Court Street bricks

Recently, an article was published in the Athens News that I wrote, chronicling the town through the perspective of the bricks on Court Street. Here is the unedited version.

Athens Block, tell me a tale
By Jenaye Antonuccio

Stories beg an audience. In Athens, stories linger within each business, building, and person, waiting to be revealed. Overlooked chroniclers in this town have witnessed more than we realize. Lying quiet, serving us faithfully, we take their presence for granted. They have kept our secrets while nestled between shops and restaurants. Though rutted and old, expensive to replace, and wreaking havoc on the shocks of our automobiles, they also lend character and charm to the town we call home. They bear the name of a once booming business, with originations in the unlikely soils surrounding the territory, town, and university. They are the bricks of Court Street - our street. Imprints “Athens Brick Co”, “Athens Block” and “Athens, Ohio” are prominent on the streets and walkways, with occasional appearances of their siblings from Nelsonville or Trimble. Salt glazed, their surface is watertight, blazing an attractive and distinctive face. Given the chance to speak, such tales our bricks could tell.

In the 1800s, men worked diligently, fervently digging shale from the hills. They shaped and fired it, manning beehive kilns fueled with coal, working like mad to keep the temperature consistent for producing the best bricks. A promise of a prosperous future for many, these kilns popularly peppered the region, maintaining their high reputation. The brick industry advanced the local economy for half a century, enhancing the appearance of the Athens we admire today. The last remnants of the Athens Brick Company, located at 79 East State Street where the current post office stands, are in several brick cottages across the street. Profitable until 1917, the company suffered bankruptcy due to lack of need. By 1920, the rest of brick industry in the area had died.
But the bricks have remained, reminding us of the forgotten standard of difficult labor being a means to better end. Before Athens became as Athens is, the bricks bore witness.

Mired in muddy streets with horse and buggy, townfolk demanded paved roads. The bricks were ready: West Union Street was the first laid with brick in 1892. Soon after, Court Street was graced with the same. Once called Main Street, Court was lined with trees whose branches reached far across its width. Parrots from a local homeowner roosted there, squawking curses at passersby. A fence bordered the corner edge of Union and Court where the Alumni Gate now stands, lining the property of the College Green, and smartly keeping out the cows. Outdated gas lamps had recently been replaced by modern electric lights. Cornwell Jewelry, the oldest business in town, was a landmark establishment, and the Courthouse had been built more than fifteen years earlier. Photographs dating from 1910 show the proud, bustling brick street, horses and buggies parked in front of the local stores.
The bricks felt the footsteps of university graduates as they completed the traditional march down Court to campus to receive their diplomas. Circuses were met with much hurrah and pomp, parading through downtown when Court Street was two-way traffic. In 1912, Athens became an official city, meeting the required qualification of 5,000 residents.
The Spanish flu epidemic hit hard 1918. Court Street was desolate: all places of public gathering were closed. The university closed for two weeks and extended to a third. Flu homes were quarantined. By mid-November, restrictions were lifted, though Christmas was to be “kissless” and people were encouraged to stay at home.
Snowstorms have hidden our bricks, as in 1950 the “Big Snow” blanketed the region starting on Thanksgiving, dumping 15 – 25 inches. Ice storms have painted the bricks and town with the dangerous spectacle of glistening silver. Hail has pummeled the bricks with fury, especially in 2002, comparing in size to golf balls. Rain causes the bricks to shine and glow, the excess producing floodwaters that have lessened considerably since the Hocking River reroute in 1969 - 71. Blackouts have plagued uptown with darkness, and the bricks remember October 26, 1995, when the two hours of black did not stay the Marching 110 Band from lively entertaining on the courthouse steps.
Fires have preyed upon Court Street and the bricks have kept records of crews aiding in putting out the devastation. Mournfully remembered: Cline drugstore in 1913; First National Bank in 1922; Security bank 1944; Butler Brothers in 1951. In 1962, tragedy struck twice, taking the Coachman restaurant in May and the Athens flower and gift shop on Christmas Eve. Moore’s befell the blazes in 1967, and Athens National Bank 1971. The eighties were a particularly devastating decade to Court Street: Department store Belks in ‘82; Carpenter Hardware in ‘84; Athens Hotel in ‘85; Pizza House in ‘86; and the Athena ‘88.
Until the bypass was completed in the ‘70s, Routes 33 and 50 ran straight up Court Street; 56 crossed perpendicular on Union. Electrical wires were moved underground in 1974, making Court Street modernly “wireless”. Christmas music once filtered out of speakers, entertaining holiday shoppers. Lady Justice, overlooking the beloved bricks, was returned to her post atop the Courthouse in 0cotber 2004, restored and reapplied with gold leaf, after having lost her scales and arm in a 1975 storm.

But these tales the bricks love best, the treasures hidden deep in the mortar.

