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Tuesday, September 17, 2019

The Haunting of 21 St. Helens Avenue, Part 2, The House

Yours Truly at the Mayfort Family plot at Loudon Park Cemetery

My upcoming novel Chapel Street was inspired by my experiences growing up in a "haunted" house at 21 St. Helens Avenue* in the Northeast Baltimore neighborhood of Lauraville. The entity was already at the house when our family arrived in 1974. Therefore, in this blog, I will explore the history of the house and the families that lived there before us.

I want to acknowledge that a ton of the following research was done by my niece Marion. She provided most of the information about the property. I provided most of the information about the people.

So here goes....

Before 1783, the larger Lauraville/Hamilton area of what is now Baltimore City was owned by the Principio Company, a British iron works that owned the land from the Herring Run to Back River. After the Revolution in 1783, British land was seized and sold to Revolutionary War ranked officials. Commissioners Clement Holliday and Gabriel Duval were appointed to handle the Principio Company land, and in 1785, they sold the land to Colonel Samuel Smith, Revolutionary War hero and eventually the mayor of Baltimore. He bought the property with money paid to war veterans.

Samuel Smith

In 1806, Samuel Smith sold the Principio Company land, then called Grindon in Baltimore County near Egypt** for $4000 to his brother, Robert Smith (plat #13). This deed describes a series of oaks, including a white oak on “the road leading from Samuel Taylor’s*** to Baltimore Town” (Harford Road). (It’s possible that the oaks that are/were until recently on the property at 21 St. Helens are the same oak trees listed in the original deeds, as large oak trees can live to be hundreds of years old).

As part of his will, Robert Smith gave the land in Lauraville to his brother (?) Samuel Smith in 1825. A map from 1850 shows Lauraville, and the land is attributed to Samuel Smith. To the east is “I. Taylor” who is possibly the Taylor from the early deed. There appears to be a structure somewhere on Ailsa or maybe St. Helens. It is not specific.

In 1868 Samuel Smith, John Spear Nicholas, and Andrew Wilcox sold the land to Julius W. Knock (Knox). The map does not indicate any buildings on the hill where our house will be built. There may be some paperwork missing, because the next deed indicates that Bohn Slinggoff, D. H. Emory, and John Ensor (no indication of how they have the land) sold some lots of land to Thomas Ellis.

A map from 1876 shows Ellis’ property (attributed to William Ellis). Julius Knox is still on the neighboring property to the south. There is an unimproved road running by Knox’s property, which is likely Ailsa Avenue. There is no road around St. Helens Avenue. There appear to be two building on the Ellis’ property, but they are bordering Harford Road. A map from 1877 also shows Wm Ellis’ property with one building by Harford Road, and a small building on Ailsa Avenue.

In 1883, Thomas and Mary Ellis sold two lots of land to Alexander Scott (lots 8 and 9) for $4000. A map from 1898 shows that the land was owned by Alexander. Scott, who still has two buildings on Harford Road (it looks like a house and an outbuilding with a little driveway). There are apparently no structures yet on the hill. Around this same time, the Ellis’ sold land to Pursel Bohanan. The street car line was extended to Herring Run in 1898, thus making Lauraville more accessible to Baltimore City residents.

A Plat from 1904 shows Alexander Scott’s land. The land on the hill has not been developed outside of Strathmore, Goodwood, and Hampnett. A Plat from 1909 shows the school house lot, but also shows that St Helens Avenue has not yet been extended to Morello. As yet, there doesn’t seem to be a plat indicating when the houses were built.

A deed associated with the current house from 1911 shows Alexander Scott (“bachelor”) with Pursel and Carrie H. Bohanan to John A. and Emilie (also spelled Emily) R. Immler. Scott also sold the land to the east to Pursel Bohanan, a produce seller aged 31.

Before I move onto the Immlers, the first family that actually lived in the house, I want to spend a little time with the Bohanans. Although the order of events is a little vague, they apparently built the adjacent houses at 21 St. Helens Avenue and 23 St Helens Avenue, using the same architect and the same basic blueprint. The houses share the same bones, but their similarities have been masked by improvements and additions over the ensuing decades. Additionally, according to anecdotal evidence, both houses were inhabited by the same entity. More on that later.

John Pursel Bohanan was born on 24 May 1880 in Saint Mary's City, Maryland. In 1902, he married Caroline (Carrie) Wilhelmana Hoopes, who was born 2 November 1878 in Baltimore, Maryland. Together, they had one son, Walter Pursel Bohanan on 21 August 1904.

In the 1897 Baltimore City Directory, J. Pursel can be found living on the west side of Baltimore at 1927 Edmondson Avenue. He worked as a clerk. By the 1910 Census, J. Pursel, Carrie and Walter can be found living at 300 Stallworth Avenue. In the 1920 Census, the three of them were living at 23 St. Helens. They remained there through at least 1942. However, J. Pursel had moved to 907 Tyson Street in the Bolton Hill area prior to his death in June 1960. That was the home of his son Walter.

1925 sketch by Walter Bohanan

Walter Pursel Bohanan graduated from the Maryland Institute and became a well-known artist and art teacher in Baltimore. He would die in November 1974 of a heart attack. Although he married, Walter had no children. The Bohanan line that lived at 23 St. Helens Avenue is now extinct.

I do not know exactly how long the Bohanans lived at 23 St. Helens. As early as 1933, the house had been broken up into units. A four-room apartment was advertised in the newspaper for rent that year. By 1944, a 2nd Lieutenant Ida Broaders, stationed in Aberdeen, was living in the house. Many large homes were cut into multiple apartments around then because of the wartime housing shortage in Baltimore. The house would be put up for sale in 1958 and the advertisements indicated that it had been cut into three apartments. It was later reverted back to a single family dwelling. By 1974, when we moved to St. Helens Avenue, the house was occupied by a couple, their daughter and her husband and their children.

Now back to our house.

According to the Maryland Office of Assessment and Taxation, the house at 21 St. Helens Avenue was built in 1915. The Victorian style home had 1,940 square feet of living space above grade, and a finished basement of 912 square feet. It sat on 15,122 square feet of acreage on a breezy hilltop three hundred and sixty feet above sea level. (It is the second highest point, after Television Hill, in Baltimore City.) The paperwork seems consistent that the house was built in 1915. That said, during some home repairs, graffiti from an earlier period was found inside one of the dining room walls.

Newspaper story about John Immler.

The first actual inhabitants of the house were the Immler family. The head of the family was John August Immler. He was born in Basel, Switzerland, on 22 January 1877, and emigrated to the United States in 1892. He took Amelia (Emily) R. Quast, who was born in Dranfeld, Lower Saxony, Germany on 29 July 1879, as his wife. They married in Baltimore in April of 1901. John was a skilled engraver, but newspaper listings over the years reveal that he also dabbled in real estate. John and Emily had a son named Charles William Immler, Sr., who was born in Baltimore City on 3 December 1901. Charles would marry three times, leaving three children in his wake. Interestingly, Charles would provide the only non-extinct male line of anyone raised at 21 St. Helens.

