History of Joe Kleinhenz
A 1974 letter written by Paul Gardner to his son Neil about Joseph Kleinhenz, his Civil War service, family life, and later years.
Submitted by Roger Camp. This letter was written by Paul Gardner to his son, Neil. On October 9, 1974. Paul died June 14, 1981. Copy obtained from Betty Fullenkamp of Ft Recovery, Ohio who is Roger Camp’s first cousin.
Dear Neal,
My first question is, “Why do you need the photo and biography of an ancestor for CCD class?” Meanwhile, as I await an answer, I will provide from my meager acquisition the material you need.
The material is about my maternal grandfather (and your great-grandfather) Joseph Kleinhenz—mainly because we had a photo readily available from a disintegrating album. The snapshot was taken of him at Ft. Recovery in the front yard of my folks on a Thanksgiving afternoon circa 1930. He would then have been in his later 80’s; he has a cane in his right hand. In his youth, I believe he would have been about 6 feet tall; at this age shrinkage had set in; but even so he always carried himself ramrod straight, so the even as an old man he continued to look tall.
As a boy I was always afraid of him because of his gruffness. I in later years became aware that it was a superficial mannerism, and enjoyed listening to his yarns of the old days, especially his experiences in the Civil War.
He was born in 1841 at St. Rose, Ohio, RR 119; he died in 1933 at the age of 91, of a brain concussion from a fall on an iced sidewalk. (Usually he wore ice creepers in icy weather, and kidded people as they slid around on their bare shoes.)
A cholera epidemic left him an orphan at the age of 6; both parents and his 3-year old sister, and also the “hired man”, died within a few days time. Carpenters in those days built nothing but coffins—and some of them were buried in coffins they built. This was in Mercer County in a rural area around numerous villages and parish churches. The parish priest found the boy crying alone at the graveside, with nowhere to go. The priest arranged with one of Joe’s uncles to take him in—and uncle with 13 children already in his house! (I am assuming that both Joe’s father and uncle were farmers, though I can’t confirm this.)
Young Joe undoubtedly grew up feeling unwanted and bullied by the uncle’s older children. He worked for hire for other farmers as he grew up. When the Civil War erupted, he and another orphaned boy (named Dave Plothauer), being under age but looking older, conspired to falsify their ages in order to enlist.
They set out walking from St. Rose (known then as Marysville) to the recruiting station at Piqua. By today’s roadmap the distance is about 38 miles; the road then were mostly mud, and the weather was rainy. Kleinhenz and Plothauer spent the first night in the loft of the cabin of an elderly coupled while the woman dried their clothes; on the following day they made it to Piqua and enlisted.
The runaways undoubtedly had hurried out of fear of being pursued by their relatives, and this actually occurred; Joe’s uncle and grown sons guessed rightly what was happening and followed on horseback, but they arrived too late. The army recruiters, hungry for their quota, refused to release them. So Kleinhenz and Plothauer became buddies in the Field Artillery.
(I gather that Plothauer was bigger than Kleinhenz and also hotter of temper. Once, on training maneuvers while crossing a stream, the wheels of the field gun sank almost to the hubs on a sandbar. A big and rugged 2nd lieutenant got nasty with Plothauer, calling him a “damned dumb Dutchman”. Plothauer, nose-to-nose with the lieutenant, challenged him to take off his officer’s bars and then repeat the words. The lieutenant obliged and said, “I’m just Private So-and-so now.” The officer was badly mauled by Plothauer. As a result, the officer was severely disciplined and mercifully transferred to a distant unit; Plothauer was mildly disciplined and allowed to remain. But Plothauer never made it beyond Private First Class, whereas Kleinhenz went on to become 1st Sergeant.)
His battery was assigned to “Stanley’s Division, 4th Corps, Army of the Cumberland, and he participated in the following engagements:
Shiloh or Pittsburg Landing, Tenn. Apr. 6-7, ‘62
Siege of Corinth, Miss., Apr. 30-May 30.
Stone River or Murfreesboro, Tenn., Dec. 31, ’62 to Jan. 2, ‘63
Tullahoma campaign, June 23-30, ‘63
Chickamauga, Ga., Sept. 19-20, ‘63
Lookout Mountain, Tenn., Nov. 24, ‘63
Mission Ridge, Nov. 25, ‘63
Siege of Atlanta, Ga., July 28-Sept. 2, ‘64
Wounded at Stone Mountain, Ga., losing two fingers by gun-shot.
The record states further that he was in the hospital at Atlanta, Nashville, Jeffersonville and Cincinnati—probably due to infection from dirty surgeons tools and also lead poisoning. He enlisted in September, ’61 and was discharged in July, ’65.
Less than one year later he married Elizabeth Hagedorn (my grandmother and your great-grandmother) of St. Rose, Ohio. Of this marriage came 4 sons and 5 daughters, of which my mother Elizabeth was 7th in order of arrival.