War broke out on the streets of Athens, August 19, 1904. The National Guard and Regular Army were in town on maneuvers, staging a “bloodless war”, with dignitaries scheduled to attend. Taking a break for drinks in a local saloon, an inebriated Private Kelly fired off a few rounds and was taken to jail. The troops, disgruntled, carried on with the make-believe war, complete with cannon fire and infantry charges. Yet, tension was building. Resentment simmered amongst the 14th artillery and 27th infantry, and a plan was formulated to free Kelly. The troops marched up State Street to North Court, then to West Washington and the jail. Real firing ensued this time, and soon needless blood was spilled upon the bricks, leaving two dead and four injured.

Edward and Mattie Berry’s fine and famous Hotel Berry had its beginnings as an ice cream shop, built in 1892. Already a popular operation before the bricks were laid on Court, thriving years brought expansion from 20 rooms to 90. Berry, a free black man defying standards of the time, was met with opposition. But no one could argue against his quality of service: he ran his business smoothly and well. Every tastefully decorated room, each equipped with the rare closet, had extras such as Bibles, sewing machines, and fruit baskets. The restaurant boasted the best food in town. Six U.S. presidents thought the hotel grand enough for their accommodation. A former bricklayer working for only cents a day, Berry, becoming one of the most prosperous businessmen in his time, was a major supporter of both the construction of the Alumni Gateway and Mt. Zion church. In 1923, the hotel was sold and eventually converted into a men’s dorm, Berry Hall, in 1962. In 1974, the building and all of its history was razed. The site is now home of the Court Street Diner and a parking lot. In 2004, a historic marker was placed at the sight. Frank Hale, Jr., Berry’s great nephew, commemorated the site with a speech. A plaque was also placed at the Alumni Gate, honoring Berry.

James Brown, owner of the Bank of Athens, proudly installed a four-faced clock on the corner of Court and Washington in 1924. Clocks facing every direction allowed every passerby a glimpse of the correct time, while hymn verses inspired traffic every quarter hour. It was moved across the street, and eventual ownership was passed to the former Bank One. Then, time stopped. No attempts at reparations were made for quite a while, and each clock remained frozen, announcing a different time. In 2004, two ingenious Ohio University engineering students, as part of their senior project, repaired it for less than $200. Chase Bank bought out Bank One, and the clock was removed.

“We tried, but we failed,” said Ohio University president Claude Sowle in a May 15, 1970 statement, issued at 3:10 a.m. Days of failed attempts to sustain peace on campus forced the premature closing of the University. An unsettled and divided nation fed the fires of unrest on many campuses that spring. Strong opposition to the Vietnam War, the nation’s intervention in Cambodia, and the subsequent draft created anger and panic. Monday, May 4, was a day of unwarranted tragedy: the National Guard, sent in to maintain order after a series of confrontations, killed four students and injured nine at Kent State. Spurned by the injustice, student strikes were announced across the nation. Ohio University, in the throes of their own protest on the Green, received news of the disaster at Kent. The crowd expanded to 4,000. Constant urging for non-violent protesting came from officials. Parading down Court Street, 2,500 students participated in a “March Against Death” on May 6, honoring the dead. From there, chaos swelled. A firebomb exploded at Peden Stadium May 7. Occupying Chubb Library on May 11, 150 students “liberated” the building until 6 a.m. Nelson Hall, under construction, was firebombed on May 12. Consecutive disruptions followed: false fire alarms, trash fires, removal of parking meters, and shattered store windows. Police resorted to excessive use of tear gas to control crowds.
On May 14, 1,300 students gathered on the Green near Baker Center just after dark. Court and Union streets were blocked to prevent them from reaching downtown districts. Rocks and firecrackers were thrown at the city police. Bricks crashed through the window in Logan’s bookstore. Students were asked to disperse within five minutes. They refused and tear gas was fired. A 90-minute ugly battle ensued: students moved towards Court and Union pelting stores and police with rocks, bricks, bottles and other objects; police drove them back with gas. Glass from numerous stores, parking meters, and Chubb, Cutler, and Galbreath peppered the streets and walkways. The wary National Guard would not assist until Sowle closed the University. In the early hours, Sowle came to a decision. Fifteen hundred National Guard marched down Court, lining up at every other meter, enforcing 24 –36 hours to vacate the campus. The university was closed until the beginning of summer quarter.

The bricks, though recently criticized, witness the everyday happenings of our small town. They remember the hands that made them, remember the footsteps of the famous and ordinary who have crossed them. They are the reluctant host to Athens events such as the annual Halloween bash, and the time change riots in the spring. They comply to host to events such as bike races, marathons, parades, Boogie on the Bricks, The International Street Fair, and the Uptown Farmers/Arts Market. Their newfound fame as pieces of art and decoration have pleased them. And still, they will linger on, keeping our stories.

All of the information here was found courtesy of the Athens County Historical Society and Museum on Court Street and the Mahn Center for Archives and Special Collections and in Alden Library. Special thanks goes to Kelee Riesbeck and her assistants, and to Bill Kimok, Doug McCabe and Susan Knoer.