Edward Coyle - Researching a Black Sheep, Part II

 Edward’s history of questionable behavior intrigued me, beginning with his desertion from the Army and escalating with his involvement at the Red Onion House in Louisville. So I began searching for more info on this house and its occupants.  But most of my searches for “red onion” either turned up grocery ads, restaurant menus or a few paltry mentions of Lizzie Cornelius’ establishment, which I knew Edward was connected to. However, these searches kept pointing me to Madison, Indiana – a small town across the river in Indiana. So I went searching there.

What I found astounded and confused me. There was a notorious establishment there, known primarily for gambling but also for illegal alcohol sales, fights and general mayhem. But the primary character involved in these stories was – Edward Coyle. And he owned an established known as The Red Onion, located at the corner of Central Avenue and Front Street. In 1898 an incident occurred involving Coyle and the Red Onion that turned the town on its ear for a time. Coyle owned the building where the saloon operated, and under one manager business turned sour and the saloon closed. Coyle offered money to another man to start it up again, and the business once again thrived. This upset the previous manager, and on the evening of April 18, 1898 he and two other man used dynamite to blow the building up. All three were convicted and sentenced to two years in prison.

I spent years chasing this man. He had gambling halls and faro banks scattered across Indiana, including in Jeffersonville where my Coyle family lived. I found numerous newspaper accounts of an Ed, Edward or sometimes Ned Coyle being arrested for gaming, assault, illegal liquor sales and running “disreputable houses”. In Jeffersonville, such a public outcry arose when he opened a faro bank there that the newspapers took up the fight and caused a grand jury to indict him. But when warrants for his arrest were sent to his home town of Madison, the sheriff of the county failed to arrest him; the sheriff was subsequently arrested. 

Men playing faro in Arizona saloon in 1895 - credit

My husband often tells me there is no such thing as coincidence, and in this case I believed it; there had to be a connection between the Ed Coyle at the Red Onion in Louisville and the Ed/Ned/Edward Coyle at the Red Onion in Madison. These two cities aren’t far apart and river travel between the two was frequent.

I also found a great deal of information about an Edward S. Coyle, also in Madison, Indiana, who was a fine, upstanding citizen, and an important businessman in that city. He had no children of his own, but raised his nephews when his sister and brother-in-law both died young of consumption. He owned several businesses in town, including a sand and gravel pit, a lumber yard and other Main Street businesses. He was prominent in local politics and a member of the republican party. I shrugged this man off, believing that his character was so different from my Edward that it was obviously a, um, coincidence.

I was wrong. After years of searching only certain newspapers that were available to me, I finally gained access to another archive and found conclusive evidence (multiple notices of liquor licenses being granted) that the notorious gambler and saloon owner in Madison was the very same Edward S. Coyle, upstanding citizen and important businessman. And Edward S. Coyle was NOT my Edward. Case closed.

I still believe there was some connection between the two Red Onions, even if it was only that the folks in Louisville had visited the notorious establishment across the river and decided to emulate it. I will keep looking for clues, but I may never know.

And still – Edward wasn’t done with me yet.

Edward Coyle - Researching a Black Sheep, Part I

 

Edward Coyle, my paternal great uncle, has taken me on quite the research journey so far, and I’m pretty sure he isn’t finished with me yet.

He was the brother of my great-grandfather, William Henry Coyle, and for many years I knew very little about him. I first discovered him as the five-year-old son of James and Maria Coyle on the 1870 census in Jeffersonville, Indiana – along with his brother William (my great-grandfather) and a sister, Elizabeth. I tracked him through census and area city directories, but nothing remarkable showed up – not married until much later in life, no children, worked as a general laborer. There were many more interesting ancestors that kept me busy, and Edward was tucked away in some quiet research folder on my hard drive.

But then while digging around on Fold Three for other Coyle ancestors, I unexpectedly stumbled on a military record for him.  On the US Army Register of Enlistments for 1900, there he was – Edward Coyle, age 34, a glassworker born in Jeffersonville, Indiana, enlisted August 21 in Louisville, KY and assigned to the 18 Infantry, Company B. But wait…. under remarks, it was noted “Deserted April 8, 1901. Apprehended June 25, 1902. Dishonorably discharged August 13, 1902 at Ft. Thomas, Kentucky.”

