the busy city of Coshocton across the two rivers.

The Forks is rich in Indian history. The two races met here in the early days, but did not always harmonize and go off together as peacefully as the Walhonding and the Tuscarawas into the Muskingum below. Much blood was shed in the primeval forests of this neighborhood.

The Forks is near the site of the capital of the Delawares. Here it was the objective point of the Bouquet treaty in 1764 and the scene of the famous Bouquet expedition of the War of the Revolution, sometimes known as the Coshocton Campaign. While up along the valleys of the Walhonding, Tuscarawas and Muskingum are many other points of interest in Indian history, as well as several evidences of the Mound Builders time.

A few explosions of gasoline and we were in Canal Lewisville, a little canal hamlet with enough of the ramshackle to make a good picture. We stopped the automobile just right for a flock of geese on the towing path to pose beautifully and kept their eyes on Ed as they were requested.

The run from Canal Lewisville to the West Lafayette bridge is a delightful one. First the road is on one side of the canal, and then the other while the river whips up close one minute and the next shies off around that big bend then disappears among the Sycamores. Among the refreshing local places that marked our progress up the canal are McGuire’s Grove, Wild Turkey lock, Rush Island Pond and Shaw’s Bottoms.

Wild Turkey Lock was once the seat of a flouring mill. The writer remembers in his boyhood some delightful trips to the mill with the “hired hand.” The turtles slipped into the water so interestingly, and the canal boats in those days pointed their prows around the bend more majestically than a big ship breaks over the horizon into New York harbor now, from the standpoint of the same observer.

Leaving the canal bank and turning south at the river bridge, near the mouth of White Eyes creek, we made a bee line for West Lafayette, passing Plain Hill – an eminence set out on the plain like a long mound, from which peculiarity it gets its name.

West Lafayette is a thriving town of a thousand people, and has two enamel and two wooden novelty factories. Besides, it is a college town, the seat of West Lafayette College, a well known, but youthful institution of higher learning. West Lafayette has a splendid location – a high gravelly plain, surrounded by a beautiful framework of gentle hills about a mile away, both north and south, and without a “wash” or other harsh lines on them to mar the land-scape. To the writer, it has another charm. It is his home – the effulgence which does not depend upon rural beauty or commercial progress.

Going directly east from West Lafayette we went through that part of the Tuscarawas valley known as White Eyes Plains, a valley from a mile to nearly two miles wide, fine farm land and thickly settled.

But for the picturesque we turned off at Waggoner’s Corner for the river and the canal, and more particularly to the old canal town of Orange, which now has but eight families. In fact it never had a metropolitan population. As a post office, the town of Orange was first known as White Eyes Plain, and later Evansburgh. But now a rural route has invaded the place and made it unnecessary to dignify some citizen with the title of postmaster. Here we saw signs of the revival of the old canal, in the building of a new swing bridge. Up the canal farther the improvements are more frequent. The little canal towns expect to see more of the mules again.

The West Lafayette to Orange trip could be made by another route, passing the famous Blue Hole, The Falls, the lock where once stood the Emerson mill and other picturesque delights of the eye along a popular stretch of river for fishermen and campers.

A little east of Orange is the site of a much older town, Evansburg, long since obliterated by old age and a cyclone – once quite a busy place, whither farmers brought their wheat to be shipped out on the canal.

From Orange we turned back on The Plains, passing the old “Rock Fort,” a small stone building with rifle portholes through its walls, now very old and crumbling. It has received a good deal of attention in recent years from the photographers and historically inclined. It is said by some to have been built by the Evanses, the first settlers; yet the scions of that family seem to know nothing about it. Its mystery is its charm, and we have no disposition to investigate too far for fear that no Indians were ever shot from its portholes and that its purpose was more mill than blood.

Passing Isleta, a neat one-store hamlet on the Pennsylvania railroad, we flew up the Plains through clouds of dust towards Newcomerstown.

West of Newcomerstown we struck the Antietem of river destruction known as the Miskimen Bottoms. Here the river has changed its course every time it looked like rain, and keeps the Coshocton county commissioners perplexed almost as much as their second terms. The first mark of it is the long double-barreled Miskimen wooden bridge, spanning a pasture field. It is a Puckingham Truss and was built by the Hagertys of Nashport, in the fifties.

From this bridge we follow a big “fill” where some adjoining farms have been hauled in to put the road above high water. Next we strike the iron bridge, the second built on this spot, the first going down in the flood of 1903. Here the river makes angry swipes at both ends of the bridge and has drained all Central Ohio of piling and sandstone, and is still whipping her tail in her violent demands for more appropriations. At this point there are in operation several teams. Making a short cut in the river and at the same time making a road above high water for nearly a half mile at the other end of the bridge. And an abutment for another span of the bridge is now being built.

A little further east we cross a fill through a pool of deep blue water. This marks the spot of another old wooden bridge, which spanned the Tuscarawas in one of its fickle moods in the Miskimen Bottoms.

Newcomerstown is a growing town of nearly four thousand people. It has one immense factory, the Clew & Company pipe works, which employ several hundred men and a file factory, some brick factories and other smaller concerns. It has two newspapers, two banks, a new park donated by George Mulvane and many other city airs.

This town gets its name from a tradition. The old chief of the Indian village at the upper end of the present site of the town brought home from one of his expeditions a white wife, number two who was called the “newcomer.” Wife number one was not pleased with the situation and effectively used a tomahawk on the newcomer, thus establishing a good healthy tradition.

Three or four miles east of Newcomerstown is the site of a depopulated mining town called Glasgow, a little off the Port Washington Road. It was a settlement in connection with an iron mine which was opened there by a Scotch company along in the seventies. The mine proved a failure. It is said the iron cost $2.50 per ton more than it brought. The young men in charge were sons of the rich Scotch owners and spent money lavishly. One of them was a Coates, of the Coates thread manufacturing people of Glasgow. A well known Newcomerstown man tells of them paying him five dollars for holding their horses while they called on some friends. In time the rich fathers grew tired of the way things were going and stopped the flow of gold, which, it is said, had reached nearly three millions of dollars. At one time this little village of Glasgow had one thousand people.

Just this side of Port Washington, a mile or so, we passed the site of the little Norman settlement of Salem, where some authorities claim was born the first white child in Ohio. There is nothing left to mark the place.

Port Washington is another little Tuscarawas valley town of about five hundred people. It has a nicely shaded one-hundred-feet main street and an open square. It did have two woodwork factories. Both are now in ashes. It is a canal “port,” but the Pennsylvania railroad is nowadays getting the most travel.

Leaving Port Washington, we continued up the valley, the road keeping north of the canal, on the opposite side from the river. There is no special mark of industry before reaching Lock 17, except the Buchler Bro’s tile works, which is as isolated from any town as a sheep barn. The drive is just rural scenery – corn, wheat, canal, river, hills, wild flox, elderberries, cat tails, cattle and pond lilies.

Lock 17 is a hamlet with a mill, a store and a railroad station, and barely enough people to keep the village storekeeper from getting lonesome rainy days and Saturday nights. Here the general farming is varied somewhat by tomatoes and the like, and there is a big glass covered house on the hillside for the early growth of tomato plants and lettuce.

