#Truss Cleveland

[wanderingwynns]

Best Wedding Venues in Cleveland, Ohio

[lboogie1906]

Leonard Bailey (May 8, 1825 - September 1, 1918) was born in Hollis, New Hampshire was an inventor and businessman in DC in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Born to a free African American family, he rose in status by becoming a journeyman barber. He came to operate and own many of the barbershop businesses in DC by the time of the Civil War.

His first significant appearance came in 1869 when he was a member of the jury for the infamous Millie Gaines Trial. The defendant Gaines, a Black woman, had killed her white lover and was acquitted on the grounds of temporary insanity. The trial was overseen by the capitol’s first integrated jury, consisting of six Black men and six white men.

By the 1880s he was an established leader of DC’s Black business community. When Grover Cleveland became the first Democrat elected President since the 1850s, many in the African American community feared their rights would be restricted. He and other middle-class Black professionals called on Congress to defend those rights.

He co-founded the Capitol Savings Bank on October 17, 1888. He and seven other Black businessmen created the bank to provide more affordable loans and insurance for poor households in DC. He served as the bank’s president for several years before becoming head treasurer and a director of its finance board. Capitol Savings Bank was one of the few banks in DC to maintain business. Capitol Savings became a trusted bank for both Blacks and whites.

In 1883, he patented a truss-and-bandage intended to support patients with lower-body hernias. The design was adopted by the Army Medical Board, providing funding for his business ventures and future inventions. Among these were a device for moving railway trains and a speed stamper for mail, the latter being used by the Postal Service. On July 18, 1899, he patented a folding bed for easy storage. The US Army welcomed the innovation and the invention is his claim to fame in the present day.

He became a director of the Manassas Industrial School for Colored Youth, was a board member of the Berean Baptist Church, and was a noted Freemason. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[warmglowofsurvival]

Twenty One Pilots reminisces about early days in Ohio on latest tour

Josh Dun and Tyler Joseph of Columbus indie-pop act Twenty One Pilots.

(Fueled by Ramen)

CLEVELAND, Ohio – It's a sunny day in late August and Josh Dun, drummer for indie-pop band Twenty One Pilots, is walking around Columbus wondering what time it is.

"We just got home from doing some of our own shows in Australia and then traveled to Japan for a festival," says Dun. "I'm still all completely messed up time zone wise, but it was really fun."

When Dun joined TWP founding member Tyler Joseph in 2011, the thought of global domination was a mere dream. Dun had just replaced original drummer Chris Salih and Twenty One Pilots was self-releasing music via websites like SoundCloud.

Then the record deal came. The duo signed with Fueled by Ramen, the home of pop-punk heavyweights like Paramore and Panic! at the Disco. The deal paved the way for "Vessel," Dun and Joseph's 2013 breakthrough album that spawned two top-10 singles on Billboard's Alternative Songs chart.

The album's success also gave Twenty One Pilots a bigger platform to showcase its unique blend of rock and pop. The band performed at the 2014 MTV Movie Awards in March and at the inaugural AP Music Awards in Cleveland this past July.

Twenty One Pilots stole the show at the APMAs when Joseph climbed to the top of the scaffolding, shocking everyone, including Dun, who relived the experience with us during a recent phone interview:

Take me back to the AP Music Awards.

That was a really fun night. It's cool that it was the first year for that show and it was cool to be an Ohio band and kind of represent our home state. Our families were there. It was nice for us to rub shoulders with bands that we don't know of or know, but might not play with.

Were you surprised by the nominations or the invite to perform?

I don't know if we really fit with what else was going on. In a way, I kind of like that and I feel honored that they would have us there even if we don't fit the mold of that scene.

There was a lot going on during your performance. Do you plan something like Tyler climbing the stage?

Some of the stuff we do is really dependent on the venue and what it looks like. I don't always know what Tyler's going to do. Sometimes we're in the middle of a song, I look around and he's already halfway up the scaffolding.

Do you worry?

One time, we were in Korea and for that particular festival, we had him strap a GoPro on his chest and watched him climb all the way up the truss. Watching that footage makes my hands sweaty. That guy scares me sometimes, but I trust he's going to be safe.

The first two shows of your fall tour, in Columbus, sold out in a matter of days.

It's crazy. When we started we never knew how many people were going to show up. There were times when no one came or maybe just three or four people. Now it's kind of cool and exciting for Tyler and I to look at each other and realize there are actually going to be people there.

Does it feel different when you perform in Ohio?

It's interesting because I'm not in Ohio very often, but I love coming here and thinking about the times where we would only play Ohio at the Grog Shop multiple times and would love it. Anytime we come back to Ohio, in Cleveland or Columbus, it's a special time.

What can people expect on this tour?

We're changing a couple of things. I think until we're done playing music, which will be when we die; our goal is going to be to keep outdoing ourselves. It gets to be challenging to put together a different set list each time. We try to get creative with how to approach a song. We try to be more strategic and intentional with how things look aesthetically on stage with the setup and the lighting. We're constantly brain storming. For us, performing and playing is our favorite thing to do.

"Vessel" has been out for about a year and a half. Is there a timeline for new music?

We're always working on stuff. There's a bunch of songs written. The next step at the end of this year or the beginning of next year is to partner with a producer that meets us where we're at from a stylistic standpoint. I personally want to up my game drumming wise on this next record. We can't wait to get back to the studio and bring these ideas to life.

[ultraheydudemestuff]

Lorain-Carnegie Bridge (Hope Memorial Bridge)

Lorain and Carnegie Aves.

Cleveland, OH

The Lorain–Carnegie Bridge, now the Hope Memorial Bridge, is a 4,490-foot-long art deco truss bridge crossing the Cuyahoga River in Cleveland, Ohio. The bridge connects Lorain Avenue on Cleveland's west side and Carnegie Avenue on the east side, terminating just short of Progressive Field. A bond issue to pay for the bridge was passed in 1921, but construction was delayed for years due to squabbles over how the money would be spent. The bridge was completed in 1932 at a cost of $4.75 million. It stands 93 feet above the river's waterline in order to allow shipping to pass unobstructed. A second, lower deck designed to carry truck and commercial traffic was never put into service.

Four pairs of statues designed by sculptor Henry Hering and architect Frank Walker, officially named the Guardians of Traffic, are sculpted onto opposite-facing ends of two pairs of pylons, a pair at each end of the viaduct. They symbolize progress in transportation. Each Guardian holds a different vehicle in its hands: a hay wagon, a covered wagon, a stagecoach, and a 1930s-era automobile, as well as four types of motorized trucks used for construction. The bridge was listed in the National Register of Historic Places on October 8, 1976. The bridge was renovated in the early 1980s. On September 1, 1983, the Lorain–Carnegie bridge was officially renamed the "Hope Memorial Bridge."