In 1927, John Immler would sell the 21 St. Helens Avenue house to the Mayfort family. John would eventually die on 19 January 1960 in Baltimore of a heart attack. Emilie would die on 4 November 1965 in Silver Spring, Maryland. Charles William Immler, Sr., would die 2 December 1986 in Stevenson, Maryland.

Death Certificate of John August Immler

The Immlers lived in the house for twelve short years. The Mayfort family would remain in it until 1974 for a total of forty-seven years.

The family was headed by John Mayfort. He was born in Baltimore, Maryland, on 14 January 1867, the son of German immigrants, Martin Mayfort and Katherine Kneyer. He married Florence Virginia Hutton, the daughter of John Hutton and Katherine Goodwin, who was born in Maryland on 12 October 1867. They had four children: Catherine V.., born 4 November 1894; John Clayton, born 19 June 1895; Martin Livingston, born 17 November 1897; and Miriam E., born 13 November 1899.

According to WWI draft records, Martin Livingston Mayfort was white, native born, tall, slender, had light blue eyes, and dark brown hair. John Clayton Mayfort was single, white, tall, slender, had brown eyes, and black hair. The WWII draft record for John C. lists him as being 5’8.5” tall, weighing 175 lbs, bald with blue eyes. (Yes, according to the official records, John's eyes changed color between the wars. Probably a mistake.)

John Mayfort was a butcher, specializing in veal, who had a shop in the Belair Market. Prior to moving to 21 St. Helens Avenue, the family lived at 1313 E. Federal Street. (John's parents lived next door at 1311 E. Federal Street.) Not all of the members of the Mayfort family lived long enough to make the move to St. Helens Avenue. The mother, Florence, died on 8 August 1911 at the age of forty-three. Her early death spared her the pain of seeing the death of her oldest child. Catherine married a man named George E. Willing and died at the age of twenty-one on 15 March 1915 in Woodbine, Long Island, New York.

Death notice for Catherine Mayfort Willing

I don't mean to belittle the grief John Sr. must have felt, but he seemed to take things in stride and soon married Florence's younger sister Mary Elizabeth Hutton, who was born in Baltimore on 9 March 1869. John, his new wife Mary, and his children John, Martin and Miriam moved into 21 St Helens in 1927. To make things even cozier, they were joined by Florence and Mary's older sister Annie R. Hutton, who was born in June 1863.

Okay, okay. I know people frequently married the siblings of a deceased spouse back in the day. My own great-grandfather Frank Murphy, was expected to marry one of his spinster sister-in-laws after the death of his beloved wife Loretta. (He opted against doing so.) However, I wonder about the familial politics here. Why did John marry Florence's younger sister Mary? Wouldn't it have been more socially acceptable to marry her older sister Annie instead? That's what would have happened in a Shakespeare play or Jane Austen novel. It isn't like Annie had a problem with him. She moved in with them. Perhaps John kept her around as a spare in case Mary predeceased him. He obviously liked the Hutton stock. Sadly, the answer to those questions are now lost in the mist of history.

Sons John and Martin followed their father into the meat business. John Clayton worked with his father at the shop in the Belair Market. Martin became a meat seller working for others. Sometime after 1940, Martin married Jane E. Savin, who was born on 6 Jane 1907. He moved out of 21 St Helens and set up house with his wife a few blocks away at 3305 Lerch Drive. Martin would die of pneumonia and emphysema on 24 January 1971 at Union Memorial Hospital. His wife Jane would die on 14 January 1987. The death notice said that her passing was "sudden." I do not have her death certificate. I wish I did. What constitutes "sudden" with an eighty-year-old woman?

Death Certificate of Martin Mayfort

If John Senior was keeping Annie Hutton around as a potential replacement for his second wife, he would soon be sorely disappointed. Annie would earn the distinction of being the first person to die in the house on 26 January 1933. Sadly, I do not have her death certificate. However, her bedroom did not remain empty. John's sister Katherine Mayfort Olsen, born 8 February 1870 in Baltimore, Maryland, would move into 21 St. Helens Avenue after the death of her husband George Olsen in 1937.

I wonder how Mary Hutton Mayfort must have felt having her sister Annie replaced in the house by her sister-in-law Katherine. That, however, was not a situation that would last forever. Mary was the next person to die in the house. She died of ovarian cancer on 9 February 1944.

The next resident of the house to die was Katherine Mayfort Olsen. She passed away on October 19, 1956 of chronic myocarditis, Fortunately, she did not pass away at the house itself. She went to meet her maker at the Edgewood Nursing Home at 6000 Bellona Avenue.

The circle was getting smaller.

Just over two years later, on 2 November 1958, the long-lived patriarch of St. Helens Avenue, John Mayfort died. Like his sister Katherine, John's cause of death was chronic myocarditis. However, he also suffered from senility. He was ninety-one-years old and died in the house, like his wife Mary and sister-in-law Annie.

With their father solemnly removed to a one room condominium at Loudon Park Cemetery, only John Clayton and Miriam remained living in the large house at 21 St. Helens Avenue -- although the house was left solely to John Clayton. (Hiss, boo, dad.) If the siblings were millennials, or at least baby boomers, that would have resulted in some long delayed partying. Sadly, John Clayton Mayfort's freedom from parental supervision would be short-lived.

Death Notice for John Clayton Mayfort

John died of a laundry list of internal injuries which seemed consistent with an automobile accident or a bad fall -- although no accident was listed on the death certificate -- on 1 September 1960. He died at Church Home Hospital. They had operated on him the day before to no avail. (If you ask me, John's real cause of death was being admitted to Church Home Hospital, which, thankfully, is now closed.) Although John didn't die at 21 St. Helens Avenue, he did something even creepier. He had his funeral out of the house.

Holding funerals in private homes was once a common practice. Everybody did it, including my own family. But it was not a common practice in Baltimore in 1960. It wasn't a common practice with the Mayfort family either. Florence Virginia Hutton Mayfort's funeral was held out of a funeral home in 1911. The funeral of Catherine Mayfort Willing was held out of a funeral home in 1915. All of the members of the family who lived at 21 St Helens Avenue -- stepmother Mary Hutton Mayfort, aunt Annie Hutton, aunt Katherine Mayfort Olsen and even dad John Mayfort -- all had their services at funeral homes. John Clayton Mayfort was the exception. What the hell, dude?****

There's only one room in the house well-suited for a funeral: The front living room. Now, when I think of that room, I always imagine John's polished coffin sitting on a stand before the large front window. That's where we had a sofa. That's where I would make out with my first girlfriend after my parents went to bed. Yuck.

My late sister Laura and her husband Frank sitting on a sofa
at the location where John's coffin probably sat.

Thanks, John.

I would later attempt to commit suicide in that very room, but we'll get to that later.

With John's death, the house passed to Miriam Mayfort and her brother Martin. Martin did not move back into the house. He remained in his home with his wife a couple of blocks away until his death in 1971. When he died, the house passed into the sole possession of Miss Miriam Mayfort.