Military service has been a huge part of many of my ancestors’ lives, and this was the first hint I’d had of any of them serving with anything other than honor. I had to learn more.

And it was surprisingly easy. A simple name search for Edward in the Louisville newspapers gave me an immediate, and fascinating, hit. In the June 24, 1902 edition of The Courier-Journal, under the glaring headline “WIFE BETRAYS”, was Uncle Edward, and he held nothing back in his interview with the reporter. The fact that he was married was only the first surprise Edward had in store for me.

Headline from the June 24, 1902 pg 8 story in The Courier-Journal. You can read it here:

This one newspaper clipping was chock full of genealogical gold, spoken by the ancestor himself. Most importantly, Edward confirms that he is, indeed, MY Edward by mentioning his brother David, who was also living in Louisville. And while he doesn’t give exact details, he named his wife as “Sarah” and said they met about 10 years earlier in Peoria, IL where he had moved, and she “shortly thereafter” became his wife. They then moved to Alexandria, Indiana where he worked. These were enticing clues I was sure to follow up.

When he and Sarah began to have troubles, he enlisted in the Army to get away from her and start over. He had hopes of going to the Phillipines, but the Army had other plans and he went from Columbus, Ohio to San Francisco, California. Edward was apparently not pleased with this lack of excitement, and when Sarah began writing to him asking him to return, and even sent him the money to do so, he simply left California and returned to Louisville, where he laid low and found work at a distillery.

The couple got along for a while, but eventually trouble found them again and after Edward had one too many Saturday nights out, Sarah kicked him out and threatened to turn him into the police. She followed through on her threats, telling every patrolman and detective in their part of the city that Edward was there and AWOL. As the War Department at the time was paying a $30 reward for the arrest of deserters, it only took about two weeks before the jig was up and Edward was behind bars.

He remained optimistic, though, commenting to the reporter, “I think I’ve got a chance to beat the case. You know the law requires that a married man has to get the consent of his wife when he enlists. Well, I didn’t get her consent, and possibly on this account I am enlisted illegally.” Apparently, the Army took a dimmer view of the situation, as he was dishonorably discharged about two months later.

I have not been able to track Sarah beyond her mention in this article, but assume that the couple was divorced shortly afterward. Edward remained in Louisville after his discharge, showing up in several city directories as a boarder in various rooming houses and working various jobs in either the glass or paint manufacturing industries. But between 1909 and 1910 he moved into a boarding house owned by Cash Cornelius and his wife, Anna Elizabeth “Lizzie” Branstetter Cornelius, and the fun began.

Life was never dull at this boarding house located at 1426 West Main in Louisville. The local police were well acquainted with the address and often referred to it as the “Red Onion House”.  The Cornelius’ were married about 1883 and were childless; they had operated a boarding house across the river in New Albany, Indiana before moving to Louisville. Cassius “Cash” Cornelius was a blacksmith, and Lizzie ran the boarding house.

In March of 1909, Edward was arrested along with Cash and Lizzie as a result of a fight at the “Red Onion” house. Lizzie was charged with keeping a disorderly house, Cash with malicious cutting (a victim claimed they had attacked him with a knife), and Edward with being an accessory to the cutting. And so it began. It’s not known if Edward was actually boarding there at the time as he is listed in the 1909 directory at another boarding house, but directories were usually a year behind in their information due to the time it took to gather, print and distribute the books. But by the 1910 census he was there and remained there until 1914. Lizzie and Cash remained there until Cash’s death in 1918.

A year or two before he moved out, Edward switched professions and became the proprietor of a chile parlor located a block or so from the house. During the 1910’s, “chile parlors” enjoyed a huge popularity among certain social circles, and were known hotspots of illegal activity, including illegal alcohol, gaming and prostitution. Many of the parlors used booths for their seating which were enclosed by curtains to ensure patrons their privacy. Edward’s establishment never appeared in the police blotters (at least not publicly announced in the newspapers) as far as I can tell, but several incidents at the Red Onion house involved young girls who had been to various chile parlors before somehow ending up at Lizzie’s establishment – and often the girls themselves claimed to not know how they got there.  

