Census records from Washington County, Newport Twp.
Fredrick Deshler 39, Farmer, born Wurtenburgh
Catherine Deshler 36, born Prussia Germany
William 8 yrs.
George 6 yrs.
Albert 3 yrs.
Edward 1 yr.
Catherine Deshler 64 [likely Grandmother]
J.F. Deshler 48, Born Wurtenburg, Germany, parents
born Wurtenburg, Germany
Leah Deshler 26, born VA, parents born MD. [new
Wm R. 18 yrs.
Geo P. 15 yrs.
Albert 14 yrs.
Edward 11 yrs. [all these sons born Ohio to first
wife by record of parents birth]
Fred A 6 yrs.
Otto 5 yrs
Arthur 2 yrs
Sarah 9/12 [9 months old] [all these children by
Fredrick 68, b. June 1831, m. 28 yrs., Immigrated
in 1840, a naturalized citizen
Leah A. 46, b. Aril 1854, m. 28 yrs. B. Va,
parents father b. Md, mother b. Pa. [different from the 1880 record]
Edward 31, b. Dec 1868, widowed. Merchant
Arthur 22. B. Dec 1871, single
Sarah 21, b. Sept 1879
Nellie 19, b. June 1881
Earl 17, b. June 1883
Frank 15, b. Aug 1885
Raymond 13, b. July 1887
Carrowl [sp?] a son 9 yrs. b. Sept 1891
Maggie granddaughter, 7yrs. b. May 1893 in PA
Edward Jr, Grandson, 3 yrs. b. Sept 1897 in PA.
[Edward and Dora lived in PA. He must have moved back when his wife died.]
In 1910 Edward is not listed. Fredrick is listed
as Jacob F. Deshler. The grandchildren are still with he and Leah.
From Eileen’s files
Carl Deshler m. Mary Lillie Kesselring b. Jan 1891
Otto Deshler m. Cary Hanlon, children Otto Jr. Walter
and an unnamed Daughter.
Hope Elaine Deshler m. Norman Eugene Barnhouse,
Children, Frank Edward and Rebecca Joy.
“Daddy Told me So”
From the St. Mary Oracle—Pleasants County
Leader, Sept. 7, 1978
By Hope Deshler Barnhouse
always believed implicitly in what my father told me! Perhaps I should say—“in what Daddy told
me”—because I do not recall calling him anything except “Daddy.” But some of the tales he tells do have a
tendency to stretch a little over the years, in the telling and retelling!
came from a large family of eleven children, and this does not include his four
older half-brothers. Hence, one can see
that the stage was always set for some incident of humor or pathos. With such a cast of characters, and I DO mean
characters, someone was always playing a joke on another or dissolving into
fits of laughter at some comic situation.
with a drawl which we accept naturally, Daddy tends to prolong a
conversation. Many people, hearing him
speak for the first time, think he is “pulling their leg” a little. One such person was a school chum of my
sister Helen. On her initial visit to our home, Esther had not heard Daddy talk
until his arrival home from work, whereupon we sat down for the evening
meal. Passing a serving dish to her,
With a puzzled look, she drawled in reply:
to say, Esther was very changrined to find this was Daddy’s normal way of
speaking, and was always a cause for embarrassment to her!
heard Daddy tell countless times of a man who lived in a houseboat moored along
the Ohio River. He must have been away from home when a rise
in the river came; the boat was left tied to its moorings and consequently
sunk. Next day an acquaintance came
along the road; seeing only the roof and the smokestack protruding from the
water, he ran down the river bank calling excitedly, “Wherry! Wherry!
Are you in there?”
sometimes wonder how they managed to feed all the hungry mouths through the
cold winter months on the hilltop farm overlooking the Ohio near the mouth of Davis Run and Grape Island. Of course, they had their root bank where
potatoes, turnips, parsnips and various vegetables were buried beneath mounds
of earth with a covering of straw for protection. The cellar was full of all kinds of preserved
produce, barrels of sauerkraut, sorghum, pickled beans and apples; the meat
house was rich with tender pink hams and shoulders, cured by long, slow hours
of hickory smoking.
persons born and bred in the country knows the hard work entailed in butchering
a hog and preparing the meat for curing.
