By Rodger Morrow, Editor & Publisher
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Marriage and Mayhem in Beaver County
Beaver County, like most of America, has always believed in marriage. The theory is that it builds character, families, and occasionally new houses in subdivisions named after trees that were bulldozed to make room for them. But in practice, the marital record suggests that character is just as often built at the expense of skulls, wardrobes, and the occasional set of kitchen utensils.
The Case of Leonard R. Jewell
Take, for instance, the case of Leonard R. Jewell of Ambridge. Mr. Jewell, being an optimist, once believed in love. He later revised this opinion after his wife held him by the hair while her mother pounded him with a rolling pin. This was the 1920s, when people still baked pies, but in the Jewell household the rolling pin appears to have been reserved strictly for head-and-shoulder work.
Leonard Jewell’s was no one-time lapse in judgment. According to his petition for divorce, Mrs. Jewell later hurled a vase at him with such accuracy that the Pirates might have found a use for her in the outfield. On another occasion she loosed the family bulldog, which dismantled his clothing with a zeal that bespoke either poor tailoring or excellent canine training.
Beaver Falls Domestic Enterprise
Meanwhile, just down the way in Beaver Falls, Mary Nagy had troubles of her own. Her husband Joe, possessed of an entrepreneurial bent, suggested that they turn their new home into a combination brothel and speakeasy. Mrs. Nagy, citing differences of opinion on business models, declined. Five days into matrimony, Joe took to fists and name-calling. The law subsequently reassigned him to less ambitious pursuits in the county jail.
A Local Tradition of Tumult
These episodes might be dismissed as isolated curiosities were it not for their sheer regularity in the historical record. Beaver County has produced steel, glass, and talent for the NFL, but it has also produced a steady traffic of bruised husbands, battered vases, and weaponized bakeware.
The Eternal Question
Which leaves us to ponder the eternal question—posed not in Ambridge or Beaver Falls but on the streets of Los Angeles many decades later: “Why can’t we just all get along?”
