Window on Cecil County's Past

It was Christmas night, and members of Cecil Post 15 of the American Legion in Elkton were home enjoying the holiday. Suddenly, in one Legionnaires’ home, the phone rang. “Hospital Calling!” the voice on the line said. “There’s been a serious automobile accident near Rising Sun,” the operator urgently blurted out. “If we can get the boy to a Baltimore hospital right away, there’ll be a chance for him.”

Members of the Elkton Legion, rushing to where the ambulance was housed, rolled out on an errand of mercy.  After darting seventeen miles to the accident, the Doctor told them to step on it, for the boy still had a chance. Dashing madly through the Maryland night, with two traffic officers opening up the road, they “ate” up the miles to Baltimore, reaching the hospital an hour and forty minutes after the phone’s jarring ring. But the trip had been in vain, reported the American Legion Monthly in 1929.

Except for its sad outcome, this run was typical of the type drivers at Cecil Post 15 encountered year in and year out as they operated the county’s only ambulance. They had proposed the service just a few years earlier, in January 1926.

About the time the Legion started discussing the idea, an accident occurred that demonstrated the need for an emergency unit. The crack Federal Express of the Pennsylvania Railroad derailed near North East one January day. Two hundred passengers were shaken up; one lady broke her ankle. Later, as the wreck crew cleared the tracks, a rail buckled, breaking bones and seriously injuring two workmen, John Elmer and Edward Lewis. These men, though they needed an ambulance, had to wait until a passenger car was found to rush them to the hospital. Had medical transportation been available, suffering would have been alleviated, said the Cecil Star, the newspaper in North East.

While train wrecks didn’t happen all that often, heart attacks and other everyday medical emergencies were common enough. For these sick and injured, they were “jolted over country roads on a bed of straw in the bottom of a farm wagon; at other times they were jammed in the backs of touring cars,” the Cecil Whig noted. To illustrate its point, the Whig described a lady who was taken to the hospital after she suffered a stroke. Her family tried to put her into a coupe but failed. Then a touring car was found. After a great deal of effort, accompanied by obvious discomfort, she was finally put in the back seat of that car. Seeing that the person who was incapacitated faced a “grim ordeal,” the American Legion said, “Let’s raise the money for an ambulance . . . and operate it ourselves.” And that they did in short order, raising more than $7,000 through a community drive.

The Legion purchased a handsome Imperial Cadillac from H. M. Duyckinck of Rising Sun for $4,500. A parade and dance on April 23, 1926, marked the inauguration of the service; Post Commander John K. Burkley spoke of the spirit that had inspired the post to push for the vehicle. 

Union Hospital received calls for the ambulance, relaying requests to the Legion.  A “chief driver” assembled a crew and got the unit on the road. Near the end of 1926, the vehicle had already answered 124 calls.  When the Legion discontinued service in 1933 because of the growing financial burden, an Elkton garage operator and mayor of the town, Taylor McKenney, stepped in to fill the gap.  Having acquired the Cadillac, he repaired and repainted it and announced he was running the vehicle on a fee basis.

As the delivery of health care moved from home to hospital, the task of providing service became more demanding. In 1942, Singerly Fire Company purchased an ambulance, thus beginning fire company-based service here.“It really was just a hearst and you had two red cross flags and no siren,” recalls Henry Metz, a member of the fire company who nearly 60 years ago rode that ambulance on calls. “Finally, someone bought a little siren, one about the size of a bicycle siren, and put it up on front.” From that point forward, the person having a heart attack, the individual lying in a pool of blood, or the man or woman experiencing other medical problems could be assured that help was on the way.

The Maryland State Police once had an ambulance at the Conowingo Barrack, a 1936 Plymouth. John Stewart Landbeck, Sr., a corporal who was second in command of the Barrack for a period during the 1940s, said it was mainly used for accident calls. “If we didn’t have an officer at the Barrack, we would call someone off the road to drive to the scene,” Landbeck recalled.

