When we crossed the Ohio River early one October morning, we just had to trust that it flowed there under the bridge. Dense fog shrouded the river, and I wondered how anyone ever navigated it before the era of bridges and electric lighting.
The first few miles of the National Road in Ohio looked very unpromising: thrift stores, decrepit housing, and an amusing flag featuring a much fitter and younger fantasy Donald Trump riding a dinosaur and firing automatic weapons with both hands at unseen enemies. It looked like the promised prosperity associated with the National Road had still not reached the state almost two hundred years later.
Not until we reached St. Clairsville did we begin to see the impact of the National Road in Ohio. St. Clairsville was founded two decades before the National Road reached it, but it still looks like so many other “pike towns.” The importance of the road to the economic life of the pike towns can still be seen in the towns’ layouts: one main street, with a few cross streets and parallel back streets. In the nineteenth-century heyday of the National Road, these towns sprung up about ten to twelve miles apart – the distance that a stagecoach or wagon could travel in a day. Inns were often found on the crests of hills. Drover’s inns tended to be on side streets where livestock could be accommodated. Some towns were home to as many as five taverns. In larger towns, wheelwrights and blacksmiths made themselves available to perform repairs.
Many of the old pike towns have completely disappeared. Of the ones that remain, some are struggling, and others still prosper. But the basics are always the same. Retail shops, churches and historic houses along the main street. Often, in larger towns, a Masonic Hall on the corner. More churches, smaller shops and aluminum-sided early-20th-century homes on side streets. A gas station on the corner as you enter town, often now a Sheetz. And always a library. No matter how small the town, no matter how beaten down, there is almost always a library on Main Street, even if a very small one with limited hours. That fact alone gives me hope for our country.
A sampling of Ohio pike town buildings: Above left, a scene from Blaine in the early 20th century. Above right, Saint Clairsville. Below left, the Red Brick Tavern in Lafayette. Below right, the Pennsylvania House Tavern in Springfield
The picture to the right is the 1870 Great Western School House near St. Clairsville. The grounds are so pretty; recess time must have been paradise
Our favorite Ohio pike town was Morristown, where they are making a real effort to restore their historic main street. They have completed research on the restored houses, and each one is marked by a plaque that tells you the name and occupation of the building’s pike-era resident. Unsurprisingly, many were tavern keepers and merchants. One is listed simply as “widow.” Others had occupations like blacksmith or wheelwright. The restoration process is uneven. Beautifully restored buildings stand right next door to decrepit wrecks. But the effort is very impressive, and I hope it will continue.
One of the highlights of our drive through Ohio was the National Road-Zane Grey Museum. This small museum is a gold mine of information about the history of the road. Its collection includes a restored Conestoga wagon and impressive dioramas showing scenes from the early life of the National Road in Ohio: a tavern scene, road construction scenes, scenes from the early days of the automobile on the road.
At the museum, we also learned details about how the road was constructed. Using local farmers as laborers, builders made a sixty-foot cut for a thirty-foot wide road. The cut was 12-18” deep. Laborers then broke rock into three sizes. They laid the largest rocks as a road bed, covered by a layer of middle-sized rock, and topped that with gravel no bigger than 3”.
It’s not hard to imagine how rough that kind of road would have been! By the early twentieth century the road was repaved with brick. In 1925, the road was widened, straightened, rerouted in some places, and got its Route 40 designation. Asphalt paving started in 1932.
The terrain of Ohio changed gradually as we drove west. Eastern Ohio features wooded hills and valleys. The farming there was limited to subsistence agriculture on small plots on ridges or in valleys. Western Ohio is the place for large-scale farming, thanks to the flatland formed by the Illinoian and Wisconsin glaciations. We drove past miles and miles of cows and corn and enormous grain silos. In the big skies above, geese made their way south and huge flocks of starlings gathered.
Late in the day, we found Ohio’s Madonna of the Trail. We’ve seen several of the Madonnas now, and they never fail to move me. The raw-boned mother in her plain dress and sturdy boots, one child in her arms, another hanging on her skirts, striding hopefully into an unknown and perilous future. Many years ago, when I was in sixth grade, I read a book called A Lantern in Her Hand, about a pioneer mother, and I loved it so much that I’ve read it many times since. We often say that George Washington was the father of our country, but these unnamed women were truly its mothers.
After the Madonna, and a brief hike, it was on to Indiana, the topic of my next post!
Schneider, Norris F. The National Road Main Street of America. Columbus, Ohio: The Ohio Historical Society, 1975.
Harper, Glenn and Smith, Doug. The Historic National Road in Ohio. Columbus, Ohio: The Ohio Historical Society, 2010.
We’ve finally completed the task we set for ourselves back in January. Al and I have now driven the whole National Road – our nation’s first infrastructure project – from Maryland to Illinois. We did it in bits over the course of the last eleven months, so that we could stop and absorb the history and culture, rather than driving right by it.
Our most recent drive took us from the West Virginia/Ohio border, through Ohio and Indiana, to Vandalia, the old Illinois state capital. Along the way, we sampled craft whiskey and Indiana’s state pie, got lost hunting for an original Macadam section of the road, visited a little-known Confederate cemetery in Ohio, and drove past miles and miles and miles of corn.
Ohio and Indiana treasure their old “pike towns.” Each state highlighted a particular aspect of life along the National Road, which I will feature in my next two blog posts. Illinois’ approach, sadly, seems to be to pretty much ignore the old road – other than its terminus in Vandalia.
Driving the length of the road was fun and enlightening. It gave us a deep respect for our nation’s first infrastructure project. And, similar to 21st-century infrastructure projects, we learned that the origin of the road was controversial and steeped in politics.
It seems that almost everything that happened in late-18th-century America starts with George Washington. And that is certainly true of the National Road. Washington was with the Braddock and Forbes expeditions when they hacked through densely forested mountains to create the first sections of what would later become the National Road.
Years later, as President, he was shaken by the Whiskey Rebellion. Washington worried that, as settlers progressed west, they would lose ties and loyalty to the new federal government.
He was especially concerned about Great Britain and Spain wooing the settlers’ allegiance. The solution, he suggested, was to build a road, to “open a wide door, and make a smooth way for the produce of that Country to pass to our Markets before the trade may get into another channel.”
At the same time, veterans of the Revolutionary War, who had been paid partially in land warrants, were clamoring for the government to open Ohio to settlement. And settlers already living in western Pennsylvania demanded a road to help them get their produce to market. The Whiskey Rebellion had been about precisely that issue. Whiskey was easier and more profitable than wheat to transport on abominable 18th-century paths through woods and over mountains.
