Ohio history

Jefferson's townships

sbradford — Wed, 29 Jul 2026 17:52:04 +0000

Jefferson's townships

August 1, 2026

If you’ve ever flown over Ohio and points west, you cannot help but notice the checkerboard of farm fields and woodlots — the corn-and-soybean plaid that’s repeated westward until it finally exhausts itself at the edge of the Pacific Ocean.

You see the long, straight roads that look like gray-black ribbons pulled tight and laid over the land. From 35,000 feet, you see that the roads run, for the most part, at right angles, even in towns and cities.

All of that comes from one of humankind’s greatest innovations — and one that got its start in Ohio while the Buckeye State was still wilderness: the Public Lands Survey.

In 1774, the Ohio Country was a vast land populated by a host of Native American tribes, and the British Crown wanted to use it as feudal property — owned by the king — where occupants would pay a tribute to live there. A young Thomas Jefferson was having none of it. He penned a pamphlet denouncing the plan — he hated the thought that only aristocrats and kings and churches could own land in America. More on that in a bit.

Soon, after having vanquished the most powerful military in the world, the fledgling United States had massive debt it needed to retire from the American Revolution. The land west of the Alleghenies was a potentially valuable asset, but before it could be sold off to the public, it had to be surveyed.

So Congress laid down the law on how the vast expanses of woodlands and meadows and marshes would be divided and distributed. Jefferson, then a representative from Virginia, authored the Land Ordinance of 1785, establishing townships — a grid of baselines and meridians 6 miles square, each further divided into 36 1-square-mile sections numbering 1 through 36 — ready for auction to those heading west and, as it turns out, easily distinguished from the vantage of today’s jetliner cruising altitude.

The survey started at the appropriately named Point of Beginning, at what is now East Liverpool, where Ohio meets Pennsylvania and the West Virginia panhandle. The actual starting spot for the Public Lands Survey is now submerged in the Ohio River, but nearby is a stout, squat obelisk marker that is underwhelming considering the significance of what unfurled through Ohio and onward.

The monument, though not specifically stated as such, commemorates three Jeffersonian ideals pivotal to the Land Ordinance: public education (Section 16 of each township was set aside for that purpose); westward expansion; and ownership of private property, which, as you remember, had stirred his passion back in ’74. Lost to an asterisk of history is that Jefferson’s first draft of the Declaration of Independence made prominent mention of the prospect of land ownership — it was replaced with “pursuit of happiness,” but remained dear to his heart.

On September 3, 1785, Thomas Hutchins, the first Geographer of the United States, rolled out a 66-foot-long chain and started measuring the wilderness behind axemen who cut paths through the forest. A surveyor’s chain, in fact, was the first unit of measurement designated by law in America and is still in use.

Additional evidence is all around of what a massive undertaking the mapping of America was — but nowhere more prominent than its proving ground in wild Ohio.

A few one-room schoolhouses, for example, still dot the Ohio landscape, often situated on the corner of mile-square sections numbered 16 on maps. The city of Mansfield is named after the mathematics professor who, at Jefferson’s urging, took over the Public Lands Survey and refined the methods to account for laying a rectangle over our globular planet. The Ohio-Indiana state line, in fact, was Mansfield’s meridian.

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American history

Ohio history

Signing day

sbradford — Wed, 24 Jun 2026 19:24:13 +0000

Signing day

July 1, 2026

Vicki Reinhart Johnson

Features

Americans obviously celebrate July 4, Independence Day, honoring the date on which the Continental Congress officially adopted Thomas Jefferson’s statement declaring the American colonies’ independence from Britain. This year, as part of the official U.S. celebration of the nation’s 250th birthday, the Lake Erie Heritage Foundation will celebrate an event that was arguably even more momentous, which came nearly a month later.

Declaration 250 will take place at Commodore Perry’s Victory Monument and International Peace Memorial in Put-in-Bay on the 250th anniversary of the actual signing of the Declaration of Independence.

Thomas Jefferson drafted the Declaration in June 1776, and on July 3 and 4, members of the Continental Congress reviewed and adopted it. The document then was reproduced on parchment, and delegates signed it on Aug. 2, formally declaring the colonies independent from Britain.

“They transformed a resolution into a binding act of commitment,” says David Zavagno, executive director of Lake Erie Heritage Foundation. “That moment — where individuals stepped forward and put everything on the line — is at the heart of our event.”

Zavagno says that the July 4 action was important, but it was the delegates’ actual signing of the declaration that was an act of mutiny against Britain and its king. “Signers picked up a pen and risked their life, knowing they would be forced to pick up a sword to defend it,” he says.

Declaration 250 events will take place in Put-in-Bay Aug. 1 and 2, centered around the victory and peace memorial, which commemorates the end of the War of 1812.

“The monument represents America’s second war for independence, fought and won on Lake Erie,” Zavagno says. “Connecting 1776 to 1813 creates a complete narrative, and Ohio sits at the center of that story.”

The weekend will include Revolutionary War and War of 1812 reenactors and “Freedom Village,” along with the Ohio State University and Bowling Green State University marching bands, the Army Old Guard Fife and Drum Corps, the Bristol County Fifes and Drums, and the United States Navy Band. In addition, there will be a tall ship on display and what’s billed as one of the largest fireworks displays in the country over Lake Erie.

The weekend culminates in a National Signing Ceremony on Aug. 2, when thousands of participants will add their names together in a shared moment tied directly to 1776. “We are asking everyone to ‘sign on,’ transforming the event from something people watch into something they become part of,” he says. “The defining element is participation.”