One mile farther, we reach our destination, Ganadenhutten, and dinner, which latter function was delayed because of so much photography en route and an hour and a half’s perplexity near Newcomerstown over the loss of a bolt. When one loses a bolt of an automobile he has a much greater respect for horses and other beasts of burden.

Leaving the village hotel we stopped at the local cemetery and the monuments to the over 90 ‘converted’ Christian Indians who were massacred by Pittsburgh militiamen.

Our return trip was almost as refreshing as the first. Up the Tuscarawas and down the Tuscarawas are two different panoramas. Either is charming in its variety. You pass the vestibule train and the weary canal boat. You pass the palatial home and the log cabin, covered with the wild trumpet vine. You ride along broad sweeps of waving corn and you hug some hillside under the shade of the oaks and the projecting coal chutes and berry bushes.

Variety – charming variety, everywhere. No moment do you know the full charm of the scene that will greet you around the turn as you fly along the Tuscarawas Valley.

As we ran down the Plains it was nearing sunset. The rabbits were bolder, and the lovers, too. The latter sat closer as the sun was going down. Some of the worsted had a continuous effect over the buggy seat, which situation had to be readjusted when the horse began to recognize the automobile, but the love of one young swain near Port Washington was sufficient to hold his horse with only one hand.

As the evening shades were growing deep, we reached “the Experimental Farm,” the home of the writer, and John, Ed, and C. M. went on their last eight miles by the Hill Road to our starting point, Coshocton.

i Up The Tuscarawas, by Harry Ferguson. OHIO MAGAZINE, March, 1907 Pgs 422-427.

ii The water from the Walhonding Canal emptied into Roscoe Basin.

Canal Comments- The Big Ditch; An Outlet To The Seven Seas, by Terry K. Woods

Editors Note- I tried to find this article online and was not successful. So I don’t know if it was broken up into so many paragraphs or if that was Terry’s work. Anyhow, this is how he send it. It is quite a long article for a newspaper and makes me wonder if it was spread out over multiple days. There are a few words missing at the beginning of one paragraph.

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Terry’s Introduction- A couple of weeks ago, Tim Botos of the Canton repository had a three article event on Transportation in Stark County. He concentrated on three transportation routes, the Ohio Canal, the Lincoln Highway, and Route I-77. That made me think of a 1941 Repository article I ran across several years ago while compiling listings of the Massillon Museum’s clipping file. This 1941 article described the benefits to the county and area brought about by the county’s canals and railroads – and how local business benefited from modern transportation. Oddly enough, roads were not mentioned.

So I’ve copied that very good 1941 article for today’s CANAL COMMENTS column, only adding some footnotes to insert an historical fact over an historical legend here and there.

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THE CANTON REPOSITORY: March 31, 1940, with footnotes by T.K. Woods, Feb. 2011.

Canals came to Ohio – to Stark County – and with them an exciting era. The Legislature on February 4, 1825 authorized the Ohio & Erie system, by way of the Tuscarawas, Muskingum, and Scioto Rivers from Cleveland to Portsmouth, and the Maumee-Miami system on the western side of the state, each connecting Lake Erie with the Ohio River.i

It was a great day, July 4, 1825, when Governor DeWitt Clinton of New York turned the first shovel of earth at Licking Summit. With pomp and ceremony, Governor Jeremiah Morrow of Ohio and other dignitaries turned other shovels full, Governor Clinton toured much of the state to stimulate interest in the building of branch canals. He envisioned the entire Ohio system as a gigantic feeder for his own Grand Canal, running through New York State, a transportation system traversing all the inland states from New York to the Mississippi.

There was feverish speculation in land adjacent to the line of the canal. The economic and social effects were rapidly visible. After twenty years of quiet development, largely limited to the county’s boundary, shut in by nearly impassible roads to an economy self contained, the thrifty, industrious, steady, German-speaking farmers of Stark County and their English-speaking neighbors suddenly found the outside world knocking at their side door.

Thousands of men were needed for labor and much of it was performed by farmers living in the vicinity. Dreams of new towns seized the imagination. Canton men bought land and laid out Bolivar, naming it for the South American hero of the time. Here the canal was to cross the Tuscarawas River by an aqueduct. James W. Lathrop and William Christmas of Canton established Canal Fulton in the northwest corner of the county.ii

In the winter of 1825-26, Captain James Duncan, retired shipmaster from Portsmouth, N.H., owner of most of the township’s site land, established Massillon. His scholarly wife, a niece of Charles Hammond, early editor of the Cincinnati Gazette, suggested the name in honor of Jean Baptiste de-Masssillon, celebrated Roman Catholic French bishop of the days of Louis XIV. Contracts for canal work in the vicinity of Massillon were awarded at Captain Duncan’s house January 18, 1826. (Kendall, the hamlet that preceded it, is now the fourth ward of Massillon; named for Kirky-in-Kendal, ancient English town celebrated in history.)

Akron, the Greek word meaning The Heights, rose in bustling fashion from a collection of shanties where the canal laborers lodged at the top of a spectacular and picturesque descent which locks and sluices would lower the waterway from the Portage Lakes to the Cuyahoga Valley.

An advertisement in the Repository stimulated interest in the residential and business prospects of Massillon: “The proprietors are now laying out and offer for sale lots in the new town of Massillon, situated on the Ohio Canal at the intersection of the great road leading from Pittsburgh westward through New Lisbon, Canton, Wooster, and Mansfield . “It occupies both banks of the canal, having a large and commodious basin near the center of town, with a large number of warehouse lots laid out adjoining so as to render it peculiarly convenient for commercial business. The prices of the lots and terms of payment may be known by applying to Alfred Kelly, acting canal commissioner, James Duncan, one of the proprietors who resides in the town; or John Saxton, agent for the proprietors in Canton.”

Simultaneous with the Ohio development, Pennsylvania built canals and there was much competition for labor. Alfred Kelly advertised in the Repository that from $10.00 to $13 a month would be paid – 30 to 34 cents a day – with plain board and shanty lodging. Some contractors, in addition, assured their workmen a daily jigger of whiskey.iii

Canal traffic opened between Akron and Cleveland July 4, 1827. Exactly two years after the project began, a boat dropped down the Akron locks and, at 3 miles an hour, its speed hardly suggested the revolutionary effects the canal was to produce in Ohio and Stark County within a few years.

In August, 1828, the canal was open for traffic from Akron to Massillon. Stark County had its outlet to Lake Erie! Farmers responded instantly with grain for shipment. Bezaleel Wells and others shipped the wool and cloth which they milled at Steubinville overland to Massillon, up the canal to Cleveland, across Lake Erie, through the Grand Canal and the Hudson River to New York City, up the Atlantic to Boston and down the Atlantic to Philadelphia and Baltimore. It was faster and cheaper than the old wagon route over the mountains eastward.

The people of Columbiana county incorporated the Sandy & Beaver Canal Company, financed by the sale of stock as a private enterprise, surveyed its route from the junction of Beaver creek and the Ohio river, up through New Lisbon and across to Minerva and Bolivar, there to join with the Ohio & Erie. It was a distance of 73 miles and called for the construction of several tunnels, the largest at a summit just east of Hanover.iv It was confronted with protracted delays in financing, organization and engineering.

