Ghosts and Legends of Wood County, Ohio

By Melissa R. Davies

Explore the origins of Wood County lore.

Ghostly tales abound from fallen war heroes of Bowling Green State University to the darkened woods of Holcomb Road. The spirit of Frank Simonds, a venerated World War I veteran who nearly got away with murder, may linger around Main Street in Bowling Green. A soldier who died in a desperate attempt to save hundreds still guards Fort Meigs. Though nothing stands there now, the spot of the infamous Woodbury House remains a terror--just as it was for the earliest settlers in the area.

Wonder-seeker and amateur folklorist Melissa Davies reveals the stranger side of local history.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The History Press
• Release date: Sep 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781439678978

Melissa R. Davies

Melissa R. Davies is a researcher, writer and podcaster ( Ohio Folklore ). Yet chief among these roles is that of a wonderer. She revels unearthing the stories of our forebears. A graduate of Defiance College and Wright State University, Melissa is also a practicing clinical psychologist. She and her husband are both native to northwest Ohio and live there still. He lovingly endures her fascination with all things spiritual. Melissa appreciates a well-planned trip to someplace new, a full-bodied cabernet shared with friends and quiet Sundays taking long strolls down wooded trails.

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INTRODUCTION

WOOD COUNTY, A BRIEF HISTORY

Today, Wood County is most known for the city of Bowling Green, its county seat. This college town draws folks from all over the country for its National Tractor Pull Championships every August. The city is surrounded by endless rows of corn, wheat and soybeans among flattened fields that once composed the Great Black Swamp. Rural influences weigh heavily on its culture, seen easily in yearly celebrations of the Wood County Fair. And yet, Wood County’s country roots aren’t all it has to offer residents and visitors alike.

BG (as the locals call Bowling Green) has a public university of around twenty thousand students. Bowling Green State University (BGSU) is a research institution with stately academic buildings within the 1,300-acre campus. The university’s influence is seen in events throughout the city, like educational programming and the arts and music scene downtown, not to mention frequent flybys of propeller-driven airplanes operated by aspiring student pilots.

While that summarizes what Wood County is about today, it’s worth taking a deeper dive into just what led up to that reputation. Let’s examine some of the more difficult, daring and macabre aspects of Wood County history.

Although the city of Bowling Green wouldn’t be incorporated until 1901, settlers began arriving in the early 1800s. The county itself was founded in 1820. Pioneers who first set foot on Wood County soil found a wet, soppy mess infested with malaria-carrying mosquitoes. Before the land was drained, any task proved almost impossible in land that swallowed up wagon wheels and horses’ hooves. Today, a vast network of drainage tile has eliminated the standing water that once permeated the land. The herculean effort to rid the swamp of its swampiness created some of the richest and most fertile farmland in this section of the country.

For those early settlers unlucky enough to contract malaria, the symptoms began with recurring fever every three to four days, followed by a tender, swollen spleen and, later, a yellowish complexion. The most unfortunate of those stricken went on to suffer kidney failure, seizures and coma. Many died in a godforsaken wilderness as helpless others looked on in pity.

Accounts from soldiers during the War of 1812 tell of marches through mud that reached their thighs. Frequent stops were needed to pull wagons and horses from the infernal muck. And when they finally set up camp, pitching tents to get a full night’s rest, the water would inevitably seep in, inches deep, before the men woke the next morning. Worse than this were the ever-present mosquitoes, hungry for human blood. These nascent U.S. troops suffered more casualties to that damned insect than to the entirety of the King’s army.

While Americans defended their land from a foreign invader for the first time, they also systematically attacked, invaded, murdered and forcibly removed Native peoples from this same land. Wood County’s charter followed the Lower Maumee Treaty of 1817. This land was purchased from local tribes, including the Shawnee, Wyandot, Seneca, Ottawa, Potawatomi, Chippewa and Delaware. Facing no real choice but annihilation, these tribes had to accept terms of exile from lands inhabited by their ancestors for centuries. Slayings of countless Native peoples were left unchronicled in pioneer records.

The county was named in honor of Captain Eleazer Derby Wood, commanding officer of the Northwestern Army in 1812. He oversaw the construction of Fort Meigs, one of Wood County’s most beloved historic sites. We’ll learn more about this spirited place in the pages ahead.

Fast-forward more than a century, and infectious disease once again beleaguered Wood County residents. Local officials attempted to contain deadly outbreaks of Spanish flu and tuberculosis using a pestilence house. This structure, which still stands on the grounds of today’s Wood County Museum, served to quarantine residents who suffered these dreaded, contagious diseases. (The Wood County Museum site was considered for a chapter in this book. Its director declined participation, citing a board policy against any media coverage of paranormal activity at the museum.)

The brief history included in this introduction can’t possibly address all of what is notable about Wood County’s past. The good news, however, is that such history is waiting to be discovered. With a little patience and effort in this day of information technology, the legends of our ancestors are knowable. They are written in historical newspapers, in court records and in tales passed down through the generations.

May we remember the lessons they bring.

1

MAN-IN-TAN

BGSU’S FORGOTTEN GHOST

A hero is someone who understands the responsibility that comes with his freedom.

—Bob Dylan

No book recounting legendary stories from Wood County, Ohio, would be complete without a reference to the venerable institution known as Bowling Green State University.

Established in 1910, this public research university has seen more than its fair share of unique characters over the decades. It has a current enrollment of about twenty thousand. Students of all cultures and backgrounds have traversed its grounds, sauntered along its hallways and performed on its stages.

Two such performance spaces were once known as the Eva Marie Saint and Joe E. Brown Theaters. Both were housed in a section of University Hall recently demolished, in March 2016. University Hall itself still stands as a historic structure. It now houses offices, classrooms and student programs.

Even though these theaters were razed, something of the shadow of their influence remains. Their haunting reputation was well known during their life spans. One mischievous spirit was so active that she had a name: Alice. She was known for ghostly pranks like misplaced props, flickering lights and audio problems. To ward against this, stage managers invited her to the show before each opening night with a soliloquy that even Romeo would have admired. Then, one prime seat in the audience was roped off, saved for her viewing pleasure.

The official seal of Bowling Green State University outside University Hall. Legend has it that if sweethearts stand on the seal and kiss at midnight, they will soon be married.

University Hall at Bowling Green State University, 2022.

East lobby of University Hall, former hat room for former theaters once housed there.

The other resident ghost of these two former theaters is the subject matter of our story. Although he is not well known to current students and staff, his supposed existence has been chronicled in local newspapers for years. While the stages themselves have long been dismantled, the specific spot he allegedly haunts does remain today. The space that once served as the theaters’ hat room is now a lobby area for one of University Hall’s entrances.

When the theaters were in operation, audience members frequented this space, dropping off heavy clothing and hats so they could enjoy performances in comfort. With some regularity, male audience members developed a feeling of unease when approaching the reception window. Some fidgeted, sensing an electric feeling of unwelcome. Others rushed off to their seats with nervous energy. By contrast, women were known to report the opposite sensation. Many commented on a sense of warmth and protection surrounding them. Some lingered in the space, looking around and seeking the source of their unexpected