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American history

Ohio history

Earth quake

sbradford — Tue, 24 Mar 2026 16:36:19 +0000

Earth quake

April 1, 2026

Kevin Williams

Features

The early hours of February 22 were typical for a Sunday morning in rural Highland County. Absent the typical weekday rush, most residents of the area in rural southwestern Ohio were still sleeping, or perhaps up and enjoying that first cup of coffee or starting to get ready for chores or church.

But then, a little before 6 a.m., something happened that was not at all typical. Dozens of posts and comments on social media forums described a sound like thunder, rattling windows, and items falling from shelves. Turns out, the shaking that caused the early wake-up call was an earthquake — a mild 2.5 temblor deep below the earth’s surface a couple of miles or so east of Hillsboro.

Ohio, of course, is not immune from seismic activity. There are several long-dormant fault zones known as remnant strain faults underneath the Buckeye State, according to Mike Brudzinski, a geology professor and earthquake expert at Miami University in Oxford — and some of those, he says, have energy built up in them like a cocked gun.

But knowing which faults are ready to fire is still out of scientific reach.

“Over long periods of time, small changes in stress in the earth can tip a fault over the edge,” Brudzinski says. “How many cocked guns are left and how many faults are really primed? There is no way to know; we really can’t anticipate when and where they will occur. Our ability to forecast earthquakes is not great.”

While Hillsboro may have been the site of the most recent shaker, Brudzinski says that Anna, a town of 1,500 people between Dayton and Lima, is the earthquake epicenter of the Buckeye State.

Anna, which sits atop the Anna-Champaign Seismic Zone, a fault deep below the surface, frequently experiences small trembles — but also was the site of two of the largest earthquakes in Ohio’s recorded history (see list below). “You might be able to make the case that for magnitude 5.0-size events, Anna is the only place in the state,” Brudzinski says.

But it definitely isn’t the only place that shakes. Magnitude 3.0 events are a regular occurrence northeast of Cleveland, for example, though many of those are related to fracking rather than naturally occurring faults in the earth’s crust.

The biggest earthquake threat to folks in Ohio, in fact, actually comes from outside the state. The New Madrid Seismic Zone, which runs through Missouri and Illinois, spurred magnitude 7.0 earthquakes in the early 1800s that were felt as far away as Boston. Brudzinski says a hypothetical 7.5-plus event in the northeast part of that zone today likely would cause widespread disruption over the entire eastern part of the country, including much of Ohio. Damage would be greater than even a 6.0 event centered in Anna — where the damage would still be significant, but likely would be more contained to the immediate area.

Brudzinski says there is a good chance most Ohioans will not experience an earthquake in their lifetime. He says that a “big one” could happen here, “but it could happen in a lot of other places too.”

A deep rumbling accompanied the tremor, and those living on traffic arteries were inclined at first to believe the noise was caused by passing trucks. Because of the quietness of the hour, the quake was noticed by many more persons than the one which shook Ohio the previous Tuesday. Tumbling brick chimneys and shattered glass awakened residents of Anna, where the latest quake probably centered, similar to that of last week, seismologists reported."

— The Bluffton News, March 11, 1937

EIGHT NOTABLE OHIO EARTHQUAKES

Anna (Shelby County), March 9, 1937, magnitude 5.4. The largest earthquake in Ohio history. Caused severe damage, including cracked buildings, toppled chimneys, and structural issues.

Anna (Shelby County), March 2, 1937, magnitude 5.0. Occurred one week before the larger quake. Damaged churches and chimneys throughout the area.

LeRoy Township (Lake County), Jan. 31, 1986, magnitude 5.0. Struck near Cleveland in Lake Erie. Felt in 10 states and southern Canada; caused broken windows and cracked plaster.

Lima (Allen County), Sept. 19, 1884, magnitude 4.8. Significant for the late 19th century.

Portsmouth (Scioto County), May 17, 1901, magnitude 4.2. Dislodged bricks from chimneys and cracked windows.

Crooksville (Perry County), June 20, 1952, magnitude 3.9. Caused minor to moderate damage.

Pomeroy (Meigs County), Nov. 5, 1926, magnitude 3.6. Caused minor to moderate damage around southeastern Ohio.

Youngstown (Mahoning County), Dec. 31, 2011, magnitude 4.0. About 2.5 miles northwest of the city.

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Ohio history

Ohio

Horse whisperer

sbradford — Fri, 20 Feb 2026 19:32:30 +0000

Horse whisperer

March 1, 2026

Damaine Vonada

Features

The name of John Solomon Rarey is known to most folks in the small Franklin County town of Groveport; there’s a statue of him at the community’s recreation center, after all, and his brother William was one of the original founders of the village (which at the time was called Rarey’s Port). The Rarey name graces several roads, buildings, businesses, and even a cemetery in the area.

In his day, though, John S. was world-famous. “If he were alive today, Rarey would be a celebrity and all over the media,” says Rick Palsgrove, director of the Groveport Heritage Museum. “Once he trained that untamable horse, everyone knew who he was.”

Rarey cemented his international reputation as one of the greatest horse trainers the world has ever known when he won a bet with England’s Earl of Dorchester in 1852. The earl, it so happened, owned a horse named Cruiser, reported to be the fastest in England. But Cruiser also was vicious — a living fury who kicked two grooms to death, and who, as if in a rage, snapped an inch-thick iron bar with his teeth as numerous witnesses watched. He was considered too dangerous to race.

