MR. OSCEOLA GLADIATOR WAS A FOLK HISTORY MAKER, AND KNEW IT IN HIS OWN TIME
BRACEBRIDGE HISTORY MANY TODAY WOULD LIKE TO FORGET -
It's one of those realities of history thought best left alone. Maybe if it was bypassed by historians, and denied media coverage, it would go away, and cease to be a wort on the town's chronicle. Then again, when we sanitize history, it always comes back to haunt those who have suppressed its recognition.
If I was to write a story about prostitution in pioneer Muskoka, some of my conservative colleagues would cringe, that publicity about this would damage the town's reputation. Well tough. I know for fact, that Rachel Porter, a lady of ill-repute in Victorian times, was an ambitious, and entrepreneurial wee lass, who brought her band of ladies together, to profit from the lonely men who worked at the tanneries, but they wouldn't turn away loggers, shingle-makers or carpenters. The local constables had a "dickens" of a time, removing Ms. Porter and associates, from active service; and after being ousted from one neighborhood, she'd quickly turn up in another only a few days thereafter. She started her first enterprise on Bracebridge's Victoria Street, and when booted-out, got into a location, near what is now Kelvin Grove Park, below the town falls; and when removed from this place of business, holed-up in tents near High Falls. It was rustic, let's just say that! Bracebridge was not the only habitation, in the district, to have prostitutes in those early days; especially popular when loggers took breaks from the isolated winter camps, and then spent their social / recreational time, and camp salary, in and around the local hotels. The ladies of the night knew how full those pay packets were, at the end of the spring drive, and exploited the opportunities. Let's just say that a great many lumbermen / homesteaders, wound-up coming back to their cabins and their family, with a lot less money than they had left the camp cashier.
There were murders, attempted murders, acts of violence, domestic violence, public drunkenness, deaths by misadventure, theft, robberies, fraud and arson. Just like the chronicle of many frontier and maturing communities. Bracebridge was no better or worse than other neighboring towns, and villages. There were bad actors. Enough said. But there's more. There was prejudice. And it wasn't without its hurt and injury.
When we first moved to town, in the spring of 1966, I remember listening to a conversation, that stuck with me, between my father and one of his new customers, at the historic Shier Lumber Company. The company had just recently changed hands, from the founding Shier family, to Robert Jones, the new owner, a long-time friend of my father, dating back in the lumber business in Southern Ontario. My dad was hired to manage the company, which meant a move for our family from Burlington, to Bracebridge. The customer, on this occasion, was trying to explain to my father Ed, where his house was located. "Your delivery driver will know how to find our house; it's down Tanbark Hill, in Nigger Hollow." There was a street name given, but all I could think about was "Nigger," and a neighborhood of town. As a preamble explanation, back in the mid 1960's, I knew more than most kids my age, about what prejudice and segregation were all about. Our family had spent time in Florida, and travelling in the southern United States, and I'd often pointed out things like "White's Only" signs, on drinking fountains, and on doors in various establishments we passed, or sometimes visited. We used to vacation across from a bar in Florida, where African Americans could only buy booze from a take-out window, on the side of the tavern. Then again, even in Toronto, in the early 1960's, I remember going to Sunnyside Pool in Toronto, and asking my father what "Gentiles Only," meant. This meaning of course, "no jews."
I remember stories my dad used to tell, about growing up in the Cabbagetown neighborhood, in Toronto, and the pastime, of gathering near a neighbor school, so they could "beat the hell out of the Catholics." Suzanne's family, dating back to the early 1860's in Muskoka, were proudly Orange, and helped establish the Orange Lodge in Watt Township; and one of their famous recreations, was to arrive by foot, or cart, in Bracebridge, (a long hike), and as their reputation, as the "Three Mile Lake Wolves," link arms across the width of Manitoba Street, and walk toward the Queen's Hotel, where they liked to dine, challenging any citizen, or group, to oppose their unobstructed march, by getting in the way. Mostly, they were thinking about Catholics, and an old fashioned Irish donnybrook, between the green and the orange. The point is, prejudice and discrimination have been with us for a long time, and yet it is an important part of our heritage, regardless how it may paint us today with unwanted public scrutiny. Shea family historian, Bert Shea, bravely made these references in his two books, written about the birth of a township, and pioneer life and times. As a contemporary historian, I am so thankful that he didn't sanitize his stories, to cover up the way attitudes were, more than 150 years ago on this hinterland frontier.
