At 5’ 2” tall and about 115 pounds, Frederick S. Smith may have been a small man, but he was brave, tough, and cocky.  You had to be in his line of work, for Fred Smith was one of those adventuresome janitors of the heights: the steeplejack.

Known as The Human Fly–especially to himself–it was a common but always exciting sight to see him shimmying up the flagpoles and church towers of Rochester, NY.  Wherever a flag needed flying or a ball gilding, a pole painting or a cornice repairing, Fred Smith was there.

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440 West Avenue

Interestingly, the first one to appear in the newspaper is Fred’s first wife, Margaret Lovett Smith.  The Smiths lived at 440 West Avenue, next door to the saloon of Edward J. Topham at 442 West Avenue. 

In July of 1906, Topham’s saloon would be the site of a grisly and suspicious death: tipsy patron and excellent jumper John O’Brien left the saloon, then was found some time later unresponsive at the bottom of the basement stairs.  Unable to be roused, patrons of the saloon helpfully dragged the unconscious O’Brien across the street to the lawn outside St. Mary’s Hospital, where he was left with utmost care to later be found, dead, his skull broken.  A wound on his head–seemingly made by a blunt instrument–compelled police to draw testimony from those present in the saloon as well as the neighbors, which included Mrs. Margaret Smith.

[https://www.newspapers.com/clip/116516768/john-obrien-death/]
[https://www.newspapers.com/clip/116519840/john-obrien-death/]

440 West Avenue is marked above; directly to the left [west] of it was 442 West Avenue, where Topham’s Saloon was located.

In 1913 the stretch of West Avenue east of Genesee Street would change its name to West Main Street, and the numbers would change along with it:

440 West Avenue [Fred Smith’s home] would become 902-904 West Main Street. 442 West Avenue [Topham’s Saloon] would become 905-910 West Main Street.

As you can see, the historic facade has deteriorated somewh–oh, crap.  The buildings are gone. 

Okay, let’s rewind:

Okay, here we go.  As you can see, the historic facade has deteriorated somewhat.  The building with the green-paneled first floor was 902-904 West Main St. [440 West Avenue]  The building to its left, 905-910 West Main Street [442 West Avenue] was Topham’s saloon.

Below is a photo of this block from 1895, roughly 11 years before John O’Brien’s suspicious death:

The buildings appear to be mostly the same today–er, in 2007, I mean–albeit with cornices and bay windows and awnings removed.

As to the O’Brien case: it briefly became a subject of some legal fervor, which the D&C followed breathlessly. The detectives at the scene had been given a false story which excluded O’Brien’s presence at the saloon prior to his death, and in fact failed to mention his having been found in a basement and dragged onto the street. Everything was thrown into question as the possibility of foul play entered the equation. At one point during the investigation, a weight with hair on it was brought in as a “clew”, only for the hair to be identified as a dog’s.

The full story of that case is too much to go into here, however; this post is Fred Smith’s.

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Fred’s Inauspicious Initiation

Fred Smith’s own debut in the Democrat & Chronicle is more characteristic of his steeplejacking ways.  Fred, his name not yet inspiring awe and wonder, is considered to be a drunkard who shimmied up a pole.  One wonders if he just got excessively drunk before an early job or if he was simply testing his boundaries.

Apparently unable to pay the $10 fee, Fred Smith instead spent some time in jail. After release, Fred stayed under the radar for a couple of years, until…

He tried to steal a neighbor’s coat and sell it. He was arrested, and confessed to having wandered into the home of Mrs. Julia Baker–who lived less than 0.2 miles from Fred–and to having taken a fur coat from off a coat tree. He then tried to sell it off, during which act he was nabbed by a patrolman.

This apparent act of financial desperation is made pointed by his inability to pay a $5 fine, instead “opting” to spend five days in jail. Upon his release, he was charged with burglary and petit larceny. I could not find whether he served time or how much.