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 4.8 (after 1950)

1950 – India and Pakistan sign the Liaquat–Nehru Pact. 1952 – U.S. President Harry Truman calls for the seizure of all domestic steel mills in an attempt to prevent the 1952 steel strike. 1953 – Mau Mau leader Jomo Kenyatta is convicted by British Kenya's rulers. 1954 – A Royal Canadian Air Force Canadair Harvard collides with a Trans-Canada Airlines Canadair North Star over Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, killing 37 people. 1954 – South African Airways Flight 201: A de Havilland DH.106 Comet 1 crashes into the sea during night killing 21 people. 1959 – A team of computer manufacturers, users, and university people led by Grace Hopper meets to discuss the creation of a new programming language that would be called COBOL. 1959 – The Organization of American States drafts an agreement to create the Inter-American Development Bank. 1960 – The Netherlands and West Germany sign an agreement to negotiate the return of German land annexed by the Dutch in return for 280 million German marks as Wiedergutmachung. 1968 – BOAC Flight 712 catches fire shortly after takeoff. As a result of her actions in the accident, Barbara Jane Harrison is awarded a posthumous George Cross, the only GC awarded to a woman in peacetime. 1970 – Bahr El-Baqar primary school bombing: Israeli bombers strike an Egyptian school. Forty-six children are killed. 1975 – Frank Robinson manages the Cleveland Indians in his first game as major league baseball's first African American manager. 1987 – Los Angeles Dodgers executive Al Campanis resigns amid controversy over racist remarks he had made while on Nightline. 1992 – Retired tennis great Arthur Ashe announces that he has AIDS, acquired from blood transfusions during one of his two heart surgeries. 1993 – The Republic of North Macedonia joins the United Nations. 1993 – The Space Shuttle Discovery is launched on mission STS-56. 2002 – The Space Shuttle Atlantis is launched on mission STS-110, carrying the S0 truss to the International Space Station. Astronaut Jerry L. Ross also becomes the first person to fly on seven spaceflights. 2004 – War in Darfur: The Humanitarian Ceasefire Agreement is signed by the Sudanese government, the Justice and Equality Movement, and the Sudan Liberation Movement/Army. 2005 – A solar eclipse occurs, visible over areas of the Pacific Ocean and Latin American countries such as Costa Rica, Panama, Colombia and Venezuela. 2006 – Shedden massacre: The bodies of eight men, all shot to death, are found in a field in Shedden, Elgin County, Ontario. The murders are soon linked to the Bandidos Motorcycle Club. 2008 – The construction of the world's first skyscraper to integrate wind turbines is completed in Bahrain. 2010 – U.S. President Barack Obama and Russian President Dmitry Medvedev sign the New START Treaty. 2013 – The Islamic State of Iraq enters the Syrian Civil War and begins by declaring a merger with the Al-Nusra Front under the name Islamic State of Iraq and ash-Sham. 2014 – Windows XP reaches its standard End Of Life and is no longer supported. 2020 – Bernie Sanders ends his presidential campaign, leaving Joe Biden as the Democratic Party's nominee. 2024 – Solar eclipse of April 8, 2024: A total solar eclipse takes place at the Moon's ascending node, visible across North America.

[randomtimes-com]

Goatman's Bridge - just a registered historic landmark shrouded in macabre local legends....

“Goatman’s Bridge” is the popular nickname for what’s formally called Old Alton Bridge, just an iron-truss span that once connected Denton, Texas, to Copper Canyon. The through-truss bridge was built over Hickory Creek on Copper Canyon Road, south of the old townsite. Built by the King Bridge Company of Cleveland, Ohio, it was first built to carry horses but would later carry vehicles across the…

[array-of-solutions]

Black Mold Specialist in Greenville SC – Array of Solutions

Array of Solutions is a purely local and family-owned black mold specialist in Greenville, SC. Since 2005 it has been serving for mold and water damage services in Greenville and surrounding areas. We are a specialist black mold remediation company in Greenville. We charge a low price and affordable price in comparison to national companies and provide the quality service as well.

What is Black Mold/Stachybotrys?

Stachybotrys is a genus of molds, asexually reproducing which classifies it as a ‘hyphomycete’ belonging to the kingdom of ‘fungi’. Nearly all Stachybotrys infestations locate and proliferate in and on hosting materials rich in cellulose.  This would include but not be limited to; Sheetrock paper, ceiling building tiles, carpets, and many, many more.  Moisture is the key ingredient to BLACK MOLD survival.   The appearance is nearly always different, and I have had cases where it is not black.  Therefore not all molds that are black in color are “Stachybotrys” and not all “Stachybotrys” is BLACK MOLD.  The origin of “Stachybotrys” is from the Greek word ‘Stakhus’. (grain or ear, sticks, or stalks or “Stachy”.  “Botrus” refers to cluster or bunch, trusses.

The most notorious type or species (S. Chartarum and S. Chlorohalonata) are known as “Black Mold” or “Toxic Black Mold” in the United States of America and relate or common when poor air quality indoors which occurs when growing fungus takes root on water-damaged building materials.

What can exposure to BLACK MOLD or Stachybotrys do to you?

Exposure to this has wide and varied effects on each individual.  Factors like how long, how much and the individual’s age is all significant when asking this question.  Symptoms typically impact membranes with mucous, the mouth, nose, and throat, flu and cold like symptoms; a cough, sneezing, nausea, bloody discharge and fatigue.  I have seen people affected by lymph node irritation and skin problems.  The significance of BLACK MOLD has only recently gained notoriety.  According to ‘Wikipedia’, “In the 1990s after analysis of two infantile deaths and multiple cases in children from the poor areas of Cleveland, Ohio due to pulmonary hemorrhage were initially linked to exposure to heavy amounts of Stachybotrys chartarum. Subsequent and extensive reanalysis of the cases by the United States Centers for Disease Control and Prevention have failed to find any link between the deaths and the mold exposure.”

What does Black Mold look like?

This relates to the aforementioned question about ‘Stachybotrys’.  In my carrier as a mold expert,, I have addressed   over 1000 mold issues,   There have been cases where mold that is black in color is not ‘Stachybotrys’, as well as jobs where there was no visible mold but air samples indicate large quantities of ‘Stachybotrys’.  The reader’s digest version of the answer to this question is to have a Certified Mold Expert such as Doug Whitehead of Arrayofsolutions.com addresses your issue.  Without testing and inspection, there is no way to tell if black mold is ‘Stachybotrys’ or not.

Black Mold and Moisture Testing

Douglas Whitehead here again from Arrayofsolutions.com to talk about the lesser known perils of moisture, rain, poor drainage and mold in your home or business. The purpose of this explanation is to revisit what moisture can do to the biggest investment most Americans ever make. Your Home!

A quick story of one of my customer’s experiences with purchasing a home and mold testing; Joe, (who is now a good friend since working for him) was a newlywed, working for a local prominent corporation.  He was in the market for a new home.  Like most young newlywed’s, he was wanting to live in a favorable community within close range to his job.  Joe wanted to live in one of the nicer neighborhoods in Simpsonville, SC. Unfortunately, the neighborhood he wished to inhabit was quite pricey and out of his budget.  Joe is savvy and had found a gorgeous home within his price range.  The home had a new roof with 30-year architectural shingles.  There are three floors and a three car garage.  Four minutes from Interstate Eighty-Five or I-85 as called here in the Upstate.  Surrounded by large oak trees, quiet, loaded w/ great people, Joe wanted this home.  Why was this home in his price range? “MOLD”!  The home was part of a nasty divorce where both involved vacated the home and left it that way for two or three years.  They did not run the HVAC system, shut all utilities off and let it return to nature.  The home went into foreclosure and was being sold ‘As Is’ for one-third of its sale price just three years earlier.  Joe called several local mold experts and trusted Arrayofsolutions.com with remediating and warranting his home.  Joe’s wife is now is pregnant with her second child and has been happy and mold free since our exchange.  To make a long story short; Ignoring moisture and odors in your home reduce the biggest investment you ever make to be worth only pennies on the dollar.  Call Douglas Whitehead @ “Arrayofsolutions.com” today for $150 mold test and full inspection to protect your investment.

Black Mold and Real Estate

The title of this post was sarcasm. You will not be able to sell/buy a home in the Upstate of SC while your crawlspace is contaminated. 9 out of 10 times, the cause is; a. Moisture b. Open Vents C. Lack of vapor barrier and moisture control

Arrayofsolutions.com places most of their efforts under people’s houses. While most families are enjoying typical summertime activities, I, along with my right-hand man James, are in your home. Snakes? Spiders? Rodents and more? YOU BET!! However, we have made an art out of changing deplorable, poetry dish like environments into pristine, dry, energy saving storage spaces. The best part about my Company is that we do this (usually w/ short notice) in two days or less for as much as 1/2 of what the Big Companies charge. We also offer a 5-year transferable warranty.

