Healthcare/Medicine History in Cleveland

From the Encyclopedia of Cleveland

The link is here

MEDICINE. The development of medical care, science, and education in the Cleveland area, as a frontier community evolved into a major industrial center, is a microcosm of national developments in the U.S. The growth of the population and the financial resources available were determining factors. Although the CONNECTICUT LAND CO. commenced to sell its WESTERN RESERVE lands in 1796, it was not until 1800 that a young Connecticut physician, Moses Thompson (1776-1858), went west, cleared his land, and took up residence in what is today Hudson, OH. For 10 years he was the only physician in the Western Reserve west of Warren, OH. In 1810 DAVID LONG†, from Massachusetts, arrived in Cleveland, 25 miles north of Hudson on Lake Erie, a village of 57 inhabitants. A recent medical graduate, Long came because of the personal solicitation of a local resident who suggested that his income could be supplemented at first by teaching school and selling merchandise, a pattern common to undeveloped areas. Like PETER ALLEN† from Connecticut, who settled in Kinsman, OH, in 1808, Long and Thompson provided civic and cultural leadership in addition to medical care.

The completion of the OHIO AND ERIE CANAL in 1832 made the area more accessible, and by 1837 Cleveland had over 5,000 inhabitants, including 27 medical practitioners. By 1848 the population had doubled to more than 10,000, which quadrupled by 1860, with GERMANS and IRISH immigrants. The medical practitioners reflected the varieties of U.S. medical practice then available: regular physicians (allopaths), homeopaths (see HOMEOPATHY), botanics or Thompsonians, practitioners of electromagnetic medicine and mesmerism, and surgeon dentists (see DENTISTRY). They treated the wide spectrum of human ailments that prevailed in a prescientific medical world, in which the nature of disease was still poorly understood, and in which smallpox was the sole disease for which a preventive procedure, vaccination, was available. As emergencies arose, temporary hospitals (see HOSPITALS & HEALTH PLANNING) were set up, such as the army hospital created in 1813 at FORT HUNTINGTON in Cleveland to care for wounded soldiers of the War of 1812, and the hospital on WHISKEY ISLAND set up for the CHOLERA EPIDEMIC OF 1832. For most mild illness, people treated themselves with home remedies, often obtaining their information from popular medical books. Patent medicines, often very profitable, were widely advertised. Patients went to the doctor’s “shop” only for minor surgery, tooth extraction, and medicines compounded by the practitioner from drugs purchased in Pittsburgh or other larger cities to the east. House calls occupied much of the physician’s day, and often night, until well into the 20th century. Home delivery of infants was nearly universal until the 1920s.

In 1811, to regulate medical and surgical practice in Ohio, the state legislature set up medical districts for the purpose of creating local societies to certify and oversee practitioners. In 1824 the 19TH MEDICAL DISTRICT OF OHIO, comprising Cuyahoga and Medina counties, was designated; David Long was elected the first president. After a succession of name changes, in 1902 the present ACADEMY OF MEDICINE OF CLEVELAND of Cleveland emerged. Late in the 19th century, the state became the licensing agency for Ohio practitioners. The earliest permanent hospitals in the area were created as charitable institutions to care solely for the poor and the homeless. In 1836, when Cleveland, with a population of 4,800, incorporated as a city, the CLEVELAND BOARD OF HEALTH (est. 1832) erected a city infirmary, called City Hospital, the ancestor of Cleveland’s MetroHealth Medical Center.

Medical education quickly followed the population growth. In the early 19th century, most physicians were still educated as house students of practicing physicians; Moses Thompson in Hudson having been such a preceptor. But gradually medical colleges, chiefly proprietary institutions organized locally by enterprising physicians, spread throughout the country. The first in northeast Ohio was established at Willoughby, 15 miles from Cleveland, by a group of physicians who had migrated westward from New York State. Founded in 1834 as the Medical Department of Willoughby Univ. of Lake Erie, the school at first attracted outstanding teachers such as JOHN DELAMATER† (1787-1867) and JARED P. KIRTLAND† (1793-1877), but internal dissension led shortly to their resignation. They created a new school in Cleveland named the Cleveland Medical College. Originally chartered in 1843 as a department of the Western Reserve College of Hudson, this school existed in 1994 as the School of Medicine of CASE WESTERN RESERVE UNIVERSITY

Cleveland also became an educational center for homeopathic physicians, who began to settle in Ohio in the 1830s. In 1846 a homeopathic society was founded and a homeopathic pharmacy opened on PUBLIC SQUARE, and 4 years later the second school of homeopathy in the U.S., the Western College of Homeopathic Medicine, opened. The Cleveland Homeopathic Medical College, as it was later called, remained in existence from 1850 to 1914, when it became a division of Ohio State Univ. in Columbus. Since homeopathy attempted to reform the excesses of “regular” medical practices, opposing massive dosages and polypharmacy and advocating more conservative methods, regular physicians viewed it as heretical. The Cleveland homeopathic community in 1856 opened the first permanent hospital apart from the infirmary in the city. Named the CLEVELAND HOMEOPATHIC HOSPITAL, it treated mainly employees of RAILROADS who were sick or injured away from home. By 1879, since most other area hospitals would not admit homeopathic physicians or surgeons, a large new hospital, the antecedent of HURON RD. HOSPITAL in EAST CLEVELAND (which established the first NURSING training school west of the Alleghenies) was built on Huron Rd. Highly respected by the nonmedical community, a number of homeopathic physicians became community leaders, and at the turn of the 20th century, leading Cleveland citizens such as MARCUS A. HANNA†, MYRON T. HERRICK†, and JOHN D. ROCKEFELLER† supported their institutions.

In the 19th century, modern theories and practices of medicine began to emerge in Western Europe. The microscope revealed microorganisms that Louis Pasteur, Robert Koch, and others demonstrated to be disease-causing agents. It also revealed that the minute structure of the human body is composed of cells. In addition to the 2 new sciences of bacteriology (now microbiology) and cellular pathology, an innovation called anesthesia had been developed by American surgeons, and the English surgeon, Joseph Lister, had developed antiseptic surgical procedures. At the same time, a multitude of new chemical remedies appeared, produced by the new science of organic chemistry. All this new information was rapidly transmitted by European emigres, by an increasing number of medical and surgical periodicals, and by Americans studying abroad.

