INDEX #2 of Stories

Hemline High-Jinks

by Cornelia M. Parkinson

Fashion is a thing used and dropped, changed a bit then used - and again dropped, over and over. Fashion might have started when Eve asked Adam, "Does this fig leaf make me look fat?" and the exasperated male, not sure what she wanted him to say, answered, "No, little darlin', it's those caramel apples." We don't know for certain that they wore anything but birthday suits, for long-ago artists' depiction of that First Couple sporting leaves could be mere artistic license hoping not to offend either peasanty or gentry.

Garments in general could have been intended as much to increase intergender speculation as to protect the wearer from weather, or to draw attention by revealing and/or concealing features the owner is proud of or never got any of. On a scorching 1930s summer day our neighbor, a slender older woman, said to my mother, "The only reason I wear this corset is to stay warm."

Artful revealment has always been in fashion. Men with suitable figures favored tight-fitting

breeches to the knee, with silken stockings to show off a manly calf. The Scots have a saying about the kilt [a man's pleated tartan "skirt"]: "He has/hasn't the leg for it." For women, the bustle [a seriously enlarged backside] was briefly popular as an added attraction. Maybe men lost interest, but women weary of dragging around that extra weight were relieved when by 1870 the bustle had flown the fashion coop. The expression "hustle your bustle" was used in a previous Courier article.

One mystery feature of men's trousers was no fly, no front opening. However, a V-shaped

flap, open from the waist down several inches, solved that problem. It was held up by three buttons, and generally concealed by the vest or frock coat. [You may have read about frock coats but haven't a clue what they looked like. We would call them a suit jacket, nicely fitted, with the long front tails cut away or else buttoned back for convenience when a-horseback.]

A woman's waist was supposed to be tiny, even after you were a matron who had borne the

10 children that, for centuries, made up the family. Scarlett O'Hara, small though she was,

complained about her corset so tight that it might make her belch. In my early teens I knew a tall girl who had a 16" waistline, and loved to brag about it. Not knowing her for long, I cannot say if the passage of years and the bearing of children could have expanded that desirable number.

To accentuate the waist, skirts were extremely full, made more so by several heavily starched

and ironed petticoats worn underneath. Or/ also hoops, made of whalebone, pleasant to behold but a blasted nuisance to wearer and observer alike, as they took up a big space that could not be condensed, and when a gentleman encountered a hoop-skirted lady on a narrow walkway, it was he who had to step aside - often into the mud -- to make room for her to pass.

In this connection, a few centuries after, “circle skirts" [a full circle of material that swung

enticingly when the wearer was walking] did not need, but were often worn with, a stiffened

petticoat. Costumes for one 1950s Minstrel Show chorus, Jane Spencer directing, were coral-colored cotton circle skirts and a black-and-white striped blouse. The skirts were pretty, but endless to iron.

One great, everlasting fashion offense was committed by the royal person who introduced the Empire waist. The waistline was raised to rest directly under the bosom, giving every wearer the

look of a five-month pregnancy. I never found this style attractive, even when the lady was at that stage. But, along that line, let us discuss the codpiece, also previously whispered of. This was a fairly short-lived male fashion designed to call attention to and exaggerate the male endowment. The Peasant Wedding, a 1568 painting by Pieter Bruegel The Elder (1520- 1569) showed all the men wearing codpieces, which led one viewer, 450 years later, to ask if it were everyone's wedding night.

Yes, we are slowly approaching the subject of hemlines. They were floor-length for so many

decades that a gown revealing the ankle was scandalous. Fashion was offensive enough when

women ceased to wear dress gloves and hats -- and any gown that outlined the figure underneath was just outrageous. [We are not talking here about ancient Egyptians and Greeks -- they lived in hot countries and were sensible enough to dress accordingly.]

How did anyone know what was in fashion? You attended indoor neighborhood events such

as quilting parties [house] and husking bees [barn], paying attention to what others wore. Or

someone might travel abroad and bring back, if not the latest fashion, a drawing whose style you could copy in fine fabric. You gladly attended fancy dress balls. For the first two occasions you wore less than best because work was involved. A fancy dress ball or dance called for exactly that: your rootin'-tootin' eye-poppin' best. If you were single, your potential mate might show up. If you were married but fooled around some, the same applied. If you were married and sticking to it, you could still feast your eyes. There were subtle advantages to whatever state you were in.

The subject of extra fabric in women's clothes was addressed by Sarah Josepha Hale, the

Liberated editor of * Godey's Lady's Book [more later], and writer of "Mary Had a little Lamb." She was directly influential in the erecting of the Bunker Hill Monument, the first public playground, and day nurseries; she suggested the admission of women into medical practice, and the uniform celebration of Thanksgiving Day [President Lincoln listened, and acted], while herself remaining a model of fashion and gracious dignity.

With interim compromises such as pantalets worn with a mid-calf skirt [tut-tut, the scandal

of women wearing men's clothing!] long dresses crippled along in popularity until the late 19-teens and World War I. This applied even to little girls, whose suffered fashions like Mama's. Since history fails to document the problems presented by the tomboy who climbed trees and got down on her knees to play marbles and jacks with the boys, or straddled a horse and rode around the pasture, we might suppose it never happened - though of course it did. For a long time, girls were protected from any physical activity not having to do with housework – but there was plenty of that every day, to keep young feminine muscles toned.

We're still discussing fashion, not your everyday outfit that gave a tug o' the forelock to

fashion but a more realistic curtsey to necessity. The major concession to hot weather for women was lighter-weight fabrics and short puffy sleeves that just covered the shoulder points. Britain's Queen Victoria who despite bearing eight children remained prudishly strict, might have grown faint at the notion of exposing flesh in the daytime. In the evening the proper lady exhibited a shocking acreage of bare chest, back and arm -- although she often wore long "elbow gloves" that nearly reached the puffed sleeve. The blessing of thin fabrics was defeated by the quantity of underwear decreed by propriety: corset, corset cover or chemise, panties, and -- naturally -- several starched and ironed petticoats.

The petticoat was replaced later on by a slip, still worn but not by very many. Having narrow

shoulder straps and no sleeves, a slip is a full-length shaped undergarment reaching barely to the hem of the dress and once a great embarrassment if it showed. Now many women wear slacks, so they don't need a slip. Or shorter skirts, no underpinnings desired. Most males already know that females have limbs.

Men were not given much summertime relief either, being required to don a full suit

including tie and vest. The fabric might be lightweight, but there was still an awful lot of it. Men

too had to wear underwear. For both genders, everything was layers. Got to cover all that skin.

I must be extremely old-fashioned even to think this, but there is no more delightful eye

candy than a good-looking man dressed in a white shirt, suit and tie - and his shoes shining. It

shows pride and self-respect, even when no one speaks a word of approval. The formality of it may account for the attraction of the military uniform, where all the parts are kept neat and sparkling.

World War I -- or perhaps in equal degree, the Industrial Revolution of the 1800s -- deserves

a lot of credit for liberating women from layers and from excessive use of fabric. As machines came into use, the working woman's clothing had to be cut closer to her body and frills eliminated, to prevent catching in the machine. And certainly, women were weary of garmental constriction.

This viewpoint was upheld by *Godey's Lady's Book, a Philadelphia-printed magazine with,

for many years, one illustration, hand-colored, in every issue. [This was so often torn out and framed that museums wishing to display whole copies had a hard time finding any.] One writer, who wrote an entire book about it, still called Godey’s"mediocre," though it used illustrations by famous American artists, plus poetry, fiction, period jokes we wouldn't "get” today, social advice and comment, and essays by such as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Horace Greeley, Edgar Allen Poe, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Herman Melville, and Nathaniel Hawthorne. Circulation reached 150,000, dwindling to 100,000 at the end. The magazine, $3 yearly, lasted from 1830 to 1898, when it was shoved into oblivion by other publications such as Graham's and Peterson's.

Hemlines were like an elevator -- up, then down, then up. In the Depression years of the

1930s into World War II years, hemlines were more or less stable at the kneecap. This was a

comfortable length, appropriate on most women. Everything was in short supply, so wartime

manufacturers patriotically “saved fabric" by keeping skirts at that length. Right after that war

ended, skirts used yards more material in the “New Look," slightly A-shaped, the hem at mid-calf. I used to be a seamstress, and a woman bought a coat of the New Look and had me shorten it to mid-knee, throwing herself out of the fashion loop. She hadn't liked the feel of the coat skirts brushing her legs with every step. The A-line skirt was popular only with some, for as one wearer said, it made her look as if she had a big A.

On the other hand, you might or might not like the hampering feel of a "pencil line" skirt that

went straight down from hip to knee or lower. The longer ones were hard to walk in, and the shorter ones slithered right up to show your stocking tops when you sat down. You had to be very careful about that style.

Fashions in general eased away from the too-much-prettiness of pre-1900 until the decoration

diminished and the cut of the dress or coat was most all the decoration anybody got.