Here is a short story written by G.H.O. Thomas, in 1934, about an earlier dust-up, in the name of religion, between a Protestant settler and a Catholic, both friends from the same township north of Bracebridge:
"You might be interested in the public buildings, in Bracebridge, fifty years ago (1884). Probably the oldest public building still standing (as of 1934), is now occupied by Mr. Alex Milne, as a garage. Fifty years ago the ground floor was a livery stable operated by a Mr. Cain, whose family lived in the upper storey. Like so many village combination buildings it had a balcony or verandah across the front. This building was, I believe, built by the Orange Society, and was used for Lodge purposes, but was also for some years the only concert hall in the village. Many concerts and plays were given there by local artists, as well as by travelling troupes. It was from this balcony that the famous fiery speech was delivered that Mr. Sam Armstrong used to tell so well. Sam says that on the first 'Twelfth,' there was a great gathering. Pioneers had not many holidays nor many entertainments. So regardless of race and religion, they came from all over the district to the 'Twelfth' (festivities) in Bracebridge. The street in front of the hall was seated by planks on blocks. It so happened that a Roman Catholic and a Protestant walked down together from Watt Township. They were sitting side by side listening to the speeches. Then an orator gave an inflammable speech, beginning, 'Rome! Rome! Guilty Rome! Issuing from the Vatican your damnable dogmas! With your bloody arm bared, crying slay, slay!' Our Protestant friend could bear it no longer. He jumped up and turning to his Catholic chum, shouted, 'Patrick! By the forces of them arguments I must smite you!' And he did!"
My respect is extended to G.H.O. Thomas, as well, who in 1934, as publisher of the Bracebridge Gazette, wrote about one of the most controversial realities of local history. What other historians stayed away from, because of negative reflection on the community, Mr. Thomas, a teacher, who became a newspaper publisher, took the story on for two good reasons. First of all, he knew that it was unfortunate that the name was used in the first place, attributed to the skin color of a resident, in the valley below the town heights, known as the Hollow. He also felt it was the historian's privilege, to correct the story, of how "Nigger Hollow," got its name, and a slur committed, to a citizen, who as it turned out, may not have been black at all. As a result of having dark skin, "Osceola Gladiator," who owned a house, not far from the bottom of Tanbark Hill (below the former Bracebridge High School), a number of youth, well before the 1880's, referred to him as a "nigger," and thus elders soon borrowed the reference, and put this slur together with "Hollow;" (even though originally they were just referring to his cabin), and it didn't take long before "Nigger Hollow," became a frequently referred to area of local geography and topography.
In my own youth, growing up in Bracebridge, I never once heard any of my chums refer to it in this manner. It was always, "are you coming with us to The Hollow." It's where the town baseball field was situated, at the Bracebridge Fairgrounds, or more properly, "Jubilee Park." I probably blurted, on some occasion, "you mean down to Nigger Hollow." I don't believe I was ever chastised by them for saying this, but no one else dared to repeat it, as a point of reference. Now that, I do remember clearly. As for adults, in the community, I heard it frequently. I still hear it occasionally, if I'm talking to an older citizen, about their recollections of the old neighborhoods of town. Mostly today, it's referred to as The Hollow, if it is called anything at all; because it's also something that is diminishing into its own history. Now people refer to streets and specific locations, without feeling any necessity to reference either "hollow" or "hill", such as the case of "Hunt's Hill," "Cheese Factory Hill," and "Tanbark Hill." In my early years, it was a constant, and if I was stopped on my bike, by a local constable, for riding on the sidewalks, he'd ask me first, "What part of town I was from." I'd answer "Hunt's Hill." I'm not sure if the kids from the "Hollow," added "Nigger" to the description, but I do know, that it was an historical entitlement, to be thusly proud of your home neighborhood. Out of some ignorance, and racist only, in the fact I wasn't educated in this regard, at this young age, I probably did think more, about the connotation, from my own travels in the Southern United States, that "Nigger Hollow," must thusly reference a poor area of town. At the time, I didn't even know any African American families in The Hollow. In a prejudicial way, of which I offer a belated apology, I just assumed that if it was a Nigger Hollow, it must be of lesser privilege than say, Hunt's Hill. There were a lot of blue collar workers in our neighborhood, so we weren't all that well off either. I had a lot to learn, in order to understand the history of my new home town. It can't be said, I either didn't take an interest, or didn't work diligently to pick up what I needed to, in order to consider myself a town historian.
