Source:Historic-ravines/content
There are a few people in Pittsburg who have not seen or heard of the red pond, bounded on one side by Center avenue, Reed street and Soho street. In a short time it will be a pond no longer and [its] disappearance will leave no room for [regret], especially to people residing in the immediate vicinity. Unpleasant memories [are] associated with the pond from the [earliest] period of its history and it is in [. . .] odor still.
[In] recent years the pond has been often[er?] designated as the Soho "dump," a name [⸺re] to the purpose if less euphonious. Originally the red pond covered an area [of] 10 acres, but now all sides have been improved and the gerater [sic] part of it is [⸺ed] in. It was one of the largest and deepest by far of the many natural basins once so numerous in the territory now embraced within the city limits. The basin, which was from 50 to 200 feet deep, [had] a ravine running through it which [was] the bed for a waterway which separated by the ridge of hills, flowed north and south into the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers. At the birth of the present century and for many years after the precipitous hills on each side of this ravine were studded with trees of the virgin forest and the place was a veritable wilderness. The spot might not have been looked upon as an ideal one for the settler and it is by no means regarded as [such?] at the present day, owing to the artificial additions and accumulations. At that time the basin was drained by the stream following the course of the ravine, crossing Fifth avenue and eventually emptying itself into the Monongahela at what is now the foot of Brady street. Occasionally the basin was flooded in the [torrent] of heavy rains or spring freshets, but the water diverted from its natural channel never attained any great depth and soon subsided. In 1816 the borough [of] Pittsburg was incorporated as a city and the next two or three decades made considerable changes in its environments as far out as Soho. Rude bridges spanned the ravine in some places and wherever [it] was practicable shallow parts were [filled?] in to make roads for the settlers. [The] best lumber in the forests went to [construct] houses for the townspeople and [⸺t] log houses for the farmers, but [⸺on] considerable quantities of the [. . .] was utilized in the coal pits which [. . .] worked in all the hills. With the [filling in?] of the ravine in numerous places [the] stream became choked and the water [. . .] the hills having no outlet began to [. . .] in the basin. That is how the pond [was] formed, but there are two stories as [to] how it derived its name, "red." One [⸺s] to the effect that more than 50 [. . .] a young man decoyed his [sweetheart into?] the woods, plunged a knife in [her chest?] and then sank her body in the [pond to?] conceal the crime. Her blood is [said to?] have turned the water red and [the inquisitive] persons investigating this [phenomenon] discovered the body and gave [it a Christian] burial. Tradition says that [the] young woman's ghost haunted the [pond], but no person can be found who acknowledges having seen the apparition, [. . .] the wraiths that now haunt the place can both be seen and felt. A more likely story is that the pond derived its name through its contents taking a blood-red tinge on account of sulphuric water that poured into it from the coal pits on the hills.
A lovers' tragedy may never have been enacted, but nevertheless the red pond has swallowed up many lives. Since the pond was filled with water, half a century ago, or more, 20 persons at least have lost their lives in it. Some met death while skating and others while swimming, but probably the worst accident at the pond occurred about six or eight years ago, when three employes of the city, who were opening the mouth of a sewer, were drowned. The sewer proved inadequate for the task which it was intended and after a heavy rainstorm clogged up at the foot of Soho street. The mouth was tightly packed with brush and all kinds of refuse, through which the three men sent by the city worked until an opening was made, but before escape was possible they were struck by the torrent of water suddenly released. The bodies swept down the ravine were recovered almost a quarter of a mile from the mouth of the sewer. The water rose in the red pond to a depth of 50 feet and undermined the foundations of two houses on Center avenue so badly that they had to be torn down. In 1865 Samuel Ewart and Mr. Gazzam, hoping to protect their property, built a strong wall near Reed street. It was known as Gazzam's wall, but only stood about seven years, when the water washed it away. While the wall was standing the body of a man was found lying close to it one morning, and it was never clearly established whether he fell from the top and was killed or was murdered. A second body of water, known as Ewart's pond, was kept in check by the wall, but with the slime running into it and other matter deposited it gradually filled up and ceased to be a pond.
For many years the red pond has been utilized as a dump, and it is a matter of surprise to all who are cognizant of the facts that the city tolerates such filth to be deposited there. Before rain, in warm weather, the odors are almost unendurable, and it is said that in passing the place all the motormen on the Center avenue cars increase the speed. Health is put in jeopardy by the foul stench arising from the dump, and many residents of that vicinity are preparing to move in April. Two evils have to be guarded against by those living in close proximity to the dump—suffocation and cremation. There is risk of being asphyxiated by the stench while asleep, and there is equally as great danger of being scorched or cremated by the flames which are said to be eating their way through the dump. Vast quantities of the refuse from the Pike street fire have been hauled to the Soho dump, and it was blamed for igniting the inflammable stuff that had been placed in that depository. A week or two ago the dump was discovered to be on fire and one of the city engines was called to the place. After four hard days' work the engine apparently succeeded in quenching it. The dump was on fire four or five years ago, and many people believe it has been burning ever since, and that its center is a seething mass of fire. It is known to contain much combustible and explosive material, and there are many persons in the vicinity who will no longer take chances on being smoked, asphyxiated or blown into eternity.