Miriam moved into 21 St Helens Avenue with her family when she was twenty-six-years old. She found herself the sole owner of the estate at the age of seventy-two. What do we know about her? First, she never married. Also, according to census information, she never seemed to work outside of the house. Neighbors report she was of medium height and build. She is remembered as being warm and kind. She would make cookies for the neighborhood kids, and give them flowers from her extensive gardens -- where she spent a lot of her time during the spring and summer. I do not know what faith her practiced, but we found Christian Scientist books in the closet.

Next door neighbor, Missy Weiss Martin remembered Miss Marion very well. As a young child, she played many card and board games and dominos in the upstairs sunroom and the adjacent bedroom. She said Miss Marion was adamant about not buying school raffle tickets but rather donate to the cause itself. Missy does not remember how Miss Marion died, but she remembers that, when they heard the news, it was the first time she saw her mother cry.

Mrs. Agnes Jackson, who lived across the street starting in 1962, says Miriam was always very nice. She gladly took a cat for them when it began fighting with their other pets. She actually had a number of cats. Mrs. Jackson also remembered that Miriam had a typewriter, and was always typing, but she has no idea what she was writing.

Perhaps: "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy?"

Nah, probably not.

The stained glass window above the landing.

One thing, however, I couldn't get anyone to back up now was the story I heard from everyone when we first moved in: That Miss Miriam died tumbling down the stairs from the second floor to the landing beneath the large stained glass window. Supposedly, the mailman saw her through the front door and called the fire department. The fire department then used a ladder to enter the house through the stained glass window to get to her.

That's the story we always heard, but one important part of it wasn't true. Miriam Mayfort did not die on that landing. She died in Union Memorial Hospital with a probable pulmonary embolus. A pulmonary embolus is a blood clog blocking an artery in the lungs, which is usually dislodged from a leg. That certainly could be the byproduct of a fall, but no accident is listed in the death certificate.

The place of Miss Mayfort's death -- or fatal misfortune -- grew in significance to us over time as we became aware that the haunting was initially centered in a series of connected closets on the second floor near the top of those stairs.

We often wondered if she had fallen -- or whether, perhaps, she had been pushed.

(CORRECTION: Normally, I have not been making changes in the text of these blogs, only adding corrections in footnotes, because I consider my inaccurate impressions indicative of my family's lack of dialogue about the haunting until recently. In a sense, you are going on a journey of knowledge along with me. However, I feel the need to add this point about Miss Mayfort's death because not everyone reads the footnotes. I recently added the funeral of a popular woman in the neighborhood attended by people who knew Miss Mayfort. They are adamant that she died on the landing on the stairs. That she was taken out of the house dead. Their explanation for the death certificate is that she must not have been "officially" declared dead until then.)

Death Certificate for Miriam Mayfort

I know I have been a little snarky about the Mayfort family throughout this blog, but, trust me, I am very sympathetic to them. When I look at them, I see the Rosenbergers, the family of my maternal grandmother. John Mayfort didn't seem that different from my great-grandfather John George Rosenberger.***** They were both born of German immigrant parents, and, when they died, they had all of their adult children, save one, living with them in their house. Additionally, the Rosenberger family, as a whole, seemed equally disinclined toward marriage and reproduction. For that matter, is the St. Helens Avenue branch of the Murphy family much different? There were four brothers. I was the only one of them who married (to date.)

I also feel sorry for Miss Miriam. For decades at 21 St. Helens Avenue, she lived with four or five of her loved ones. However, she rattled around that big old house alone for the last fourteen years of her life. That must have been sad. Even if the house wasn't haunted.

So? What did we learn?

I was hoping to find some evidence of the haunting in our research. I expected to see deaths by suicide, murder or unexplained means. That proved not to be the case. Instead, I discovered that most of the people who resided at 21 St. Helens Avenue before us lived very long lives. John Mayfort was ninety-one. Amelia Quast Immler was eighty-seven. Katherine Mayfort Olsen was eighty-six. Charles William Immler was eighty-five. John August Immler was eighty-three. Miriam Mayfort was seventy-five. Mary Hutton Mayfort was seventy-five. Martin Livingston Mayfort was seventy-four. Annie Hutton was seventy. John Clayton Mayfort was sixty-five. Geez, in my family, we were lucky to get through our thirties!

Does that mean the house isn't -- or wasn't -- haunted?

No.

I think everyone who experiences a haunting views it through the lens of their worldview. My default worldview is evangelical Christian. Therefore, in line with evangelical thought, I instinctively reject that entity in the house is human in origin. However, someone with a less dogmatic spiritual view, would look at all of the deaths in the house and assume that the entity is the soul of one of the deceased. Some members of my family strongly believe there is more than one entity in the house, and that one of them is definitely female. People with a materialistic worldview would tend to view the events strictly in terms of energy or natural but unexplained phenomenon. If I manage to get the stories of all of my family members, you will see aspects of all of those views.

Perhaps the Mayforts never triggered the entity the way our family did. Not that I believe we deliberately triggered it. However, entities like poltergeists have historically been triggered by the presence of people in early puberty. That would be true of us. However, the Mayforts were all adults when they moved into the house. That could be it.

The lack of public discussion about a haunting from the Mayforts does fit my perception of the entity. As I always say about the experiences of our family: It wasn't one haunting, it was seven. (Ten, if you include the nieces -- and I will.) We all experienced it differently. The entity seemed to act in a way to isolate us psychologically and spiritually. It seemed to feed on it. (It is telling that the reproductive lines of the bulk of the people who lived in the house have gone extinct.) Perhaps it was getting what it needed from the Mayforts without any, what I call, "shows of force." It certainly had Miss Miriam to itself for fourteen long years. Maybe she was like us during the height of our haunting, smiling and "normal" during the day, but viewing sundown with growing dread....

Sadly, the research also fails to give any evidence to why the entity seems to be strongly attached to the property itself, yet it can still make its presence felt elsewhere. Even within the house itself, it seemed stronger and more attached to certain rooms than others.

The lack of an obvious paper trail is irrelevant. It is impossible to gauge was going on inside that house from the outside.

I recently talked with an old neighbor of ours from St. Helens Avenue. I told him about our supernatural experiences at the house. He seemed surprised and more than a little skeptical. He said he was friends with the current residents, and they never mentioned anything strange.

I had to smile.

That doesn't mean anything.

Until that moment, none of us had mentioned our experiences to him either, and we had known him much longer than the current residents.

It is a house of secrets.

And death.

The back of the house, circa 1974

Once again, a shout-out to my niece Marion for all of her work on this blog. I would also be remiss if I didn't thank my wife Deborah, who went out into the field with me to research this entry.

Notes:

*21 St. Helens Avenue was the original address of the house when it was built. The street name and number has changed, but I use the original address to protect the privacy of the current owners.

**Egypt is probably the name for land east of Hamilton on Old Harford Road

***Samuel Taylor (1776-1845)

****I was completely wrong about funerals being held at the house. Further research shows that Mary Hutton Mayfort, Annie Hutton and John Mayfort, Sr., were all buried out of the house.

*****After the initial posting of this blog, I learned that my great-grandfather John George Rosenberger, much like John Mayfort, wanted to marry his widowed sister-in-law Cecilia Antionette Kostohryz Ritter after the death of his wife. George did not, however, achieve the same success as Mr. Mayfort. Cecilia wouldn't marry him -- despite the fact that he took her on a few bus trips to warm her up.