After killing the animal, it is scalded to clean the outside and the
bristles removed. The carcass is then
laid upon a table or board across saw-horses, all preparatory to making the
various cuts of meat. This brings to
mind Daddy’s somewhat pathetic tale concerning his younger brother’s reaction
at the time of their Grandmother Deshler’s death.
born in Wurttemburg, German, Dec.
12, 1805, and came as an immigrant to settle in Monroe County, Ohio,
around 1840. When Grandfather Deshler
came to settle on the 140-acre farm on sections 24 and 18 in Newport Township, Washington
County, she lived in her own small house next to the main house on the
farm. Being still in the horse and buggy
days, an undertaker was long in coming (if at all), and they would lay a corpse
on a board or flat surface, often with large pennies on their eyelids to keep the
eyes closed. A similar procedure was
followed at the passing of Daddy’s grandmother in 1891. My Uncle Ray, then only a lad of four or
five, upon seeing her still form stretched out in this manner, turned to their
mother and cried in anguish, “Oh Maaa….I can never eat her!”
old rocky hills of Ohio
seem to be a good habitat for copperheads, one of our most poisonous
snakes. Daddy and my uncles had many
experiences with these reptiles, and they held a healthy respect for the “coppers.” Gathered together one evening on a visit to a
neighboring Ohio town, Daddy and four uncles sat talking of the
copperheads—“they weren’t as numerous as they used to be;”—“they’d never been
seen in or around this particular area;”—they weren’t as large as in years gone
by,” and numerous homily observations.
following this discussion, as we climbed the concrete steps from busy Pennsylvania Avenue,
a through street in East Liverpool,
O., to my uncle Carl’s tiny front yard, someone creamed.
“Copperheads!” Sure enough, into the hedge crawled a
copperhead! In the mad scramble a hoe
was secured and the snake quickly dispatched.
But did they let that reptile rest in peace, as all dead snakes
should? Oh, no! He was gently put into a box and tenderly
carried out into the country the next day; there he was “cunningly planted” in
the path by Daddy, while Uncle Carl talked with Uncle Earle, requesting a look
at the favorite foxhound. They managed
to put Uncle Earle in the lead down the path so he would “chance” onto the
snake. I can’t say how high he jumped
nor how loud he yelled, but from all reports, it much have been some kind of
record! Now with Uncle Earle in on the
plan, they went on up the road to pull the same trick on Uncle Ray, who was especially
afraid of copperheads. As they had shown
the snake around to everyone interested, the decision was to let Ray “kill
it!” When Uncle Ray saw the snake, he
managed to grab a shovel that happened
to be standing “conveniently “ nearby, and proceeded to beat the snake
to a pulp, while Daddy and my uncles stood by convulsed with laughter! One gets the impression that over the years
Uncle Ray was often the brunt of their jokes. His brothers always accused Daddy
of bringing that snake to the East Liverpool
area! Foolish idea!
farmers in this locale always used to grow tobacco, usually for their own
consumption. The tobacco leaves were
hung in log buildings or barns to dry and age, the space between the logs
affording a chance for the air to pass freely between the suspended
tobacco. One such barn stood alongside
the road Daddy and the others took downhill to the store and defunct post
office at Murphy, O., near the mouth of Reynold’s Run. At the residence, living with his mother, was
a youth who could not talk plain, having a definite lisp. On passing the barn, Uncle Ray would reach
between the logs and get a handful of tobacco; this probably gave him a chance
to try the forbidden art of chewing tobacco.
