The Gruesome History of the Carlisle Vault

 

A popular space for weddings and events, the Carlisle Vault building was erected on the northeast corner of the town square in 1813 and served as one of the first banks in Cumberland County. In 1846, the building became the home of the Carlisle Deposit Bank & Trust Company, and remained a banking institution until its closure in 2007. Four years later, the historic building on North Hanover Street was renovated, becoming a charming and unique event space.

When the building was purchased in 2017 by local restaurateurs Ross Morris, Laura Portillo and Ryan and Helena Twigg, the owners continued to make modern improvements while, at the same time, maintaining the bank's charm and character. Not only does the antique 1890 bank vault prove a stunning entryway to the reception hall, but some of the original safe deposit boxes were even incorporated into the design of the bar area. 

While many blushing brides and grooms have passed through the old Carlisle Deposit Bank & Trust Company building in recent years, eagerly looking forward to a life of "happily ever after", the venerable bank building also has a dark, lesser-known history; it is the site of not one, but two suicides of former bank employees.

 

Rise and Fall of a Loco Foco

May 12, 1858, was a somber day at the Carlisle Deposit Bank. The long-tenured cashier, William Marquart Beetem, turned in his resignation to the bank's board of directors. It was a stunning development; though just 38 years of age, Beetem had already become one of the county's leading businessmen. He had seemed destined to follow in the footsteps of his father, George, who, after retiring as county sheriff, operated Beetem's Hotel directly across the street from the bank (George Beetem also operated the Green Tree Tavern, which was located just south of the court house). In fact, the hotel was such a success that the collection of law offices and other professional buildings on the public square became locally known as "Beetem's Row".

 

 

William Marquart Beetem was a 22-year-old lawyer when he was selected by the county Loco Foco Party (a radical wing of the Democratic Party organized in 1835) to be their nominee for county prothonotary in 1842. Like all Loco Focos, Beetem was opposed to monopolization, state banks, tariffs, and other institutions that seemed to reward the wealthy at the expense of the working man. The election would prove to be an uphill battle for Beetem; the local papers blasted the Loco Focos at every opportunity, while the Carlisle Weekly Herald labeled the county's 1842 ticket of Loco Foco candidates as "the most objectionable one that could have been presented to the support of the people of this county".

Though he lost the 1842 election to Whig candidate Thomas Criswell by fewer than two hundred votes, Beetem cemented his reputation as a young man with a bright and promising future in politics. And when the election of 1845 rolled around (prothonotaries served three-year terms in those days), Beetem walloped Criswell in the rematch, with the upstart Loco Foco candidate racking up more than twice as many votes as the Whig incumbent, even though Carlisle was major "Whig territory" at the time. Beetem didn't seek re-election in 1848, and he gave an eloquent retirement speech at Burkholder's Hotel, where he was applauded by many of the same Whigs who had lambasted him a few years earlier. He remained politically active, however, drumming up support for Zachary Taylor during his 1848 presidential campaign.

Because Loco Focos had been harsh critics of banks, Beetem drew criticism from some local papers in June of 1849 after he was elected to the position of clerk at the Carlisle Deposit Bank (one Chambersburg paper even quipped, "Our Locofoco friends seem to lose all their repugnance of banks when there's an office to be had."), in place of the retiring Col. Hendel. The following year he was promoted to cashier after the retirement of William Cobean.

While the title of a bank cashier may not seem especially glamorous today, it was an important position during the Victorian Era; one could not apply for this job, but had be personally "recommended". It was the cashier's job not only to manage customer accounts, but also to safeguard against staff embezzlement and fraud. For this reason, cashiers needed impeccable credentials and a spotless reputation. Because of the importance of the position, bank cashiers were often provided living quarters inside the bank building, and the Carlisle Deposit Bank used the building's garret (attic) for this purpose. Beetem also had his own assistant, J.P. Hassler.

This marked a turning point in the life of William Marquart Beetem. He was married a few months later to Jane Logan, who was the daughter of a U.S. Congressman, Lieutenant Colonel Henry Logan of York County. Colonel Logan was also a member of the bank's board of directors. But things took a turn the following year, in 1852, when George Beetem passed away suddenly at the age of 59. 

William was never quite the same after that, though he continued to throw himself into his work. In June of 1853, he took on the additional responsibility of serving as treasurer for the newly-formed Carlisle Gas and Water Company. But the strain was beginning to wear him down, and his health began to decline rapidly. In his letter of resignation to the bank's board of the directors in May of 1858, Beetem cited his health as his primary reason for stepping down. He was replaced as cashier by N.C. Musselman, but when Musselman quit after five months to accept a position at a bank in Philadelphia, Beetem resumed his role at the Carlisle Deposit Bank. 