The screencap of Google Maps above shows 644 West Main Street, which would have been 316 West Avenue, next door to the home of Mrs. Julia Baker at 314 West Avenue. The red dot indicates where 314 West Avenue would have stood, now a parking lot between Main Beauty Supply and “Zeb’s Plaza II”. If Mrs. Julia Baker’s house looked anything like this, she was apparently fairly well-to-do.

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The Defiant Human Fly

A rumor went around shortly after the death of Olaf Czarnowski, a New York City steeplejack who also went by “The Human Fly”, that it was Fred Smith who died.  He comes forward to clear up any misconceptions. It comes off a tiny bit crass, especially with the tossed-off “Merry Christmas” at the end. One of your professional peers just died, Fred! Show some class!

In 1914, Fred Smith would be tapped to paint the highest flagpole in the world atop the recently-constructed courthouse in Vancouver, British Columbia.  This feat would go on to become one of his main boasting points.

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Fred’s First Fall

While working on a flagpole over School No.6, Fred’s sling slips and he falls, bruising his elbow.  This would, amazingly, be one of only two times Fred Smith would fall in his entire decades-long steeplejacking career!

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Still Steeplejacking

After a steeplejack named Clarence Staunton died falling from a Kodak Park chimney, a fellow steeplejack named Frederick Burleigh testified that Staunton had been intoxicated the night before and the day of the fatal fall. He went on to further claim that steeplejacks shared a drink of whiskey as a matter of professional course, an assertion which Fred Smith fairly bristled against. He was quick to state that he never drinks before ascending.

We’ll all politely try not to recall Fred’s own inebriated 1908 arrest, and just nod along with him.

I just wanted to include a warning that the following article deals with suicide. You can skip it if that stuff’s not something you’d like to read right now.

Like the diver Pat Welch, Rochester found many corpse-retrieval opportunities for Fred Smith’s skillset.

Alright, back to relatively less macabre fare. For the time being.

After twenty-five years of marriage and raising a son together, Mrs. Fred Smith reckons their life a charmed one. It didn’t seem like anything was coming along to drastically change that anytime soon!

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The Great War

The entry of the United States into the Great War bolstered Fred’s business greatly: suddenly every bare flagpole in town was being refurbished, strung with new lines and given a shiny new gilded ball so that Old Glory could be put on patriotic display.  Fred’s own patriotic bluster grew to fever pitch; despite his great age he seemed ready to climb aboard the nearest troop ship.

Unfortunately for Fred Smith and his wife, it was their son Ernest Frederick who would be boarding a troop ship, never to return home.

For sale: tube skates, never worn.

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Top ‘Em All

The falling “mishap” at No. 6 School actually occurred like, 11 years before this, in 1914–not 7.  I know this, because I posted it above.

In 1933, Fred Smith married Emma F. Knepler (née Hanna), whose own husband, Christian Knepler, had died earlier that year. I was unable to ascertain if or when Fred Smith’s first wife, Margaret, died or if they were separated.

As the article notes, in addition to his pole-climbing career Fred was in the employ of the Democrat & Chronicle as a night watchman, in which capacity he once proferred a sandwich to a trapped cat:

Fred’s second wife, Emma F. Knepler Smith (née Hanna) died April 29th, 1940. He would go on to marry once more, to a woman named Florence Guyette.

She would be his widow.

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The Final Fall

Fred Smith would lose his life to the breaking of a flagpole over the Colonial Village off of Penfield Road.

According to the above obituary, Fred Smith was the one who, in 1939, draped an old tire around the ankle of the Mercury statue as a publicity stunt for Tire Safety Week.

So, that’s it! The life of Frederick Smith. Thousands of flagpoles and spires.  Stunning vistas of Rochester and other great cities.  A long lifetime of adventure, love, tragic loss, and small-time fame, brought to a sudden–but not entirely unanticipated–end.  This was Fred Smith.

[music swells]
People!
People who climb steeples!
Are the luckiest people… in the world!

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