Washington also had a personal financial interest in tying the west closely to the government in the east. He had invested heavily in land in western Pennsylvania and eastern Ohio. Plus ca change, plus c’est la meme chose in politics.
But Washington didn’t get his way immediately. There was, of course, controversy. This was America, after all.
The controversy outlasted both Washington’s and John Adams’ administrations, and continued into the Jefferson administration. Some members of Congress didn’t think the federal government had the constitutional authority to finance internal improvements.
This disagreement was one of the earliest examples of the big-government/small-government tension that still often paralyzes our government today. And, in an early example of practical and creative compromise, Albert Gallatin came up with a solution to the impasse.
Gallatin proposed that the new states and the federal government come to an agreement. The states would exempt from taxation for ten years the lands sold by Congress. In return, the proceeds from the land sales would be used to construct a road. In effect, the states, not the federal government, were financing the National Road. The Senate passed the National Road bill on December 27, 1805.
But there was still more political controversy in the House of Representatives. Southern representatives opposed the bill because no part of the road passed through their states. Although the new road would pass through southwestern Pennsylvania, many Pennsylvania representatives were miffed that Philadelphia was left out. Despite these objections, the bill passed the House 66-50 on March 24, 1806.
Construction began in 1811. And – again, like so many modern projects – the cost of the road initially exceeded the original estimate of $6000 per mile. As the National Road was laboriously carved out of the hills and valleys of Appalachia, the cost soared to as high as $13,000 per mile. When the builders reached the plains of Ohio the cost per mile plummeted to $3400 per mile.
But, before that could happen, more controversy had to be resolved. By 1818, the road was complete to the Ohio river, the border between the current states of West Virginia and Ohio. But the question of federal authority over improvements arose again. President Madison vetoed Congress’ bill authorizing the Ohio section of the road, believing it to be unconstitutional.
Finally in 1824, President Monroe, convinced that internal improvements could be justified under the “general welfare” clause of the Constitution, signed a bill.
Congress made its last appropriation for the National Road in 1838. The total amount spent was just under seven million dollars. Such a small investment knit together a nation, bringing prosperity to millions of farmers, merchants and manufacturers along its route.
Those farmers, merchants and manufacturers will be the focus of my next two posts, about what we found and learned in Ohio and Indiana. Stay tuned!
In case you missed them, here are links to my previous posts about our drives along the National Road:
Fort Necessity & Braddock’s Road
Schneider, Norris F, The National Road Main Street of America. (Columbus, OH: The Ohio Historical Society, 1975.
Newcott, William R., “America’s First Highway.” National Geographic, March 1998, pp. 83-99.
Pittsburgh’s Grant Street is home to the corporate headquarters of Oxford Development, Koppers Holdings and U.S. Steel, and the seat of government for the City of Pittsburgh and the County of Allegheny. Ironically, it gets its name from the man who met his greatest defeat there.
The disastrous 1755 Braddock expedition failed to win Fort Duquesne from the French. Undaunted, William Pitt assigned newly-appointed Brigadier General John Forbes the task of conquering Fort Duquesne in 1757.
Forbes commanded an army consisting of two thousand British regulars, twenty-five hundred Pennsylvanians, fifteen hundred Virginians, and a small number of soldiers from other colonies.
The army could have marched to Fort Duquesne on the old Braddock Road, but Forbes determined that it was too narrow and circuitous. Over the objections of George Washington, Forbes decided to build a new road through the Pennsylvania woods. They started the road at Carlisle, PA, in March 1858 and, by September, had only made it as far as Bedford. The builders predicted that they could not finish the road before winter set in.
Meanwhile, Forbes’s subordinate, Colonel Henry Bouquet was busy at Loyalhanna constructing Fort Ligonier, about forty-five miles to the west of Forbes’ headquarters at Fort Bedford. Fort Ligonier was to be the jumping-off point for the attack on Fort Duquesne.
Constant Indian raids shook morale at the under-construction fort, and drained it of needed supplies. Bouquet proposed to send out two parties of a hundred men each to guard the paths to the fort. Enter Major James Grant, who thought he had a better idea.
Grant was thirty-seven years old at the time, Laird of Ballindalloch, and a major in the 77th Regiment of the Foot (also known as Montgomery’s Highlanders). Both Forbes and Bouquet thought highly of him. In a letter to General Forbes dated June 16, 1758, Bouquet wrote, “If you need an officer suitable for all purposes, allow me to recommend Major Grant.” And in an August 28 letter General Forbes described him in a letter of August 28 as “inferior to few.”
Grant made the point that it was foolish to send two hundred men out as sitting ducks to guard the paths into Fort Ligonier, when the real problem lay forty miles to the east, at Fort Duquesne. He suggested a reconnoitering expedition to Duquesne, with himself in the lead. Bouquet’s confidence in Grant led him to approve the idea.
Grant set out on September 9, 1858, with about 800 men: 300 Highlanders, 150 Virginia militia, 100 Royal Americans, 100 Pennsylvania militia, 100 Maryland militia and a few Indian allies.
In 1758, the hill where Grant Street lies was much higher than it is today. The plan was to march to within about five miles of the fort after dark and launch a reconnoitering party at night. If the party went undiscovered, colonial Major Andrew Lewis would stay back with half of the army and the other half would advance to present-day Grant Street, about half a mile from Fort Duquesne. From there, they would surveille the fort, attack the Indians that they assumed would be camped right outside, and then retreat.
None of that went as planned.
First, they found no Indians camped around the fort. So, Grant assumed that the Indians were in the blockhouses nearer the fort. Grant sent a force of 400 men to attack the blockhouses, only to find them empty. The force retreated back to the hill, so far undetected.
Perhaps loath to return to Ligonier without a victory, Grant assumed that the decrepit French fort must be poorly defended. He estimated that fewer than 600 troops manned it. At dawn, he had his drummers beat reveille and sent 100 Highlanders to attack the fort. About halfway down the hill, the Highlanders met 800 French and Indian fighters, who had been alerted by the reveille drums.
Grant sent more troops down the hill to the rescue of the Highlanders, but they, too, were surrounded by the enemy. Finally realizing his peril, Grant sent runners to Major Lewis’ force five miles to the rear, urgently requesting reinforcement. Meanwhile, he threw himself and the rest of his troops into the fray.
Major Lewis and his troops arrived too late, and the fighting was hard. British and American soldiers not cut down by weapons fell into the Ohio River, where many of them drowned. Grant himself refused to surrender or retreat, declaring that his heart was broken and he would “never survive the loss of this day.” Of the 800 troops who set out on September 9, over 300 were killed or captured. The rest escaped, in a disorderly retreat, to report the catastrophe.
