Lou’s View

By Lou Bernard

This month is an anniversary—It’s a hundred and thirty-five years since part of the Ross Library was built.
Not the entire library, of course. In fact, it wasn’t a library at the time. I’m going to have to take a step back and explain all this, aren’t I?

It was a hundred and thirty-five years back. The date was February of 1887, and Lock Haven was growing. Robert Bridgens needed a house.

Bridgens had been the third mayor of Lock Haven, form 1876 to 1879. He was born in the area that later became Lock Haven on October 10, 1818, and grew up to take part in the lumber industry, as so many people did back then. He became one of the biggest lumber dealers on the Susquehanna, so when he needed a house, it’s a safe bet it was built with much of his own stock.

He and his wife Elizabeth bought a property at 232 West Main Street. Previously, it had been an empty field that had frequently been used as a circus ground. (There are times while I’m working that I do my best to ensure it’s still a circus ground.) Robert and Elizabeth built their house there in February of 1887.

Robert Bridgens didn’t get to live there for very long. He died in May of 1890, and was buried in Highland Cemetery. Three years later, Elizabeth sold the house to Frank and Annie Halenbake Ross.

Frank Ross was in the iron industry, and he’d married Ann Halenbake of Beech Creek Township. The two of them moved into the house together, and when Frank died there in January of 1897, Annie was left in the place alone. (Yeah, I know. We’re at two deaths in the house already, and it isn’t even ten years old yet. You get used to it.)

Annie Halenbake Ross lived in the house alone for a decade after that, friendly and well-liked, but a bit reclusive.

Instead of going out, she preferred to be home alone reading her books. She was often seen through the window from West Main Street, sitting in her favorite chair and reading literature.

Annie took a trip to New Jersey in September of 1907, and passed away there of a misdiagnosed appendicitis. Her funeral was held in her home—About where my desk now sits, actually. She was buried in Highland Cemetery, and in her will, she left her home to the city on the condition it be made into the public library.

City council appointed a committee to look into the possibility, and they declared the house not suitable for a library. They suggested that books be stored there temporarily until a better building could be found. (So over a century later, don’t get too attached—It’s temporary.) In response to a plea from Annie’s attorney T.M.

Stevenson, however, they finally voted to create a public library, and the place was opened on Thanksgiving Day of 1910.

Since then, other wings have been added onto the building when necessary. Parts of the library have been built in 1916, the 1950s, and the 1970s, and those parts are not a hundred and thirty-five years old this month. Just the original house, which still has a very “old house” look to it.

These days, the Ross Library is still open for business. And the historic part of it—My part—Is having an anniversary. Today, in what was once Annie’s home, my desk still sits, and I handle the local history files and old archives.

Come on by for a visit; I’ll show you the place.