By the end of the year (1829) the (Ohio) canal was open to Dover and by July 10, 1830, it had reached Newark. The tide of commerce shot upward, the cash value of wheat doubling.

Lotteries flourished: the Dismal Swamp Lottery, the Union Canal Lottery of Philadelphia, the Pokomoke Lottery of Wilmington, and the Grand Consolidated Lottery of Pittsburgh. All of them sought chance-taking customers in these parts; their advertising was compelling, with dollar signs and strings of figures running through it.

Carroll county in 1832 was created out of townships taken from Stark, Columbiana, Jefferson and Tuscarawas counties.

Complete from one end to the other, the canal in 1833 transported freight and passengers from Cleveland to Portsmouth – from Lake Erie to the Ohio river and over these water courses to New York City and to New Orleans. Simultaneously, the Miami canal was open from Dayton to Cincinnati and the Welland canal on the Canadian side connected Lake Erie and New Orleans.

The new town – Massillon, as differentiated from Kendall – had 100 houses and population of 500.

Elderkin Potter, New Lisbon Lawyer, broke the first ground for the Sandy & Beaver Nov. 24, 1834, addressing great throngs of people, setting forth in glowing terms the rosy future for New Lisbon and Columbiana County.

Concerned over the growing importance of Massillon, misguided in their zeal to off-set Massillon’s advantage, a group of Canton citizens subscribed to stock in the Nimishillen & Sandy Slackwater Navigation Company – a fancy title for what they thought would be a feeder canal from Canton to the Sandy & Beaver, thence to the Ohio & Erie and out to the oceans. Pomp and ceremony accompanied the breaking of ground on lower Walnut Street. Speculation in real estate ensued, casting the buyers into despair when the little Nimishillen creek quickly demonstrated that its water supply was far too inadequate to float boats of size. The project, of course, was abandoned and a miner local panic occurred.v

Massillon grew and so did Canton, both in population and prosperity. Because Massillon’s movement had the excitement of a “boom”, local pessimists overlooked the gradual benefits backwashing to Canton. By comparison they saw Canton retrogressing. The country had a population of 26,556, doubled in ten years.

The canal boomed wheat to $1.00, corn to 37 cents, rye to 56 cents, oats to 28 cents, butter to 14 cents, clover seed to $5.00, whiskey to 31 ½ cents a gallon, tallow to 10 cents a pound. The tax value of town lots totaled $96,556, a gain 65% over 1827. Eighty-nine merchants were in business in Canton. Pleasure carriages ranged the streets where none existed ten years before.

Massillon thrived as “the Wheat City.” The, canal, a busy thoroughfare, reflected the lusty, picturesque period. There was talk of railroads, but it dampened not a whit the ardor of canal enthusiasts, yet it held much hope for communities remote from the waterways.

A charter granted by the legislature March 14, 1836, to the Cleveland and Pittsburgh Railroad Company, projected to run through Columbiana county and cut northward through a corner of Stark county, lay dormant.

The panic of 1837 struck the east and its repercussions were promptly felt in Ohio. Construction of the Sandy & Beaver canal prosecuted with vigor in despite many obstacles, came to a standstill. The price of wheat and other farm produce dropped. Business in general took a tailspin. In many ways, however, the canals served to cushion the effects of this depression. They brought settlers to all parts of the state, put them on farms and put them in towns and cities, kept the money in circulation, brought venture capital into industrial enterprise.

The legislature created Summit county, with Akron and contiguous territory shaping into size by reason of the canal, and to create it Stark county lost two townships in the readjustment.

Massillon’s growing importance brought on talk of transferring the Stark county seat from Canton. That is to say, there was such talk in the vicinity of Massillon; there was successful resistance in Canton and eastward in the county.

After nine years, The Cleland and Pittsburgh Railroad Company took one more step toward development of its line, in 1845 amending its dormant Ohio charter in preparation for construction work in Columbiana county and in the eastern angle of Stark county.

Determined to offset the canal, to get under way a paralleling railroad line, which would provide transportation all year in competition with water transportation which was icebound in winter, groups of citizens in Canton and Akron met in Akron January 21, 1845. Samuel Lahm served as chairman and Thomas Goodman as secretary. All attending were enthusiastic and anxious. Their reports raised high hopes and on January 24, 1845, the Repository issued a letter-size single-sheet Extra Edition, printing verbatim the proceedings of the meeting and urging accomplishment of its objective.

Never for a moment fading out, the project languished to await a more propitious time.

The first boat, under command of Captain Dunn, moved triumphantly from the Ohio river into Little Beaver and up through the Fredericktown locks of the Sandy & Beaver canal to New Lisbon, where it was hailed with calibration and rejoicing Mathias Hester laid out town lots at Freedom and in 1848 David G. Hester received appointment to postmaster. His first mail contained one newspaper – a copy of the Ohio repository – and one letter.

The State Legislature passed an Act incorporating the Ohio & Pennsylvania Railroad Company, giving it the right to lay track from Mansfield eastward by way of Wooster, Massillon and Canton to a point on the east line of the state within Columbiana county, there to connect with trackage through Indiana to Chicago.

The tracks of the Cleveland and Pittsburgh and of the Ohio & Pennsylvania were to cross at Freedom.

The shadow of futility fell upon the builders of the Sandy & Beaver canal, but they kept doggedly at their work. After four years of digging, with hand labor for lack of mechanical devices, burrowing the Big Tunnel as an 18-foot tube, 80 feet below the surface of the hill, the middle section from New Lisbon to Minerva was incomplete.

A boat was forced through from New Lisbon to Hanover to hold the canal charter.vi Approaching West Fork creek, east of Hanover, it went aground. Seven yoke of oxen and many willing hands lifted it over the barrier into deeper water. Then, traversing the Big Tunnel, a huge stone rolled down in front of the boat. Again struggling men released the craft and it pulled through to anchor at Hanover January 6, 1848, “on schedule”.

Something more than railroads was faintly visible as a forecast of prosperity for Canton. Just outside Greentown, a machinist-farmer, Cornellius Aultman in 1848 made patterns and experimentally made five Hussey reapers from designs laying dormant in the hands of their Baltimore originator. They were the first machines of the kind made in Ohio, with exception of two or three turned out at Martins Ferry the previous year.

Michael Dillman, a progressive and prosperous farmer living nearby, across the line in Summit County, used one of Aultman’s machines and with so much satisfaction that he bought a partnership with Aultman. The next year, 1849, the two went to Plainfield, Illinois, put up a small shop and went into limited production of reapers

Stark county subscribed $75,000 worth of stock in the Ohio & Pennsylvania Railroad Company and work was begun at many places along its right-of-way between Crestline and Pittsburgh.

Cornellius Aultman, after the close of the harvest season in 1850, sold his interest in the reaper factory at Plainfield, Ill., and returned to Greentown. Several months prior, the Baltimore designer, Mr. Hussey, agreed with Mr. Aultman and his associates that $15 for each machine would be paid as a royalty on his invention.