Because of its strategic location, Cleveland gradually became a rich and growing center of intellectual and cultural resources and attracted talent from both home and abroad. By 1890, with a population of more than 250,000, it had 4 medical schools, 3 medical societies, and 335 physicians, 25% of them homeopaths. The medical community was quick to assimilate new medical knowledge and techniques, and to modify its institutions accordingly. Among the influential figures in Cleveland medical education during this period was GUSTAV C. E. WEBER† (1828-1912), a German-born surgeon who came to Cleveland in 1856, having done postgraduate studies in Vienna, Amsterdam, and Paris. In 1864 he was one of the founders of St. Vincent de Paul Hospital (see SAINT VINCENT CHARITY HOSPITAL AND HEALTH CENTER), where he created a new medical school patterned after Bellevue Medical College in New York City, with student access to clinical as well as didactic teaching. Nearly 20 years later, from 1883-93, after the consolidation of several medical schools, Weber served as dean of the Medical Department of Western Reserve Univ., as the former Cleveland Medical College had been renamed. His successor, Isaac N. Himes (1834-95), who had also studied abroad and who later became Cleveland’s first hospital staff pathologist, raised the Medical Department’s faculty and curriculum to the most advanced standards. A number of its faculty members, such as WILLIAM THOMAS CORLETT†, a dermatologist, John P. Sawyer (d. 1945), a physiologist, and Christian Sihler (1848-1919), a histologist, as well as surgeons FRANK E. BUNTS† (1861-1928) and DUDLEY P. ALLEN† (1852-1915) had also studied abroad. The model for the medical department was the new Johns Hopkins Univ. School of Medicine (est. 1893) in Baltimore, MD. Cleveland search committees turned to Hopkins for new faculty members, such as the pathologist William Travis Howard, Jr. (1867-1953), and the gynecologist HUNTER ROBB†. In 1909, after Abraham Flexner completed his famous survey of American medical schools, he wrote to the president of WRU: “The Medical Department of Western Reserve Univ. is next to Johns Hopkins Univ. . . . the best in the country.”

No advances could have occurred if Cleveland hospitals had not become available for teaching and research. After the Civil War, every decade saw new hospitals established by private charitable corporations (see PHILANTHROPY) or churches (see RELIGION). Some were the progenitors of present-day institutions: the Cleveland City Hospital Assn., organized in 1866, gradually evolved into Lakeside Hospital, modeled on the Johns Hopkins Hospital (1889), and ultimately became a part of UNIVERSITY HOSPITALS CASE MEDICAL CENTER of Cleveland (1931); St. Vincent de Paul Hospital opened in 1865 and continued on its present site; the city infirmary evolved into the Cleveland City Hospital in 1891, which in 1956 became the Cleveland Metropolitan General Hospital, now called MetroHealth Medical Center (see CUYAHOGA COUNTY HOSPITAL SYSTEM (CCHS)). These 3 hospitals and the Huron Rd. Homeopathic Hospital were the first major teaching hospitals in the area. Medical care shifted from the home to the hospital, following the introduction of new diagnostic procedures such as x-ray, bacteriological and chemical laboratories, and aseptic surgical techniques. From the 1880s onward, more hospitals were founded to satisfy various needs, such as maternity, baby, and child care, and for specific populations, such as certain racial groups, women physicians (see WOMAN’S GENERAL HOSPITAL), and residents of SUBURBS. By 1943 there were around 30 hospitals in Cleveland with more than 8,000 beds, not including neighboring communities. The patients were no longer the poor and homeless, but people of every financial status. Physicians made fewer and fewer house calls.

As the causes of epidemic diseases became known, appropriate preventions or treatments were applied. A persistent problem had been typhoid fever–3,460 cases in Cleveland between 1912-26. When William Travis Howard, Jr., brought new pathological and bacteriological methods to Cleveland, he also became the city bacteriologist, a position created especially for him. Both he and his successor, ROGER G. PERKINS† (1912), suspected that the source of the typhoid bacilli was Lake Erie, from which the Cleveland water supply had been pumped since 1856 (see WATER SYSTEMSANITATION). After extensive research, the problem was finally corrected by Oct. 1925, with complete filtration and chlorination of the lake water. Infant mortality had also been very high, with deaths caused by diarrhea, dehydration, and malnutrition, especially among the offspring of immigrants from Southern and Eastern Europe (see IMMIGRATION AND MIGRATION). The Milk Fund Assn., founded in 1899 as a private charitable organization, and the Babies’ Dispensary & Hospital, incorporated in 1904 under the aegis of Edward Fitch Cushing (1862-1911) and HENRY JOHN GERSTENBERGER†, provided care for poor children and freed them from milkborne pathogens. In 1912 the city Health Department established a Bureau of Child Hygiene, which set up 12 dispensaries throughout the city and oversaw the milk production and distribution from its own dairy farm, aided by volunteers. Also, the VISITING NURSE ASSN. OF CLEVELAND brought medical supervision and care into the homes of the poor (see PUBLIC HEALTH). Pediatrics began to develop as a strong medical specialty. Gerstenberger, with postgraduate training in Berlin and Vienna, was appointed professor of pediatrics at the WRU School of Medicine in 1913, when the first separate department was established. He collaborated with a research chemist in developing SMA, a best-selling synthetic milk for infants, the income from which helped to create what became Rainbow Babies & Childrens Hospital (opened in 1925) of Univ. Hospitals. Cleveland became a major center for the training of pediatricians.

During World War I, GEORGE W. CRILE† organized a group of Lakeside Hospital physicians, surgeons, nurses, and enlisted men to serve in France (seeLAKESIDE UNIT, WORLD WAR I). (After WORLD WAR II broke out, on Christmas Eve 1941, the U.S. surgeon general invited the unit to be first again. A month later, the Clevelanders organized as the FOURTH GENERAL HOSPITAL.) While working together in France, surgeons Crile, his cousinWILLIAM E. LOWER†, and Frank E. Bunts recognized the advantages of group clinical practice; after returning, they invited internist JOHN PHILLIPS† to join them and established the CLEVELAND CLINIC FOUNDATION (1921). Crile had already distinguished himself nationally, by performing the first successful human blood transfusion in 1906, by his research on shock, and by his reputation for thyroid surgery. The Cleveland Clinic rapidly acquired a national and international reputation for specialization and quality care. Gases produced in a fire in 1929 (see CLEVELAND CLINIC DISASTER) caused many deaths, including that of founder John Phillips. The fire ultimately saved other lives worldwide, however, since it led to the development and use of nontoxic x-ray film.

After World War I, an affluent and growing Cleveland arranged to have a survey made of its hospitals to improve the quality of health care. The 1,082-page Cleveland Hospital & Health Survey (1920), one of the first in an American city, was carried out by an outside expert, Haven Emerson. Cleveland has pioneered in many other forms of cooperation and teamwork, such as the CLEVELAND HOSPITAL SERVICE ASSN. (est. 1934, later renamed BLUE CROSS OF NORTHEAST OHIO) and the Community Health Foundation (est. 1964), the first health-maintenance organization in the Middle West, nowKAISER PERMANENTE MEDICAL CARE PROGRAM. In addition, the Cleveland Health Education Museum (later the HEALTH MUSEUM), the first in the U.S., opened in 1940.