As for a livelihood, he started in Ft. Recovery with a shoe shop, making and repairing shoes. (His was an authentic cobbler’s bench around which a monkey really could have chased a weasel, but granddad would not have tolerated such errant nonsense; his gruffness would have intimidated them, too.)
From there he went on to be a man of substance, becoming the proprietor of a general store combined with a saloon.
His next business venture was a sawmill at Wendelin, Ohio (the same mill operated at a later date by my Grandfather Gardner). He moved operations and machinery to Geneva, Indiana; moved again to Ohio to a place called Lockridge Corner, now no longer on the map, but located along what is now Tr. 49, between Ft. Recovery and Padua. Again he moved operations to St. Rose. All this moving, I presume, was to be near stands of quality hardwood, all of which had to be loaded and hauled by man-power and horse-power—with horses which ate oats, sweated and made manure.
The sawmill became specialized and evolved into a hoop factory—wooden bands for barrels and kegs—which were sold by train car loads to coopers. (Everything in those days came in barrels and kegs, especially foodstuffs such as sugar, flour, salt, candy, dried fruits, pickles, salt fish, lard; and other staple items such as whiskey and beer.) This operation, his last in the lumber business, was located at Maria Stein. On the 21st birthday of his oldest son, Henry, grandfather gave him ½ interest in the hoop factory.
This business went bankrupt for a combination of reasons, but mainly through careless extension of credit. On one occasion they were swindled out of 5 carloads of hoops by some buyer who sold them off the cars before the sellers could collect from him; the “buyer” disappeared without paying.
With some of the money salvaged from the bankrupt hoop factory, Henry Kleinhenz went into partnership in hardware with my father at Coldwater, Ohio; by this time Grandfather Joe was becoming a senior citizen, who banked his share of the money, drew his Civil War soldier’s pension and became a part-time helper in the store. When this store moved to Ft. Recovery, Grand-dad moved back to that town also. When I became aware of him, my father was no longer partner with Henry, but Grand-dad was still a part-time helper; Henry was widowed and living with Grand-dad and Grandmother who was raising his 2 sons and 1 daughter.
You will notice on the photograph a watch-chain on Grand-dad’s vest. On the pocket end of this chain would be a fine watch; but it would not be the only watch he carried; sometimes he carried as many as 5 at one time; this, because he was something of an amateur jeweler, and also because he liked to trade watches—at a profit. He would trade a not-so-high-quality watch in good running condition for a better watch running poorly or not at all, plus another watch or cash.
In his later years he made an annual trip to Hot Springs, Arkansas, to a veteran’s home to renew old acquaintances and to rejuvenate in the mineral baths. In his middle 80’s he would return from this place, proudly detailing his watch deals, and doing a short jig-dance to show how he had benefitted from the baths. His last trip there, at about 90, brought complaints from him that the mineral springs were losing their strength and not benefitting him as much as in former years.
One of my favorites among the tales he told of his war years concerned another orphan. He and a few buddies were exploring the Tennessee countryside from their camp, and were on horseback. Passing a farm-house, they saw a boy, about 9 years old, sitting on the fence in front of the house, crying. In answer to their questions, he told them that his mother had died, that his father had remarried; then his father died, and his step-mother had remarried. The step-parents had moved away two days before, telling the boy that they would return for him. The boy, meanwhile, had had nothing to eat except what he could scrounge from the countryside, and was frightened and lonely.
Inquiry all around turned up no clue as to the step-parents destination, and young Kleinhenz concluded that the boy was permanently deserted. From then on the boy was a sort of camp mascot under the special care of Kleinhenz platoon (though at the time Kleinhenz was not yet sergeant or even corporal). Unstated in Grand-dad’s narrative was his own identification with the boy through memories of his own bitter childhood; but nonetheless it showed through his matter-of-fact gruffness.
Sooner or later the army would be moving out in war formation, and this boy could not go along, and the men were wondering what to do about him. One day the boy found a wallet beside a trench-type latrine and the wallet contained several thousand dollars in good Northern money. Identification was in the wallet; the boy returned it to the owner—a wealthy Jewish contractor who had been doing work for the army, and had lost the wallet out of his pocket while using the army latrine. He did not know who the boy was, his special position so he thank him and bought him a bottle of soda pop and a sack of candy.
When Kleinhenz heard of this he blew his stack. He gathered his buddies, and they all rode into town, on strong artillery horses and with strong ropes. At the contractor’s house Kleinhenz explained the boys’ status and demanded a reward for him. The contractor asked, “How much”. Said Kleinhenz, “$500.00.”
The contractor protested and tried to whittle it down. When he refused to agree to the stated amount, Kleinhenz said, “All right. We’ll pull your house down.” The men of the platoon put their ropes around the house and were waiting for a signal to start the horses, when the contractor relented and counted out the money. (Occupation troops always have perpetrated illegal acts; in this case it was simplified by the fact that the victim was a Jew, and worse yet, a rich Jew.)
