Taking a Stand for Equal Treatment on the Mason Dixon Line in 1904

Madison House North East MD below Mason-Dixon Line
A matchbook cover for the Madison House in North East notes that the place on Route 40 is just below the Mason-Dixon Line.

Nearly sixty years before Freedom Riders started a campaign to open restaurants, motels, bars, and other public places to all travelers on Route 40, Cecil County found itself in the middle of another Civil Rights divide.   The Maryland Legislature decided the State needed a Jim Crow law in 1904 that required steamship lines and railroads to maintain “separate but equal facilities.”

Once the segregation requirement went into effect on July 1, 1904, African-American ticketholders on the Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington Railroad trains and the Ericsson Line steamers heading south from northern points had to move to the “colored compartment” after the train rumbled across the Mason Dixon Line.

To comply with the Maryland regulation signed by Governor Edwin Warfield, the railroad constructed Jim Crow coaches at the Wilmington shops.  Two worked the Delaware Road, traveling branch lines up and down the Delmarva Peninsula.  These were ordinary coaches, divided off by partitions capable of seating 15 people at one end of the car with a sign saying “colored” on the compartment.  On the mainline, the accommodation train running down to Baltimore had a “colored coach” attached.

The segregated cars appeared promptly on July 1, the midnight train reaching Elkton being equipped in accordance with Maryland’s rule.   About noon that day, a Philadelphian, an African-American, objected to the order at Iron Hill.  After a “parley” with the conductor, he was put off the train in North East.  “His actions showed pretty conclusively that he was hunting for trouble to bring suit against the railroad company,” the Cecil County News informed readers.

But the practical working of Jim Crow got its first real test as the people observed Independence Day in 1904.  The Elkton African-American community sponsored a grand picnic celebrating the Fourth of July.   Several hundred people from Pennsylvania and Delaware received invitations, so the coaches were crowded on the holiday with festive passengers heading to Elkton.  Most of them were surprised, this being their first experience with the “Separate Car Act.”   While riding quietly along on the coaches with white ticketholders, the conductor called out as they rumbled across the Mason-Dixon Line, “colored coach in the rear.”

As the significance of the conductor’s announcement surprised many, some moved to the segregated seats, but several refused to obey the Jim Crow law.  The conductor thus ordered the train held at Iron Hill Station, and several passengers were put off, having to walk to Elkton.  A band from Newark was in this group, as they refused to move.  One African-American passenger, a lawyer, made “a ten-minute speech, in which he tried to console his companions, asking each one to try to find out exactly who was responsible for the obnoxious law,” the Cecil Democrat reported.

Jim Crow on the Mason Dixon Line
A page from the Philadelphia, Wilmington and Baltimore Railroad Guide published in the 1850s describes the Mason-Dixon Line.

A few days later, a train was delayed at Perryville because of the refusal to give up the seat and move to the designated coach.  In North East, William King, an African-American from Philadelphia, was put off the train.  When the train reached Iron Hill, the conductor read the Maryland law to him.  He refused, and at North East, the railroad man forcefully ejected him from the train.

Sheriff Biddle made the first arrest in Cecil County for violating the new Jim Crow Law.  James Griffin refused to go to the designated seats when a southbound train reached Elkton.  Sheriff Biddle was notified, and he placed Griffin under arrest, taking him to jail.   The next day, he appeared before Magistrate Henry Gilpin, who held him under $200 bail for his appearance in the September term of the Circuit Court.

On the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal, William T. Finley, an African-American physician from Atlantic City, traveled on the Philadelphia and Baltimore Steamship Company (The Ericsson Line) to Baltimore.  He filed a suit to recover $5,000 in damages for being subjected to the Jim Crow Law of Maryland.

Finley purchased a first-class ticket for passage from Philadelphia to Baltimore. About midnight, when the steamer reached the Maryland Line, he was aroused from his sleep by a company official who ordered him to the upper deck of the boat.  When the doctor objected, saying he had purchased first-class passage, he was told that the “colored apartment was above.

Another person who had the courage to resist the order to move was an attorney and Howard University Professor of corporate law, William Henry Harrison Hart and his sister Clementine Bartlett of Washington, D.C.  Conductor George C. Alcron sent for the sheriff and when the southbound 12:34 pulled into the Elkton Station Deputy Sheriff J. Wesley McAllister boarded.  “At the sight of the officer, the woman gracefully yielded and took her place in the car.  The lawyer was given the choice of the proper car or the jail, and refusing the former was escorted to a cell,” the Cecil Whig reported.