The Courier Journal, 16 May 1912 pg 6

After Cash Cornelius died in 1918, Lizzie, who seems to have left her nickname behind and was now going by her first name Anna, moved from the infamous address. The following year, Anna Cornelius was the proprietor of the F.C. Hotel and lived at 219 S. 15^th, while Edward had for several years operated a saloon just a few blocks away. Two years later, in August of 1920, the two were married. If the 1920 census is to be believed, they owned their home on Portland Avenue outright and yet neither were working that year, although they were both only 54 years old.  I’m curious as to whether either of them received some sort of financial windfall – possibly insurance or inheritance from Cash, or the sale of one or more of their business interests.

From 1920 until his death in 1926, Edward is shown living at the Portland Avenue address and working as a paintmaker at Reliable Paint Company. Anna doesn’t appear in the directory until after his death, when she is listed as his widow at the Portland Avenue house. Anna died in 1942 and the two are buried in Cave Hill Cemetery although their graves are not marked.

You would think this is the end of Edward’s story, wouldn’t you? You would be wrong.

Uncle Tim, A Medical Mystery

 Timothy R. Lyons was the younger half-brother to my 2^nd great-grandmother Mary Dorgan. He was born on March 19, 1868 in Jeffersonville, IN, the third child of my 3^rd great-grandmother Catherine Murphy and her second husband Jeremiah Lyons.

Tim had a normal childhood growing up in a small river town. By age 20, he is listed in the 1888 Jeffersonville City Directory as boarding at his parents’ home and working at the Ohio Falls Car Company alongside his father. After a few years he found work as a railroad man, per the following clipping from the May 1, 1894 Indianapolis News:

Collided With a Cow

Jeffersonville, May 1 – Tim Lyons and John Kelly, switchmen in the employ of the P., C., C. & St. L. (Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, Chicago and St. Louis) railroad, last midnight had a thrilling experience. They were standing on the foot-board of an engine backing over to Louisville, when suddenly a cow appeared on the track. The locomotive struck it and killed the animal instantly. The body of the cow struck the switchmen, both of whom are badly if not dangerously injured.

(The article leaves out the fascinating fact that this happened on a railroad bridge across the Ohio River from Jeffersonville, IN to Louisville, KY and doesn’t mention how a cow got up there in the first place.)

Unlike the cow, Tim recovered from this unfortunate incident and four years later, on October 10, 1898, he enlisted with the 13^th Infantry, Company C of the U.S. Army. He was assigned to Fort Porter, New York, which was headquarters for the 13^th. In June, just prior to his enlistment, this company was sent to Cuba during the Spanish American War, and led the 1st Infantry's attack on San Juan Hill, capturing the Spanish flag. Their Major William Auman was the first commanding officer to reach the top of San Juan Hill. Tim, however, missed out on all the action and spent the entire time at Fort Porter.

He was discharged from this unit on February 21, 1899, and immediately reenlisted, this time with the 2^nd Infantry Company M. He was assigned to Camp Shipp in Calhoun County, AL, although he was allowed some time at home on furlough before meeting up with his company in early April. They spent some time camped at Savannah, Georgia while waiting for passage to Cuba.

While in Savannah, something mysterious began happening with Tim. On April 18, 1899 he was admitted to the hospital for intestinal indigestion, marked as “in line of duty”. He was discharged three days later and released to duty. His company remained camped at Irish Park in Savannah until departing for Cuba on May 24 aboard USAT (US Army Transport) Crook (formerly Roumanian_

(Stereoscope image of the Roumanian being loaded with supplies)

By all accounts, although this trip only took 6 days it would have been miserable for anyone. I can only imagine how uncomfortable it was for poor Tim; not only was it most likely his first experience with the open ocean, but he was still suffering from whatever sickness began in Savannah. There is a description of the bleak experience here:

