Temperanceville: The Legacy of a Dry Village

While giving a talk in Ocean City last week on America’s complex history with alcohol, an audience member asked about Temperanceville, a small village on the Eastern Shore of Virginia. Although I had driven past it for years, I had never taken the turn off Route 13 to explore the place.  However, prompted by the question and with research to do at the Accomack County Courthouse, I finally made the detour.

temperanceville eastern shore of virginia
Temperanceville, a quiet village on the Eastern Shore of Virginia

Temperanceville is a quiet community of about 300 people located 7 miles over the Virginia line. Its name is a relic of a once-powerful social and political movement that shaped 19th-century America. During this era, churches, women’s groups, and reformers on the Eastern Shore campaigned tirelessly against alcohol, linking it to poverty, crime, and broken families.

As its name suggests, the citizens of Temperanceville stood firmly behind this movement. In 1824, they organized a “Sons of Temperance” club.  At their first meeting, they swore they would never sell their land to put a barroom on and voted to change the name of their settlement to Temperanceville.  At some point, the Sons also built a lodge. 1

Their dedication proved remarkably enduring. Nearly a century later, the Accomac News reported in 1922 that not a single drop of whiskey had ever been sold openly in Temperanceville. The Peninsula Enterprise reinforced this claim, noting that the citizens “never drank or sold liquors.”2

Fast-forward to today. An unimaginable change, at least from the standpoint of its 19th-century teetotalers, has taken place.  While Temperanceville was once a resolute dry town, this is no longer the case. In the heart of the village, along Route 13, a convenience store now sells beer and wine to the thirsty customers.

Nonetheless, the legacy remains. The echoes of the past persist in the name, in the archives of old newspapers, and in the collections of the Eastern Shore of Virginia Heritage Center.  And, of course, in the curiosity of the library patron and others who inquire about it, all reminding us of a fascinating chapter in the history of the Eastern Shore.

Endnotes

  1. History of Temperanceville | The Countryside transformed: (n.d.). https://eshore.iath.virginia.edu/node/1935 ↩︎
  2. “History of Temperanceville,” Peninsula Enterprise, (Accomac, Va), May 13, 1922 ↩︎

St. Augustine Church Added to the National Park Service Network to Freedom

I’m pleased to share that St. Augustine Church has officially been added to the National Park Service’s Network to Freedom, a program dedicated to preserving and promoting the history of the Underground Railroad.

I had the privilege of researching and writing the nomination, a process that involved extensive archival research, thorough analysis, and collaboration with local, state, and federal stakeholders to build a compelling case for the church’s significance in the fight for freedom.

Established by the National Underground Railroad Network to Freedom Act of 1998, this vital program recognizes sites, facilities, and programs that help share the incredible stories of resistance against enslavement.

 For more details, see the official press release from Cecil County Government. 

st. augustine church
St. Augustine Church near Chesapeake City, MD.

Two Pioneering Women: Railroad Tower Operators

In the late 19th century, employment opportunities for women were largely confined to roles such as domestic work, teaching, and a few other low-paying, socially acceptable occupations.  Yet, trailblazers emerged, carving out spaces for themselves in traditionally male-dominated fields. Among these were two remarkable, pioneering women who worked as tower operators for the railroad.  

Until the late 20th century, railroads relied on signal towers along the right-of-way to perform essential operations–controlling train movement on blocks of track and switching at junctions.  These towers had to be staffed 24/7 by workers who could handle the responsibility of ensuring safety and efficiency on the railroad. It was a demanding job that required exceptional focus, resilience, and technical expertise.

A vivid description of this work came from a reporter at the Cecil Whig, who characterized the night operators’ experience:1

The night operator in the railroad signal tower has a lonely occupation and the long hours of the night drag themselves out to a weary length.  It is a position of grave responsibility and the occupation of that signal box, away off in a desolate locality, must be reliant and steady.  The loud whistle of the storm and the shrill shriek of the engine dashing by must be totally disregarded, and the attention of the midnight worker kept close upon the tick-tick of the instruments.  The peripatetic tramp must be sped along as the parting guest and his raps and threats when denied admission out of the storm, must be answered with a firm assertion of one’s determination and the nerve must be steady and strong.

singerly B&O Railroad Tower
This is the B & O Tower at Singerly in 1910. The sign says SY. The telegraph operators used the call letters SY to address matters to the telegraph operator here. (Source: personal collection.)

