Window on Cecil County's Past

CHILDS, June 20, 1890  — Just after two o’clock in the morning the overnight Baltimore & Ohio Express Train, No. 114, bound for New York hurtled across Cecil County.  As the engine, baggage car, and two Pullman sleepers neared the Childs Station, it was going full speed, the throttle opened up to 55 miles an hour.

Seconds after passing the dark station, the engine rushed onto the high bridge that spans Blue Ball Road. There the connecting rod on the left drive wheel of the locomotive broke, the one end flying up and demolishing the part of the cab where Fireman John McNamara of Philadelphia was sitting.

The rod struck the railroader, hurtling him from the cab to the roadside.  Instantly killed, his skull was fractured, and both arms were broken.  Engineer J. P. Fitzgerald applied the airbrake, reversed the engine, and escaped injury by jumping behind the firebox.

In the first Pullman, seventeen passengers were asleep when the heavy car hurled down the fifty-foot embankment with a terrifying, shuddering jolt and bang. The heavy coach broke into two fragments as the sound of twisting metal filled the air, striking against a stone abutment.

Crawling out of the break created by the impact, all the passengers were more or less injured.  Chief Engineer Charles Ackenheil of the Staten Island Railroad was aboard this car, and he was thrown into the roadway, where he was found unconscious in a pool of blood. He was put on a train for Philadelphia but died before reaching there.  The wonder is how anyone could have escaped instant death, the Cecil Whig remarked.

The second sleeper left the tracks too and went over the bank at the edge of the bridge.  Sliding down the side of the steep hill, none of its passengers were injured.  It came to rest within ten feet of the residence of Pierson Matthews, where the wounded passengers were initially taken. 

Not realizing that the rear coaches had toppled off the high bridge at Blue Ball Road, Engineer Fitzgerald grabbed a lantern and started to search for his fireman. But to his horror, he found that the two passenger cars had toppled some distance down the steep drop. About the same time Conductor Robertson rushed back to the Childs Station to telegraph Philadelphia for urgently needed assistance. There a special train with surgeons was assembled and rushed to the scene to render medical aid. The injured were then moved to that City.

The wreck crew worked all night and early the next morning the track had been cleared and rail service was resumed.  But the Blue Ball Road traffic was still suspended by the debris that filled the gap between the rocks.  Coroner Litzenberg summoned a jury with Daniel Harvey as foreman, which rendered a verdict in the case of McNamara in accordance with the facts and exonerated the road from censure.

For Additional Photos

See on the Road to Providence

Source: Cecil Whig, June 21, 1890

A few months after the Great Depression rocked the country, the Mayor and Commissioners of the Town of Elkton took a major step forward, purchasing a patrol car for the two-man police force. This was the first police car for local law enforcement in Cecil County, local dealer Warren W. Boulden selling the 1930 Ford to the town for $493.

A local newspaper, suggesting that Chicago gangsters should steer of Elkton, criticized the modernization of the department. “Although the Elkton Police may be short in number, they are now long on equipment. A year or more ago they were furnished with impressive-looking revolvers and Sam Browne Belts, and now an automobile in which to dash around. Certainly, Chicago racketeers and gangsters should steer clear of Elkton,” the Cecil Democrat editorialized.

In the photo (L to R) Mayor Taylor McKinney, Night Officer Albert Buckworth, and Chief George Potts proudly have their photo taken with the new vehicle.

For More on the Elkton Police Department Also See

George Potts, Elkton’s First Police Chief

Chief Thomas McIntire Guided Elkton Police into the Modern Era

Notes and Sources:

A Cecil Star photo from the issue of Feb. 15, 1930. Photo in personal collection.

Advances in health care in the late 19th and early 20th century, things such as antiseptic and aseptic surgery, x-rays, and laboratories, made hospitals indispensable for treating the sick and injured. Physicians needed the services of these institutions with their technical equipment, specialized personnel, and capability for around-the-clock care so treatment started moving from the home to the institution.