“The sleeping quarters were at the bottom of the "black hole", reached by a crude ladder that ran down through the port hatches, past two decks of houses, into the darkness.  Hammocks were hung at night in double tiers between rows of upright posts, and so close together that elbows touched.  The air was hot and stifling and the sight of the mass of legs and arms protruding in all directions, in the dismal half gloom from the lantern, recalled Dore's pictures of the Inferno.  The ship having been used for years as a cattle boat, the reminiscent odor combined with the smell of bilge water and stale provisions can convey no adequate appreciation by mere description.  From the cracks in the boards that covered temporarily the rough bottom a dark slime oozed and made the footing insecure.  One could hardly stay there without feeling giddy, but that is where the men were expected to sleep and eat.  A soldier found on deck after taps had sounded was summarily ordered below, on penalty of arrest . . . Only the guard relief and the sick men were allowed to sleep on deck . . . The ship being shorthanded, soldiers were asked to volunteer for stoker duty.  The reward was food: three portions of sailor's stew a day.  The temptation to get something beside weevily hard-tack, spoiled canned beef and rotten tomatoes, drew many a sturdy lad to the fire-room . . . Few of the soldiers could stand the test for more than one shift, although the promise of food was hard to resist . . . The water supply provided for the men was warm and polluted.  The steward of the boat made a nice profit selling ice water at ten cents a glass and warm beer at half a dollar a bottle, till stopped by the commanding officer . . . The sanitary arrangements of disarrangements of the ship transcend all description.  Let it be said in short that the "ROUMANIAN" was considered the very worst transport that ever went out.”

The company arrived at Cienfuegos, Cuba on May 30, 1899 and one week later Tim was once again admitted to the hospital at Cienfuegos, this time for “acute alcoholism, not line of duty”. He remained there for two days and was discharged to duty on July 9.  But this wasn’t the end of his troubles. Not even two weeks later he was once again in the hospital at Cienfuegos, again for “acute alcoholism”. But this time, he remained in hospital for six weeks, from July 20 to August 31. Nothing is mentioned in what few records I can find of his condition beyond “acute alcoholism”.

While he lay sick in the hospital, his company departed for their final destination, the new barracks known as Rowell Barracks at Paso Caballo, Cuba. When Tim was released, it was only to be transported to the field hospital at Rowell Barrack, where he was admitted on September 2 for “undetermined diagnosis, unknown if line of duty”. The following day he was discharged for transfer to the US Government Insane Asylum in Washington DC!

Tim’s poor mother, Catherine, had last heard from her son before he left for Cuba, and it’s not known if she knew he was sick in Savannah. She had last seen her son, hale and hearty, in April while he was home on furlough and, I imagine, was excited about his upcoming adventure in Cuba. But on October 13, 1899 she received a letter from Tim, from the St. Elizabeth’s Hospital (which was the government’s insane asylum) in Washington DC. We do not have a copy of that letter, but we do have the letters that Catherine herself sent to his doctor, as well as a letter from a physician in Jeffersonville who also wrote to the hospital on Catherine’s behalf. The letters read as follows:

 October 13^th

Doctor Stack

St. Elizabeth Hospital

Washington, DC

 

Dear Sir,

I write you on behalf of the mother of Timothy R. Lyons of our city, and a soldier of the regular Army. She today received a letter from her son saying that he is confined in your hospital on account of mental derangement. This is the first word she has had from him since the first of July last.

Will you kindly let me know his real condition and whether or not in your judgement his mental trouble is permanent, as his mother is naturally enough very solicitous about him.

 An early answer will oblige.

                                                                                                 Very Respectfully,

                                                                                                James K. Marsh

 

 

Jeffersonville, Ind.

Oct. 3, 1899

Dr. Stack

Dear Sir,

                As my son is under your care in the hospital I ask a favor of you as Tim wrote me and told me you were a Catholic and I know you will grant it. Please see that he makes his confession and receives Holy Communion, and Doctor I hope he will soon recover and for my sake keep him under your care in the hospital until he has, for of course if he was sent home without being cured we would have to send him to Indianapolis and I think he is better cared for where he is.

                It was an awful shock on me Doctor when I learned he was in an insane hospital as Tim was always a strong healthy boy but I pray to God that he will entirely recover under your care.

                                                                                                Yours Respectively

                                                                                                Mrs. Catherine Lyons

P.S. Please answer soon.

 

These letters and a handful of Carded Medical Records are all that we have been able to find of Tim’s medical history, so we don’t know exactly what his condition was or what caused them. Family lore has always been that he “got hold of some bad rum in Cuba, and was never the same”. But he was hospitalized before he ever reached Cuba, and his records initially stated it was “indigestion, in the line of duty”. Later hospitalizations changed this diagnosis to “acute alcoholism”, the definition of which is “alcohol poisoning resulting from the usually rapid, excessive consumption of excessive alcoholic beverages”. A cousin and fellow genealogist who has been working on Tim’s story along with me has said that he has seen the term used primarily when there is a sudden onset – meaning, Tim was likely not a habitual alcoholic, just an unfortunate victim of the cheap, poor-quality drink that was often sold to unknowing servicemen who were just looking for a fun time while off duty.

