Massacre in Michigan – The Bath School Disaster
The year 1927 marks a chilling chapter in American history, etched with tragedy and loss. The Massacre in Michigan – The Bath School Disaster, a name synonymous with unimaginable horror, unfolded in the small, unsuspecting community of Bath Township. To this day, the event stands as the deadliest school attack in the nation’s history, a stark reminder of the depths of human depravity and the enduring scars it leaves behind.
Bath Township, a quintessential agricultural community nestled about ten miles northeast of Lansing, Michigan, seemed an unlikely stage for such devastation. In the early 1920s, the township, like many others, was dotted with numerous one-room schoolhouses, where students of varying ages and grades were taught by a single teacher. Recognizing the need for modernization and improved educational facilities, the community voted in 1922 to consolidate these scattered schools into a single, unified district. This decision led to the construction of the Bath Consolidated School, a project funded through increased property taxes, which was the genesis of the Massacre in Michigan – The Bath School Disaster.
The opening of the Bath Consolidated School in November of that year was initially met with optimism and hope. The new school, housing 236 students, represented a significant investment in the future of the community’s children. However, the financial burden of this endeavor soon became apparent. The district purchased five acres for an athletic field in 1923, acquired and paid for two lighting plants, and incurred interest on an $8,000 loan, leaving the township bonded for $35,000 on the school. As a result, residents’ school taxes steadily increased, rising from $12.26 per thousand valuation to $19.80 per thousand by 1926, a financial strain that would contribute to the events of the Massacre in Michigan – The Bath School Disaster.
The Architect of Destruction
At the heart of this unspeakable tragedy was Andrew P. Kehoe, a man described as the "world’s worst demon." Born on a farm near Tecumseh, Michigan, in 1872, Kehoe possessed a sharp intellect and pursued a degree in electrical engineering at Michigan State College in East Lansing. He initially embarked on a career in St. Louis, Missouri, but returned to his father’s farm after a few years. A pivotal event in Kehoe’s life occurred in September 1911 when his stepmother died in an oil stove explosion. While Kehoe attempted to extinguish the flames, some neighbors harbored suspicions that he had intentionally caused the incident, planting seeds of doubt and speculation about his character.
In 1912, Kehoe married Nellie Price, a woman he had met during his college years. Early in their marriage, Kehoe exhibited a strong aversion to paying taxes or assessments. When a new Roman Catholic Church was built, he removed himself and his wife from the congregation after being assessed $400. When the priest inquired about his absence and the unpaid assessment, Kehoe vehemently ordered him off his property, revealing a deep-seated resentment toward financial obligations and authority.
In 1919, Andrew and Nellie Kehoe relocated to a 185-acre farm outside of Bath. Initially, Kehoe presented himself as a sociable and helpful neighbor, readily offering assistance and volunteering his time. However, beneath this veneer of amiability lay a rigid and controlling personality. He was described as always wanting his own way and intolerant of those who disagreed with him. Some observed that he was "severe" with his livestock, particularly his horses. Kehoe’s farming practices also differed from those of his neighbors, as he constantly experimented with new methods and tinkered with his tractor, hindering his financial success. Furthermore, his troubling behavior extended to acts of cruelty, such as shooting his neighbor’s dog, deeming it a "damn nuisance," even though the dog had never trespassed on his property.
The catalyst for the Massacre in Michigan – The Bath School Disaster can be traced back to 1923, when Kehoe became enraged by the increase in taxes levied to support the consolidated school. This tax hike resulted in a $10,000 tax bill on his remaining 80 acres of land and buildings, fueling his resentment and animosity toward the community. In July 1924, Kehoe managed to secure a position on the school board and was subsequently appointed treasurer. His insistence on getting his way led to frequent clashes with other board members, and he would often make motions to adjourn meetings whenever they disagreed with him. Kehoe harbored a particular disdain for the School Superintendent, Mr. E.E. Huyck, whom he once declared had no right to sit with the board. It required considerable persuasion from other members to convince Kehoe that Huyck was required to be present.
In 1925, Kehoe was appointed township clerk to fill a vacancy left by the death of the previous clerk. He ran for the position in the 1926 election but was defeated due to his contentious reputation on the school board. Around this time, he attempted to persuade the township to lower the valuation of his farm and even tried to convince the mortgage holder that he had overpaid, but his efforts were unsuccessful.