Additional blogs about the haunting:

The Haunting of 21 St. Helens Avenue, Part 24, Bad News Betty

The Haunting of 21 St. Helens Avenue, Part 25, Joe's Tale

My novel Chapel Street was inspired by the haunting. You can currently buy the Kindle and paperback at Amazon and the Nook, paperback and hardcover at Barnes & Noble.

Learn more about the book, click Here.

Listen to me read some chapters here:

Chapel Street - Prologue - My Mother
Chapel Street - Chapter 1 - RestingPlace.com
Chapel Street - Chapter 2 - Elisabetta
Chapel Street - Chapter 3 - The Upload
Chapel Street - Chapter 4 - The Kobayashi Maru

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Monday, September 16, 2019

My Family: Mary Marshall Mirfin, Hero

Mary Marshall Mirfin

The title of this blog is false advertising. Mary Marshall Mirfin is not technically my family. She is my wife Deborah's 2nd great-grandmother. I wanted to write about her because of her great heroism and her sacrificial love for her family.

Mary Marshall, who was known as Polly, was born in England on 7 May 1860. While still in native land, she married William S. Mirfin. Here's the interesting thing about Mr. Mirfin. His last name wasn't actually Mirfin. His legal surname at birth was Murphy. His family was Irish and Catholic, but they moved to the Yorkshire area of England for economic opportunity. However, since Irish Catholics faced such prejudice in that area at the time, his family converted to Protestantism and took the name Mirfin, which was associated with minor nobility in the area.

He fooled me. Although the old British census records are readily available online, I could never find him despite the fact that I knew the name of his parents and some of his siblings. It wasn't until I was contacted by a British cousin of my wife as a result of a Mirfin memorial I posted on findagrave did I learn the secret. Once I knew the name was Murphy, I was able to track the family easily. The irony is that, as a result of my great-grandfather Frank Murphy's mysterious past, I am more sure that my wife is a Murphy than I am.

Back to Mary. In all honesty, I know less about how she lived than how she died, but she died a hero, trying to rescue her grandchildren from an intense house fire in Youngstown in the middle of the night. Lots of people say they would rush into a burning houe to save a loved one, but very few do. And she was one of them.

I think the newspapers can tell the story better than I can:

Article from the Youngstown Telegram, Monday, April 16, 1928. The article featured four photographs. The headline of the caption reads: "FIRE RUINS HOME, THREE DIE." The caption itself reads: "Here are photographs of the W.S. Mirfin house, 662 Pine, after it had been swept by fire early Sunday and three victims who lost their lives in the blaze. The victims are Delores May Loveless, 3, shown in the picture to the left in her mother's arms; Mrs. Mary Mirfin, 68, right; and Florence Ray Loveless, 5 (below). Mrs. Mirfin died trying to rescue her two grandchildren. Mrs. Florence Loveless, mother of the two victims, was absent when the fire occurred."

FREE FIREMEN OF BLAME IN THREE DEATHS

+++++

Report To Mayor Heffernan Declares None Guilty of Negligence

+++++

GRANDMOTHER KILLED

+++++

Dies In Futile Effort To Rescue Daughter To Children From Flames.

Fire Chief Callan was to file with Mayor Hellernan late today a written report absolving from blame fireman against whom complaints have been filed by relatives of Mrs. Mary Mirfin, 68, who was killed with her two children when the W.S. Mirfin home, 662 Pine, was destroyed by fire early Sunday.

Relatives had declared that negilgence by the fireman contributed to the deaths of the three victims.

Mrs. Mirfin was trying to rescue her grandchildren, Florence Ray Loveless, 5, and Delores May Loveless, 3, when, overcome by smoke, she fell from a second story window.

Fireman took the children down a ladder from the blazing room, but they died on their way to the hospital. They died of suffocation and burns.

Three other persons were driven from the house in their night attire. They are Miss Edna Mirfin, 24, and Mrs. Isabel Bock, daughters of Mrs. Mirfin, and Mrs. Bock's twelve-year-old son Harlow. Mrs. Bock was taken to Youngstown hospital later when it was learned she was suffering from the effects of smoke.

Mother Absent

Mrs. Florence Loveless, also a daughter of Mrs. Mirfin and mother of the dead children, was visiting a friend, Mrs. C.W. Stanyard, at 319 Cleveland when the fire occurred. Mrs. Loveless had her six-months-old baby with her.

Callan, who had been at Niles with two companies from here helping fighting a fire which destroyed the Western Reserve Lumber Co., plant and yard there Sunday night, reached the scene of Pine st. fire after the victims had been removed.

Miss Edna Mirfin, who discovered the fire and called firemen and police, said that she had begged a fireman in charge of a hose to save the two children in the upstairs room and that he had shoved her aside and told her he had to attend to the hose.

Chief Callan learned that the man had been assigned to hose duty and that meanwhile other fireman had run a ladder up the side of the house and removed the children from the bedroom.

Charges Denied

Miss Mirfin further complained that her mother ran upstairs to save the children while the firemen were there putting lines of hose on the burning house. Police and vice squad officers who reached the scene of the fire before the fireman say that Mrs. Mirfin fell from the upstairs window before the fireman arrived. Police say that the fireman alleged to have been negligent in their duty did all that was possible under the circumstances.

The tragedy happened within a few minutes. Miss Mirfin was awakened about 2:45 a.m. when she heard Mrs. Bock coughing downstairs, where she was sleeping with her son. Thinking that the furnace was smoking, Miss Mirfin went downstairs, intending to adjust the drafts.

Smoke was pouring from the kitchen. Miss Mirfin aroused members of the family and tried to call for help but flames cut her off from the telephone. She ran to a neighbor's home in her night clothing and sent in an alarm to firemen and police.

Mrs. Mirfin, the grandmother, who was sleeping in the from upstairs room with the children, came downstairs, thinking the furnace was smoking. All but the children were out on the porch when Mrs. Mirfin suddenly started upstairs with the remark: "I must save the children."

Stairway Blocked

Fire Chief Callan learned from neighbors next door at the home of O. W. Tresler, 660 Pine, where the survivors of the fire were given shelter, that those down on the street shouted to Mrs. Mirfin to throw the children to them, as the stairway was thick with smoke and flames.

Meanwhile, Vice Squad Chief Metcalfe, Detective Morrison, and State Officer Eugene Callan and his brother John Callan, arrived at the scene of the fire ahead of the fire department, having been sent out on the report that there had been a shooting.

One of the men ran to the nearest fire alarm box. Firemen arrived, followed shortly by the police flying squad, composed of Sergeant Richmond and Officers Doyle, Collins and Leshnock.

Sergeant Richmond, inclined to believe Miss Mirfin was confused on the matter of time during the excitement in her charges of neglect on the part of the fire department, says Mrs. Mirfin fell from the window before the firemen arrived. Metcalfe says the same.