This position tested the nerves of even the most seasoned railroad men, and “very few women were qualified for the duties,” the visiting reporter observed. One of those ladies occupying such a position of trust and always standing at her post through storm and calm was Bertie Morrison, the night operator at the Octoraro Junction.

There, where the Octoraro Creek meets the Susquehanna River, was a critical intersection where the tracks of the Philadelphia and Baltimore Central Railroad met the Port Deposit and Columbia Road. This remote outpost stood isolated, about a quarter of a mile from the village of Rowlandsville.

octoraro railroad station
The Ocoraro Station (Source: Mickey Williams)

Working in this remote, one-person tower in 1896, Bertie Morrison began her shift every evening at 6 p.m., overseeing the junction through the long, silent hours of the night.  With nothing but the occasional rumble of a passing locomotive and the ticking of the telegraph key to break the silence,  Miss Morrison gave orders to trains, operated levers for the switches, and managed traffic in the block, while also handling the regular telegraph work and signaling usual for a block tower.  

Having been at the job several years by 1896 when the reporter visited, she informed the journalist “that she did not have any fear of intruders, as her faithful companion, a seven-shooter with a determined look, could be relied upon in all emergencies.”2

At  7 a.m., another lady showed up to relieve her.  This operator was Ida Bradley. She had learned telegraphy from her father, Lafayette, the station agent at Rowlandsville.

These pioneering women paved the way for future generations. 

Biographical Notes

Ida Virginia Bradley

Ida worked as a tower operator at Octoraro Junction for 15 years. She learned telegraphy under her father, Lafayette Bradley, the station agent in Rowlandsville. At the time of the 1880 census, she was 26 years old, living with her parents. Ida spent her entire life in the Liberty Grove area and died on June 26, 1933, at 81. She was laid to rest at West Nottingham Cemetery.3,4,5

Bertie Morrison

The 1880 census records show Bertha Morrison, aged 11, living in northwestern Cecil County. She later married George S. Loux, who was listed as a telegraph operator in New Jersey’s 1915 census.5 Bertie passed away on June 25, 1946, at the age of 77 and is buried at West Nottingham Cemetery.6,7

Notes

  1. “A Woman With Pluck,” The Cecil Whig, July 4, 1896, 3, ↩︎
  2. “A Woman With Pluck,” The Cecil Whig, July 4, 1896, 3, ↩︎
  3. “Ida Virginia Bradley,” obituary, Midland Journal, June 30, 1933. ↩︎
  4. United States Census, 1880, Ida Bradley entry,” FamilySearch (2025). ↩︎
  5. Find A Grave. “Ida V. Bradley.” ↩︎
  6. New Jersey State Census, 1915, George S. Loux, FamilySearch ↩︎
  7. “Bertha Morrison Loux,” Obituary, Midland Journal, July 19, 1946. ↩︎
  8. Find A Grave. “Bertha H. Loux Morrison.” Find A Grave Memorial.
    ↩︎

Additional Articles of Interest

From the Blog “The Parnassus Pen, “My Love Letter to Telegraph Operations and Their Heartbreaking Tragedies.

Telephone Operators Were Essential Workers in 1918

An Old Letter Helps Understand the Chicago Fire

Old, forgotten letters tucked away long ago in attics and closets often illuminate the past in ways that history books and newspapers cannot. They capture the voices of individuals, bringing history to life in personal and unique ways.

letter great chicago fire
An 1871 letter discusses the Great Chicago Fire and the business of the customs house in Galena, IL (Letter courtesy of Mary McGreevy)

 A recent assignment in one of my classes reminded me of this when Kylie Redding, one of my students, undertook a primary document analysis.  Asked to find and analyze an original piece of historical evidence, she discovered a remarkable 154-year-old letter carefully preserved by her grandmother, Mary McGreevy.  Mrs. McGreevy had discovered it decades earlier.