John Solomon Rarey was born in 1827 in his father’s tavern near what is now Groveport. His family owned several farms in the area, and from childhood, he displayed a genius for working with horses. After Rarey “broke” his first horse at age 12, locals began soliciting him to handle their horses. By 1855, he was testing his techniques on feral horses in Texas, and just two years later, he was demonstrating them to British officers in Canada.

The “Rarey Method” was revolutionary for its time. Instead of fear or pain, Rarey employed kindness, patience, a firm demeanor, and a soothing touch. “Rarey could train horses without hurting them, and for a professional trainer, that was a valuable skill,” says Palsgrove. “He earned a horse’s trust by calmly talking to it.”

In 1857, Rarey ventured to England, where his abilities quickly attracted the attention of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, and the royal couple asked him to do a command performance at the January 1858 marriage of their eldest daughter. The Times of London reported the “surprising and successful result” when a cream-colored horse belonging to Her Majesty was “subjected to the manipulation of Mr. Rarey” during the wedding-eve event at Buckingham Palace. “This particular animal has never permitted anybody to ride him,” the newspaper stated, “but he allowed Mr. Rarey to mount him without offering the least resistance.”

That horse, however, had nothing on Cruiser, and the English press soon challenged Rarey to conquer the fearsome dark bay that “could do more fighting in less time than any horse in the world.” Dorchester bet Rarey a hundred pounds that he couldn’t tame Cruiser within three months. Rarey did it in three hours.

When Rarey encountered Cruiser, the horse was virtually imprisoned in a tiny, cramped brick stable to limit his movement. Rarey boldly opened the stable’s oak door and stood before the stallion. Talking in hushed tones and stroking him, Rarey quieted Cruiser enough to gently restrain him. Soon the horse realized he’d met his master and docilely laid down. Both Rarey and Dorchester rode Cruiser that day.

Having convinced England’s aristocracy of his horse-taming prowess, Rarey embarked on a world tour. He gave lectures, did entertaining public demonstrations, rubbed shoulders with royals ranging from the King of Sweden to the Czar of Russia, and collected numerous accolades along the way. Queen Victoria’s courtiers danced to the “Rarey Waltz.” A new word was coined: “Rareyfy” — meaning to tame a horse by kindness. The Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals presented Rarey with a gold medal.

Newly rich, Rarey acquired Cruiser from Dorchester and returned to Groveport in 1861 with the horse in tow. Upon his arrival, Rarey set about building Cedarlawn, a 24-room mansion surrounded by acreage that included a stable and a paddock for Cruiser. Dignitaries from around the world visited the renowned horse trainer, and he always flew the flags of their home countries over Cedarlawn when they did.

With the Civil War raging, Rarey and Cruiser toured northern cities from Boston and New York to Chicago and Cincinnati. Philadelphia’s newspapers described Cruiser as “a splendid specimen of horseflesh” and observed that Rarey performed “equine miracles” by subduing all kinds of ugly and vicious horses. “Rarey tamed whatever animals people brought to a show,” says Palsgrove. “Then at the end, out came Cruiser, and he’d shake hands with the horse.”

Rarey’s practices drew praise from philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson and abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison, who opined that Rarey provided a lesson in substituting love for brutality. Even the U.S. military took notice, and when General Henry Halleck asked him to visit the Army of the Potomac in December 1862, Rarey instructed Union cavalry officers and witnessed the Battle of Fredericksburg from a reconnaissance balloon.

Three years later, Rarey suffered a debilitating stroke, and succumbed in 1866 at age 38. After Rarey’s demise, Cruiser resumed his unruly ways, but in accordance with his friend and master’s will, he lived out his days at Cedarlawn. Cruiser died in 1875, and says Palsgrove, “The horse was still so well-known that the New York Times printed his obituary.”

Although today’s world has largely forgotten Rarey and Cruiser, Groveport keeps their remarkable story very much alive. The Groveport Heritage Museum devotes considerable space to exhibits about the pair, and Palsgrove delights in showing visitors the passage in Little Women where Louisa May Alcott referenced his hometown’s horse whisperer. Groveport’s city seal features Cruiser; a mural saluting both Cruiser and Groveport’s canal heyday graces the side of a building on Main Street; and in front of the Groveport Recreation Center, statues by Zanesville sculptor Alan Cottrill portray Rarey’s and Cruiser’s fateful first meeting. Rarey’s statue features his signature top hat and muttonchop whiskers, while Cruiser is depicted in an aggressive stance with teeth bared.

Groveport’s most enduring tribute to Cruiser comes from its school district, which chose him as its mascot in the early 1900s because of his example of strength, spirit, and discipline. The school colors were also inspired by the horse — “black, because Cruiser was a very dark horse, and red, for his fiery temperament,” says Palsgrove.

Although Rarey was laid to rest in his family’s plot in Groveport Cemetery, Cruiser’s burial site is a mystery; Palsgrove says the Rarey family kept it a secret because they feared grave robbers would steal the remains and put them on display.

A middle school building now occupies the place where Cedarlawn once stood, and a football field has replaced Cruiser’s barn and paddock. “Cruiser’s grave might be somewhere beneath that field,” says Palsgrove. “But we’re not sure, and I think we’re fine not knowing.