For several days, Grant’s fate was unknown. Finally, on September 22, he appeared on a list of the captured and wounded. Forbes, dismayed at Grant’s recklessness and the loss of so many soldiers, lamented that “my friend Grant had most certainly lost the ‘tra montane’ and by his thirst of fame brought on his own Perdition.” (‘Tra montane’ was a French term used to describe the country just beyond the Appalachian Mountains).
The French treated Grant well during his captivity, and paroled him shortly after the battle. The Highlanders who went into battle with him were not as lucky. When the British finally took over Fort Duquesne in November – without having fired a shot – they found the rotting heads of the Highlanders mounted on spikes, their kilts flapping beneath them in the autumn breeze.
Grant blamed Major Lewis for his defeat at the forks of the Ohio, and hated American colonials forever after. After his parole, he moved to the Caribbean theater of the Seven Years War and fought in the siege of Havana. He served a stint as governor of East Florida, after the British won that territory from the Spanish in the Treaty of Paris. Back on active duty for the American Revolution, he fought in Boston, Philadelphia, Long Island and the West Indies, and was known for his contempt for and mistreatment of his American adversaries.
The marker for the September 1758 skirmish is on the corner of the City-County Building in downtown Pittsburgh, at 414 Grant Street, on the southeast corner of the intersection of Grant Street and Fifth Avenue.
Lorant, Stephan. Pittsburgh, the Story of an American City. Lenox, Massachusetts: Authors Edition Inc., 1988.
Anderson, Fred. The Crucible of War. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2000.
The Papers of Henry Bouquet, Ed. S. K. Stevens, Donald H. Kent, and Autumn L. Leonard. Harrisburg, PA: The Pennsylvania Historical and Museum Commission, 1951.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Grant_(British_Army_officer,_born_1720)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forbes_Expedition
https://www.clan-forbes.org/people/Brig.-General-John-Forbes
Continuing my series of posts inspired by our trip to Fort Ligonier this summer, I want to introduce my readers to Arthur Saint Clair. His name will sound familiar to those of us who live in the South Hills of Pittsburgh. He lent it to a vast township that once encompassed most of the southern suburbs and many City of Pittsburgh communities south of the Monongahela.
If you live in Baldwin Township, Knoxville, Mount Oliver, Mount Lebanon, or Upper Saint Clair, just to name a few, your community was once part of St. Clair Township. St. Clair Hospital in Mount Lebanon is named for Arthur Saint Clair, as are more than a dozen communities in Pennsylvanian and Ohio.
Once the largest landowner in western Pennsylvania, St. Clair died in poverty.
He was born on March 23, 1736 in Thurso, Scotland. After attending the University of Edinburgh, St. Clair purchased a commission in the British army in 1757. He served in the French and Indian War, then resigned his commission in 1762. With assistance from his father-in-law, St. Clair purchased 4000 acres of western Pennsylvania land, making him the largest landholder west of the Appalachians. He settled in the Ligonier Valley with his wife, who eventually bore him seven children.
St. Clair joined the Continental Army in January of 1776 and was the Forrest Gump of the American Revolution, seeming to appear at nearly every important event. He was with Washington in the crossing of the Delaware and the Battle of Trenton. He commanded Fort Ticonderoga, was court-martialed for surrendering to the British siege, and found innocent. Back in Washington’s good graces, he was at Yorktown for Cornwallis’ surrender in 1780.
As part of the Confederation Congress after the war, St. Clair helped to pass the Northwest Ordinance. Shortly after the passage of the bill, which created the Northwest Territory out of present-day Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan and parts of Minnesota and Wisconsin, Congress appointed him governor of the Territory.
As I live on land originally named for him, I’d like to say that he performed well. But, by our modern standards, St. Clair’s record in the Territory is troubling.
In the Treaty of Paris, which ended the American Revolution, Great Britain ceded to U.S. sovereignty all the land east of the Mississippi River and south of the Great Lakes. Slight problem: nobody had consulted the people who were currently living there. The weak American government sought to raise funds by selling plots of land in the Territory to white farmers. As St. Clair attempted to clear the Indians out of the Territory so the sale could proceed, they naturally resisted.
In October 1790, St. Clair sent an army of 1500 men under General Josiah Harmar to destroy a major resistance village at the site of present-day Fort Wayne, Indiana. When that force was defeated, St. Clair decided to take matters into his own hands.
In September 1791, St. Clair led an expedition from Cincinnati towards Indiana. In the November 4 battle along the Wabash River, we can at least credit him with courage. Leading his troops himself, St. Clair had two horses shot out from under him and several bullets passed through his clothing. But, many of his militia had already deserted, and his army suffered a humiliating defeat. Of the 1400 men St. Clair had taken into battle, 623 were killed and 258 were wounded.
Not until 1794 would “Mad” Anthony Wayne win Ohio from its native inhabitants.
Washington ordered St. Clair to resign his commission in the Army, but he remained governor of the Northwest Territory until 1802. St. Clair worked to have the Ohio territory admitted to the Union as two states rather than one. He hoped this arrangement would preserve Federalist control of both states. New Democratic-Republican President Thomas Jefferson had other ideas, and relieved St. Clair of his position.
Upon his retirement from government, St. Clair returned to western Pennsylvania. Congress never reimbursed him for his expenses from his time as Northwest Territory governor. St. Clair lent generously to family and friends, and made some loans that were also never repaid. By the early nineteenth century, he had lost his fortune and most of his vast land holdings. He died in a small log cabin near Greensburg on August 31, 1818, at age 81. He is buried under a Masonic monument in downtown Greensburg.
The parlor of St.Clair’s home in Ligonier is beautifully recreated at the Fort Ligonier Museum.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arthur_St._Clair
https://historicpittsburgh.org/islandora/search/catch_all_fields_mt%3A%28lower%20saint%20clair%29
https://ohiohistorycentral.org/w/Arthur_St._Clair
https://www.pittsburghbeautiful.com/2018/02/20/pittsburgh-suburbs-history-of-upper-st-clair/
Susan Ouellette is the author of the thriller The Wayward Spy. I don’t usually read thrillers, but this one really kept me turning pages, and I can hardly wait for the second in her three-book series, The Wayward Assassin (coming from CamCat Books in March 2022). Here’s my interview with Susan.
Kathy: Back in the 1990s, you worked as an intelligence analyst for the CIA. Can you tell us a little about what that was like? Was it as glamorous as it sounds?
Susan: I remember my first day of work at the CIA like it was yesterday. The first time my supervisor handed me documents stamped TOP SECRET, I had to suppress a gasp. So exciting! Some of the glamor wore off as I grew accustomed to reading intelligence reports, but every day held the possibility of learning something new and interesting. And I was there at a great time – as the Soviet Union was collapsing. It was like having a front row seat to history.