As Beetem's health improved, so did his prospects for the future. In 1859, he formed a partnership with Cary Ahl, William Himes and William Young and purchased the 9,000-acre Carlisle Iron Works estate near Boiling Springs, which featured several hundred acres of prime farmland. Less than a year later, he bought the 171-acre Robert Noble farm in Carlisle. Yet it appeared that Beetem had his share of enemies; the ink had barely dried on the title to the Iron Works property when an arsonist set fire to a large barn on the grounds, destroying an entire year's worth of crops.

 

Insanity in His Eye

On Tuesday evening, July 25, 1865, William Beetem exited the Carlisle Deposit bank in a peculiar manner-- by leaving the vault and the front door wide open. Witnesses claimed that he had been acting strangely for several days; the July 27 edition of the Carlisle Volunteer stated that, "the last time we met him (at church on last Sabbath), we noticed insanity in his eye, and we expressed our fears to one or two friends". Whatever was troubling the bank cashier was a mystery, though it was stated: "that he suffered intensely for the last few weeks was evident to all who had closely observed him". Later that evening, he and his wife had paid a visit to Col. Henry Logan, before returning home and retiring for bed. On Wednesday morning, Jane Beetem woke up and went to the market, leaving her husband in bed. That was the last time she saw her husband alive.

When Mrs. Beetem returned home, she observed that William had arisen and shaved before departing their residence without explanation. She could sense that something was amiss, and she called upon J.P. Hassler, the bank clerk, and Mr. Underwood, the bank teller, to look for him. They stated that they had seen William enter the bank sometime after five o'clock that morning. It was Hassler and Underwood who found William up in the garret, hanging from a rope. It was evident that he had stood upon a wooden chest, where he tied one end of a clothesline to a ceiling joist and the other end around his neck before jumping from the chest. It was Hassler who cut down the body.

 

Grave of William Beetem, Ashland Cemetery, Carlisle.

 

Beetem died a wealthy man, owning property as far away was Allegheny County. He had made countless friends, both as a public servant and bank officer. At the time of his death, he had two young, bright, healthy daughters. On the surface, William Marquart Beetem seemed to have everything a man could possibly want, except, perhaps, for the one thing that matters most-- peace of mind.

There is a strange post-script in the story of William Beetem, however. On June 16, 1866-- less than a year after the bank cashier's death-- a stable on South Hanover Street belonging to Jane Beetem was set on fire by an arsonist. Was the culprit the same indivual who had set the Beetem barn on the Carlisle Iron Company estate on fire a few years earlier? Had William been driven to insanity by some unknown enemy? Only years later did it emerge that Beetem had embezzled $150,000 from the bank during his tenure as cashier. The losses were easily recouped out of Beetem's personal estate and Beetem's father-in-law, who sat on the board of directors, was able to keep the whole affair out of the papers. He did have a reputation to protect, after all.

The bank building, as seen from the rear

The Suicide of J.P. Hassler

 

J.P. Hassler, the long-serving assistant cashier, was elected to take Beetem's place after the suicide. Like his predecessor, Hassler was also an attorney who had made a name for himself in local business circles. His character was also unblemished. In 1873, when a thief from Shippensburg came to town and attempted to pass off stolen currency, it was Hassler who examined the banknotes, discovered the crime, and immediately had the culprit arrested. Hassler was also an elder of the German Reformed Church, and was considered by all to be a pillar of the community.

So, naturally, it was quite a shock when the bank's board of directors announced, in early October of 1876, that J.P. Hassler had been suspended from his duties. The decision was so abrupt that the bank's president, John Hays, had to step into the cashier role. No immediate explanation was given for the suspension, leading many to speculate that Hassler had been involved in some nefarious scheme.

Rumors were rife on the streets of Carlisle that week, and the details behind the cashier's suspension slowly began to emerge. The trouble began after the teller, Lewis Smith, passed away. Whenever a bank officer passed away, it was standard procedure for the board of directors to investigate the books and accounts of the deceased. During this investigation, the board discovered that Hassler had overdrawn his account by $17,000. It appeared to be an innocent mistake, as Smith had entered the information correctly into the books, and there appeared to be no signs of falsification of the accounts by either party. 

Hassler was pressed by the board of directors to explain the discrepancy. As it turned out, he had taken the money to invest in real estate, with the intention of turning a quick profit. He planned to replace the money before anyone could discover what he had done. But when Hassler lost the money in land speculation, he realized that he was in real trouble. Nonetheless, the board of directors agreed not to turn the matter over to authorities if Hassler paid back the missing money by noon on February 26, 1877.

