Mercer County, Ohio, is home to stories that weave together its early frontier history, a sensational tale of a medical school that likely never existed, and the haunting memory of a brutal crime that shocked the region in 1872. These narratives—distinct yet intertwined—have shaped the county’s folklore and historical identity.
The Rise and Fall of Macedon
Macedon, platted on September 28, 1838, by William Nichols and George Arbaugh, was once a vibrant settlement along the Wabash River.¹ The town boasted four general stores, multiple saloons, two hotels—including the infamous Guenther House—a lime kiln, a wagon shop, blacksmiths, barbershops, and even gambling establishments.² Its streets were meticulously planned, with Main, Walnut, and Centre Streets spanning 60 feet in width and lots measuring 66 by 132 feet.³
At its height, Macedon was home to 400-500 residents and served as a regional hub. However, its decline began when the railroad bypassed the town in the 1880s. By 1907, Macedon had dwindled to just a few businesses and residents.⁴ Today, only traces of its bustling past remain—a cemetery on a high knoll near the Wabash lowlands, once an ancient Native American burial ground, now serves as a poignant reminder of the village’s layered history.⁵
The Macedon Medical School: A Fictional Legacy?
The tale of the Macedon Medical School has long captivated locals. According to popular lore, this institution operated out of a large log building in the mid-19th century, training aspiring doctors in medicine and surgery. Students were said to practice their studies using an instructional skeleton, which later became a relic of the school’s history.⁶
The school’s reputation persisted through oral histories and references in local publications, often linked to Dr. S.R. Wilson, a prominent Mercer County physician. However, upon closer examination, historian Joyce L. Alig debunked the existence of the Macedon Medical School. She found no record of its operation and confirmed that Dr. Wilson graduated from the Eclectic Medical Institute in Cincinnati in 1881, well after the Mercer County school was rumored to have ceased operations.⁷ Moreover, Ohio’s first recognized medical school was established in Cincinnati in 1819, predating Macedon’s founding.⁸
Despite its likely fictional origins, the story of the medical school gained an enduring connection to another, far darker chapter in Mercer County’s history.
A Bone of Contention
The Macedon Medical School legend featured an instructional skeleton that became a macabre centerpiece of the narrative. After the school purportedly closed in the 1870s, the skeleton ended up in the office of Washington Township physician Dr. Denney. When Dr. Denney retired, the skeleton was discarded into Buck Ditch, where floodwaters carried most of it away. A single femur was recovered, varnished, and preserved. It eventually came into the possession of Chris Ranly, a Fort Recovery upholsterer.¹⁰
Speculation emerged that the femur might belong to one of the men lynched for the murder of 13-year-old Mary Arabelle Secaur.¹¹ While no evidence confirms this chilling claim, it underscored the way local history sometimes potentially blends fact with folklore.
