Lynching, the extrajudicial hanging of a person accused of committing a crime, has a long and sordid history in America. The practice can be traced back to the American Revolutionary War when William Lynch summarily hanged people he suspected of supporting the King. Today the term evokes images of white mobs hanging African Americans.
The story in Ohio was somewhat different. David Meyers and Elise Meyers chronicled the practice in their book Lynching and Mob Violence in Ohio, 1772-1938. They report that there were 28 confirmed lynchings in the state; 14 of the victims were white. There were another 81 attempted lynchings. Forty-eight of these surviving victims were white.
Clermont County was not immune to the activity. Two men from New Richmond were hanged by vigilantes. George Mangrum (aka Williams), a white farmer from northern Kentucky, was strung up in 1876 for rape and murder. (Mangrum’s story is told in the author’s book: A Legal History of Clermont County, Ohio) The second took place in 1895. Noah Anderson, a black paper hanger, was “punished” for allegedly murdering prominent businessman and philanthropist Franklin Fridman.
William Storey (aka William Allen) survived a lynching on May 26, 1879. Storey, described as a ” young masher” ( a man who made lewd comments or one who engaged in unwanted advances towards women) from St. Louis, was in Afton concluding some business matters with Charles Atchely. Storey renewed an old friendship with Atchley’s young wife Jennie. The two decided to run off to St. Louis.
The couple was arrested in their room at the Great Western Hotel in Cincinnati. Among Storey’s possessions was a revolver, a Bowie knife, several bottles of hair color, and a fake beard. Also found was property owned by Atchely. Charged with grand larceny, Storey was taken to Batavia to answer to the charges. He was placed in the custody of the town constable and held in a local hotel for the night.
At 2:00 A. M. a mob of thirty men from the Afton area, faces blackened and armed with pistols, corn-knives and shot guns, rode into Batavia. Eight of them entered the hotel and broke into Storey’s room. They tied his hands and slipped a noose over his neck. Fortunately, they discovered that they had the wrong man; a plasterer from Milford named Henry Skillinger.
They found Storey in the next room and marched him down Main Street to the iron bridge spanning the East Fork River. They stopped when they reached the center of the bridge. The noose was tightened around Storey’s neck. The eight foot length of rope was tied to an iron post. With the shout “Do your duty!”, the “raiders” tossed Storey headfirst over the bridge.
As the noose drew taut, the rope snapped. (Some observers thought it represented divine intervention,) Storey plunged thirty feet to the river, scraping his face on its bottom. The “masher” began swimming downstream amidst several pistol shots. He crawled up a steep bank, coming to the home of a Mr. Hampton. Storey asked the man for help. Hampton, an African American who was not interested in provoking an incensed mob, refused. With few viable options, Storey circled back to town and turned himself in to the constable.
Storey appeared in court the following morning to answer to grand larceny charges. His neck was badly rope-burned. Bruises and abrasions discolored his face. A deal was struck. The state agreed to dismiss the charges if Storey promised not to sue the county for damages related to the lynching. Storey was escorted to Milford and put on a train, without young Mrs. Atchley, for St. Louis.
The story was widely reported in Cincinnati and regional newspapers. Even The New York Times found the incident to be noteworthy. But it took The Clermont Courier to put the matter in perspective. This was, the paper opined, at heart a private affair. The mob should not have become involved, especially:
championing a woman who by her own act, and with open eyes…has fallen past redemption, and permits her sinful desires…to become between her and her child.
Mr. Atchley should have protected his wife “from the wiles of seducers.” If he was too weak to do so he could “have supplemented the arms given to him by nature with those invented by Colt”. No Clermont County jury would have convicted Atchley for shooting Storey, concluded the paper.
Local authorities intervened to prevent three lynchings.
In 1889 Thomas Frey, “a colored desperado”, shot and killed popular Milford businessman John Cooper. Frey was immediately taken to Batavia. That night an outraged group of sixty hooded and armed men rode to the county jail to “do justice”. The men, with a length of hemp, stormed the jail looking for Frey. Based upon a telephone tip, likely from future Ohio governor John Pattison, that the vigilantes were coming, the accused was taken to Georgetown. Frey was eventually convicted of murder and served a long prison term.
Edward Jones caused an uproar in October 1891 in the community of Olive Branch when he shot his son Harlan in the back of the head with a shot gun. The passions had not cooled by the date of the third trial. (The first two convictions had been overturned.) In order to prevent rumored mob violence, the sheriff transported Jones to Cincinnati for safe keeping. On the day of trial, the authorities left nothing to chance. Two dozen plain clothes policemen infiltrated the large crowd. Several companies of Ohio militia, including cavalry and two Gatling guns, escorted the defendant. Even the most ardent vigilante was deterred by this overwhelming show of force. Jones was convicted of second degree murder.
On June 6, 1897, rouster (longshoreman) Gilmer Purdy of Sardinia, was accused of attempting a sexual assault upon Mrs. Emma Curliss of Williamsburg. One account described the accused as an “unknown Tramp”. A citizens’ “posse” was organized and quickly caught Purdy at Budd’s brickyard. Reportedly, “Constable Bucker had all he could do to prevent a lynching, but the prisoner was removed secretly to Batavia to save his life.” It is presumed that justice was meted out in the regular fashion.
And thus ended the strange career of vigilante “justice” in Clermont County.
Knepp is an attorney who lives in Miami Township. He is author of A Legal History of Clermont County, Ohio.