 Black Mold in Crawl Space

Should a crawlspace be as clean as your home? The scientific reasoning behind this statement is referred to as “the stacking effect”. 52% of the air in your crawlspace is succinctly correlated with the air quality in your family’s home. In short, neglected crawlspace contributes to poor air quality in your living space. There is a direct connection between the health of your family and the condition of your crawlspace. The hardest part of my job is telling responsible homeowners that their family is sick because of their crawlspace. The second hardest part is telling folks that 98%$ of insurance companies do not cover crawlspace moisture.

Upstate Mold Desensitization | Black Mold

As a mold expert in Upstate South Carolina for the last 18 years, the same circumstances arise time and time again. Black Mold desensitization is all too common when entering a customer’s home. Array of Solutions phone rings when curious customers call with a concern. These concerns range from; “We are selling our home, but did not pass our CL100.” (This is a standard test done by home inspectors which requires moisture levels to be below twenty percent in the crawlspace structural members.). Also common are health concerns; “My child has been suffering from abnormal respiratory issues, unlike his / her peers.” Least common is; “We notice an odor whenever we heat/cool our home.” When inspections are conducted, we always ask to enter the home. Because we do the same thing over and over, year after year, we can smell what home and business owners have become desensitized. That would be the odor of black mold. When mold reproduces, then it off-gasses. This is what you would smell in barns, vacant buildings, historical sites, and homes with crawl spaces. However, you may be desensitized to the odor in your home or business and should call a local expert to perform an environmental analysis.

 How do you kill Black Mold?

Black Mold is technically called ‘Stachybotrys’.  Not all molds that are black in color are the notorious ‘Stachybotrys’.

I cannot operate as an expert without first testing any mold concerns.  Samples are first taken to a Nationally Accredited Lab so that the protocol can be adjusted accordingly.  Stachybotrys is the most toxic mold known to man-kind and typically, whatever has been affected needs to removed completely using extreme caution.  If mold is black in color but proved not to be ‘Stachybotrys’, then you need to clean mold.

 Call me, if you or a loved one has any of these concerns, Doug Whitehead today @ 864-710-6413 and I will answer the phone, come to your home and perform whatever helps you and your family. Arrayofsolutions.com is a small local company that produces big results.

[gregador]

Web

[shewhoworshipscarlin]

Leonard C. Bailey

Leonard Bailey was an African American inventor and businessman in Washington, D.C., in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Born in 1825 to an impoverished free black family, Bailey rose in status by becoming a journeyman barber. Through this success, he eventually came to operate and own many of the barbershop businesses in the District of Columbia by the time of the Civil War.

Bailey’s first significant appearance came in 1869 when he was a member of the jury for the infamous Millie Gaines Trial. The defendant Gaines, a black woman, had killed her white lover and was acquitted on the grounds of temporary insanity. The trial was overseen by the capitol’s first integrated jury, consisting of six black men and six white men.

By the 1880s Bailey was an established leader of Washington’s black business community.  In 1884, the year New York Governor Grover Cleveland became the first Democrat elected President since the 1850s, many in the African American community feared their rights would be restricted. Bailey and other middle class black professionals called on Congress to defend those rights.

Bailey’s desire to help the African American community led to his founding the Capitol Savings Bank on October 17, 1888.  Bailey and seven other black businessmen created the bank to provide more affordable loans and insurance for poor households in the District of Columbia. Bailey served as the bank’s president for several years before becoming head treasurer and a director of its finance board.  By 1893, during one of the country’s worst financial crises, the Capitol Savings Bank was one of the few banks in Washington, D.C. to maintain business. Due to this resilience, Capitol Savings became a trusted bank for both blacks and whites in the DC area.

Aside from his accomplishments as a businessman and community member, Bailey is also remembered for his inventions. In 1883, Bailey patented one of his most significant devices, a truss-and-bandage intended to support patients with lower-body hernias. The design was later adopted by the U.S. Army Medical Board, providing funding for Bailey’s business ventures and future inventions. Among these were a device for moving railway trains and a speed stamper for mail, the latter being used most frequently by the U.S. Postal Service. On July 18, 1899, Bailey patented a folding bed for easy storage. Again, the US Army welcomed the innovation and the invention is Bailey’s claim to fame in the present day.

Over the course of his career, Bailey carefully maintained his position as a member of the black upper middle class. He became a director of the Manassas Industrial School for Colored Youth in Virginia, was a board member of the Berean Baptist Church in the District of Columbia and was a noted Freemason.

Leonard C. Bailey died suddenly on September 1, 1918.  He was 93 and is interred at National Harmony Memorial Park in Largo, Maryland.

https://www.blackpast.org/african-american-history/bailey-leonard-c-1825-1918/

[horrorkingdom]

First Published: “The Corpse in Coffee Creek-Secrets of Ohio’s Tragic Triangle,” by Detective Otto H. Diskowski, Homicide Squad, Cleveland Police Department, as told to R. Rodgers, True Detective Mysteries, May, 1938.

Want to read this story later on your tablet?

Download PDF File of The Corpse in Coffee Creek

CHARLES SALWAY SLOWLY MADE HIS way home across the small culvert over Coffee Creek. His farm was just outside Mesopotamia, Ohio, and almost daily he walked down State Road 57 and crossed the creek to get to his field.

This afternoon of September 24th, 1936, there was an autumn tang in the air. It would not be long before frost would be on the ground and farming would be over for the season. He, his wife and his father had put in a good day’s work out there—the sort of work that gave a man an appetite and made him think longingly of his fireside and slippers.

Salway leaned for a moment on the rail, waiting for the others to catch up to him. Maybe next day he would bring out his fishing tackle and try his luck. Sometimes a man could get a pretty good string out of Coffee Creek.

The farmer’s eyes focused sharply. Directly underneath was an odd looking object. As the man’s family joined him at the railing, he pointed, wordlessly, to the bobbing horror in the water. Mrs. Salway gasped.

“What is it, Charles?” she asked.

Her husband was still staring. “It looks like a man,” he whispered.

Mrs. Salway shuddered. “A man? But where is the rest of him?”

The farmer gulped. “It looks like it’s just his head down there.”

His father nodded. “Yes, I don’t see anybody.”

The trio noted the closed eyes, and the purple, blotched face. Leaving the older man to keep watch at the culvert; young Salway raced for a telephone. “There’s a dead man out near my farm on Route 57,” he told the police. “I’ll wait there until you come out. He’s in the creek.”

Charles Salway returned to the grim vigil. He studied the face of the man in the water. Folks in that section of the country all knew each other. But neither Salway nor his father had ever seen the dead man before.

Sheriff Roy Hardman and Captain George C. Salen of the Warren police, lost no time getting to the scene. Accompanying them were several officers and Coroner J. C. Renshaw of Trumbull County. The farmer flagged them to a stop and excitedly pointed to his find.

“First we thought it was just a head, Sheriff,” he said, “but now I can see where the body is weighted down with something, so that just the head sticks out

It was a grotesque sight that greeted the officials. The water lapped gently against the dead face, tossing it from side to side. Releasing the body from what held it might prove to be a task.

In a short time, dozens of people flocked to see what the excitement was.

The officers, assisted by bystanders, finally extricated the body and laid it out on the ground for the Coroner’s inspection. While he went about his work, Sheriff Hardman and Captain Salen examined the wire with which the victim had been trussed and the heavy concrete slab attached to the corpse.

“Whoever did it,” the Sheriff remarked, “must have felt pretty sure it would be a long time before this thing rose to the surface. But the weight slipped down around the feet and there was enough buoyancy in the body to let the head float to the surface. No wonder it looked like a head without a body.”

“Looks like the fellow was pretty well beaten before being tossed into the creek,” Salen commented. “It’s the kind of beating gangsters give their double-crossers.”

The Sheriff shrugged. There might be some truth in that theory. The spot where the body was found is not far from Youngstown and only about forty miles out of Cleveland. Perhaps some rival city gangsters had been warring. Or maybe the killing was the outcome of strike trouble in the Youngstown steel area.

