A BIRTHDAY, A FIRE, AND A DOG
By Lou Bernard
When you deal in local history, you’re going to come across a lot of fires. Throughout much of
history, if people wanted heat and light, they pretty much had to use fire—It wasn’t as simple as flipping
a plastic switch. As a result of this, buildings were burning down every hour on the hour. Without even
trying, I can think of an outrageous number of fires that have hit Clinton County over the years.
There are a few that stand out, though. Sometimes it’s because the building that burned down
was notable or historic. Sometimes it’s because of the sheer geographical range of the fire; a few of
these took out half a community. And sometimes, it’s because of the little extra details.
The Seyler Fire on East Bald Eagle Street was one of these.
It was January 7, 1927. It was early. Ridiculously early. Two-fifteen in the morning, and the
house of Charles Seyler began to blaze. Seyler was an old retired man living at 721 East Bald Eagle
Street. He had a married daughter living nearby, and a dog at his home. He had just turned seventy-
seven years old that very day—It was his birthday.
The probable cause? Most likely, Seyler himself. Remember how I said people were dependent
on fire if they wanted light? While awake for some reason at two AM, Seyler lit a match so that he could
see to move around the room. The newspapers later reported that the match was most likely what
started the blaze.
It spread quickly, but fortunately, several neighbors noticed, and called the fire department
immediately. Two fire companies responded, having little else to do at two AM.
“Neighbors telephoned an alarm to the fire station and all companies responded,” the
newspapers reported later that same day. “The blaze was extinguished with a plug stream by Hand-In-
Hand Hose Co. and a booster pump stream by Citizens Hose Co., after half an hour’s work. The front
portion of the small dwelling was destroyed, along with a large portion of the furniture.”
A significant part of the effort was spent ejecting Seyler himself from the burning building.
Seyler refused to leave, and had to be taken out by force by the firemen. It was his house, he’d bought it
and raised his daughter there, and dammit, nothing was going to drive him from it, not even the threat
of a painful fire-inflicted death. The newspaper article said,”Neighbors and firemen were compelled to
use force in getting him out of the house. He had refused to go voluntarily, and was in danger of being
burned or overcome by smoke.”
He was taken to the home of his daughter and son-in-law nearby, Mr. and Mrs. Godfrey Smith.
They promised to take him in and look after him. But everyone had forgotten one little detail….Seyler
had a dog, too.
So in time, the fire departments put out the flames. They entered the structure, looking for any
signs that the fire might reignite—Sometimes smoldering flames inside walls can do that, apparently.
And they found the dog.
Oh, don’t worry—I wouldn’t be writing an entertaining column about this whole thing if the dog
had died. I’m not a monster. (I’ve written casually about dead human bodies found in the woods, but I
draw the line at dogs.) The dog was somehow inexplicably fine, waiting in the front room as if nothing
had happened. It had refused to leave the burning building, evidently learning its behavior from Seyler
himself. (I’d like to think my Schnauzer, Kasper, would be this loyal. But the truth is, he’d probably just
sleep right through it.)
The dog was unharmed, except for being soaked by the water used to put out the fire. Fire
personnel took it to the Smith home, where it was delivered back to Seyler, and they could both refuse
to leave to their heart’s content.
Seyler died two months later, at the end of February in 1927. He was buried in Cedar Hill.
Presumably, he’s since refused to leave.