Hart spent two days in the Elkton Jail, the Whig wrote, noting that the professor was “somewhat of a philanthropist.”   He conducted a school for boys, the Hart Farm School and the Junior Republic for Dependent Colored Boys, largely at his own expense.  It was situated on 700 acres of land he also purchased.   “He is a lecturer at the Howard (colored) University Law School and is said to enjoy the esteem of the Bar and Courts of the District, having served for twenty years.  He will probably take through trains, to which the law does not apply, hereafter, when passing through Maryland.”

William Henry Harrison Hart arrested violating jim crow law elkton
“William Henry Harrison Hart” by William Dana Hart – He was arrested for violating a Jim Crow law in Elkton. Via Wikimedia Commons

Hart also practiced law for the United States Treasury and the United States Department of Agriculture and served as the Assistant Librarian of Congress.  He was the first black lawyer appointed as a special U.S. District Attorney for the District of Columbia, in 1889.

The attorney challenged Maryland’s law that made it a crime for blacks and whites to ride together in the same car in the courts.  He was traveling in the whites-only section, which had been okay until he crossed the Mason-Dixon Line.  Having refused to move into the blacks-only car, Hart was charged and convicted of violating the “separate car law” and was fined $50 in the Circuit Court.

The fine was not paid, and the defendant immediately appealed to the Court of Appeals.    The lawyer added that if necessary, he would take the case to the U.S. Supreme Court as the Jim Crow Law was not only unconstitutional but was also in conflict with the Interstate Commerce Law, the Baltimore Sun reported.

When the State vs. Hart made it to the bench at the Court of Appeals, the judges “sustained the Jim Crow Law, but held that the provisions of that measure cannot apply to interstate passengers,” as the distinguished Howard University Professor argued, the Washington Post reported.  Hart was on a through train from New York to Washington, so the decision of the lower court was reversed but the law was sustained.

Hart did not like Rosa Parks become a household word, observes C. Frazer Smith in “Here Lies Jim Crow:  Civil Rights in Maryland.  “Such moments of defiance got little attention and probably not by accident.”

Maryland lawmakers had created this legislation after the Supreme Court legitimized segregation in the case of Homer Plessy v. Ferguson. a decision that upheld the constitutionally of state laws requiring segregation in public facilities under the doctrine of separate but equal.

Incidents continued but after several decades enforcement of the frequently modified legislation quietly stopped.  Finally in 1951, after many years of trying to repeal the laws requiring the separation of passengers on intra-state railroads and steamboats, it was put to rest in 1951, the language being pulled from the State Codes.

Every challenged injustice building up to the post-World War II Civil Rights movement put a spotlight on the fight for equal rights while chipping away at Jim Crow.  The brave stand of Hart and others had made it clear that segregation wasn’t permitted for interstate passengers traveling on Maryland railroads and steamships.  Each step inspired other advocates to push for equal treatment, and Cecil County, bordered as it is by the Mason Dixon Line on two sides, sometimes found itself on the front lines when people had to take risks, standing up for equal treatment.

Cecil County Circuit Court docked showing the case of State of Maryland v. Hart.  Source:  Court Docket, Cecil County Courthouse
Cecil County Circuit Court docked showing the case of State of Maryland v. Hart as the Jim Crow law was enforced here.
Jim Crow -- On the Mason Dixon Line between Westminster, MD and Gettysburg, PA.
On the Mason Dixon Line between Westminster, MD and Gettysburg, PA. In the early 20th century Jim Crow laws were enforced south of the ancient boundary.

For more on Jim Crow and Civil Rights in Cecil County

Freedom Riders on Route 40

Remembering Cecil County Civil Rights Leader and Activist

A Susquehanna River Village That Vanished — Conowingo

Conowingo Dam doorway
The Conowingo Dam opened in 1928.

If you are the type who likes to find lost villages, we have a little journey you might enjoy.  To start, ask someone for directions to old Conowingo.  But be watchful for that accommodating person might send you to a stretch of highway near U.S. 1 and Route 222.  That commercial area is lined with a collection of roadside shops, gas stations, restaurants, and taverns, businesses that rose up in the 20th century after the demise of the earlier town.  The location you are seeking was nestled nearby in a hillside at the river’s edge.  It was once a thriving town that met a watery death in the name of progress.

At least you are in the neighborhood, so journey down Mt. Zoar Road to a cove where the Conowingo Creek meets the Susquehanna.  That is as far as you can go to reach your destination for you are shortly looking across a broad lake at the gentle, rolling hills of Harford County.   Not too far from this idyllic setting, near the arched railroad bridge, rests the lost hamlet beneath the impounded water.