Apparently it had gone on for some time as a shortage had been detected
by the owners. One day in passing, Uncle
Ray reached through the logs as usual, and much to his surprise and
consternation, his wrist was securely grabbed, and the youth inside bellowed
loudly, triumphantly, “Ma…Ma…I’ve caught the ’fief!”
journeyed down-hill from the ridge several miles to the one-room schoolhouse
where he, with my aunts and uncles, received at least the equivalent of an
eighth grade education. They would often
remain in school following their eight years, reading and absorbing as much
more learning as they could acquire. The
schoolhouse was set near Reynold’s Run, and here they read their McGuffy
readers, studied geography, had their spelling bees—in other words, learned
their “reading, ’riting, and ’rithmetic.”
The schoolhouse still stands today, remodeled into a residence, but
basically the same structure in which Daddy attended his lessons these many
years ago. One of his favorite teachers
was Mr. Fletcher, a colored man, which must have been unusual for that
the local oil boom, Daddy worked in the oil fields. He worked with a man that was deathly afraid
of dynamite. One day during the
lunch-time, another worker, knowing of his great fear, carelessly tossed a
couple of sticks of dynamite near the first laborer. Leaping up in surprise and managing to
transpose the syllables in dynamite, what he actually cried angrily was, “Now
look-a-here! Daminyte is daminyte, and
daminyte is dangerous and not to be fooled with!!”
the time of my birth, we made our home with our maternal grandfather
Louderback, who we simply called “Grandpa,” our paternal grandfather having
passed away years before. Grandpa smoked
a pipe, occasionally a cigar, but at most times the house reeked of the deep,
rich smell of Kentucky
tobacco. He was not content, however,
with blends he could buy in the stores, but would send to Kentucky for bundles of tobacco leaves. These came periodically, in dark brown
wrapping paper, whereupon Grandpa would sit down, newspaper in lap, and proceed
to crumble the leaves to the texture he liked.
This, in turn, he stored away in tins or humidor.
lifetime, Grandpa worked at many things—gardening in hotbeds, and selling the
early produce to the river packets or shipping things to Wheeling, W. Va.,
for sale. Sometimes he would row in his
skiff down behind Middle
Island to St. Marys for
sale of garden produce. He spent many
years at the cooper’s trade, going from orchard to orchard in the northern
panhandle, building barrels needed for shipping apples. At one time, probably around the early 1880s,
Grandpa had a dish boat which he would have towed upriver to the pottery
town—Wellsville, East Liverpool or Chester—where he took on a supply of ware
for sale at the stops on his way back down river. A john boat and the river current were the
sources of “power” on his trip home. We
have one hadnbill stating that “A.C. Louderback will be at your landing with a
good supply of pottery, dishware, etc….” He lived a busy, interesting life
while rearing a family of seven children, one of whom is my mother, Iva
came the local oil boom and Grandpa held interest in many wells, some good but
some, dry holes. He often worked on
these wells, as a tool dresser or pumping them when they did srike oil. In working at an engine one day, he caught
the index finger of his right hand, and was forced to jerk it from the
machinery to keep from losing his whole hand.
The doctor did a good job, for this finger was neatly and smoothly
rounded at the first joint. Many are the
times that Daddy told us that Grandpa had burned his finger down to a stub from
tamping tobacco in his pipe! I was just
a child then, but I believed it, for after all, hadn’t Daddy told me so? I suppose that my face wore the same
expression of awe that I was to see in later years on the faces of my nieces
and nephews, as they were told the same story by Daddy.
seems as if young people today often miss the fellowship, the companionship of
older people. A development of concern
for one who is elderly is bypassed, and far more than a generation gap
exists! Not so, when we were
youngsters! We were not permitted to
call these “senior-citizens” by their first names; they were “Mr. and Mrs. So
and So.” Or more likely, Aunt or Uncle, though no family relationship actually
as a child held a series of these so-called “kin,” with whom I felt a
comradeship, an esteem that seemed mutual.
Our next door neighbors, Aunt Kate and Uncle Ed, were especially near to
my sisters and me, as was Uncle Clem. He
was a brother to Uncle Ed and resided in his home. Uncle Clem was a retired school teacher with
a great knowledge of historical and natural points of interest, especially in Ohio. They often toured these sites, including us
in the picnics and expeditions—but that is a story in itself!
there were Aunt Barbara and Uncle Gil.
