Local Historian George Condon Presents West of the Cuyahoga
Cleveland began as a tale of two cities, as Lakewood author George Condon explains in his new book, West of the Cuyahoga. When Moses Cleaveland founded the city in 1796 for the Connecticut Land Company, it only included the area east of the Cuyahoga River. The territory west of the river involved Native American “title claims” until 1805, when a treaty enabled settlers to establish Brooklyn Township (later called the City of Ohio, or Ohio City) right next to Cleveland. The two did not become one until 1854, and there has been much water under the bridges ever since.
Condon is highly qualified to write such a localized history. He was a reporter and columnist for The Plain Dealer for 41 years, received the Cleveland Arts Prize in 1975, earned the Distinguished Service Award of the Society of Professional Journalists in 1980, and was inducted into the Cleveland Press Club’s Journalism Hall of Fame in 1990. Also, he has already written three books on Cleveland history.
Published by The Kent State University Press, West of the Cuyahoga is a combination of historical narration, personal anecdotes, and humor that makes for a lively read. Indeed, Condon’s tone is often poetic, as he describes his geographical subject as “the sunset side of the Cuyahoga Valley” and reminds readers that the city of Cleveland predates the state of Ohio, which “did not emerge from its wooded womb until 1803” (1). When asked about such rhetorical flair in a recent interview, Condon stated that “history should be presented in an attractive way.”
One way Condon presents history attractively is by exploring how names of places change over time. For example, before it became Ohio, the sizeable Western Reserve of Connecticut “led some Connecticut dreamers to suggest it should be considered for separate statehood under the name of New Connecticut” (6). Similarly, the land west of the Cuyahoga that became Brooklyn Township was almost named Egypt. The etymology of other names around the West Side is also explored, including the collegiate streets of Tremont and some of the city’s bridges.
Condon’s love of names is also evident in a previous book called Gaels of Laughter and Tears, in which he lists and describes hundreds of Irish nicknames from his life in the Cleveland area. In another poetic description, he states that a nickname is “a revealing capsule, a compressed description” that “could even be the most successful example of the art of the short story” (5). In our interview, he explained: “When I moved from Massachusetts into the Ohio City area as a kid, there were so many amusing and creative nicknames.” Then he quickly rattled off examples like Goosey Stafford and Count-the-Nickels Murphy. Cleveland was even nicknamed by the Irish “Little Achill,” Condon says.
One of the most engaging chapters in West of the Cuyahoga tells the story of the near civil war that erupted between Cleveland and Ohio City in 1837. At issue was the new Columbus Street Bridge, the first “fixed” bridge over the Cuyahoga River. People on the west side of the river were enraged because the bridge effectively diverted commerce from Ohio City. What happened next was a bizarre bridge attack: “The next day an estimated 1,000 men from the west bank community, brandishing clubs, rocks, and rifles, gathered for the big assault” (37). East Siders fought back, but fortunately no one was killed. The bridge, however, ended up needing a few bodyguards after the incident.
Other intriguing stories in the book involve West Side schools, churches, businesses, homes, parks, canals, and, of course, people (along with some helpful photographs). Throughout, Condon zooms and pans at an effective pace. His profiles range from Mark Hanna, the nationally-known political operative in the late 1800’s, to Needles McCafferty, a “West Side streetcar employee of the interwar years” (121).
When asked why he chose to write a book specifically about Cleveland’s West Side, Condon replied simply: “The West bank offered a very good story.” This seems quite an achievement, considering its early abundance of swamps, malaria, and (brace yourself) rattlesnakes. Regarding why he has lived in Lakewood for several decades, he was just as brief: “Lakewood has always been a good place to live.”
Condon is highly qualified to write such a localized history. He was a reporter and columnist for The Plain Dealer for 41 years, received the Cleveland Arts Prize in 1975, earned the Distinguished Service Award of the Society of Professional Journalists in 1980, and was inducted into the Cleveland Press Club’s Journalism Hall of Fame in 1990. Also, he has already written three books on Cleveland history.
Published by The Kent State University Press, West of the Cuyahoga is a combination of historical narration, personal anecdotes, and humor that makes for a lively read. Indeed, Condon’s tone is often poetic, as he describes his geographical subject as “the sunset side of the Cuyahoga Valley” and reminds readers that the city of Cleveland predates the state of Ohio, which “did not emerge from its wooded womb until 1803” (1). When asked about such rhetorical flair in a recent interview, Condon stated that “history should be presented in an attractive way.”
One way Condon presents history attractively is by exploring how names of places change over time. For example, before it became Ohio, the sizeable Western Reserve of Connecticut “led some Connecticut dreamers to suggest it should be considered for separate statehood under the name of New Connecticut” (6). Similarly, the land west of the Cuyahoga that became Brooklyn Township was almost named Egypt. The etymology of other names around the West Side is also explored, including the collegiate streets of Tremont and some of the city’s bridges.
Condon’s love of names is also evident in a previous book called Gaels of Laughter and Tears, in which he lists and describes hundreds of Irish nicknames from his life in the Cleveland area. In another poetic description, he states that a nickname is “a revealing capsule, a compressed description” that “could even be the most successful example of the art of the short story” (5). In our interview, he explained: “When I moved from Massachusetts into the Ohio City area as a kid, there were so many amusing and creative nicknames.” Then he quickly rattled off examples like Goosey Stafford and Count-the-Nickels Murphy. Cleveland was even nicknamed by the Irish “Little Achill,” Condon says.
One of the most engaging chapters in West of the Cuyahoga tells the story of the near civil war that erupted between Cleveland and Ohio City in 1837. At issue was the new Columbus Street Bridge, the first “fixed” bridge over the Cuyahoga River. People on the west side of the river were enraged because the bridge effectively diverted commerce from Ohio City. What happened next was a bizarre bridge attack: “The next day an estimated 1,000 men from the west bank community, brandishing clubs, rocks, and rifles, gathered for the big assault” (37). East Siders fought back, but fortunately no one was killed. The bridge, however, ended up needing a few bodyguards after the incident.
Other intriguing stories in the book involve West Side schools, churches, businesses, homes, parks, canals, and, of course, people (along with some helpful photographs). Throughout, Condon zooms and pans at an effective pace. His profiles range from Mark Hanna, the nationally-known political operative in the late 1800’s, to Needles McCafferty, a “West Side streetcar employee of the interwar years” (121).
When asked why he chose to write a book specifically about Cleveland’s West Side, Condon replied simply: “The West bank offered a very good story.” This seems quite an achievement, considering its early abundance of swamps, malaria, and (brace yourself) rattlesnakes. Regarding why he has lived in Lakewood for several decades, he was just as brief: “Lakewood has always been a good place to live.”
Volume 2, Issue 25, Posted 9:09 PM, 11.27.06