The story of the demise of this once bustling place, a spot where generations lived and died, ended one winter day in 1928 as the waters of the dam slowly climbed over the buildings, erasing all traces of the community.

Although memories of the church, school, general store, garage, and inn have largely faded, the written record contains the story.  In 1993, Ralph Reed, born in a house next to the river, recalled that the place “was dear to us, and we thought it was going to last forever.”  However, it survived only until Jan 18, 1928, when the dam’s final eight floodgates closed and the Susquehanna slowly backed up into town.

Farmers and villagers uprooted by the construction of the large hydroelectric dam gathered on the hillside to watch as the village met its watery doom.  As the sun went down behind the western Hills of Harford County, old Conowingo slowly vanished beneath the water.

Port Deposit’s Curtis Poist recalled that final day in a 1975 piece in the Baltimore Sun.  “Many of the people who had lived in Conowingo were on hand to watch.  Many of them insisted on lingering around their old homes sites, retreating only as the water backed up and drove them away . . . All day long they watched from a distance as the backwater inched its way over the bluffs and up the gullies until at sundown only the tree tops and the roofs of an occasional house and barn remained above water to identify the place which had once been home.”

night conowingo dam
On Dec. 21, 2013, the longest night of the year, winter twilight descends on the Conowingo Dam.

The 4,648-foot dam with 53 gates regulated 105 billion gallons of water impounded behind the structure and generated electricity for the growing industrial nation.  The building of this massive public works project drastically changed the rural area as work crews began arriving.  It required some 4,000 workmen and the creation of a temporary village to house the families.  “Any able bodied boy or man who wanted a job could get one at the dam site at 35 cents an hour for common labor, 60 cents” for skilled laborers Poist noted.

In 1989 David Healey interviewed Curtis Ragan, 84, whose father was the town doctor.  “It was a busy place, always something happening here.  The town had a post office, hotel, restaurant, train station and several businesses.”  The spot where people gathered in town was the hotel, he told Healey.  “I never hung out in the hotel myself.  I was too young for that.”

The Maryland State Gazetteer for 1902-03 provides a little more information.   In the decade before a utility harnessed the river’s power, it had a population of 350 people.  Two doctors, Samuel T. Roman and D. M. Ragan, cared for the sick.  Lodging was available from John T. Adams and E. P. Bostick, while Thos. Coonie baked bread and cakes for townspeople.  Merchants included Chas A. Andrew, Geo. Brewinger, Wm. Gross, E. B. McDowell, and W. W. McGuigan.  There were tradesmen such as John C. Smith, blacksmiths; Jas. Ritchey, shoemaker; and Robt. McCullough, Harnessmaker;  W. R. Love was the postmaster.  Mills were:  Allen & Wilson, flint mill; Jas C. Bell, saw and flour mill; and the Susquehanna Paper Co.  A daily stage provided transportation to Rowlandsville, Berkley, Darlington, Delta and other places.

Regan’s wife, Hazel, taught in the town’s two-room schoolhouse.  Since she was the only teacher, she taught all seven grades in one room.  She also had to sweep the floors, carry water, and cut firewood for the schoolhouse, he recalled in the Healey interview.

But once the Philadelphia Electric Company became interested in harnessing the power of the flowing water as a source to power turbines, it meant the end of the town.  After the dam created the one-mile-wide and fourteen-mile-long lake, water covered 9,000 acres of habitable land, obliterating the old landmarks and farms, the Sun reported.  Gone were the “historic Conowingo Pike, the old Columbia and Port Deposit Railroad, the ancient bridge, the old canal, towpaths and the toll house.”  In their place was a new Conowingo Bridge across the crest of the dam, with a great lake on one side and a one-hundred-foot waterfall on the other.

The project started in 1926 and had been a tremendous undertaking.  In addition to building the massive dam and powerhouse, it had been necessary to relocate 16 miles of the Pennsylvania Railroad, to evacuate and demolish an entire village, reroute historic Baltimore Pike over the dam, and build a 58-mile electric transmission line to connect with the Philadelphia Electric system.

Today at this serene spot, it’s hard to believe that such a lively community thrived here near a cove just north of the large dam, for the dam’s backwaters have erased the physical evidence and an uninterrupted tide of time has eroded away most living recollections.   But it hasn’t been forgotten for its stories survive in aging newspaper clippings, history books, and the stories of subsequent generations.  And it is the source of frequent inquiries by curious types.

For a collection of photos from the old Conowingo village click here.

modern conowingo
In current-day Conowingo, the visitor finds 20th-century roadside businesses.