But! There was the Zoot Suit, for men. This splendid example of exaggerated cut came into

being around 1940 and, with few exceptions such as entertainers who perpetuated it, went out so fast it never got shiny. The Zoot Suit was WIDE. Wide padded shoulders, wide lapels that went east and west to cover nearly the entire chest, gaunt waistline, and wide-cut trousers that tapered down to the ankle. The cut was even more effective in a vertical chalkstripe fabric. A tall, comely local man, RTHS member in life, whose name I recall but will not sully, was seen dancing to the juke box at the Blue Bonnet café wearing a Zoot Suit complete with flowing tie and knee-length golden watch chain heavy enough to hold a mad bull at the starting gate. I have to say it, girls - yumm!

For teenage femmes' leisure wear there were two designs that occurred in my youth: the

farmerette and the broomstick skirt. The broomstick skirt was a dirndl (full-ish, gathered onto a

waistband) that to follow the intention was wrapped spirally around a broomstick and dried. Cottons of that era wrinkled, more so when you didn't want them to, so you had that IN look without much effort. Or the skirt could be ironed, making a proper dirndl. The farmerette was a jeans-fabric overall for girls, with heavy shoulder straps and buckles, cut knee length. It was meant to be worn with a blouse. One girl I knew wore hers without, not a style everyone could emulate, though the boys seemed to think it was pretty hot stuff. Earlier on, there were "beach pyjamas," sort of what you'd expect, in daytime fabrics. For a while, shorts sets included matching blouse, shorts, and overskirt. Then came in short shorts which, like the Zoot suit, inspired a song. These have entered the hall of permanent fashion, shown off by many a female who “hasn't the leg for it." I remember being taken to a burlesque show at the Gaiety Theatre in Washington DC, and being surprised that one tall dancer wore a costume that revealed the bottom curves of her, er, bottom.

Another fashion statement left best unspoken: the waist-to-ankle leotard, or tights, of many

colors and designs, too often worn, surely not by popular request, by females who haven't believed a mirror in the past twenty years.

Currently in vogue is whatever you want. If you like your skirts long, you pick the length. If you like the mini-est of minis, that's it. If you like to flaunt your pregnancy, you wear a stretch top too small and it's right out there for all to view. You can go to church or a party or on a date in

T-shirts and jeans. Women who have discovered the convenience of slacks and some sort of top

have adopted it for all occasions. Yet men still dress up every day and would not dream otherwise.

Women wear a nice dress, or a skirted suit, to business. That is a pleasure to see. A lot of

companies have designated Friday as dress-down day, when more casual outfits are acceptable.

Teachers used to wear nice clothing Monday through Friday, but now appear in whatever outfit they threw on for the day. I know one middle-school lady teacher who dresses well every day. The students call her "fancy." Like the rest of us, she too is wearing whatever she wants.

Rise of the Purple & Gold

by Mark Myers, Mary Stoots, & Ray Karnes

NFL football, as we know it, started with two Reynoldsburg boys. The Nesser brothers, Ted and Frank, who lived off Brice and Livingston respectively, were featured backs in the first pro football league in 1920. Their team, the Panhandles, drew crowds wherever it went and made innovations to the game.

Years later, however, Reynoldsburg High School was one of the last to put on pads and helmets.

After the War, few noticed that Reynoldsburg boys were playing pick-up, no-pad football in the sandlot behind Forest Lawn Cemetery off Broad Street, where they learned from the Gahanna squad. And our boys got hurt.

Alarmed, parents and other community leaders began to pressure the School Board to adopt football so that their sons could dress adequately. They got a community effort going for a Raider team to play in the fall of 1946.

They recruited Frank Howe as their first coach and laid out a field next to the old Grange Hall behind the Jackson Street School (now the Hannah J. Ashton School). The father of team member Ray Karnes was an electrician and volunteered to put up the lights; to get water from the creek to the newly sodded field, Colonel Windom loaned a pump from the National Guard; wrestling promoter Al Haft sent some bleachers. The field could be laid out only one way, which meant the south end-zone abutted Silent Home Cemetery. This would spook out several opposing teams who refused to retrieve balls that landed among tombstones during the season. The east side of the field, the visitors’ side, lay next to a swamp; and if someone fell off the bleachers over there, he came up wet. Legend had it that a peat-bog fire smoldered underground for years in that area, but the swamp was probably created by the brick factory’s clay quarry, which was never filled in properly.

Frank had little money with which to operate, no time, and no uniforms. The team had to go independent and look for opposing teams to fill out their schedule.

Jim Kielmeyer, a member of the Reynoldsburg Athletic Hall of Fame and halfback on that first team, remembers, “Coach Howe was in touch with a salesman at Davidson Sporting Goods and was complaining that they had no uniforms. The salesman informed him that Martin’s Ferry, state champs, wanted new uniforms and were willing to sell their old ones. Frank jumped at the chance. “I don’t care what colors they are; we need uniforms, and we need them fast!” The RHS basketball team wore orange and black; the colors from Martin’s Ferry turned out to be different -- purple and gold.

The community decided to name the new field “Truro Township Memorial Athletic Field.” It was only one year after World War II ended. The students were used to seeing empty chairs, draped in cloth, on the graduation stage, for the class members who had left to fight for their country. Coach Howe had just returned from serving in the military. The field name was appropriate.

The Raiders lost to Hilliard away in their opening game. The first game at home was under the lights against Pataskala on September 27, 1946. The bleachers were full; cheerleaders roused the crowd; Captain Ralph “Took” Arnett, the tall, bruising fullback, led the team onto the field. Bob Runyon was the quarterback.

At half time, the crowd, still stunned at how well Pataskala moved the ball, listened to the town’s war hero, Colonel Loren Windom, who was awarded both the Silver Star and Bronze Star Medals. He had led the 145th Infantry Regiment in taking the Philippines back from the Japanese. Colonel, later Major General Windom, lived within walking distance of the new field. He, along with another high-ranking officer from the Ohio National Guard, presided over the twenty-one-gun salute, playing of taps, and raising of the flag over Memorial Field at half-time. Pataskala had two All-State players on their team. The Raiders got trounced 28-0.

This loss did not get the team down, according to Ray Karnes, also a halfback on that first team. “We had a hidden enthusiasm, which I think the other teams did not realize. They thought of us as ‘country boys,’ since we lived so far east, and took us for granted.”

The Raiders were made of tough stuff. Several of the players came from Whitehall, as that city did not have a high school then. If you lived in Whitehall, you either went to Bexley High School or RHS. Getting to Reynoldsburg was not always a given. There were no “soccer moms” to drive you there. The players would grab the ladder on the back of an oil truck and hang on. They knew when the trucks slowed down to shift gears before and after climbing the hills, which used to be on Main street. These were the boys’ hopping on-and-off points.

The players wore leather helmets with no face masks. Other than former boy scouts who used to usher at the OSU football games, many had never seen a football game. They played both ways, offense and defense, and those in the marching band changed uniforms and marched with the band at half-time.

Coach Howe had no back-ups for his offensive stars. “I played both ways and never missed a down in two years,” Jim recalls, “except for one play when they taped my broken thumb; I drop-kicked our field goals and averaged thirty carries a game.”

The boys’ pride in their school was absolute; after all, the seniors had spent twelve years in the same building. They had waited for football to come to the high school for a long time. “We practiced harder and smarter,” Ray says. “The field had a few soft spots, usually muddy, and the team would head to those spots to warm up before games. Once we got a little dirty, it took the edge off, and we were ready to go.”

The Raiders bounced back in their third game, managing a tie with Liberty Union and then won-out the rest of the season--over Bremen, Utica, Hebron (with Lauretta Walters first football homecoming queen), and Hamilton Township. They concluded the season with a convincing 49-7 victory over Columbus East High School. The Raiders finished 5-2-1 that first year.

In their second season, the Raiders continued to be competitive despite losing seven of their stars to graduation. They even knocked off Grove City, favored to win the championship, and Hilliard, who benefited from that win, sent the boys a bouquet of flowers, which they proudly displayed in the trophy case. Ray continues, “We proved that we were no rag-tag outfit and were accepted into the Franklin County Football League.”

Thus began new legends, now seventy-four years in the making. The nearby swamp, where the toads and frogs peeped and trilled among the cattails in the spring, was sporting a new song in the fall—cheering and brass horns, the sounds of the Purple and Gold.

74 YEARS LATER – by Mary Turner Stoots

I wanted to give you an idea of what happened to a few of the fellows mentioned in this story after they graduated:

RALPH “TOOK” ARNETT (#41 - in the center of the photo)

Ralph retired from the Columbus Police Department after 25 years of service. Has was a 1947 Reynoldsburg High School graduate and member of the RHS Athletic Hall of Fame. Ralph served in the military police during the Korean War. He was a lifetime member of VFW Post 3761 in Baltimore, Ohio, and a member of the Central Ohio Police and Fire Retirees. Ralph passed away on December 30, 2007, in Bonita Springs, Florida.

JIM KIELMEYER (#27 - 3rd row, 4th from the right)

October 6, 1930, to January 31, 2019 - Jim was a 1948 RHS graduate and life-long resident of Reynoldsburg. He was a member of the very first Reynoldsburg High School football team and one of the earliest members inducted into the RHS Athletic Hall of Fame. He was also a founding member of the Reynoldsburg-Truro Historical Society. Jim worked as an Independent Insurance Agent for 30+ years in the Reynoldsburg community before retiring from the Reynoldsburg City Schools as a Custodian.

