Augustine Herrman, First Lord of Bohemia Manor (Source: Wikipedia)
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.
This Map of Cecil County is from George Johnston’s History of Cecil County. The arrow points to Bohemia Manor.
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.
Cooling off in the serve-your-self icebox (CecilWhig, July 1969, Cheeseman)
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.
CECILTON — April 22, 2024—The National Park Service announced Monday that Union Bethel African Methodist Episcopal (AME) Church has been officially designated a National Network to Freedom site. This prestigious recognition celebrates the church’s significant connections to the Underground Railroad, symbolizing a beacon of hope and refuge for countless individuals seeking freedom and justice during the antebellum era.
Union Bethel AME Church in 2023.
Today’s church bears direct witness to its roots, which are traced back to the 1850s. In that tumultuous period, “Uncle Perry Hinson” ” built a small house of worship on the outskirts of Cecilton amidst the woods. As the only place where Black people could gather locally, faith and kinship aided freedom seekers and resistance, the modest sanctuary serving as a refuge for worship, education, fellowship, and the pursuit of equality.
Bishop Levi Coppin, born in 1848, grew up in this faith community. His mother ran a clandestine school to teach enslaved people to read and write, empowering them with literacy and knowledge.
Union Bethel AME Chuch stands among 19 newly recognized sites spanning ten states, all contributing to the history of resistance against enslavement. The Network to Freedom program is dedicated to honoring, preserving, and sharing these stories of courage and determination.
The designation process for National Network to Freedom sites involves a rigorous semi-annual nomination and review process. Through this selective assessment, each site’s historical ties to the Underground Railroad are meticulously authenticated and celebrated, ensuring that their significance is duly recognized and honored.
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.”
A 2018 photo of the summer home built by James Bell at Conowingo
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.
Stock certificate for the Conowingo Bridge Company. James Bell was the president (Source: Hosanna School Museum)
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.
The Philadelphia Electric Convalescent Home in Conowingo — Now Bell Manor.
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.
The Elkton & Middletown Railroad didn’t go far, and it didn’t go fast. But after Sid Bledsoe shared a 1960 photo showing a boxcar on the track, we decided to check out the old right-of-way to see if there were any surviving artifacts from the short line.
1960s photo shows a boxcar on the E & M Railroad. In the 1960s, the spur was used to haul goods to Elkton Supply. (Source: Sid Bledsoe)
Originally discussed in the 1870s, the plan was to serve as a cutoff between the main line in Elkton and the Delaware Railroad in Middletown. But plans lingered until 1894, and by December of that year, the road had been built from the main line to the Big Elk Creek, a distance of about 1/3 of a mile. The corporation spent about $75,000 on its right-of-way.
This short section of track served an industrial area along Big Elk Creek, with spurs into Singerly Pulp and Paper and the Scott Fertilizer.1
Although the route had been acquired south of the creek in the general direction of Chesapeake City, the company never extended construction beyond the creek. It was consolidated into the PB&W Railroad in 1916.
Walking this short line in 2015 with Sid Bledsoe, the grading is still obvious, and a few old rails remain in place. The tracks’ use for delivery to Elkton Supply (now American Home and Hardware) was discontinued in the 1970s.
The High Line (Autumn 2002) has a detailed article on the Elkton and Middletown Railroad Company by John Hall.
For additional photos of the E & M Railroad, see this album on Facebook.
A revised survey of the E & M shows the plan for the lne in Elkton (Source: Cecil County Land Records.
Endnotes
KENMORE – In 1977, the Singerly Fire Company opened a fire station at Singerly and Providence roads, and in the early planning, the Company referred to it as the Providence Station. That caused a majority of the residents in the area to petition the county commissioners, asking that the area at the corner be known as Kenmore rather than having it referred to as Providence Coroner, Providence, Andora, or Fair Hill. Thus, on Feb. 28, 1977, the commissioners officially designed this community as Kenmore.
The Kenmore name had been around for decades. In the 1920s, the northeastern corner of the County needed a modern high school to relieve overcrowding at Elkton and supplement the small one-room primary schools in the area. With the Board of Education developing plans for a facility, the Kenmore Papermill in Providence donated land at the corner of Providence and Singerly roads. The company mule barns had been located on this parcel, as mules were used to haul pulp from Elkton to Providence.
Members of the Kenmore Elementary School’s sixth grade wait at the Elkton Railroad Station for a train to New York City, where they had a full day of sightseeing planned in April 1965 (Source: Cecil Democrat, April 1965)
With plans coming together, 200 residents petitioned the Board of Education to change the name to Kenmore School since the company donated the land. In March 1924, the Board agreed, naming it Kenmore High School, the Cecil Democrat reported. The contract for the structure was awarded to H. Clay Phillips & Son of Middletown, Del.