Perryville Railroad Site Accepted Into the National Underground Railroad Network to Freedom

From the Amtrak History Blog

Black History Month provides additional opportunities to highlight contributions by African-Americans to our national history and culture. Throughout the month, Amtrak is celebrating with various events and exhibitions at locations across the country. Amtrak is proud that in October 2014, a site on railroad property near Perryville, Md., was accepted into the National Underground Railroad Network to Freedom, a program of the National Park Service (NPS). Perryville is located on the busy Northeast Corridor (NEC) between the stops at Aberdeen, Md., and Newark, Del.

The Underground Railroad was a network for those with or without assistance who used resources at hand to escape slavery and find a means to head north to the free states or Canada during the antebellum years. The NPS established the Network to Freedom to connect more than 500 local historic sites, museums, archives and interpretive programs related to the Underground Railroad. The Perryville Railroad Ferry and Station site is located close to where the eastern end of the Susquehanna River Rail Bridge joins the embankment carrying the tracks. Since colonial times, Perryville and Havre de Grace, its sister town located on the opposite bank, have constituted an important crossing point at the meeting of the Susquehanna River and the Chesapeake Bay. In the late 17th century, what is now Perryville was known as Lower Ferry in recognition of its important role in the local transportation network –

The article continues at Exploring Underground Railroad Heritage Sites.

Editor’s Note:  Last year, Independent Scholar and Historian Milt Diggins worked with the National Park Service to nominate the Perryville Railroad Station/Ferry site and the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal for inclusion in the National Underground Railroad Network to Freedom.  Milt has written a book that examines the story of a slave catcher and kidnapper working in this region in the decades leading up to the Civil War.  The title will be released in 2015.

Bridge across Susquehanna not used on Underground Railroad as it wasn't finished until 1866
A Frank Leslie’s illustrated image from Dec. 22, 1866. The first bridge across the river wasn’t finished until after the Civil War ended. (Source: Frank Leslie’s Illustrated, Dec. 22, 1866, via the Library of Congress.)

Sharing the Story — Remembering World War II, a Program at the Cecilton Library

Mr. Hurshel W. Shan, Sr., World War II Veteran 86th Division enjoys a parade in Gettysburg, PA in 2013
Mr. Hurshel W. Shank, Sr., World War II Veteran, 86th Division enjoys a parade in Gettysburg, PA in 2013

Seventy years have passed by since World War II ended.  Over those rapidly passing decades, many of the stories of the warriors on the frontline and the families and communities on the home front have been told while some remained untold.  But far too many are now being lost to the passage of time as we start to depend on the tradition-bearers of the community and family to carry the narratives on down the line for a new generation.

It is time for sharing the personal tales of the course of events that changed the world, as one age gives way to another.  And that is what the Cecilton Library is going to down in a “Remembering World War II,” program, give you a chance to be part of the conservation.

The free event takes places at the Cecilton Library February 10 at 6:30 p.m.  You are invited to participate or just listen to gain greater understanding as we hear about the experiences of the men and women who lived through this historic period.

This is a lively, engaging community approach, designed to help more people know about the time and you are welcome to share accounts of the men and women who fought for our freedom, as they were passed down.  Too, you are also welcome to just listen to the community dialogue, while we collectively reflect and explore the subject.

There are stories you will want to hear, and public historian Mike Dixon will moderate the dialogue,  But you and the other patrons are invited to take the lead, sharing the tales of the greatest generation, while we pay tribute to a vanishing generation of veterans and disappearing memories.  Mike will facilitate the session, providing context for the shared community evening and keep things moving.

Remember, everyone has a story, a special gift from earlier times that should be retold, so it doesn’t fade in time.

For additional information or to register for the program click here

Carpooling on the home front saved resources for troops during World War II.  source:  Oregon State Archives.
Carpooling on the home front saved resources for troops during World War II. source: Oregon State Archives.

 

 

On the Railroad to Providence

railroad to providence
The railroad to Providence followed the little Elk Creek. This image shows the tracks near Leeds. A postcard, circa 1912 (Personal Collection)

On the railroad to Providence, you didn’t go far and you didn’t go fast.  But the twisting, rambling route brought railcars to the doors of manufacturers along the Little Elk Creek.  The companies–grinding flour, making paper, processing wool, and producing other goods–were clustered along the valley stream over time.

Before the railroad arrived, teamsters hauled bulk materials and supplies to and from the mills, which was time-consuming and costly on the rough roads.  However, when the last spike was driven on the new Baltimore & Ohio across Cecil County in 1886, the hauling distance was shortened, as freight was carried to depots at Childs and Singerly.