Richmond said flames extended six feet from nearly all the windows in the house. Mrs. Mirfin was picked up from the ground in the front yard and carried to the Tresler home next door. Members of the flying squad took Mrs. Mirfin to their car, and she was rushed to Youngstown hospital. She was dead on arrival.

Rescues Children

As soon as it was learned that the two children were in the upstairs room, Richmond said, Assistant Chief Steinfurth, wearing a smoke mask, went into the house in search of them. The smoke and flames were so thick that he could find only the youngest, Delores. Then Steinfurth went into the house again, going thru every room upstairs. At last, he found the older children Florence.

The children had been overcome by smoke and their night clothing was ablaze. Richmond had ordered ambulances when Mrs. Mirfin was sent to the hospital, and the children were rushed to the hospital in Handel's ambulance. They died on the way.

Meanwhile, it was reported that another woman and child were in the house, and Steinfurth went into the house again. Then it was recalled that Mrs. Loveless and the baby were away for the night.

Besides Miss Mirfin, and, Mrs. Bock and Loveless, two daughters, Mrs. Nellie Harvey, 19-1/2 Kenmore, and Mrs. Edward Bace, 722 W. Madison, survive Mrs. Mirfin. William Mirfin, 70, husband of Mrs. Mirfin, also survives. He has been ill in Youngstown hospital for the six weeks.

Four fire companies, Nos. 8 and 4 and two from No. 1 station, in charge of Assistant Chief Steinfurst, fought the blaze. Three lines of hoses were thrown on the fire.

Firemen place the loss at $4,000 on the building and $2,000 on the contents.

The origins of the fire are unknown, but it is thought it started from the furnace or from an electric iron, as Mrs. Mirfin had been ironing clothes around midnight.

"There was no delay in getting to the fire or in putting on lines of hose and running up ladders," said Callan today after conducting an inquiry.

"From what I have learned, fireman arrived two minutes after the alarm was recieved. The delay mentioned in the complaint, was in the sending in of the alarm, not in answering the call."

"Police recieved the call first and when the officers arrived, supposedly investigating a shooting and the saw the fire, one of the men sent in an alarm from box 132, at Wayne and (Elie).

Callan said the department is equipped with smoke masks, four of which are in use at every fire.

Victim Delores, in her mother's arms

Tells What Was Done

Assistant Chief Steinfurst said: "(????) has to be shielded in this matter. I don't think any criticism is due the department. The whole trouble was in the delay in sending in the alarm.

"When I arrived I ordered five ladders run up and four lines of hose laid. Ordinarily, at a residence fire, only two lines of hose are used.

"No human being could live in the flames inside the house. We turned the water on and then went in. I found the children lying on the bed, the older girl had bed clothes over her head.

Steinfurth said that Firemen Lewis and Forsythe also equipped with smoke masks went into the house with him when it was said there were other people trapped there.

"If anyone says the firemen laid down on the job, he is mistaken. We heard no criticism at the time of the fire," said Steinfurth.

Steinfurth exhibited his coat, the back of which had been badly burned.

Victim Florence

Funeral Wednesday

Triple Funeral services for Mrs. Mirfin and the children will be held at 2 p.m. Wednesday at the home of Mrs. Alice Bace, 722 W. Madison, a daughter of Mrs. Mirfin. Burial will be in Belmont Park cemetery.

Mrs. MIrfin was born May 7, 1860, in England, and was married 43 years ago to William S. Mirfin, who has been in Youngstown hospital seven weeks with blood poisoning. She came to Youngstown from England 39 years ago. Mrs. Mirfin was a member of the Primitive Methodist Church.

Surviving are these daughters; Mrs. Nellie Harvey, Mrs. Alice Bace, Miss Edna Mirfin, Mrs. Isabel Bock and Mrs. Florence Loveless, Youngstown; seven grandchildren and two sisters, Mrs. Wallace Payne and Mrs. T. H. Wood, of Youngstown.

Florence Rae Loveless was born July 11, 1922, and Delores May Loveless was born Dec. 29, 1925 in Youngstown.

Article from the Youngstown Telegram, Tuesday, April 17, 1928:

FIREMEN FREED OF DEATH BLAME

+++++

Triple Funeral Services For Victims Wednesday

City Firemen today stand officially absolved of negligence in the fire which destroyed the home of W.S. Mirfin of 662 Pine, early Sunday in which a woman and two children lost their lives.

After reading reports of Fire Chief Callan, Vice Squad Chief Metcalfe and other officials active in the fire, Mayor Heffernan made the statement clearing the fire department of negligence in the tragedy.

"Neighborhood neglect" was blamed by Vice Squad Chief Metcalfe for the death of the two children in the report made to the mayor by Metcalfe, Fire Chief Callan and Assistant Fire Chief Steinfurth.

"If the able-bodied men of the neighborhood who stood around, had attempted to rescue the children in the burning hose, they might have been saved from death," Metcalfe told the mayor.

Triple funeral services for the victims, Mrs. Mary Mirfin, 68, and her two grandchildren, Florence Rae, 5, and Delores May Loveless, 3, will be held at 2 p.m. Wednesday in the home of Mrs. Alice Bace, 722 W. Madison, a daughter of Mrs. Mirfin. Burial will be in Belmont Park Cemetery.

Rest in peace, Mary Mirfin. You are the embodiment of John 15:13: "Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends."

Click here for more of my genealogical blogs:

My Family: Christmas 1967

My Family: My Granddaughter Emma Renee Schwalm

My Family: The Diaries of Mary Elizabeth McLane, Part 1
My Family: The Back River Tragedy

My Family: My Three Nuns
My Family: The Murder of Adam G. Robertson
My Family: Uncle Buzzy and The Boys In Company B
My Family: 1st Lieutenant Charles Edward Farber, KIA
My Family: Cousin Tillie's Balcony
My Family: The Public Suicide of Carl "Ernie" Stark
My Family: The Public Suicide of Frank Kostohryz
My Family: Mary Marshall Mirfin, Hero
My Family: Rita Cecilia Rosenberger Protani Pollock
My Family: Vincent Klima and the Spanish Influenza
My Family: A Festival of Fathers
My Family: The Honorable George Farber
My Family: A Celebration of Mothers
My Family: The Mystery of Frank John Murphy
My Family: Kristina Bednar Kostohryz
My Family: Great-Grandmom Assunta's Spaghetti Sauce Recipe

Be sure to check out my memoir The Promise, or the Pros and Cons of Talking with God, published by TouchPoint Press. It is my true story of first faith and first love and how the two became almost fatally intertwined.

Here are some sample chapters of The Promise:

Chapter 1 - A Photograph

Chapter 2 - My Death

Chapter 3 - Childhood

Chapter 4 - Saved!

Chapter 5 - The Promise

Chapter 6 - The Mission

Chapter 7 - Mission Accomplished
Chapter 15 - Quarter To Midnight

Be sure to check out my novel Chapel Street. It tells the story of a young man straddling the line between sanity and madness while battling a demonic entity that has driven his family members to suicide for generations. It was inspired by an actual haunting my family experienced.

You can buy the Kindle and paperback at Amazon and the Nook, paperback and hardcover at Barnes & Noble.

Learn more about the book, click Here.