The Kenmore School opened in February 1925, and the first class of seniors graduated in June 1925. The commencement was held at the Rock Presbyterian Church. Hazel Emma Ott gave the salutatory, Anna Menagh Castner read an essay, and Corrine Alphonza Patchell gave the valedictory. The Rev John P. Otis gave the address to the seven graduates, their families, and guests. The graduates were Corrine Alphonza Patchell, John Emory Mackey, Helen Beatrice Patchell, Hazel Emma Ott, Anna Mary Stewart, Anna Menagh Castner, and Sara Elizabeth Hathaway.
In 1939, Kenmore’s enrollment was changed to include pupils in first through 11th grades. An addition to the Kenmore School was constructed beginning May 11, 1954, and was opened in January 1955. This new addition was dedicated on March 27, 1955. In 1958, the school’s name was changed to Kenmore Elementary School for first through sixth grades, as the upper grades started attending Elkton High School.
When a funeral procession from Wilmington, Delaware, crossed over the Perryville and Havre de Grace Bridge in early spring 1923, the new owners, the Maryland State Roads Commission, charged $4.45 for the hearse and five automobiles to cross the span. On the return of the hearse and cars, the toll taker collected another $3.95 from the mourners.
James J. Doherty, Wilmington Undertaker (News Journal, March 17, 1923)
This caused James J. Doherty, the Delaware undertaker, to seek a refund from the State Roads Commission. Funeral Director Doherty asserted that an act of the 1867 legislature ordered that no turnpike, bridge, or ferry company should collect tolls upon carriages, other vehicles, or horses going to or returning from a funeral. The lawmakers added that if someone violated this rule, the fine was between fifty and one hundred dollars.
John N. Mackall, Chairman of the State Roads Commission, wrote to Attorney General Alexander Armstrong, seeking guidance on the matter. Armstrong provided an opinion, writing that when the statute was passed, toll roads, bridges, and ferries were owned by individuals or corporations. Moreover, the legislature did not intend for the state to be prosecuted for charging a funeral.1
The double-decker bridge at Havre de Grace, probably in the early 1920s. (Baltimore Sun, Jan 6, 1941)
When the legislature passed an act in 1922 permitting the acquisition of the Havre de Grace and Perryville Bridge, the new act contained no exception for funerals, so that took precedence over the 1867 statute. The State Roads Commission could charge whatever toll they determined. and the state wouldn’t fine itself, so the Commission didn’t have to return the money.
As a practical matter, the attorney general continued that while the act prescribed maximum limits for charges, it imposed no minimum restriction. Since it had been the policy of the state since 1867 to require these toll routes to refrain from making charges to funeral processions, the opinion noted that in the spirit of the earlier provision, which had met with public approval for so long be observed until there was further legislation on the subject.
Endnotes
Alexander Armstrong, “State Roads Commission, Funeral Procession Crossing Havre de Grace and Perryville Bridge Not Entitled to Toll, Exemption,” Report and Official Opinions of Attorney General, (Annapolis: AttorneyGeneral’s Office, 1923), 308-310.[↩]
One of the darkest, cold cases in Cecil County history unfolded on a tranquil April night in 1891. The scene was a rural home along the road from Rising Sun to Conowingo, where intruders shattered the silence while J. Granville Richards and his family peacefully slept.
In the calm of that spring night, a noise stirred Jennie, his wife. She woke her husband, alerting him to an intruder in their bedroom. Richards seized a nearby pistol and called out, “Who’s there? Speak, or I’ll shoot!” With that, a gunshot rang out from the foot of the bed, and Jennie fell back on her pillow, a bullet penetrating her brain.
As the assailant fled, Richards pursued, encountering a figure in the hallway whom he thought might be his oldest son coming from his room. “Willie, is that you?” he called out, only to be attacked by a ruffian. Then a desperate tussle ensued, the house invader putting a bullet in his abdomen and then striking him with a heavy piece of iron. This caused the homeowner to tumble down the stairway, where he was shot again. The commotion roused other family members, prompting Richards’ two oldest sons to rush to the first floor.