That continued until 1893, when the Lancaster, Cecil, Southern, a 4 ½ mile spur from Childs to Providence, opened for traffic. Investors started considering the idea for a line in this region in 1890, when a group of Lancaster, PA businessmen reorganized a distressed carrier, creating the Lancaster, Oxford, and Southern, which was to build a branch south into Maryland.

Two years later, a charter was granted for the Lancaster, Cecil & Southern, a company authorized to build a road from Elkton to the Pennsylvania State Line to meet the other carrier. They selected a right-of-way that followed the tortuous course of the creek.  It involved extensive excavating, grading and bridging, and by July there was an “air of hustle” along the stream for 300 men worked grading, ballasting and laying rails.  Finally, by February 1893, trains rolled to the end of the line in Providence.

The spur from the Childs Station brought railroad transportation directly to the cluster of manufacturers on the creek.  This line was never designed to be adapted to rapid travel because of the grades and curves, but such demands would never be placed on it wrote the Cecil Whig.  Starting at Childs, it touched Marley Paper Mill, where there was a twelve-car siding.  From there, it passed by Harlan’s Book Board Mill, and then it ran up the west side of the creek to Carter’s Cecil Paper Mills, where it crossed the Little Elk Creek twice and followed the west bank of the stream to Levis & Brothers Flour Mill.  It finally reached Providence Paper Mill.

A Baltimore and Ohio locomotive made a daily run from Wilmington to handle the freight work on the short spur, which involved hauling twenty carloads of freight a day over the line in February 1893.  With traffic moving, the promoters noted that it wouldn’t be too long before they opened up the north part of the county from Providence to Oxford, PA., a distance of about 8 miles.  But this is as far as the L. C & S got.

As the 20th century advanced, freight traffic slowly dwindled.   The old mill at Providence, which had been in continuous operation for more than 60 years, closed on September 25, 1948, leaving some 200 employees without work.  The closure was a blow to residents as there were few industries of any importance to which the workers could turn, the Cecil Democrat reported.  Obviously, the shuttering of the large industry on the spur caused freight to decline sharply.  In 1954, the inactive mill was being renovated in preparation for resuming operation, when a fire raced through the manufacturing structure.

With the destruction of the plant, the potential for any large shipment of freight stopped on the upper end of the branch.  Some time afterward, the railroad abandoned the portion of the spur from Providence to the paper mill at the edge of Childs.   In May 1972, the company gave notice that it was abandoning the Childs branch completely, from Childs Station to a distance of approximately 1.14 miles in Cecil County.

Although a small spur of 4 ½ miles to Providence, the old railroad to Providence had been an important one, moving goods, raw and finished, through the scenic Little Elk Creek Valley, while providing important shipping access for mills along the industrial waterway.  But by 1973, all was quiet along the Lancaster, Cecil, and Southern.

For additional photos click here

For a detail research report, click here.

Providence Paper Mill
Providence Paper Mill in a postcard from about 1912 shows the end of the Childs Spur. source: personal collection

Meet Rosie the Riveter as History Comes Alive at Chesapeake City Library, Jan. 12

Event Type: History Program at the Chesapeake City Branch, Cecil County Public Library
Date: 1/12/2015
Start Time: 6:00 PM
End Time: 7:30 PM

Description:
 Join award-winning actress and Smithsonian scholar, Mary Ann Jung as she brings to life the fascinating story of Rosie the Riveter through the eyes of Rose Leigh Monroe who worked at the largest factory in the world – Willow Run in Michigan

Library: Chesapeake City Branch
Location: Meeting Room
Contact: Chesapeake City Branch Library
Contact Number: 410-996-1134
Status: Openings