Kathy: Any interesting stories you can share from your time with the CIA?
Susan: When the coup against Mikhail Gorbachev happened in 1991, I worked on a 24/7 task force set up to monitor and analyze this very volatile situation. So there I was, a rookie analyst, working the overnight shift when the phone rang at 5 am. No one else was around, so I answered. It was the CIA Director calling to get an update on overnight developments. I just about fainted, but apparently did a good job briefing him because I didn’t get fired.
I also wrote a piece for the President’s Daily Brief about a situation involving a potential outbreak of hostilities in the former Soviet Union. My analysis went to the President and turned out to be spot on. That was thrilling. My third story is quite sad. I was out of the office the day Harrison Ford visited CIA headquarters. I missed Harrison Ford? I’m still not over it!
Kathy: I love Harrison Ford, too. The kids and I tease my husband that he looks like Indiana Jones when he wears his leather jacket and fedora.
What made you choose the former Soviet state of Georgia as part of the setting for The Wayward Spy? Have you ever been there?
Susan: During my time at the CIA, Georgia was one of the Soviet republics (turned independent country) that I followed closely. Sandwiched between two worlds – the Russian behemoth to the north and Turkey and other Islamic countries to the south and east – Georgia is a country with a complex, rich history and culture. I have not been there, but it is on my bucket list.
Kathy: The Wayward Spy takes place in 2003. In your opinion, has the threat of a terrorist attack in the United State decreased, increased or stayed about the same since then? How would you say the threat has changed?
Susan: Up until the recent events in Afghanistan, I would have said that the threat of an organized terrorist attack (i.e., a non-lone wolf attack) on U.S. soil had diminished significantly. Now, with U.S. and allied military and intelligence assets out of Afghanistan, al-Qaeda and ISIS will have the latitude and luxury to train, organize, and grow (despite whatever rivalries and hatred exist among and between them and the Taliban). I’m afraid the threat of a major terrorist attack has increased significantly in recent months.
Kathy: Not exactly what I was hoping to hear…
Kathy: What kind of books do you like to read?
Susan: I love spy thrillers, which I suppose is no surprise. I love time travel/parallel universe stories because I find it endlessly fascinating to think about how every decision we make has the potential to alter the trajectory of our lives. I also enjoy World War II fiction, particularly stories with characters living under Nazi occupation. As for non-fiction, I love Cold War spy books. The Spy and the Traitor (Ben Macintyre) is a must-read for any student of 20th century history.
Kathy: Do you have a favorite author? What do you like about that author?
Susan: This is such a difficult question. I enjoy so many thriller authors. Robert Littell, Nelson DeMille, Daniel Silva. And more. Their stories grab the reader and don’t let go. The best book I’ve read lately is A Gentleman in Moscow (Amor Towles). It’s a beautifully written story about a Russian aristocrat whose life is smothered by the growing oppression of the Soviet state.
Kathy: I loved A Gentleman in Moscow, too.
What were your favorite books as a child? How did they influence you?
Susan: Nancy Drew! I loved how Nancy used her wits to solve every mystery thrown her way. She made me want to be a detective. That was my childhood plan – become Nancy Drew. Then I learned about the CIA and the KGB and decided that being a detective would pale in comparison to being a spy.
Kathy: I noticed in your dedication to The Wayward Spy that you had set the book aside for a while. Why did you do that? And what inspired you to dust it off and get back to work on it?
Susan: The Wayward Spy had several close brushes with publication many years back. When those didn’t pan out, I gave up on trying to get published for a long time. I had a young family and a job, so I focused my attention on them. But I never lost the desire to get the manuscript published. Fast forward many years, and I found myself at a writing workshop where several people took interest in the story. After much gentle persuasion, I decided it was worth one final try at publication.
Kathy: Once you got back to work on The Wayward Spy, did you work with a development editor? If yes, how did that help you?
Susan: Yes. At the aforementioned writing workshop, I met Elaine Ash, an author and freelance editor. She convinced me to send her the manuscript and we began to work together to rewrite the novel. She helped me untangle the essential threads of the story, which I had greatly overcomplicated. The plot was in there, but we had to detangle it and let it shine.
Kathy: Can you describe your writing process? Do you outline? Do you always know how the book is going to end?
Susan: I did not write from an outline for either The Wayward Spy or The Wayward Assassin (coming March 2022). With both stories, I knew the beginning and the end but not much in between. I am about to begin writing the third story in “The Wayward” series, and this time around, I plan to plot the story before I begin writing. My goal is to simplify the developmental editing process that comes after the draft manuscript is done. I have learned a lot from revising the first two books. It’s time I apply that knowledge to the first draft of my next book.
Kathy: How long does a first draft take you to write? How many edits do you usually do before you feel your book is ready to be submitted?
Susan: It took me about a year to write a first draft for both books. I wrote both while working and raising little ones so I only wrote about ten hours a week. I’m hoping to write a first draft of the next book in about six months. (I may fail miserably.) I plan to do a couple of edits before submitting the third story to my editor.
Kathy: It took me longer to find a publisher for The Saint’s Mistress than it did to write the book. How long did it take you to find a publisher for The Wayward Spy?
Susan: After working with the freelance developmental editor, it took about a year for me to sign with CamCat Books.
Kathy: What have you done to market The Wayward Spy? Have you found any marketing strategies to be particularly effective?
Susan: As a new author, I’ve discovered that there’s a steep learning curve when it comes to effective marketing. I’m definitely still learning and experimenting with different marketing avenues. I have blogged on my own website (susanouellette.com), done blog interviews with other authors, run a Facebook ad campaign, run several book give-away contests, and done several interviews with local media.
Kathy: Did you learn anything about yourself from writing your books?
Susan: This may sound trite, but I’ve learned not to quit. Although I put writing on hold for years, deep down, I never really gave up on getting published.
Kathy: I see from your personal Facebook page that you raise chickens. How did you start that? What is the best part of raising chickens? What is the worst?
Susan: One of my favorite subjects! Five years ago, we moved from a home on a quarter acre lot to a small farm. We knew nothing about farming, so we decided to start with chickens (thank goodness for the internet!). The best part of raising chickens, aside from the fresh eggs, is watching them interact with each other. They have distinct personalities, moods, and quirks. I find them quite hilarious – the more dramatic they are, the better. The worst thing about chickens is their bathroom habits. Not the most sanitary beasts.
Kathy: Tell me something about yourself that might surprise readers.
Susan: I almost caused a full-blown national security incident on Capitol Hill. Accidentally, of course. I can’t provide details because I plan to weave this story into one of my future novels.
Kathy: The Wayward Spy ends on a real cliffhanger. Can you give us a few teasers about what happens in the second novel in the trilogy, The Wayward Assassin?