Coroner Henshaw estimated that the corpse had been in the water a week. There was not much else he could discover without a thorough examination, and the body was taken to the morgue at West Farmington.

After questioning the neighboring farmers and failing to find anyone who had heard or noticed anything unusual during the past week or ten days, the officers went to the morgue to search for a clue to the man’s identity.

Preliminary examination of his clothing revealed little—a few cents and the usual odds and ends. In a hidden inside coat pocket, apparently overlooked by the killers, the officers found a worn leather wallet.

Eagerly the contents were spilled on the table. The clue they seized upon was an identification card of a common type. Unless the murderers had been clever enough ‘to put it there to throw the police off the trail, it should reveal the identity of the dead man. It bore the name of Charles Steffes, Jr., and an address in Cleveland.

There was a space on the card classified “In Case of Accident Notify . . .” And next to it were the words, “Catherine Bunjevac, 1144 East 76th Street, Cleveland, Ohio.”

“Well, boys, that gives us something to start with,” Captain Salen announced. “We’d better get in touch with the Cleveland police and see what they know of Steffes.” The report of the murder came into Cleveland Headquarters over the wire that evening and Detective Lieutenant Jack Zeman took down the details.

He called in Detectives Carl Ziccarelli and Ralph McNeil, who were working on the four-to-midnight shift. “Just had word of a body being found in Coffee Creek,” he told them. “Check up on Charles Steffes, Jr., at 1328 East 53rd Street. And see what you can learn from a girl named Catherine Bunjevac at 1144 East 76th Street.”

Things began to hum. A quick check with the files revealed a record on Steffes. He had been arrested and charged with auto theft about a year before. He had pleaded guilty and, since it was his first offense, had been placed on probation. Further details disclosed he was an auto mechanic and twenty-six years old.

It was hardly the record of a person who might be involved in gang wars, but in the Police Department we learn to expect anything and consider everything a possibility until proved otherwise.

If he were a Clevelander and had been dead a week, perhaps someone had reported his disappearance to the Bureau of Missing Persons. A check-up here disclosed that on Sunday, September 20th, a call had come into the Bureau. A worried feminine voice had reported a disappearance.

“I’m worried about my friend, Charles Steffes, Jr.,” the caller said over the telephone. “I had a date with him last Thursday night and he said then that he’d telephone me the next day.

“He didn’t call and I thought maybe he was sick.” Her voice broke a little. “Charlie always kept his word with me. And when I found out he hadn’t been at work since Thursday and that no one had seen him at all, I got frightened.”

The officer tried to calm her. People, he told her, particularly men, often dropped out of sight for a time. Ninety-nine out of a hundred turned up again in their own good time. But this girl, who gave her name as Catherine Bunjevac, was sure Charlie Steffes had come to some harm.

“He’d never go away without telling me,” she insisted.

The report had been investigated at the time, but no trace of Charlie Steffes had been found. There was no accident victim who answered his description in the hospitals or the morgue.

That is, no one, until Charles Salway had seen the “body-less” corpse in Coffee Creek. It began to look as if woman’s intuition as to trouble had again proven correct. What Catherine Bunjevac had feared had apparently come true.

But supposing the corpse was that of young Steffes, the identification was just the beginning of the job. All we knew was that a girl named Catherine Bunjevac was to be notified in case of accident and that this same girl had reported him missing.

The department began to get busy in earnest. Detectives Ziccarelli and McNeil went out to check on Steffes, at the address in his wallet. This turned out to be a rooming house, run by Rudolph Zupanic. Here, Steffes had lived with his brother.

Both Zupanic and the victim’s brother, when interviewed, insisted they knew nothing of the garage mechanic’s whereabouts. The proprietor of the rooming house eagerly told the meager facts he knew about his lodger.

“Steffes left the house last Thursday night and we haven’t seen him since. He was rather close-mouthed about his affairs and never said where he was going or when he’d be back.”

Steffes’ brother confirmed this statement. “I haven’t any idea where Charlie could be. He just went out and didn’t come back. Several people have been asking for him since he left.” He shrugged. “He might be anywhere.”

His brother seemed to take his absence rather lightly, apparently confident that in due time he would turn up again. At the garage where Steffes was employed, the proprietor had the same attitude.

“He hasn’t been around for a week. Guess maybe he just decided to quit. A little guy came around a couple of times looking for him. Don’t know who he was.”

Was this “little guy” one of those who had called at the rooming house to inquire about the missing man? That was another angle to be investigated.

The garage owner gave the boy a good send-off. “He was a conscientious worker. Seemed serious-minded and said he was saving his money.”

When a young man who has had a previous brush with the law, settles down and talks about saving his money, experience has taught us there’s usually one reason—a woman. “Find the woman” is the detective’s old adage, and often a very successful one. In this case, the name of the woman had providentially been delivered into our hands.

But, before questioning Catherine Bunjevac, the detectives sought Steffes’ sister, whose address they had obtained at the rooming house. She had new information to give.

“Charlie and Catherine were at my house last Thursday evening (Sept. 17, 1936). We had a lot of fun kidding around, but they had to leave early, as Charlie complained he didn’t feel well. I didn’t think it was anything serious, but it did seem that he was worried about something. Usually Charlie was very happy-go-lucky, but that night he was different—acted a little as if he were afraid of something.

“I thought it was my imagination,” she continued, “but when Kate—that’s what we call Catherine—came over here on Saturday, looking for him, I got kind of worried. It wasn’t like Charlie to miss a date. He was crazy about her. Talked about getting married.”

So the girl, whose name appeared on Steffes’ identification card, was more than just an acquaintance.

Catherine Bunjevac’s parents told the detectives that their daughter was out with her fiancé, a Mr. Miller. The officers concealed the surprise they felt at this announcement. Steffes had talked to his sister about marrying Kate, but she apparently had other plans, or at least, that’s the way it looked.

“Do you know Charles Steffes, Jr.?” they asked the Bunjevacs.

Instantly there seemed to be a chill in the atmosphere. “Yes, we know him. He frequently called on our daughter.”

“Was he in love with her?”

“Perhaps. She’s a very pretty girl. Lots of men have liked her. But we didn’t want her to go with that Steffes. He isn’t dependable. He hasn’t any money. Mr. Miller can give Catherine a nice home and an automobile. He’s the kind of suitor for our girl.”

“Well, when she comes in, tell her the police want to talk to her.”

The parents’ faces showed no emotion at the knowledge that police wished to question their daughter. If there were fear there, it was well hidden.

Very early the next morning, Miss Bunjevac appeared at Headquarters. Her parents had been right when they said their daughter was pretty. It was not hard to imagine several young men in love with her at the same time.

As Sergeant James Hogan questioned her, he noted that she seemed greatly worried about her missing friend.

“The last time I had a date with Charlie, he seemed quite upset,” she said. “I asked him to tell me what was bothering him, but he wouldn’t say.”

As the girl talked on, the background of the case became clear. Here was a fun-loving young girl, torn between duty to her parents and her own heart. Steffes appealed to her romantic tastes, but her family frowned upon him.

Miller, she explained, was a name Joseph Csonka sometimes used for business reasons. He was a wall paper hanger whom she had known for a long time, and her parents thought he would make an ideal husband for her. He was the old-fashioned type, the sort who would never give a girl any worries—nor any thrills.

But Catherine Bunjevac had liked young Steffes. He was full of fun, liked to dance and have a good time. He made Csonka seem old and dull. A common enough tragedy, up to that point. But it didn’t tell us what had been worrying Steffes that last night he was seen alive. Could he have been involved in some racket and forced to “take a ride?” Or was it perhaps another woman, whose jealous fury had spent itself on her betrayer?

We discarded the latter theory at once. The very facts of the crime told us it had to be the work of a man. Women do not transport their victims forty miles, and then dump them overboard, with a slab of concrete to weigh them down.