2014-12-23_10-22-37

Chang Woo Opens Chinese Laundry in Rising Sun

Trade cards were popular in the era and companies produced advertising cards for soap and washing machines that traded on ethnic stereotypes. Source:  Boston Public Library Soap Trade Card Collection on www.flickr.com  https://www.flickr.com/photos/boston_public_library/8230702870/in/photolist-dxjvDJ-dxdZTk-dxdZWH-dxjsr1-dxjuxw-dxjuxS-dxe2A2-dxjuif-dxdZCa-dxjsfU-dxdZPK-dxdZPn-dxjuUE-dxju2h-dxju3N-dxjsJ1-dxdZP2-dxjs4C-dxdZkR-dxdZCP-dxjskd-dxju5u-dxju6J-dxjuDy-dxe1Fa-dxe1Gg-dxjvej-dxjvdb-dxe3Kt-dxe3JT-dxe3Jz--dxjtZu-dxjtYN-dxjses-dxjse5-dxe1VF-dxjtBS-dxe2dk-dxjtUG-dxjuvA-dxe2ND-dxjtqJ-dxe1K6-dxe1RP-dxe1V2-dxjumE-dxe2DB-dxe3ET-dxjviC/
Trade cards were popular in the era and companies produced advertising cards for soap and washing machines that traded on ethnic stereotypes.
Source: Boston Public Library Soap Trade Card Collection on www.flickr.com https://www.flickr.com/photos/boston_public_library/8230702870/in/photolist-dxjvDJ-dxdZTk-dxdZWH-dxjsr1-dxjuxw-dxjuxS-dxe2A2-dxjuif-dxdZCa-dxjsfU-dxdZPK-dxdZPn-dxjuUE-dxju2h-dxju3N-dxjsJ1-dxdZP2-dxjs4C-dxdZkR-dxdZCP-dxjskd-dxju5u-dxju6J-dxjuDy-dxe1Fa-dxe1Gg-dxjvej-dxjvdb-dxe3Kt-dxe3JT-dxe3Jz–dxjtZu-dxjtYN-dxjses-dxjse5-dxe1VF-dxjtBS-dxe2dk-dxjtUG-dxjuvA-dxe2ND-dxjtqJ-dxe1K6-dxe1RP-dxe1V2-dxjumE-dxe2DB-dxe3ET-dxjviC/

Earlier this year, a post on the Delmar Dustpan about “the Chinese on Lower Delmarva in 1900” caught my attention.  As I read the informative article, I remembered an old Elkton businessman from the 1960s, Rodney Frazier, talking about meeting the first Chinese resident of Elkton as a youngster, when the laundry opened here.  The recollection of that long ago conversation and the recent piece about the newly arrived immigrants in Delmar, caused me to do a little digging into the subject in Cecil County. 

While working on investigations since that time, I have kept an eye out for additional mentions of Chinese laundrymen on the Upper Chesapeake.  As this subject didn’t command headlines, it is hard to find the mentions in the small local columns, but from time to time I do come up with those elusive traces from the past.

I have found mentions of the businesses in Havre de Grace and Rising Sun.  Here is what I have on Rising Sun.

“Chang Woo, a Chinaman, has rented the storeroom in the Cecil Farmers’ Telephone building on South Queen Street in Rising Sun and is in the process of fitting it up for a laundry” in October 1918, the Midland Journal Reported.  “This will be good news for our community, as every housewife knows what a knotty proposition getting someone to do the weekly wash has become.”

When cartographers from the Sanborn Company visited the town in Oct. 1921 to prepare a detailed fire insurance map of the town, they showed a Chinese Laundry near the intersection of Walnut and Queen Streets. It was a modest one story frame dwelling in back of Jos. S. Pogue Sons & Comany Hardware and Farm Machinery Store.  They came back in 1933 to update the product, and indicated that a Chinese laundry was still at that that location.

Sanborn Fire Insurance Map from 1921 show Rising Sun's Chinese Laundry.
Sanborn Fire Insurance Map from 1921 show Rising Sun’s Chinese Laundry.

The Birds Eye View of Rising Sun from 1907, the decade before the laundry opened.
The Birds Eye View of Rising Sun from 1907, the decade before the laundry opened.

Charlestown Volunteer Fire Company Deployed Two Boats in 1958

Original license tag of Charlestown Fire Company's first fire truck, circa 1947.  photo credit:  Charlestown Volunteer Fire Company.
Original license tag of Charlestown Fire Company’s first fire truck, circa 1947. photo credit: Charlestown Volunteer Fire Company.

In the post-World War II era, Cecil’s fire departments ramped up services, reacting to the rapid growth in the county and the changing nature of emergencies.

The Charlestown Volunteer Fire Company was one of those units, working to strengthen public safety.  As the river community saw increased use of beaches and the inevitable water emergencies, the department got busy, working to establish a marine unit.

In the spring of 1958 the company deployed two boats.  One, used primarily for rescue work, was equipped with a resuscitator, grappling hooks, first aid supplies and life preservers.  It had a “large flat deck to allow for artificial respirator while the water accident victim” was taken ashore, the Cecil Whig reported.  The other, for firefighting, carried a 15 pound CO-2 extinguisher, a fire pump, and various small firefighting tools.

Both were interchangeable, and they were equipped with two ray radios.  They had been built through the generosity of William Thorn, Jr., the owner of the C.W. Thorn boatyard.

As the boats floated on the North East River that spring day in 1958 tourists and residents were a little safer while swimming, boating, and splashing around.   No longer would the men have to stand on shore, waiting for someone to give them a ride so they could reach a stricken vessel.

