Window on Cecil County's Past

On the south side of Elkton’s East Main Street in the vicinity of the Cecil County District Court building, a steep hill descends down to meet the Big Elk Creek. At the point where the drop levels out, the Elkton Gas Light Company built an illuminating gas manufacturing plant in 1863 to serve the county seat. The gasworks in the area of today’s court parking lot were accessible only from Main Street through Gashouse Alley as the section of Howard Street in the area of the ballfields had not yet been opened and marshy lands bordered the southern end of the plant. This led to the area being known as Gashouse Hill. The plant operated until about 1928, and in 1929 gas began being piped in from Wilmington, Del.

Fast forward to 1981, when state planners prepared to construct the multiservice building on this land. They encountered “shadowy deed questions” the Cecil Whig report.  Uncertainty over ownership of this strip that had once served as an alleyway raised concerns among state lawyers about potential litigation. To sidestep any legal issues, real estate officials arranged for the Elkton Town Board to open the alley as a municipal right-of-way officially.

On April 1 at 8:10 p.m., Elkton’s elected officials voted unanimously to open Gashouse Alley as a town street.  Just “twenty seconds later amid chuckles, voted unanimously to close it,” the newspaper reported.

With this official action, the shortest-lived street in municipal history passed into obscurity as its ownership was transferred to the State of Maryland as part of the new Multi-Service Office Building.

RISING SUN — September 13, 2024 — On this fine Friday evening at the end of summer, we stopped by the Rising Sun Train Station to capture a photo of the building, as we understand it will soon face demolition.

The railroad reached Rising Sun in 1865, marking a significant milestone with the arrival of a passenger excursion train on Christmas Day. Over the decades, the northern Cecil County community enjoyed good service with eight-weekday tran stopping in 1927. However, passenger service soon faced a sharp decline, and on March 29, 1935, the Midland Journal announced its discontinuation.

Rising Sun remained an operational point for freight even without regularly scheduled passenger service. Mail for the post office continued to arrive by rail until October 1, 1945, when the last mail train made its final run. The town had been without passenger service for years, and now the local newspaper reported the only service on the line was occasional freight.¹ Still, we recall Sally McKee telling us about going to the station to get oranges shipped by Florida relatives in the 1940s or perhaps 1950s.

The station’s history is also marked by its station agents. Alexander Wilson served in this role into the 1940s and may have been the last railroad official posted in town. His duties in Rising Sun extended into at least 1943, when the newspaper reported he had returned to work after being hospitalized for three weeks. Earlier in the 20th century, Everett A. Morris, who had learned telegraphy under another agent, served several years.²

In 1883, Sharpless W. Lewis took charge of the Cecil County Station. ³ The Oxford Press reported that in July 1891, the station was briefly closed as the family of Mr. Lewes, who occupied it as a dwelling, passenger station, and office, had scarlet fever. The company office was temporarily moved to the freight house. ⁴ In 1893, he was transferred to Kennett Square.

With the transfer of Agent Lewis, it was rumored that George F. Jones would be transferred to town. He had been stationed at Nottingham some years earlier. Additionally, W. W. Carter had a long tenure, holding the post for 16 years before the Oxford Press announced his retirement in 1883.⁵

As the Rising Sun Train Station closes its final chapter, we paused on this warm Friday evening in September as the sun began to set to take a few minutes to reflect on its rich history. In the golden age of Railroading, it served as a vital hub for the community, connecting townspeople to the broader world. Its impending demolition marks the end of an era.

Endnotes

1. “Mail Train Discontinued,” Midland Journal, October 5, 1945. ↩︎
2. Obituary, “Everett A. Morris,” Midland Journal, Aug 18, 1939 ↩︎
3. “New Agent at Rising Sun Station,” The Oxford Press, April 30, 1893 ↩︎
4. “Local News,” The Oxford Press, Feb. 28, 1883 ↩︎
5. “Cecil County Items,” The Oxford Press, Feb. 14, 1883 ↩︎

On a sunny Saturday afternoon in August 1936, the majestic Hindenburg Airship graced the skies above Cecil County. Having just completed its fifth scheduled flight to the United States, this colossal Zeppelin had arrived at Lakehurst, New Jersey, with a full passenger load. However, due to choppy winds, the captain decided to forgo landing and instead treated the passengers to a scenic tour of Washington, D.C., and Baltimore.