Detective Gordon Shibley and I went to West Farmington to verify the identification of the victim. We questioned several of the near-by residents, but could find no one who knew anything about the mysterious happenings at Coffee Creek. The killer had taken pains to cover his tracks well, and no doubt darkness had hidden his sinister work.

Delve as we would, we could find nothing to tie the victim with any gang machinations. He had, to all intents and purposes, been paying strict attention to business and behaving himself. It looked as if the explanation would have to be found closer to home.

Officers returned to question Miss Bunjevac once more. Over and over she repeated her story of her friendship with Steffes and the last time she had seen him.

“He left me at my house early Thursday evening, as he said he didn’t feel well. I thought maybe he had another date, but then I felt sure he wouldn’t go with any girl but me. He said he’d call me Friday and when he didn’t I was annoyed. Joe asked me to go out with him that night and since I hadn’t heard from Charlie, I went.”

“Did you tell Csonka about Steffes?” the girl was asked.

“Yes, I mentioned it and said I was worried as that was the first time he had ever disappointed me. Joe said not to worry about it; that he’d probably be able to explain when I saw him.”

“Did you often discuss Steffes with your other suitor?”

“Quite often. He asked me, a couple of times to give up Charlie.”

The detectives’ eyes betrayed no particular interest. “Did the boys ever fight about your attentions?”

“Of course not,” was the quick reply. “Why, Joe helped me try to find Charlie. He went to his rooming house and the garage where he worked to discover what had happened to him.”

The little thin man who had “been making such anxious inquiries for the victim, as described by Steffes’ brother and the garage owner, was Csonka, evidently. He had been trying to find the man who had cat him out, in order to set the girl’s mind at rest.

“It was Joe who made me come right down to Headquarters, when we found out you were looking for me,” Miss Bunjevac continued. “He said it was best for me to go right away.”

“How did Joe act the Friday night after Steffes’ disappearance? Was he nervous or excited?”

“Why, no,” the girl answered, surprised. “He never talks a lot, but I didn’t notice him acting nervous or anything. Why should he?”

That’s what we were asking ourselves at the moment. We had two men in love with the same girl. One brash and forward; the other, from Catherine’s description, shy, meek and self-effacing. And the brash and forward one was now dead, his head battered in. I was convinced from what I could learn around Coffee Creek, that Steffes had been killed elsewhere and his body brought out to the lonesome farm area, probably by automobile.

The body had been returned to Cleveland from the West Farmington morgue and County Pathologist Dr. Reuben Strauss went to work to determine what had caused death. What we primarily wanted to know was whether the victim was alive when tossed into the water, or whether it was his corpse that was weighted down and shoved under the culvert.

On Friday night a detail of officers was sent to Csonka’s home on East 88th Street, to question him. It was destined to be quite a wait, as he was not at home. It was five-thirty in the morning before a short, slight man mounted the steps, to be met by a group of detectives.

Csonka evidenced no surprise. He acted as if it were not at all unusual for a couple of officers to be waiting to take him down to Headquarters. He showed no curiosity as to why he must go. He offered no protest, when the men went through his personal belongings. He evinced no embarrassment when he saw his personal letters being read. These included several written, but never mailed, to Catherine Bunjevac.

Those letters seemed to coincide with the man’s colorless personality. He was admittedly in love with the girl, but there was no hint of passion in his letters. They, too, were shy and bashful.

Downstairs in the basement, Csonka showed the same lack of interest, as officers went through his storage closet. The only thing found of any possible importance was a small amount of old wire.

And when Sergeant Hogan began asking him questions that Saturday morning, he realized he was facing a man who was able to conceal every emotion. He presented a bland, expressionless face and carefully deliberated before replying. We had a suspect, it is true, but we had little more on him than any man we might pick up in the street. He was in love with the same girl as the dead man had been—but that was his only connection, thus far, with the case.

The Sergeant, however, continued his investigation. A couple of detectives went out to find Csonka’s car. While they were gone, the report of Dr. Strauss came in and with it, the first ray of light. Steffes had been struck a hard blow on the head, but that had not caused his death. Water in his lungs indicated that he had been alive when tossed into the creek. He had died from drowning. That meant that the murderer, if and when we caught him, would be tried in the district in which the victim died—and those country juries are tough.

We decided to use a little old-fashioned psychology on Csonka. Detective Shibley and I brought him to the garage, and, with Sergeant Hogan and Coroner Arthur J. Pearse of Cuyahoga County, in which Cleveland is located, we started out on the ride to Mesopotamia and Coffee Creek. We were heading for the spot where Steffes’ battered body had been found. We had a little plan in mind and were eager to find out if it would work. The coolest, the calmest, the most collected criminal will often go to pieces when he is forced to revisit the scene of his crime. Dreams often will hound a guilty man into clearing his conscience, but a compulsory viewing of the spot will usually do it more quickly.

We did not do a lot of talking on that ride. Csonka continued to answer politely all questions put to him. Sergeant Hogan encouraged him to talk about himself. He nodded sympathetically when Csonka complained of business being slow. Csonka mentioned that he usually carried his tools—brushes and pails—in his car. Was he in love with Catherine Bunjevac? Sure, sure.

“You know, Sergeant,” he said to Hogan, “I think some gangsters got after Steffes. Probably took him for a ride. You know he was mixed up in some bad company for a while there.”

We did not answer. We were waiting for the psychological moment to outline to him what we thought had happened. But that time had not arrived as yet.

Coffee Creek looked far from sinister in the bright daylight. The foliage was just beginning to turn and the countryside was rich in autumnal hues. Everything spoke of peace, and quiet, restful living. It seemed hardly the spot for violence and death. Yet a man’s badly beaten body had been tossed into that creek and its calm water had taken his dying breath.

I took Csonka over toward the east rail and waited with him while the Coroner and Sergeant Hogan talked things over. I knew what was coming and encouraged the man’s nervousness by a complete silence and apparent indifference as to what was going on.

As the two officers conversed, their voices carried clearly on the still air. Hogan was outlining to Pearse what had happened. Csonka was the only one there who didn’t know that the Sergeant was putting on a little dramatic act.

“I think we’ve got this fellow,” Hogan was saying. “It all links up. Two of my men found his car, took a look in it and what do you suppose they found?”

“What ?” asked Pearse, all interest.

“Blood on the upholstery.”

“No!”

“Yes! And one of the windows was smashed. I think that happened when this bird Csonka swung at him with the brush and missed.”

“Brush?” asked Pearse.

“Didn’t you know we found a heavy paste brush in his car with blood on it? He hit Steffes over the head with his paste brush,” the Sergeant went on. “Again and again he struck him. Then when he thought he was dead, he drove out into the country and tossed the body overboard. He weighted it down to make sure it wouldn’t be discovered.”

Hogan paused dramatically as they came over to where we were standing. “Is that the way it happened, Csonka?” he asked suddenly.

I watched the man who was standing so close to me. I had thought of him as meek and mild—hardly the type to become involved in a murder case. But before my eyes I saw an amazing change take place. As he listened to Hogan’s outline of what might have happened that fatal September 17th, Csonka s eyes glittered. It was almost as if he were reliving the crime, and enjoying it. The meekness was gone and replaced by an expression of burning hate.

Abruptly he turned and faced us. “Sure, I killed him. I did it.”

The confession, unexpected as it was, did not give us all we wanted. We had to have details—proof to stand up in a trial. It was not a Cleveland case, but it was up to us to get Csonka talking.

Once he had started, the paperhanger seemed eager to tell the whole story and get it off his mind. I marveled at this shy little man, who, for more than a week had gone about his affairs as usual, but with a horrible secret hidden behind his meek, colorless face. He had even joined in the search for his victim, apparently seeing this would ingratiate him into the favor of Miss Bunjevac. And all the time he had known that the man she loved and waited for was lying in the cold waters of Coffee Creek, a heavy slab weighting him down.