Susan: The Wayward Assassin begins about ten months after Maggie leaves us all hanging at the end of The Wayward Spy. In the sequel, Maggie is engaged in a furious pursuit of….someone…in order to prevent…something. I dare not say more. There are several characters who appear in both stories and some fresh faces to keep things interesting. It’s very fast paced. With any luck, this story will keep reader up reading late into the night!
Kathy: Where can we find out more about you and your writing?
Susan: Please check out my website at www.susanouellette.com. I also can be found on these sites:
https://www.instagram.com/susanobooks/
https://www.goodreads.com/goodreadscomsusan_ouellette
I love meeting and talking to readers, especially those who have read The Saint’s Mistress. But, almost as much, I love meeting and talking to other authors. Saturday’s Sto-Rox Library Indie Book Author Expo gave me the opportunity to do both.
My family has deep roots in McKees Rocks and I lived there for the first three years of my life, so I have a sentimental attachment to the community. The Rocks has suffered hard times for the last few decades, and you’d think that the library would reflect that. You would be wrong.
The Sto-Rox Library is a vibrant community center. The library itself is fairly small, but it’s bright and attractive and the collection reflects the community’s diversity. There’s a café in the back, a cozy children’s room, and a modern theater. Maker spaces populate the basement. The library has received grants that allow them to provide short-term scholarships for makers, paying a stipend and providing materials.
The library is sponsored by Focus on Renewal, a local social service organization founded in 1969. FOR also sponsors a food bank, a community resource center and parenting programs.
Literacy Nation and UrbanKind partnered with the library to provide a full-day forum for indie authors (self-published or published by small presses) to share our work. The creativity and passion of the other authors I met was so inspiring that I want to share some of them with you.
Rachel Vinciguerra has written two children’s books. Her most recent is Mary Canary and the Worried Feeling. It makes a story out of the old custom of keeping a canary in a coal mine as an early warning of bad air. In Rachel’s story, Mary is a sensitive, anxious canary in a forest. Mary smells smoke and feels warm, warning signs of a fire. Her sensitivity saves the other animals in the forest. Rachel was a sensitive child herself, and wrote the book to help children like her understand that sensitivity can be a super-power. I wish I’d had this book when I was raising an anxious, sensitive daughter of my own.
Stacy Wilson has written several books of poetry to encourage Black men and women to value themselves. The proceeds of Stacy’s book sales go to two charities that she and her husband created to mentor and empower Black men and women.
Dr. Elizabeth Carter is a leadership coach and author. Her immigrant father had a remarkable career as an educator, consistently breaking barriers, and Dr. Carter persuaded him to write first his life story and then a follow-up autobiography of his volunteer activism after retirement.
E Davis (pictured with me at the top of this post) is the author of eight works of fiction. Her frustration when seeking a publisher for her first book led her to create her own publishing company, Writers Block Publishing.
Phyllis Leyden-Alexander has written Different But the Same: Adventures in Noahland, about her grandson, Noah. Noah was born prematurely and has multiple disabilities. Now twelve, Noah is determined to live a full life, and his mom is equally determined to make that happen for him. Phyllis’s book recounts some of Noah’s amazing adventures, including participation in a 100-mile bike race, via a cart attached to a bike.
But the absolute standout of the day was seven-year-old author Ka’Maya Shanelle. Ka’Maya’s mom, Shana, is a motivational speaker and author, and has encouraged Ka’Maya to practice affirmations daily almost since she could speak. When Ka’Maya said she wanted to be an author like mom, Shana took her seriously. The result was Ka’Maya’s coloring book I Love Myself: A Coloring and Activity Book with Self-Love Affirmations. You’ve got to meet Ka’Maya to believe her. She is the most self-possessed seven-year-old I have ever met. Mom Shana Danielle is the author of the poetry collection Rise and a wonderful guided journal entitled Rising to Purpose.
He was called The Great Commoner but ended life a Lord. HIs government positions ranged from a cornet in the Army to Lord Privy Seal to Prime Minister to Groom of the Bedchamber (not as sexy as it sounds). He suffered from severe gout starting at a very early age. And the greatest city in the world — OK, in the United States; oh, all right, the greatest city in Appalachia – bears his name. I’m talking about William Pitt the Elder, First Earl of Chatham.
The origin of the Pitt family fortune comes from a gigantic diamond discovered by Pitt’s grandfather Thomas Pitt while he was governor of Madras in India. Thomas Pitt sold the diamond to the Duke of Orleans for the equivalent in 2021 USD of more than twelve million dollars. More than enough to put his son Robert in Parliament as a Tory MP from 1705 until 1727.
William Pitt was Robert’s second son. That meant that his older brother, another Thomas, inherited the Pitt estate. William had to do what most younger sons did in eighteenth-century Great Britain: serve in the church or the army. Pitt chose the army, obtaining a cornet’s commission in the King’s Own Regiment of the Horse. But he never saw battle or left Great Britain. Bored, he ran for Parliament and was seated in 1735, though still an army officer.
Although his father had been a Tory, Pitt joined a Whig faction called the Patriots. They were critical of Prime Minister Walpole’s government. In particular, they were eager for glory and thought Great Britain should enter the War of Polish Succession. Ever hear of that war? Me neither, until exactly today. That should tell you how little it was worth the loss of British lives and treasure.
In my opinion, Walpole had the better position when he said “There are fifty thousand men slain in Europe this year, and not one Englishman.” By staying out of war, Walpole also managed to reduce both taxes and the national debt.
The Patriots did badger the government into a mini-war with Spain in the late 1730s. They were incensed that, when the Spanish caught British smugglers, they treated them badly. That war did not go well for Great Britain and was more or less abandoned. So, our friend Pitt was wrong about a lot of things early in life, as so many of us are.
Through his friend the Prince of Wales (the future George III), Pitt gained the positions of Vice Treasurer of Ireland and Paymaster General in 1846. Here, he performed exceptionally well. It was common for men in the paymaster role to skim off a commission for themselves in addition to their salary. Pitt refused to do that. His honesty earned him the love and respect of the common people of Britain, and his nickname The Great Commoner.
Pitt had his political ups and downs for the next decade or so. But, by 1757, he was Secretary of State and Leader of the House of Commons. He again proved his worth by revamping the British strategy in the Seven Years War. Under Pitt’s guidance, Great Britain allied itself with Frederick II of Prussia. Frederick’s little Prussian force managed to keep French forces pinned down in Europe. That gave Great Britain the freedom to successfully attack the French elsewhere in the world: West Africa, the Caribbean, North America. The British gained Pittsburgh, Guadeloupe and Quebec in 1758 and 1759. With their victory in Montreal in 1761, the war was essentially over. Pitt claimed to have “won Canada on the banks of the Rhine.”
