Weird Again

In 2017, when I wrote my forthcoming series on the so-called "New Weird," I was less skeptical than I am now about the whole thing. I think I was more willing to accept and write about the concept of "the New Weird" on its creators' terms than on my own. (I have since gone back and placed that phrase in what people call "scare quotes." Take that, all of you "New Weird" people.) Then, in early 2023, I looked more deeply into the meaning and origins of weird, culminating in an entry called "Weird vs. 'The Weird,'" dated February 2, 2023. (Click here.) In that series, I found that the word and concept weird seem to have begun as a noun and not an adjective, that weird, related to fate but not the same thing as fate, was originally a personification--Wyrd or Weird--of the workings upon us of life and the nature or conditions of our existence, of something above us and outside of us, of something beyond our knowledge, comprehension, or control. In short, weird and an awareness of weird predated fiction and literature.

Now to apply the process of calculatus eliminatus to find out some of the things that Weird or weird is not:

Weird is not quite the same as fate, even if the concepts are related.

Weird is not a person, nor a spirit or a goddess, nor a being of any kind.

Weird is not necessarily supernatural. With that being the case, a weird tale is not necessarily a fantasy. In other words, a work of straight or conventional fiction can be a weird tale and vice versa, although weird is obviously emphasized in weird fiction.

Weird is not necessarily punishment, nor judgment, nor retribution, nor law (like doom).

Weird is not a force, least of all the so-called "force" of history. Our lives turn, twist, and bend in unexpected, awful (or awesome), often cruel and seemingly arbitrary, but always necessary ways. We are not to know why. It is not in our ken.

We don't know what are the ways and workings of Weird. We are not to know why she does the things that she does.

Weird is not evil nor ignorant. It does no good at all to rail against her. We must accept her ways, for her decisions are unassailable, even if we cannot understand them. This is just how life is.

Weird surrounds us. We don't surround her. We don't and can't theorize about non-personified weird. Weird is a nonintellectual topic. We don't sense the presence of or apprehend weird through reason, at least of a later type. Weird and an awareness of weird predate reason and every written language.

Weird cannot be circumscribed. It is not an object, a mass, or a quantity. There is no "the Weird." The definite article does not apply.

Weird began as a noun. Only later did it become an adjective. I think that happened for want of a hyphen. That might be a little facetious, but . . . .

In Macbeth (ca. 1606) are the Weird (or Weyward) Sisters. They are of a type, I think, the type being the weird-woman of Scottish tales and Scottish literature. The three sisters in Macbeth are not weird in the way we think of as weird, as in, "I saw a weird guy at the store today." They are weird because they speak the weirds of Macbeth and Banquo. (Weird-woman is like milkman, weird and milk both being nouns. One is delivered by a woman, the other by a man.) There are other weird-women in Scottish literature. I encountered one late last year in "The Two Drovers" by Sir Walter Scott (1827-1828). In any case, if the term, type, and concept weird-woman had been hyphenated, we might have avoided the premature conversion of weird from a noun into an adjective, and our understanding of weird might have been better long ago and better now. That understanding would not have been derailed. In other words, a weird tale is not essentially about weird things. It's about the workings of weird upon the world and the lives of men. Only after understanding that is it acceptable, in my opinion, for us to use weird as an adjective. I'll add that it can be a really useful adjective.

Nearly a quarter of a century ago, there were those who tried to create something they called "the New Weird." I suspect those people were and are progressive in their worldview. They must believe that there can be new things. I think they were also trying to engage themselves in a critical and analytical exercise. I think they were attempting to make of themselves great discoverers, creators, or theorizers, equals to the great men and women of the past. What they failed to understand is that there is nothing new under the sun. They also failed to understand that cultural developments don't start from the top. A person can't decree from whatever high perch or post he imagines himself to occupy that a new form or genre shall come into being. Culture does not come from authority. It is naturally occurring and organic. It grows from below. It is more nearly evolutionary than revolutionary. Culture is not an a priori or gnostic system of thought.

One of the proponents of "the New Weird," China Miéville, is a Marxist. Marx, like Hegel before him, Darwin in his own time, and Charles Fort afterwards, believed that he had discovered an all-explanatory theory of nature and history. (1) We should not underestimate the powerful draw that such a thing represents to the modern and post-modern scholar, academic, theorizer, or intellectual (or pseudo-intellectual), for if he can discover a theory of everything, then he can make of himself a great man, greater of course than what he is in his current not-so-great life. (2) All-explanatory theories, or even theories that try to explain smaller things, usually fail, for life and history continue to confound us. We're not quite smart enough to impose our theories and structures upon them. Facts come before theories. It's not the other way around.