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Ohio history

The Lincoln School Story

sbradford — Fri, 23 Jan 2026 19:23:55 +0000

The Lincoln School Story

February 1, 2026

Jill Moorhead

Features

EDITOR’S NOTE:

The Lincoln School Story is a powerful 30-minute film, produced with support from Ohio Humanities, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the Ohio Arts Council. It tells the story of the Hillsboro mothers and children who, between 1954 and 1956, marched daily to demand an end to school segregation — making Hillsboro, Ohio, one of the first Northern tests of the Supreme Court’s decision in Brown v. Board of Education. Developed in close partnership with the marchers and their families — including Eleanor Curtis Cumberland (pictured above), the daughter of the woman who led the marches — the film weaves together personal testimony, historical context, and archival photos to bring a little-known Civil Rights story into the national spotlight. The Lincoln School Story is available to stream for free at www.pbs.org.

It’s a quiet weekday afternoon in Hillsboro, the county seat of Highland County. School buses are everywhere. Older kids make their way home, carefree, backpacks swinging.

But going to school in this rural southwestern Ohio small town wasn’t always as easy, especially for Black children. The sidewalks they walk today were once part of a daily protest for the right to learn.

Separate and unequal

In its landmark 1954 Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka decision, the U.S. Supreme Court declared “separate but equal” schools to be unconstitutional.

At the time, schools in Hillsboro (and many other places in Ohio and elsewhere) were segregated. Black children there were sent to Lincoln Elementary, on the east side of town. The building was crumbling. Classrooms combined three grade levels into one. Textbooks, when they had them, were often missing pages. In contrast, white students attended Webster and Washington elementaries, where math, science, and geography were part of a curriculum not provided to Lincoln’s students.

When the court ruling came down, Black parents in Hillsboro assumed their children would be allowed to enroll in the white schools that fall. But the local board of education stalled, keeping Black students at Lincoln.

What happened next became one of the longest sustained protests of the Civil Rights era.

At the start of the school year in September 1954, mothers and their children began marching every school day, from Hillsboro’s east end to the doors of Webster Elementary. They walked in all weather, through a daily assault of slurs hurled their way. Each day, the principal would greet them at the school’s entrance with the same answer: “Nothing has changed.” Then they would turn around and walk back home. They did this for nearly two years.

That fall, in 1954, five mothers refused to accept the delay. With support from the NAACP and the legal guidance of Constance Baker Motley and Thurgood Marshall, they filed a lawsuit demanding immediate integration. They would soon be joined by a growing number of mothers, led in spirit and strategy by Imogene Curtis.

Curtis was a housekeeper at the local VA hospital who led the march with her son at her side. Though she herself hadn’t finished high school, she became a powerful community organizer — writing letters, making calls, and rallying neighbors.

“I was just proud of my mom, period,” says Curtis’ daughter, Eleanor Curtis Cumberland. “Because she was always helping someone. That’s just who she was.” Eleanor was too old to attend Lincoln by then (she had just started at the newly integrated high school) but she remembers the yellow notepad her mother carried around the house, full of names and next steps.

The marches continued until April 1956, when a federal court finally ordered Hillsboro to desegregate its schools. The marchers’ persistence became a blueprint for communities across the country, offering one of the first practical tests of the Brown v. Board decision.

Today, Cumberland is in her eighties, but her voice is strong, and her presence is commanding. She never misses an opportunity to share her mother’s story. It’s not just history to Cumberland — it’s a blueprint for how to live.

“If someone comes to me with a problem,” she says, “I will find a way to help. A lot of that is because of my mom.”

Curtis’ activism wasn’t confined to the Lincoln School fight. She became the vice president of the Highland County NAACP, helped people facing housing discrimination, and stood beside neighbors in court. She joined the 1963 March on Washington, where she witnessed the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech. Cumberland absorbed those values.

Decades later, she was the one with a bullhorn, standing on the courthouse steps during Black Lives Matter protests. She joined local group HARD — Hillsboro Against Racism and Discrimination — and raised her voice once again, now with her own sons and grandchildren beside her. These days, Eleanor volunteers at Samaritan Outreach Services, Hillsboro’s local food pantry, which operates on the exact location where Lincoln Elementary once stood.

Keeping history alive

In 2015, a small group gathered at the Highland County Historical Society to discuss the story of the Lincoln School in Hillsboro. Among them was Kati Burwinkel, a local resident who had never heard the story.

“I just left that meeting thinking, ‘This story has to be told — and it has to be told by the people who lived it,’” she says.

What began, then, as a small oral history project quickly grew. Burwinkel wrote grants and brought in Cincinnati-based filmmaker Andrea Torrice to lead a collaborative documentary effort. The group met regularly for two years, sorting through photographs, recording memories, and shaping the story that needed to be told.

The finished film premiered in 2017 in Hillsboro, alongside the opening of a permanent exhibit at the historical society. Word spread quickly. Screenings at the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center and other venues and a Washington Post article sparked national interest. PBS picked up the documentary, which now airs in regular rotation on stations across the country.

After the film’s release, the daughters of the Lincoln School marchers were invited to speak in the very courtroom where, decades earlier, their mothers had been denied the right to testify. The event was broadcast live from Cincinnati and streamed to judges in Dayton and Columbus. The women were seated at the exact same table where their mothers had once sat, silenced. This time, they were the honored guests.

When Cumberland rose to speak about her mother, her voice trembled with emotion; her words, however, were clear, eloquent, and powerful. Afterward, one of the judges stood. “Barack Obama appointed me to this court for life,” he said. “Until today, I did not know this story. And I am a changed person.”

Everyone in the room understood: History had come full circle. And this time, the world was listening.