Watch the book trailer:

Listen to me read some chapters here:

Chapel Street - Prologue - My Mother

Chapel Street - Chapter 1 - RestingPlace.com

Chapel Street - Chapter 2 - Elisabetta

Chapel Street - Chapter 3 - The Upload

Chapel Street - Chapter 4 - The Kobayashi Maru

Read about the true haunting that inspired the novel here:

The Haunting of 21 St. Helens Avenue, Part 24, Bad News Betty

The Haunting of 21 St. Helens Avenue, Part 25, Joe's Tale

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Thursday, September 12, 2019

The Haunting of 21 St. Helens Avenue, Part 1, An Introduction

The House

This is the first in a series of blogs about the haunting of the house my family moved into during the spring of 1974.

That true haunting would provide the emotional and psychological underpinnings of my upcoming novel Chapel Street, which will be published by TouchPoint Press in July of 2020. My surviving sister Jeanne, after reading the first draft, called the novel a cartoon version of the actual events. She did not mean that as an insult. She simply meant that the events in the book were highly exaggerated. True. Sadly, I do not possess the necessary skill as a writer to adequately convey the terror that the nightly footsteps, bangings and occasional appearance inspired. However, she could see the real people, places and events behind the fictional story.

Jeanne and myself

I do not know how long the series will be. As terrifying as the events were at the time I experienced them, I should be able to relate my own memories in a relatively concise manner. The question is whether I will also be including the tales and remembrances of my family members. Expect these blogs to trickle out over months, not weeks.

As people close to our family know, we rarely discussed the haunting in any detail with outsiders. In fact, we rarely discussed it among ourselves either. Our reticence had four main reasons.

The first was fear. We believed it could come to you if you talked about it. Prior to the writing of the book, I never knowingly experienced the presence of the entity away from the house, but my mother did. I do not doubt her. However, I suspect her relationship with the presence was different than mine. She was an owner of the house. Technically speaking, my siblings and I were merely residents. For reasons I will explain later, I believe that bound them together differently.

Secondly, we learned that talking about the entity -- or worse, with it -- empowered it. I (incorrectly) dismissed the haunting as a low grade nuisance until a direct attempt was made to communicate with the entity in the mid-1980s. Then the activity shifted dramatically into full blown poltergeist territory. This fear of talking to it led to a fear of talking about it.

The third reason was the fear of being considered insane. Although the entity could manipulate physical reality, i.e., move furniture and turn lights on and off, and physically manifest itself, the tools of its attack were primarily psychological and spiritual in nature. It became apparent that its goal was to isolate us and drive us individually into madness and suicide. As a result of these tactics, I like to say there wasn't one haunting. There were seven individual ones.

The final reason was guilt. For one reason or another, some of us felt responsible for the haunting or its continuance, and, therefore, the aftermath. Until recently, I thought I was the only one. I wasn't.

Guilt, more than anything else, inspired my book Chapel Street. I pointedly resolved never to write about the haunting of our home on St. Helens Avenue. I make no mention of it in my memoir The Promise, or the Pros and Cons of Talking with God. That said, after a recent meeting with my family about the haunting, I now look at some of the events in that book in a different light. I now believe I was being manipulated by the entity long before I became aware of it in any direct sense.

However, my resolution never to write about the haunting gave way after my mother asked me whether I thought the entity was responsible, in part, for the suicide deaths of my sister Laura and my brother Mark. I confessed I considered that possibility, despite the fact that neither of them died in the house. My sister shot herself about a mile away in the basement of her own home on Roselawn Avenue. My brother hung himself even further away at a construction site next to a motel where he was staying in Flint, Michigan. It seems mad to believe that the entity could stretch its hand that far. But could it have planted something in them -- and the rest of us -- that made it inevitable?

Anyone who has lived in the shadow of suicide makes a companion of guilt. You always blame yourself for not doing, or knowing, enough to help. That's only natural.

But did we truly miss a spiritual cause for their actions?

I wonder.

Mark, Laura and Jeanne at Hamlet Avenue

Poor Mark always seemed doomed. He spent the last years of his life in and out of institutions as he battled mental illness. His death was not a shock. However, the death of my sister Laura was. In retrospect, I think we, as a family, settled too quickly into the least painful narrative possible concerning her death without considering all of the circumstances. Looking into the haunting has given me the opportunity to reconsider those deaths. I am not saying that my siblings were not responsible for their own actions. They were not murdered. However, did we -- I -- miss some early warning signs -- supernatural or otherwise? Time to finally ask some questions.

A fellow author I respect said my work seems death obsessed. I can't disagree. Nor do I apologize for it. Death is perhaps the most important subject we, as human beings, must deal with. The Promise, or the Pros and Cons of Talking with God was a suicide book. It dealt with my one intentional attempt at suicide, from which I was miraculously spared, and my sister's successful attempt. Chapel Street is also a suicide book. It deals, in a fictional manner, with other unintentional and unsuccessful suicide events and my brother's sadly successful one.

Chapel Street might be fiction, but the horror that inspired it is real enough.

And, I fear, it is not over yet.

Mark, mid-90s

Final Notes.

The address of the house is not currently 21 St. Helens Avenue. That was actually the address of the house when it was originally built, but the street name and number changed over the years. Forgive me if I refrain from giving the actual address to preserve the privacy of the current residents.

Also, I really hate the word haunting. That word conjures up in the popular imagination images of ghosts -- the spirits of deceased human beings. I firmly believe the entity in the house was not human but rather demonic in nature. Most of my family members agree with that assessment. However, some believe there was more than one entity. Some believe one of the entities was a female human spirit. I'll let you listen and judge for yourself later.

Additional blogs about the haunting:

The Haunting of 21 St. Helens Avenue, Part 24, Bad News Betty

The Haunting of 21 St. Helens Avenue, Part 25, Joe's Tale

My novel Chapel Street was inspired by the haunting. You can currently buy the Kindle and paperback at Amazon and the Nook, paperback and hardcover at Barnes & Noble.

Learn more about the book, click Here.

Watch the book trailer:

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Monday, August 12, 2019

Possible Author Photos for CHAPEL STREET

A couple weeks ago I had a great time shooting the author photo for my upcoming novel Chapel Street.

I loved the photo my old friend Bryan Barnes took for my previous book The Promise: Or the Pros and Cons of Talking with God. That book, my memoir, was set predominately in the Hamilton neighborhood of northeast Baltimore, Maryland. That's where we shot the photo, standing across the street from St. Dominic Church with my back against the intersection of Harford Road and Hamilton Avenue. In my youth, I considered that intersection to be the very center of the universe. So it was the ideal setting for the photo.

Yours Truly, in his native Hamilton

I was tempted to keep that photo for my second book. I have certainly gained more than a few pounds and gray hairs since it was taken. However, I wanted a new photo that spoke the uniquely to the book. I really had two choices. I could take a photo against the marble-stooped rowhouses of Chapel Street in East Baltimore, which was once the center of the Bohemian immigrant community. That's where the backstory of my novel takes place. Or I could take a photo in one of the cemeteries my heroes frequent during the book.