Mrs. J. Granville Richards, a sketch from the Kokomo (MI) Gazette Tribune.(Kokomoz Gazette-Tribune, “Killed by Burglars,” May 2, 1891))
The boys, Willie, 17, and Harry, 15, helped their father back up the stairs, where they found their mother unconscious, in a dying condition on the bed, her “lifeblood pouring from a large gaping head wound.” Miraculously, their six-year-old brother, nestled between the parents, remained unharmed. The older boys were sent to get medical assistance and alert the neighbors. 2
News of the disturbance reached Rising Sun three miles west of the house around 2 a.m., prompting Dr. Turner and Dr. Crothers to rush to the residence. They found an appalling sight when they reached the home. Mrs. Richard was lying unconscious with a bullet hole behind the ear, and Mr. Richards was wounded with two bullet holes in his body, the projectiles having passed entirely through him. The four children clung to each other, weeping over their stricken parents.
Although Jennie never spoke another word, she lingered for almost five hours. Even though there was nothing more that could be done medically, Dr. Turner remained by her side until death eased her suffering. It was around 6 o’clock in the morning, shortly after daybreak, when she took her last breath.
The Cecil Whig said the Richards’ homestead was three miles from Rising Sun on the old Post Road to Conowingo, “almost under the shadow of the famous Richards Oak, a venerable landmark in that section” on the hilltop above Porter’s Grove. A Wilmington newspaper described it as an old stone structure about two and a half stories high, with the nearest home about a quarter of a mile away. This is a photo of a property across from Spready Oak. It was owned in recent decades by Audrey and Ron Edwards. According to Audrey, the murder occurred at this house.
Hunting for the Murder Suspects
The gruesome murder stirred a frenzy of activity on farms and in nearby villages as people flocked to the scene. With the first light of day, citizens set out to hunt down the killers, the neighbors organizing search parties while Cecil County’s late 19th-century criminal justice system geared up to join the effort to capture the fugitives. Although they scoured the countryside, the perpetrators had vanished into the night, leaving little or no clues to trace them.
Telegrams describing the killers flashed out on the wires to nearby points, instructing authorities to look out for the killers. But, in the deep midnight darkness of the house, Richards could only state that they were young white men from 20 to 25 years of age, both of whom wore light-colored overcoats. This put city police authorities on the case as they were on the lookout. The perpetrators of this horror on an innocent family took with them about $100, two watches, some silverware, and several railroad bonds.3
Grimmer telegraph bulletins followed as details became available. These spread the horrendous story to every city and town in the country, and reporters from daily papers and city detectives rushed from Baltimore and Philadelphia by special trains. This growing force of private investigators, railroad detectives, county law enforcement officials, and neighbors mounted a systematic manhunt. Also, city pawnshops received alerts to look out for the stolen property. But it was thought that by this time, the killers, cloaked in darkness, had put many miles between them and the scene of their crime.
Later that Monday morning, Joseph T. Richards, Assistant Chief Engineer of the Pennsylvania Railroad and Granville’s brother, arrived in Rising Sun with Railroad Detective Ottey and a force of assistant officers on a special train from Philadelphia. Captain William B. Lyon of the firm of West, Lyon & Smith came from Baltimore, while State’s Attorney William S. Evans and Sheriff J Albert Boyd arrived from Elkton. County Constables J. C. Hindman and John A. Richie were already there.
The State’s Attorney and Sheriff dedicated the entire day to working up the case. But, the villains left few clues by which they might be traced — outside of the ransacking of the house, the only visible clues to the direction taken by the murderers were footprints of two sizes, one made by a number 10 shoe and the other much smaller. The double tracks, headed in the direction of Colora, were traceable for about half a mile through the yard, an adjacent wheat field, and a plowed field before disappearing in sod.4 Besides this, a broken button and a piece of torn cloth were picked up. Deputy Sheriff Mackey made a Plaster of Paris impression of the footprints by the cellar door.5
Dr. Bram Arrested on Suspicion
A medical student was arrested.
As the first shock of the murder eased, people began to think of possible assailants. One they fingered was Doc. George Bram, 23, and a cry went up–“Where is Bram?” He had studied medicine under Dr. Crothers of Colora and went to Baltimore to attend medical school, but “soon became notorious as a body-snatcher and had to leave there,” it was alleged by The New York Times. 6
Bram was taken into custody at Rowlandsville by County Constable John A. Ritchie and Railroad Detective C. G. Ottey at about 11 p.m. Monday. While allowing him to get dressed, the young man’s pistol fell from his pocket — the detectives picked it up and found it to be a 32 caliber with three empty chambers. As soon as the officers handcuffed him, they telegraphed Media, PA, for a special train to convey the prisoner to the Elkton Jail.