This letter, dated October 10, 1871—just two days after the Great Chicago Fire was penned by John W. Wann, a young clerk at the Galena, Illinois Customs House.1,2,3 Addressed to his sister in Harford County, Maryland, the correspondence offers both a glimpse into the 24-year-old  government clerk’s life that autumn and an account of one of America’s most devastating urban disasters.

John began by apologizing for his delayed response, explaining that he had been preoccupied with overseeing the customs house since his uncle (Daniel Wann),4,5 Col. Stephenson (the supervising inspector) and Captain Gordon (the local inspector), were absent. With a blend of youthful confidence and humor, he remarked that their absence left him in charge of the entire business of the U.S. Government at the customs port, making him feel like a “rather important person.” Yet he admitted there wasn’t much to do—leaving him ample time to write letters.    

The Great Chicago Fire

Turning to the catastrophe that gripped the nation, John described the Great Chicago Fire  as “the largest ever known in the U.S.”  His matter-of-fact tone belied the gravity of the tragedy unfolding 160 miles away.  He recounted how flames had swept through the entire business district of Chicago, leaving 100,000 residents homeless and unemployed.

To convey the staggering scale of destruction, he wrote that a single commercial house, C. B. Farwell  & Co., had suffered $1.5 million in damages—one of many businesses devastated by the inferno. In response to this immense suffering, neighboring towns and cities, including Galena, quickly mobilized relief, cooking meals and sending provisions to those in need.

Most compelling are the eyewitness accounts John relayed from his young friends who rushed from Galena to Chicago to assist the stricken city. They described the scene during the fire as unforgettable:  “everything in the wildest confusion.”  A Heavy gale had fanned the flames, spreading destruction so quickly that most residents had no time to save even their clothing.  Families were separated in the chaos—”some screaming, some praying, and some swearing.” Adding to the terror, thieves, looters, and gamblers preyed upon those homes that the flames had not yet consumed.  John described it as “the most awful spectacle ever witnessed.”

Letters Help Understand the Past


In our current age of text messages, emails and other forms of digital communication, it is easy to overlook the historical value of handwritten correspondence.  Yet letters like John W. Wann’s offer a unique perspective on the past that no secondary source can provide.  They allow us to see events—like the Great Chicago Fire—through the eyes of those who lived through them, capturing the facts, emotions, fears, and resilience of people involved. 

But beyond documenting monumental events, letters also illuminate everyday lives, revealing mundane details, personal relationships, and individual narratives that history books often neglect. These personal glimpses into history are invaluable for researchers, students, and anyone seeking a deeper understanding of earlier times.

John W. Wann’s letter is just one example of how personal correspondence can deepen our understanding of the past. By seeking out, studying, and preserving these documents we ensure that the words of ordinary people—voices that might otherwise be lost to history—continue to be heard. 

Notes

  1. “The Late John W. Wann,”Galena Daily Gazette, October 10, 1889, Galena Daily Gazette (1873-1953) 10 October 1889 — Illinois Digital Newspaper Collections. Wann, 44, passed away in Sioux City, Iowa on October 6, 1889. He was born in Bel Air, MD., and enlisted in the Union Army at the age of 17. At the close of his service, Wann moved to Galena, ILL ↩︎
  2. Register of Officers and Agents, Civil, Military and Naval in the Service of the United States on the thirtieth September 1869, (Washington: Government Printing Office, 1870), 101, https://www.google.com/books/edition/Official_Register/CQM3AQAAMAAJ?hl=en&gbpv=1&dq=%22john+w.+wann%22&pg=PA101&printsec=frontcover. ↩︎
  3. United States Census Bureau, Ninth Census of the United States, 1870 (Galena, IL), ↩︎
  4. “Death of a Venerable Citizen,” Galena Daily Gazette, May 11,1870. Galena Daily Gazette (1873-1953) 11 May 1870 — Illinois Digital Newspaper Collections. Daniel Wann, originally from Harford County, was the surveyor of customs at Galena ↩︎
  5. History of Jo Daviess County, Illinois (Chicago: H.F. Kett & Co., 1878), https://www.google.com/books/edition/The_History_of_Jo_Daviess_County_Illinoi/gWYOAAAAIAAJ?hl=en&gbpv=1&bsq=wann. 654. ↩︎