The 500 French Suckers

Gallipolis lies on the Ohio river near the border of West Virginia. It was settled by 500 French suckers in 1790. They were offered land in the Ohio Territory by something called the Scioto Company. That name would have made anybody I know immediately suspicious, but remember, these folks were suckers. Besides, land in the Americas in those days was a lot like stock in Internet companies today. They arrived in the new world with visions of great wealth and made their way to Gallipolis only to discover that the Scioto company had skipped the minor technicality of actually purchasing any land before writing the deeds.

After the suckers petitioned Congress and President Washington, the Ohio Company (which was a lot like Microsoft in those days) sent woodsmen to build a small settlement on the banks of the Ohio River. The French suckers, remarkably, managed to surivive and even thrive as river traders, especially after they killed off the natives and other settlers by feeding them heavy cream sauces until they died of myocardial infarctions.

I’m sorry. I made that last part up. But they did thrive as river traders. They are known today as “the French 500.”

Gallipolis means “city of the Gauls,” and is pronounced by everyone here “gal-a-police”, with the accent on the “police.” By the same rules of etymology and pronunciation, Superman lives in a city pronounced “Metro Police.” Even more remarkably the river, and eventually the state, were named after the Japanese phrase for “good morning.”

That part is true, but I think it’s actually a coincidence.

The setttlement, now a town of sorts, boasts “The French City Press,” “French City Chiropractic,” “French City Mobile Homes,” and, welcome to the 1990s, “French City Software.” Not much sign of real French presence any more though. Conspicuous by its absence is the signature of Franco America: a looming rose-windowed cathedral dominating the town. My hotel does list the “St. Louis Catholic Church” alongside a dozen Protestant ones, the Mormons and the Mennonites. The phone book lists almost none of French names I know from Vermont. Searching hard I find one Leclair, one Beaumont, two Legrands, and three Pelletiers. Oh, and maybe those 6 Bowdens were once Beaudoins. But there are 18 people named Click, 9 Snodgrasses, 11 Zirkles, and a whopping 76 Crabtrees, not to mention Paula Zickafoose, who lives on Jerrys Run Road.

I’m sorry. Telephone book reading can have its addictive qualities on a boring evening, and it’s healthier than hitting the hotel bar.

From the look of the place, the history of Galopolis hasn’t been a tale of unmitigated progress since the days of the 500 French Suckers. There is a small historic downtown with a few bright spots, but it’s largely occupied by dusty shops run by elderly people who have paid off the property loans and don’t need to sell much to stay open. The Wal-Mart and the minimalls down the road are where the retail action is happening.

Still, with a little imagination the old buildings along the riverfront, looming brick and wood warehouse structures and small staid Protestant brick homes, can evoke Marblehead, Newburyport, or Portland. You can almost hear the swearing of ship captains and sinewey dockworkers, smell the cheap rum and stale beer of the taverns, catch the wink in the eye of the harbor brothel girls, and taste the escargot and frogs legs. This was once a hoppin’ town.

Outside of town there’s the Pine Street Cemetary, and across the way the cramped and humble “Pine Street Colored Cemetary.” On seeing this. all visions of New England evaporate, and you know that, Mason Dixon line or not, you’re in the South.

The riverfront in town also hosts some very ostentatious and truly hideous contemporary homes. They appear to have been built in the 1980s or 1990s rather than the 1950s or 1960s. That is, rather than being characterless pastel rectangles they are nighmarish accretions of several incompatible architectural heritages. These homes are to architecture what a bacon bagel, a 24-ounce Swiss Chocolate Cappucino, or “French Country Tofu” is to cuisine.

Tomorrow I’ll talk about the thrills and hotspots of Gallipolis for the business traveller, and how to judge the class status of a hotel in seconds.