The article, written by G.H.O. Thomas, in 1934, reflecting back on the year, fifty years previous, being 1884, handles the story of "Nigger Hollow," with great sensitivity, and provides substantial clarification, of how the name was given, and how it stuck through the decades. He address the good citizenship of Mr. Osceola Gladiator, and how unfair it had all been to this unassuming, hard working chap, how happened to live in "The Hollow," and have darker than usual skin, for a very white-skinned community at the time. There have been many inaccuracies in recent history, as to how the Hollow got its add-on title, assuming wrongly that it had something to do with dark skinned employees of one of the tanneries. I have even made this mistake myself. It's why I was so happy to find this editorial piece, by Mr. Thomas, who clarifies this bit of folk history, that has been avoided for long and long. As Mr. Thomas explains it, what began with the typical lipping-off of youngsters, over time, generated into adult conversation. And with general insensitivity, toward Mr. Gladiator, it became entrenched. Make no mistake. It was a slur in 1884, just as it was in 1934 in the writer's retrospective, so the adults of our town understood the implications, and potential hurt they were inflicting, by using the reference. Times, as they say, were different.
Through the words penned by G.H.O. Thomas, from his 1934 article, published in the Bracebridge Gazette, we can better appreciate how it all began, and why it has lingered into contemporary times.
"Nigger Hollow was Nigger Hollow fifty years ago (1884). It is now the large part of the 1st Ward. The Hollow was quite unlike the 4th Ward in those days. It had no trees but quite a few houses. The Tannery had populated that section, especially towards the river. The site of the present Fair Grounds (Jubilee Park), and all the residences around it was a field of big pine stumps. That must have been one of the best stands of pine in the north country. Paths twined and twisted through the stumps to the tannery settlement beyond. The hill leading to it was steep beyond description. One can still get some idea of its steepness by the street, going down past the High School, where the sidewalk is a series of steps. In early days, the tannery shipped by water, so that there was no wheel hauling up hill. When the railway was ready for freight business, the tannery made a tanbark road up the hill, so that to this day, it is often called 'Tanbark Hill.' However, in modern times, a diagonal road, of more gentle grade was made and Tanbark Hill became Rosemount Avenue.'
"Nigger Hollow derived its name from Mr. Osceola Gladiator. Quite a name, 'Osceola Gladiator.' He was a colored gentleman but whether Negro or Indian, (First Nations), I am not sure. To irreverent small boys a dark man is a 'nigger.' Osceola Gladiator lived at the foot of Tanbark Hill more than fifty years ago (pre 1884). In old records I saw his name only once. About 1878, a ratepayer appealed against many assessments as too low. Osceola Gladiator, forthwith appealed against the assessment of the appellant. A gladiator is a man who fights to the death, either men or beasts. Gladiators fought lions and fought and killed each other, to make a make a Roman holiday. 'Osceola' was a great Indian chief, famous as a warrior. There are many places named 'Osceola,' in the United States. Whether the Bracebridge Osceola Gladiator was so Christened, or whether as a practical joker he assumed the name, may never be known."
According to Mr. Thomas, in concluding his article, "I never heard a good description of him, but as young Bracebridge's only dark man, he named for all time 'Nigger Hollow.' When the railroad builders battered down the Fair building and cut off part of the grounds, it became necessary (for him) to find new premises. Mr. Alfred Hunt cleared the stumps of Nigger Hollow, sold building lots round the margin and leveled the eleven acres, in the centre, for Show grounds and Athletic Field. Shortly afterwards the village and the Agricultural Society acquired the property. The field was opened as a Public Park, June 21st, 1887, and Christened 'Jubilee Park,' the opening taking place on the 50th anniversary, of the accession of Queen Victoria."
Quite a piece of town history. Of course, much of this was never presented, in terms of historical designation and significance, when the park was sold off, a number of years ago, for a university campus. I was a dissenter of this decision, as I remain steadfast to this day.
