Vermilion Views

_Forward: When I was a little boy I was always fascinated with the tales of Paul Bunyon and Babe his blue ox. Though I knew the tales were fantastic I nonetheless revelled in their beautiful exaggerations. Somewhere in those fantasies I concluded was some element of truth. Perhaps it was wispful, wishful thinking. But I could easily imagine that once upon a time in the logging camps of the great deciduous forests of North America men sat around a crackling fireplace in the evening and told tales of their days in the woodlands - each trying to better the other - and the legendary woodsman, Paul Bunyan, was born.

When first I heard of Captain Edward C. Lampe it was in a like context. Most of the descriptions of, and stories about, Lampe were second and third hand - handed down from men who lived and fished during a time Lake Erie historians refer to as “The Golden Age” of fishing on Lake Erie. As time wore on I began to hear various versions of what could have only been the same story. It was then that I began to understand that Lampe wasn’t just a man - he was a legend. Moreover; he was a real legend. It is one thing to be admired and idolized. But it is quite another to become legend.

And so did I begin to look for further information about this man. Who was he? Where did he come from? What did he really do? And finally, what happened to him? This is what I found:

On Tuesday, September 23, 1947 news of the death of Captain Edward “Big Ed” Lampe blew into the village of Vermilion, Ohio like an unexpected n’reaster. It cast its shadow across the fisheries lining the river where men of few words exchanged thoughtful glances before heading out for a day on the lake; each mutely recalling to themselves “a time when Big Ed...”. It then moved on to the Maud-Elton bar where early patrons on their way to work at American Ship and U.S. Steel in nearby Lorain were wiping sleep from their eyes and nursing Irish coffees; respectfully acknowledging the incredulous news ‘mongst their pals and anyone else who happened by. Together, both the fisherman and their blue collar brethern secretly wished it were Friday night instead of Tuesday morning so they could all raise a glass (or two, or three) for the man whose presence had always been, to them, larger than life. Somehow he had always managed to make their humdrum lives just a little less dreary. Like the Sunday funnies tales of “Big Ed’s” exploits were always something they looked forward to - in fact depended on. No matter how bad things were the stories of what Big Ed once did, was doing, going to do, or what some thought he might have done managed to make their days just a little brighter. “It just couldn’t happen. It was impossible.” But, alas, it was true. The man whose life had been the stuff of which legend is made was, indeed, dead.

Part 2 - The Master; Neither Ice Nor Fire: Like all enterprising individuals Big Ed Lampe made mistakes and had his share of misfortunes. Those familiar with the Vermilion River Valley understand that it is a flood plain. And more often than not it is not water alone that causes anyone living and/or working in that valley to worry. It is ice. When the thaws come and the ice moves so too does nearly everything in its path.

The Southwest Fish Company was (to my knowledge) the only commercial fish house located on the the east side of the Vermilion River. Moreover, it was located at a place in the river that, when the ice came barrelling down the channel from the south, would literally ricochet off the bend in the west bank above it and smash into the fishery. This, of course, was not frequently the case, but the potential always existed and it did happen. It happened during the “Flood of 1913” and the result was predictable. The place was destroyed. And Big Ed, being the man he was, was unperturbed. He checked his losses (which were substantial because insurance didn’t cover everything), rebuilt, and got on with business.

In fact Ed saw some opportunity in such misfortune. As previously noted he was extremely ambitious. In addition to that he was also a dreamer, a thinker, and an innovator in tough situations. Once while guiding the tug Sidney & Wayne into port the rudder broke and he lost control. Without a second thought he tied lines to two net boxes, threw them into the water and literally reined the boat into the dock like he was guiding a team of horses. And thus it was that he surveyed the wreck left him by the 1913 flood and went to work rebuilding Southwest Fish.

This time, however, he gave it some thought. Where the old ice house sat at the back of his fish house he constructed a new one at the monumental cost of $15,000. But this wasn’t just any old ice house. This one was a huge circular structure of his own design. It was his thought that the circular design would keep the ice harvested from the river from melting as fast as its rectangular counterparts. We need remember that refrigeration methods with which we are now so familiar would not exist to any degree for, perhaps, another 20 years.