The railroad sent orders to the night operator at Oxford, Robert Armstrong, to awaken Conductor Griffith and Engineer Brown. They were to make the run immediately, and at 2:34 a.m. Tuesday, their train started for Colora, arriving at 2:55 a.m. In a few minutes, Bram was speeding down the line toward Elkton. At 4:10 a.m. April 14, the prisoner was safe in the Sheriff’s keeping at the Elkton jail.
State’s Attorney Evans decided that the home of the elder Bram, with whom Doc stayed in Rowlandsville, should be searched. Thus, Deputy Sheriff Harvey Mackey, Railroad Detective Ottey, and several assistants returned on the special train “to follow up on the theory of Bram’s guilt and fasten the chain of evidence around him.” Back in Rowlandsville, the “tired, sleepy, and hungry deputy and detective got into a buggy and started on their errand for evidence.” Bram’s house was thoroughly searched that afternoon, but no evidence against him was found. While examining his trunk, they found a few old bones and dirty clothes but nothing to implicate the suspect.
When a Wilmington Morning News reporter visited the jail, they described Bram as “a well-dressed young man” who “seems to have been arrested solely upon his reputation.” He wore a neat black suit, a high collar, and a dark necktie. He also had a high silk hat.
On Tuesday night, with one man being held, the State’s Attorney received a telegram from the York PA Police Department, reporting the arrest of two men on suspicion of being connected with the Richards murder. Evans telegraphed, telling them to hold the men and to examine their clothing and find whether a light concave button had been recently broken from the breast of one of them. The answer came back that one of the coats had a freshly broken button.
Mr. Evans then dispatched Railroad Detective Ottey with a brother of Mr. Richards to York to settle the question on the button and a piece of cloth found on the fence gate. On Thursday, Ottey sent word that there was nothing to this connection.7
The Coroner’s Inquest
On Wednesday, Cecil County’s death investigator, Coroner Perry Litzenberg, left Elkton at about 9 a.m. and drove to the scene so he could get to work on the case.8 When the legal proceeding was called about 1 p.m. to hold an inquest over the remains of L. Jennie Richards and investigate the facts about her death, he was assisted by the State’s Attorney Evans and Newman Davis, stenographer to the State’s Attorney.
Since the day was warm and the house was “crowded with women making ready for the funeral,” Litzenberg decided to carry out the hearing on the front porch. ”In the center of the porch was an old table, at which sat the coroner and the stenographer. Around the table stood the jury with the State’s Attorney.9
The Morning News published a sketch of the Richards’ house. 10.
After swearing in the jurymen, the panel visited the room where the tragedy unfolded and was shown the presumed position of the intruder when he fired the fatal shot, the location of the bed, and the hole in the wall from Richard’s return fire.
The jurors, having thus been acquainted with the relative positions of the parties to the terrible affair, were taken into the room occupied by Mr. Richards to hear this testimony: “The presence of more than a dozen serious-looking men in the room, bringing as it must have done the horrible scene once more before his eyes with an unnerving realization that their errand was to inquire into the manner of the death of his wife, naturally shook his composure. But upon a few reassuring words, he was ready to be sworn,” the Cecil Democrat remarked.
Eight people slept in the house that Sunday night, so the jurymen moved to another room to interview more witnesses. William, the oldest son, testified that he took his gun and, accompanied by one of the brothers, ran across to the nearest house about a quarter of a mile away, that of Mr. Reynolds, as he sounded the alarm.
This concluded the testimony of the medical men, and the jury passed into the parlor to examine the body. The dead woman was lying on an improvised trestle, covered with a sheet that was stained with blood.
Finally, the coroner conducted the jurymen over the route followed by the thieves. They were shown the ladder leaning against a window, the cellar door, which was forced open by a crowbar, and the drawers that had been forced open with by a hatchet, along with other evidence of the burglary.
Having viewed the body, inspected the murder scene, and interviewed witnesses, the jury of farmers, newspaper reporters, and Rising Sun businessmen consulted for a few minutes before returning the verdict: We “do say that the said L. Jennie Richards came to her death on Monday morning, April 13, 1891, at the residence of her husband J. Granville Richards in the sixth election district of Cecil County aforesaid from the effects of a pistol ball that entered the brain, fired by the hand of some person to the jury unknown.”11
With the death investigation completed, the efforts to run down the murders continued without abatement on the part of the officers and neighbors, but there were few encouraging developments.