There were a couple of ways to launch these ventures, as the number of institutions increased rapidly across the nation. It was a public undertaking, operating as a nonprofit for communities such as Elkton and Havre de Grace. But in other places, proprietary hospitals, facilities created by a single practitioner (or a group), were established.

With the surge in demand for in-patient beds, Dr. G. Hampton Richards established a for-profit hospital in Port Deposit in 1923. That April, the doctor had “the old Murphy residence in Port Deposit remodeled and fitted for use as an up-to-date hospital,” the Midland Journal reported.

When the doors opened, it had 14 beds. Admissions increased so at some point Eli Selcer Sentman, a contractor, added the wing stretching along Center Street. This increased the capacity to 28 beds and provided the latest technology, including x-ray equipment, electrical appliances, and a surgical suite.

Over the years, the hardworking physician treated the sick and injured at the medical center, providing critically needed services in western Cecil County.

The closest hospitals were far away in Elkton and Havre de Grace, over poor roads. Thus, Dr. Richards saw many accidents and emergency admissions, as noted in news stories in local papers.

The doctor was giving a talk for “Armistice Day” at the Tome Memorial Church in November 1929. Feeling ill, he tried to leave early but collapsed outside and was rushed to his hospital. A hurried call alerted Miss Nesbitt, the head nurse, that the emergency case was on its way. She administered a hypodermic needle, sufficiently reviving the ill physician to some degree.

Dr. Brown of Johns Hopkins was summonsed to take over the treatment. He diagnosed the case as Angina Pectoris, ordering that the ailing caregiver remain quiet for practically three weeks, after which he would remove him to the Baltimore hospital.

Sometime early in the next year, he resumed his work, “even performing a large number of operations and risking a second attack for the benefit of the health of the community,” the Midland Journal reported.

But the doctor eventually announced he would close the place “where many sufferers “had found relief through the ministration of his surgical and medical skills and the care of an efficient corps of nurses.” It was hoped that some way could be found to keep the hospital open, the Midland Journal remarked.

But with his health in decline, Dr. Richards closed his Port Deposit hospital on August 1, 1930. He died on May 10, 1932.

He had graduated from the University Of Maryland School Of Medicine in 1908, coming to Port Deposit that year to establish his practice. Eventually, he associated himself with Dr. Clarence I Benson.

Shortly after the outbreak of World War I he entered the service. The surgeon was on the front in France for several months and suffered from a gas attack, which impaired his health. At the close of the war, he returned with the rank of captain, immediately resuming the practice of medicine and surgery in Port Deposit.

The papers reported that he died from Angina Pectoris in the 48th year of his life.

A postcard shows Dr. Richards Hospital in Port Deposit.

For additional photographs of Dr. Richards’ Hospital, see the album on Facebook.

Elkton, Back to the Future — Oct. 21, 2015, was Back to the Future Day, and lots of towns celebrated in tribute to the 30th anniversary of the legendary Back to the Future film starring Michael J. Fox. In it Fox travels 30 years into the future, October 21, 2015.

All that talk about time travel reminded us of a message pinned on the back of a postcard we saw some years ago in the Historical Society of Cecil County collection.

The image showed the Cecil County Courthouse at the corner of Main and North streets in Elkton. On the back it said: “Purchased at Frazer’s Drug Store Saturday, December 21, 1935, 9:30 -p.m.; temperature 18 degrees F. Purchase made at the suggestion of my friend Ralph Jeffers and that we look at them again, December 21, 1965, to refresh our memory as to the appearance of the town, as of 1935. G. Reynolds Ash.”

Picture postcards are wonderful and often the messages scrawled on the back are important too. While we don’t have a photo of that corner in 1965, here is one we snapped on Oct. 21, 2015. This is about the way the scene would have appeared in 1965 (minus the cars).

The 18th-century landmark was demolished in September 1940 and the Doughboy monument was moved to the Armory.

For additional photos of the Cecil County Courthouse and the courthouse corner see this album on Facebook.

The Civil War cast a long, troubling shadow over the nation, the healing going on for generations.  In addition to the damage done to the nation, it also altered the lives of many young soldiers.  In the horrifying aftermath of this great conflict, those who returned home, having experienced carnage, bloodshed, and death, were changed people as they coped with the personal trauma of these experiences and memories.     