RAY KARNES (#32 – First row, 3rd from the left)

Since Ray is a long-time member of the Reynoldsburg-Truro Historical Society, I asked him to give me some information about himself. His account is so entertaining that I will let him tell you in his own words (unedited):

“After graduation as class cut-up (smart ass), I went to Ohio University, where I spent time on the wrong Dean’s list maintaining D level grades mainly by the grace of merciful professors and probably to the unspoken disgust of my parents. The next year I worked for Kroger Co. in Columbus, thanks to Carlton Burnett, father of Maxine and Sonny, and when the Korean War broke out, Jack Friedlander and I joined the U.S. Air Force.

Always curious, I volunteered for something called Project 709 and found myself in a form of intelligence gathering by monitoring radio communications of all nations, but primarily those of Korean, Russian, and Chinese. I guess it would be similar to what would be computer hacking in today’s communications. I was fortunate to be assigned to an army base that was composed of members of all the services except Marines and Coast Guard, who were served by the Navy. Since the Air Force was the junior service, we were assigned all the coffee runs and dirty duty until the Air Force complained mightily, and changes were made to assure more fair treatment of we poor downtrodden “boys in blue.” As a result, my Navy boss, who was a mustang (Navy enlisted man who rose to commissioned officer status), took me under his wing and saw to my promotion immediately upon becoming eligible. His recommendations must have had me walking on water, for I rose from PFC to Staff Sergeant in 21 months, some kind of record.

At that point, I was satisfied because I knew I would not re-enlist, and this rank removed me from all the details and after-hour duty, gave me my own room, and other simple perks. During this time (1953), I married a beautiful young Kentucky lass who helped me mature beyond the smart-ass level, straightened me out, and gave me a sense of responsibility, which up to this point, I had lacked.

Discharged in 1954, I continued to work for the government at the National Security Agency (yeah, that one) but left it after two years to attend OSU from which I graduated in 1959.

There followed work as an Assistant Manager of a restaurant until I got into trade association work and trekked about Maryland, Virginia, Washington D.C., and Minnesota until finally landing in Wisconsin, where I guided the Wisconsin Petroleum Marketers and Convenience Stores Association until my retirement in 1993.

We retired to Richmond, Kentucky, built a home, and lived there for 19 years, where we essentially established roots for the first time and became members of the community, church, and other activities.

Jenny, my wife, was very talented in the crafts, having been a professional seamstress and worked in clay, knitting, and dress design. At the same time, I buried myself in pastimes such as American Legion activities (speaking, visiting schools, WWII roundtable, Civil War Roundtable, fundraising, etc.), AARP, and other stuff.

Since the death of my wife of 59 years in 2012, I’ve kinda rattled around taking up space and contributing little to the general welfare, and I currently live with my eldest son in Stoughton, Wisconsin. I travel back to Kentucky at least once annually, for that is the only place we ever really felt at home.

I was never a candidate for the “Burg Football Hall of Fame” for several obscure reasons, such as lack of speed afoot, only fair hands for reception, so-so deceptive running, passable defense, just good enough to be varsity but no stand-out. I just liked to hit and get hit, the sheer joy of violent contact, strange for a skinny kid: too many better guys, Arnett, Kielmeyer, Friedlander, Schultz among them.

Even my number, 32, came up sullied to a degree for it was the same number worn by O. J. Simpson of some note in football lore. Sigh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fifty-two days until I turn 90. Lawsy Miss Mitchell. To quote Mickey Mantle, “If I had known I would live this long, I would have taken better care of myself.”

Reynoldsburg Street Names

by Cornelia M. Parkinson

In case you’re wondering how some local streets got their names, here are a few. All the individuals recognized were people who served on local boards, were prominent in church, charity, and community work, created businesses, or were in some way qualified to have a street named to honor them:

ADAMS AVENUE

Presidents John Adams (2nd) and John Quincy Adams (6th)

AIDA DRIVE

Musical terms were used for Roundelay, Nocturne, and Aida (Ah-eeda, an opera)

ANNE COURT

Anne, Lauretta, and Feather Walters were daughters of the man who, along with others, sold his land to Brookside developers.

APPLE ALLEY

John D. French, who had the area surveyed for a town, used the custom of the time, often naming the streets for trees

AYERS DRIVE

Ayers Drive was called after John Samuel Ayers, the originator of the Ayers Addition on Truro Road in 1914

BALDWIN ROAD AND BALDWIN JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL

named for Russell Baldwin, sales representative for Quaker Oats, who served on a town board and was an annual participant in the Pony Chorus of the Reynoldsburg Minstrel Show

BARTLETT COURT

honored Walter Bartlett, who was on the school board for years; he was a community worker, an end man in Jane Spencer’s minstrel show

BRAUNING DRIVE

Ernest C. Brauning was a greatly respected Presbyterian Church elder

BRICE ROAD

The town of Brice and Brice Road were named for Calvin Stewart Brice, a lieutenant colonel at age 21, attorney for the T & C Railroad, six years a U.S. Senator, and influential enough to change a railway route to go through Joseph B. Powell’s 300 acres. In 1833 Powell’s plat for 11.7 acres became a “dry“ town named Brice. The requirement was no liquor, or the town would revert to the Powell family, and it was many long thirsty years before you could get a drink there. The Powells have not tested the original stipulation

BROAD STREET

John D. French, who had the area surveyed for a town, used the custom street names of the time. Broad Street became Broadwyn Drive when home mail delivery came to Reynoldsburg in the late 1950s. Seymoure Hickman petitioned City Council to make the change so as to differentiate The Burg’s Broad. Street from Route 16, north of the city. We began to get street signs at that time.

BROADWYN DRIVE

Broad Street became Broadwyn Drive when home mail delivery came to Reynoldsburg in the late 1950s. Seymoure Hickman petitioned City Council to make the change so as to differentiate The Burg’s Broad Street from Route 16, north of the city. We began to get street signs at that time.

BURKEY AVENUE & COURT

named for Wayne Burkey, who sold his farmland to the developers of Marabar. His daughters were Mary Elaine and Barbara; therefore, Marabar

BUSH BOULEVARD

Presidents George H.W. Bush (41st) or George W. Bush (43rd)

CLEMENS PLACE

named for the long-serving city councilman, and son-in-law of Waldo Wollam, a former Mayor

CLYMER DRIVE

Kay Clymer was the village clerk for years

CONNELL COURT

Connell Court is named for the family of James Connell. James farmed in Licking County; his descendants lived and traded in the Reynoldsburg area only a few miles from the ancestral home. In 1842, when one of the roads in Etna was laid out, James was one of three “viewers” who did the surveying. He was also a deacon in the Reynoldsburg United Presbyterian Church.

James’s son James M. Connell owned a creamery and several dairies and milk stations. In 1904 he was the first rural mail carrier out of Reynoldsburg. He was a member of the village council and the board of education.

Elzy Connell was a grandson of the first James. He also served on the school board and played tuba in the community band. Elzy owned and operated Connell Hardware from 1923 until his death in 1948. Established in 1872 by Samuel Osborn, the business was first known as Osborn Tin Shop, making and mending needed household buckets, tubs, pitchers, bowls, pans, etc. Osborn’s three sons ran it until his daughter Nelle Osborn Connell and her husband Elzy took it over, changed the name, and moved the store to a different building on Main Street. Elzy’s son Ralph owned and managed the hardware store for nearly 59 years. After his death in 2007, George “Cody” LeMaster managed the store until he, too, died. Store contents were sold; The business was active without interruption for 137 years. It was the oldest commercial establishment in Reynoldsburg. Today Vick’s Gourmet Pizza owns the building.

Connell Court honors the family of our Ralph, 1943 RHS graduate, ex-Coast Guardsman, active Mason and Past Master, Reynoldsburg-Truro Historical Society (RTHS) member/officer, owner/operator of Connell Hardware, which was the only hardware store and the oldest business in town for years and years. His breakfast buddies kidded Ralph about not wanting to pay for his second cup of coffee; all the same, Ralph was a kind and generous man who knew everybody, quietly helped many and welcomed kids to warm up in his store in winter.

COTTINGHAM ROAD

Harold Cottingham was a realtor

CYPRESS ALLEY

Cypress Alley (beside the old Methodist Church) was named for the bald cypress tree, marked by an RTHS plaque, across Main Street from the alley. It was planted 125-150 years ago by Samuel Chamberlain 1844-1912. Bald cypresses are conifers related to redwoods. They shed their needles in fall and only rarely survive Northern winters. The alley was named in the 1980s by a fireman trying to get a fix on where to send fire trucks.

DAUGHERTY DRIVE

Richard Daugherty (Dick Dock-erty) was an aware and competent mayor and had a great sense of the ridiculous

DAVIDSON DRIVE

Named for Jo Ann Davidson, local councilwoman and later Speaker of the Ohio House of Representatives.

