Lou’s View

By Lou Bernard

I love the way old terms are just sitting there, waiting for me to discover. If I referred to “Sycamore Point” today, nobody would have a clue what I’m talking about. Nobody’s used that term since the 1840s, that I can see. But I love it, and I think I’d like to reintroduce the phrase.

There’s a house at Sycamore Point, which stands in Castanea Township near the conjunction of the Susquehanna River and Bald Eagle Creek. The house, if it were a few feet west, would be the oldest in Lock Haven. As it is, it’s a pretty old house, though outside the city limits.

The house was built by John McCormick, in 1830, nine years before Clinton County existed, and three years before Lock Haven.

John McCormick came to present-day Clinton County in 1772. At the time, this was still part of Northumberland County. He traveled from Ireland, and showed up at his mother’s home without telling her he was coming. He’d grown so much that she didn’t recognize him, and refused to let him in until he gave her some accurate family history. He lived in the eastern area of present-day Lock Haven, and raised a family there in a cabin known as the “Sassafras Cabin”—Another term I’d love to see brought back.

McCormick expanded his land in 1777, by purchasing an extra two hundred acres. And then he didn’t get to use it right away, because of the Great Runaway. It was July of 1778. Hostilities had been building up between the Native American tribes and the settlers. One of the Native American men came running down across the river to warn the settlers at Fort Reed they were about to be attacked. While the men were debating about whether to send a boat over to get him, Jane Reed jumped in a boat and rowed across, bringing the Native man back. He warned them that an attack was coming, and they took him into the fort and let him lie down to rest.

There was a drunk guy named Dewitt or Delong—I’ve seen it both ways. (I was once chewed out for saying he was drunk, but the historic record is clear on this point. Also, as we’re not even sure of his real name, I’m not too hysterical about what his descendants might make of my column.) As he was loading his rifle, he claimed that he was going to make sure that shot “killed an Indian.” Then he turned and shot the man who’d warned them.

For that undeniably idiotic stunt, he was exiled, driven out of the fort and away into the forest. Everyone else ran. The women and children got into the river on rafts and whatever else would float, and the men formed columns along the riverbanks, and they went down to Fort August in present-day Sunbury. John McCormick would have been one of the men walking alongside with his rifle, protecting the families. And they stayed away for several years.

When McCormick came back to the area, he began farming the land, which was right where he’d left it. He began calling it Sycamore Point “from a large Sycamore Tree that grew upon it,” accord ing to John Blair Linn’s History.
John McCormick died on May 22, 1844, and was buried in Great Island Cemetery. And even then, his story wasn’t over. In 1918, when the cemetery was moved, his body was dug up and moved to Highland Cemetery.

Fascinating story, about an interesting guy, with some interesting old terms. Meet you at the Sassafras Cabin, near Sycamore Point!