The tempo of industry quickened for Canton in 1851. The Cleveland and Pittsburgh Railroad line was completed and trains were running. The little neighborhood where the C. & P. tracks crossed those of the Ohio & Pennsylvania, known previously as Freedom, now bore the name of Alliance, conferred upon it by General Robinson, an official of the company at Pittsburgh – a name he symbolized as a wedding of the rails.

Ephraim Ball and Cornellius Aultman in 1851 formed Ball, Aultman & Co., made twelve Hussey reapers and six threshing machines at Greentown and sold them in the vicinity. The location of a plant near the Ohio & Pennsylvania railroad appealed to them as advantageous for shipping of their machines to the wheat country of the west. After the harvest, they bought land adjacent to the tracks and moved to Canton.

It was the dawn of a bright new day for Canton, though not at the moment distinguishable. Mr. Ball, Mr. Aultman, Lewis Miller, Jacob Miller and George Cook pooled their financial resources, $4,500 in all, paid for their three lots alongside the railroad line and built a two-story brick factory, housing a wood shop, finishing shop and molding shop.

While not yet a large employer of labor, Ball, Aultman, & Co. built 25 Hussey reapers in 1852 and worked out the details of the Ohio Mower. Encountering conflict of patents with inventor Haines at Pekin, Ill., they came to mutual agreement on manufacture and sale.

The Iron Horse came to Canton in 1853. The Ohio & Pennsylvania line opened for travel from Pittsburgh to Crestline April 11.

Overshadowed by parallel railroad lines, the eastern section of the Sandy & Beaver canal went into disuse; the middle division was too difficult and too incomplete to use; the western section from Hanover to Bolivar was left for the state to take over.vii

Ball, Aultman & Co. began in 1855 a season of expanded production, but a fire on the night of May 5 destroyed most of their plant. Though handicapped, they produced 12 Hussey reapers in time for the harvest and rebuilt the plant.

Almost primitive up to 1830 and with only meager mechanical development up to 1850, agriculture went through a swift transition concurrent with the early period of Aultman activity. Up to 1830 the farmer produced chiefly for himself and family. With the advantage of machinery, he raised crops largely to sell.

(Missing bit here.) …system under the competition of railroads, but it continued to be a busy and beneficial thoroughfare, reaching into regions yet untouched by rails.

The Ohio & Pennsylvania railroad opened its line through from Pittsburgh to Chicago early in 1856 and on August the three divisions comprising it – the Pennsylvania division, the Ohio division and the Indiana division – were consolidated and the name changed to the Pittsburgh, Ft. Wayne & Chicago Railroad Company. Stark County, by this time, owned $105,000 worth of its stock, selling the stock subsequently for $127,000 to redeem the bonds by which the county had raised money for its investment.

Bell, Aultman & Co. weathered a miner panic of 1857 to become stronger and busier than ever, in this year producing 1,000 agricultural machines, demonstrating the superiority of its reapers, threshers and mowers in competitive tests in various parts of the country. Its most significant victory, in a great field demonstration at Syracuse N.Y. brought widespread favor for the Aultman machines.

C. Russell & Co. went into production of a reaper, called the Peerless, at Massillon, in competition with Aultman.

The Aultman plant in 1863 was busier than ever; farm machinery stood in demand, so that greater crops might be planted and harvested for the people at home and for the army in the field. Cornelius Aultman and his associates were prevailed upon by enterprising Akron men to establish a branch factory there.

The Aultman Company increased its capital stock to $450,000, and at a later date to $1,000,000 for the Canton plant only, setting up a separate capital structure for the Akron plant.

The Pittsburgh, Ft Wayne & Chicago railroad was sold under foreclosure at Cleveland. It was leased subsequently for 999 years dating from July 1, 1869 by the Pennsylvania Railroad Company and its parent, the Pennsylvania Company.

Dormant since 1845, the project for a railway line between Cleveland and Canton was revived and a charter obtained for the Akron & Canton Railway (The Valley Railway), but delay again confronted its development.

The Valley Railway set its capital at $3,000,000 and in 1871 went forward with plans to extend a line from Cleveland, by way of Akron to Canton and on through Tuscarawas and Carroll counties to Bowerstown in Harrison county, where it might tap the coal fields and connect with the Panhandle Railway.

Influential citizens of Cleveland, Akron, Canton, Wheeling and other towns along the projected route of the Valley Railway met in January 1872 at Akron. James A. Saxton of Canton presided. The Cleveland representatives pledged toward its financing $500,000, Akron $150,000 and Canton $150,000. Subscription books were opened at each of the cities and Canton was first to announce her quota had been raised. Akron reported the same success soon thereafter and, in due course, Cleveland subscribed $508,000. Saxton and George Cook of Canton along with five other men, were elected directors April 24.

David L. King of Akron, in 1875 president of the projected Valley Railroad from Cleveland to Canton, balked in his efforts to get it financed in this country, went to England. He was about to conclude the sale of bonds to English Capitalists when the House of Commons discredited American railroad securities on the basis of the Jay Cooke & Co. failure and other depression fears. Mr. King was forced to return empty handed, but he did not give up.

Work on the Valley Railroad, after all its financial vicissitudes, was well started in 1878. President King spiked the first rail at Akron Oct. 26 and from that moment the laying of track went forward with vigor, south to Canton and north to Cleveland.

Late in the year Canton became the beneficiary of another and equally important railroad project, the Connotton Valley Railway. It was developed by wealthy owners of coal property in the neighborhood of Dellroy, namely C.G. Patterson of Boston, N.A,. Smith of New York, G.L. Ingersoll of Cleveland, C.C. Shober of Carrolton and others.

They conceived it as a narrow gauge (3 feet) line of track, adequate and well operated for the transportation of coal, other freight and passengers, from a junction with the Panhandle at Bowerstown on the south, through Canton north to Fairport on Lake Erie and on to Cleveland.

They bought at court sale the little Ohio & Toledo line, laid between Carrollton and Minerva, which in 1878 was in financial difficulties. They extended it to Dellroy in 1879 and pushed toward Canton.

The Valley Railroad was completed from Cleveland to Canton in the winter of 1879-80 and the first train came through from the northern terminus January 28, 1880. Regular train service began February 2.

Soon thereafter, the Connotton Valley Railway came up from Oneida and Carrollton to Canton, then work completed with a rush in May 1880. At the same time construction was pushed to Bowerstown. It was a memorable occasion when on May 15 an excursion train came on the excellent narrow gauge line, bringing 500 enthusiasts from Carrollton, Dellroy and other points; the engine, two baggage cars, two passengers and four flat cars bedecked and crowded.

The Repository began its story of the event: “Energy begets success.” It was a compliment to the backers of the line, who with their own money, asking no loans, selling no bonds, calling only for free right-of-way in each community, built it.

The company placed a similar “special” train at the disposal of leading Canton citizens May 17 and they traversed the line to Carrollton, marveling at the Robertsville tunnel and Montgomery “cut”.