Jo Ann Davidson was born on September 28, 1927, in Findlay, Ohio. Upon attaining adulthood, Davidson moved to Reynoldsburg, Ohio, where she raised her family and embarked upon a political career. She first ran for the Reynoldsburg City Council as a Republican in 1965, but voters elected another candidate. Two years later, Davidson won a seat on the city council. After spending a decade in this position, she won election as the clerk of Truro Township, and in 1980, voters elected her to the Ohio House of Representatives. Davidson served as a representative for the next twenty years, the maximum allowable by law due to term limits.

She held leadership roles since 1985 as assistant minority whip, minority whip, and minority leader. She advocated welfare reform and played a major role in the deregulation of electricity in the state. In 1995, her fellow representatives selected her as the Speaker of the Ohio House. She was the first woman to hold this position and remained as Speaker until leaving the House of Representatives in 2001.

Davidson has also served on the Ohio Turnpike Commission as vice chair and a member of the Franklin County Mental Health Board. Within the Ohio House, Speaker Davidson served as chair of the Rules and Reference Committee and as an ex-officio member of all House Standing Committees. She was a member of the Legislative Services Commission and Capitol Square Review and Advisory Board.

Davidson was active in the Reynoldsburg-Pickerington Rotary Club and the Columbus Area Women’s Political Caucus, and has been honored many times for her active participation in her community and politics. Some recognitions of her service include Outstanding Legislator, 1988 by the United Conservatives of Ohio; Watchdog of the Treasury Award, United Conservatives of Ohio; 1991 Legislator of the Year, National Republican Legislators Association; Women’s Hall of Fame induction, 1991; YWCA Woman of Achievement Award; and an Honorary Doctor of Law Degree, Ohio University.

Davidson is the founder and President of JAD Associates, a consulting firm focusing on public policy development and analysis, strategic planning, and political campaigns. In 2005, she was elected to serve as co-chair of the Republican National Committee.

Upon stepping down as a representative, Davidson has remained active in various boards and charity organizations. She has served on the board of trustees of The Ohio State University, Franklin University, and the University of Findlay. Over her life, Davidson has also been a member of or assisted the Reynoldsburg Parent-Teacher Association, the Girl Scouts of America, the March of Dimes, the Ohio Chamber of Commerce, and the American Heart Association.

FEATHER COURT

Feather, Anne, and Lauretta Walters were daughters of the man who, along with others, sold his land to Brookside developers.

FILLMORE LANE

President Millard S. Fillmore

FORRESTER WAY

In 1867 William A. Forrester, a Civil War veteran in his late twenties, reopened a quarry that had been worked for most of the time from 1828 to 1854 *. Located on Waggoner Road, it was one of the largest blue freestone quarries in Ohio. Forrester employed several men, who walked the mile or more to and from work each day. He used double sets of steam-powered saws and kept them working constantly. He operated the quarry through at least 1909.

The stone was used for windowsills and lintels, house foundations, bridges on the National Road, and tombstones. In the 1800s, Main Street in Reynoldsburg had sidewalks made of slabs of this freestone. Local tradition said a stone was sent to be put into the Washington Monument [under construction 1848-1884 *; so that could be]. Two houses built in the town are constructed of this tannish stone from Forrester’s Quarry. The site of the quarry is now Pine Quarry Park. The 1890 house still stands on Main Street, east of Graham Road. Wilson Rush had the 1907 house built at the corner of Lancaster Road and Rich Street when the New Addition [Highland Terrace, by Dusenberry and Koontz] was into its first phases.

Many of the park’s trees were planted in the late 1930s by teenager Richard W. Parkinson, working for Frank Gerlach (a popular hairdresser) who owned the land. The seedlings came from the State of Ohio Department of Conservation.

Harry A. Forrester, son of William, was educated as a veterinary surgeon at The Ohio State University. For 2½ years, he was in government service in the Philippines. He became seriously ill and returned to Reynoldsburg. He died at age 30. Reverend Robert Forrester served as the United Presbyterian minister from 1839 until his death in 1861 at age 56.

FRENCH DRIVE & FRENCH RUN CREEK

named to honor John D. French, who had a town surveyed. It is repetitive to say, “French Run Creek” when “run” means “creek.”

GODFREY CIRCLE

named for John “Jack” Godfrey, a former prisoner of war in Germany during WWII, then Columbus Dispatch writer and later, with Doral Chenoweth, owner of the Reynoldsburg Reporter; also, shy and reluctant 1996-1997 Senior King of the Tomato Festival (with Senior Queen Connie Parkinson, not at all shy, merely astounded.)

GOSS PLACE

Goss Place got its name from Wayne Goss, a local contractor

GRAHAM ROAD

Graham Road (now that part south of Main Street) was named for the Graham families, dependable, industrious, and influential pioneers in the area.

HAFT DRIVE

named for Al Haft, wrestling promoter and owner of major acreage, and Haft Motel and Restaurant.

HAMMOND ROAD

Don Hammond was a popular local barber for years

HANSON STREET

named for Capt. John Hanson who bought land here in 1806

HENTZ DRIVE

John Hentz was an insurance salesman

OLD HIGHBANKS COURT

Highbanks was a swimming hole in Blacklick Creek

HOOTMAN ROAD

Clifton R. “Red” Hootman served on municipal boards

HOOVER AVENUE

President Herbert Hoover

JACKSON AVENUE

I don’t know when Jackson Avenue was named, but General Andrew Jackson was elected 7th President of the U.S. in 1828 and 1832; naming after Presidents is still popular.

On the Reynoldsburg 1872 map, Jackson is Street, and its direct continuation north (merely a pathway) is not named. Now, it was discovered, Jackson is ‘Street’ south of Main, but north of Main, the pathway is Epworth Avenue, and Jackson ‘Avenue’ is farther west. The Franklin County Auditor Parcel identifications for every property on Jackson south of Main are given a Jackson ‘Avenue’ address, but the crossroad signs say Jackson Street.

When Dusenbery and Koontz developed Highland Terrace in 1904, they may have thought Avenue sounded more high-class. Or maybe city workers accidentally messed up the street signs south of Main Street.

KENNEDY PARK

President John F. Kennedy

LAIRD AVENUE

Charles Munson (“Mun”) Laird was a businessman

LANCASTER AVENUE

Lancaster Avenue becomes State Route 256 and leads to Lancaster, Ohio, and beyond.

LAURETTA COURT

Lauretta, Anne, and Feather Walters were daughters of the man who, along with others, sold his land to Brookside developers.

LEMERT LANE

named for mayor Charles Lemert

LINCOLN LANE

President Abraham Lincoln

LIVINGSTON AVENUE

Regardless of what you were told or believe, this road was not named for Alexander Livingston. It was named for Col. James Livingston, a Revolutionary War veteran and NOT Alexander’s father, and other well-known family members.

Livingston Avenue was first known as South Public Lane in Columbus. At some point, it was renamed for Col. James Livingston, claimant to 1,280 acres in the Refugee Tract. John Livingston claimed 640 acres of military lands here, but the street wasn’t named for him. Nor, contrary to the Eastside Messenger some time ago, was it named for Edward Livingston. Edward 1764-1836 may or may not have served in the Revolutionary War; Edward Livingston was NOT one of the 67 claimants to receive refugee lands.

LUCKS ROAD

Hartl (pronounced heart-ull) W. Lucks was a businessman and served on the village council

LUNN COURT

At Brook Farm development is Lunn Court, named for Josiah and/or Dr. Lewis T. Lunn. The Lunn family, for whom Lunn Court is named, left Bucks County, Pennsylvania, in 1833. After 30 days’ travel in a horse-drawn wagon, they camped overnight near Reynoldsburg. The next morning, they headed West again. Just past the village-to-be, the horse’s harness broke. While the men were making repairs, the sun rose on a clear, beautiful day. The family looked at the sparkling waters of broad, deep-flowing Blacklick Creek and the fertile land and decided to stay. Benjamin V. Lunn bought 150 acres for $2000. His land bordered on the creek and included a millrace. Lunn died within six months and was one of the first to be buried in the Primitive Baptist churchyard.

Lunn’s two sons were Josiah R. and Benjamin Vastine Lunn. Josiah, a hog and sheep farmer, served on the Reynoldsburg Board of Education for over 20 years. He and his wife, Margaret Graham, had three sons and four daughters. Birney, one son, was a dairyman. Esta, a daughter, was a small, chirpy, industrious woman who operated a dry goods store here for about 50 years [and gave Green Stamps, with which you could get good things priced very low]. She was greatly respected for her sound business sense. She was named to serve on various village committees, such as the first water commission in the 1930s. She was a partner in the Graham and Lunn general store. Lewis Lunn, M.D., was the local physician.

MADISON AVENUE

President James Madison

MAIN STREET

John French, who had the area surveyed for a town, used the custom of the time, naming streets Broad, Main, South, North, etc.

MARTY DRIVE

Marty Drive was so called for John Marty and/or for his wife Carol, a good-looking soprano with a big, beautiful voice

McNAUGHTEN ROAD

McNaughten Road, another major north-south way, is named for the McNaghten* family who came early and whose family papers are now owned by the Reynoldsburg-Truro Historical Society (RTHS). The family papers are now titled “The McNaghten Collection” and contain over 300 binders of genealogy, pictures, maps, legal documents, etc., along with various artifacts.