Aunt Barbara was called in to care for Mother at home after the doctor’s
visit when my sister Helen and I were born.
For about a year following their marriage, Mother and Daddy lived in East Liverpool; during
this time, Aunt Barbara would often come in to clean or do some cooking for
Grandpa. She lived next door in the
house that was once Grandpa and Grandmother Louderback’s home, where Mother was
born. She had a vast knowledge of the
relationships of the families in our locality, plus a store of old wives tales. If I were to believe that a child could be
marked, then I would say that Aunt Barbara marked me! Later I was to have an avid interest in
genealogy, particularly those of our surrounding community.
was also Aunt Alice, the widow of my great uncle, though she remarried
following Uncle Bernard’s death. Her
sister and husband, Aunt Sis and Uncle Elmer, were equally close. When I was very young, and only vaguely
remember, there was Aunt Hattie. She was
plump and jolly, and at the time, was engaged to Grandpa. Aunt Hattie had been married before also,
with children and grandchildren, but death claimed her before they were
wed. I think hers was probably the first
funeral that I ever attended.
sisters and I always felt at home in the residences of these various “aunts and
uncles;” I was as much at home sitting in the kitchen with Aunt Kate, drinking
fresh buttermilk, as if I were at home!
She lived in the house that my great-grandfather, James H. Louderback,
built in the late 1860s or early 1870s.
He was a river boat pilot, and the stairway in his home was constructed
similar to those on a steamboat, going up from a wide front door with glass
panes on each side of the door. It was a
favorite place to play when I was small.
You could imagine all sorts of things lying on the wide steps that you
could stretch out on and have room to spare!
eldest sister, Genevieve, whom we always called Vevie, is an avid reader. When we were young she was usually curled up
somewhere with a book, often chewing feverishly on numerous toothpicks, which
we accused her of swallowing. Daddy said
she would end up with a wooden leg! She
was six years my senior, so as a tot, this seemed logical to me, too!
jars of fruits and vegetables were preserved when Daddy was small. On one occasion when Grandma was canning
peaches, he questioned as to when they would eat them. Grandma simply replied, “When the snow
flies,” and busied herself with her work.
That year when the first snowflake fell, Daddy ran in excitedly calling,
“Get the peaches! Maa…get the peaches!”
they are simple tales that we have heard many times, but they have become a
part of our heritage, as even within my childhood, there are incidents that
color my memory. A neighbor boy, near my
age—about eight or nine then—on hearing that his mother was going to the
funeral of a great-aunt, wanted to go also.
When he found he was to stay with another lady, he broke into great
sobs, and with tears coursing down his cheeks exclaimed, “I’ve never seen Aunt
Toots!” How well I know what he
meant! There have been endless
situations that have arisen, when those same words expressed my dismay at not
being able to go somewhere or see something!
mother of a family was coaxed for the last of the cookies—maybe it was a piece
of pie. I don’t know! Finally, in exasperation and thinking of the
son away from home, the mother said, “Oh, all right, take it! Poor Otto won’t have any.
of the Past
things that we did as children would seem mighty hum-drum to the young people of
today! We lived a slower pace, in the
era when radio was new, the “Model T” was popular and the women, in their short
fringed dresses, were dancing the Charleston. I don’t actually remember seeing anyone dance
except in movies and later on television.
The first movie that I recall seeing was “The Covered Wagon;” I can see
yet, in my mind’s eye, the dust from the rolling wheels, the galloping horses,
and the attack of the howling, feathered Indians!
often went to the live shows on the old showboats that plied the Ohio River—the “Cottonblossem,” the “Majestic” and others
whose names I forget. The last
performance that I attended was on the Majestic when she was docked at Marietta and summer
productions were given by the students of Hiram College,
Hiram, O. The joy of hearing the huge
steam calliope play the old familiar tunes is a childhood memory to cherish.
Cordell,” and later, the smaller “Liberty—these
were all river packets passing our home weekly on the run from Cincinnati to Pittsburgh.
would sometimes stop at the old Shuster’s Landing, across from the head of Grape Island,
to take on some cattle or logs for market.