Now the Charlestown firefighters could speed to medical emergencies, water rescues or blazes  without waiting precious minutes. It could be that this was the first dedicated water unit in the county and if not it was certainly one of the first.

Earlier that year, 26 firefighters from three companies met weekly at the Charlestown station to take a course in Advanced Red Cross First Aid.  It was taught by Chief D. B. Smith of the Aberdeen Fire Department.  Chief Nelson McCall of Charlestown, Chief Pierre Le Brun of Water Witch (Port Deposit), and Chief T. K. Blake, Jr. had men there learning the latest lifesaving methods, including pulmonary resuscitation.

As the summer season got underway in Charlestown in 1958, tourists and residents knew that the boats were standing by waiting for a call to go into action on the North East River. Additional photos

The Charlestown Volunteer Fire Company deployed two boats to respond to water emergencies in 1958.  photo credit:  Charlestown Volunteer Fire Company
The Charlestown Volunteer Fire Company deployed two boats to respond to water emergencies in 1958. photo credit: Charlestown Volunteer Fire Company

It was a “once in a life-time” scene in Port Deposit – four Navy aircraft coming down the street.

On a Thursday just before Christmas 1956, residents of Port Deposit witnessed a “once in a life-time” scene, the “Harford Democrat and Aberdeen Observer” reported.  Easing slowly down the narrow main street in the town nestled between granite cliffs and the Susquehanna River were four World War II aircraft.

The planes, three fighters and a torpedo bomber, were being towed to the Bainbridge Naval Training Center, which had requisitioned them from the Naval Air Station in Norfolk, VA.  A commercial tug had towed them up the Chesapeake and docked at Wiley Manufacturing a short time earlier, the trip having stated 31 hours earlier.

The crowd watched in “awe” as the convoy of aTigercat,Bearcat, Corsair, and aTBM torpedo Bomber, approached the end of the trip, the Bainbridge Recruit Training Center Command Field.  The Port Deposit Police Department, the Maryland State Police – Conowingo, and and the State Highway Dept. had cleared the narrow streets to let the convoy pass.

It was a tight Squeeze in Port Deposit as Navy planes came down the street.  Source:  Harford Democrat & Aberdeen Enterprise, Jan 3, 1957 at the Aberdeen Room.
It was a tight Squeeze in Port Deposit as Navy planes came down the street. Source: Harford Democrat & Aberdeen Enterprise, Jan 3, 1957 at the Aberdeen Room.

Chief Thomas McIntire Guided Elkton Police into the Modern Era

Chief Thomas N. McIntire, Jr. working the towns new radar system.
Chief Thomas N. McIntire, Jr. working the town’s new radar system.

One dark night in the mid-1970s, Chief Thomas N. McIntire, Jr., cruised downtown Elkton.  As the midnight hour neared,  the police radio was silent, but suddenly it crackled to life with the most urgent dispatch, an officer was in trouble. A man was struggling with the lawman over by the railroad station. The other cop prowling the town that night signaled that he was rolling from out on Route 40 and would be there in three or four minutes.

Hitting the siren, the 50-something chief glanced at his partner, making sure he was ready for action as they would arrive ahead of the other unit. Screeching up to the depot, McIntire sprang into action helping cuff the man, while his partner maintained a calm, watchful eye over the ruckus.

Back at the station McIntire’s sidekick was full of energy, happy and eager to be on the job, while the patrolmen booked the perpetrator. Duke was just the type of partner the top cop in the county seat wanted at his side.  Although officially not a member of the nine-member force, the Black Labrador and the chief were inseparable.

Chief Mcintire soon after he assumed leadership of the department.
Chief Mcintire soon after he assumed leadership of the department.

It was all part of the job as lights went down in Elkton and the graveyard shift got underway.  About the time everyone else was falling asleep, two of the chief’s men started their workday.  The retiring watch briefed them, the paper work was shuffled, and plenty of coffee was available for the long, silent hours ahead.  The two beat officers,  prowled the alleys and back streets, keeping a watchful eye on the night and waiting for the dawn in the sleeping town.

But McIntire’s routine was different.  After finishing a full day’s work, he went home for the evening. But he jumped back into the cruiser sometime after dinner to make evening rounds, checking on the town and his men. Whenever Duke saw the chief climb into the car, he sprang into action, jumping into the vehicle.  The Chief and his 50-pound lab were a pair around Elkton in the 1970s. Duke, that friendly Labrador, accompanied the chief while he was checking dark, lonely alleys and backing up his men.   Eventually, often in the wee hours of the next day, things quieted down once barrooms closed and people settled in for the night so the chief returned home.  He got up and started all over again the next day, for administrative matters had to be taken care of during the workday.