The McNaghten Collection is the lifetime achievement of Eleanor Wilson Shonting, whose mother was a McNaughten. It is most likely one of the largest genealogy collections orchestrated by one individual in all of Franklin County or possibly the State of Ohio.

* The “U” was not added to McNaughten until the early 1900s

MERRINGER AVENUE

Merringer Avenue and Schenk Avenue are named for two heroic young men, Harold Schenk and Joseph “Bo” Merringer, who gave their lives to save a boy who decided to swim Blacklick Creek while it was in flood. The boy lived.

NOCTURNE ROAD

Musical terms were used for Roundelay, Nocturne, and Aida (Ah-eeda, an opera)

NOE-BIXBY ROAD

Quite a number of men were surnamed Noe (No-EE): Williams Noe, his sons David Pugh, Oscar, and Daniel; Alpheus A., Eli, Jonathan C., all farmers, and most of them Masons. (For at least 200 years, nearly all men belonged to some fraternal organization.) Jonathan was one of nine Master Masons who petitioned Ohio’s Grand Master to create a Masonic Lodge in Reynoldsburg (first meeting March 5, 1862).

Most notable is Daniel Noe, who died in the Civil War at age 17, and for whom the Reynoldsburg Post of the Grand Army of the Republic was named. The G. A. R. honored Civil War veterans. Its members of the Women’s Relief Corps did much charitable work, including giving oyster suppers to raise funds. Noe-Bixby Road extends to Groveport, and there was likely some important person there named Bixby.

Noe-Bixby Road was once known as Green Road for all the Green families living on it. The mother of our much-revered Hannah J. Ashton was Birdie Alice Green, daughter of Sarah Jane Parkinson and John Covert Green

NORTH DRIVE

John French, who had the area surveyed for a town, used the custom of the time, naming streets Broad, Main, South, North, etc.

PALMER ROAD

named for the Palmer families, particularly for Thomas Palmer, who came to Franklin County in early 1803 as agent for Col. Carpenter Bradford to sell the refugee acreage Bradford had earned. Palmer lived in the area, was our first registered settler, and was a respected local landowner and mill owner. He was killed trying to separate participants in a domestic quarrel.

PARKINSON DRIVE

Richard W. Parkinson added his own sparkle to a pioneering Reynoldsburg family. He was the husband of Cornelia M. Parkinson, who wrote the “History of Reynoldsburg and Truro Township, Ohio.”

Many of the trees in Pine Quarry Park were planted in the late 1930s by teenager Richard W. Parkinson, working for Frank Gerlach (a popular hairdresser) who owned the land. The seedlings came from the State of Ohio Department of Conservation.

PENICK DRIVE

Penick (Pea-nick) Drive was named for a farming family east of The Burg

PICKERING DRIVE

Pickering Drive is so called for the numerous Pickering families who, without my trying to identify them all, founded towns, served in county offices, and owned businesses, including a clean and attractively cluttered second-hand store on Columbus’s High Street, and the local meat market. King Pickering, Franklin County Sealer of Weights and Measures, was a genial, well-known local character who sat on a chair on the sidewalk right outside his house on Main Street and talked to passersby. Once King got a broken leg. His hat blew off, and when he hurried into the street to retrieve it, he failed to notice an oncoming car. Said King, “And don’t you know, he HIT me?”

PIERCE PATH

President Franklin Pierce

PINE QUARRY PARK

Bernard Redman, who served several town posts, along with Evan Williams and others, donated the land the old quarry stood on to the city for Pine Quarry Park

POLK PATH

President James Knox Polk

REAGAN ROAD

President Ronald Reagan

REDMAN LANE

commemorates Bernard Redman, who served several town posts, and who, with Evan Williams and others, donated the land the old quarry stood on and donated it to the city for Pine Quarry Park. Evan was handsome; so was his wife Evelyn; they founded Williams Trailer Sales soon after WWII and kept and rode horses.

REYNOLDS DRIVE

Chances are good that Reynolds Crossing Drive is named for James C. Reynolds. In 1830, the National Road came through, and with it James C. Reynolds, who boarded with John French and had a sutler’s store, which we’d now call a general store, selling all sorts of necessities, very exciting then because you wouldn’t have to walk several miles to get your item(s). In that store, of course, would be the post office, so James quickly got to be well known as the town’s first Postmaster, was elected as a brigadier general by popular vote, and was duly elected to the Ohio Legislature, where he was soon appointed to serve on the standing militia committee.

By 1832, the town was registered by the name Reynoldsburg. Four books of early village records were lost in a flood in the 1970s, so a lot of vital information that might have explained the situation simply drowned.

RICKLY STREET

Rickly Street is actually an alley named for Ed Rickly, justly famous in all Central Ohio for his whole-hog sausage. His plant was at the foot of the hill west off Lancaster Avenue. Ed, a builder also, erected several sturdy houses in the New Addition (Highland Terrace, lots $150, $10 down, $1 a week, pay at the Reynoldsburg Bank).

RODEBAUGH ROAD

Rodebaugh Road gives you a choice. There were three Rodebaugh men (relationship now lost): Edward Wesley Rodebaugh 1856-1923 was a blacksmith (mentor of and partnered with John A Henderlick 1873-1919. Their shop was located at the rear of the Knights of Pythias building [burned], and they guaranteed all work.) C.C. Rodebaugh was a local grocer who went broke giving credit. Dr. Harry A Rodebaugh kept up to date on new medicines, went to Marysville, and opened up a successful Keeley Cure sanitarium for alcoholics. “A much respected, good family man,” said historian Fay May. All the Rodebaugh men were Masons.

ROSE HILL ROAD

Named for Rose Hill, the horse farm of Daniel Hickman 1858-1892. He died following an accident involving himself, a horse, a gate, and a vehicle.
Rose Hill Road is shown on an 1856 map of Truro Township. Likely the road was developed much earlier, as settlers began buying land in that area in 1831. Along that road was located the Rose Hill Stock Farm, where in the 1890s Daniel Hickman bred the finest trotting horses, pacers, and roadsters; and, in the 1930s Rose Hill Farm, headquarters of Henry and Marvin Smith’s cattle trading business

ROSHON AVENUE

named for Clayton Roshon, grocery store owner and Postmaster in the same location. Behind his house on North Lancaster Avenue lies Brookside, a large 1950s development of small-to-medium-sized homes. At the time, residents were outspoken against the development, predicting that it would soon become a trashy neighborhood. Instead, it is neatly maintained, an area we can be justly proud of.

ROUNDELAY

Musical terms were used for Roundelay, Nocturne, and Aida (Ah-eeda, an opera)

SCHENK AVENUE

Schenk Avenue and Merringer Avenue are named for two heroic young men, Harold Schenk and Joseph “Bo” Merringer, who gave their lives to save a boy who decided to swim Blacklick Creek while it was in flood. The boy lived.

SHIVELY ROAD

Ralph Shively’s name was used for Shively Road. Ralph, a Mason, served on the planning/zoning board.

SLACK ROAD

Bryant “Mickey” Slack owned businesses, including a gas station at the traffic light of Main Street and Lancaster. He was a war hero and fought in two World Wars

SOUTH STREET

John French, who had the area surveyed for a town, used the custom street names of the time

STECKEL ROAD

Henry K. “Doc” Steckel was a veterinarian who started Tornado Pest Control

STOUDER DRIVE

named for Mayor Harold "Jack" Stouder

SUGAR ALLEY

John French, who had the area surveyed for a town, used the custom street names of the time. Sugar Alley was later changed to Jackson Street

TAYLOR ROAD & TAYLOR SQUARE

Taylor Road and Taylor Square could have several derivations: the early 1800s Taylor family who came here from Truro, Nova Scotia, which included Robert who named our township; David, cattle drover, strong man, owner of several thousand acres in Truro and Jefferson Townships, platted “Taylor’s Station” and sold lots for a town there, also built “Westcrest,” of which RTHS has a model and which had seven outside doors; Abiather Vinton Taylor, 1830 surveyor of Waggoner Road, and in 1831 of John French’s land; or the various later Taylor families that included Zella, well-known piano teacher, Frank, real estate mogul, Frank G., Reynoldsburg general practitioner, Drs. Walter Boivin (W.B.) and Kenneth Taylor*, general practitioners in Pickerington; dentist Dr. George Taylor; Georgia (m. Headley), a long-time teacher here. Less likely, they are named for President Zachary Taylor (12th).

* Dr. Kenneth Taylor was in medical school when he accompanied his father, Dr. W.B. Taylor, in the delivery of a baby in 1929 to Maude and Garry Wiswell. The child was named Wilma Wiswell. At the age of 19, Wilma married Jack Turner.

In 1952, Dr. Kenneth Taylor delivered Wilma’s daughter, Mary Turner, who is now Mary Turner Stoots; President of the Reynoldsburg-Truro Historical Society

TRUMAN TRAIL

President Harry S. Truman

TRURO ROAD

Named for the Township. John Samuel Ayers was the originator of the Ayers Addition on Truro Road.