Whether the tragedies of some of these men were caused by the emotional trauma they experienced – having come face-to-face with gruesome scenes they could have never imagined —  or some personal affliction is hard to say. Still, worry-some behavior occasionally manifested itself in complex and troubling ways.  These unfortunate cases aren’t usually presented in the local narratives, but here is the tragic story of one troubled Civil War soldier.    

Born in Chesapeake City in May 1844, James H. Andrews served in the Union Army during the Civil War with credit for two years, according to newspaper accounts.  But after being furloughed to come back home to visit his mother, he overstayed his leave and was listed as a deserter at Wilderness, Va., in May 1864.  As he told the story, while returning to duty, he got drunk in Baltimore and was late returning but had no intention of “deserting the old flag.” 

The war seems to have affected him, for sources said he became eccentric and unbalanced.  In 1869 officers arrested Andrews, and a jury convicted him of attempting to assault a young lady in the Chesapeake City Area.  After serving a one-year sentence, he was released but got into similar trouble in the Warwick area.  This time the jury declared that he was insane and unfit to be at large.  He was sent to Baltimore for treatment but soon escaped.  After that, he was returned to the Elkton Jail. 

Beginning a Life Behind Bars

These incidents began life behind bars, mostly at the Cecil County Jail, except for the escapes he made.  When he fled, he usually headed to Washington or Annapolis to speak with the president or the governor about his military commission as a general and his pension.  Once, he was on his way to Annapolis to talk the matter over with the governor when a lawman arrested him for vagrancy.  This charge sent him to the Maryland House of Corrections, but there a fellow prisoner from Cecil County recognized Jim and notified Sheriff William J. Smith.  The sheriff soon had him back in the Elkton lock-up.  Another time, he was sent to an institution in Baltimore to treat his delusions, but he soon escaped there, only to be returned to Elkton. 

He ended up spending half of his life in the Elkton Jail, except for those brief jailbreaks.  The nearly 40 years was “the longest time for any person in the United States to spend in jail,” according to the Cecil Democrat.¹  He occupied a cell on the upper tier of the jail and had it fixed up to suit his taste.  The old soldier was a great lover of pets and had white rats, white mice, dogs, cats, rabbits, and other kinds of pets and always took pride in dividing his food with them.  For years, he longed for a blacksnake but was unable to get one ²

Seeking His General’s Commission

Old Jim enjoyed writing letters.  Part of his delusion was someone trying to take his general’s commission from him and his veteran’s pension.  Those matters often occupied his pen.  But many others received letters, such as Magistrate Sasse of Wilmington.  He wanted the magistrate to put the wheels of justice in motion against Clint Mackey, Gus Johnson, Polk Racine, Old Sam, and the deputy sheriff.  “Don’t give any of them any bail, and you commit the deputy sheriff to jail, too, if he comes over to Delaware,” he told the official.

Sometimes the county commissioners received petitions. At one point, he asked the commissioners to free him as they had spent $4,000 to $5,000 on the old man and he was now ready to settle down.  At one point, he took a fancy that he was the jail barber, and for his services for shavings, soap, and towels, he billed the county commissioners $700. ³

Jim resided behind those bars when two prisoners were hanged.  Waters’ ghost wasn’t long in getting back to the jail, if Jim Andrews was to be believed, the Cecil Whig wrote.  He reported hearing someone in the vacant death cell late at night following the execution.  When the county hangman executed Alfred Stout in the jail yard in 1893, Jim became convinced the deputies were conspiring to hang him, too.  He immediately took to his pen and paper, outlining the full scheme hatched by the lawmen and requesting counsel.

Finally, in 1907, Sheriff Biddle recommended Andrews’ liberation with the inmate growing old and unable to support himself as his health failed.  When Sheriff Kirk assumed charge and learned about the “old man of the prison,” he too went to work to have the life-long prisoner released to spend his final days at the county almshouse.  “On Saturday night, the old veteran, for he was a veteran in the Union Army during the Civil War, was taken to the county home near Cherry Hill by Deputy Sheriff Myron Miller,” the Cecil Democrat reported ⁴.

