Oct 18, 2009 8 min read

Today’s article is the third in a seven-part series telling the story of the three different locks and dams that have served the Brownsville area over the past century. This reprinted series by Glenn Tunney originally appeared in the Herald-Standard in August and September 2001. Charles Wesley Keibler had been keeping an eye on the construction of the new double lock and dam at Brownsville since work began on it a year ago. Now, in October 1908, he had been appointed to replace Abraham Milliken, thereby making Charles the last lockmaster to serve at Lock 5, Denbo. As soon as the new locks at Brownsville were finished, Charles expected to be appointed the first lockmaster at the brand-new facility.

In late 1909, he got his wish when Locks and Dam No. 5 at Brownsville opened to river traffic with Charles Keibler as the lockmaster.

Two years later in 1911, the Corps of Engineers completed construction of two brick houses intended as homes for the Brownsville lockmaster and chief engineer.

Located at 602 and 610 Water St., the two houses were mirror images of each other built on reverse plans, which was a standard Corps of Engineers practice at its Monongahela facilities. These two houses still survive today, and in 1999 the Pennsylvania Historical and Museum Commission nominated them for inclusion on the National Register of Historic Places.

A 1998 federal study has identified these two Water Street houses as the only surviving pair of lockkeepers’ houses built by the Corps of Engineers on the Monongahela River.

On Oct. 1, 1911, Charles Keibler moved his family into their new Browns-ville residence. He and his wife, Hannah Thomas Keibler, had seven children in all: Charles Edward, Howard, Sarah, Grace, George, William, and Alfred. Charles’ daughter Sarah Keibler married Earl Millward. Their daughter, Hannah Millward Fisher of Corona, Ariz., remembers her mother talking about her childhood days.

“I believe my mother told me that when they moved to Brownsville from Denbo,” Hannah informed me recently, “they moved their furniture by railroad car.”

And what was Sarah’s impression of the new Water Street house?

“She said the family’s new home was very modern for its time,” Hannah told me. “It had indoor plumbing and electric lights. The lights really impressed their former neighbors from Denbo. The man who delivered eggs would snap the lights on and off just to see them work!

“The house next door was the home of the chief engineer, Frank Marker,” Hannah continued. “All my grandfather and Mr. Marker had to do to go to work was cross the railroad tracks, go down the steps to the lock wall, and walk across the gates to the office.”

Eighty-six-year-old Alfred Keibler of Hockessin, Del., is one of Charles Keibler’s five sons.

Alfred, who has lived in Delaware since the 1960s, was born and raised in the lockmaster’s house. He recently shared some memories of his childhood days at 610 Water St.

“I was born in the lockmaster’s house in Brownsville in 1914,” Alfred explained. “Our house was a sturdy square house with a reinforced concrete foundation, brick side walls, and a slate roof. Our back yard adjoined Monongahela Railway property, and the railroad’s main line from Fairmont to Pittsburgh ran between our back yard and the locks.

“My dad’s office on the lock was just across the tracks. There was a wooden walk from the railroad tracks to his office, which along with the chief engineer’s shop was on the building’s second floor.

“The first floor was used for storage, because we had floods almost every spring. When a flood occurred, everything movable had to be taken off the locks and carried up a driveway next to the chief engineer’s house. The driveway ran under the railroad tracks and sloped up to Water Street.

“After a flood, everything was covered with mud. The power house was a reinforced concrete building in the middle lock wall, and it had a heavy iron door and window shutters to close when flooding occurred. This kept debris from entering, but not the muddy water, so the lockmen were busy with hoses and rags cleaning everything in order to get back into operation as soon as possible.

“During one flood,” Alfred Keibler recalled, “the officials at the Hillman boat works, which was located above the locks, called my dad to tell him that two old wooden barges had broken loose and were on their way downstream. They knew that there wasn’t anything he could do, but they thought he might want to see that they didn’t get jammed against the lock or one of the lock buildings.