Suzanne, my research partner, and I, will be doing some archive sleuthing regarding the good Mr. Osceola Gladiator, and we will let you know what, if anything, we turn up in the future. We have a special interest in this story, which relates back to our first house as a married couple, and where eldest son Andrew arrived as a new-born, near the bottom of the former Tanbark Hill, probably close to the south side property, once owned by Mr. Gladiator. I find stories like this so compelling and interesting, beyond some of the more typical aspects, one would expect of the local chronicle. As editor of The Herald-Gazette, I used to spend hours, especially on weekends, researching story ideas, in the informal archives of The Herald-Gazette building, located at 27 Dominion Street; a basement once used to house convicted murderer George Cyr, who had shot several members of the Solave family, near Bracebridge. From that basement cell, Cyr could hear the construction of his gallows, being erected in an enclosure, directly beside the building. He was buried in a bed of fast acting lime, in a grave, a few metres from the brink of the walkway, that is known today as "Chancery Lane." I sort of felt Mr. Cyr's company, as I dug up the news stories from the original news pages, kept in order of publishing years. I may have actually been sitting where he spent his final moments in the agony of recognition, his time was running out. I wrote thousands of pages of notes in those years, in that basement room, and because of this exposure to the news coverage, through the centuries, I was able to self-educate my way, into the many unique and interesting realities of Bracebridge, and Muskoka history. The one story I had never addressed previously, as openly and sensitively as Mr. Thomas handled it, in 1934, was the tale of Osceola Gladiator; the source of the reference "Nigger Hollow." I had found nothing in the old archives, that helped me with the story. Many years later I acquired this particular article by Mr. Thomas, and, by golly, there it was; now I had the foundation of a story to work with.
Thanks for joining today's blog. It's great when we can get together, to reminisce about the days of yore!
FROM THE ARCHIVES
THE PARANORMAL IS ALL QUITE NORMAL
I don’t criss-cross the continent, as some ghost sleuths do, looking for cold spots in old houses, buildings, theatres, government buildings, courthouses, hotels, motels or on golf courses.....where I’m told there are a few hackers (like me in life) who don’t know they’ve expired this mortal coil. They’re still trying to lower their handicap. While I do read the tomes of those who have sought out wee ghosties, on moor or highland, from cemeteries to musty attics in venerable old homes, I just don’t actively hunt them out, and have never tried to do so, as I respect their privacy as they observe mine. Unless of course they have an agenda to resolve. If I happen upon a spirited traveller, beyond the present hard realities of life as we know it, I certainly don’t look away or tremble with fear. If we accidentally run into one another, or it’s a planned visit or lasting occupation of the premises etc., well that’s my kind of ghost sleuthing. Easy access.
Since my father Ed passed away a year ago, it has been pretty quiet on the ghost front. As I do believe in the work of medium John Edward, and his advice to validate those who have “crossed over” as being spiritual qualities and quantities, there isn’t much necessity, I suppose for any spirited intervention. My wife and I are fully cognizant of the spirit-kind, and we aren’t afraid of occasionally tossing our family and friends who have passed, a random “hello.....how are you Dave, or Ed, Merle, Norm, Harriet, Uncles John, Jack, Vince, friends Charlie, Dave, or Randy. We don’t get an “other side” pat on the back or anything but a feeling that they are aware of our acceptance of their existence, in one form or another, in the great beyond. I have always believed in life after death, although never having been particularly religious. My cross-boundary chatting, and it can be in mind if not voice, has come since watching John Edward’s “Crossing Over,” and fully appreciating what it means to validate those who have passed. It’s as simple as believing there is more to existence than what we see in our daily lives. And by giving it all the benefit of the doubt that there’s acceptance and accommodation on both “our plane,”...... and there’s. I validate these spirit-kind, each day, by simply acknowledging that they continue on, and can make contact. I don’t need a seance or a visit to the cemetery to communicate my sentiments.
Two friends in particular, who passed away some years ago now, are always in mind when I’m working on a research project. Dave Brown, my outdoor education chum, (I wrote his biography).....who was my mentor, in both history and vintage book collecting, is on my spiritual speed-dial. As I trusted Dave’s judgement in life, I value his input just as much from “the beyond.” I can’t tell you how many books the man has helped me find since his death. I’m not shy about asking him to help me find an evasive book or file folder in my cluttered archives. Nothing happens immediately. I don’t think those who have passed are on-the-clock if you know what I mean. From a week to three in waiting, nine times out of ten, I will trip, or spill a coffee, topple over a stack of books, and low and behold.....the evasive book is revealed. As for the statistics that it is not a manifestation of spirits at all, just stupid coincidence, well.....call it what you will. It won’t stop me from asking for help in the future. There are other times I will just say hello to my research partner, Charlie Wilson, a dear man and talented writer, who I worked with on a sport’s biography back in the late 1990's. He’d call me several times a week, and we’d talk for an hour about history and research obstacles, and about his life as a front line reporter in an American city, back in the days of widespread civil unrest. I learned so much from these two gentlemen, and I’ll tell you, whey they passed, each was a huge blow to my own writing work. It’s why I simply refused to distance myself just because of death. Heck with that! I needed their inspiration plain and simple. So I started to mindfully greet them whenever I sat at this keyboard, and needed a spark of motivation..... or requireed some strategy for researching something that had or has now become stubborn and unyielding. Both men were doggedly determined to succeed, no matter what they were working on. I can still so clearly hear their friendly voices on the telephone.....while I was sitting, or pondering without luck, at this same desk.....tapping at this worn-out keyboard. While my critics will call me delusional, and that you can not talk to dead people.....well, I guess there’s worse things in life, as long as don’t start clucking like a chicken or chasing vehicles down the road like a wayward dog.