In the accompanying PRoscoe photo workers can be seen harvesting blocks of ice from the river

in front of Southwest, and placing them on a conveyor where they were moved into the round ice house looming over the main building. I have been told that when the fish houses harvested the ice they sometimes applied to the local schools for young men to help do this. I have also been told that many of those boys were more than willing to temporarily set aside their books to assist. Folks who have retained the photo from a the previous article published in the Vermilion (Ohio) Photojournal on 6-10-04 (Ed. Note: I was unable to locate that particular pic for this “Views” publication.) will notice other changes in the basic structure of the main house. Evidently the tall gabled part of the building toward the L.S.E. bridge on the right was not severely damaged because the painted name, Southwest Fish Co, on that part appears to be identical to the one seen in the previous photo. The “Take Home” words were apparently added.

Also worthy of note is the “Columbia Gasoline” advertisement on the round ice house. One can be sure that Big Ed made sure that the ad helped him pay for the building upon which it appeared. But there is a historic factor also relative to that sign. It has to do with the development and use of the gasoline engine and how Big Ed would put it to work on Lake Erie.

Yet, before anything like that would cross his mind another misfortune fell upon the man who was coming to be recognized throughout the industry as the fisherman’s fisherman. This time it was fire.

In the early morning hours of August 29, 1925 a deckhand, William Schifler, sleeping aboard Captain Laddie Martinek’s boat docked at the Southwest house woke to find the fishery ablaze. After dragging his tug upriver away from the fire he alerted authorities. But little could be done. The round ice house, Big Ed’s innovative pride and joy, freezers, fish house, dock, two of his trucks, and just about everything else simply went up in smoke. So intense was the blaze that fire-fighters were unable to get close enough to do any good. Flames could be seen for miles. Traffic was held up at the bridge shutting down Shore Road (Liberty Ave) for hours. The night Air Mail pilot saw the flames and circled the fire for some time shining his spotlight down on the firemen hopelessly fighting the conflagration.

When it was all over the fire had cost Southwest Fish $50.000. And as he then put it the company was left “with nothing but our debts”. But again, Big Ed being the man he was quickly indicated that the proverbial “fat lady” was not yet singing. “The company will rebuild, and it is likely that a concrete or fire proof ice house will replace the old one.”

It would take more than fire or ice to deter this giant, but gentle, sailor from the course he had set for himself. And so it would.

LOOK BUT DON'T EAT: The day following the hard rain in Vermilion I noted this white circle of "things" as I was passing South Street School. At first I thought it was perhaps one of those birthday displays where folks hire / rent things to celebrate someones birthday / anniversary. But when I got closer I saw that it was a rather large circle of toadstools (inset). It was located in the lawn between the old Maurer home on South Street and the drive that separates it from the aforementioned school. At the time I wished I had my camera with me. I surmised that it wouldn't be long before some youngster(s) came along and dispatched the fungi.

Either my observation and judgement of today's youth is too harsh or kids just don't wander around too much anymore. Because a day or so later - when I passed the same lawn nothing had been disturbed. Ergo; I ran right home, got me trusty Nikon D70, and took a few pix of this rather unusual formation.

Normally I'd expect to see something like this if it was a spot where a tree had relatively recently been dispatched. But, for the life of me, I don't remember a time when that particular spot had a tree of any size upon it. So the reason for the fungi growing at that particular place is unknown. But they are of good size. And I thought they'd make an interesting picture...

PODCAST #84: This week the Vermilion Views Podcast #84 is the story of "Old Woman Creek" from my book: Rich Tarrant's Yesteryear An Anthology of Historical Narratives of Vermilion, Ohio And Its People". This is a video podcast with story being told during a recent rainstorm.

Also note that all the video (MP4) podcasts (where used) are done in the "Quicktime" format.

Vermilion Ohio, A Good Place to Live