Whenever possible, I try to use real locations in my writings. I feel it keeps things grounded. Three cemeteries are visited in my novel: Most Holy Redeemer Cemetery, Baltimore Cemetery and Eternal Faith. The first two cemeteries are actual places. The third one, Eternal Faith, is based on Gardens of Faith Cemetery, where my most immediate family members are buried. However, I changed the name of that location because a number of nefarious things happen at that cemetery in the book, and I don't think the owners would appreciate the association. (Who knows? Perhaps the legal department at TouchPoint Press will make me change the names of the other cemeteries, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.)

I ultimately felt Most Holy Redeemer would be the best choice. All of my maternal immigrant ancestors are buried in the cemetery. Also, when I contacted Bryan about the possibility of shooting the photo in a cemetery, he suggested Most Holy Redeemer on its visual merits, without realizing its connections to my book.

Below are my three favorite photos from the shoot at Holy Redeemer Cemetery. The first two were taken by Bryan:

A close-up

A wider shot

This third photo was taken by Bryan's partner in crime Megan Luckeroth:

I can't wait until I find out which photograph TouchPoint Press uses for the book.

Check out Bryan's work here: Bryan Barnes Photography

Check out Megan's work here: Megan Luckeroth

Check out uncorrected sample chapters below. I can't guarantee how long I will be able to keep them posted online:

Chapters:

Prologue - My Mother

Chapter 1 - RestingPlace.com

Chapter 2 - Elisabetta

Chapter 3 - The Upload

Chapter 4 - The Kobayashi Maru

Chapter 5 - Gina

Chapter 6 - Tombstone Teri

Chapter 7 - The Holy Redeemer Lonely Hearts Club

Chapter 8 - A Mourner

Chapter 9 - War Is Declared

Chapter 10 - The Motorcycle

Chapter 11 - Suspended

Chapter 12 - The Harbor

Chapter 13 - Bad News Betty

Learn more about the book, click Here.

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Monday, July 15, 2019

In Memoriam: Barry L. Smith, Ad Man Extraordinaire

Barry, standing above the logo, wearing suspenders.

I've done a lot of cool things.

I've written books. I've written movies. I've worked on dozens of television series. I've labored on politicals, from the local level all the way up to presidential campaigns. I've also edited literally thousands of commercials for clients of every variety. I've cut celebrities and/or put words in their mouths. I even managed to make a nice income in the process. However, I doubt any of that would have happened without the skills and discipline I learned very early in my career at the advertising agency Smith Burke & Azzam.

Nowadays, I always try to teach at least one section of screenwriting at my alma mater Towson University every semester. When students ask me what they should do after college, I always recommend getting a job at an advertising agency. To me, it was like working at a small movie studio or television network. You get the opportunity to participate in the creative process from the origination of a concept, through pitching, production and post. You get to learn about marketing, too. You can't beat that. I still apply the lessons I learned working at Smith Burke & Azzam.

How did I break into advertising? Easy. Nepotism. My mother was the office manager at SB&A. When the powers-to-be needed someone for a day or two to perform a mindless, repetitive task, she immediately thought of her unemployed, college graduate son would be perfect.

What was that task the changed the trajectory of my life? Signing Barry L. Smith's name on thousands of new business letters they were sending out.

Yes, I got my start in the business forging Barry's name.

They must have liked me because I soon found myself at the agency practically every week doing something or other until they finally hired me full time. I worked in the mailroom, the accounting department, media, and the creative department. I worked in every department except Account Services, which dealt directly with the clients. Once, when I remarked upon that fact to agency partner Joe Burke, he replied, "That was not an oversight, Sean." Oh well. They liked me enough to hire me full time not once, but on five separate occasions! (Any time we lost a major account, there would be a bloodbath. I tended to be one of the first to go, but I would usually be back, in at least a freelance capacity, within a couple of weeks at most.)

In addition to offering me the chance to work on some really cool projects, I also got to meet some very smart, funny and talented people at the agency. There were some real characters, and Barry was one of the most memorable.

I don't know if Barry was the first Texan I met, but he was definitely the first classic Texas wheeler-dealer I met. He had a genial Texas drawl, but he wasn't the kind of Texan who went around in spurs and string ties. In fact, he was the first person I met who had a tailor come into the office and pick out clothing for him every season. Instead, he was one of those proud "Everything is bigger in Texas"-kind of Texans. In fact, he used to lament how tame SB&A was compared to some places he worked at in Texas.

Barry was a rainmaker by trade. A new business guy. His job was to go out and get new accounts and he was good at it. I think the highpoint of his career at SB&A was when he somehow nabbed the Playboy account, which was quite an accomplishment for a small agency in Baltimore that wasn't really even in the pitch. He always exuded confidence. When you were on his side, you always felt you were going to win. Of course, since he was a Texas wheeler-dealer, discerning exactly what side Barry was on wasn't always clear. Smith Burke & Azzam itself was born when Barry and his initial partners, Joe Burke and Gene Azzam, lifted the Roy Rogers account from their then employer W.B. Doner. I wasn't surprised when I saw that most of the stories involving Barry on the internet involve lawsuits of one kind or another.

Of course, those legal battles were way above my pay grade. Despite the relatively small size of the agency, which seemed to fluctuate between eighty and a hundred employees, I did not have much direct contact with Barry. He seemed to spend much of his time out of the office doing what he did. My first real direct contact with him seemed as worrisome to him as it did to me.

Barry had bought a new high-end BMW and needed to get it cleaned. I was delegated with the task of taking it to the detailer. I met Barry beside his car in the cramped parking garage behind our offices at 326 North Charles Street. He handed me the keys. I got behind the wheel and discovered to my horror that the car was stick shift. I had driven stick before, but three on the tree, not four (or was it five?) on the floor. There was no way I was going to tell Barry L. Smith that I had never driven that kind of stick before. So I gamely started the engine and shifted gears, but I let go of the clutch too soon and car lurched forward before stalling out. Barry didn't say anything. He just studied me as I started the car again. And, again, I mistimed the clutch and his luxury car lurched forward and stalled. Then he finally walked over and tapped on the window. When I lowered it, he asked with some concern, "Sean, are you sure you know how to drive my car?" "Yes, sir," I lied. Fortunately, this time when I started the car, I got it moving successfully until he was out of sight.

To many of us entry level kids new to the industry, Barry became a legendary figure. Since he was the head of the agency, he was, metaphorically, our father in the business. A couple of us took to calling him Dad amongst ourselves. His exploits, both real and rumored, were endlessly gossiped about and probably exaggerated in the process. Working for Barry was like working for Mad Men's Don Draper, aside from the fact that Draper was a creative and Barry was an account guy. It was fascinating for me, a young and much too naive kid, to watch.

My deepest dive into the world of Barry L. Smith came during one of his weddings. He was marrying his former secretary Shelley. It was his fourth wedding. Her first. Barry hired me to film the wedding because he said I was the type of guy who would ask the guests, in his words: "Why do you think Barry is marrying her when he's already getting the milk for free?" I took that comment as license to ask the guests precisely those kind of questions. And, surprisingly, many of them answered with indiscreet candor! Barry loved the final result. (Shelley less so.) He only chided me because he heard I had cut a tactless comment someone had made in order to protect the person. Barry just said, "Sean, it wasn't your job to protect people."