BLOOMFIELD DUMP
Being Rapidly Filled and Will Disappear in a Few Years.
Thousands of persons pass by daily, in the cars and on foot, the Fortieth street dump at Bloomfield, and out of the immense number many may pause and ask many peculiar questions as to the origin of the place, when it was begun, for what purpose and if the streets contiguous were at one time located in the valley and a thousand other questions. While they wonder, the festive Willy Goat and his bosom friend, Nanny, with their large families, meander up and down the steep hill, watching patiently for the arrival of a new consignment of tomato cans and other debris. The small boy finds unbounded pleasure in chasing the goats, and the rag-picker reaps a harvest by daily digging through the ashes in quest of rags and other articles peculiar and profitable to his trade. Then there is another set who daily spend hours looking for valuables which they suppose are to be found in the refuse dumped upon the place. But the history of the place may be interesting.
The oldest settlers of that district have about all passed away and only a few of them remain to tell much concerning the time when it was a country place with only four or five inhabitants and when land was worth only four or five dollars an acre. Forty years ago, where Liberty street now stretches from Fortieth street to Main street, there was a ravine 150 feet deep. It was then a portion of Skunk Hollow, and history has it that numerous individuals within the past century met death by falling down the steep proclivity.
The hills for miles around belonged to William Woolslayer thirty-five years ago, and he let it out to numerous small gardeners. In the deep valley, buried now by Liberty avenue, an old German gardener rented from Woolslayer a small piece of ground. In fact, he occupied the entire valley between the Denny estate, at the Fortieth street side, to Woolslayer's lane, on the side where Main street now runs. His name was Jacob Natz. He died childless and long before the filling in of the valley took place which destroyed the prettiest spot one would wish to see. On either side of the hills around his little farm Natz cultivated grapes and in season the hills were a picture. At the brow of the eastern side of the ravine stood the brewery of Frederick Gangwich. Here for years he brewed the invigorating summer beverage and for far and near the name of the brewer was famous. About twenty-nine years ago Gangwich sold out and on the site of his diminutive plant the firm of Straub & Sons reared their magnificent building.
One can better grasp the situation when they imagine a valley from Herron hill clean across to Penn avenue. Such was the vastness of the cut. On the brow of the Fortieth street hill was established Iron City park and for years lovers strolled through the many trysting places on the Woolslayer and Denny estates. The park was also used for picnics, and for several years the Allegheny County Agricultural society held its annual exhibition in the park. Soon another park sprung up and it was known as Friendship.
In 1860 Mrs. Kathryn Kirkwood moved to the locality and is still a resident of the place. Her husband purchased a few acres of land there at a very small sum and they were among the pioneer settlers of the district. Her recollection of the place at the time is that it was covered with trees and that the ravine, which is now used as Liberty avenue, was the deepest she had ever seen. Only five or six families were living there at the time and they were remotely located from each other.
As business progressed commerce demanded a shorter route to the district of Bloomfield than by the round-about way of Penn avenue, and as there was no way of getting into Bloomfield only by going up to Pearl street and driving down on the other side, it was deemed advisable to have Liberty street extended. Petitions were sent out by business men and residents requesting that the improvement be made, and the more enthusiastic populace began dumping earth, filling in the valley in 1869. The Penn avenue act was passed in 1870, and on April 2 the work of filling in the place began. The work was a tremendous undertaking and many laughed at the idea of such an immense job. Ashes from far and near were hauled, and when the grade of Liberty avenue was laid out, as many hills had to be cut through, the earth taken from the cuts was used in the valley. Six years afterward, in 1876, the job was completed, and the old ravine which separated the city from Bloomfield was a thing of the past. At first the street caused considerable trouble, as every rain caused the fill to slip into Skunk Hollow. The work was one of the most extensive the city has ever undertaken on street work. In 1876 the street was paved with cedar blocks, but these soon were worn in splinters, and now the entire thoroughfare from the Monongahela river to Center avenue and Rebecca street, East End, is paved with Ligonier granite.
Since that time the city has used the place as a dump and instead of the forty foot which had been filled in at first, at present there is almost 150 feet, and daily hundreds of wagon loads of refuse are dumped. The valley of Skunk Hollow is rapidly disappearing, and before another quarter of a century the vast gap between the Pennsylvania and Junction roads and Penn avenue will be no more. It may be that both railroads at this point will be covered with masonry, thus affording easy communication from Bloomfield to the Bellefield district and Grant boulevard.