An occasional passenger would board for New Matamoras, or one of the
numerous towns or landings upriver; likewise for the downriver trip to Marietta or points
south. In later years the “Gordon C.
Greene,” with its beginnings at Newport
with the famous Greene family, plied these waters. Now, we look forward to the annual trip of
the beloved “Delta Queen” each summer!
Even yet, there is the excitement of piling into the car and going to a
good vantage point or the Willow
Island dam, the better to
see her regal passage, to hear her mellow steam whistle! A nostalgic chapter of Ohio
River history is all but gone!
wonder how many a child learned to roller skate in the dining room on a
linoleum rug? Or played “Hide and Seek”
on a bright moonlight night with their parents?
What a joy it was to bundle up in a mass of heavy clothes, boots and
mittens to sleigh ride on an old homemade bobsled! I still recall how we walked gingerly behind
Daddy across the frozen Ohio,
while he tested the ice before him with a long pole! I guess that must be what everyone refers to
as “the good ol’ days!”
modern child has sat upon an open hilltop at night and listened to the baying
foxhounds as they chased the fox over hill and down vale? While the chase went on, Daddy, who was
familiar with the lay of the land, would give a running commentary:
crossed the Hoffman…now they are going down the Brown hill…Rock is ahead—now
Pat is chiming in…they’re going up Davis Run…will probably ‘hole up’ before
long…No, they are still going…up Clyman point…out past the Yonally!” By that time they were getting too distant to
hear, and we made our way down the road from Abicht’s Orchard by the light of
the old lantern. It’s now just a memory
that means little to anyone except a privileged few!
childhood held a series of foxhounds, each finding a place in our hearts. Pat
and Rock; Ranger and Blazer; Sort and finally, Nip and Tuck, the last two
hounds that Daddy had. I think that the
twinges of rheumatism had set in, putting an end to sitting on a cold hilltop
on a damp, summer night!
I’m a little curious as to what
Daddy’s reaction to this recitation might be, but I don’t think that I’ll ask
him! He’d undoubtedly say, “No, Hope,
this is the way that story goes,” and then give me another version of the same,
Or perhaps he might reply as he did
on a recent occasion. I had an
opportunity to let another party know my thoughts and feelings on a certain
subject; later, in telling Mother and Daddy of that conversation, with the remark
that I didn’t think I’d said anything to offend the party, Daddy stared at the
floor and rocked quietly in his chair for a few moments. Looking up, he drawled gently, “Well,
Hope,…as…a…general…rule; when…you…say… anything, you…usually…say…too…much!”
NEWPORT - Hope E. Barnhouse, 89, of Newport, passed away at 3:45 p.m.
Tuesday (Feb. 22, 2011) at Highland Oaks Health Care Center in McConnelsville.
She was born Nov. 6, 1921, at Wade, Ohio, to Frank S. and Iva L.
(Louderback) Deshler. Hope was a 1939 graduate of Newport High School, and a
member of Center Valley Baptist Church, Marietta Chapter of NSDAR and New
Matamoras Historical Society. She was a homemaker and enjoyed genealogy and
On Aug. 21, 1948, Hope married Norman Eugene Barnhouse, who preceded her in
death on Dec. 8, 1978.
Surviving is her son, Frank Edward Barnhouse, and her daughter, Rebecca
Porter (Jeffrey), both of Marietta. A sister, Helen McMahan of New Matamoras,
and several nieces and nephews also survive.
In addition to her parents and husband, a sister, Genevieve McKown, preceded
Hope in death.
Funeral services will be held 2 p.m. Friday (Feb. 25) at
McClure-Schafer-Lankford Funeral Home with the Rev. Frank Conley officiating.
Burial will follow in Newport Cemetery. Visitation will begin at the funeral
home 3 p.m. Thursday.
In the 1898 Directory J. F. Deshler is listed as a
farmer living at Murphy [now Reynolds’ Run]