But success came at a price. The war was costly for Great Britain. As every American school child knows, the British attempted to tax first stamps and then tea, to pay for their expensive North American victory. The American colonists, of course, objected violently. Pitt was an ally to the colonists, arguing in Parliament against the stamp and tea taxes. Later, as the War for Independence loomed, he tried unsuccessfully to convince Parliament to make concessions to the rebellious Americans and correctly warned that the colonies could not be held by force.
William Pitt the Elder died at age 69 on May 11, 1778. His legacies were his status as one of Great Britain’s most highly-regarded statesmen; his son, William Pitt the Younger, who became Britain’s youngest Prime Minister in 1783 at age 24; and, of course, the city that bears his name.
Following his victory at the Forks of the Ohio River in November of 1758, General John Forbes wrote in a letter to Pitt dated November 27, 1758, “Sir, I do the honour of acquainting you that it has pleased God to crown His Majesty’s Arms with Success over all His Enemies upon the Ohio…I have used the freedom of giving your name to Fort Du Quesne as I hope it was in some measure the being actuated by your spirits that now makes us Masters of the place.”
When the city of Pittsburgh was officially chartered in 1816, it adopted a seal based on the Pitt coat of arms. The original seal was lost in the 1845 fire and had to be recreated from memory. The three gold coins, called bezants, are loosely based on Byzantine coins, and symbolize honesty. The blue and white checks are the Pitt family livery colors. The Castle simply symbolizes a city. Pitt’s city.
Lorant, Stefan. Pittsburgh: The Story of an American City. Lenox, MA: Authors Edition, Inc., 1988.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Pitt,_1st_Earl_of_Chatham
https://www.u-s-history.com/pages/h1182.html
George Washington started it.
Beginning with Washington’s disastrous, accidental skirmish at Jumonville Glen, about fifty miles from Pittsburgh, the Seven Years War turned into a world-wide battle that built and broke empires. By the end of the war, Prussia had barely survived and Great Britain dominated India, North America and the West African slave trade. France was on the road to revolution and Spain on its way to irrelevance.
Last week, Al and I visited an important Seven Years War site: Fort Ligonier, in Ligonier, PA.
The war didn’t begin well for the British in North America. The 1755 Braddock expedition towards present-day Pittsburgh ended in the death of General Braddock and a disorderly retreat (read my short story about the Braddock expedition HERE). But, by 1758, the British prepared to once again try to gain possession of the headwaters of the Ohio River. They learned from the catastrophic Braddock expedition that they would need a supply depot and a point of refuge in case their new effort also ended badly. In short, they needed a fort.
The only British forts between Carlisle and present-day Pittsburgh were Forts Loudoun, Lyttleton and Bedford, all too small and too far from the forks of the Ohio to suit British purposes. The British placed General John Forbes, a Scotsman, in charge of this latest attempt to dominate the interior of the great North American continent.
He chose as the site for his new fort a rise fifty feet above Loyalhanna Creek, halfway between Bedford and Pittsburgh. He named it Fort Ligonier, in honor of his superior, Sir John Ligonier. Ligonier, a Huguenot refugee, had risen through the British military ranks to become the overall commander of the British army.
Forbes was determined to succeed where Braddock had failed, in dislodging the French from the forks of the Ohio. In early September of 1758, 1500 men began construction of Fort Ligonier under the management of Major James Grant, Ensign Charles Rohr and Colonel James Burd.
Of course, the French knew the British were coming. On October 12, they sent a party to attack Fort Ligonier while it was still under construction. By that time, 6000 British and colonial troops manned the fort – making Ligonier briefly the largest community in Pennsylvania after Philadelphia – and they easily defeated the French.
The French suffered other blows in October of 1758. That same month, Forbes sent Colonel Henry Bouquet, along with George Croghan and a contingent of colonials, to a peace conference with France’s Indian allies. The result of the Easton Conference was a treaty between Great Britain and the Iroquois, Lenape, Mingo and Shawnee peoples. The Indians would abandon their alliance with the French if and the British promised to prevent white settlement west of the Alleghenies. We see how well that second part worked out, since I am writing this from the suburbs of Pittsburgh.
The French understood that they could not hold Fort Duquesne against Forbes’ force, especially without their Indian allies. The Forbes expedition set off from Fort Ligonier on November 15, 1758, with no tents and limited supplies, intending to move fast. On November 25, they arrived to find that the French had blown up and mined the fort, and then abandoned it. The future site of Pittsburgh, and the gateway to the vast North American interior, was theirs.
Fort Ligonier served as a refuge for white settlers fleeing their homes during Pontiac’s rebellion in 1763. But, by 1766, it no longer had a purposes and Arthur St. Clair was appointed civilian caretaker. The fort slowly fell into ruin. In 1794, James Ramsey bought large tracts of the land originally owned by St. Clair. His son, John Ramsey inherited the land and in 1817 laid out the town he named Ramseyville. The town changed its name to Wellington not much later, and finally to Ligonier.
In the nineteenth century, Ligonier was known for agriculture, coal, stone and lumber. By the early twentieth century, interest in the historical fort began to grow. In 1927, John Jacob Hughes purchased the former site of the fort and presented it as a gift to the local Daughters of the American Revolution.
The DAR erected a monument at the site of the fort in 1934, and by 1946 a Fort Ligonier Memorial Foundation came into being to explore a reconstruction. The reconstructed fort opened in 1954, almost exactly 200 years after Forbes first conceived of a supply depot above the Loyalhanna.
Al and I had a wonderful time visiting the fort. The reconstruction is meticulous, and the museum has much improved and expanded since our last visit several years ago. The museum features what my husband tells me is an excellent miniature model of the fort, as well as a reconstruction of St. Clair’s parlor. The historical exhibits on the two galleries are very informative from both the micro view of the Forbes expedition and the macro view of the Seven Years War. Don’t miss George Washington’s pistols, a recent museum acquisition.
We had a delicious lunch at Carol & Dave’s Roadhouse in downtown Ligonier (think before your order wine; their pours are very generous!). And then we enjoyed the shops in Ligonier’s shopping district. Al loved the Toy Soldier Gallery. I bought some fancy loose tea at Crumpets Tea Shop (they made a blend just for me!), and started my Christmas shopping at My Honeybee. I’m old enough to be pretty jaded by gift shops, but My Honeybee was definitely special. The clerks in both shops were super-friendly. Ligonier benefits from their proximity to a Mellon estate. The shops are high-end but not overly pricey and there’s not a chain store to be found. This trip was so worth the 90-minute drive from Pittsburgh!