Elusive Search Continued
The excitement over the murder only increased as the days passed. With news of the tragedy spreading into remote parts of northern Cecil County, more people flocked in from all sides until, on Wednesday (April 15), there was a continuous stream of visitors along Porter’s Bridge Road. Little work of any kind was carried on in the vicinity. Farmers left their plows and mechanics their workshops and benches, and “even the women gathered together in small knots to discuss the details of the horrible event,” the Philadelphia Times observed. Many older inhabitants had taken unusual precautions in fastening their doors in this quiet neighborhood.12
Since a constant stream of reporters and detectives from Baltimore and Philadelphia occupied Rising Sun, the local telegraph agents were kept up three nights dispatching messages over the wires to the cities and Elkton.13
On Sunday, April 19, Sheriff Boyd and Deputy Mackey got on the tracks of Frank Ferguson as his departure from the Porter’s Grove area shortly after the horrible occurrence directed suspicion toward him. The lawmen, accompanied by a New Castle County Constable, located Ferguson outside Newark, and the Delaware Officer brought him as far as the state line. There, he was handed over to the Maryland sheriff. The detailed facts upon which this man was held were known only to the officers, the Cecil Whig reported, and the new detainee was soon released.14
The next day (Monday, April 20), Boyd came back up from Elkton for the “purpose of making more arrests in the 8th district of parties who bear a bad reputation and live without visible means of support.”15. The unimaginable crime kept the entire two-man sheriff’s office riding night and day, pursuing “every clue, no matter how slight, until it proved worthless,” newsmen remarked. But citizens thought they were “as far away from the real criminal as ever,” according to the Cecil Democrat16
Meanwhile, after spending ten days in the Cecil County Jail on suspicion, Doc. Bram was given his release from custody, the efforts to prove that he was implicated in the affair proving a failure. Baltimore officers had determined that he had been in the city when the crime occurred.
With the investigation yielding no viable suspects, the county commissioners offered a reward of $1,000 for the arrest and conviction of the perpetrators.17 This monetary incentive prompted private detectives to intensify their efforts in every direction to apprehend the criminals.
However, as the spring days passed, the mystery surrounding the murder seemed as elusive as ever, with no resolution in sight. A Philadelphia paper remarked, “The work upon the case formed an interesting chapter in police annals, as numberless clues have been run out only to find the wrong man suspected. . . . Other suspects were rounded up, but after sifting the stories, nothing amounted to them.”
Eventually, the Pinkerton Detective Agency took over the case, dedicating months to following leads. Within a few weeks, two men – one in York and one in Philadelphia – were arrested on suspicion of being the killers. The Pinkerton agents had shadowed these men. But once again, the case failed to progress beyond the preliminary hearing due to thin evidence. Over the following years, periodic tips led to more arrests in Oxford, Rochester, NY, and Philadelphia, PA, but none led to an indictment. Speculation arose that the detectives were trying to grab someone and make it stick to get the reward.
In March 1892, the grand jury recommended that further steps be taken to unravel the mystery. The county commissioners agreed, appropriating a sufficient sum to defray the expense of a more thorough probe while increasing the reward to $3,000.
The murderous home invasion, horrible in its character and unnerving in its detail in the dark Cecil County countryside, was on people’s minds for years. It was hard to forget the “cool deliberate shooting of an innocent, harmless mother as she lay in bed by the side of her child . . .. This caused many to ask who was safe?” But no one was brought to trial despite the tireless work of the entire Cecil County criminal justice system, railroad detectives, and many private sleuths, including the Pinkerton Agency. The Sheriff, one deputy, part-time constables in the outlying areas, the State’s attorney, and the coroner comprised the entire county law enforcement force.
As the decades passed and one generation gave way to another, the once vivid details of the cold-blooded crime began to blur. When J. Granville Richards, aged 70, passed away on January 14, 1922, the Midland Journal noted that no one had been prosecuted for the murder.18 The mystery of the Richards family murder haunted the community with the specter of an unresolved, cold-blooded crime for decades.
Midland Journal, “Burglary and Murder,” April 17, 1891[↩]
Farmer Mulligan first located the tracks. He secured a foot-rule accurately measuring the footsteps and slowly with great pain followed the tracks across the lawns, fields, and woods. Mulligan pegged each one with a short piece of word as he measured them. Once Sheriff Boyd and Detective Ottey took up the case, he alerted them to the trail, according to the Delaware Gazette and State Journalof April 16, 1891[↩]
Cecil Democrat, “The Richards Case,” April 28, 1891[↩]
Detective C. Edgar Ottey, who had been detailed by the Pennsylvania Railroad to work up Richard’s murder case, was presented with a handsome revolver by J. Granville Richards, the Philadelphia Inquirer reported on May 27, 1891[↩]
