Written and photographed by Vincent Verrecchio

Sherlock Holmes is one of two sleuths at the Polk County Historical Association Museum. The other is George Comparetto, curator, who is currently trying to solve The Mystery of the Hiker’s Giant Padlock. 

George recalls the man visiting at the museum’s front desk as saying, “Found this hiking up on the Saluda Grade. Brush was cleared away and there it was. Thought you may want it.” 

As curator, George wants to know the who, what, why, when, where, and how of every find and donation. Only facts and logical deductions can differentiate artifacts of genuine historical import from memorabilia of limited personal interest. Often, there can be no quick conclusion as to treasure or trash; as to what should be displayed, stored, or forgotten with disposal.

The “what” placed in George’s hand was immediately apparent: a padlock bigger than his palm from shackle to base keyhole, crusted with corrosion and mud, and locked with no key to open. Almost two pounds of steel, it was logical to assume heavy-duty use. With toothbrush and cleaning solution, George looked for clues, cleaning away the decades, until the engraved word  “Patented” appeared, followed eventually by “Sargent & Greenleaf Inc.”

The game was afoot.

Further investigation revealed that the company was a locking device manufacturer founded in 1857 about the time that the rails of the Spartanburg to Asheville Railroad were getting hammered up the Saluda Grade. The company still exists in Kentucky as part of the Stanley Company, and railroads are still listed as one of their markets. No products in their current catalog, however, remotely resemble the mystery from the side of the rails.

There is history here, whether or not anyone else should care is yet to be determined, but I’m hooked.

“I was 12 or 13, as I remember, when I started taking the trolley car on my own to go to museums in Washington.” That would be circa 1951, the Smithsonian was his favorite, and no doubt he had been taken previously, getting hooked on history at an early age. Later, throughout his more than 35 years as a cable installer and trouble shooter for a telephone company, he made a point of visiting every museum wherever he was working in Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, West Virginia, Virginia, and D.C., a territory rich with museums. 

“Big ones, little ones, not many I missed, if any. Little museums were always fascinating, but I wanted to know the details, and I was frustrated the many times when no one could tell me.”

Then came the day in 1998, after he and his wife had retired to the Foothills area, that George stepped into the next era of his life, crossing the threshold of the Tryon Depot and into the site, at that time, of the Polk County Historical Museum. He saw a Help Wanted sign for someone to create and maintain displays. “Not long after,” says George, “the curator moved on, and the president, without fanfare, started calling me curator. I was also one of the docents…fancy for guide…and if a visitor asked, I wanted to have the details…a full story if possible.”

Many of George’s stories are hard facts with all or most details certain. With some other stories, the only sure fact is that this is the story as told by the donor. George tries to substantiate these claims and memories through research. With some artifacts, the story is a mystery and George is working on it, such as the richly carved and tooled organ with a placard that reads: “Do you recognize this organ? It is said to have come from a black church in Polk County but we don’t know which one.”

One story with hard facts is that of actor William Gillette. Through more than 1,300 stage performances as Sherlock Holmes and the silent movie that introduced Doyle’s detective to the screen, Gillette established the image of deerstalker cap and curved pipe. The museum displays artifacts from his Tryon estate and house that was started in 1891. Under glass are the slippers and curved pipe from his final road tour in 1930. As to the “why” of the pipe… the story is that a straight pipe bounced in front of the actor’s face as he spoke. With a curved pipe, the audience could more clearly see his expression.

George also has an in depth story about the Permanent Wave Machine from a Green Creek beauty parlor. Patented in 1928 by Marjorie Joyner, George has rewired and restored it to working condition. He is still waiting for a test-run volunteer and will probably wait a while longer given the 1942 customer quote on display: “I looked as if I had put my finger in an electrical socket.”

A story woven of certainties, uncertainties, and plausible suppositions is how the first cannonball fired toward Fort Sumter landed in Columbus, N.C. Multiple sources report that the first Confederate shot on April 12, 1861 was from a 10-inch mortar and the shell never landed but exploded high above the Fort. It signaled the barrage from 43 cannons and mortars— 47 according to another record. Obviously, uncertainties are rife even in minutely studied events. In every report, however, Captain Abner Doubleday fired the first Union shot in response. Generations after Appomattox, Betty Doubleday Frost passed a family heirloom to a founder of the Polk County Historical Association. She said that she’d been told it was the first cannonball that hit Sumter. Her ancestor had retrieved and saved it for his posterity.

The museum at 60 Walker Street in Columbus is free. The entrance on the lower level is open Tuesday and Thursday, 10 a.m. – 1 p.m., or Saturday, 10 a.m. – 4 p.m. George may not be there to personally tell you the mystery of the steamer trunk labeled George M. Cohen or to impart a chuckle as to why there’s a gift certificate for ice cream locked in an old safe. He may be off calling Sargent & Greenleaf asking why their lock was patented, but someone will be there to answer questions and share the enthusiasm for the history and heritage of where we live.