TUSSING ROAD

Tussing (“TOO-sing”- the name is Swiss) families lived along the road named for them: George N. Tusing* was an active Primitive Baptist minister; Fred Wilbur Tussing served as school board clerk, Homer Bryan Tussing, who with his family lived in a house James Reynolds had built, ran a Shell gasoline station and kept many canaries in cages there; sister Laura married Robert Lowell McClarren, DVM, for a long time our only practicing veterinarian.

* George Nelson Tusing dropped the “S” in his name so people would pronounce it correctly. G.N. had three sons: Clinton Wiley Tusing retained his father’s single “S,” the other two, L. Benton and Leroy Whitcomb Tussing, took back the “S.” Clinton Wiley had no sons to carry on the single “S” spelling.

WAGGONER ROAD

Waggoner Road has had several names: until about 1936, it was usually called Graham Road (several Graham families owned land along it), or Stone Quarry Road, for the stone quarry that operated from about 1828-1909, and ultimately Waggoner for Martin Waggoner and his brother John, both signers in January 1830 of a petition for a road from the Seceder meeting house (now Five Points) to the Jersey Road (now Clark State). The petition was signed by 66 men, “... inhabitants of the township of Truro and Jefferson. . .” The initial road was built probably in the summer of 1830, is known to have been paved in 1938, and as a primary north-south avenue, has had constant use.

Early on, Waggoner Road might have been referred to as Hill Road merely to identify it, for the cemetery just north of Main Street sits on a hill and was listed as “Hill Road Methodist Cemetery” or “Methodist Hill Road Cemetery.” Its earliest stone is 1811, being used as a burying ground before John D. French and family came in 1816, for French’s wife Jane gave eight acres for that purpose. Was it originally a Methodist cemetery? John and Jane French were staunch Covenanters.

WALNUT STREET

John French, who had the area surveyed for a town, used the custom of the time, often naming the streets for trees

WALNUT HILL BOULEVARD

Walnut Hill Boulevard refers to Walnut Hill Farm, a large egg farm once on Livingston Avenue.

WALZ PLACE

Perry Walz was Building and Zoning Inspector, a cheerful, talkative, very likable man

WHETSEL COURT

Whetsel Court is named for the family of Daniel Whetsel (forebear of Eleanor Wilson Shonting, whose genealogical work RTHS owns). Daniel, a seventh son, was born in Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, in 1780. He spent his youthful days at his father’s grist mill and sawmill. At age 17, he and his brother Henry migrated first to the Circleville area. In 1817 and 1819, Daniel bought $3800 worth of land in Truro Township. Not until 1823 did Daniel move his family to Franklin County, to a farm on the east side of Whetsel Road [now called McNaughten, for Whetsel descendants]

The story of their 30-mile move from Circleville to Reynoldsburg was passed on orally for a hundred years, until Martha Jane “Jennie” Pugh McNaughten, Daniel’s granddaughter, wrote it down. It had been a remarkably warm winter [she began]. They started their move on February 1, with snow beginning to fall. It was nearly night when they got here. The snow was close to a foot deep. Daniel owned a 40-acre tract with a hewed log house on it, and he rode ahead of his family to build a fire and make the cabin ready for them. Upon arrival, he found a family in possession of his house. They refused to leave, and Daniel was too kind to throw them out into the snow. He returned to his own family at the home of William Cornell [near present McNaughten Road and Main Street]. The Cornell family numbered nine already, and his cabin was small, but Connell generously offered to take his mother-in-law into his own house and give the Whetsels the use of her cabin until they could complete building one of their own. Within three weeks, with the neighbors’ help, the Whetsel cabin could be lived in.

In 1828 Daniel Whetsel was elected justice of the peace for Truro Township. Among his duties, he enforced the law, witnessed legal transactions, and officiated at weddings. In his family were seven children. His descendants became judges, farmers, merchants, and soldiers.

Daniel Whetsel was cousin to Lewis Wetzel, famed and reviled Indian fighter. Lewis’s hatred of Indians was said to begin when Indians killed his entire family. Once Lewis spent the night with Daniel, his daughter Huldah, and granddaughter Jennie McNaughten. Jennie remembered Lewis as wearing an outfit of leather and his hair in braids.

WOLLAM AVENUE

After World War II, Waldo Wollam (WOOL-am) 1901-1967 sold lots ($150, $10 down, $1 a week, pay at the Reynoldsburg Bank), starting with a double house on Truro Road (named for the township), then some homes on Bryden Road. The Truro Road house burned down, and the lot is empty now.

Waldo was an excellent mayor for three terms, a genial, practical gentleman under whose quiet guidance the town had good government without a lot of controversy. He suffered from blood pressure so high that sometimes blood spurted out his ears. His houses were well built, with meticulous joinings and woodwork finely finished by Ralph Smoots (later a Pickerington builder), then by Mel Clemens, Waldo’s son-in-law. Wollam Avenue is named for Waldo. Clemens Place is named for the long-serving city councilman.

All these people had jobs, in addition to working to improve The Burg.

Summer Jobs and the Wolfe Enterprises

by Suzy Millar Miller

The story begins when I met my future husband, Chuck, at Ohio University in Zoology class. He was my lab partner, but we didn’t pay much attention to each another until I was on a coffee date with someone else. When my date introduced me to his karate instructor, both Chuck and I said, “We’re lab partners,” at the same time. After that we dated regularly and then in May 1967, we decided to get married.

After I returned home from OU, my parents asked, “How do you expect to afford marriage?” I said Chuck was going to graduate school and I was going to get a job. At this point, my father pointed out that I had never even had a job - other than babysitting. So began my journey of learning how to work for a living.

It was hard to find a job with no experience at all. I started out being an usherette at the RKO Grand on State Street in Columbus. Somehow, I found out that they were hiring with a Reynoldsburg connection through the Bender family. The job was simple. Get to the theater, grab a flashlight and show people to available seats, then clean up afterward. The pay was about 50 cents an hour. So, for a six-hour job I would make $3.00 a night. Not a great plan; first I had to get to downtown Columbus every night and then somehow make it all the way back home.

The other problem was there was only one movie playing the whole time I worked there. The movie was Grand Prix,which was made in 1966 in a revolutionary 70mm Cinerama format. The screen was so huge, and it showed every hair and pore on the faces of James Garner, Jessica Walter, Eva Marie Saint, Yves Montand, and Toshiro Mifuna. One of the problems of having this grand movie playing all the time is that after a while I knew every breath, sigh, engine roar, gear change, and action before it happened. Fortunately, there were a lot of us usherettes, so we would get together at the back of the theater and tell ghost stories during the movie. This was not going to be the job that would help me get married! I think I quit within a couple weeks, but I still remember every breath in Grand Prix!

Next, I heard that they needed a breakfast cook at Green Gables in the Burg. I wrote about this adventure in the January, 2019, Courier in an article about Carl Whitmer. I worked at Green Gables the rest of the summer for 75 cents an hour from 6 a.m. to noon. This job allowed me the freedom to hang out at the swimming pool in the afternoons and then find other employment in the evening.

The best job I ever had in my life only happened when there was an event at The Wigwam on Route 204. I did many different tasks for the events and enjoyed every one.

The Wigwam was a 63-acre lodge owned by the Wolfe family as a country retreat. The Wolfe family owned the Columbus Dispatch, WBNS, banks, and other entities in Columbus. The call sign of WBNS (channel 10) represents - Wolfe, Banks, News, and Shoes. Robert Frederick Wolfe came to Columbus in 1888 and found work as a shoemaker. He then started Wolfe Brothers Shoe Company. In 1903, he and his brother, Harry Preston Wolfe, bought the Ohio State Journal and then in 1905 acquired The Columbus Dispatch. The Dispatch was originally start-ed in Columbus in 1871 by a group of printers who had named it The Daily Dispatch. The Dispatch remained in the Wolfe family for 110 years.

WBNS radio originally had a call sign of WCAH, founded in 1922. The Columbus Dispatch purchased the station in 1929 and changed the call sign to WBNS in 1934. One of my favorite WBNS radio teams was Jack and Dick Zipf who referred to their station as “W-BEANS”. They were an entertaining morning drive-time pair who talked endlessly about “beautiful Obetz” and “the Obetz Arms” (imaginary hotel) with their favorite phrase, “Yeah, Boy”.

WBNS TV started in 1949 and is one of the few stations in the country that has had the same owner, call letters, and primary network affiliation throughout its history. Some of the shows on WBNS were: Flippo the Clown, Luci’s Toyshop, Franz the Toymaker, The Judge, Hanna’s Ark (Jack Hanna), and Fritz the Night Owl. Chuck White was on Luci’s Toyshop as puppet master, co-producer, co-writer, the voice of Mr. Tree and many other characters. White was a college roommate of Fritz (the Night Owl) Peerenboom and was one of Ohio’s first African-American TV personalities.

Comedian Jonathan Winters, known as Johnny Winters, promoted Gambrinus Beer in the early 1950s for August Wagner Breweries, Inc. Rod Serling of “The Twilight Zone” started his career on WBNS. Other memorable reporters were Tom Ryan (anchor), Joe Holbrook (weather), Marty DeVictor (sports), and Chet Long (anchorman).