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Hillsboro

Highland County

Ohio history

African American history

Building bridges

sbradford — Mon, 22 Dec 2025 20:11:07 +0000

Building bridges

January 1, 2026

Theresa Ravencraft

Co-op People

Steve Stolte was a civil engineering student at Ohio State University when the Silver Bridge, which connected Gallipolis to Point Pleasant, West Virgina, on busy U.S. Route 35, collapsed into the Ohio River.

He had been inspired to study civil engineering while he worked at his father’s construction company in high school, but he didn’t start focusing on bridges until that 1967 disaster, which killed 46 people.

“The collapse of Silver Bridge impacted me significantly,” Stolte says. “It heightened my interest in bridge construction and changed the course of my career.”

After the collapse, Ohio began to require that all bridges in the state be inspected once each year. Seeing an opportunity to both make some money and potentially save some lives, Stolte and some of his college friends started up a new business.

They attended classes during the week, but on weekends they traveled into rural counties throughout the state to perform those mandated bridge inspections.

“We learned quickly to drive across each bridge prior to doing our inspection, because we often didn’t want to drive across after seeing the condition they were in,” he says.

The experience broadened his knowledge of construction and fueled his burgeoning passion for bridges — particularly the covered bridges of Union County, much of which is served by URE–Union Rural Electric Cooperative.

After he graduated in 1969, Stolte took a job in Union County and soon became a partner in the engineering firm of Fleming, Page, and Stolte. One of the other partners, Jim Page, an environmental engineer, worked together with Stolte to create the grid system that numbered all the homes in Union County. It was a massive undertaking, but it gave him a better understanding of the area.

In 1984, Stolte decided to run for county engineer. “It was time for change,” he says. “I wanted to be more progressive and apply for grants to make improvements.”

He would serve in that role for nearly 25 years, working tirelessly to update both equipment and infrastructure throughout the county. Later, he was elected as a county commissioner and served another 10 years in office. In that time, the county replaced more than 200 bridges, widened 100 miles of road, improved traffic signage, and installed thousands of feet of modern guardrails.

But one aspect of his tenure stands out: his work on covered bridges.

“We discovered the covered bridges in Union County when we inspected them in college,” Stolte says. “I’m most proud of building two new covered bridges, Buck Run Covered Bridge and North Lewisburg Covered Bridge. We also elevated all covered bridges from 5 to 8 tons to a higher load limit, so school buses and farm equipment could go over them.”

The Buck Run Covered Bridge, built in 2006, spans Darby Creek and is the longest single-span wooden bridge in Ohio at 160 feet in length. The two-lane North Lewisburg Covered Bridge was completed that same year to replace the original 1868 Pottersburg Bridge, which was relocated and restored — and dedicated to Stolte in 2022.

Together with his wife, Mardy, Stolte still devotes his time and efforts to educating visitors about covered bridges through local events, such as Dine on a Covered Bridge, designed to showcase and celebrate the history of covered bridges in Union County. The event draws hundreds of people from across the state. From July through October every year, visitors are offered guided tours, lunch or dinner made with locally sourced ingredients, and live music on the bridge.

After spending the bulk of his life restoring the old and building the new, Stolte is convinced it was the right thing to do. “Covered bridges are a link to the past, a past that was simpler and slower-paced,” he says. “They are also a link to our transportation history. They were the very first bridge that saw widespread use in Ohio. And they are still valuable today.”

Want to visit the covered bridges of Union County? Find more information at www.dineonacoveredbridge.com and www.unioncountyoh.com.

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Ohio history

co-op member

Union Rural Electric Cooperative

Relics of faith

sbradford — Wed, 26 Nov 2025 15:51:37 +0000

Relics of faith

December 1, 2025

Margie Wuebker

Features

When Francis de Sales Brunner, a Catholic missionary priest from Switzerland, first came to what is now Mercer County in the mid-1840s, one of the substantial number of religious artifacts he brought with him was a depiction of a miracle in which the Virgin Mary is said to have appeared from the rocks of a cliff to save a young boy who had fallen.

Brunner established 10 convents after he arrived in the New World. But the monastery that had been created on those Swiss cliffs, called Mariastein (literally “Mary of the Rock”), where he had been ordained, was Brunner’s inspiration when he named the convent that would house his relics: Maria Stein.

His original collection, expanded through acquisitions and donations over the years, has grown into one of the largest collections of holy relics in the country, and today, the Maria Stein Shrine of the Holy Relics draws visitors from around the world to pray and reflect among more than 1,200 documented pieces displayed in a series of three hand-carved wooden altars and assorted glass cases.

The shrine’s executive director, Mark Travis, says relics usually are objects that are associated in some way with Catholic saints, and roughly 95 percent of the collection are considered first class — meaning body parts, usually bits of bone or hair. Second-class relics are objects, such as a book or a rosary, that were touched or used by a saint; objects that have been touched by a first- or second-class relic, such as a piece of cloth, would be considered third-class. The collection also includes slivers of wood that are said to have come from the crucifixion cross and the manger of Bethlehem.

Audio guides are available to help visitors learn more about the shrine, which sits on nearly 30 acres in the unincorporated town of Maria Stein.

Brunner founded the convent for the Sisters of the Precious Blood in 1844; the original frame building that served as the convent and housed the relics stood until a permanent brick building went up in 1860.

When additional relics were given to the sisters in 1875 and pilgrims began arriving, it became clear that larger accommodations were needed. Two new chapels — including one specifically to house the relics — went up in 1892, and a large, modern, four-story motherhouse was completed in 1901. Visitors can still see the outline of the original brick structure in the courtyard.

Numerous wings were added and renovation projects undertaken over the years, and the building was placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1976.