By the time the February 26 deadline came around, Hassler had been able to replace just two thousand dollars, leaving the bank president with no other option than to notify the sheriff. Hassler was charged with embezzlement, and his bail set at $15,000. He was granted a few hours of grace to make arrangements for his bail before turning himself in. Despite his predicament, Hassler appeared in good spirits that morning. He had several influential friends he could call upon, but as each one refused his plea for help, he began to grow despondent. Realizing that he would be unable to make bail, he disappeared from his residence sometime after lunch. His son, Gilbert, went to look for him. The Chambersburg Valley Spirit wrote:

At last, about 4 1/4 o'clock, his son Gilbert proceeded to the garret of the bank building, and there he found his father, hanging by the neck from a cross-beam, stiff, cold. His son at once cut him down and gave the alarm... The rope he used for executing his purpose was a common clothes-line. 

Some local papers defended Hassler, stating that the cashier had to embezzle the money out of necessity. While the position of bank cashier was prestigious, it paid very little. In addition to room and board, the cashier was paid a salary of just $900 per year. But it was understood that the job was merely a stepping stone to better things; the cashier would be able to use his banking knowledge and business connections to make "side deals" and other investments that could lead to great wealth. Hassler, however, had given a quarter of his life to the bank, and by the age of 56 he had nothing to show for it but a cramped living space in the rear of the bank and an arrest warrant.

One can easily sympathize with J.P. Hassler. For decades he had done everything by the books, patiently waiting for his chance to grab the brass ring, just as hundreds of Victorian Era bank cashiers had done before him. And when an investment opportunity came along that seemed too good to be true, he did what many of us would probably do in similar circumstances. It was evident that he had made no attempt to conceal his actions; his books were open to inspection to anyone who wished to see them, and he never falsified the records to hide his "borrowing" of bank funds.

 While the act of suicide is anathema to devout Christians like Hassler, the steps he took to right his wrongdoings shortly before his death speak volumes about his character. On the day of his suicide, Hassler and his wife assigned their life insurance policies to the bank, and the amount of insurance was just enough to cover the deficiency in his accounts. Hassler went to his Maker knowing that his earthly debts would be paid off in full. The Chambersburg Valley Spirit concluded:

Mr. H was a gentleman esteemed and beloved. His fault, grave as it was, had been condoned by citizens and some of the bank directors, and extenuating circumstances connected with the matter had led the community to believe that his crime was not so black as some would paint it. But he has paid the debt, and those who find any satisfaction in the fearful tragedy have little of the milk of human kindness in their breasts... Let him who is without sin among you cast the first stone.

 

Other Bank Tragedies

While the building occupied by the Carlisle Vault has been the scene of two eerily similar suicides (the bank's living quarters were permanently removed during a renovation in the 1920s), there were other tragedies connected with the old Carlisle Deposit Bank that occurred elsewhere. After the Stock Market Crash of 1929, the suicide rate in the Unites States jumped from 17 per 100,000 people to nearly 21.3 per 100,000 people. While stories about ruined stockbrokers jumping to their deaths out of Wall Street windows have been greatly exaggerated (there are only two accounts of this actually happening), the fact remains that millions of Americans saw the financial fruits of their life's work wither and die on the vine.

One victim was Abram Bosler, who served as the Carlisle Deposit Bank president during the 1929 stock market crash. The Boslers had been among the Cumberland County elite for generations, having made their initial fortune in Wyoming in the cattle business. Upon their return to Pennsylvania, the Boslers remained active within the agricultural community, and the family had been largely responsible for the organization of the Carlisle Fair. Abram, who left Dickinson College in 1905 without graduating, had made his fortune with the family-owned Carlisle Shoe Company before taking over the reins as bank president in 1921. His father, George Morris Bosler, had also been on the bank's board of directors.

After enjoying a sumptuous Christmas feast with his family on December 26, 1930, at their palatial home on West High Street (the Bosler house is now the Dickinson College admissions office), Abram excused himself from the dinner and went upstairs at around 3:30 that afternoon. Abram's wife, along with their four young children and other members of the Bosler family who were visiting from Philadelphia, remained downstairs. Not long after Abram had left the room, the family's butler, James Callaway, heard a muffled gunshot from the third floor, which Abram used as an office. Callaway raced up the stairs, only to find that the door was locked. He kicked down the door and found Abram sprawled across the floor in a pool of blood, a .32-caliber revolver lying next to him. He was just 45 years of age at the time of his death.

 

The former home of Abram Bosler

 

Bank customers, who were already on edge over the stock market crash and the subsequent runs on banks across the country, were greatly alarmed by Bosler's suicide; the bank's vice president, Joseph P. McKeehan, was compelled to dash off a statement to the press, reading: "There was no relation between the matter of Mr. Bosler's demise and the affairs of the Carlisle Bank and Trust Company." It was eventually discovered that Bosler had lost much of his fortune during the crash, and had been brooding over his losses for weeks.