Deputy Miller took the old man who had lived most of his adult life behind bars around town, allowing him to see now unfamiliar views before they headed to the poorhouse.  “To get out in the open world was almost a revelation to Andrews.  Although he had been familiar with the surrounding part of the county in his younger days and had attended many dances between here and Cherry Hill, the country seemed to be very strange to him.” ²

Troubled Civil War Soldier Pardoned by Death

In Jail for nearly 40 years years, old Jim Andrews was finally “given a pardon at least by Death,” The Baltimore Sun reported on April 25, 1908.  He was about 74 years old.  “He served in the Union Army during the strife between the north and south and did credit to himself and country for about two years,” the Philadelphia Inquirer added.⁵

He is buried at the Cecil County Potter’s Field near Cherry Hill. Old Jim served under nineteen different sheriffs.  About seven years before his death, he suffered a stroke of paralysis, which left him in a more or less helpless condition. 

1. Cecil Democrat, Aug. 24, 1907[↩]
2. Adams County Independent, Aug. 31, 1907[↩][↩]
3. Cecil Whig, Sept. 8, 1883[↩]
4. Cecil Democrat, Aug. 24. 1907[↩]
5. Philadelphia Inquirer, Aug. 18, 1907[↩]

A Mason Dixon Stone on the road from Elkton to Glasgow, after standing nearly a hundred and nineteen years, “yielded to the action of the elements and fell over” on the ground in William Fowler’s wheat field on the farm of the late Andrew McIntire, the Cecil Democrat reported in 1885. The ground is slightly inclined in the field where it stood and for many years, it leaned to the southward until finally a year or two ago it fell over, the paper added.¹

Would it not be well for the county commissioners or some of our public-spirited citizens to re-erect the stone in Mr. Flower’s field, the editor inquired. Or “if this is impracticable, is it not the duty of the Executive of the State to cause it to be done at the public expense, or if it not the duty of none of these officials, it might by the Commissioner of the Land Office could be persuaded to do what nobody else would?”

At all events, it should be the duty of somebody to see that these old time-honored, moss-covered relics of a generation which has passed away should not be allowed to be lost and the places which knew once be brought to know them no more,” the editor declared.

When the modern dual highway, Route 40, opened at the Delaware State Line on June 26, 1941, the News Journal noted that the old boundary marker, which designated the state division when Delaware was still part of Pennsylvania, was found. The paper added that the stone would be placed in the grass plot that separates the dual lanes.²

One hundred thirty-four years later, on Dec. 14, 2019, we stopped to visit this 18th-century stone, the one the editor wanted to be preserved as a relic of the past. Although someone must have heard the editor’s plea and reset it, the passage of centuries has been particularly hard on this important stone.

The Mason-Dixon Monument Today

Today, it is barely visible, and the top part of the monument is missing, perhaps having been struck by an automobile. Too, the decades of exposure to passing traffic, snowplows, lawnmowers, and the weather have taken a toll. But the stone’s capital P on the Delaware side (Delaware was part of Pennsylvania when the line was drawn) and the M on the Maryland side are visible, marking the border of the two states.

In the 21st century, others have taken on the role of serving as advocates for the Mason-Dixon Monument at the edge of the Williams Chevrolet property in Elkton. The Pencader Heritage Association in Delaware is trying to get it preserved, so it does not disappear.

According to Keith Jackson, the stone was moved when Route 40 was widened. “Pencader has been trying to get the states’ attention for a couple of years with little success. Jackson is now attempting to get other like-minded organizations on board to help pressure officials to do something. The Susquehanna Chapter of Maryland Society of Surveyors recently signed on to help,” Cecil Whig reported.³

Also, See

For more photos the album of pictures — A Fallen Mason Dixon Monument

President Kennedy Unveiled Mason Dixon Marker

1. “A Fallen Monument,” Cecil Democrat, June 6, 1885[↩]
2. Dual Road Opened by 2 Governors,” Morning News, June 27, 1941[↩]
3. “Historians Trying to Save Mason Dixon Marker on Route 40,” Cecil Whig, Sept. 2, 2016[↩]

CHIEF THOMAS N. MCINTIRE, JR.  (1925 – 2019) – Saturday morning) we were saddened to hear of the passing of Chief Thomas N. McIntire, Jr.  Born in Elkton on January 16, 1925, the 94-year-old died peacefully at home on Dec. 14. 2019.