In the meantime, however, the order moved its motherhouse operations to Dayton, and the number of sisters residing at Maria Stein had declined to a point where the order needed help to oversee and maintain property and holdings. In December 2017, the convent transferred the deed to the shrine’s board of directors.

Travis is often amazed to see license plates from throughout the country in the parking lot. Visitors also come from places like New Zealand, Germany, and Switzerland, drawn there mostly by word of mouth.

Most visitors linger in the two chapels, viewing the relics and colorful stained glass windows imported from Germany.

In the main building, the first floor includes a reception area and a large gift shop. The Heritage Museum on the second floor offers a detailed history of the shrine, with displays showing how early nuns supported the congregation. In addition to creating and selling religious statues made from papier-mâché, they also fashioned vestments with intricate hand-sewn detail, tatted lace, and crocheted altar cloths. The order was mostly self-sufficient, growing vegetables and raising livestock.

The nuns also baked bread and pastries both for their own needs and to serve visitors. Today volunteers bake goods to be served at the Brunner Bake Shop on the third floor. The adjacent Gathering Place is often used for meetings, programs, meals, and social events.

The building’s fourth floor has not been remodeled and is not currently in use, according to Travis — getting there would be a problem anyway, as the elevator only serves three floors.

Numerous events are held on the grounds every year. The largest of those — the three-day Maria Stein Countryfest each June — is a collaboration with the local Knights of St. John and American Legion Post 571, and features a tractor pull, amusement rides, concessions, and live music, as well as a pilgrimage that is a decades-old tradition.

Travis calls the Shrine’s 180 volunteers the “heartbeat” of the organization, since it employs a small staff. Proceeds from the ongoing heritage fundraising campaign, seasonal events, shop sales, and rental fees from the Gathering Place help maintain the facility.

“The Precious Blood sisters entrusted us with their legacy, and we are committed to preserving it for generations to come,” Travis says. “This is a place for all faiths, offering an atmosphere of peace, prayer, and hospitality.”

Maria Stein Shrine of the Holy Relics, 2291 St. Johns Rd., Maria Stein. www.mariasteinshrine.org.

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history

Ohio history

American history

Triumph over darkness

sbradford — Wed, 24 Sep 2025 18:47:30 +0000

Triumph over darkness

October 1, 2025

Jodi Borger

Power Lines

On November 14, 1935, nearly 500 people, including local, state, and national dignitaries, gathered in the shadow of the municipal light plant on the west bank of the Great Miami River in Piqua to watch as a wooden pole was set into the ground.

To most of the city-living population in Piqua (and everywhere else in the country, for that matter), it was just another utility pole. In truth, however, it marked the transformation of rural life in the United States. Owned by the fledgling Miami County Rural Electric Cooperative (known today as Pioneer Electric Cooperative), it was the first pole in the nation that had been financed by the brand-new Rural Electrification Administration — a key part of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s plan to pull the nation out of the Great Depression — and the first bit of solid evidence that electricity was indeed on its way to America’s farms.

And that pole was a testament to the efforts of three local farmers: Paul Boerger, Bill Joslin, and Leonard U. Hill. “The triumph of rural electrification was not inevitable,” says Tom Musick, the current president and general manager of Pioneer Electric. “It happened because ordinary people like Joslin, Boerger, and Hill believed progress belonged to everyone, not just those in cities. They saw electricity not as a privilege, but as a necessity.”

Life without lights

In early the 1930s, life without electricity was the norm for farm families in Ohio and across the country. While city households already enjoyed the convenience of things like lights, refrigerators, and radios, the utilities of the day declined to extend service to rural areas, arguing it was too costly and unprofitable. Only about one in 10 rural homes had electricity; their rooms were lit with kerosene lamps, water was pumped by hand, food cooked on wood stoves.

Joslin grew up in Sidney, and moved to Wyoming after high school to be a sheep rancher. After six years, he returned to Ohio to farm, and in 1917, he helped found the Shelby County Farm Bureau, laying the foundation for cooperative action. Reserved but determined, Joslin became known for his ability to earn trust and get results — he was well known for his mantra, “Let’s get it done” — and in 1935 he was the county farm bureau’s president.

Boerger had been raised in a town that had electricity, and when he began farming in rural Shelby County, he found it difficult to adapt to life without it. Carrying a lantern for chores was, for him, a daily reminder of the gap between city and country living.

Hill, who also hailed from Sidney, ran a farm in nearby Miami County. He and his neighbors had tried — unsuccessfully — to get electricity for their operations, so he knew firsthand both the hardships of farm life and the high cost demanded by private utilities, which was an insurmountable barrier to electrification. He was also active in the Farm Bureau, and in 1935 was the state secretary.

A New Deal

The Farm Bureau had already been working to find ways to expand electrification by the time Roosevelt’s New Deal created the REA in May of 1935, including sending letters to members outlining the possibilities for farmers. One who took great interest in that letter was Boerger, and the idea was still fresh in his mind a few days later when he noticed Works Progress Administration workers digging ditches by hand. He thought a tractor could do more in an hour than 100 men in a day, and it occurred to him that such federal labor could be put to more constructive use — like building power lines.

Immediately, he took his idea to Joslin at the county Farm Bureau. At the time, Joslin was preparing to attend a meeting in Columbus to learn more about the new REA — and true to his mantra, immediately began to educate himself to figure out how to get it done. He started to organize farmers, complete loan applications, and convince neighbors that electrification was both possible and practical.