In the 1930s, innovators such as JOSEPH T. WEARN† at the WRU School of Medicine and Russell L. Haden at the Cleveland Clinic brought laboratory-oriented medical science to the forefront. Obstetricians from Cleveland hospitals, led by A. J. SKEEL† of SAINT LUKE’S MEDICAL CENTER, in 1932 formed the Cleveland Hospital Obstetric Society, which for 10 years collected data and analyzed the causes of maternal mortality, stimulating similar activity in other cities and influencing standards of the American College of Surgeons. Many cooperative medical events have occurred, such as the 1962 polio immunization campaign sponsored by the Cleveland Academy of Medicine and the Cuyahoga County Medical Foundation. On Sabin Oral Sundays, 2,400 physicians and other volunteers distributed sugar cubes containing polio vaccine and immunized more than 84% of the Cuyahoga County residents, the best record in the U.S. This success was facilitated by voluntary action, advertising, and public-relations expertise from the nonmedical community (seePHILANTHROPY). Earlier, in 1949, Cleveland radiologists had cooperated with the Academy of Medicine, the Antituberculosis Society, and the Greater Cleveland Hospital Assn. in a successful mass survey to detect tuberculosis among Greater Cleveland citizens.

One may finally ask, what are some of the unique contributions of Cleveland medicine? What, if any, major medical discoveries have been made? Medical “firsts” include Noah Worcester’s first American treatise on dermatology, A Synopsis of the Symptoms, Diagnosis, and Treatment of the More Common and Important Diseases of the Skin (Philadelphia, 1845); Abraham Metz’s first textbook on ophthalmology, The Anatomy and Histology of the Human Eye(Philadelphia, 1869); and Samuel W. Kelley’s first book on pediatric surgery, The Surgical Diseases of Children: A Modern Treatise on Pediatric Surgery(New York, 1909). On 8 Feb. 1896, 3 months to the day after Wilhelm Konrad Roentgen in Germany announced the discovery of x-rays, DAYTON C. MILLER†, a professor at Cleveland’s Case School of Applied Science, made the first x-rays in the U.S. He lectured 2 months later to the CLEVELAND MEDICAL SOCIETY. There were outstanding teachers, such as William Thomas Corlett, appointed in 1901 as one of the few American physicians to test the new syphilis remedy, Salvarsan, at Lakeside Hospital, CARL J. WIGGERS† (called the father of hemodynamics in the U.S.), the first editor ofCirculation Research, and TORALD H. SOLLMANN†, who in 1901 published the leading American textbook on pharmacology, which has gone through at least 8 editions. Endemic goiter has disappeared because of the research between 1915-20 of DAVID MARINE† and CARL H. LENHART† that showed that it was caused by iodine deficiency in the diet.

Since 1940 Cleveland’s major medical contributions have been in cardiovascular diseases and their treatment: the studies of angina pectoris carried out by Harold Feil and Mortimer Siegel at MT. SINAI MEDICAL CENTER and their pioneering work in electrocardiography; the experiments of HARRY GOLDBLATT† in hypertension; and the development of open-heart surgery by CLAUDE S. BECK† (who also gave the first course in cardiopulmonary resuscitation, later called CPR, 1950), and Jay Ankeney at Univ. Hospitals. In 1956 St. Vincent Charity Hospital opened the world’s first intensive-care unit devoted exclusively to heart surgery. Willem Kolff developed kidney dialysis techniques at the Cleveland Clinic, where he also started to develop the artificial heart, aided by research engineers at the NASA JOHN H. GLENN RESEARCH CENTER AT LEWIS FIELD. Cleveland Clinic became a “revascularization center” for coronary artery disease by means of bypass surgery, based on a technique developed by Ten Nobel laureates have been affiliated with the CWRU medical school, including Frederick C. Robbins, honored for his work with the polio virus. Other Cleveland contributions to medicine included pioneering work in gerontology, the activities of the CLEVELAND MEDICAL LIBRARY ASSN. (est. 1894), and the first and longest-running medical feature on a television news show, Dr. Theodore Castele’s segment of “Live on 5” (WEWS (Channel 5)), which began in 1975. In 1990 national attention focused on Univ. Hospitals researchers, headed by Dr. Roland W. Moskowitz, who traced osteoarthritis to a specific genetic defect; in 1993 Dr. Eric Topol concluded a 2-year study, the largest of its type, on the effects of the drug t-PA on heart attack patients. One can characterize medicine in Cleveland as equal and in many cases superior to that of other urban centers. In the 20th century, it has been especially distinguished by extensive institutional cooperation and outstanding private and community support.

Genevieve Miller

Case Western Reserve Univ. (emeritus)


Brown, Kent L., ed. Medicine in Cleveland and Cuyahoga County: 1810-1976 (1977).

Dittrick, Howard, comp. Pioneer Medicine in the Western Reserve (1932).

Waite, Frederick Clayton. Western Reserve University, Centennial History of the School of Medicine (1946).

Immigration and Migration in Cleveland from the Encyclopedia of Cleveland History

Written by Dr. John J. Grabowski

The link is here

IMMIGRATION AND MIGRATION. The growth of major industrial centers such as Cleveland was made possible in large part by the migration of peoples of a variety of origins to provide the labor or entrepreneurial skills demanded by the changing economy. The nature of this migration (that is, what groups arrived during particular time periods) was determined not only by the opportunities available in the city but also by national and international factors permitting, necessitating, or expediting the migration of various national groups. The nature of migration to Cleveland is like that of similar midwestern industrial centers, especially Chicago (although Chicago’s scale of immigration was much greater that Cleveland’s) and, to a degree, Detroit. Cleveland’s situation, however, was quite different from that of major ports such as New York, which gathered larger and more diverse populations.

During this area’s formative period, 1796-1830, the lack of large-scale economic opportunity provided little attraction for migration to the region. Those who did come were largely Americans of English or BRITISH IMMIGRATION ancestry who had previously resided in New England or New York, although some came directly from England or Scotland. A substantial Manx migration to the NEWBURGH area was unique in these early years. Toward the end of the period, some IRISH, utilized in part to construct the OHIO AND ERIE CANAL, and a few GERMANS, usually farmers with a previous American residence, came to the region. Following completion of the canal in 1832, and of a rail network in the 1850s, the area’s economic potential grew, particularly in mercantile endeavors, and it became more attractive to migrating groups. Most immigrants from 1830-70 came from the German states, Great Britain, and, particularly, Ireland, with the city attracting substantial representation from each of these groups. In doing so, it reflected national trends that saw the German and Irish populations of many major cities grow. It did, however, lag behind certain cities, such as Cincinnati, where earlier and more rapid economic development resulted in an earlier and more substantial growth of these ethnic groups.