Csonka opened up in earnest on the ride back to Cleveland. The story was even more grim and cold-blooded than we had conceived.

“I was ready to marry the girl. I wanted her. I was getting along fine and had a good business and good prospects. I could have given her things. I was in love with her and she seemed to like me well enough,” Csonka added, “until that Steffes fellow came along last April. Then things changed.”

I could picture this little paperhanger paying his court more to the parents than the daughter, much as they did in the old country. He loved the girl, in his fashion, and a great rage began working in his slow mind, when he found himself being cut out.

“That Steffes was just a no-good, a bum. I used to follow the two of them around and spy on them. A couple of times I met him and begged him to give up the girl. But always he just laughed and told me to beat it.

“And once,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “he told me Catherine wanted to marry a man. He insulted me.”

Steffes, knowing that the girl preferred him, and with the confidence of youth, had laughed tormentingly at the other man. And with that laugh he had sealed his doom.

“I met Steffes early in the week and told him I knew he had been in jail,” the paperhanger went on. “I threatened to tell the Bunjevacs what I knew, so they’d make Kate give him up.

“Steffes tried to laugh it off, but I told him it was time for a showdown. I told him to meet me Thursday night and he said he’d try to get away early enough to make it.”

That meeting, then, was what the garage mechanic had on his mind the last night his sister and his sweetheart had seen him. The story of feeling ill had been invented to make sure he would get away in time for the meeting he dreaded. The girl’s intuition that something was worrying him had been correct.

The men met by appointment at a beer parlor on East 53rd Street. Csonka began pleading with him to step out of the picture. Steffes drank stein after stein of beer and quickly lost his former dread. The oddly matched couple moved on from one beer place to another. At each they consumed several drinks, Steffes switching to liquor as the night wore on.

Once again in Csonka’s car, they continued the discussion, the murderer said.

“Sitting in the car at East 70th and Quincy. I told Steffes he’d have to give up the girl. He got mad at that, and took out a whisky bottle he had in his pocket. He swung it at me and I got scared. He was bigger than me and I reached in back of the car for my paste brush. I grabbed hold of it and hit him over the head.”

Csonka stopped a moment, as if remembering. A shudder shook his slight frame. He was thinking perhaps of the sickening thud each blow had made on the victim’s head. Then he continued:

“I had to hit him a lot of times before he became quiet. Then I got panicky and pushed his body into the back seat.”

It was evident that Csonka had believed his victim dead after the first blows. He even stopped to change a tire on his car before driving into his own garage.

“I stayed in the garage a while, not knowing just what I ought to do. I was scared someone might come’ in while he was there. And then—” his eyes widened with horror—”Steffes came to life again and started to fight some more.”

I could visualize the terror of the man, as his victim suddenly showed signs of life, when he believed him dead.

“This time I hit him with a heavy iron clamp and he lay still.”

Poor Charlie Steffes. His vitality must have been great, indeed, to withstand a series of such blows. The report showed without any question that he had been still breathing when tossed into the creek.

“I went around the corner to my house and got some wire and a big chunk -of concrete from under our garbage can. I tied him up and then started out to find some place to dump the body.”

And then came the most amazing part of this gruesome story. The killer had driven nearly fifty miles through the night, with the trussed-up body of his victim in the back of his car. And at each bridge and culvert he had stopped. With his flashlight he had peered into the water, trying to determine its depth. Joe Csonka was looking for water deep enough to-cover all evidence of his crime.

[airmanisr]

Done! Well, almost... by Kevin Madore Via Flickr: Here's a view of the freshly constructed Mountain Extension, as seen from the northern approach to Trout Brook Bridge. Although roughly 2100 feet of new track has been laid, and the line now stretches all the way from Cross Road in Sheepscot to Route 218, a distance of about 3.5 miles, there is there is still some work to be done. First, the new track will need to be ballasted, leveled and tamped. Some ballasting was actually accomplished a few weeks after the Fall Work Weekend, but the bulk of the remaining work is scheduled for the 2020 Spring Work Weekend. In addition, a passing siding will need to be built at end-of-track. That siding will have a switch at the south end, and a small turntable at the north end, enabling the locomotive to always face forward. That's important, because the Portland-built WW&F #9 does not have sanders for reverse operation. Lastly, a station shelter will likely be built at what will be the northern terminus of the museum trackage.....at least for the foreseeable future. The new station location is already being called "Trout Brook Station" and the track to that location will be placed in regular passenger service in 2021. The bridge you see is roughly 50 feet long and was originally built by the Boston & Maine Railroad in 1918, spanning Moose Brook in Gorham, New Hampshire on the Berlin Branch. The bridge remained in place until 2004, when an arsonist set fire to it, rendering it unfit for operations. At that time, the National Society for the Preservation of Covered Bridges (NSPCB) saved the remains of the bridge by taking possession of it with the hope of rebuilding. The structure was documented by the National Covered Bridges Recording Project, a documentation program of the Historic American Engineering Record (HAER), which is administered by a division of the National Park Service. Later, the remaining iron parts were shipped to Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland, where the university's Engineering Department completely rebuilt the trusses according to the HAER plans using all new wooden components. A series of tests on the structure yielded valuable data on bridge design and load ratings, and provided a framework for the preservation of the remaining examples of this design. At this point, the NSPCB, secured a grant from the National Park Service for the re-assembly of the bridge trusses. The next step was to find a suitable home for the historic span, and a number of locations were explored. Since the original location was no longer in use for railroad purposes, it was no longer needed there. After becoming aware of the bridge's availability, talks began between the NSPCB and the WW&F regarding use of the Moose Brook trusses as a possible solution to the WW&F's need for a means to cross Trout Brook. The NSPCB then offered to donate the trusses, including the reassembly funds from its NPS grant to the WW&F, so the bridge could once again be put back into active service on a rail line. The bridge is a historically-significant example of a Howe Boxed Pony Truss bridge, one of only six surviving examples of such a design in North America.

[americanbuildings]

VIEW LOOKING AT TOP OF MOVEABLE SPAN FRAMED IN TRUSS-WORK OF SOUTH LIFT-TOWER, WITH CLEVELAND SKYLINE ON HORIZON - Columbus Road Lift Bridge, Spanning Cuyahoga River at Columbus Road, Cleveland, Cuyahoga County, OH

[ultraheydudemestuff]

Cleveland and Pittsburgh Railroad Bridge

Willis St.        

Bedford, OH 44146

Cleveland and Pittsburgh Railroad Bridge, a stone viaduct across Tinker’s Creek Gorge in Bedford, Ohio, has been referred to by a few other names, including the Bedford Viaduct and the Tinker’s Creek Bridge. It was built during the midst of the American Civil War in 1864, replacing the original wooden truss bridge, which opened in 1852.  The massive stone structure is 225 feet long and towers 120 feet above Tinker’s Creek. The first railroad to serve the city of Cleveland was the Cleveland and Pittsburgh Railroad, which was organized on March 14, 1836.   It was created by businessmen under the original name Cleveland, Warren, and Pittsburgh Railroad with the intention to connect Cleveland, the Ohio River, and Pittsburgh. Due to financial windfalls, however, the railroad was reorganized and dropped Warren from its name in 1845.  

     The carefully selected route soon became one of the nation’s heaviest used, carrying iron ore from docks on Cleveland’s lake front to the mills of Pittsburgh. It took a number of years to connect the two cities, however. On March 23, 1847, a plea for public-supported money proved fruitful when, the following April, Cleveland voters approved to give $200,000 towards the further construction of the railroad. It eventually reached Hudson three years later and Pittsburgh a few more years after that. On March 4th, 1852, a train consisting of the mayor of Cleveland and the City Council celebrated as it arrived in Wellsville, a small village along the Ohio River in Columbiana County, Ohio.