During the school summer vacation in 1926, Kehoe volunteered to perform electrical and repair work at the school, granting him unrestricted access to the entire building. It is believed that this was when he began to formulate his plan to exact vengeance on the community, carefully plotting the Massacre in Michigan – The Bath School Disaster. On May 5, 1927, Kehoe attended his final board meeting, appearing amicable and approving of all the board’s decisions.
Adding a chilling detail to the narrative, Monty J. Ellsworth, a neighbor and friend of Kehoe, later recounted an unsettling incident. On Monday, May 16, two days before the attack, fifth-grade teacher Blanche Harte contacted Kehoe about holding a school picnic on his property that Thursday. After initially agreeing, Kehoe called her back and requested that she move the picnic to Tuesday, citing the possibility of rain on Thursday. Ellsworth ominously wrote, "I suppose he wanted the children to have a little fun before he killed them."
A Day of Unspeakable Horror
The morning of May 18, 1927, dawned like any other, but it would soon be etched in history as a day of unspeakable horror. Andrew Kehoe initiated his attack on his own farm, meticulously preparing the scene for destruction. He gathered all the railings and lumber around his buildings and placed them inside his tool shed. He had cut the wire fences on the farm and positioned dynamite on his tractor within the shed. The only animals remaining on the farm, two horses, were cruelly tied in the barn, their feet bound by wire, rendering any rescue attempt futile. At some point, Kehoe murdered his wife, Ellen (also known as "Nellie"), who suffered from a chronic illness believed to be tuberculosis. Her medical expenses may have contributed to Kehoe’s decision to cease making mortgage and homeowner insurance payments months prior. Nellie had been released from the hospital that Monday, leaving the exact timing of her death unclear.
Around 8:45 a.m., witnesses observed the Kehoe farm engulfed in flames. As neighbors rushed to the scene, a massive explosion ripped through the north wing of the Bath Consolidated School. Kehoe had concealed an alarm clock that detonated the dynamite and pyrotol, resulting in the immediate deaths of 38 people, most of whom were children. First-grade teacher Benice Sterling, in an interview with the Associated Press, described the horrifying scene:
"It seemed as though the floor went up several feet. After the first shock, I thought for a moment I was blind. When it came, the air seemed to be full of children and flying desks and books. Children were tossed high in the air; some were catapulted out of the building."
According to accounts from "The Bath School Disaster," a book by Ellsworth, two neighbors arrived at the farm as Kehoe was leaving in his Ford pickup. Kehoe warned them, "You are friends of mine, don’t go in there; go down to the school." He then calmly drove toward Bath. He passed Ellsworth, who was on his way back to his farm to retrieve a heavy rope to pull out victims of the blast. Ellsworth recalled that as they met on the road, Kehoe grinned and waved. Ellsworth surmised that Kehoe was disappointed when he arrived at the school about half an hour later and discovered that not all the planted dynamite had exploded.
The scene at the school was one of utter chaos and devastation. Parents and volunteers frantically rushed to assist, desperately searching for survivors amidst the rubble. Kehoe arrived at the scene, motioned Superintendent Huyck over, and detonated dynamite in his pickup truck shortly after, killing himself, the Superintendent, and three others, including an eight-year-old boy who had survived the initial blast.
Hundreds of people worked tirelessly through the night, sifting through the wreckage in a desperate attempt to find survivors. When they discovered an additional 500 pounds of dynamite in the south wing, the search was halted so that the Michigan State Police could disarm the explosives. Another alarm clock was found with the same "8:45 a.m." setting, but investigators believe that the north wing blast must have caused a short circuit in the second set of bombs, preventing their detonation.
The Massacre in Michigan – The Bath School Disaster claimed the lives of 44 individuals and injured 58 others. Despite coinciding with Charles Lindbergh’s historic transatlantic crossing, the tragedy garnered national coverage and elicited a global outpouring of grief. It was reported that over 100,000 vehicles passed through Bath that Saturday, with burials commencing that Friday.
Andrew Kehoe was buried in an unmarked grave in the poor section of Mount Rest Cemetery in St. Johns, Michigan. His wife, Nellie, was buried in Lansing’s Mount Hope Cemetery under her maiden name.
The Massacre in Michigan – The Bath School Disaster remains a somber reminder of the fragility of life and the enduring impact of violence. The names of the victims are etched in memory, serving as a testament to the lives lost and the community forever scarred by this horrific event.