The Murder of Mary Arabelle Secaur
On the morning of June 23, 1872, Mary Arabelle Secaur, 13, left her foster parents’ home on Tama Road to attend Sunday school at Liberty United Brethren Church.¹² After the service, she walked west with a group of parishioners, parting ways as she passed her grandfather’s home. Mary never returned.¹³
The next day, her foster father led a search party that discovered Mary’s mangled body in a thicket near the road. Her head was severed, her skull crushed, and her hands bore human bite marks. Free-roaming hogs had further desecrated the remains.¹⁴ A bloodied club and other evidence pointed to a brutal assault. Dr. S.R. Wilson’s examination revealed that Mary’s injuries were inflicted with a sharp instrument and a heavy club, with violence evident before her death.¹⁵
Suspicion, Arrests, and Mob Justice
Initial investigations led to several arrests, but suspicion soon fell on Alexander McLeod and Andrew Kimmel, traveling tin peddlers from Fort Wayne. McLeod and Kimmel had spent the weekend at the home of Andrew’s uncle, Henry Kimmel, in Liberty Township.¹⁶ Pursued by Sheriff Thornton Spriggs, the men were apprehended in Fort Wayne without a warrant, in a highly irregular and illegal process.¹⁷
Back in Mercer County, Absalom, Jacob, and George Kimmel—relatives of Andrew—were also arrested. Conflicting testimonies and a coerced confession from 19-year-old Absalom implicated McLeod and others in Mary’s rape and murder. However, as historian David Kimmel notes, Absalom’s confession contained sophisticated language inconsistent with his limited intelligence and appeared unreliable.¹⁸
On July 8, 1872, a mob of 3,000 enraged citizens stormed the Celina jail. Overpowering the sheriff and his deputies, they seized McLeod and Absalom Kimmel, shackled them, and transported them to the Kimmel family farm. There, a makeshift gallows was erected.¹⁹ Jacob Kimmel narrowly escaped execution when Elias Secaur, Mary’s brother, persuaded the mob to spare him.²⁰
Before his death, McLeod maintained his innocence, stating, “I know nothing of the transaction—never saw the girl in my life.” Despite his protests, McLeod and Absalom were hanged.²¹
The Aftermath and a Deathbed Confession
The lynching drew national attention, but local authorities declined to prosecute anyone involved. Decades later, in 1926, Thomas Bradwell Douglas, a member of the lynching mob, confessed on his deathbed in Denver, Colorado, that he had murdered Mary Secaur and incited the mob to cover his tracks.²² This revelation exonerated McLeod and Absalom Kimmel, but, if true, it came far too late.
Legends, Truth, and Mercer County’s Identity
The tales of Macedon’s medical school and Mary Arabelle Secaur’s murder reveal how communities grapple with their past. The skeleton’s mysterious origins and its possible connection to the lynching highlight how history and myth often blur. Whether a relic of medical training or a grim reminder of mob justice, the varnished femur serves as a tangible link to Mercer County’s most haunting stories.
As Mercer County continues to explore its history, the importance of distinguishing fact from folklore remains vital. Yet, the legends persist, offering a window into the aspirations, fears, and collective memory of a community shaped by its past.
Sources
¹ History of Mercer County Ohio and Representative Citizens (1907).
² Bronshart H. Gilberg, History of Mercer County Ohio (1959).
³ The Mercer County Historical Society Archives.
⁴ Sandusky Star Journal, “Mob Leader Was Killer,” (January 17, 1934).
⁵ Portland Commercial, “Liberty Township Murder Case,” (July 11, 1872).
⁶ The Mercer County Chronicle, “Our Old Book Case,” (April 22, 2010).
⁷ Joyce L. Alig, “The Macedon Medical School Myth,” Mercer County Chronicle.
⁸ The Evening News, “The Wrong Man Lynched,” (September 4, 1926).
⁹ Daily Standard, “Book Tells Shocking Story of Lynching,” (October 6, 2018).
¹⁰ Chris Ranly oral history interview, Fort Recovery Historical Archives.
¹¹ Washington Herald, “Deathbed Confession Solves Mystery,” (May 2, 1926).
¹² David Kimmel, Outrage in Ohio: A Rural Murder, Lynching and Mystery.
¹³ Eaton Weekly Democrat, “Liberty Township Murder Case,” (December 5, 1872).
¹⁴ History of Mercer County Ohio and Representative Citizens (1907).
¹⁵ The Mercer County Historical Society Archives.
¹⁶ Portland Commercial, “Liberty Township Murder Case,” (July 11, 1872).
¹⁷ David Kimmel, Outrage in Ohio: A Rural Murder, Lynching and Mystery.
¹⁸ Daily Standard, “Book Tells Shocking Story of Lynching,” (October 6, 2018).
¹⁹ Sandusky Star Journal, “Mob Leader Was Killer,” (January 17, 1934).
²⁰ David Kimmel, Outrage in Ohio: A Rural Murder, Lynching and Mystery.
²¹ The Evening News, “The Wrong Man Lynched,” (September 4, 1926).
²² Washington Herald, “Deathbed Confession Solves Mystery,” (May 2, 1926).
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