Getting a jump

While state leaders were still developing a formal process, Boerger, too impatient to wait for official petitions, drafted his own and circulated it throughout Shelby County. It is believed to be the first rural electrification petition circulated in Ohio — possibly the first in the nation. Hill, meanwhile, as secretary of the Ohio Farm Bureau, played a key role in petitioning the REA for loans. So while Joslin organized the efforts and Boerger energized the people, Hill provided stability. When many farmers were skeptical of electricity or feared the costs, Hill reminded them that the cooperative belonged to local members and would be managed by them.

That was how, only five days after the first REA administrator was appointed, Joslin was among the Farm Bureau officials who went to Washington, D.C., ready to apply for a loan in the name of the Miami County Rural Electric Cooperative. By November, the REA had allotted $254,000 for Project 1A Miami to construct 193 miles of new lines — starting at that first pole next to the Piqua Municipal Light Plant.

The Piqua Daily Call described it as an “epochal event.” The Ohio Farmer wrote, “Perhaps the world’s greatest invention was the incandescent electric lamp. It symbolizes man’s triumph over the powers of darkness ... There was something of a spiritual glow, rivaling the electric light, in the eyes of those fortunate enough to be present at the ceremonies in Miami County last week when the first poles were set.”

The legacy

Hill became the first board president of the Miami County Rural Electric Cooperative, while Joslin was the first president of Shelby REMC. When the Miami, Shelby, and Champaign county co-ops merged to form Pioneer Electric Cooperative six months later, Joslin stayed as president with Hill as vice president. Joslin would remain in his position until 1961, overseeing the co-op’s expansion and ensuring thousands of homes were connected.

On June 15, 1936, the Charles McKinney residence, two miles south of Piqua, was the first home energized by the cooperative. By 1937, Pioneer had 3,000 members and over 1,000 miles of line. Today, Pioneer Electric Cooperative has more than 15,000 members and nearly 3,000 miles of line. Its members still include farmers and other rural residents, but also manufacturing plants, distribution centers, and a variety of small businesses.

So nearly 90 years after that first pole went up in Piqua, the impact of Joslin, Boerger, and Hill is still felt; every light switch flipped in those homes and businesses carries the legacy of the three farmers who refused to let their neighbors remain in the dark.

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Pioneer Electric Cooperative

history

Ohio history

Buckeye of Steel

sbradford — Fri, 20 Jun 2025 18:48:43 +0000

Buckeye of Steel

July 1, 2025

Jill Moorhead

Features

“Up, up, and away!” Before Superman became a global icon, he was a glimmer of hope imagined in a Glenville bedroom. Forged by two Jewish teens during the Great Depression and shaped by the steel-tough spirit of Cleveland, Superman is as much a product of this city as he is of Krypton...

In 1933, 11th graders Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster began crafting a character who would become the first comic-book superhero. Their early version of Superman was a villain, but by 1938 — in the pages of Action Comics #1 from what is now DC Comics — he had evolved into the symbol of truth and justice known worldwide. Raised in Cleveland’s Glenville neighborhood, both boys were the children of Jewish immigrants, delivering groceries to help their families survive the Great Depression.

Superman was their way of imagining a better world.

“Superman is one of Cleveland’s greatest exports,” says Valentino Zullo, assistant professor of English at Ursuline College and co-director of the Rustbelt Humanities Lab. “We’re not exporting steel; we’re exporting culture. The superhero genre was created here.”

That culture is more than mythology — it’s history. Cleveland’s influence is built into Superman’s DNA: His job as a journalist echoes the student newspaper the creators worked on, the Glenville Torch; his resilience mirrors the city’s own fight through industrial decline. Even his nickname — the Man of Steel — was inspired by Cleveland’s booming steel industry.

The story of Superman is also the story of the American immigrant. “He’s from a dying planet,” Zullo says. “He gets a last chance, but it’s also his first chance. That mirrors the journey of so many immigrants trying to make a home in a new world.”

That resonance is being rediscovered today, especially in Cleveland, where Superman is experiencing a long-overdue homecoming. A new DC Studios movie, Superman, directed by James Gunn, was filmed in the city in 2024, with scenes shot at recognizable landmarks like the Arcade and the Cleveland Public Library. According to Bill Garvey, president of the Greater Cleveland Film Commission, the production brought more than $77 million in direct spending to northeast Ohio and created thousands of jobs.

“Clevelanders feel ownership of this story,” Garvey says. “This is where it all started. It was emotional to finally bring Superman home.”

This summer, that homecoming becomes permanent. Thanks to the efforts of the Siegel and Shuster Society, led by Gary Kaplan — Jerry Siegel’s second cousin — Cleveland is unveiling a Superman plaza in the heart of downtown. Situated outside the Huntington Convention Center, the installation features a 19-foot stainless-steel Superman on a soaring pillar, plus bronze statues of Siegel, Shuster, Siegel’s wife, Joanne (the inspiration for Lois Lane), and a phone booth with Clark Kent’s clothes inside.

“He’s an intergenerational symbol of hope,” Kaplan says. “And we want the world to know he was born right here.”

The plaza is the culmination of years of effort by the society, which also restored Siegel’s boyhood home and installed commemorative fencing panels from Action Comics #1. At Cleveland Hopkins Airport, travelers are greeted with a display that reads, “Welcome to Cleveland, where the legend began.”

For comic-book artist and writer Sina Grace, that legend is very much alive. His recent graphic novel, Superman: The Harvests of Youth, was deeply inspired by Cleveland’s resilience. “I was so taken by the spirit of the city,” Grace says. “There are old factories turned into breweries, neighborhoods reinventing themselves. I wanted Smallville to have the same vibe — a big city that still feels like a small town.”