It was also remembered by some of the older residents of Carlisle that untimely death was an affliction that ran deep in the Bosler family. Abram's cousin, Frank C. Bosler, had also served as president of the Carlisle Deposit Bank. One night in 1918, Frank went into his office at his Cottage Hill mansion (which had been built in 1855 by his father, James W. Bosler) for some documents and never returned; his wife found him dead the next morning. Heart failure was ruled the cause of death. He was just 49 years of age. 

Ironically, thirty-five years earlier, Frank's father, who sat on the Carlisle Deposit Bank's board of directors, died suddenly from a stroke, while sitting at the very desk in the very same office. He was 50 at the time of his death. Frank also had a brother, Dewitt Clinton Bosler, who owned the Mayapplewood Dairy Farm in Boiling Springs, who also died suddenly at the age of 30.

In another twist of irony, the mansion and several outbuildings of the Frank Bosler estate were completely destroyed by a pair of mysterious fires that occurred two days apart (once again rumored to be the work of arsonists) in October of 1925. Frank's wife and their children barely managed to escape with their lives.

But the "curse of the Carlisle Deposit Bank" didn't end there.

On August 19, 1942, the bank's executive vice president, William H. Smith, died of a sudden heart attack at the age of 63 at his desk inside the bank building. Bank teller James A. Roney passed away suddenly in 1862 at the age of 23-- but not before some peculiar sense of foresight inspired him to take out a $2,000 life insurance policy naming his mother as the beneficiary. Miss Ida Belle Jenkins, a young black woman in perfect health who lived in the shack directly behind the bank building, died under mysterious circumstances in 1896 at the age of 21. 

 

Carlisle Sentinel, April 13, 1960.

 

Of course, it can be argued that a building with such a long and storied history is bound be the site of the occasional human tragedy, and a profession as stressful as banking is bound to be tarnished by an excessive rate of premature deaths. At any rate, the history of the Carlisle Deposit Bank is nothing short of remarkable, as bank officers C. Richard Stover, Clarence Hoy, and Bradford Yaggy discovered in 1960 when they explored the attic of the bank and pored over ancient ledgers and dusty documents that had been kept in storage since the institution's earliest days.

Some of the fascinating documents uncovered by the bank officers was a personal ledger from a customer in 1846 who had made note of the following purchases: One quart of whale oil (18 3/4 cents), one ounce horehound (6 1/4 cents), mineral water (6 1/4 cents), and sarsaparilla root (50 cents). Inside a dividend book kept by 19th century bank teller J.P. Hassler was the handwritten inscription: Dividend book prior to this was destroyed by the Rebel invasion under Gen. Lee, July 1st, 1863. 

Although these historic documents had no value to the bank as a financial institution, the officers found them interesting enough to put them on public display to commemorate the bank's 115th anniversary.

 

1905 photo of Geronimo (looking directly at camera) on horseback, as parade passes bank building.

 

The Carlisle Deposit Bank also played a role, albeit a small one, in Native American history. A famous photograph of Indian chief Geromino taken in 1905 by South Hanover Street druggist, Dr. J.E. Seebold, was snapped while the chief was being held prisoner of war for his role in the Apache Wars. When the government transported Geronimo to Washington to take part in President Theodore Roosevelt's inaugural parade, the chief stopped in Cumberland County to visit the Carlisle Indian School. Seebold managed to capture the notoriously camera-shy Apache on film, and his photograph shows Geronimo on a horse in front of the Carlisle Deposit Company building. Seebold made numerous copies of the photo, which he sold for years inside his drugstore.

 

Sources:

Carlisle Weekly Herald, June 9, 1841.
Carlisle Weekly Herald, Sept. 7, 1842.
Carlisle Weekly Herald, Oct. 19, 1842.
Carlisle Weekly Herald, Dec. 6, 1848.
The Franklin Repository, June 14, 1849.
Shippensburg Weekly News, October 24, 1850.
Carlisle Weekly Herald, June 15, 1853.
Carlisle Weekly Herald, May 26, 1858.
Carlisle Weekly Herald, Feb. 27, 1863.
Perry County Democrat, Aug. 3, 1865.
"The Bank Clerk in Victorian Society", Journal of Management History, Vol. 16, 2010.
Newville Star and Enterprise, May 20, 1873.
Harrisburg Telegraph, Oct. 12, 1876.
Chambersburg Valley Spirit, Oct. 18, 1876.
Harrisburg Telegraph, Feb. 27, 1877.
York Dispatch, Feb. 27, 1877.
Chambersburg Valley Spirit, March 7, 1877.
Carlisle Sentinel, Nov. 26, 1918.
Harrisburg Evening News, Dec. 27, 1930.
Harrisburg Telegraph, Dec. 27, 1930.
Carlisle Sentinel, Oct. 11, 1939.
Harrisburg Telegraph, Aug. 19, 1942.