Coming of age at a time that demanded an enormous sacrifice from the nation’s youth, he served in the U.S. Navy during World War II.   During those troubling times, the young man with a strong sense of heritage, duty, and sacrifice in the service of others also joined the Singerly Fire Company, being appointed a probationary member on May 4, 1942.  After returning home from the Navy, he rose through the ranks of the fire department serving as assistant chief for many years in the decades that followed. 

The World War II Veteran, moreover, started on the crime beat in August 1951 as a patrolman for the Elkton Police Department.  At a time when the Town wanted to move forward with modernizing its police force, the mayor and commissioners appointed him Chief of Police in 1962.  After successfully guiding the law enforcement agency into the modern era of police work, the chief retired in 1980.  Although he stepped away from police work, he was not ready to retire; a second career in the criminal justice system as the supervising District Court Commissioner awaited him.

In the fire department, Chief McIntire was second in command at some of Maryland’s largest disasters.  On a Sunday night in December 1963, a Pan American Jet crashed at the edge of town, taking 81 lives.  The Chief rushed to the scene with Chief slaughters and the Elkton firefighters.   Once it was determined that there were no survivors and the rescue response turned into a days-long recovery operation, the chief returned to town.  There he coordinated the response of the officers taking care of pressing needs around the edge of the debris field.  Traffic jammed all the roads in town, the FBI was coming in, a morgue had to be set-up,  and a perimeter established,” the chief recalled during an interview with the Singerly Listening Station a few years ago.

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 was an enormous explosion. We had to evacuate a portion of the town because of the fear of explosions and the size of that fire,” the chief recalled.

Chief McIntire taught many in the next generation the ropes in fire suppression as they started riding the backstep of an engine and grabbing hoses to rush inside burning buildings for the first time. As a junior officer and assistant chief, he was often at their side, passing along the practical skills of a veteran, Navy firefighter to a new group of rookies. The Chief’s strong leadership style developed the generation that was coming on in the 1960s.

In addition to rushing to take charge of all types of Elkton emergencies for most of his adult life, the chief also served the fire company in many administrative posts, including as a director, vice-president, and long-term chairman of the annual stockholders meeting.

Leaving a long-lasting legacy of public service and commitment to the community, pursuits he stuck with since his teenage ages, the chief had a central role in protecting the community for over half-a-century.  He is remembered as a dedicated public servant, a great leader, a friend, and a boss by many.  Chief you will be missed.

PILOT TOWN SCHOOL — Youngsters in the vicinity of the eight-district village of Pilot Town attended this school, which was located on the southwest corner of Pilot Town and Bell Manor Road. On May 31, 1859, a school for this vicinity came into the county system, when George W. Gillespie sold a three-quarter acre lot to the school commissioners for $10.

The door to the schoolhouse closed for the last time on May 28, 1954, and the building was sold to James L. Dishman for $1,150 on May 23, 1955.

The last teacher to serve there was Eula Lee Bartlett. Other teachers included: Ellen B. Shannon (1900), Beulah Creswell (1909), Erma V. Smith (1910), Jessie Bruce (1914), Marguerite Zimmers (1919), Edna S. Pierce (1926), and Dolly King (1927).

Once Mis Bartlett dismissed the youngsters for the summer of 1954, it marked the end of the one-room school in Cecil County, ending an era in the history of education in the county, according to Ernest Howard.

Source: Cecil County Maryland Public Schools, 1850 – 1958: Cecil County Classroom Teachers Association, by Ernest A. Howard (1970),

For a photo of students at the school see this picture of a class in 1923 – 1924.