In the years that followed, additional units were needed. One Wednesday afternoon in June 1953, town police officer Ottis Ferguson cruised the streets of North East, in a specially designed police car, a combination patrol vehicle and ambulance. The town had purchased it with assistance of the merchants and public.The fire company said it would house the unit in “one of the garages in the rear of the fire house at night,” the Advertiser and Perryville News Reported. Officials said Arnett Armour, Elmer Jones, and R. T. Meekins would serve as auxiliary drivers.

Meanwhile, other fire companies soon entered the field. The Community Fire Company of Perryville purchased a used unit from Harford Memorial Hospital in April 1955. Rising Sun followed in November. The next year, North East bought a Buick.A few years later, Chesapeake City got a unit (1963). Water Witch of Port Deposit formed its service in 1964 after acquiring a secondhand unit from Oxford, PA.

With vehicles now placed around the county, the next improvement involved advances in emergency medical care. At first service advanced from that of “scoop-and-run” to one that could carry out basic first aid and life-saving steps. Units were carrying resuscitators that pushed air back into lungs that had stopped working by the 1960s. On calls, crews would gather up an oxygen tank, splints, bandages, and blankets as they dashed to the aid of a victim.

By the dawn of the 1970s, the nation was ready to use its trauma-care experience from the Vietnam War to improve survival from accidents and medical emergencies; the days when someone with little training could drive to an accident scene, bundle the injured into the back of the ambulance, and cart them off the hospital were quickly fading. In the first step toward providing prehospital emergency care, fire company members from the area started completing the Emergency Medical Technician (EMT) courses. This training expanded their capabilities well beyond those of earlier personnel; now they were learning techniques such as patient assessment, cardiopulmonary resuscitation, and fracture and shock management.

In 1978 Singerly Fire Company graduated the first class of Advanced Life Support providers, launching the path to today’s modern system.  This group of six graduates were taught by Frank Muller and they could push drugs, defibrillate patients and provide other advanced treatments under the supervision of the ER physician.

At the request of county fire companies, two Cecil County Emergency Medical Service units responded to their first calls in 1988, marking the arrival of a paid county program and the start of Cecil County EMS. This program was designed to help companies handle daytime calls. On its first day, September 19, 1988, Cecil County EMS units responded to five incidents. Advances in training and medical technology continued, and in 1991 twenty-two individuals committed themselves to even more hours of classroom study, grueling tests, and clinical shifts in the hospital as they become certified paramedics. Their graduation, Michael J. Browne, Deputy Chief of Cecil County Emergency Services and the instructor for the course said, “marked the completion of the first full paramedic training program here.”

“Nine volunteer ambulance stations, eight of which have ambulances (Cecilton runs a first response vehicle).” provide Emergency Medical Services today, and all of these companies have personnel trained to the Advanced Life Support level, according to Browne. Cecil County government assists the volunteer fire companies by running “a supplemental service” adds Browne. “We [Cecil County Government] have three units in service at all times and there are two paramedics on each unit.” This integrated system of volunteer and paid providers responded to some 8,000 calls last year. It is this system of career and volunteer providers, actually, Cecil County’s Emergency Medical Service Systems, that just received statewide recognition as one of the best in Maryland.

For Additional Information about Cecil County EMS, see these links

Conowingo State Police Patrolled Northeastern Maryland

North East Police Pioneer Law Enforcement’s Involvement in Ambulance Service

Muller Led Cecil County Emergency Medical Services into the Modern Age

On a frigid winter evening with the North East River beginning to freeze over, a warm, welcoming glow filled the doorway of the P. K. Barnes Icehouse, drawing a curious crowd to the shoreline. They were there, braving the chilly January wind, to learn about the history of meticulous preservation of this remarkable structure and its captivating story.

Jeannette Armour and Sonny Diamonte have been working to restore the late 19th-century property and create engaging exhibits. During this special opening, which drew interested visitors, Jeannette and Sonny shared the stories of long-ago Charlestown, along with artifacts related to fishing, hunting, and ice harvesting, as they brought this story to life.