    In order to provide stability for the new rail lines and heavier locomotives and cargo, the Viaduct was eventually altered in 1901-1902 when the railroad company decided to fill in the land below the old viaduct with a massive amount of fill added in the effort to make two tracks cross the valley at this point. The creation of the large landfill embankment resulted in the covering of one of the bridge’s arches as well as the lower portions of all the piers in 1901-1902. In order to keep Tinker’s Creek flowing, the company also built a mammoth engineering marvel known as the “Arch” below the viaduct and landfill.

     The bridge is currently abandoned but is an integral part of the new Bedford Viaduct Park (named after the bridge), part of the Cleveland Metroparks. It was placed with the National Register of Historic Places (NRHP) on July 24, 1975. A new deck and railings were added allowing park visitors to walk the bridge and gain access to some great views of the creek. Considering the bridge is the anchor of a Metropark, and the recent rehabilitation that added railings, a new deck, stairs and abutment, the future of the bridge seems pretty secure for the time being.      

[middleland]

Ashtabula Howe Truss Bridge by Ashtabula Archive

Via Flickr:

Sweeney's Photographic Landscapes T. T. Sweeney, Cleveland Ohio Lake Shore Railroad bridge over the Ashtabula River. Site of the 1876 Railroad Bridge Disaster.

[contactover709]

Dating Man In Alton Texas

Dating Man In Alton Texas Map

Dating Man In Alton Texas Police Department

Dating Man In Alton Texas

HIDALGO, Texas—U.S. Customs and Border Protection, Office of Field Operations (OFO) at the Hidalgo International Bridge arrested a 22-year-old man from Alton, Texas in connection with a failed drug smuggling attempt of alleged methamphetamine worth $631,400. “Amid the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic, our officers continue their steadfast commitment towards keeping dangerous. Single Gay Men in Alton, TX. Lone Star State of Texas. Match.com has been the leading online dating site for over 10 years. Why waste time and money searching Alton,Texas bars for love? Create a Match.com profile for FREE. Tired of being single? Your dating choices are endless with thousands of exciting Alton singles available online.

Online Dating Man In Richardson Texas, gay matchmaking service lakewood, speed dating beach branson pawn missouri, dating gay fort thomas kentucky Service and support Bonus offer: Free Membership to DatingVIP. For a town that no longer exists, Alton has a fascinating history. In 1848 the Texas legislature decided that Alton would become the county seat of government for Denton County, replacing the community of Pinckneyville. Present-day Corinth is less than a mile from what was the first town to be named Alton. The county seat was occupied by a. Interracial Dating in Alton, TX. Lone Star State of Texas. Whether you're searching for casual Texas dating or serious Texas relationships, Match.com has millions of smart, sexy and attractive singles meant just for you. Don't miss out on the online dating experience in Alton,Texas. Sleepless and single in Alton?

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Dating Man In Alton Texas Map

About 3 ½ miles from the present-day town of Corinth, in Denton County, Texas, once stood the small village of Alton, which, for a decade, served as the Denton County seat. When Denton County was formed in 1846, the first pioneers chose a place along Pecan Creek for the first county seat and named it Pinckneyville, in honor of Texas’ first governor, James Pinckney Henderson.

But, Pinckneyville would hold the title only two years and never develop into a town. Water shortages forced the county seat to move to a new site in June 1848. Located less than a mile from present-day Corinth, on a high ridge between Pecan Creek and Hickory Creek, the new townsite was called Alton.

Though Commissioners were appointed and directed to lay out a town and sell lots, there are no records that this was ever done and no public buildings were ever erected. In fact, the only residence that existed was that of a man named W.C. Baines, who established a farmstead long before the designation of the new county seat.

County business was held at the Baines’ residence, most of the time, under the shade trees in his yard. The location of the second county seat also proved to be unfavorable due to a lack of potable water and the state legislature soon directed that the site be moved again.

The third county seat location was designated in November 1850, about five miles southwest of present-day Corinth on Hickory Creek. The new site retained the name of Alton and submitted an application for a post office. This location did grow and before long it boasted a hotel and two stores.

By 1856, the small town boasted a number of homes, a blacksmith shop, three stores, a school, saloon, hotel, two doctors, and several lawyers. The Hickory Creek Baptist Church, which continues to stand, was organized in 1855.

Though the fledgling town had begun to grow, the location of the county seat was still unsatisfactory for the majority of Denton County residents, who soon petitioned for yet, another county seat – one that was more centrally located and again, one with better water. Put to a vote in November 1856, the county seat was moved again to Denton. Townsite lots began to be auctioned in January 1857.

In the meantime, Alton began to die as many of its businesses moved to the new county seat. In May 1859, its post office doors closed forever.

There is little remaining of the old townsite today, with the exception of the Hickory Creek Baptist Church and the old Alton Cemetery, which contains graves that date back to 1852. The church is located at 5724 Teasley Lane ( F.M. Road 2181), Denton, Texas. Next to the church is the cemetery.

Years later, in 1884, long after Alton had died, an iron through-truss bridge was built over Hickory Creek on Copper Canyon Road, south of the old townsite. Built by the King Bridge Company of Cleveland, Ohio, the 145-foot long bridge would serve area travelers for more than a century. Called the Old Alton Bridge, sometimes the Argyle bridge, and is better known amongst the locals as “Goatman’s Bridge,” it was first built to carry horses, but would later carry vehicles across the creek.

Alton Bridge Sign

It continued to be used until about 2001 when it was replaced with a concrete-and-steel bridge and a new road, which straightened out a sharp curve. Before the new bridge was built, motorists were required to honk their horns on the one-lane bridge to let other travelers know they were coming.

The bridge was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in July 1988 and closed to vehicle traffic in 2001. It is open only to pedestrians today.

Not only is the Old Alton Bridge a picturesque historic site, but it is also said to be haunted by the “Goatman,” hence the nickname of the bridge.

Half a century after the bridge was built, an African-American man named Oscar Washburn, settled with his family near the bridge. Earning his living raising goats, he was soon called the “Goatman” by the locals. An honest businessman, his goat raising business was a success. Unfortunately; there were those who did not welcome a successful black man within their midst.

When Washburn posted a sign on the bridge that advertised “this way to the Goatman,” it angered local Klansman. On a dark night in August 1938, these hateful men crossed the bridge without their headlights, then, burst into Washburn’s home and drug him from his family to the bridge.

The Klansman then fitted a noose over his head and pushed him over the side of the bridge. However, when they looked over to make sure he was dead, they could see only the rope. Washburn was gone and was never seen again. The hateful Klansman then went back to his home and killed the rest of his family.

Ever since that fateful day, a number of strange things have reportedly occurred on and around the bridge. Many believe that the Goatman haunts the overpass and the nearby woods. The tale continues that when travelers crossed the bridge at night with their headlights off, they would meet the Goatman on the other side. These tales are obviously old, as the bridge has been closed to vehicle traffic since 2001.

Dating Man In Alton Texas Police Department

A number of other reports tell of numerous abandoned cars that have been found near the bridge, with their occupants missing.

Others report seeing a ghostly man herding goats over the bridge, while others say they have seen an apparition staring at them, holding a goat head under each arm. Stranger stories even include people having seen a creature that resembles a half-goat, half-man.

More tales of strange noises have also been described including the sounds of horses’ hoof beats on the bridge, splashing in the creek below, maniacal laughter, and inhuman like growling coming from the surrounding woods.

Visitors sometimes tell of seeing mysterious lights in the area, of car doors, locking and unlocking of their own accord, and numerous vehicle breakdowns while near the old viaduct.

According to legend, if you visit on Halloween and honk your car horn twice, visitors can see Goatman’s glowing eyes.

Ghost Towns: America’s Lost World DVD. At Legends’ General Store.

Dating Man In Alton Texas

And, the Goatman is evidently not alone. Other reports tell of a woman’s spirit who wanders the area allegedly in search of her lost baby. Maybe that spirit is that of La Llorona, who is well known as haunting the rivers of the Southwest.