Here’s a sampling of our photos of taken at the fort.
The trip to Ligonier made me curious about so many people who were part of the Forbes Expedition. Was the Pittsburgh suburb of Upper Saint Clair named after John or Arthur St. Clair? Why? How did George Washington get in trouble again at Loyalhanna Creek? And why is Pittsburgh’s Grant Street named after Major James Grant? These questions and more will be answered in future posts. Also, this fall Al and I will be travelling the final sections of the National Road in Ohio, Indiana and Illinois. Stay tuned!
Lorant, Stefan. Pittsburgh: The Story of an American City. Lenox, Massachusetts: Authors Edition, Inc., 1988.
Stotz, Charles Morse. “The Reconstruction of Fort Ligonier: The Anatomy of a Frontier Fort.” Bulletin of the Association For Preservation Architecture, Vol. VI, No. 4 (1974), 2-103
https://forbesroadbook.com/historical-context/
One of the most delightful aspects of the drives that Al and I take for my blog posts is meeting people who love their home town and are eager to talk about it. We’ve met that kind of person in almost every small town that we’ve visited, including on our recent trip to a much bigger town: Wheeling, West Virginia.
The lady above is Lydia Boggs Shepherd, an early example of a West Virginia lady who loved her home town and had the right friends. The National Road wouldn’t have gone through Wheeling without her.
Al and I very much enjoyed our travels on the Maryland and Pennsylvania portions of the National Road. So,we recently decided to continue, moving west. First stop on the National Road in West Virginia: the Heimberger House.
Also known as the Old Stone Tavern, this federal-style tavern and inn was built in he 1820s, very shortly after the National Road reached West Virginia in 1818. The small town where the tavern stands is named Roney’s Point, after the original landowner.
Ninian Bell originally owned the Old Stone Tavern, and James Beck succeeded him in 1828. Subsequent owners included Mrs. Sarah Beck, Moses Thornburg and Jacob Beck (not a relative of the original Becks). August Heimberger ran the hotel from 1869 until about 1892. Stage lines stopping at the tavern over the years included the Simms line and the Good Intent line. A construction company appears to currently occupy the building.
After the Heimberger House, we drove through several miles of heartbreaking rural poverty: abandoned houses, trailers and cars, rusted trailer homes, houses with peeling paint or mildewed siding. Front porches that looked like flea markets, jumbled with rusty bicycles, faded plastic toys, sprung sofas and plastic garbage bags with indeterminate contents. I hate to perpetuate a cliché, but this stretch of the National Road in West Virginia is really, really sad.
The view improved as we approached Wheeling. The Wheeling suburb of Elm Grove is a bit scruffy around the edges in places. But it boasts a magnificent Presbyterian Church which appears to be thriving and very active in the community, as well as Shepherd Hall, now known as Monument Place.
The Hall currently serves as a headquarters for the Masons, but in the early nineteenth century Moses Shepherd and his wife, Lydia Boggs Shepherd, lived there. See her picture above.
In the eighteenth century, Moses Shepherd’s father David had settled in the area, along Wheeling Creek, a tributary of the Ohio River. Local Indians burned David’s original home, which he called Fort Shepherd. Moses inherited the land upon his father’s death in 1795 and built Shepherd Hall at its current location in 1798. Moses and Lydia’s plantation and grist mill prospered. The couple became quite influential and had friends in Washington, DC, including Kentucky Representative Henry Clay. Their friendship with Clay was instrumental in diverting the National Road to go through Wheeling and pass right by the Shepherd home. Moses died in a cholera epidemic in 1832. Lydia remarried and lived at Shepherd Hall until her death in 1867, at the age of 101.
Another Madonna of the Trail stands near Shepherd Hall. We learned that twelve of these statutes, all identical, line the National Road and other migration routes in the west, from Maryland to California.
Next, we stopped at the Mingo Indian statue at the top of Wheeling Hill. Considering that the Indians were incensed enough about something to burn Fort Shepherd, one wonders if they really felt as friendly as this portrayal indicates. The inscription on the plinth reads “THE MINGO Original Inhabitant of this Valley Extends GREETINGS and PEACE to all Wayfarers.”
The historic district in north Wheeling encompasses a mixed bag of nineteenth century buildings. Some slump in a state of decrepitude. But many have been lovingly restored to magnificence. West Virginia Independence Hall also stands in the historic district, at 1528 Market Street. Built in 1860 at a cost of about $97,000, it served the federal government as a custom house, post office and courthouse. The building is famous as the home of the Wheeling Convention and the West Virginia Constitutional Convention, turning points in the separation of West Virginia from Virginia in the Civil War. It served as West Virginia’s seat of government from 1861 until 1863. Today, the building houses a museum of West Virginia history, but it was closed when we visited.
The National Road to Wheeling was completed in 1818. But, until 1849, passengers were ferried across the Ohio River for the next leg of their journey. The bridge that changed that is still a highlight of the historic district. The Wheeling Suspension Bridge was the subject of legal controversies that went all the way to the Supreme Court. When finally completed, it was the first bridge to span a major river west of the Appalachians, and the world’s largest suspension bridge from 1849 to 1851. It still stands today. It is closed to vehicular traffic, but foot traffic is still allowed.
See below for some photos of the bridge and some of Wheeling’s historic buildings.
The highlight of Wheeling for us, though, was the Centre Market district. Only a few blocks long, the district includes the repurposed 1853 market building and original train station. Independently-owned restaurants and small shops line the street.
We had a wonderful lunch at The Market Café, and I bought a T-shirt at Ziklag and a candle at VC Wares. We also enjoyed Redecorate Consignment, for its high-quality furniture and friendly clerk.
Jenny, our waitress at The Market Café, suggested one last stop to us. She said that we must see The Lookout. The Lookout is the remains of an unfinished mansion. The owner intended it for his beloved wife, and lost the heart to finish it when she died. The remains have been spray-painted by graffiti artists (some of them pretty lewd), and the location is a hangout and party site. But the view rivals Pittsburgh’s Mt. Washington overlooks. You can see the whole city of Wheeling laid out below you, and the Ohio River winding its way southwest towards Kentucky. We met a couple of friendly teenage skateboard types who urged us to drive on to Folansbee and see Steubenville from the Folansbee lookout, which they claimed was ever better. We didn’t have time that day, but we will make a point of visiting Folansbee on a future trip.
