More Than a Headline: My Family's Connection to a 1931 Tragedy
Recently I’ve been thinking about my grandma’s younger brother, Frank Leo Creighton. He was born October 25, 1916. He drowned in a neighbor’s farm pond while his dad sat, unknowingly, on the porch at home. It was the middle of the afternoon, August 11, 1931.
I don’t think Grandma ever recovered from his death. I remember her talking about it only one time, and that was in answer to my bold little kid question about him.
Grandma saved the newspaper articles of the time, and I recently found additional articles. Between all of them, I’ve pieced together a story of what probably happened.
According to the articles, Fletcher’s Pond was originally built when the railroad went through the farms. Now, as long as I can remember, when we would go through Beallsville, Ohio, family would always point to the pond where Frank passed. I will have to look again when I’m there, because by the newspaper description of the railroad forming the one bank, I don’t think the pond they always pointed to is the same pond. Close but not quite. Both were within easy walking distance of where Grandma and Frank lived.
Based upon the newspaper articles, the summer of 1931 was the first in 40 years that kids were allowed to swim in the pond. The summer pastime was not allowed due to another drowning 40 years prior.
Frank was tall. According to the newspapers, he was over six feet tall. The pond was only 5 feet deep. It was supposedly very muddy. Did he get stuck in the mud at the bottom? Some speculate that he cramped.
The smaller boys had already gotten out of the pond and were on the bank when Frank got in trouble. They tried to throw things to him, so he could save himself. A gentleman passing by heard the screams and tried to help. At one point, he said he had hold of Frank’s hair.
One of Frank’s friends, Warren Crum, wrote a poem that the newspaper published. Grandma kept that clipping. Warren’s older brother was already married to the woman who would become Grandma’s sister-in-law.
Grandma married Grandpa in 1933. She saved the card that Grandpa had sent her when Frank passed. I have it now.
Piecing together the story answers some questions, but there are many things I wonder about that we will never know.
I never knew the connection between Frank’s friend and Grandma’s sister-in-law. I wonder if Grandma thought about that every time she was around her in-laws.
What did the last line in Warren’s poem mean? He said, “We are seven.” Were there seven boys at that pond who were friends?
Grandma was quiet. I wonder if she always was or if the loss of Frank changed her.
Did Grandma know how to swim? Did she ever go wading in that pond? Did she just not go after she lost Frank?
It’s almost one-hundred years since his death. I wasn’t alive, yet it seems so real and recent to me.
I call it ancestor sorrow.
While this has been a somber post, thank you for joining me at The Creighton Cabin this week. Frank would have been the grandson of The Creighton Cabin’s namesake.
Please join me again at The Creighton Cabin as I slowly help rural Appalachian communities unlock their economic potential by challenging and changing the stories they tell themselves. I use local history and genealogy to help communities recognize their strengths and envision a brighter tomorrow. Think of it as community development powered by DNA, not just dollars.
This is so sad. I'm sure you grandma never recovered from her loss. I've never heard of the term ancestor sorrow, but as we tell our family stories, there is so much sorrow we have to face at times. It can be very difficult.
🥺 So very sad. Thank you for sharing his story.