Regular passenger service began a schedule of two trains daily in each direction May 18, 1880. The company went forward with construction of the two northern branches, through Middlebranch, Hartville, Congress Lake, Suffield, Magadore, Brimfield, Kent, Twinsburgh and Bedford into Cleveland – and at an angle out of Kent toward Fairport, where coal from the Connotton Valley fields might be shipped to Canada, Milwaukee, St.Paul, Chicago and west.

i The Act referred to authorized the Ohio Canal from Cleveland to Portsmouth and the Miami Canal from Cincinnati to Dayton (later extended to Lake Erie). The Miami Canal was extended in two sections and completed to the Lake in 1847. A Legislative Act passed in 1849 changed the name of those three sections to the Miami & Erie Canal. That same Act changed the name of the Ohio Canal to the Ohio & Erie Canal though few people of the canal era ever called the Ohio Canal by any other name.

ii The initial name of the town was Fulton, the Canal prefix being added in 1830. When Fulton was established in 1826, Stark County included an additional township, Franklin, to the north. This was ‘lost’ in 1840 when Summit County was formed.

iii There is some evidence that not all contractors provided a standard four gills of whiskey a day even at the beginning of canal construction. Apparently, the practice of providing whiskey at all was stopped by all, or most, contractors within a year, not on moral grounds, but because the practice was too expensive for contractors to continue

iv The Sandy & Beaver Canal contained two tunnels, both on the summit level between Guilford and Hanoverton.

v When a project to link Canton with the canal at Massillon via an eight mile long horse-drawn railway was declared an engineering impossibility due to the steep grades between the two towns, and a waterway north was blocked by unfavorable terrain, the group of influential Canton businessmen turned their sights onto a waterway, south. In 1831, the State Legislature was approached to authorize an examination of the Nimishillen and Sandy creeks from “the forks” south of Canton to the Ohio canal near Bolivar with the object of improving those streams with slackwater dams and short stretches of canal. The examination was approved, and a Mr. Fields did the survey work. A Charter was given by the State to form the Nimishillen and Sandy Navigation Company that next year (1832). Stock subscriptions were slow until the Sandy & Beaver Canal Company broke ground in 1834. The Nimishillen and Sandy project was altered to tie into the former canal near Sandyville and the Nimishillen and Sandy Navigation Company stockholders met formally on December 25, 1834 to elect officers, and directors and appoint an engineer for their project. The sites for two reservoirs northwest of 6th St and Walnut N.W. were to supply the canal with water until the forks of the Nimishillen were reached. Ground was broken in 1836 and contracts let for both ends of the approximately 12 miles of canal and slackwater. The nation’s financial ‘bubble’ burst in the spring of 1837 and work on the Nimishillen and Sandy canal was suspended. By the late 1840s when the country’s economy had improved enough for the Sandy & Beaver project to be revived, Canton’s businessmen were focusing their hopes on the fledgling Pennsylvania and Ohio railroad and the Nimishillen and Sandy project was not revived. .

vi There was never any danger the canal company would lose it’s charter if the January deadline was not met. One of the principal investors had pledged $50,000 with the stipulation that the canal be finished by that date.

vii In actuality, the entire length of the Sandy & Beaver canal was operational beginning with the boating season of 1850 and carried a respectable amount of traffic. The canal company was under-funded, however, and when a dam on one of the reservoirs on the summit failed in the spring of 1852 causing local flood damage and losing support of the local communities, it became impossible for the canal company to survive. The entire line was auctioned off in sections approximately ½ mile long in March of 1854. A group from Sandyville obtained the western-most six miles of canal, refurbished it, and ‘sold’ it to the state for $1.00. The state took ownership of that section in December 1856 and ran it as a water and cargo feeder to the Ohio Canal at Bolivar until the Sandy & Beaver aqueduct across the Tuscarawas River collapsed in 1883.

Canal Comments – The Trenton Feeder by Terry K. Woods

Terry’s email introduction- I still haven’t heard that many opinions of your thoughts on multi-part columns. I did get one comment from Dave Myer of Canal Winchester who said, in part, that he likes to read of my escapades up north. So I was going to use, for today’s column, some reworked hiking notes I took in the National Park not too long after the bike trail first opened up.

Then I thought of another two-parter I have – from a man who lived in Trenton around the turn of the last century with some interesting information about the guard lock at the junction of the Trenton Feeder and the Ohio Canal.

Then I thought maybe some of you would not be that familiar with the Trenton Feeder, so today’s column is a reworking of an article I wrote on the Trenton Feeder for BUCKEYE COUNTRY in the early ‘90s. I got a lot of great information on the workings of that feeder from Jon Baker, then writing for the New Philadelphia Times-Reporter.

I believe, as Dave stated, this was called the Ohio City Canal. Actually, Frank Trevorrow wrote a short description of that short canal in 1973 and I used it in our 1975 Sesquicentennial edition of TOWPATHS.

“An organization known as the Buffalo Tract bought a large piece of land on the west side of he river, opposite Cleveland. It extended from the west bank of the river to what is now West 28th. Street and north from Detroit Avenue to the Lake. Docks and warehouses were built along the river and the Company dug a short ship canal to connect the old river bed with the new channel of the Cuyahoga.

“A village on the west side of the river was incorporated as Ohio City in 1836. Soon after incorporation , Ohio City authorized the digging of a branch canal to run north from opposite the outlet of the Ohio Canal to the old river bed just west of the Buffalo Company’s ship channel.

“The Ohio City Canal eventually disappeared, possibly when the Detroit-Superior Viaduct was built. The site of the canal is now Sycamore Street. A vestige of the canal still remains – the slip alongside the Huron Cement Dock. From the new River Road bridge, the line of the canal can clearly be seen south from the cement slip to the railroad bascule bridge”.

Keep in mind, Frank wrote this in 1973. Many things may have changed.

THE TRENTON FEEDER

Buckeye Country, Winter/Spring 1992-93

When the Ohio Canal was projected through Tuscarawas County in 1827-28, terrain considerations took its route as far as two and three miles from its primary water source, the Tuscarawas River. Therefore, when a feeder to supply the canal about midway between the Sugar creek and Walhonding River crossings was planned, that feeder was required to be several miles long. That feeder canal was to intersect the main Ohio Canal just below the village of Trenton (now Tuscarawas) and Lower Trenton lock (Lock No. 16). The State would throw one of their typical low-tech dams across the Tuscarawas River some three miles below it’s confluence with the Big Stillwater Creek.

Historical Topographic Map Collection. The feeder is seen running down the right side of the valley. The dam is just below Midvale and the feeder can be seen between the a and s in Tuscarawas. It then turns and connects to the main canal.

Some twenty years before all this canal-building activity, in 1804, Michael Ulrich had established a mill and home at the ford across the Big Stillwater, approximately three miles above that stream’s junction with the Tuscarawas. Ulrich’s mill had prospered and other settlers moved into the area. Over the years, many a raft and flat-boat filled with grain and flour had traveled from that area down the Stillwater, Tuscarawas, Muskingum and Ohio to southern markets. If the feeder to Trenton was made navigable, it would be possible for the residents on the upper Stillwater to gain access to the main canal and markets, both north and south.