Kleinhenz found a suitable family who, for $500.00, agreed to adopt and raise the boy. In his old age, Grand-dad received a letter from this boy, now grown and married to the daughter of a department store owner, and now general manager of the store in an Illinois town. He had investigated, and located Grand-dad, and invited him to a visit. Grand-dad had intentions of visiting him enroute on his next trip to Hot Springs. But he lost the letter, and this story remained only semi-finished.
Anyway, do you get the picture?
Biographically yours,
Paul
Joseph Kleinhenz
A 2013 account submitted by Roger Camp about his great-grandfather Joseph Kleinhenz and the Kleinhenz family history.
Great Grandfather of Roger Camp
Submitted by: Roger Camp
June 2013
My great grandfather was a stately gentleman who came from German emigrants that spoke no English. They had settled in a small northern Ohio community which was comprised of Germans Catholics in the early 1800’s. It was called Fort Recovery. At the time Fort Recovery consisted of only a few hundred people. Statehood had been accomplished only a few years before. Joseph was born in 1842 to older parents, His mother, was 42 and his father, Peter Kleinhenz, and was almost 60 when he was born. His sister, Katherine Kleinhenz, was born five years later.
At the baptism of Joseph, one of the witnesses was a Joseph Kleinhenz. I believe that he was either the brother of Peter or his son. I have found another family of Kleinhenz’s living in Fort Recovery. It is called the Willke line. Joseph, I believe is part of the Willke Kleinhenz line. . The Willke line will not acknowledge the line of my great grandfather or even talk to them. My cousins still living in Fort Recovery still do not talk to them. It is almost like a family feud between the families. I believe they are related but I have not been able to confirm the relationship. (Andy Niekamp Note: Alfrida Kleinhenz Willke’s autobiography, “I Remember It Well”, has been online since 1989 and well before this letter was written. It covers extensive Kleinhenz history in Mercer County, Ohio, and would have been easy to find if Roger had looked for it.)
Peter and Joseph both came to United States in the 1830’s, one to Baltimore and the other to New York as indicated on the applications for naturalization for both me .My mother, before she died, said the Willke Kleinhenz family was related since she knew them and they were cousins. All my efforts to contact the other family have been ignored by the persons maintaining the Wilke Kleinhenz tree. I believe that the two Josephs mentioned are either brothers or uncle and nephew. This is one of my loose ends that will keep me looking.
In 1849, most of northern Ohio was hit by a plague. Joseph was the only survivor in his family as his father, mother and sister all died of cholera during this period. They are all buried together in the cemetery, Fort Recovery, Ohio.
Joseph, who was seven at the time, went to live with a relative as is shown on an 1850 census. The exact relationship is unknown but I was told he was an uncle. By the time Joseph was eighteen, the civil war was starting. Joseph wanted to enlist in the army but he could not do so in Fort Recovery. Joseph and his friend decided to enlist so they took off one evening and walked eighteen miles to a recruiting office in Celina, Ohio The boys did not tell their parents what they were going to do. The next morning the parents found out that the boys were gone and then learned what they had done. The parents rode horses to the recruiting office to try to stop the enlistments but they were told they were too late and could not stop the event.
Joseph served four years in the Ohio Volunteer Light Artillery. During the famous march through Georgia at the battle of Stone Mountain, Joseph was injured on October 25, 1864 and lost part of two fingers on the left hand. He had advanced to the rank of sergeant. He was discharged July 24, 1865. Several of his war metals, his sword and the scroll commemorating his service are on exhibit at the History Library in Piqua, Ohio
Joseph returned home and in February of 1866 he married Elizabeth Hagedorn. Elizabeth came from another German family that moved to Ohio from Pennsylvania in the early eighteen hundreds. Joseph and Elizabeth had eight children. Joseph established a saw mill in Fort Recovery which was successful until the trees ran out. He then moved his operation to Indiana, just across the border and continued the business. As Joseph grew older, he wanted to move back to Fort Recovery. He established a hardware store which was actually a general merchandise store. Since it was the only store of its kind within twenty miles, it was very successful. He later employed his eldest son, Henry, to help run the store. When he retired he gave the business to Henry to operate. He also operated and billiard and smoke shop next to the hardware store.
Joseph and Elizabeth spent many years together from 1866 until 1919 when Elizabeth died. After her death Joseph lived with two of his son, Henry, whose wife had also died and later with Robert. As Joseph grew older, he used a cane to walk. During the winter when there was ice and snow he always wore rubber overshoes so he would not fall. However, during his last trip on the ice he was not as lucky. He fell and cracks his skull and died due to his injuries. Joseph came from healthy stock and he lived to be ninety one years old. I was not fortunate enough to have know him is I was born the same year as he died on 1933 in Fort Recovery, Ohio. He is buried I Fort Recovery Cemetery along with his wife,