Ghost Stories: ‘The wickedest man in Ohio’ becomes a ‘shining apostle’
Lead Summary
By
Steve Roush-
Ladies and gentlemen, around noontime on a sunny day in the year of our Lord 1874, bells were ringing in the town of New Vienna, Ohio.
Local saloon keeper John Calvin Van Pelt, who had earned the sobriquet of the “wickedest man in Ohio,” had announced to the New Vienna temperance crusaders that he had made a decision regarding his establishment, the Dead Fall Saloon, and would reveal his resolution that afternoon at 2 p.m.
Young lads went through the streets with hand bells, crying, “Everybody meet at Van Pelt’s saloon at two o’clock and hear his decision!” People closed up their places of business and rushed from all parts of the town toward Van Pelt’s depot. An immense crowd of men and women assembled before the scene of so many prayers and songs. Each looked at the other, and wondered what was going to happen next.
After singing and prayer by the ladies, Van Pelt came to the door, and in a few remarks full of feeling, made a complete surrender of his stock and fixtures to the cause. He said he yielded not to law or force, but to the labors of love of the women. He then requested all the men, except the ministers, to retire beyond the railroad track, and called upon Rev. D. Hill and Rev. H.H. Whitter to roll out the barrels. There was one barrel of whiskey, another of cider, and a keg of beer.
Van Pelt then seized an axe, and stepping forward, held it up, crying, “This is the same weapon I used to terrify the ladies. I now use it to sacrifice that which I fear has ruined many souls.”
At that point, Van Pelt took the axe to the barrels of booze, and the liquors gurgled out into the gutters.
Prayer was offered, a hymn sung, and Van Pelt made a few more remarks, saying, “Ladies, I now promise you to never sell or drink another drop of whiskey as long as I live, and I also promise to work with you in the cause with as much zeal as I have worked against you.” He added that he hoped the women of the United States would never cease until every drop of whiskey was emptied upon the ground, as his was.
Just then, the train from Cincinnati arrived. The crowd set up a deafening cheer; a photographer captured the scene and preserved it for posterity; the women gathered around Van Pelt, shaking his hand and congratulating him, and the glad news spread through the town, creating great excitement.
In the evening, a thanksgiving meeting was held in the Christian church, and Van Pelt spoke. It was written that he was humble in his manner, and made a good impression on the audience. He had felt, he said, for some days, deep convictions that he was doing a mean business, but had used every argument he could to sustain himself – he had tried to argue with the ladies, and get the best of the argument; it was not arguments, but their prayers and suffering that had touched his heart. He said no man or set of men would suffer and endure what the ladies had endured in this work.
He referred to his saloon as a low doggery, saying, “Yes, I’ll call it a low doggery, for no man can keep a high one.” He said he had often taken the last 10 cents from a man for whiskey when he knew the money had been earned by the man’s wife or child – adding that every man who sells whiskey does this – little faces thus robbed had often appealed to his heart with greater force than any words of man.
Van Pelt reiterated that he was now determined to quit the liquor business forever, and throw his strength on “the other side of the question.” He said that “places of innocent amusement ought to be established to entertain those who seek company of saloons.”
It was written that Van Pelt “believed God had led the ladies into this work” and “wanted to encourage them to go on until the country is freed from the greatest curse in all the land. He had been thinking for several days that perhaps the great God who overrules all had allowed him to go into that low business, that he might see the great iniquity, and be better able to influence others to quit the terrible business.”
One week later, Van Pelt was in the field as a temperance lecturer.
Like Saul of Tarsus, John Calvin Van Pelt took up the cause that he fought so long and became one of its most shining apostles.
Let’s pause for now and we’ll continue next week.
Steve Roush is a vice president of an international media company and a columnist and contributing writer for The Highland County Press. He can be reached by email at roush_steve@msn.com.
Local saloon keeper John Calvin Van Pelt, who had earned the sobriquet of the “wickedest man in Ohio,” had announced to the New Vienna temperance crusaders that he had made a decision regarding his establishment, the Dead Fall Saloon, and would reveal his resolution that afternoon at 2 p.m.
Young lads went through the streets with hand bells, crying, “Everybody meet at Van Pelt’s saloon at two o’clock and hear his decision!” People closed up their places of business and rushed from all parts of the town toward Van Pelt’s depot. An immense crowd of men and women assembled before the scene of so many prayers and songs. Each looked at the other, and wondered what was going to happen next.
After singing and prayer by the ladies, Van Pelt came to the door, and in a few remarks full of feeling, made a complete surrender of his stock and fixtures to the cause. He said he yielded not to law or force, but to the labors of love of the women. He then requested all the men, except the ministers, to retire beyond the railroad track, and called upon Rev. D. Hill and Rev. H.H. Whitter to roll out the barrels. There was one barrel of whiskey, another of cider, and a keg of beer.
Van Pelt then seized an axe, and stepping forward, held it up, crying, “This is the same weapon I used to terrify the ladies. I now use it to sacrifice that which I fear has ruined many souls.”
At that point, Van Pelt took the axe to the barrels of booze, and the liquors gurgled out into the gutters.
Prayer was offered, a hymn sung, and Van Pelt made a few more remarks, saying, “Ladies, I now promise you to never sell or drink another drop of whiskey as long as I live, and I also promise to work with you in the cause with as much zeal as I have worked against you.” He added that he hoped the women of the United States would never cease until every drop of whiskey was emptied upon the ground, as his was.
Just then, the train from Cincinnati arrived. The crowd set up a deafening cheer; a photographer captured the scene and preserved it for posterity; the women gathered around Van Pelt, shaking his hand and congratulating him, and the glad news spread through the town, creating great excitement.
In the evening, a thanksgiving meeting was held in the Christian church, and Van Pelt spoke. It was written that he was humble in his manner, and made a good impression on the audience. He had felt, he said, for some days, deep convictions that he was doing a mean business, but had used every argument he could to sustain himself – he had tried to argue with the ladies, and get the best of the argument; it was not arguments, but their prayers and suffering that had touched his heart. He said no man or set of men would suffer and endure what the ladies had endured in this work.
He referred to his saloon as a low doggery, saying, “Yes, I’ll call it a low doggery, for no man can keep a high one.” He said he had often taken the last 10 cents from a man for whiskey when he knew the money had been earned by the man’s wife or child – adding that every man who sells whiskey does this – little faces thus robbed had often appealed to his heart with greater force than any words of man.
Van Pelt reiterated that he was now determined to quit the liquor business forever, and throw his strength on “the other side of the question.” He said that “places of innocent amusement ought to be established to entertain those who seek company of saloons.”
It was written that Van Pelt “believed God had led the ladies into this work” and “wanted to encourage them to go on until the country is freed from the greatest curse in all the land. He had been thinking for several days that perhaps the great God who overrules all had allowed him to go into that low business, that he might see the great iniquity, and be better able to influence others to quit the terrible business.”
One week later, Van Pelt was in the field as a temperance lecturer.
Like Saul of Tarsus, John Calvin Van Pelt took up the cause that he fought so long and became one of its most shining apostles.
Let’s pause for now and we’ll continue next week.
Steve Roush is a vice president of an international media company and a columnist and contributing writer for The Highland County Press. He can be reached by email at roush_steve@msn.com.