The canal through Trenton to the Ohio River was opened for traffic in 1832, and a great flood of activity stirred along the lower Stillwater Valley that next year. Michael Uhrich II platted a town around the millsite on the right bank of the creek in the summer of 1833. The town consisted of 94 lots that Uhrich named Waterford. He fully expected it to become the main distribution point for grain shipments from further up the Stillwater Valley down to the Ohio Canal and outside markets. Not to be outdone, two other teams of entrepreneurs also had visions of developing grain distribution centers along the Stillwater. Messers Beebe, Kilgore, Olmsted & Dewey had laid out the 66-lot town of Eastport on September 3, three days before Waterford was platted. Eastport was also on the right bank of the Stillwater, but some two miles closer to the Tuscarawas and the Ohio Canal. Then, Philip Laffer plated the 55-lot town of Newport on the left bank of the Stillwater, some two miles beyond Ulrich’s Mill a short time later.

Though the Trenton Feeder began supplying water to the Ohio Canal in 1830, there was no guard lock constructed at it’s entrance to allow access to craft navigating the upper streams. It was necessary, then, for craft from all three of these new upper river towns to navigate the Stillwater, the Tuscarawas, and a portion of the Muskingum before gaining access to the Ohio Canal through the side-cut at Dresden, and that wasn’t accessible until 1832. It wasn’t until 1836 that the State threw together an Alligator lock at the head of the Trenton Feeder and gave upper river craft access to the Ohio Canal just below Trenton.

It would appear now, that Eastport had the better chance of developing into the predominant Port in the area. It was closer to the Feeder and seems to have had more organized backing. Snags and sawyers were removed from the Tuscarawas and Stillwater to make navigation easier from Eastport to the Feeder. Farmers from the area came to the new village to sell their grain. All this traffic caused the founding of several new businesses, including a tavern. The Eastport Company erected two warehouses. A large amount of business was carried on here initially. Eastport’s backers promoted their town so well that Tanner, compiling a listing of the Nation’s canals from New York in 1843, mentions the Eastport Canal. Eastern canal historians have searched long and hard for this canal – they need search no longer.

It is historical fact, however, that Waterford (renamed Urichsville in 1839) quickly garnered the larger percentage of the valley’s grain transshipment business, perhaps because there were already established communication in the region to the mill and ford. Sawyers and snags between Waterford and Eastport were quickly removed, the men from Eastport having assisted greatly by clearing the waterways below their village.

One warehouse had been erected here by Uhrich in 1827. By 1836 there were two. This was soon increased to five. It wasn’t unusual to see three or four canal boats, on occasion five, at the docks, all loading at the same time. It was during these occasions that Waterford’s young men could earn a Shilling (12 ½ cents) shoveling wheat from warehouses into canal boats.

George Wallick established a boatyard here and completed the COMMODORE PERRY during the spring of 1836. The PERRY was small as canal boats ran, carrying approximately 1,800 bushels of wheat. Still, her owner, Dennis Cahill, was pleased with it and ran it in the trade for many years. Wallick built the much larger EASTPORT for John Welch during the winter of 1836-37. All-in-all, eleven canal boats and five flat boats were built by several boat builders in Uhrichsville over the years.

Interviews with local boatmen revealed that most loaded 2,000 to 2,200 bushels of wheat and took an average of seven days to make the round trip to and from Cleveland. They also stated they used two horses or mules to pull a loaded boat and that animals and drivers were changed every six hours.

Most of the boats that were owned in Uhrichsville brought back loads of salt, shingles & merchandise of different kinds. The majority of these craft also had accommodations for five or six passengers. The fare for the 113-mile trip to Cleveland, board included, was $3.00.

A canal boat was also a good way for pack peddlers to travel. When a boat came to town, the peddler could put his pack on his back, canvass the place over, and catch up with his boat before it had gotten out of sight.

Boating in the upper rivers was certainly more difficult than boating in the canal, however. Local tales insist that a towpath existed along the right banks of the creek and river below Eastport, but little documentation existsi. It was no doubt a tedious and strenuous job poling by the crew to get a boat the four to six miles from the feeder to Eastport or Waterford/Uhrichsville. And once you were out of the canal, you had your choice of routes. Waterford’s promoters erected a large red arrow at the junction of the Tuscarawas and Stillwater pointing up the correct waterway.

Boating downstream was easier on the muscles, but harder on the nerves. Apparently it wasn’t that easy to hit the feeder, particularly during times of high water. Once, when John Voshell, reportedly in a steam canal boat, was navigating the river during high water, the current was so rapid that he missed the feeder entrance. A third of his craft went over the dam, and the weight of the engine, being in the bow, broke her back.

Newport apparently never attracted much of the transshipment business and was required to develop industries of its own to survive. Uhrichsville’s period of vigorous growth and activity came to a screeching halt during the early 1850s with the construction of the Steubenville & Indiana R.R. Grain was afterwards shipped from various points along the railroad, depriving the town of much of its former trade. Uhrichsville’s growth was stagnant for nearly twenty years, until construction of the railroad shops in nearby Dennison livened things up again.

Hard times hit all three of the Stillwater villages, though Newport had a modest pottery trade to help sustain it. All three towns are listed in the 1875 County Atlas, but by 1883 Eastport was a ghost town with only three or four empty houses to witness that any formal community had ever been there. Newport was a sleepy little village of 150, while Uhrichsville had blossomed to become the second largest town in the county, being home to nearly 3,000 citizens.

The old brush and stone feeder dam was finally replaced by a permanent stone-filled wooden crib dam in 1855. It was also 1855 that the State finally replaced the wooden crib walls in the old Alligator feeder lock with masonry walls. Of course, by then, railroads were already taking over much of the river traffic.

When the State attempted to refurbish the northern division of the Ohio Canal in the early 1900s, navigation of the Feeder was no longer required and the Trenton Feeder guard lock and State Dam were not considered in the project.

For some years previously, the State had not even maintained the old dam. They had, instead, extended the race from a private mill dam (Hilton’s) farther up the Tuscarawas. This race entered the Feeder just below the old guard lock. The Hilton Dam was purchased by the State in 1908 and rebuilt with concrete (by the Daily brothers) in 1909.

Presently, much of the old Trenton Feeder channel is still visible, as is the stone ruins of the guard lock and the remains of the (breached) concrete Hilton Damii.

Of the three attempts to found a town at the head of navigation to the Trenton Feeder, no sign remains of Eastport. It was officially allowed to revert to public land in 1906.. Newport is a tiny dot on county maps at the junction of County Highways #37 and #28. Uhrichsville, with the impetus given it by Waterford and the Trenton Feeder, is currently (2018) the third largest community in Tuscarawas County (behind New Philadelphia and Dover) with a population of 5,413 – down slightly from the last two census counts of 5,600 and 6,023.

i The Board of Public Works Report to the State for 1855 indicates the streams “above the Trenton Feeder Lock were cleared and improved” – but there is no mention of a towpath being worked on.

ii This area is now in a private County Park called the Hilton Preserve that can only be visited by permission.

Canal Comments- The Ohio Canal and the 1918 Flu Epidemic

by Terry K Woods.

Today’s column is another one taken from personal interviews. This one was taken by me and the interview has first hand information. Still, I had to take many of the statements ‘out of context.’ Waldo Streby, the man I interviewed, would change the subject, get back to it, then sometimes talk about something else. This column is made up of bits Waldo told me on two different occasions.