The most substantial and diverse migration to Cleveland occurred from 1870-1914, the period of the “new immigration,” in which many Southern and Eastern Europeans came to the U.S. This large exodus was fostered by shortages of land in the home countries, more liberal emigration policies, increased military conscription, and, particularly for the Jews (see JEWS & JUDAISM), persecutions. Pogroms against Jews living in the Pale of Settlement of the Russian Empire occasioned an emigration that vastly increased the Jewish settlements of cities such as Cleveland after the 1880s. The entire process was facilitated by the development of relatively cheap, regular ocean transport. As this coincided with the tremendous post-Civil War expansion of Cleveland’s industrial base, the city received large numbers of ITALIANS, Austro-Hungarians, and RUSSIANS. The influx was so great that by 1874, the city stationed members of the police force, designated as emigrant officers, at its various railroad stations to count and assist new arrivals in the city. However, while these groups represented a new source of population, immigration from the older sources, as detailed on the accompanying chart, continued unabated. Indeed, until 1893 more Germans arrived annually in Cleveland than did any other national group. By 1900 the city’s German population of 40,648 was larger than that of any other foreign-born community. Because Cleveland’s industries expanded at a slightly later date than those in Chicago or Detroit, it received its infusion of “new immigrants” somewhat later than those cities. For instance, the Polish communities in those two cities had already established basic institutions such as churches and benefit organizations in the 1870s, while Cleveland’s Polish community (see POLES) was still in a nascent state. While the city’s representation of immigrants from these new sources parallels that in other cities, several groups did come to Cleveland in extraordinarily large concentrations, most prominently the SLOVENES and SLOVAKS.

World War I effectively ended large-scale European immigration, as the conflict involved many potential immigrants and strangled the sea lanes. Restrictive legislation, such as the Literacy Act of 1917 and Natl. Origins Act of 1921 (formalized in 1924), prohibited large-scale immigration after the conflict and provided quotas that discriminated against Southern and Eastern Europeans. Given the chaos in Europe following the war, it is justifiable to assume that the “new immigration” would have continued unabated had not restrictions been put in place. Despite problems in Europe, and particularly persecution in the Nazi German state, relatively little migration to the U.S. and Cleveland took place from 1914-45. However, the city’s need for people continued during much of this time, particularly during the war and before the Depression. New sources of migrants met this need, the most prominent of which was the American South, where thousands of blacks (see AFRICAN AMERICANS) came north to work in wartime industries. Cleveland, which had a black presence from its earliest history, had a relatively small black population of approx. 10,000 immediately before the war. By 1920 the figure had grown to 34,451, and 20 years later stood at over 85,000. Other new sources of migrants opened during this period; it was, for instance, in the 1920s that Cleveland received its first cohesive group of Spanish-speaking immigrants from Mexico. Although the Natl. Origins Act remained in effect after World War II, special acts permitting the immigration of displaced persons from Europe helped to partially replenish some of the older European immigrant populations of the city. Again, Cleveland was typical of other industrial cities in receiving large numbers of displaced persons during the late 1940s and early 1950s. However, its share was somewhat smaller than that received by Chicago, New York, and other large cities. During this period Cleveland’s UKRAINIANS population saw substantial growth, and following the 1956 revolution, the HUNGARIANS community was partially revitalized.

Of greater consequence from 1945-65 was the growth of non-European migrant groups who, like the Europeans, were attracted by the area’s still-growing postwar economy. In the immediate postwar period Cleveland’s Puerto Rican population began expanding. Initially brought to work in the steel mills of Lorain during the war, Puerto Ricans began moving eastward to Cleveland in the late 1940s and by the early 1960s formed a substantial community. Mexican immigration also continued; and following the Cuban revolution of 1959, the city received a substantial number of Cubans. Predominant in the period, however, was the continued movement of blacks into Cleveland. By 1960, the city’s black population was over 251,000. The postwar period also saw the large-scale migration of people from the depressed areas of Appalachia to the Cleveland area. Though many Appalachians had earlier migrated to Akron to work in the rubber industry, it was not until after the war that a further move north to Cleveland was made in any great number. The repeal of the Natl. Origins (Quota) Act in 1965 and its replacement with regulations restricting overall numbers of immigrants, but giving no preference to any country or countries, formed the basis of the most recent migration to Cleveland. During this period, the city’s economy began to falter; it was not, therefore, as attractive a destination as before, but it still managed to gather one of the most diverse, if not substantial, groups of immigrants in its history. In particular, the relaxation of restrictions on Asian immigration brought numbers of CHINESEKOREANSINDIANS (ASIAN), and Pakistanis to the city, many of them attracted initially by the area’s colleges, and later by the growth of its medical and research industries. War and economic decline in Southeast Asia, Central and South America, and the Middle East brought the city its first groups of VIETNAMESE., Guatemalans, and Palestinians during the 1970s and 1980s. Though not as large as previous immigrant or migrant groups, these newer communities represented a complete shift in the pattern of migration to Cleveland.

The pattern of broad-based immigration to Cleveland and Cuyahoga County continued into the 1990s. Although a number of new immigrants from the “Pacific Rim,” Mexico, and South America, continued to come to the area, their presence was not proportionately as large as it was in the southwest or on the East or West coasts. The census of 1990 (in which figures were based on a random sampling) showed over one-half of the foreign-born in the area to have European origins. Traditional older European groups, such as Poles and Italians, were still relatively large in the city. New groups, including immigrants from the former Soviet Union, buttressed these European figures. Much of the new European movement could be attributed to the breakup of the Soviet Union and economic problems in the states of the former Eastern Bloc as well as to ethnic unrest in eastern Europe. The first Bosnian refugees were arriving in Greater Cleveland by the early 1990s.

The changing international situation and economic position of Cleveland have shaped the nature of migration to the city in the past and will continue to do so as long as the area remains economically viable. It is important to note, however, that while the sources of migration have shifted innumerable times throughout the city’s history, few of these have ever totally ceased supplying people to the city. English immigration to the area, for instance, continues into the 1990s, as does the movement of native-born white Americans. Nor does the city permanently retain those people it attracts. While no major study of movement into and out of the city has been completed for Cleveland, it can be assumed that the city shares in the phenomenon of rapidly shifting population. Indeed, a limited study of the 25-block area around HIRAM HOUSE social settlement showed that during the early part of this century, over 90% of the residents in that area moved during a 10-year period. Cleveland, thus, is not an end point for movement but often a temporary haven in the pattern of national and international population movement.

John J. Grabowski

Western Reserve Historical Society

“A Quiet Crisis” Important 2001 Plain Dealer Series About Northeast Ohio

“The Quiet Crisis”. An important series of articles created in 2001 by the Plain Dealer
Most of the links below have been disabled. Some new versions are here

The link is here  (disabled)

Some of the links from the articles below can be found here

Here are some of the article links:

» Roundtable: Regional cooperation key to survival

» Brent Larkin: Quiet Crisis not so quiet anymore

» Doug Clifton: Region’s needs won’t wait any longer

» Joe Frolik: Northeast Ohio must shape up to contend again

» Roundtable: Where are the new paths to prosperity?

Chattanooga vs. Cleveland: Comparing the comebacks

» On the waterfront

» Dick Feagler: Cleveland not hip? Perish the thought 

» Letters: Hip city makeover would attract workers 

» ‘Comeback City’ fights old-shoe image 

» St. Louis learns, leapfrogs over Cleveland in efforts to market itself 

» Losing our lifeblood

» Cleveland vs. other cities

» Mark S. Rosentraub: Make the city family-friendly

» Joe Frolick: Who’ll lead the region out of its crisis?