Grace will be in Cleveland this July for the movie release, taking part in events at the Cleveland Public Library, home to one of the largest Superman collections in the country, including memorabilia from the comics, TV shows, and films.

Chuck Colletta, a professor at Bowling Green State University who teaches superhero history, believes Superman endures because he became something more than a character: an American myth. “Even if someone’s never read a comic, they know Lois Lane. They know Kryptonite. Superman is part of our culture.”

And now, after more than 85 years, he’s part of Cleveland’s cityscape, too.

Where to See Superman in Cleveland

Siegel’s Boyhood Home: Drive down Kimberly Avenue between East 105th Street and Parkwood Drive to see the commemorative fence featuring Action Comics #1 panels.
Superman Plaza (opening July 2025): At Ontario Street and St. Clair Avenue, outside the Huntington Convention Center.
Cleveland Hopkins International Airport: Welcome display celebrating Superman’s Cleveland roots.
Cleveland Public Library: Home to a vast collection of Superman memorabilia and site of ongoing Superman-related events.
Cleveland History Center: Hosts rotating exhibits featuring the city’s role in pop culture history.

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Cleveland

Ohio history

Back in time

sbradford — Tue, 27 May 2025 14:56:12 +0000

Back in time

June 1, 2025

W.H. Chip Gross

Woods, Waters & Wildlife

“No colony in America was ever settled under such favorable auspices as that which has just commenced at the Muskingum. If I was a young man, just preparing to begin the world, or if advanced in life and had a family to make provision for, I know of no country where I should rather fix my habitation…” — George Washington, 1788

George Washington, in the above quote, was speaking of the Northwest Territory, which he had begun to explore as a surveyor well before he became the hero of the Revolutionary War. The territory, bounded to the east and south by the Ohio River, was instrumental in the growth of the new nation. Its first permanent settlement, Marietta, was established on the Ohio at the mouth of the Muskingum River.

The Muskingum begins at the confluence of the Walhonding and Tuscarawas rivers at Coshocton and flows 112 river miles to the south before emptying into the Ohio at Marietta. It’s the largest river totally within the Buckeye State’s boundaries, and the watershed drains more than 8,000 square miles. Much of that land today still looks as it did during Washington’s time: rugged, rolling, forested hills.

When Ohio gained statehood in 1803, leadership recognized the potential of the Muskingum to facilitate the opening of Ohio and the entire Midwest for increased trade and development. As a result, in 1837, the legislature began funding construction of a series of 11 locks and dams on the river, spending $1.6 million over the next four years (roughly the equivalent of $1.4 billion today) for what was one of the most extensive — and expensive — public works projects of its kind in America at the time.

Amazingly, those locks and dams are still in operation. Listed on the National Register of Historic Places, it’s the only system of hand-operated locks left in the nation. Collectively, those various locks and dams make up the Muskingum River Parkway State Park.

Today, most of the water traffic on the Muskingum is recreational rather than commercial — cruisers, pontoon boats, fishing boats, water-skiers, personal watercraft, and the like — and for those boaters, the locks are operated free of charge.

Those without their own boats have a way to enjoy the river as well. The Valley Gem sternwheeler is a 158-foot, diesel-powered, double-decked excursion boat owned and operated by Jason Sands and his wife, Heather. They offer various river trips on both the Ohio and the Muskingum beginning in the spring and running through fall from the Valley Gem’s Marietta dock.

“We have sightseeing tours, dinner cruises, dinner theaters, music cruises, lock cruises, and private charters available,” Jason says. “There’s something for everyone, with trips lasting anywhere from a couple of hours to all day.”

On a perfect day last summer, my wife and I boarded the Valley Gem along with 71 passengers and a crew of about half a dozen for the seven-hour “Lockapalooza” cruise, which traverses locks on both the Muskingum and the Ohio.

River locking systems raise and lower boats from one pool of a river to another. Before the Muskingum system was built, larger craft could only use the river during high-water periods of the year, because the river was naturally shallow.

On our cruise, the pilot, Don Sandford, nudged the Valley Gem up the Muskingum toward historic Devola Lock, narrating our adventure as we went. He expertly jockeyed the boat into the narrow open lock, and a pair of lock workers manually closed the twin gates behind us, just as was done nearly 200 years ago. We then slowly, magically rose the 13 feet to the next pool before being released to continue our journey upstream.

After a while, we turned around and headed back downstream, and after locking back through the Devola Lock, we turned upstream on the Ohio River to the Willow Island Lock and Dam. The contrast between the two locking systems — historic versus modern — couldn’t have been more dramatic.

Constructed to accommodate powerful, modern-day commercial tow boats pushing multiple barges, the Willow Island locks (there are two) are fully automated and dauntingly immense, especially if you are inside one of them as the water gradually rises or falls. The larger of the two locks measures 110 feet wide by 1,200 feet long — the length of four football fields!

If you’d like to schedule a trip on the Valley Gem or its sister boat, the Major/Riviera, call 740-373-7862 or visit www.valleygemsternwheeler.com. For more information about Muskingum River Parkway State Park, see the Ohio Department of Natural Resources website: www.ohiodnr.gov.

W.H. “Chip” Gross is Ohio Cooperative Living’s outdoors editor. Email him with your outdoors questions at whchipgross@gmail.com. Be sure to include “Ask Chip” in the subject of the email. Your question may be answered on www.ohiocoopliving.com!

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Ohio river

Ohio history

Marietta