I have read through the monthly returns for Tim’s regiment during his first enlistment, and he never appears on the lists of those ill, furloughed or AWOL, or as being disciplined in any way. While the information I have found is sparse, nothing indicates in any way that Tim was anything other than a normal, healthy, hardworking young man until he suddenly wasn’t.

We may never know exactly what happened to him, but we do know it drastically and permanently changed in his life and the lives of those that loved him. He was officially discharged due to disability from the army on October 31, 1899 while still in the hospital in Washington, DC. His discharge papers state “recommended for discharge on account of insanity”.  The original hospitalization in Savannah is not mentioned; instead, the date and place of disease contracted is listed as “about July 19, 1899 at Cienfuego Barracks, Cuba”.  The company commander wrote that the cause of disease was not known, “believe sickness was brought on by drink”.  

However, the  Army surgeon who signed the discharge and certified him incapable of performing his duties wrote the cause was “melancholia developing into acute insanity. The immediate exciting cause is alcoholism. The remote cause in my opinion was sunstroke.” He further states that “sunstroke followed by exciting cause of alcoholism, the primary cause was incurred in the line of duty.”  Because of this, Tim was granted a pension in April 1899, which his family no doubt needed to help with his care.

We don’t know when he was released from the hospital in Washington D.C., but by June of 1900 he appears on the census in Jeffersonville, living with his parents. His occupation is listed as day laborer, but he is marked as not being employed for 8 months.

His mother Catherine did her best to care for Tim herself, but by the following February a tiny paragraph in the local newspaper noted that the Jeffersonville jailor had taken Tim Lyon to the Central Hospital for the Insane located in Indianapolis, IN. I am still searching for his records from that hospital, but so far have only obtained information from the hospital admissions book, which indicates he was admitted on February 21, 1901 and remained until December 31, 1902 (nearly two years!) when he was “removed by friends”. A note states “Meloncholia, chronic caused by malarial fever. Spansh American War veteran and was confined in Government Hospital in Washington DC during service”.

 In September of 1901, Catherine was granted legal guardianship of her son. After his release from Central Hospital, he lived with mother, now a widow, and his sister Nellie. For most of the rest of his life, Tim did not work, only sporadically holding down a job here and there. When Catherine died in 1917, Nellie became his legal guardian and Tim moved in with her and her new husband. He lived with them until her death in 1934; she was only 45 and had no children of her own, having spent most of her adult life caring for her aging mother and older brother. Tim then moved in with his oldest sister, my great-grandmother Mary Coyle, who was recently widowed.

 Tim stayed with Mary for a few years, but Mary began to develop her own issues. By 1950, Mary had moved in with a daughter and Tim was sent to live with his niece Elizabeth (Coyle) Stites and her family in Indianapolis. Sometime between 1952 and 1956, Tim was sent to the Little Sisters of the Poor in Indianapolis, where he died on March 13, 1962. Ironically, in June 1951 his sister Mary was admitted to Central State Hospital after she was declared insane (although in her case it was attributed to senile dementia).

Timothy R. Stites was laid to rest back in his hometown of Jeffersonville, IN. He is buried in St. Anthony Cemetery, and has a flat military stone marking his grave, which was ordered by his niece Elizabeth.

By all accounts, Tim as a young man was strong, healthy and hardworking; he voluntarily served his country in the Army, although he missed out on the brief action he had apparently hoped to see in Cuba. A terrible stroke of bad luck condemned him to a life of poor health and mental illness in a time when healthcare was not equipped to care properly for his condition. His loving family cared for him as long as they were able, but his physical health caused him to outlive most of them. In his mother’s hospital file from Central State Hospital, it was noted that her son was also a “mental case” and was institutionalized, but noted that he was “perfectly harmless” and lost his mind while in service. Family members and townfolk who knew him remembered him as a kind, gentle soul who wouldn’t hurt a fly, and was often seen pulling a small wagon through town full of the driftwood he would collect along the riverbank and then try to sell.

 I never knew my great-great-uncle Tim, but I’ve done my best to gather the bits and pieces of his life to memorialize him as he deserved. RIP, Private Lyons.