When McIntire started on the crime beat in August 1951, he was paid $1.25 an hour. There were no radios to receive dispatches or to summon backup.  Typically, a shift involved many foot patrols downtown and periodic rounds of the outlying areas. The only prowl car was parked nearby at North and Main streets.

Besides the fact that most activity took place in the business district, there was another reason the officers remained downtown.  A red light on top of a telephone pole at the main intersection signaled that a citizen was calling for assistance. When the telephone operator received a complaint, she turned the light on and the policeman rushed over, to answer the police phone.

All too often, McIntire once remarked, you would be siting in the squad car at the corner of North and Main, keeping an eye on traffic and that phone.  In the middle of a downpour or thunderstorm, the light would flash, so you got out in the rain to answer it.  After saying “Elkton Police” someone respond by asking about how to get married in Elkton.

“In a few years, they put in a radio system so we could crisscross the town while our dispatcher, the water plant operator, took calls. With that communications system, we thought we were very modern,” McIntire recalled. “I was sworn in as chief of police in 1962 when the town was putting on a push to modernize the force. My salary jumped to $80 a week.

“I had four full-time and two part-time men and my goal was to have 24-hour patrols since the dark hours before dawn were often uncovered. For a holding cell, we handcuffed the prisoner to a pole in the police station while we investigated the matter or processed them before hauling the person to the county jail.”  It was supporting the second floor.  The work in those days was largely routine. “Traffic problems, simple assaults, drunkenness, loitering, minor thefts, and disorderly conduct made up the bulk of the few calls we’d get. We also had a little trouble with kids.”

Despite the easy going pace of county seat town with 5,000 people, there were some alarming incidents that jolted the routine. One Sunday night in 1963, as flashes of lighting fleetingly illuminated a cold, rainy December night, one of McIntire’s officers prowled the empty streets when, without warning, a dreadful explosion shook the entire town as a fireball, plunging into a rain-swept cornfield, chased away the darkness. Night turned to day and residents worried that a Soviet missile attack might be underway while the fire siren wailed out its urgent call.

“I rushed to the firehouse since I was also an assistant chief in the fire company. We weren’t sure what had happened, but on a cornfield just outside town, we located large craters, burning fuel, parts of the Boeing 707 fuselage, and a widely scattered debris field. We soon learned that a Pan-American plane had crashed and eventually found out that 81 people perished in that explosion. Once we determined there wasn’t much to do since rescue and ambulances weren’t needed, I went back into town to assist my officers. Traffic control was a major problem, the FBI was coming in, a morgue had to be set up, and a perimeter set-up, things like that.”

Another time in October 1965, a fireball loomed high up into the sky at the edge of the town, almost looking like a mushroom cloud.  “A freight train containing chemical and petroleum tankers jumped the tracks and there were enormous explosion. We had to evacuate a portion of the town because of the fear of explosions and the size of that fire,” McIntire said.

After 28 years in law enforcement, 18 as chief, McIntire decided it was time for a regular office job. So at 55 years of age, he became the supervising commissioner for the district court.

Reflecting on his 28 years in law enforcement, he said, “As a young boy growing up in Elkton, I still remember the old man who was our first chief of police, George Potts [1908-1935]. All he had to do was glance at one of us boys thinking of doing something wrong and we’d move right along. In addition to the little bit of crime that he handled, the town required the chief to oversee maintenance of the streets. By the time I retired we had a force of 14, computers connecting us to FBI and motor vehicle databases, and a criminal investigator.”

Chief Thomas McIntire had successfully guided the agency into the era of modern police work.  The times, the 1960s, were challenging for law enforcement across the nation as administrators struggled with social upheaval, growing violence, new laws and attitudes, emerging technologies, and the changing times, but in Elkton his steady hand moved the department forward through this maze.  He created a professional force with state-of-the-art methods that would have been most unfamiliar to earlier commanders.

For additional photos click here.

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In January 2013, some of the chief’s men and current officers stopped by the Historical Society of Cecil County on his birthday. Shift supervisor Sgt. Johnson, EPD (now retired) along with some of the officers on the day watch stopped by to greet the chief.

 

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Chief McIntire (center) and some of his officers.

 

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Sgt. Jeff McKenzie of the Cecil County Sheriff’s office, once worked for the Chief.

For additional historical photos related to Chief Thomas McIntire see this album on Facebook.

Elkton’s Early Police Chiefs, (Thomas McIntire, 1962-1980)