» Edmund Adams: Don’t let DeRolph derail the future

» Brent Larkin: Ohio and this region need Taft to find his nerve

Letters: It’s time to get growing again – but not only in Cleveland 

» Brent Larkin: Airport deal in peril

» Cleveland economy growing, but barely

An untapped industry could give Cleveland the vibrancy it needs 

» Panel discussion: Getting down to the arts business

» Panel discussion: The fine art of taxing to support culture

» Panel discussion: Bridging arts and enterprise

» Joe Frolik: The arts & the future

An untapped industry could give Cleveland the vibrancy it needs 

» Panel discussion: Getting down to the arts business

» Panel discussion: The fine art of taxing to support culture

» Panel discussion: Bridging arts and enterprise

» Joe Frolik: The arts & the future

Joe Frolik: Crossing the town-gown gap | Building ties | Building trust

» Greater Cleveland’s cloudy future

» Joe Frolik: Making business feel at home

» Editorial: Light ahead?

» Joe Frolik: A role model for homesteaders

» Joe Frolik: A leap of faith

Panel discussions:

» Finding the right people

» High-tech strategy

» The foundation for success

» First, region must learn

» Making success happen

» Editorial: A helpful push

» Donald T. Iannone: Regional cooperation isn’t enough

» Brent Larkin: The port in a storm

» Policies that cross city boundaries can spur economy

» Richard Shatten: The picture of a losing region

» Joe Frolik: Turn an asset – diversity – into an economic catalyst

» Editorial: The chronic crisis

» Northeast Ohio drives toward uncertain future

Dave Lazor: Nurture upstarts

» Joe Frolik: NE Ohio appeals to entrepreneurs, but can do more

» Reversing the Quiet Crisis with a business buzz

» Beginning the buzz

Joe Frolik: The high-tech route to City Hall 

Biosciences: The next big thing or one of many

» Biotech incubator sets high standards

» Panel discussion: Commercial research inspires the classroom

» Panel discussion: Getting ideas out of the ivory tower

» Joe Frolik: Research links science with economic impact

» Panel discussion: A key strategy: Go for the research stars

» Universities need to court top-tier researchers

Panel discussion: Failure is easy to spot

» Panel discussion: Public vs. private

» Panel discussion: Like a corporation, only better

» Richard J. Scaldini: A legion of liberal arts grads

» Brent Larkin: Unappreciated, a native son packs his bags

» Brent Larkin: Losing by degrees

» Planning always pays off

» Penny-wise Ohio is not playing to win

» Short-changing Ohio’s future

» Ohio’s economy is losing by degrees

» Joe Frolik: Higher education’s slippage throws Ohio into a vicious cycle

 

Primary and Secondary Education by Scott Stephens

Scott Stephens has been an award-winning journalist for 30 years. He is currently a senior writer with Catalyst-Ohio, a quarterly, nonprofit news magazine that documents, analyzes and supports school-improvement efforts in Ohio’s urban school districts, with special emphasis on Cleveland, Cincinnati and Columbus. Previously, he worked at The (Cleveland) Plain Dealer for 18 years, the last 15 covering education. He has written extensively about issues such as testing, charter schools, school vouchers, desegregation and school funding.

Before coming to Cleveland, Stephens worked for newspapers in Pennsylvania, Florida and Ohio, and served as a stringer for United Press International in Mexico City, D.F. To many Clevelanders, he was best known as The Plain Dealer’s beer critic, establishing the paper’s first beer column. Stephens was also a long-time leader and activist in The Newspaper Guild-CWA, and served for six years as regional vice president on the board of North America’s largest media workers union.

The link is here

Healthcare as an Economic Opportunity by Chris Seper

Chris Seper is the president and a co-founder of MedCity News. While serving as The Plain Dealer’s awarding-winning technology reporter, he became the first member of the staff to blog. Later he became the paper’s first online medical editor, responsible for creating destination sections for consumer health and health-care business and advising the paper’s online editor on topics including social media. Chris’ byline has appeared in The Plain Dealer and Philadelphia Inquirer, as well as The Washington Post and Christian Science Monitor while working as a journalist in Cambodia.

He holds a master’s degree in political science and a bachelor’s degree in journalism and political science from Eastern Illinois University.

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Regional Government vs Home Rule by Joe Frolik (pdf version)

Joe Frolik is currently the chief editorial writer of the Cleveland Plain Dealer Editorial Board. Before joining the editorial board in 2001, he was The Plain Dealer’s national correspondent for 12 years — that’s four presidential election cycles, in political-junkie terms. He wrote about personalities, strategies and issues, and also coordinated The Plain Dealer’s opinion polling from 1996 through the 2000 election. Away from politics, he has covered earthquakes, hurricanes, space shots and Kenyon College’s swimming dynasty. On the editorial page, he has written extensively about local and national government and politics, and about economic development.

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Thomas Fleming: Cleveland’s First Black Councilman

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From the August 2010 issue of Cleveland Magazine by Erick Trickey

Lost to History

Before Carl Stokes, there was Thomas Fleming, Cleveland’s first black city councilman. But since he took office 100 years ago, Fleming, who rose to the heights of political power, has been almost erased from our public consciousness — all over $200 and a clambake.

ON HIS JUDGMENT DAY, Thomas W. Fleming greeted the courtroom with a smile.

Beside him, his wife, Lethia, held a black scarf over her face to foil the cameramen. But Fleming, wearing a three-piece suit and a big-cuffed, knee-length topcoat, flashed the same welcoming, generous grin Cleveland had known for 20 years. His soft, friendly face, round cheeks and lively brown eyes reflected the tenacious optimism that had carried him up from his barbershop to a seat on Cleveland City Council, the first ever held by a black man. His cheerfulness wasn’t just a façade or first impression, but part of his core belief that careful work, well-tended friendships and political compromise would overcome prejudice and win more prosperity and respect for his people than angry protest.

As Fleming walked up the aisle, nodding to his friends from the Central Avenue neighborhood and the reporters he knew from City Hall, would-be spectators in the hallway rushed toward the courtroom, hoping to see the trial’s end.

“Just the reporters!” barked the bailiff, blocking their way.

All that week, Clevelanders had gathered on the courthouse’s fifth floor: women in fur-collared coats, men wearing fedoras or newsboy caps, waiting in line for a seat at the trial. Most were black, and since they’d been kids, or moved to Cleveland from the South, Fleming had been their only black elected official, their neighborhood councilman, the man they’d turned to for jobs or help with a court case.

Now, they’d come to see if the prosecutor had discovered a side of Fleming they hadn’t seen, if it was true that he had taken a bribe from a disabled policeman, if he would remain in power or see his career come to an end.

Fleming walked to the defense table and sat in the chair he’d occupied all week. Three photographers, near the judge’s bench, aimed their tripod cameras at him.

The jurors entered the room and took their seats. Only two of the 12 looked at Fleming.

“Have you agreed upon a verdict?” the clerk asked.

“We have,” the foreman replied.

TODAY, 100 YEARS AFTER Thomas W. Fleming became Cleveland’s first black city councilman, he is all but erased from our history.