I kept a copy of the wedding tape. It saddens me to watch it, less for what anyone said or did than for the fact that too many people in it have passed away. Now Barry himself has joined them.

One final Barry story. Barry had left the agency. I don't remember the politics of the move, but he still kept an office there for a while. He was soon hired as a consultant for a hotel chain to help them pick an advertising agency. SB&A was one of the agencies invited to pitch the account, along with four other agencies from all around the country. After the pitches, Barry hired me to make five VHS tapes of each pitch. It was very illuminating. I had worked on many of SB&A's pitches, but this time I got to see how four other agencies handled the same opportunity with the same company. When I gave him back the tapes, Barry asked if I had watched them. I said I had. He asked me what I thought and I told him. Then Barry gave me his breakdown of each pitch, and what had worked and what hadn't. It was a real masterclass in pitching from an old pro.

Barry's former company, and my then employer SB&A, did not win the pitch. The hotel chain went with another agency, which had also hired Barry as a consultant for their pitch. So Barry was working as a consultant for both the hotel chain and the agency that won the account. That made some people suspicious. It made the trades, but Barry angrily denied that his actions were unethical. Why? Because he had offered his consulting services to all of the contending agencies. He couldn't help it if the one that hired him won....

Classic Barry.

Smith Burke & Azzam became Gray Kirk & Evans. I was gone from the staff before they acquired the venerable Baltimore agency VanSant Dugdale and became GKV. Barry ended up on the client side at Choice Hotels, which became their biggest client. Since I frequently worked for GKV in a freelance capacity, I still lingered in Barry's shadow for a while longer. The last news I heard about him was the most shocking: He had gotten religion and started attending a mega church somewhere in the Southwest. Good for him! I was even approached about editing a public service announcement he was putting together for them, but the job fell through. Too bad. I would have liked to have worked with that Barry.

Sadly, I will never have the chance.

Rest in peace, sir.

Here's a more traditional obituary: Remembering the life of Barry L. Smith

Barry with his daughter Ashley

I doubt Barry would mind me promoting my book after my tribute to him. In fact, he'd probably give me an amused half smile. So here goes. Be sure to check out my memoir The Promise, or the Pros and Cons of Talking with God, published by TouchPoint Press. It is my true story of first faith and first love and how the two became almost fatally intertwined, or, as Barry might say, how I ended up with neither the milk nor the cow.

Here are some sample chapters of The Promise:

Chapter 1 - A Photograph

Chapter 2 - My Death

Chapter 3 - Childhood

Chapter 4 - Saved!

Chapter 5 - The Promise

Chapter 6 - The Mission

Chapter 7 - Mission Accomplished
Chapter 15 - Quarter To Midnight

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Friday, July 12, 2019

The Sunday Cannons: Friends Become Flowers

Here's a fabulous curio from my past.

I have edited many music videos for my local musical heroes over the years, but The Sunday Cannons were the first group to call upon my acting skills in this video for their 1988 album Red to the Rind.

The Sunday Cannons featured two old friends of mine, Mike Lane and Ed Neenan. I knew Mike from high school. We were both eccentrics from Archbishop Curley High School. I met Ed Neenan later in the film program at Towson University, then called Towson State University. I had no idea they knew each other or that either of them were in a band until I saw Mike Lane loading some amps into the studio at Towson's radio station with Ed. They told me they were in a band called The Click. They were going to record in the studio that evening.

Running across them proved very fortuitous. As I relate in my memoir, The Promise, or the Pros and Cons of Talking with God, I was at perhaps the low ebb of my life at the time after my break-up with my high school/college sweetheart. I was in a genuine suicidal funk. Soon after seeing them outside the station, I was invited to a party thrown by Tom Brandau, another fellow student in the film program. Mike and Ed both attended the party. Near the end of the party, Mike and Ed took out their guitars and started playing Beatles songs. Every girl in the place gathered around them. Wow. I was impressed.

The guys invited to a gig they had at a bar in Towson the following week. The place was mostly empty but I was really impressed with The Click. They scattered some tasty originals in a mix of college radio hits. I was a movie guy. I did not follow contemporary music, aside from the Top 40 songs I picked up via osmosis. They gave me my first exposure to folks like Elvis Costello and Nick Lowe.

At the break, I approached Mike to discuss the affect he and Ed had on the girls at the party once they took out their guitars. I asked Mike if any guy could get any girl if he played the guitar. He looked around the empty bar before turning back to me and said, "I'm alone now, ain't I?"

That comment notwithstanding, I went home and dug my mother's acoustic guitar out of a closet and started playing obsessively -- despite the fact that the neck was a little bent so it was very difficult to keep in tune. Soon I was writing songs which proved to be emotionally therapeutic. Playing and writing definitely helped pull me out of my funk. In fact, I soon started my own band, The Atomic Enema, with my friends Jim Jackson, Mike Mazziott and, the true talent of the organization -- Nick Mazziott. We never rivaled The Click, but we all had a blast bashing our instruments and assaulting ear drums.

Director Tom Brandau with the band

The Sunday Cannons was a follow-up band to The Click. It featured Mike and Ed, and Click drummer Matt Maschal. Dean Morekas, the bass player for The Click, was the odd man out in the new group. Don't know why.

The music video below was not actually intended to be a music video. The band brought in Tom Brandau to shoot a commercial for their album Red To The Rind to run on late night television. However, they shot enough footage of the song Friends Become Flowers to actually make a music video afterwards. In the commercial, and the video, I play Mr. Melon Head. For some reason, the music of the band inspires me to tear off my head and throw it to the ground, revealing that I was also Red to the Rind.

Tom Brandau directed the video. He was assisted by other Towson alums. Chris New shot it and Wayne Hipley edited it. Stewart Stack kindly provided the studio and the resources of Serious Grip and Electric to the production. It was a lot of fun. I was delighted they invited me to participate, and I am happy to see it resurface again.

Everyone is still playing and working. Mike Lane followed his musical muse to Minnesota where he now plays jangly guitar pop with his talented wife Kiki in The Lanes. Ed plays post-punk pop rock with his band E. Joseph and the Phantom Heart. I am happy to hear that Matt Maschal, the veteran drummer of The Click and The Sunday Cannons, has been gigging with Ed too. Director Tom Brandau is now the head of the film department at the Minnesota State University, Morehead. And me, well, I'm still red to the rind. Just don't ask me to take off my head to prove it.

I miss the 80s.

And I wish I appreciated them more at the time!

See more of my acting here: Sean Paul Murphy: Master Thespian

Music Videos:

Big Pun: Twinz (Deep Cover 98)

Crack The Sky: Mr. President
Greg Kihn: Horror Show
Nils Lofgren: Alone

Face Dancer: Red Shoes

The Sunday Cannons: Friends Become Flowers

And here's my own music videos:

The Wash Of Time

When You're Dead

Here are some sample chapters of The Promise:

Chapter 1 - A Photograph

Chapter 2 - My Death

Chapter 3 - Childhood