The Legend of the Ape Boy

Gossamer from Lizzy Marboc's album
Hey, kids can be cruel - and not just today. Back in the pre-revolutionary days, there was a homely boy who lived in Chester. We're talking big-time whipped with an ugly stick here.

He was a tall, gangling, red-headed child, and the other kids ragged him terribly about his looks, or lack thereof, as only rugrats can. One day he had all he could take of their taunts, and fled into the peace and quiet of the swamps around the Delaware River, near where the Commodore Barrie Bridge now connects Pennsylvania and New Jersey.

He never rejoined human society. The swamp rat roamed the mire and woods and foraged for his food. Eventually, he mutated into a half-ape, half-human critter with thick red fur covering an Ichabod Crane physique, sorta like Gossamer of Looney Tunes fame.

Now back in the day, the Chester Swamps covered a huge expanse, but over the centuries it's been drained for homes, businesses, industries, and the Philadelphia International Airport. Civilization may be surrounding our Swamp Boy, but the Tinicum Watershed Wildlife Preserve remains, and should be off limits to developers for quite a while.

It seems like both the swamp and its denizens have survived modern times. It's been said that Delaware River fishermen and folk hiking through what's now called the John Heinz Wildlife Preserve at Tinicum have reported seeing a half-human, half-ape creature loping through the undergrowth, with dirty, matted, red fur. Could it be our boy, still around after 250 years? Hey, who else?

And ya know what? If you look across the swamp, you'll see the Pine Barrens, home of another legendary critter, the Jersey Devil. Maybe Swamp Boy finally found a friend.

The story is featured in Weird Pennsylvania, written by Mark Moran, Matt Lake, and Mark Sceurman.

The Legend of Betty Knox

Dunbar Creek image from High Country Fish
Between Ohiopyle and Dunbar in Pennsylvania's Fayette County lies the Dunbar Mountains, and that's where Betty Knox and her legend originate.

Betty was born in 1842 on a farm at Kentuck Knob atop the Great Gorge of the Youghiogheny (now Ohiopyle State Park). Her mother died when she was three, and her father raised her as a son. She did all the hard work of a nineteenth century farmer, clearing, plowing, planting, weeding, and reaping. In between, she raised the cattle, cut the wood, drove the ox teams, and of course cooked the meals.

When she was seventeen, her father died, and she was left to her own devices. Betty, despite the hard work, had turned out to be a beautiful, flaxen-haired girl, and had no shortage of suitors, being lovely, single, and a property owner. But she spurned all the locals and lived a solitary life.

Knox earned her daily bread by hauling grain to Ferguson's Mill near Dunbar, powered by her oxen, and returned with flour, a day-long, twenty-five mile trek. In fact, she traveled such an undeviating route that she carved her own trail through the forest.

Where her journey crossed Dunbar creek is still known locally as Betty Knox Park, along with the fresh water spring that she lined with stone.

One evening in 1862, while on the way home from the mill, she found a badly wounded soldier, who told her he had deserted from the Union Army. Betty took the soldier home, hid him from the Army, and nursed his wounds. She became smitten by her soldier, but despite long months of Betty's TLC, he finally died. Knox, although heartbroken, returned to her routine.

Years later, Betty Knox, who had never missed a day of work in her life, suddenly quit showing up to collect the farmer's grain. Alarmed, the neighbors went to her home to see if she was sick, but the house was empty. Search parties swept the forest and retraced her trail, but found not a sign of her.

Theories concerning her disappearance abounded. Some claimed that wolves or a panther had attacked her, while others darkly speculated that a rejected lover had ambushed her, or perhaps a gang of thieves.

Others thought that she had never gotten over losing her soldier and plunged to her death in the Youghiogheny River. It may have been that she was just tired of her life in the woods, pulled up roots, and found a new home. To this day, no one really knows.

The following spring some children found the skeleton of an ox chained to a tree near Betty's spring; odd, because that very trail had been scoured by her search party without finding the ox, and also because Knox never used a chain on her animals. Still, that didn't explain what happened to Betty Knox.

But one thing is certain - Betty Knox is still around, at least in spirit.

Young couples out for a late night drive claim to hear the mournful lolling of oxen miles from the nearest farm. Park visitors report hearing her sobbing. Sportsmen tell of a pale feminine form that flickers through the trees before daylight. Others report seeing a woman leading an oxen team along the trail. And on some dark nights, the pained voice of a young man can be barely heard whispering "Betty Knox, Betty Knox."

(As a footnote, you may not have to worry about running into Betty's ghost. An enterprising local claimed to have captured it in a mason jar, and sold it on eBay for $2.51. Now there's a legend for you, and at a blue light price!)

If you're curious, Betty Knox Park is now part of the State Gamelands, located off Dunbar - Ohiopyle Road about three miles from Dunbar. Look for a Game Commission building on the right at a sharp curve. The gravel road to right of the shed (called "Betty Knox Road" but without any signage) will take you along Dunbar Creek to where Betty's oxen were found.

H&H rummaged through several sources for this post, but the best tale by far is told on the Connellsville Ghost Stories site.