The Mysterious "Citizen-Soldier"

     In the vault at the Montour Falls Library is an old photo of a monument that has been a mystery for a long time.  The monument is a Civil War monument called “The Citizen-Soldier,” dedicated to the men of Montour Falls who served in the war.  Written below the photo is a note that says this was a monument at Gettysburg.  The problem is—there is no such monument at Gettysburg.  So where was the monument?  As I researched this further I discovered that the monument was intended to be placed in a park to be created in Montour Falls in front of the waterfall, but it never arrived.  The reason was that its donor, Halsey Ives, a distinguished citizen from Montour Falls, who helped form and lead the St. Louis Art Museum in Missouri, suddenly died in 1911, and his estate did not leave enough money to ship the statue to Montour Falls.

     Ives had commissioned a well-known sculptor named George Julian Zolnay to create the statue.  Zolnay, known as the “sculptor of the Confederacy” for the many Confederate monuments he made, used some rather unusual license in making the monument.  At the top of the monument can be seen the bust of a man.  Incredibly, when I began investigating other works by Zolnay, I recognized a similarity with another statue.  Zolnay’s statue in Nashville, Tennessee dedicated to Sam Davis, a Confederate hero executed as a spy by Union forces, has the same head as the statue Zolnay planned for Montour Falls.  Zolnay put the bust of a Confederate hero on top of a monument intended to celebrate Union soldiers from Montour Falls!

     The monument never made it to Montour Falls, but it did exist at one point as attested by the photograph.  The monument was subsequently dismantled.  The bust of the man still exists in the archives of the St. Louis Art Museum.  When I contacted them they showed me a picture of it, and it was simply labeled as “the head of a man.”  What happened to the rest of the statue is unknown.  I can only wonder that if Ives had lived longer and the statue had been shipped, what would have happened when the citizens of Montour Falls discovered that their statue memorializing their Union patriots was topped by a Confederate hero?  Zolnay’s deceit would have been—busted.
(left click on the photo above to see a larger image)

Gibson, the Glen Guide

     In the 1880s, visitors to Watkins who wanted to see the famous glen often had a most unusual guide.  A dog.  His name was Gibson, a large furry fellow who for nearly twelve years gladly showed the tourists through the glen, as long as they rewarded him with his favorite treat: ice cream.  Gibson was described as a “remarkable animal” with “almost human intelligence.”

     Gibson made his home at the Jefferson Hotel in Watkins, which once stood at the corner of Franklin and Fourth Streets.  He innately knew who was a tourist, and would make his presence known by walking up to them to touch his nose to their hand or touch them with his paw.  He would never take local people to the glen, only the tourists.  All one had to say was, “Gibson, I want to go to the glen,” and their canine guide was ready to go.  He would lead them to the glen on foot or hop in their carriage and ride sitting upright on the seat with them.  Once at the glen, Gibson would lead his charges along the pathways to show them the spectacle of the glen.  If they began to take a wrong path, Gibson would stop and sit, until they came back to him so he could get them on the correct route once again.  If a path was somewhat dangerous, he was known to grasp their clothing in his mouth and pull them the right way.  He would even pause at certain spots as if to get the tourist to enjoy the natural beauty before them.

     Once Gibson began his guided tour, he did not abandon his escorts.  He was not distracted by other people, or even by other dogs—he kept to his mission.  If the people wanted to stop into a place to have a meal or shop, Gibson would lay down outside and wait for them.

     Gibson was very protective of his escorts, and he seemed to exhibit some class consciousness.  He was known to growl at workingmen who came near dressed in shabby clothes and was even known to spring on them to make them move away as he gallantly protected his tourists.  He also was not fond of salesmen, who he instinctively ignored.  But Gibson was gentle as a lamb around the tourists, especially the ladies who gleefully pet and pampered him.

     Many were saddened in December 1888 when they learned that Gibson had died at the Jefferson House.  I hope that those of us who walk the glen today will remember how Gibson’s paws once joyfully tread the same path, regaling in his favorite job.  And have some ice cream at the end of the journey in memory of Gibson.