As the Hindenburg journeyed towards the nation’s capital, it first soared over Atlantic City, then crossed the Delaware Bay, gliding gracefully over Frederica, Delaware, at 12:35 p.m. After reaching the southernmost point of its trip in Washington, the airship began its return to Lakehurst. Following a route that paralleled the Pennsylvania and Baltimore & Ohio Railroad lines, the Hindenburg passed over Cecil County between 3 and 4 p.m. Its relatively low altitude gave hundreds of spectators in the county a rare opportunity to witness this marvel of flight up close.^1,2

On this afternoon, a baseball game was in full swing, featuring the Triumph Fusee Team from Elkton battling it out against the Rising Sun Hustlers. The Midland Journal remarked that the only thrill for spectators came when “Germany’s pride of the air, the Von Hindenburg, soared over the diamond on its way to Lakehurst.”³

After a day in the skies along the Atlantic Seaboard, the Hindenburg touched down at Lakehurst Naval Air Station at 6:55 p.m., concluding its journey.

Tragically, a year later, on May 14, 1937, the Midland Journal reported a devastating incident: approximately 40 passengers and crew members perished when the Hindenburg exploded while attempting to land at its hangar in Lakehurst, NJ. Many in Cecil County recalled observing the airship on that fine Saturday in 1936.

Endnotes

1. “Giant Zep Zoards Over Wilmington,” Wilmington Morning News, Aug. 10, 1936 ↩︎
2. “Big Air Ship Passes Over,” Midland Journal, Aug. 14, 1936 ↩︎
3. “Elkton Takes a Fall Out of Rising Sun,” Midland Journal, Aug. 14, 1936 ↩︎

September 5, 1936, was a big day in Elkton, for on that Saturday in the middle of the Great Depression, the Pure Oil Company opened a fully equipped service station at the corner of Main and Bow streets. J. J. Maloney, the local agent for the Company, noted that the idea of this new venture was to give Elkton motorists a one-stop service station. It was a new cottage-type service station, the latest in design. It had it all: spacious well-lighted drives, conveniently located pump islands, and the modern type of computing pump. The station still stands on the northwest corner of Main and Bow.

For additional photos of the Pure Oil Gas Station see this album on Facebook.

In 1669, concerns began to develop among the Lord Proprietor and General Assembly of Maryland. They were troubled by the alarming number of servants and criminals who escaped the grasp of the province’s enslavers or justice system while seeking refuge in neighboring colonies. It was evident to the lawmakers that measures were needed to curb the occurrences.

Situated along the border with Pennsylvania and the Lower Colonies, northeastern Maryland was a common place for these daring flights to freedom. So, sensing an opportunity, Augustine Herrman, a prominent landholder in the region, embarked on a campaign to persuade the Assembly to choose his vast estate, Bohemia Manor, as the location for a prison. Having been granted this land in Baltimore County in the early 1660s, Herrman saw the northeastern edge of the territory and his manor as the best site to erect a prison. (It would become Cecil County in 1674.)

After considering the situation, lawmakers passed “An Act for p’venting servants & Criminall psons from Running out of this Providence,” It authorized Herrman to build a twenty-foot log prison to serve as a place for “surety and safe keeping” of runaways and fugitives until they could be claimed by an enslaver or meet justice before the Maryland courts. To compensate for the building of the log prison, the freemen of the province were assessed a levy of ten thousand pounds of tobacco.

But the commitment didn’t end there. The colony also agreed to compensate the First Lord of Bohemia Manor for apprehending and remanding runaways from Delaware Bay and other Northern plantations to the newly established prison.

Summer is just four days away, and weather forecasters are already warning us about an early heatwave that is settling in on Maryland over the next few days. All this talk on the Baltimore evening news broadcasts reminded us of a memorable fifty-five-year-old photograph from the summer of 1969. 

That July, oppressive heat made outdoor activities nearly unbearable. People were desperate to find ways to escape the scorcher that blanketed the region. Some sought relief by basking in the cooling water from the Bay at one of the county’s beaches, while others anxiously scanned the sky, hoping for a passing thundershower to bring some relief. Seeking refuge in air-conditioned spaces, like the Elk Theatre, or making a beeline for the cooling waters of the Atlantic Ocean in Ocean City became a common option, while others scattered here and there, seeking any break they could find from the tropical conditions.

Assigned by the Cecil Whig’s editor, Don Herring, to capture the story through his lens, Jim Cheeseman ventured out into the hot, humid air. During this assignment, he stumbled upon a remarkable scene at the corner of Main and Bridge streets, giving readers a visually engaging glimpse of that hot spell. Taken in July 1969, it showed a young man who found a unique way to escape the sweltering conditions by resting briefly in a self-serve icebox. In those days, the business on the corner was Elkton Supply. Today, it is known as American Home and Hardware.