I think it came out well. And it tells us something that not many know, that the canal between the feeder above Canal Fulton down to Navarre was repaired after the 1913 flood for hydraulic purposes. That is one of the reasons part of that section was chosen in 1938 to become Ohio’s first State Canal Park – it had been repaired just 20 years previously.

I REMEMBER THE OHIO CANAL; THE OHIO CANAL AND THE 1918 FLU EPIDEMICi

“During the 1918 Flu Epidemic, they closed the Canal Fulton schools. As I remember it, it was for two weeks. A lot of people were die’n, ya know. It was a real terrible mess. So, ah, they closed the schools down and this Johnny Mooreii who was one of our neighbors – he was Superintendent of the Canal in the area right south of Akron, to, a, . . Navarre – down ta Navarre – took care of the canal – lived just a few houses up from where we lived, stopped and asked whether one of the boys could help him out – – work for him since the schools were gonna be shut down. Well, sure, I was available. My brother was available. He had a paper route, but I was available. Johnny McGee, Moore’s Grandson, lived just across the street from where we lived. Then there was several other boys. Fella name of Greenhole, – and I just forget who the rest of em were. Anyway, my brother, my next oldest brother, Lowell, we all went ta work for him down at Navarre. He had a job down there.

“Ya see, immediately after the 1913 flood, just within a year or so, these, these companies that wanted the water, the Steel Mills down ta Massillon, especially, wanted some fresh water, clean water. So they offered to pay so much to the County – er, the State – to fix up the banks, ya see and get the water down to em.iii So that was, – they had ta repair the banks all along where it was needed ta get the water down to where it was needed.

“They had ta even . . They even had ta repair some of the banks down by the lock there at Canal Fulton. But all that was done with some of Johnny Moore’s regular help – his crew. Then he had a crew. Well, as they finished it, they put water in the canal, see, and a, they, a, as they went down the line, there was a small leak at Massillon. And that was done. Now in 1918, the only leak was down – back in, in Navarre, ya see.

“When we were kids, we’d help Johnny Moore lots of times. Rode the State Boat down there ta below Massillon, out there by the Asylum. Remember there was a, – along the Canal, – of course it used ta be, before that, – when we were kids, Johnny McKee and I, we used ta go down there a lot of times, ride on the State Boat to cut grass and things, cutten grass and stuff. And, these guys, from the Asylum, used ta come down and talk to us, ya know – interesting people.

“But that leak at Navarre, during the 1918 Flue Epidemic, was the only time we worked at as part of Johnny Moore’s crew, right back of where the bakery, -where the bakery is down there now. Course its all filled with dirt now. You can’t see where the canal was. But, anyhow, there was a, a, lock there and a, a drain – – so the flood had washed, washed away part of the bank away, right bank of the canal. And Johnny Moore hired a, a, fellow – with a team and a slip-scraper. Moore didn’t have many, much equipment then. He hired him, with a team, ta go down ‘n drag in this dirt, ya know, ta rebuild the dike, – towpath bank. They always called it the dike, ya know. The dike. And of course we had a couple weeks work there.

“That was some of the last alterations of the canal done by, – the State. Now, after that, ya know, , that most of the alterations around the canal was done by a contractor or by a, a, someone – – a, for instance, up around Akron, – was a lot of changes made, but, in most cases, it was done by someone what was goin ta benefit by the changes. For instance, the Firestone Tire & Rubber Company made a lot of changes back around where they had their Golf Course. And a down at a, where the road usta cross over – the canal. That’s now route #93 that goes up through there. There’s where some of the water, well, all of the water came out of Portage Lakes. Came out there, – out of Long Lake, and a, they changed the canal, or the river, that went through the Firestone properties.

“Oh, I’m, oh yeah. Navarre. Whole canal’s filled in down there by Navarre now. That’s where we worked, cleaning it out. About two weeks. Took us down in a car, and back ta Fulton each night. Wouldn’t, we didn’t go down ta Navarre on the boat. He took us back and forth with a car. Eh, we could park, park up there above the hill there, back of the bakery, see. Then we had ta go down the hill, on back ta the lock. Couldn’t get the boat much past – -. They parked it up there where the old cemetery is in Massillon. There was a lot of water come down Cemetery Run. Build up a bar. You couldn’t get the boat past that, ya see, so they pulled the thing out and put the boat back of where, not the Hull farm, I guess it was the Cole Farm.

“After we fixed that last leak, the canal had water all the way down. Filled up, but just a, like a ditch. Water came down like through a ditch. So after we did that work in Navarre there was water in the canal clear down ta Navarre. But no boats.”

i From two taped interviews (1989 and 1990) with Waldo Streby at his home in North Canton Ohio by Terry K Woods.

ii John Moore was the last State Boat Captain in the Canal Fulton area. He maintained this position as late as 1927.

iii More than likely, these steel companies south of the Canal Fulton Feeder had water power leases with the State, so wherever these leases were of enough importance, the State repaired the canal sufficiently after the 1913 flood to maintain the leases requirements.

Canal Comments – Kelly’s Canal

By Terry K Woods

I was given a copy of Kelly’s articles by Lew Richardson who I deem to be, by far, the best editor of the many who worked on Towpaths, the quarterly historical publication the Canal Society of Ohio. I never met Lew, who had retired and moved to Georgia to live before I became editor, but whenever I contacted him, I could always count upon him answering my letter of inquiry and dire need quickly and concisely.

This Kelly isn’t Alfred, the Acting Canal Commissioner for the Northern Division of the Ohio Canal back in the beginning. The is S.J. Kelly who wrote two very short, very informative columns about the Ohio Canal back in 1943 for the Cleveland Plain Dealer. There is an error or two here and there, and I’m not sure if he wasn’t describing early Erie boats rather than early Ohio boats, as Ohio’s boat’s stables were in the center of the craft while those on the Erie had bow placed stables. Anyway, there is some good stuff in this piece. Here, then, is S.J. Kelly – on the Ohio Canal.

“Gazing west, down Superior Avenue you sight the heavy B & O Railroad bridge poised in air. Some 165 feet above the street level. At its base, east of the Cuyahoga, about 300 feet south of Superior Hill, the old Erie and Ohio Canal entered the river through big Ship Lock (No. 44). Eastward along the tracks you can almost locate Merwin’s Basin, 225 by 150 feet, between West and James Streets. You can picture, too, the busy scene when gaily painted canal boats lay up beside Brigantines, Schooners and other craft and passenger packets moored to the slip in the northwest corner.

“The STATE OF OHIO was the first boat to descend the canal. Leaving Akron on July 3, 1827, it stopped at Boston, about half way to Cleveland for the night. Aboard were Ohio Governor Trimble, State Officials, and Canal Commissioners. The ALLEN TRIMBLE joined them later and on the Fourth the Governor reported in his annual message: “The boats were cheered by thousands assembled from the adjacent country at different points to witness the novel and interesting sight.”

“The PIONEER is said to have been purchased at Buffalo and towed to Cleveland for the celebration, and some distance up the Cuyahoga it was hauled across and launched in a cut through the towpath. This is wrong.