We take pride in Carl Stokes’ 1967 election as America’s first black big-city mayor, but not Fleming’s pioneering victory because his life story is no simple tale of racial uplift. In February 1929, his career was marred by a sudden, shocking scandal that sounded notes all too familiar to Clevelanders in 2010: money exchanged at a clambake fundraiser followed by angry accusations that his enemies and the press conspired to bring him down.

Throughout his 15 years on council, even as he became one of City Hall’s most powerful men, questions trailed Fleming about his part in the ruthless Republican political machine, his work as a lawyer defending gamblers and prostitutes, the lawless growth of vice in his ward, his alliance with a swaggering saloonkeeper who controlled a grimy underworld. Fleming’s memoir, My Rise and Persecution, was never published. He was even left out of the 1969 book Memorable Negroes in Cleveland’s Past.

But Fleming was memorable, one of Cleveland’s great characters of the 1910s and 1920s, cheerful and optimistic, clever and folksy. A shrewd ward politician, Fleming delivered more votes for Republican mayors than anyone and brought his neighborhood big gifts made of brick and concrete. After he and his wife helped Ohio’s Warren G. Harding win the presidency, Fleming audaciously asked Harding to name him to the same post his hero, abolitionist Frederick Douglass, had once held: minister to Haiti.

When Cleveland’s black population exploded in the 1910s and 1920s as neighborhoods filled with families who’d left the Jim Crow South to follow freedom’s North Star, Fleming was their lone voice at City Hall, their one-man hiring hall, the most powerful black man in the city. At a time when African-American leaders debated whether to agitate for social equality or focus on self-improvement, whether to join political machines or oppose them, Fleming, a classic politician, chose the machine. He made deals, granted favors and called them in. Until he granted one favor too many.

ON ELECTION NIGHT 1888 in small-town Meadville, Pa., 14-year-old Thomas Fleming stayed out late, leaving his mother worried at home. He stood outside the Commercial Hotel downtown, home to one of Meadville’s few telegraph offices, and listened to the returns until he heard his candidate, Benjamin Harrison, had been elected president.

From an early age, Fleming had seen black men claim a place in his hometown’s civic life. At 6, he was transferred from an all-black school to an integrated one thanks to the protests of prominent black taxpayers. When he was 11, his boss, a black bakery owner, won election to the Meadville council. “His election proved to me, even at my early age, that there was a chance for Colored men to rise in America,” he later wrote.

At 16, Fleming beat the mayor’s son, a college student, in a debate, arguing against restricting the vote to the educated. The debate wasn’t academic to him: Fleming had quit school at 12 to work as a barber to help his mother support him and his two sisters.

In 1893, Fleming rode a westbound train into Cleveland’s Union Depot, figuring he’d stay a few days then head to the world’s fair in Chicago. Instead, he never left, discovering that Cleveland was a good place for a young black tradesman to establish himself. Although the city’s few thousand black residents were often barred from industrial jobs and some restaurants and theaters, they found work as hotel employees, teachers and barbers. Fleming, already a veteran barber, started his own shop on Euclid Avenue within a year. In 1899, he moved into the barbershop in the new Chamber of Commerce building on Public Square. As Fleming trimmed and shaved powerful men in the sixth-floor Chamber Club rooms, some noticed that their barber, snipping and chatting away, possessed a political mind as sharp as his razors.

Like almost all black Americans a generation after the Civil War, Fleming supported the Republicans, the party of Abraham Lincoln, which was usually willing to hire black workers and slate black candidates for the ballot. A strain of racial progressivism had run through Cleveland politics for decades: Before the war, the Western Reserve, settled by New Englanders, had been an outpost of abolitionism. Despite the city’s small black population, its voters elected two black candidates to the state legislature in the 1890s.

Fleming met one of them in 1894 after joining a quartet that sang at rallies for the Republican mayoral candidate. One night, at an East Side meeting hall, he heard an inspiring speech by state Rep. Harry C. Smith, a hero to black Ohioans, who had just helped pass a civil rights law that banned discrimination in public places. Smith’s angry, militant editorials in his newspaper, the Gazette, denounced minstrel shows, racist laws and segregated schools.

“Smith is singular, rugged, forceful, dynamic,” another newspaperman once wrote, “full of the consuming fire that always flames hot to singe every defamer of his race and spurts unceasingly at every vestige of race discrimination.”

Impressed, Fleming became a protégé of Smith’s, stopping by his office nearly every day for political advice.

On Monday nights after work, Fleming would walk to the old City Hall on Superior Avenue, climb to the fifth floor, sit in the gallery and watch the councilmen debate. And one night around 1903, his eyes sweeping across the dozens of desks on the crowded floor, Fleming, not quite 30 years old, had a vision.

“Looking over the Council Chamber, I saw all white men occupying the seats,” Fleming wrote years later. “Every nationality was represented except one of my race group. I said to myself, there ought to be a Colored Councilman occupying one of those seats. I made up my mind that night that I would prepare myself and someday sit in one of those chairs.”

THE FLOWERS WEREN’T all for him, but they still smelled sweet. As Fleming strode into the City Council chamber on Jan. 3, 1910, applause rained down on him from the packed gallery. The mingled fragrances from bouquets blooming on each councilman’s desk filled the room and reached out to him.

He squeezed his stocky frame between the desks until he reached his chair, where his mother, sister and friends awaited. There were gifts from groups he’d co-founded: a horseshoe made of flowers from the Attucks Republican Club, a floral basket from the Cleveland Association of Colored Men. He was now Thomas W. Fleming, councilman-at-large, the town’s first black city councilman.

“It proved to me that Cleveland, Ohio, was The Garden Spot of Earth for anyone who chose to rise,” he wrote, “no matter what his nationality.”

In the seven years since he’d first envisioned this moment, Fleming had studied law at night, become a lawyer, spoken at political meetings, courted powerful friends, forged alliances and started his own newspaper. When a shrewd Republican had warned him he had no political future unless he aligned himself with Mark Hanna, Cleveland’s powerful U.S. senator and friend to presidents, Fleming promptly dumped a candidate supported by his mentor Smith and supported Hanna’s man for the post. Smith never forgave him, but as a political move, Fleming’s switch was shrewd; his standing in the Republican party rose from then on while Smith’s fell.

The council’s business was swift that night. Fleming was one of about 20 new councilmen, part of a Republican landslide that had also knocked legendary mayor Tom L. Johnson out of office. Spectators, crushed together in the balcony, looked on as Herman C. Baehr, the new mayor, mounted the podium and asked the councilmen to help build the Detroit-Superior Bridge and a new City Hall on Lakeside Avenue and annex Lakewood and East Cleveland.

After the meeting and a celebratory supper with family, Fleming headed to the Starlight Café, his friend Albert D. “Starlight” Boyd’s saloon. Tobacco smoke and 200 people filled the banquet hall. Speaker after speaker rose to applaud Fleming: the county treasurer, a deputy sheriff and, most impressive of all, Maurice Maschke, county recorder and undisputed leader of Cleveland’s triumphant Republican machine.