The Wolfe family sold The Columbus Dispatch in 2015. In 2019, the Dispatch sold its broadcasting assets (WBNS) to Tegna, Inc. for $535 million in cash. These sales ended a 90-year Wolfe family involvement in local media. In June, 2018, for $2.7 million, Wolfe Enterprises sold The Wigwam to Violet Township for community use. The sale of The Wigwam brings me back to my “best job ever” story.

In 1927 the Wolfe family bought 20 acres to use as a family retreat and hunting lodge. The property expanded over the years. The original lodge reminded people of the Native American Indians in the area, so it was named The Wigwam and was decorated with Indian themed artifacts. Over the years the Wolfe family invited employees from The Columbus Dispatch and WBNS to attend events along with many notable people such as Bob Hope, Gene Autry, General William C. Westmoreland, Betsy Palmer, Woody Hayes, and many others.

My mom, Maebelle Millar, worked there often as a cook because she was a school cook in the Reynoldsburg schools. My aunt, Evelyn Cashdollar Millar, worked as a waitress and also as a housekeeping person. I was invited to help out whenever I could. Sometimes I would help my aunt clean the lodge, bunkhouse, and property manager’s house. It was amazing that I could clean cobwebs out of those old windows on one day and the next day the spiders had rebuilt everything! The bunkhouse was used for overnight guests and for changing clothes for the various events. I still remember picking up wet bathing suits off the floor in that building. I also helped my aunt hang wallpaper in the manager’s house which was occupied by Jewel and Paul Griffith and their daughter, Sue (Hostenske) at the time.

The buildings were amazing with lots of Native American scenes painted on the walls and old furniture made of unusual objects. It was so much fun to clean everything, because everything had meaning. The bar back was beautiful and was difficult to dust. We would polish the brass footrest in front of the bar. I truly enjoyed working every part of the lodge.

I also tried my hand at being a waitress one night. It was not my cup of tea. The guests were a lot more experienced at eating out than I was at trying to serve them. I also did a few events as a cook – well more of a prep cook and it was fun. The cooks all joked and cooked and laughed and got everything out on time.

At some point, I knew that My ABSOLUTE, BEST JOB EVER was being a dishwasher at The Wigwam. I’ve been a typesetter, a reporter, a programmer, an auditor, a technical writer, a creative writer, a business controls leader, and a manufacturing worker. I’ve been paid a lot more, and I’ve been paid less, but nothing has ever been as wonderful as washing dishes at The Wigwam.

The waitresses scraped the plates into giant trash cans and put them on the stainless-steel counter and then my job would begin. I can’t describe the joy I had grasping the giant spray handle and giving a stack of dishes a healthy rinse while steam rose all around me. I would load the dishes into giant trays, shove them around the corner of the counter, open the big Hobart machine that washed the dishes, pull the clean ones out, push the dirty dishes in while slamming the lid closed, and start the washing process while I prepared myself for the next phase. I would unload the trays of hot, newly washed dishes into stacks and then slip and slide my way into the storage area where waitresses and cooks were frantically pulling out clean dishes they needed at the time. It was always nip and tuck, but we had a great system to have everything ready and where an item was needed.

The glasses were a little tricky because I had to check for lipstick marks before the glasses could go in the dishwasher. The silverware was a blast. The waitresses would throw the dirty silverware into pans I had prepared with hot water, a piece of silver foil, baking soda, and a little salt. Before I would run a tray of silverware, I would check each piece for large food particles. After the silverware was washed, I would sort it into containers, so the spoons, forks, and knives were all separated and carry them to the pantry.

The cooks mostly took care of their own pans, but I did help them out in between the courses while the waitresses brought more dishes. It was so fun to have the freedom to make a mess, even knowing I would clean and dry everything when the evening was finished.

Another wonderful part of that job is that I got to eat what the guests were eating. If they were having lobster and steak, so did I. Or if they had Chicken Cordon Bleu, that was my meal, too! The food was outstanding and of top quality. The cooks knew what they were doing and made sure everything was prepared correctly. I remember one of my favorite desserts at The Wigwam was something extremely simple–pink peppermint ice cream with a homemade, rich chocolate sauce. I’ve never been able to replicate that exact taste. They probably were using Cummins ice cream and a secret family sauce.

The bartender would come in the kitchen to get clean glassware and then return later with my drink order. I didn’t have more than one or two drinks a night because I was too busy flinging my body and water all over the dishwashing area.

Then at the end of the night, after everything was cleaned up and we prepared to go home, Paul Griffith would come in the kitchen and pay us in cash for our jobs. I would get $20 for my evening of happiness along with great food, drinks, and laugh-ter. I never worked anywhere else that was so rewarding.

There were other perks the staff had at The Wigwam in the form of employee parties where we could swim in the tomahawk shaped swimming pool and bask in the sun. The best part of the pool was the fountain where a lion “spit” into the pool.

Chuck and I were married in September 1967 after my father figured I could actually hold down a job. We moved to Cincinnati where I got a job with Mabley & Carew as a seller of neckties. When we moved to Texas years later and had a big swimming pool in our back yard, the first thing Chuck said about the pool is that we need to have a lion statue fountain to spit into the pool. We never found one, but we always imagined the lion was there.

Can you imagine having a better job than washing dishes? I can’t. Funny thing is that I don’t use my dishwasher at home (no fun). I do all my dishes by hand and I enjoy it, probably because my mother conned me into believing that washing dishes by hand keeps your fingernails long and strong. I do have a sprayer with my sink, but I don’t have the stainless-steel counters and walls to spray water everywhere. Sigh.

My thanks to Sue Griffith Hostenske and Mary Turner Stoots for obtaining The Wigwam photos.

Suzy & Chuck Miller on their wedding day in 1967

Suzy & Chuck Miller on their wedding day in September of 1967

Undercover Artifacts

by Cornelia M. Parkinson

Exposing Secrets Heretofore Withheld from Ye Publick

Today, by its various names, we shall speak of underdrawers, and then drop them. The subject, that is. Hmm. . . that started out well, didn’t it. But bear with us. If the product can be improved upon, the company guarantees to improve upon it ….

This topic doesn’t apply especially to The Burg. It is more worldwide, maybe even on other planets. Or not. The various names are not limited to: underclothes, underwear, underpants (a playground and TV joke, especially Captain Underpants), drawers, undies, pants, panties, long handles, long johns, flannels, woollies, trews, teddies, brassieres, bras, petticoats, slips, corsets, corset covers, garter belts, BVDs, union suits, U-shirts, tee-shirts, shorts, briefs, thongs. Some of these terms may send you to the dictionary.

Underwear came into being because of those abominably cold dwellings, be it cave, cottage, or castle. Outer garments scarcely even flattened the goosepimples, so a good thick layer of wool close to the skin was more comfortable. The first ones I think of are red flannels (“Wear your woollies, it’s cold out”), because they were made of wool or cotton/ flax flannel, a soft cuddly fabric, and were sometimes red. Later, stretchable knits were even more comfortable, for warmth. To those allergic to wool and who scratched all over all winter, cotton was best. Even so, the garments fell short of alluring.

For men (and women) there were long johns, or union suits. Some women never saw their husbands in less than their union suits Or he in hers. As one man said to his wife, “My dear, I have never seen you naked.” Her reply, “What. . . would be the point?”

Long johns covered you well, from neck to wrist to ankle. They buttoned up the front – and your wife or mother might sew you into them because buttonholes stretched out, or buttons popped off, and no matter what the cost, you must be covered. If you wore a hole in knee or elbow, it never showed, for long outer garments covered it until Spring.

To take care of nature’s needs, drop-seat drawers were invented. The bottom half of the back of the garment was held onto the top half by two or three back buttons at the waist. If three, you usually buttoned two, for who wants to grope for that middle button in a hurry in the black of night?

When Springtime came, and it was safe to take a bath, stitches that held you in a state of grace were cut and the long johns -- sadly deteriorated by winter’s doldrums --went into the wash boiler. I remember an old bachelor neighbor hanging his dingy union suit on the outside clothesline, the water-dripping garment suspended on a stick because he had boiled it and it was still steaming. (Boiling clothes in soapy water was how we whitened them. Perhaps he had delayed that too long. Not sure about his bath either.)

To the consistent and exasperating modesty of good Queen Victoria, who ruled 1837-1901, we owe euphemisms in place of good honest understandable terms. No ladyever had ankle or thigh or upper half – but a woman had limbs and a bust, even for the flat-chested a denigrating term if ever there was one. Bottoms simply didn’t exist, but the bustle might be referred to, with a sly wink and a snicker for such droll wittiness. “Hustle your bustle” was adapted from, and returned to, an earthier phrase. The only body portions visible must be head (hat on!), hands (gloves on!), and high-buttoned shoes, on either gentleman or lady. Best forgotten from the embarrassing past were the days of tight-fitting knee breeches and silk hose, and formal decolletages down to here. Cover that up!

BVD stood for manufacturers Bradley, Voorhees, & Day. They were popular, being a warm sturdy knit. My brother Fred, new to the alphabet, called them his SEOGs and Dad was so enchanted that for years he referred his essie-o-gees.