As we brace ourselves for the impending heatwave, we thought you might enjoy this 1969 photo. It is one of our favorite Jim Cheeseman pictures.

Notes about the Jim Cheeseman Photo Collection

This picture is from the Jim Cheeseman Cecil Whig Photo Collection at the Historical Society of Cecil County. The Society has thousands of photos in this collection, concentrating on the 1960s and 1970s.

Jim was the senior or lead photographer for many years, and when he retired, Executive Editor Don Herring and Jim Cheeseman donated this large visual record to the Society. It contains Jim’s work during these decades and pictures taken by some staff photographers working at the paper. It’s officially called the Jim Cheeseman Cecil Whig Photo Collection, and Jim contributed these images. Don and Jim were responsible for saving this large visual record of Cecil County and ensuring it was donated to the Society. We spent many days at Jim’s apartment as the three of us worked through the collection, adding whatever notes Jim and Don could recall to the pictures and negatives. Then, boxes of photos and negatives were taken to the Society for processing.

If you are looking for news photographs of Cecil County, check out this collection at the Society.

THE HISTORY OF THE ROAD AND ITS CONNECTIONS TO THE COLD WAR, CIVIL RIGHTS, SOVIET UNION & PRES. KENNEDY

THUR., MAY 23, 2024, 6:30 p.m.

CECIL COUNTY PUBLIC LIBRARY – ELKTON BRANCH

BY MIKE DIXON

After tracing the history of Route 40 over generations, this program discusses how in the early 1960s the roadway between Baltimore and the Delaware Memorial Bridge became an unexpected battleground–a place where Cold War tensions, international diplomacy, and the civil rights movement intersected. Along this heavily traveled 63-mile stretch of road through northeastern Maryland and Delaware, powerful forces collided: communist propagandists, Jim Crow segregation, the Kennedy administration, and Freedom Riders. The spotlight fell on this unassuming highway as the Soviet Union and the United States vied for influence in Africa. From its origins to its enduring impact, we explore the road’s significance, shedding light on the complex interplay of unexpected global and domestic forces that shaped its story.

Free program, but registration is required for Trouble on Route 40.

Click the link for more information or to register for the program.

A wealthy industrialist and investor, James Bell, moved to Cecil County sometime around 1857 and established his winter residence here. He wanted to escape the severe winters of the north, and, according to the Midland Journal newspaper, “Conowingo struck his fancy.”

There he purchased property immediately above the village, which is now known as Bell Manor. Wm. E. Porter had owned the land and he “was very glad to get rid of it as it was something of a wilderness and required a mint of money to make it look like civilized country,” the paper added. Bell turned it into one of the nicest spots in the county, his family spending the winter months here.

Bell was wealthy, newspapers remarked, “being credited with several million.” He was an exporter, particularly of cotton, and during the Civil War, made a great deal of money.

Locally, he was a major stockholder in the Conowingo Bridge Company and was involved in other enterprises in the village. James Bell died suddenly in May 1897 at his summer residence, Livingston Manor, near Hudson, Columbia County, New York, at 83.

Built around the the1860s, Bell Manor is a fine property on a high hill overlooking the Susquehanna and the old Village of Conowingo. The center of the large tract is the Bell Mansion, which the Girl Scouts of Central Maryland now own. This historic estate has seen many uses over the generations.

James C. Bell, a wealthy New York banker and shipper, started purchasing property in the Conowingo area around 1857. Over a few years, he acquired about 1,000 acres in the 8th election district. Around the 1860s, he built his retirement home in this remote corner of Cecil County.

Following Bell’s sudden death in May 1897, the family started selling off parts of the property. The Conowingo Land Company acquired the largest portion in 1902. It eventually became the property of the Susquehanna Power Company.

As contractors struggled to erect the Dam, the power company used it as a hotel or residence for executives and senior managers at the massive project on the Susquehanna River.

However, once the work was completed, the company converted the mansion into a convalescent or rest home in 1929. Philadelphia Newspapers frequently mention families visiting recuperating patients at Bell Manor, sometimes referring to it as the “Conowingo Convalescent Home.” According to one source, the facility closed in 1952.

In 1961, the Bell Manor House was included in the purchase of 300 acres from the Philadelphia Electric Company by the Girl Scouts of Central Maryland, adding to the existing 300 acres already owned by the Girl Scouts at Camp Conowingo.

For additional photos, see the album on Facebook.

For more information, see this historic site survey from the Maryland Historical Trust.