“The addresses of the evening were inspired by the promise of future successes,” Fleming’s newspaper, the Cleveland Journal, declared. “Mr. Fleming’s ability and integrity were highly praised.”

But Fleming’s raucous party appalled Smith. The councilman’s betrayed ex-mentor was uncompromising, exacting in his righteousness. Smith so hated segregation, he even opposed Karamu House’s race-conscious approach to theater. He found politics’ awkward alliances distasteful, refusing to support Baehr because the new mayor, as county recorder, hadn’t hired any black employees. And Smith knew too much about Fleming’s chums.

“Councilman Tom Fleming’s reception and ‘blow-out’ was continued over ‘Starlight’s’ saloon on East Fourteenth Street, after the council meeting Monday night, and was not terminated until the early morning hours,” Smith wrote in his Gazette. “O, shame! Are we degenerating? It certainly looks so.”

ALBERT D. “STARLIGHT” BOYD was a Republican ward leader, saloonkeeper, gambling-house operator and pimp. “He was the Great Mogul of organized vice,” wrote Jane Edna Hunter, a prominent black social worker, “suave, impressive, impervious to shame, and gifted with the art of leadership.”

Sometime around 1900, Maurice Maschke, an ambitious Republican operative, walked into Starlight’s Canal Road saloon. Amid the drinking and the presence of ill-reputed women with names such as Lotta the Small, Maschke saw the raw materials of power. Back then, when big-city political parties served as social clubs and mutual-aid societies, a saloon could double as a party headquarters where a smart ward leader could gather and barter a political machine’s essential fuels: money, loyalty, generosity, jobs, votes.

Starlight Boyd — it’s unclear which came first, his nickname or his star-shaped, diamond-studded watch charm — was as shrewd and calculating as Maschke. So the former hotel bookkeeper and the aspiring politician forged an alliance. Boyd became a Republican poll worker then a ward leader, a man who could get out the black vote and help tip the balance of local power.

As black migrants from the South moved into the crowded neighborhood along Central Avenue, Boyd followed them. He built the Starlight Café on East 14th Street south of downtown, complete with baths, a barber shop and a pool room. He bought apartments and houses and rented them to his allies. He sent food baskets to the needy. And his 11th Ward gave more votes to Republicans than any other part of Cleveland. When one precinct voted 245-5 for his candidate, Boyd was unsatisfied: “Tomorrow I’ll find those five votes,” he declared, “and they will learn something.”

Fleming didn’t need Boyd to succeed — not at first. In fact, his own alliances with Maschke and other white Republicans got him onto the party’s candidate list for City Council in 1907 despite Boyd’s opposition.

Two years later, running as a citywide, at-large candidate, Fleming swung into council on the Republican landslide. He swung back out in 1911 when Newton D. Baker led the Democrats to a rout, but not before his loyalty to Mayor Baehr garnered jobs for more than a dozen black workers: a park policeman, a deputy building inspector, a notice clerk, a storeroom supervisor, two janitors, several garbage collectors. Paltry spoils, but to Fleming, progress.

But after Fleming won the 11th Ward council seat in 1915, he needed Boyd. His memoir shows no qualms about befriending him, only satisfaction in a friendship and a lucrative business venture, their Starlight Realty and Investment Co. For black Clevelanders in the mid-1910s, allying with Boyd was the way to power.

Fleming and Boyd ruled the ward together. The councilman showered Central Avenue with City Hall’s blessings: a newly paved street, new streetlights, a new bathhouse. Boyd kept turning out the votes.

Naturally, Fleming and Cleveland’s Republican mayors were grateful. That’s why Starlight’s Z-Douglass Club on Central Avenue became one of the most infamous gambling clubs in the “Roarin’ Third” police district, yet attracted less than its fair share of police attention.

To Harry C. Smith, Fleming had betrayed black Clevelanders by allowing vice and immorality to flourish in the Central neighborhood. “Speakeasies, disorderly flats and a gambling den are in full operation,” Smith complained to an indifferent City Council in 1917. “The hands of the police seem tied.”

One night in 1921, the righteous Smith stopped by the Z-Douglass Club and told Boyd he might run for Fleming’s council seat.

“Why, you could not get started against Fleming,” Boyd snapped. “I dare you to be a candidate. I wish you would be one so we could defeat you worse than any candidate was ever beaten in Cleveland!”

Boyd and Fleming thought Smith wasn’t man enough to take a dare. But Smith transformed the race into a moral crusade. His angry meetings drew huge crowds as he blamed the Republicans for the Central neighborhood’s poor living conditions and moral degradation. His slogan: “Starlight and Tom must go.”

Smith and Fleming supporters rallied and argued. Smith’s election-eve torchlight parade attracted 1,500 marchers. Election Day on Central Avenue looked like a holiday, as if the whole neighborhood had taken the day off to swarm the polls. Police, stationed at every voting place, broke up several fistfights and arguments.

Fleming won, 2,830 to 2,053.

“My friends were so elated over my election that they hired a band, came to my office and compelled me to get in a parade they were forming in Central Avenue,” Fleming recalled in his memoir. “This street was crowded with people. Led by A.D. (Starlight) Boyd the procession proceeded up the Avenue, stopping at East 36th Street, where a deep hole was dug and they buried Mr. Smith in effigy.”

Soon after, Boyd fell ill with pneumonia. Exhausted by the campaign, he died a month after Election Day, at age 50.

BY 1927, FLEMING HAD achieved more than he’d even imagined as a young man. He owned a beautiful house on East 40th, one of the city’s most prominent streets. That summer, he and his wife, Lethia, sailed on a cruise ship to Europe, toured Windsor Castle and Westminster Abbey in London, ate dinner atop Switzerland’s Mont Blanc, gambled in Monte Carlo, glided through the Venice canals on a gondola and saw Josephine Baker dance at the Folies Bergère and at her private club, Chez Josephine, in Paris.

At home, Fleming had become the most powerful black politician in Cleveland’s history. Maurice Maschke had become chairman of the Cuyahoga County Republicans, and reporters described Fleming as one of his key lieutenants, the “left bower” in the party boss’s euchre hand.

In return for his loyal vote on council and his constituents’ votes on Election Day, Fleming won better pay and increasingly prominent government jobs for black workers: clerks, road foremen, two prosecutors. He’d gotten City Council to ban the Ku Klux Klan from marching in the city — and the Klan had retaliated by dropping angry fliers on Cleveland’s black neighborhoods from a plane. Smith, sniping in theGazette, might not have been satisfied, but Fleming’s alliances had brought results.

“Could anyone have done more? Could I have labored any more faithful?” Fleming wrote plaintively in his memoir. “At least I was true to my trust and loyal to my race.”

In the 11th Ward, Fleming tried to keep the vice raids at bay though police launched a few while he was overseas. For eight years, Fleming had chaired the council’s police and fire committee, setting cops’ salaries and pensions, while defending gamblers, Prohibition-defying liquor dealers and prostitutes as a lawyer in police court.