The bridge is located about seven miles south of Denton. Take I-35E S/US-77 S to exit 463 and merge into the I-35 Frontage Rd. Turn right at Lillian Miller Pkwy and go 0.8 miles, where the road becomes Farm to Market Rd 2181/Teasley Ln, continue 3.2 miles and turn right at Old Alton Rd.

© Kathy Weiser/Legends of America, updated October 2019.

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[horrorkingdom]

“You know, Sergeant,” he said to Hogan, “I think some gangsters got after Steffes. Probably took him for a ride. You know he was mixed up in some bad company for a while there.”

We did not answer. We were waiting for the psychological moment to outline to him what we thought had happened. But that time had not arrived as yet.

Coffee Creek looked far from sinister in the bright daylight. The foliage was just beginning to turn and the countryside was rich in autumnal hues. Everything spoke of peace, and quiet, restful living. It seemed hardly the spot for violence and death. Yet a man’s badly beaten body had been tossed into that creek and its calm water had taken his dying breath.

I took Csonka over toward the east rail and waited with him while the Coroner and Sergeant Hogan talked things over. I knew what was coming and encouraged the man’s nervousness by a complete silence and apparent indifference as to what was going on.

As the two officers conversed, their voices carried clearly on the still air. Hogan was outlining to Pearse what had happened. Csonka was the only one there who didn’t know that the Sergeant was putting on a little dramatic act.

“I think we’ve got this fellow,” Hogan was saying. “It all links up. Two of my men found his car, took a look in it and what do you suppose they found?”

“What ?” asked Pearse, all interest.

“Blood on the upholstery.”

“No!”

“Yes! And one of the windows was smashed. I think that happened when this bird Csonka swung at him with the brush and missed.”

“Brush?” asked Pearse.

“Didn’t you know we found a heavy paste brush in his car with blood on it? He hit Steffes over the head with his paste brush,” the Sergeant went on. “Again and again he struck him. Then when he thought he was dead, he drove out into the country and tossed the body overboard. He weighted it down to make sure it wouldn’t be discovered.”

Hogan paused dramatically as they came over to where we were standing. “Is that the way it happened, Csonka?” he asked suddenly.

I watched the man who was standing so close to me. I had thought of him as meek and mild—hardly the type to become involved in a murder case. But before my eyes I saw an amazing change take place. As he listened to Hogan’s outline of what might have happened that fatal September 17th, Csonka s eyes glittered. It was almost as if he were reliving the crime, and enjoying it. The meekness was gone and replaced by an expression of burning hate.

Abruptly he turned and faced us. “Sure, I killed him. I did it.”

The confession, unexpected as it was, did not give us all we wanted. We had to have details—proof to stand up in a trial. It was not a Cleveland case, but it was up to us to get Csonka talking.

Once he had started, the paperhanger seemed eager to tell the whole story and get it off his mind. I marveled at this shy little man, who, for more than a week had gone about his affairs as usual, but with a horrible secret hidden behind his meek, colorless face. He had even joined in the search for his victim, apparently seeing this would ingratiate him into the favor of Miss Bunjevac. And all the time he had known that the man she loved and waited for was lying in the cold waters of Coffee Creek, a heavy slab weighting him down.

Csonka opened up in earnest on the ride back to Cleveland. The story was even more grim and cold-blooded than we had conceived.

“I was ready to marry the girl. I wanted her. I was getting along fine and had a good business and good prospects. I could have given her things. I was in love with her and she seemed to like me well enough,” Csonka added, “until that Steffes fellow came along last April. Then things changed.”

I could picture this little paperhanger paying his court more to the parents than the daughter, much as they did in the old country. He loved the girl, in his fashion, and a great rage began working in his slow mind, when he found himself being cut out.

“That Steffes was just a no-good, a bum. I used to follow the two of them around and spy on them. A couple of times I met him and begged him to give up the girl. But always he just laughed and told me to beat it.

“And once,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “he told me Catherine wanted to marry a man. He insulted me.”

Steffes, knowing that the girl preferred him, and with the confidence of youth, had laughed tormentingly at the other man. And with that laugh he had sealed his doom.

“I met Steffes early in the week and told him I knew he had been in jail,” the paperhanger went on. “I threatened to tell the Bunjevacs what I knew, so they’d make Kate give him up.

“Steffes tried to laugh it off, but I told him it was time for a showdown. I told him to meet me Thursday night and he said he’d try to get away early enough to make it.”

That meeting, then, was what the garage mechanic had on his mind the last night his sister and his sweetheart had seen him. The story of feeling ill had been invented to make sure he would get away in time for the meeting he dreaded. The girl’s intuition that something was worrying him had been correct.

The men met by appointment at a beer parlor on East 53rd Street. Csonka began pleading with him to step out of the picture. Steffes drank stein after stein of beer and quickly lost his former dread. The oddly matched couple moved on from one beer place to another. At each they consumed several drinks, Steffes switching to liquor as the night wore on.

Once again in Csonka’s car, they continued the discussion, the murderer said.

“Sitting in the car at East 70th and Quincy. I told Steffes he’d have to give up the girl. He got mad at that, and took out a whisky bottle he had in his pocket. He swung it at me and I got scared. He was bigger than me and I reached in back of the car for my paste brush. I grabbed hold of it and hit him over the head.”

Csonka stopped a moment, as if remembering. A shudder shook his slight frame. He was thinking perhaps of the sickening thud each blow had made on the victim’s head. Then he continued:

“I had to hit him a lot of times before he became quiet. Then I got panicky and pushed his body into the back seat.”

It was evident that Csonka had believed his victim dead after the first blows. He even stopped to change a tire on his car before driving into his own garage.

“I stayed in the garage a while, not knowing just what I ought to do. I was scared someone might come’ in while he was there. And then—” his eyes widened with horror—”Steffes came to life again and started to fight some more.”

I could visualize the terror of the man, as his victim suddenly showed signs of life, when he believed him dead.

“This time I hit him with a heavy iron clamp and he lay still.”

Poor Charlie Steffes. His vitality must have been great, indeed, to withstand a series of such blows. The report showed without any question that he had been still breathing when tossed into the creek.

“I went around the corner to my house and got some wire and a big chunk -of concrete from under our garbage can. I tied him up and then started out to find some place to dump the body.”

And then came the most amazing part of this gruesome story. The killer had driven nearly fifty miles through the night, with the trussed-up body of his victim in the back of his car. And at each bridge and culvert he had stopped. With his flashlight he had peered into the water, trying to determine its depth. Joe Csonka was looking for water deep enough to-cover all evidence of his crime.

“The water under that concrete bridge seemed to be deep enough, so I dragged the body out of the car, made sure the concrete was securely fastened to it and pushed it over the rail. It made a loud splash and disappeared. I stood there watching for a few minutes, until the water was quiet again. Then I got in my car and drove home.”

In a dispassionate tone, Csonka ended his confession. Later, he willingly repeated it at Headquarters and signed it. He seemed glad that the matter was off his chest; but showed not the slightest regret for his crime. Over and over again, as if in self-justification, he repeated the words, “He was just a bum.”

We found it hard to believe that on the night after he killed the young man she loved, he went out with Miss Bunjevac, to all appearances, the same shy, harmless man whom her parents wanted her to marry.

“Sure I saw her,” he told me. “We had a date together. I knew she wouldn’t be busy, so I called her. But she didn’t know a thing about any of this. She’s a fine girl. He was just a bum, just a bum.”

We turned Csonka over to the Trumbull County authorities for trial. On April 16th, 1937, after seven months. Prosecutor Paul J. Regan accepted a plea of guilty of second degree murder, and Joseph Csonka was sentenced to life imprisonment at the Ohio State Penitentiary.

The case of the two men who loved one girl became history. But to this day, Farmer Salway and his family rarely pass the culvert of Coffee Creek, off Route 57, without an involuntary glance into the still water, where one fall day they saw a “floating” head.