Bath Massacre: America's First School Bombing (13 page)

“You don’t suppose he is junking his tools?” Lulu asked her husband.
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A good deal of work was necessary before Ellsworth could open his filling station. In the process of setting up a temporary air compressor, Ellsworth realized he needed some pipe fittings.

Kehoe was so handy; just a year or so ago he’d helped Ellsworth with a troublesome boiler. Ellsworth figured his neighbor might have some pipe fittings to attach the compressor. It was the right assumption. They talked a bit about the work Ellsworth was doing on the filling station and an upcoming mechanical adjustment that would be necessary. “I’m doing it in about a week or so,” Ellsworth explained.

“When you get ready to do that,” Kehoe said, “come down if you need any tools. Yes, and I will help you.”

Ellsworth thought this was a nice neighborly offer.
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Saturday happened to be the Kehoes’ fifteenth wedding anniversary. With Nellie in the hospital once more, Kehoe didn’t do much in the way of celebration. Rather, he spent the afternoon settling accounts with some of his creditors. Paying the mortgage was not on this list.
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On Sunday, May 15, he planned to pick Nellie up from the hospital, explaining to her sisters that she would be staying in Jackson with some friends. But someone from the hospital called that morning; it was a rainy day and would he mind coming tomorrow so as not to aggravate Nellie’s lung condition. Kehoe agreed, saying he would check Nellie out of the hospital on Monday, May 16.
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David Harte heard through the grapevine that Kehoe wanted to sell one of his horses. He contacted a friend in Lansing, a fellow by the name of Seymour Champion, who was interested in acquiring a horse. Champion stopped by Harte’s house on Monday afternoon and inquired about the animal. “Don’t think Kehoe’s in,” Harte said. Champion disagreed, saying he’d just seen Kehoe carrying a bundle of straw into his henhouse.

When the two men went over, Kehoe was indeed working in the chicken coop. He came out to greet his visitors.

Harte introduced Champion, then asked how Nellie was feeling. Much better, Kehoe told him, saying that his wife was in Lansing with her sisters. Kehoe went into the farmhouse to wash his hands. After cleaning up, the bargaining began.

It was the same horse Kehoe had offered McMullen. Kehoe said he’d sell Champion the horse for a hundred dollars. No, said the potential buyer; it was too high a price for an old, one-eyed horse.

As Kehoe and Champion haggled back and forth, Harte noticed a pair of thin copper wires on the ground. The wires reached from the henhouse to a toolshed and back to the henhouse. Looks like Kehoe is preparing for the Consumers Power men, bringing electrical wiring to the area, Harte thought.

Ultimately there was no deal on the horse. Champion later told Harte that he’d have bought the horse for sixty dollars. He also got the feeling that Kehoe was a “funny man.”

Harte, long used to Kehoe’s eccentricities, didn’t see anything out of the ordinary in his neighbor’s behavior that day.
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Late in the afternoon, Kehoe picked up his wife. They spent the evening with Nellie’s sisters in Lansing. The Kehoes were jovial company, happy that Nellie was out of the hospital. When the visit was over, the couple bade the Price sisters good-bye and went home to Bath.
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After the Kehoes returned to the farm, the telephone rang. It was Blanche Hart, the fifth-grade teacher. Having heard that Nellie was out of the hospital, she was calling to see how Nellie was feeling.

“She is getting along fine,” Kehoe told Hart. “I have got her home here with me, and she is fussing around.”

Hart thought that was good news, what with Nellie having been sick for so long.
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On Tuesday, May 17, a few days after their shooting contest, Kehoe stopped by Ellsworth’s place. “I like that rifle of yours,” Kehoe said. “Will you give me twenty-five dollars difference for that rifle of mine?”

Kehoe’s offer took Ellsworth by surprise. “No,” he told Kehoe. “I wouldn’t give that much difference because I have no use for them.” Ellsworth suggested giving a ten-dollar difference, a counteroffer Kehoe turned down. “That gun cost me fifty dollars, and they didn’t have the sights I wanted,” Kehoe said, adding that he had paid an extra eleven dollars for a special gun sight from a Detroit company.

No deal was made. Kehoe went home.
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The end of school year always meant fun for the children; this year’s classes were no exception. Bernice Sterling, the first-grade teacher, telephoned Kehoe. She asked if she could have a picnic with her students in the grove on the edge of Kehoe’s farm.

“When are you going to have the picnic?” Kehoe asked her.

“Thursday,” she said.

In retrospect Sterling felt Kehoe’s response was both forthright and enigmatic. “Well,” he told her, “if you’re going to have a picnic, you’d better have it right away.”
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In the afternoon, as David Harte was driving his hay-filled wagon over to his son’s place, he heard a horn behind him. This wasn’t unusual, particularly in a town like Bath, where horses and wagons shared the road with trucks and automobiles.

The machine swung around Harte’s wagon. Harte recognized his neighbor. Kehoe continued down the road, raising his hand in silent greeting.
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One of the Price sisters called the Kehoe residence to see how Nellie was doing. There was no answer.

They heard from Kehoe that evening. “Have you been trying to get us on the telephone?” he asked. “Yes,” was the reply, expressing concern about Nellie.

“Nellie is over to Jackson,” Kehoe said. “She was lonesome here, and we have some friends by the name of Vost who we used to know at Tecumseh, and it occurred to me to take Nellie over there because I thought it would be a good thing for her.

“I am to go back for her on Thursday,” he added, and then hung up.
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Come evening, David Harte saw something a little odd across the road. Andrew Kehoe’s arms were full of straw as he walked into his henhouse. Wasn’t he doing the same thing yesterday when Harte and Champion came to see him about the horse? Harte knew Kehoe had no birds; he’d sold his brood some time ago. Why would he spend so much time filling the coop with straw?

Maybe he’s going to start chicken farming again, Harte thought.
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Fordney Hart, a freshman at Bath Consolidated, finally was leaving school at 8:30 p.m. Although it was well past the end of the school day, the building was bustling with adults attending a Parent-Teacher Association meeting where Fordney had performed as part of a small orchestral ensemble.
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Someone was in front of the school. He wasn’t doing anything in particular, just standing, looking at the building. Fordney thought this person looked familiar.

The teenager caught a glimpse of the man’s gold front teeth. Fordney recognized him. He was always in and out of the school, that handy guy who had solved the bee problem and did other odd jobs.

Andrew Kehoe. That was the man’s name. Now Fordney knew exactly who he was. Every once in a while, Fordney’s parents went to play cards over at a neighbor’s. Card games were boring to the teenager; instead he would drop by the Kehoe farm. Kehoe had a radio set he’d let Fordney play with now and again. Yes, that definitely was the same man now standing there in the dark. And wasn’t it just a month ago that Kehoe had dynamited some old stumps out of a relative’s fields?
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