“Records show the PIONEER was built at Peninsula. On the Fourth, loaded with passengers and a band, the boat met the other two some six miles up the canal. A salute was exchanged and the three journeyed on together. (1)

“Cleveland histories fail to report that the three boats stopped some distance outside the village or to locate the spot. When the waterway was started in 1825 its terminal and which side of the Cuyahoga it would follow were left undecided. An estimate of 1825 showed it would cost $6,000 less for the canal to remain on the left bank. Judge David Bates of New York, chief engineer, arriving at that time, picked the east side and Cleveland Village donated $5,000 to the Canal Fund.(2)

“Where those first three boats stopped that Fourth is of historic importance. Investigation shows that not until April 1828, was water let into the long Cleveland Bends from Four Mile Lock (N0. 42) nor was Sloop Lock (No. 43), at the foot of south Water Street hill, completed until July 29. Then boats entered Merwin’s Basin for the first time, reaching the river by a temporary cut and unloaded. Ship Lock (NO. 44) was completed months later.

“Research leads me to believe that Lock 41 at the foot of Harvard Avenue, often referred to as “Five Mile lock, was the stopping place. I believe, also, that “Weight Lock”, 1,000 feet south of the Old Grasselli chemical plant on Independence road, must have been Lock 42.(3) Some may remember the drydock at the foot of Seneca (West 3d) Street hill, long used by canal boats.

“A canal trip is better understood if one knows something about canal boats. The first (on the Ohio Canal) were from 50 to 60 feet long and rather sharp at bow and stern, resembling river keel boats in their hulls, They were narrow with small cabins, sleeping bunks for passengers and crew, and a “galley” for the cook.

“These first boats were built for freight, and perhaps a half dozen passengers. Bulky cargoes of coal stone (4), flour, grain, whiskey, merchandise and produce (usually carried in barrels or other wooden containers) were the rule.

“ But sharp bows damaged bridges, locks and other structures as well as a careless ramming of a canal bank. In the early 1840s regulations were imposed that required rounded bows and iron bars or straps on the bow edge were prohibited.

“As the Ohio Canal was completed through to the Ohio River and a branch to Columbus, a demand was created for long distance accommodations, By 1835 a number of passenger/freight Lines were answering this demand and the design of boats was altered to accommodate this freight/passenger trade. Boats particularly designed to carry both passengers and freight called Line Boats) appeared and, by 1837, true “Passenger Packets” carrying exclusively passengers were making through, scheduled trips between Cleveland and Portsmouth.

“The traveling public could be divided into two classes. One included families, persons going west, permanently, to resettle, and individuals wanting dependable travel (at least more travel than the current roads could promise) for required travel and conduct business or seeing to other important matters away from their normal habitats. These used Line Boats (two-deckers) that carried both passengers and freight.

“The other class, with money enough to travel a bit classier or swifter or purely for pleasure, would engage passage on packet-boats after they were introduced onto Ohio’s canal in the late 1830s.

“An early Line Boat was often 65 or so feet long by 7 ½ feet wide. In the bow were stables for horses, three of which were taken aboard at the end of each shift. Across a passageway was the crew’s cabin with bunks for six men, Projecting above the deck over four feet. This gave a ceiling clearance of about eight feet. Passengers on a Line Boat were not generally provided with a cabin, but slept in the hold, frequently without bunks. No bedding was supplied. They brought their own provisions and were advised to bring a cook stove if they wanted warm meals.(5)

“At the stern of an was the Captain’s cabin and the cook’s quarters. Here was stationed the steersman. The white cabins had slightly slanted walls and fairly flat roofs with shuttered windows. The crew included two steersmen, two boy drivers, and a cook. The Captain sometimes owned the boat and lived on it year round. Almost the entire craft was given over to freight, often with deck loads of lumber. The speed of a Line Boat was from 2 to 2 ½ miles an hour. Cost of passage varied. Sometimes it was as low as 50 cents a day for a distance of 50 to 60 miles. Again, it could be as high as 3 cents a mile.

“A standard line of Packet Boats was soon built with far more luxurious interior fittings and arrangements.(6) A typical Packet Boat was 75 feet long by 11 wide, its cabin extending above the boat proper some six feet or more. Along each side ran a row of about 20 neatly framed windows. With curtains drawn and green window shutters, these gave the packet an elegant appearance.

“Near the bow the crew quarters had berths for 10 men. This was separated from the rest of the main cabin by a partition. Nearly all the rest of the cabin space aft was devoted to the passengers. First came the woman’s dressing room and the ladies cabin. The largest compartment, the full width of the packet, was usually about 45 feet long with a ceiling 9 feet above the floor. It became a long, rather narrow, gentleman’s sleeping apartment at night, a dining room three times daily, and between those periods, a gathering place for men, a place to write letters, play checkers and backgammon or discuss politics.

“At 6 a.m., noon, and 6 p.m. the Captain appeared with stewards and quickly cleared the room, setting up a large table at the center. Fares on a packet boat included meals and all passengers, ladies gentlemen, and children, dined at the same table. With dusk, the younger children romped through the cabin. If the night was clear, older passengers gathered on the roof which served as a deck. No packet made the trip without some travelers who brought their flutes, fiddles and accordions”.

(1) I always assumed that, if the PIONEER was built in Peninsula, it was the GOVERNOR TRIMBLE that was brought from the Erie and slid from the Cuyahoga to the canal.

(2) This is just a bit garbled, David Bates from New York ran the initial surveys in 1822 and 1823, but was not involved in the final route selection. That was finalized by the Ohio Board of Public Works at a meeting in February 1825, though rumor insists the decision (of the Cleveland terminus over the Black & Killbuck Route and the west Cuyahoga) had been made long before, but not announced in hopes of obtaining “donations” from interested localities.

(3) The “Weight Lock” mentioned was built in the 1870s after Cleveland obtained the northern-most three miles of canal and leased it to a railroad. I believe the actual stopping point for the first three craft on the Ohio Canal was at Lock 42 (Four Mile Lock) which was about a mile further south and removed in 1838 and the canal banks raised for flood control.

(4) Stone coal doesn’t appear to have been commonly used, or transported, during the first seven or eight years of the Ohio Canal’s life.

(5) I have a lot of trouble with this entire paragraph. I have seen no authenticated description of Ohio Line Boats, but I believe they were similar to the design of early Ohio Freight Boats, with the addition of “amenities” for a few passengers .Early Ohio Lines experimented with using way stations to provide fresh teams, but found the practice too expensive and converted to carrying a spare team in a center-mounted stable in the early 1840s.

(6) By 1835 or 36 Packets were making scheduled runs between Cleveland, Columbus and Portsmouth. By mid 1837 a ‘through’ line was established between Cleveland and Portsmouth. This through line’s last year was 1842, but passenger packet travel on the northern section of the Ohio Canal lasted through 1852 and on the southern division into the 1870s.

Last Days of the Ohio and Erie Canal – Canal Comments

By Terry K Woods

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.

————————————————————–

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.

Cleveland Center – Canal Comments

By Terry K Woods

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.)

iA portion of the information for this column came from Cleveland Historical.