Perry K. Barnes and his half-brothers were industrious fishermen and duck hunters, owning the county’s largest fishery near Carpenter’s Point. To prepare their catch for city markets, they packed fish and ducks in barrels of ice, which were transported to the Charlestown Railroad Station. 

To ensure a steady supply of ice, Perry built the icehouse in 1890. During winter, when the river froze, the crew cut ice from the river and stored it in the icehouse.  This practice continued until 1920, when refrigeration made ice harvesting obsolete, turning the icehouse into a storage building.

We thoroughly enjoyed the exhibits and engaging discussions with Jeannette and Sonny, who expertly navigated the process of creating and interpreting the exhibit. It was an enjoyable evening celebrating Charlestown’s rich history. As the night settled in the crowd moved to the warmth of the Wellwood Club where conversations about earlier times continued.    

Thank you, Jeanette and Sonny, for an enjoyable evening and for your work in preserving the county’s past.  Your dedication keeps the history of the P.K. Barnes Icehouse alive for future generations.

When Cecil County established a central dispatch system in October 1961, Rosemary Culley took a job with the county, joining the first group of five “operators” hired to take emergency calls.  Over a thirty-five-year watch, she rose through the ranks to the top spot in the Department of Emergency Services.  

She handled some of the county’s biggest disasters during her career.  One occurred on December 8, 1963. When working the evening shift all alone at fire headquarters, the phones suddenly started jingling off the hook.  A large jet passenger plane, with 81 people on board, had exploded in mid-air over Elkton and gone down in flames in a cornfield at the edge of town.

Abruptly, the silence of that Sunday evening was shattered. Fire station station-house radios snapped urgently to life as Dispatcher Culley’s calm, professional voice broke the silence with the most urgent alert.

Fire headquarters was pulsating with information coming in and going out as alarmed voices crackled over the radio asking for a general alarm, all available ambulances in the region, and more police as Rosie steadily coordinated the response to the terrible catastrophe, the most loss of lie disaster in Maryland history. As quickly as possible additional Civil Defense workers made their way through the heavy traffic to help the dispatcher single-handedly juggling it all, as bolts of lightning punctuated the Maryland darkness.

There were many other big disasters on her 35-year watch.  Hurricane Agnes devastated Port Deposit and the Susquehanna.  A gas explosion in Perryville demolished buildings downtown, claiming one life.  Following a massive train wreck with flames boiling up into the sky as hazardous material tanker cars exploded, a rapid evacuation of western Elkton was speedily carried out.  Three Mile Island, shipping accidents on the C & D Canal,  massive pile-ups on the Interstate, blizzards, and tornadoes were some of the others.

To listen to the audio of the fire headquarters plane crash dispatch, click the link below. The recording was saved by Rosemary Culley (Source: Singerly Fire Company Museum)

Once the sun went down in Elkton in the early 1860s, the only feeble light that was available came from flickering candles or the dim glow of kerosene lamps. But all of that changed dramatically during the Civil War.

In May 1863, the John D. Baker Company of Baltimore purchased a lot from Fredus Aldridge for $175.¹  This site, located off Howard Street–where the Maryland Circuit Court parking is today–became the center of construction activity as workers erected a manufacturing plant on Gashouse Alley.  They also dug up streets to lay down distribution pipes. 

With the construction complete, Elkton was illuminated by gas for the first time on Thursday, October 1, 1863. This milestone marked a new era in the town’s history, prompting the Cecil Democrat to declare, “This is one step more in the progressive career of our town.”^2,3

This plant operated from 1863 until the end of the 1920s. In 1929, Elkton experienced another change when a pipeline from Wilmington brought gas to the town. That arrangement continued until 1959, when Elkton gained access to natural gas.

The introduction of gas lighting not only transformed Elkton’s nights but also played a crucial role in its development.

1. Cecil County Land Records, WHR 4, 598, May 1, 1863 ↩︎
2. “Local Affairs,” Cecil Democrat, October 3, 1863 ↩︎
3. “Gas,” Cecil Whig, October 3, 1863
   ↩︎

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.