Worst thing about West Virginia: the rural poverty is sadly obvious. Best thing about West Virginia: the people are super-friendly and love their home state. Also: JUST as we got into our car to head back home, the rain that had threatened all day finally burst forth. Even the weather in West Virginia is friendly.
http://nationalroadpa.org/maps-attractions/west-virginia/
Heimburger House: https://www.hmdb.org/m.asp?m=66677
Shepherd Hall: https://www.waymarking.com/waymarks/WMKCT6_Shepherd_Hall_Wheeling_West_Virginia
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shepherd_Hall
Suspension bridge: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wheeling_Suspension_Bridge
https://www.ohiocountylibrary.org/wheeling-history/3304
Thomas Paull house: https://www.waymarking.com/waymarks/wmJD66_Thomas_Paull_House_Wheeling_Historic_District_Wheeling_West_Virginia
George Paull house: https://www.waymarking.com/waymarks/wmJDBD_Thomas_Paull_George_Paull_House_Wheeling_Historic_District_Wheeling_West_Virginia
First Presby church: https://www.ohiocountylibrary.org/wheeling-history/5337
Independence Hall: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/West_Virginia_Independence_Hall
I love people who are passionate and knowledgeable about something, whether it is clocks or old books or astronomy. I especially love people who are passionately interested in and knowledgeable about their own communities. In our travels along the National Road over the past few months, Al and I have met several people like that. And we met one on our most recent drive.
This week we made our last stops on the National Road in Pennsylvania, stopping at the S Bridge, passing through Claysville, and visiting West Alexander.
We stopped in Washington, PA, on our way to this week’s destinations, and had lunch at Chicco Baccelo. We enjoyed our lunch there when we were in town last summer vising the David Bradford House. Once again, it did not disappoint. My Hannah wrap, iced chai latte and chocolate chip cookie, and Al’s Brenda Lou sandwich, hot chocolate and molasses cookie were delicious.
Some other places we enjoy in Washington:
The Union Grill. Cool speakeasy vibe and the BEST house-made chips!
Liberty Pole Spirits. Their distillery tour is so much fun that we’ve now taken it twice. This family-owned business is so very passionate about making whiskey.
I had never heard of an S Bridge before, but it was a pretty common construction in the early nineteenth century. Builders usually used the S-bridge approach for a crossing small, curving stream with uneven banks, when the bridge had to cross the stream at an angle. The S is formed by constructing the bridge at 90% angle to the stream, with aprons on either bank, forming a letter S.
The 1815 S Bridge over Buffalo Creek, just outside Claysville, has been almost completely restored. The young man we met later in West Alexander told us about Gerald David McKenzie. McKenzie almost single-handedly saved this bridge. For years, he sat along the road near the bridge with an American flag, telling the story of the bridge to anyone who would stop and listen. Watch this YouTube video to hear an interview with McKenzie from 1994, and see the deterioration of the bridge at that time. Thanks to McKenzie’s efforts, the bridge was restored, through a combination of private donations and state funding.
John Purviance, one of Claysville’s earliest farmers, also opened a tavern nearby as early as 1800. When he learned in 1817 that the planned National Road would cross his land, he saw opportunity. Purviance plotted out a town along the planned route of the road, and named it Claysville after U.S. Senator Henry Clay. Clay had been a strong proponent of public works like the National Road.
Like so many other towns along the National Road, Claysville thrived after the road came through in 1820. In the nineteenth century, the town was a regional agricultural service center. It was also home to businesses serving the oil and gas industry, and many other small businesses. The town has diminished since then, but it isn’t in the decrepit state of some other towns that we’ve seen in our travels. It’s a pleasant, small community that seems to be holding its own. Its Main Street still strings along the route of the old National Road, near Routes 40 and 70.
Claysville’s most famous native son is probably William Holmes McGuffy, who was born near Claysville in 1800. He authored the McGuffy Reader series, which was used almost universally in American schools in the nineteenth century. The local school district is named for him.
As so often happens to us when we explore small towns, on our last stop we met a friendly local person with lots of knowledge and enthusiasm.
Jeremy Wiley noticed us poking around in the graveyard in West Alexander and pointed us to the location of the oldest graves, and we got to talking to him. He owns the row of old two-story frame houses that used to form the nucleus of West Alexander’s quaint shopping district in the 1970s and 80s.
When I was young, I remember my mom going to West Alexander once or twice a year to shop for antiques and pottery. In the early 90s, part of the block burned in a fire, and the rest of the retro little business district never really recovered. Jeremy is now working towards combining the row of buildings into a wedding venue.
A wedding venue sounds like a pretty good bet for a community that was once known as Pennsylvania’s Gretna Green. Gretna Green is a town in Scotland, right on the border with England. Between 1754 and 1929, English law required parental consent for brides or grooms under the age of 21. Scotland had no such requirement. So, eager young couples often crossed the border to Gretna Green to marry. Similarly, West Alexander stands very close to Pennsylvania’s border with both Ohio and West Virginia. In the nineteenth century, Pennsylvania had no marriage-license laws at all, and West Alexander became a popular elopement destination for couples from Ohio and West Virginia, where the laws were stricter.
Robert Humphrey founded the town of West Alexander in 1792 and named it after his wife, Martha Alexander. Once the National Road came through in 1820, the town boomed, with as many as 25 stagecoach stops daily.
Jeremy’s buildings date to the 1840s, right after West Alexander’s first disastrous fire in 1831. He’s found newspapers in his cellar dating as far back as 1875. He believes that his buildings rest on the foundations of older buildings that were destroyed in the 1831 fire, and that the stone chimneys also predate the fire. Jeremy and his wife have found remnants of the old foundations in his basements, and charcoal that is probably what remains of the old wooden buildings. He also found the old stacked-stone wells in his backyards, and has dug out one of them, to find it filled with discarded bottles. Jeremy is still finding old pottery molds as he cleans out the portion of his property that was the pottery shop. If anyone want pottery molds, he is giving them away for free. Contact him at jeremyhaydenwiley@yahoo.com.
Jeremy also showed us the marker that indicates where the first church service was held outdoors in 1790. It stands in the graveyard, below and to the left of the current church.
The West Alexander graveyard is lovely and peaceful, right between the town’s two churches. Similar to Beallsville, much of the old architecture in West Alexander is still intact, in spite of at least two major fires.
The people of West Alexander are making a strong effort to improve their town. Jeremy is working on his property, a community center recently opened along the main street, and the recreation committee is fund-raising for a community playground. The owner of the old bank building (see above) seeks to renovate the building into condos or apartments, and even hopes to re-open the theater that once graced the top floor. Al and I thoroughly enjoyed our visit to this pretty little community, and plan to stop back and check on its progress.
COMING NEXT: Now that we’ve completed our drive along Pennsylvania’s section of the National Road, it’s on to West Virginia and beyond!
https://old.post-gazette.com/neigh_washington/20030504wacover0504p2.asp
Vivian, Cassandra. The National Road in Pennsylvania. Charleston, SC: Arcadia Publishing, 2003.