No one dared call it a conflict of interest though reporters hinted as much. “It is possible,” winked the Plain Dealer’s Roelif Loveland, “that policemen, serving as witnesses in such cases, recalled that the persons against whom they were testifying were the clients of the chairman of the powerful council police and fire committee.”

Fleming saw it differently. “I was their friend,” he wrote of the cops and firemen, “and they came to me with their troubles.”

Detective Walter Oehme was one of those men, a tough, husky cop until he was injured in a fight with a speakeasy’s drug-addicted spittoon-cleaner. Unable to stand on his own or lift his arms above his shoulders, Oehme, living on a pension of $87 a month, asked Fleming to get council to pay his medical bills. Fleming’s ordinance granting Oehme $1,740 passed while he was in Europe.

When Fleming got home, Oehme approached him again. On Sept. 27, 1927, Oehme’s wife drove him to the Colored Elks’ Club on East 55th Street, where Fleming was getting ready for his clambake fundraiser, and Oehme handed the councilman a $200 check.

THE DOORBELL WOKE Tom Fleming after midnight. He was so tired, he ignored it at first, but Lethia said it might be a telegram or special delivery. So he shook off his sleep, put on his blue and red bathrobe and red leather slippers and went to the front door.

Three Plain Dealer reporters crowded in, excited. They asked if he’d quarreled with Walter Oehme after the council meeting that evening, Jan. 21, 1929.

“Why, no,” Fleming replied — their chat had gone just fine.

But the reporters told him Oehme had come to the Plain Dealer office, saying Fleming had insulted him and alleging Fleming had shaken him down for a $200 check.

“Boys, do you think for one moment I would take a check for a bribe?” Fleming laughed.

The reporters assured Fleming they were serious.

“It’s a lie!” he shouted.

“What about the check?”

Fleming later claimed he was so dumbfounded at the accusation, he didn’t recall his exchange with Oehme a year and a half earlier.

“If he thinks he got a check, let him produce it!” Fleming said.

He sat down at a hall table, grabbed a pencil and wrote a note: “I never received one cent from Walter Oehme for anything I did for him. … I felt sorry for him in his crippled condition. … I knew him when he was an able-bodied policeman and tried to help him.”

Pacing the hall carpet, his hands behind his back, Fleming described Oehme as an ungrateful man who showed up at every council meeting, who wouldn’t stop asking for more cash. “For anybody to take money from a crippled man like that would be rotten,” Fleming said. “I don’t need money that bad.”

The reporters looked down the tastefully carpeted hall, where portraits of great Republicans hung on one wall, an old photo of Fleming in a summer suit on another. In the distance they saw Fleming’s living room, with books lining the shelves, and the dining room, filled with gleaming silver and white linen. They told Fleming to look for the Plain Dealer in the morning and left.

When dawn broke, Fleming went to his porch and picked up the paper. “Crippled Policeman Says He Paid Fleming $200 After Council Action,” the headline read.

The same day, Oehme produced a cancelled check with his and Fleming’s signatures on the back. Prosecutor Ray T. Miller called Oehme to testify before a grand jury, which promptly indicted Fleming on charges of soliciting and accepting a bribe.

Fleming’s supporters rallied at meetings across the Central neighborhood, calling the indictment “rushed through” and accusing the Plain Dealer of sensationalism and “trying his case • outside the courts.” Harry C. Smith played it cool, writing that “the great mass of our good people” disapproved of the rallies and would wait to see how the case turned out.

OEHME LEANED on the prosecutor’s arm as he walked shakily to the witness stand. He testified that the $1,740 from the city hadn’t been enough to pay all his medical bills. But when he went to Fleming for more help, the councilman had responded, “Did you save any of it for me?” Oehme said he’d told Fleming he had another $354 in medical debts. “Get me some money and I’ll see what I can do,” he claimed Fleming said. So Oehme borrowed $200 from his step-grandfather, signed the check over to Fleming, and handed it to him at the Colored Elks’ Club. Oehme said no one else had been present.

Oehme’s wife backed up his story, claiming she’d heard Fleming ask for money. Two city councilmen testified Oehme had told them about the bribe a year earlier.

Fleming told a different story on the witness stand than he’d told the reporters, but he denied taking any bribe. He said Oehme had shown up at the Elks’ club and asked him to cash a check. “He thought he owed me some money for legal services and wanted me to keep $50,” Fleming testified. “I took the check, for $200, and gave him $150 in change.”

Two witnesses testified they saw Oehme hand the check to Fleming and take cash back from him. Character witnesses, including several judges, lined up to testify for Fleming.

The trial lasted three days. The jury — eight men, four women, all white — deliberated for 13 hours and delivered their verdict on a Friday morning. The foreman gave it to the clerk, who read it in a deep, booming voice: Not guilty of soliciting a bribe. Guilty of accepting one.

Fleming drummed his fingers on the table, then clenched his fist tight. He scowled. Lethia patted him soothingly on the back.

Then they stood and hurried for the elevator. As they neared the courtroom door, Fleming mumbled, “This is murder.”

FLEMING SERVED 27 months in prison. He returned to Cleveland in January 1933 and greeted visitors at his home on East 40th Street with the same old friendly smile.

“I haven’t any bitterness,” Fleming declared. “I slept every night in the penitentiary because my conscience was clear. … I say now, as I say when I was convicted, that I am innocent of what I was charged with.”

In his memoir, however, Fleming’s sense of persecution shaded into dark paranoia. He blamed the Democratic prosecutor, the Plain Dealerand the Klan for his conviction. “I figured the Ku Klux Klan had been secretly working to frame me ever since that organization scattered those thousands of cards from an airplane among the people of my District,” he wrote. In one of his many appeals, Fleming’s lawyer had claimed several jurors at his trial were Klansmen, but they’d denied it.

Cleveland had moved on. With Fleming gone, the city’s black population, which had grown from 8,400 to more than 70,000 during his years in council, had turned to new leaders. Two more black councilmen had been elected in 1928, and Fleming’s minister had replaced him on council. The press asked Fleming if he’d try to come back, but he demurred.

“If I get into politics,” he said, “I’d be afraid I’d get high again and get knocked out again.”

Two years later, Fleming won permission to practice law again and set up an office in his home. Judges, lawyers and city manager William Hopkins sent him congratulations. But two cerebral hemorrhages sent him to the hospital in 1936 and left him in a wheelchair.

Fleming outlived his rival, Harry C. Smith. He, too, was stricken with a cerebral hemorrhage and died in his newspaper office in 1941. A near-hermit by then, with few friends, he left his estate to a German-American woman described as his friend, tenant and housekeeper.

When Fleming died in 1948, the police chief, countless Elks, Mashcke’s widow and all the councilman from Cleveland’s black wards came to Friendship Baptist Church for the funeral. His coffin lay on the altar, covered with flowers. Years later, his niece would insist that Fleming didn’t die of poor health, but of the heartbreak inflicted by his bribery conviction.

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