Suzanne and I have both had many encounters with wayward spirits......at least “wayward” to us. They obviously remained in dwellings we have lived and worked, and didn’t move out entirely, you might say, with their respective friends and family. Back through this extensive blog you will find these references, and we attest to the truthfulness of each experience. Yet by far, our encounters generally, are from subtle inspirations and messages from the other side, that are by no means unsettling or unwelcome. Some will say these are “hauntings” none the less. We see it as the result of being “okay” with death, and confident, that in this big, complicated universe, there’s a lot more stuff science has yet figured out. Such as parallel dimensions. Until we find the “other side” by using the investigation of science, we will, in the meantime, continue to acknowledge, out of a sense of good will and kinship, those we wish to include as part of our contemporary existence. We certainly don’t let out a roll call each day, and maybe only once every three or four months, will I make a point of rattling off a larger greeting to include more friends and family......because coincidentally I was thinking of these departed souls at the time, for any number of reasons. If I think about Dave Brown, I will validate the reminiscence with a simple greeting......much as I did when Dave’s canoe-laden truck arrived here for summer weekends, and he ambled up the driveway with an arm load of books for our kids. When I recall a neat moment with my dad, because of some parallel I’ve been exposed to, I don’t worry about any prescribed protocol but rather, exercise what I feel is appropriate.....and if I vocalize it......chances are it will sound like, “Hi Eddy....what’s going on?” Now if you hear me say that, and you notice there’s nobody around me, be polite and let a man have his fun. My dad and I had a lot of memorable “bull sessions” shooting the breeze over a lifetime. And we’re still communicating but he just doesn’t make the coffee any more.
Some people do consult this blog series looking for traditional ghost stories. There are a few of those printed here, and being open to paranormal potential, validating that there is indeed a dimension that allows ghosts to wander about, we expect a full life of future spirit-full encounters. We just don’t get scared about visitations. Rather we look forward to contact and have not had bad experiences.....just a few we didn’t understand at the time......but dealt with after preliminary research and a heaping helping of open-mindedness. It might be the sudden aroma of lilacs in the middle of winter, the wafting scent of fresh cookies from the oven, when nothing is being baked, or the strange thought of a name or word that seems so wildly out of place. One day, as I was shovelling snow, I all of a sudden had a reference to “witch-hazel” repeating in my mind. Now how the heck does that happen? I’m pretty sure I know but do you? I knew nothing about witch-hazel other than my most basic school-day knowledge of it as basic countryside flora and fauna. I knew it had a medicinal use but I couldn’t tell you what it treated.
After about an hour of this, I went and asked Suzanne whether or not her mother could be trying to get us a message by using a reference to “witch-hazel” in order to jog our memories. The short answer is “yes.” It seemed Harriet and family did have something or other to do with this old remedy for infections and skin irritations.....but it also got Suzanne thinking about many other situations and activities that could have had witch-hazel as a guidepost. I had an infection, at this time, on my index finger, and after hearing this said, “Well, why don’t we go out an buy some, and see if it works.” It did. We now use it all the time for a variety of conditions and it has always worked. Now I don’t think Harriet was trying to administer first aid to my injured finger by introducing witch-hazel to my mindset that day. It did spawn some reckoning and parallels for my wife, and so this intrusion was welcome and useful. Some are a little annoying because we can find no legitimate parallel. I get things like this happening all the time. I always apologize to the other side, that if they are indeed trying to communicate some message to me, the should please allow for the fact I’m a little slower on the pick-up these days..... so I suggest they “leave a message and I’ll get back to you!”
In the new year we will be making occasional entries on this blog-site, of experiences we haven’t yet documented and new ones encountered along the way. But these accounts should not chill or frighten you, as they didn’t shock us when they happened. We are all a wee bit wary of the unknown and that’s a good thing. Blind acceptance isn’t good either. I will never chase away a ghost. I will beg of it to stay a while, and let me in on its secrets and aspirations here on earth. But I will, most importantly, validate them.
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