Jeri Holland - Haunted Akron

Published by Haunted America

A Division of The History Press

Charleston, SC 29403

www.historypress.net

Copyright 2011 by Jeri Holland

All rights reserved

Illustrations by John Holland.

First published 2011

e-book edition 2013

Manufactured in the United States

ISBN 978.1.62584.171.1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Holland, Jeri.

Haunted Akron / Jeri Holland, with contributing editor, Ken Summers.

p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references.

print edition ISBN 978-1-60949-367-7

1. Ghosts--Ohio--Akron. 2. Haunted places--Ohio--Akron. I. Summers, Ken, 1979- II. Title.

BF1472.U6H636 2011

133.10977136--dc23

2011027329

Notice: The information in this book is true and complete to the best of our knowledge. It is offered without guarantee on the part of the author or The History Press. The author and The History Press disclaim all liability in connection with the use of this book.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever without prior written permission from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is dedicated to my uncle, David E. Holland (19452011).

He provided me with ideas, historical facts, support and pronunciation corrections throughout the research period of this book. He was not a fan of the paranormal per se, but we shared a great interest in American history. Rest in peace. I love you Uncle Dave.

CONTENTS

PREFACE

I think Ive always been aware that ghosts exist, but never consciously did I experience an actual apparition until I was seventeen. My grandfather had passed away the previous winter, so I made an effort to help out whenever I could. My grandmother lived in a beautiful house that my grandpa had built in Stow, with a large yard in front and in back. It was wonderful, but it could be an awful lot of maintenance. One day, when my grandmother went out of town, I picked up my brother, and we headed over to her house to do some yard work. Together we mowed the yards and trimmed the weeds before heading inside for a drink and a break. My brother headed for the upstairs restroom while I went for the basement bathroom.

I spotted a box of my grandfathers things downstairs and started rummaging through them. I called to my brother to come look. As we started reminiscing over his various hobbieslike dressing up in costumes (Santa Claus, a clown and so on) for people living in nursing homeswe heard the heavy front door open. Then, after about five seconds, it closed with the loud bang of the knocker hitting against the wood. I looked up, expecting someone to call out our names, but there was no sound except for heavy footsteps walking over to the top of the basement stairs.

We walked over and looked up the stairs, giving each other really puzzled looks. I grabbed hold of my brothers shirt in both excitement and fear. In my head, I knew that grandpa had built this house well; there was no way it could creak or knock without someone walking around upstairs. Without a doubt, I had heard that front door open and close and then someone walk to the top of the stairs. Just then, we heard whoever (or whatever) it was walk away from the stairs and down the hallway, into my grandfathers old bedroom. Then the bedroom door shut. My brother, having heard every noise I had heard, grabbed my old childhood baseball bat from the corner of the basement and headed up the stairs. I, of course, stayed downstairs where it was safe. I could hear my brother walk from the top of the stairs down the hallway into my grandfathers bedroom. I didnt hear him open grandpas door, but I did hear him looking around and going into my grandmothers room. He went through the rest of the house before coming back downstairs to tell me that there was no one in the house except us. He had looked under beds, in closetseverywhere. He saw no one.

But there was something strange about my grandfathers room. Not long ago, my grandmother turned it into a TV room. There wasnt even a door on his old room anymore. I looked my brother in the eyes and said, Grandpa? His eyes grew slightly larger, and he nodded once before we headed upstairs together.

I had experienced my grandfathers ghost before this day. Months before, when my grandmother was sick, I stayed overnight in my grandfathers room several times (before it was turned into a TV room). Each night, I heard his rough hands slide against the wooden door as he slowly opened it to go to bed. It took a few times before I realized who it was. Originally I thought it had been my grandma wanting me to keep my door open, but when I would get up to check on her, she was always sleeping soundly in bed. I gradually came to the conclusion that it was actually my grandpa.

We gathered up our lawn tools and put them away in the garage. We had enough excitement for one day and decided that it was time to leave. As I was backing my car down the driveway, I glanced behind me to make sure that I was still on the drive. As I turned forward, there he wasmy grandfather stood at the picture window in the living room, watching us leave. I reached over to smack my brothers arm or leg to get him to look at what I was seeing. Within seconds, he was gone. Vanished. But I knewand my brother knewthat we had just seen my grandfather seven months after he passed away from a brain aneurism.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Ken Summers, this book would never have been finished even remotely on time without you. I thank you for assisting me in research and editing all of my late-night dribbles the last few months. I cant wait to collaborate with you on our upcoming project.

I would like to thank my mom for reading to me and taking me to the library when I was young; it instilled in me the importance of the written word. Come to think of it, youre still taking me to the library and reading to me.

Alan, Jill and Joe, many thanks for allowing me to hang my towel with yours.

To my best friends and my CVP posseGayle, Alan and DonI have so much fun exploring historical sites and haunts with you. I love you guys and Im looking forward to many more years.

My family and friends (including several madams), I love you and thank you all so much for your support and encouragement, especially during the last few months.

And last but certainly not least, much appreciation goes out to every single person who donated his or her time, photos and information that went into writing this book. The Summit County Historical Society, the Northampton Historical Society and the AkronSummit County Public Library Special Collections were exceedingly important as well.

INTRODUCTION

The August 26, 1837 edition of the American Balance gives the dry details of Akron:

The village of Akron is situated in the South West part of the County of Portage, in the State of Ohio, 33 miles from Cleveland, on the Ohio Canal, at the Portage Summit, and at the point where the Pennsylvania and Ohio Canal unites with the Ohio Canal. The village extends along the Canal from Lock 1 at the South end of the Summit, to Lock 15, being nearly one mile. Akron was laid out in the Spring of 1825, very soon after the Ohio Canal was laid out, was then covered with timber; but the forest was soon removed and the village rose rapidly, for a short time. The place proving unhealthy during the several succeeding years was, in a measure, abandoned till 1830. A new impulse was then given to the place by reason of a large water power being accumulated at that point.