“We spread the word and a crowd gathered to watch them go over the dam. They broke in two as they went over the dam, and a huge pile of kindling wood went downstream.”

The lockmaster’s house on Water Street was located in a noisy area, to put it mildly. Alfred described living with a round-the-clock racket.

“It was really very noisy living there in the 1920s,” he commented. “Wireless communication hadn’t been invented, and a lot of communicating was done with whistles and bells. When a boat wanted to go through the lock, it would signal the lock with its steam whistle.

“The lock would then reply with so many blasts of the whistle, signaling whether the lock was open or whether another boat was approaching from the opposite direction. If another boat was in the lock, the lock would whistle when the coast was clear.”

A 1929 Brownsville Telegraph newspaper article estimated that 20 to 30 boats went through Lock 5 each day. The result was a never-ending concert of boat and lock whistles.

“In addition to those frequent whistles on the river,” Alfred continued, “were all of the train whistles as coal and passenger trains rumbled by our house.

“Then to top it off, the South Brownsville Volunteer Fire Co.’s whistle was on top of my dad’s office, pointed right at our house and at the town beyond. If the fire was large and the firemen needed more volunteers, they would keep blowing the whistle. The fire whistle was at the lock because the lock could provide the steam and compressed air to operate the whistle.”

So how did anyone get any sleep at the Keibler’s Water Street house?

“We got used to all of the noise and slept right through it,” declared Alfred. “Once I was invited to spend the night at my friend Alfred Millward’s house. He lived out in the country on Telegraph Road, on the hill above Charleston School. You know, I couldn’t sleep that night because it was too quiet. All I could hear were the insects!”

Alfred Keibler remembers the neighborhood around the lockmaster’s house as a friendly place.

“It was a wonderful neighborhood,” he reminisced. “The people were very friendly and helpful. For example, Mrs. Jacobs was our neighbor to the south. In the fall she made apple butter and ketchup in her backyard. She used a very large cast-iron kettle that was held on a tripod over a fire behind her house. The kids in the neighborhood would always gather around to watch. Late in the afternoon when the apple butter was ‘cooked down,’ she would have all of the neighborhood kids sit in a circle on the grass.

“Then she would come out of the house with a big loaf of just-baked bread that was still warm and spread the pieces with warm apple butter. I have eaten in many fine restaurants in my lifetime, but none of them could ever match Mrs. Jacobs’ warm homemade bread and apple butter.

“Another fellow in our neighborhood was Harry Edel, a partner with his brother George in the Brownsville Brewery. Few people had cars in those days, but Harry had a large touring car. Every so often, Mr. Edel would gather the neighborhood kids and take us for a ride in his car. We would go all over town and end up at Jeffries Homemade Ice Cream Place in Middle Alley, where Mr. Edel would buy us all ice cream cones. There were no freezers or electric refrigerators then, so you had to eat ice cream in the store. It was quite a treat.”

Under Charles Keibler’s guidance, Locks and Dam No. 5 survived World War I unscathed by saboteurs or spies, and the nation was nearing entry into another world war when Charles decided in 1940 that it was time to retire. In the first 31 years of Lock No. 5’s existence, no other man had ever served as lockmaster there.

Leaving his job also meant Charles and his family had to say goodbye to the lockmaster’s house that they had occupied since it was built in 1911. Charles and Hannah packed once more and moved to their new address at 629 Lewis St. in Brownsville.

His 44-year career of loyal service at the locks and dams of the Monongahela River was over.

Two years later in 1942, a tired 30-year-old coal miner slowly walked out of the mine for the last time. Unhappy working underground, the fellow soon hired on to work on the riverboats, beginning a second career that would last for decades. Next week, this veteran of the Monongahela riverboats will share with us some of his memories of “locking through” at Brownsville Lock No. 5.

Comments about these articles may be sent to Editor Mark O’Keefe, 8 – 18 East Church Street, Uniontown, PA or e-mailed to mo’keefe@heraldstandard.com