Corsets, until late in their history, were laced up the back. So were blouses and dresses, with teeny-tiny buttons and loops. I can’t think of any man’s garment ever thus encumbered. The designers – undoubtedly men – probably assumed that every ladyhad a maid (or ‘tirewoman) [apostrophe sic] to help with clothing, cosmetics, and coiffure. Or perhaps it was thought that the naked rear view was less apt to rouse the baser instincts than the unadorned front view, therefore the back fastenings. How a woman managed without a maid seemed to be a question never addressed. It’s still possible to buy a corset, but you can bet your undershirt it has a front zipper.

Corsets had hazards. As the corset salesman said to the buyer whose flesh was bulging top and bottom, “After all, Madam, it has to go somewhere.” There really were corset salesmen. The manager of Kresge Dollar Store in Columbus, where I worked Saturdays during high school, had sold corsets. He was an excellent manager.

I may be blaming poor Victoria unduly, but corsets themselves had to be covered. High neck, long sleeves, some lace allowed, but modesty must be preserved. Petticoats (the bottom half of slips) prevented the seeing through of see-through fabrics. A lady must not be observed to have limbs.

My 12-year-old girl friend across the street was Developing, so her mother made her a tightwaist, to restrict bouncing. We moved away before she graduated into brassieres, now called bras. If she wore rayon panties, they were a lot of trouble. The rayon we had then did not wash well, but shrank up and down and widened side to side, so that its original fit never lasted. And the elastic wasn’t very good either.

In my elementary school, when recess was over, you did not rush helter-skelter into the building, but lined up orderly, boy row and girl row, until the janitor rang a push-bell that signaled you to start filing in. Sedately. As I stood waiting, I felt something startling. My panties had slid down and made white pools around each ankle. The janitor, bless him, saw the problem and waited to ring the bell until I got my garment under control.

Zippers were not invented until 1926; and metal for making them may not have been available during World War II, but the Brown Shoe Army failed to recognize this improvement over buttons until some year later on, perhaps when the Army went to black shoes and boots. Army laundries had what civilians called button-crushers (the roller wringers on their washing machines), so that pants and shirt-buttons were apt to be broken in nearly every wash and had to be replaced. Or else the soldier got a reprimand.

Grippers, a heavy-duty snap fastener still handy in outdoor wear, were used on men’s boxer-type undershorts until some maker saved a penny by putting in elastic and eliminating grippers and the waistline closing altogether, making boxer shorts pull-ons.. My husband, underwear shopping, asked a clerk if the store carried shorts with grippers. The clerk’s eyes widened and his face took on that look of apprehension common to those who perceive a threat even when they can’t imagine what. We don’t know what he thought the grippers gripped. No, uh, they didn’t carry those.

U-shirts (later called wifebeaters) were what men wore under their shirts, until tee-shirts came along. At some point it was not socially acceptable to wear a shirt without one. They were knit, not too sturdily, and would eventually wear into holes under the arms or across the chest. Dad called these holes “porous knit,” because of some old advertisement touting wearability. The underwear tee-shirt evolved into an entire ingenious spectrum of outerwear shirt for men or women, for work or casual wear.

While I was growing up, all children wore long stockings. They were lisle (lie-ul, a thin cheap knit that got fuzzier and more pilled with every wash), or cotton or, for older girls, rayon, silk, or nylon. Garters, clipped to the underpants, held these stockings up. I remember when, learning to roller skate, I would fall and skin my knees and tear a hole in my stockings – even new ones. You didn’t throw away and get new too often – stockings might cost 15 cents a pair and that amount represented a big portion of Dad’s daily pay. So Mother mended. My stockings nearly always had a big round or square knee patch – or patch upon patch and a fresh hole in the middle. I was embarrassed for a schoolmate who wore long underwear, because the lines of it showed under her long cotton knit stockings.

Grown-up stockings were a different matter. These too were held up with a garter belt, or fasteners factory-sewn to your girdle. Some wore their stockings rolled, with an elastic band to keep them above the knee. You hardly knew ladies’ stockings existed until high school, then they were for Sunday School or other dress-up. Most girls didn’t have to wear lisle. (I knew one girl who did in seventh grade, spoiled daughter, with five older brothers.) You wore rayon, or when you got a job you saved up a dollar and bought a pair of silk and were forever hooked on that marvelous material. During World War II nylons came in. All stockings get runs –where a hole springs up and the knit makes a dismaying visible line down your leg. (Rich Girl Next Door owned ten pairs of stockings, not one without a run.) Rayon was the worst, an unstable fabric no matter in what weave or knit, for many years. Silk was the best–it clung nicely to the legs and was easy to keep up. Nylon was bad -- slick material that wanted to slide down with every bend of the knee.

Men’s socks were calf-high, held up by elaborately designed elastic garters that fitted just below the knee, and were made of the same materials as women’s stockings. Later, elastic was knitted into all socks, which by then could be nearly any length.

Women wore underpants over their corsets, for corsets were open at the bottom. Silk, again, was preferable, and common for many types of garments. The design of those undies varied from wide-legged mid-thigh to more strictly fitting ones clear down to the knee. Celanese was the trade name of an “improved” rayon knit. Silk became unavailable during World War II because we were at war with the people who grew silkworms. There was always rayon, and nylon was developed until it too was mainly satisfactory. Most man-made fabrics didn’t usually shrink or wrinkle.

I should not reveal this – but you know I’m going to. Deception abounds! One’s skim-milk endowments can masquerade as glorious cream. Artful padding can turn the lowliest sow’s ear into a handsome silk purse. A woman could buy a corset that made her gasp for every breath, but gave her a small waistline, while a few handkerchiefs stuffed into the top enhanced that hourglass figure. Playtex Circle Stitched bras made their own points. Padded bras can be had, while fanny-padded panties enhance the nether end.

The teddy – that darlin’ dab of nearly nothing! No sleeves, no legs, just an elegant froth of lace and sheer crepe that spelled freedom from that deplorable corset and other restrictions of society. Breezing in after WWI, along with women getting to vote and The Roaring Twenties, its vogue was brief but welcome. I never wore one, but Mother kept hers and I saw it. Bands for shoulder straps and between the limbs, semi-formfitting, and there you were. A teddy.

Thongs. Let’s not go there. At my stage of dilapidation, if I should, it could turn out to be not of significant interest even to the neighbors.

A knee-breeched dandy could use handkerchiefs to enhance too-thin calves. A man’s underwear might be boxer-like, with wide-ish legs, or more closely fitted briefs, from hip-high to long legs. Centuries back, he could wear a codpiece, that bold attention-grabber. I’ve read that a snobbish English tailor named Parkinson invented trews, meant to be (but rarely were) worn under the Scottish kilt, a pleated skirt-like men’s garment that, properly swung when walking, could show what was seldom shown. A few decades ago, possibly even today, Bulger Briefs are a big deal with guys in some social circles who don't give a figleaf for Truth in Advertising.

Ladies had to wear a lot of layers. The corset, corset cover, slip, more than one petticoat, then outer garments. Men – or maybe not – were luckier: long-handled under-wear, shirt, trousers. THEN the waistcoat (vest) and the jacket (coat) and the TIE. Ties were, in their season of popularity, ascots, four-in-hands, bow ties, string ties, real wide, real narrow, a damn nuisance any way you sliced it. But a gentleman wore a coat and tie. Winter or summer, too hot or too cold, doing carpentry, gardening, or slopping the pigs, my grandfather was never without coat and four-in-hand. That’s the way it was.

Index #2 - Articles from the RTHS "Courier" Newsletter

GRAMMA’S AWFUL THREATS, a slight exaggeration by Cornelia M. Parkinson

Hemline High-JinksPhoto Gallery

Hemline High-Jinks

by Cornelia M. Parkinson

Rise of the Purple & Gold - Photo Gallery

Rise of the Purple & Gold

by Mark Myers, Mary Stoots, & Ray Karnes

Reynoldsburg Street Names

by Cornelia M. Parkinson

by Cornelia M. Parkinson

Summer Jobs and the Wolfe Enterprises

by Suzy Millar Miller

Suzy's Summer Job Photo Gallery

UnderCover Artifacts

Undercover Artifacts

by Cornelia M. Parkinson

Alexander W. Livingston Interview on WOSU-TV

Photo Gallery - Scroll Down for YouTube Video

Columbus Neighborhoods

Index #2 - Articles from the RTHS "Courier" Newsletter

GRAMMA’S AWFUL THREATS, a slight exaggeration by Cornelia M. Parkinson

Hemline High-JinksPhoto Gallery

Hemline High-Jinks

by Cornelia M. Parkinson

Rise of the Purple & Gold - Photo Gallery

Rise of the Purple & Gold

by Mark Myers, Mary Stoots, & Ray Karnes

Reynoldsburg Street Names

by Cornelia M. Parkinson

by Cornelia M. Parkinson

Summer Jobs and the Wolfe Enterprises

by Suzy Millar Miller

Suzy's Summer Job Photo Gallery

UnderCover Artifacts

Undercover Artifacts

by Cornelia M. Parkinson

Alexander W. Livingston Interview on WOSU-TV

Photo Gallery - Scroll Down for YouTube Video

Columbus Neighborhoods

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