"The New Weird" isn't new anymore, but even when it was supposedly "new," it wasn't, for it seems to me that the idea was based on an old-new thing, namely the British New Wave in science fiction of the 1960s and '70s. [Reading Jeff VanderMeer's introduction to The New Weird (2008) confirms as much.] The construction is the same: "the" plus "new" plus a word that begins with "w," in this case weird, converted from its previous use as an adjective back into a noun again after however many decades and centuries. (At least there's that, even if "the weird" is a clunky and aesthetically unpleasing phrase and sound.) In short, the phrase "the New Weird" is, to me, in obvious imitation of "the New Wave," which was, truth be told, in imitation of the "new wave," or nouvelle vague, of French cinema of the 1950s. (Bossa nova, not quite literally a new wave, is of the same period. The French group Nouvelle Vague, which often performs in the bossa nova style, is of about the same age as "the New Weird.") I think the proponents of "the New Weird" were trying to hitch their wagon to a star--the star of the New Wave--even if that star had faded by the turn of the millennium. What was supposed to be new wasn't new after all. It's older still now.

In summary: "the New Weird" isn't and wasn't new; the definite article doesn't apply; and, although weird is more properly a noun rather than an adjective, the proponents of "the New Weird" used it in the wrong way, applying it, I assume, to a body of fiction of a certain type or sub-genre governed by a theory [or mission statement--see Mr. VanderMeer's introduction] rather than to the weird of pre-modern times governed not at all by men. They tried to throw a rope around it. What they didn't realize is that Weird is not roped.

Notes

(1) Marx considered history to be a science. One of his names for his system of belief was "scientific socialism," as opposed to "utopian socialism," which might also be called, by a stretch, "romantic socialism." Never mind that Marxism is also utopian and romantic, or irrational, in theory and in practice. I would add that Marxism is a kind of horror story for our age.

(2) I first saw this kind of thing for myself when I went with a group of aspiring young life scientists to a library in St. Louis and watched them gaze with awe and reverence upon a tome, shielded in a glass case, by Charles Darwin. I had the sense that they desired to make of themselves something extraordinary, if only they could, by discovering a theory or concept equal to his.

"Macbeth and the Three Witches" by Joseph Anton Koch (1768-1839). On January 10, 2026, I posted "Catholic & Cosmic Horror" and closed my posting with two images, one by Giotto, the other by Margaret Brundage. Both depicted swirling, spiraling, undulating flights of the human form, just as in this painting.

Text copyright 2026 Terence E. Hanley

A New-Old Series on a New-Old Topic

In the second half of 2017 I was writing about Gray Barker and Albert K. Bender, two flying saucer aficionados who wrote on Fortean topics. Charles Fort, their original, was a monist. His thesis in his first book, The Book of the Damned (1919), is that all things are continuous with each other. That got me to thinking about continuities and discontinuities in genre fiction.

Before there were named genres of fiction, there was just fiction.* Even when there was genre fiction, there weren't any clear distinctions to be made, early on, among the various genres: no fixed categories, no hard conventions, no uncrossable boundaries, no firm labels. In some cases, there weren't any labels at all. That began to change once genre fiction began to develop more fully after World War I.

Another (imperfect) term for genre fiction is pulp fiction. Pulp fiction began in 1896, in the decade during which so much of our popular culture originated. Early on, there were general-fiction pulp magazines: Argosy, Adventure, Blue Book, Short Stories. That changed after the war, coincidentally or not in the same year that The Book of the Damned was published. The first Western pulp magazine, Western Story Magazine, began in 1919. So did The Thrill Book, a forerunner to Weird Tales. Then came Black Mask, the first (I think) crime/detective pulp, in 1920, and Love Story Magazine, the first romance pulp in 1921. Weird Tales came along in March 1923. It was the first weird fiction magazine in America. Amazing Stories, first published 100 years ago this month, was the first science fiction magazine.

As pulp magazine titles proliferated, so did the pulp genres. There were adventure pulps, railroad pulps, sports pulps, aviation pulps, war pulps, jungle pulps, spicy pulps, horror and terror pulps, weird hero pulps, and so on. Even categories such as science fiction were split. The Astounding Science-Fiction of the 1940s published hard science fiction, while others published science fantasy and planetary romance-type stories. There were ghost-story pulps because ghost stories are not the same as weird fiction. There was North•West Stories because stories of the Far North are different from Westerns. There were "Easterns," too, such as Oriental Stories.

The proliferation of pulp genres was partly or wholly an economic matter. Different pulp genres sold to different categories of readers. And every month, readers read vast amounts of fiction and non-fiction. For as long as the pulp fiction era lasted, those different genres were sustained. But even after the pulps faded away, there were still genres--and, increasingly, sub-genres. I think genres and sub-genres shrank away in digest magazines, just as the dimensions of the magazines shrank, but they thrived in newspaper comic strips, comic books, and paperbacks, as well as on television. Once our culture became atomized, beginning, I think, in the 1980s and continuing through the present, genres, sub-genres, and sub-sub-genres proliferated even more. There were evermore (and ever smaller) categories of readers, and each wanted to read within its own genre. In the Middle Ages, the question was how many angels can dance on the head of a pin? Now a similar question might be how many sub-genres and sub-sub-genres can dance on the head of science fiction? Or fantasy?

In the 1960s, I think, something else began happening, and that is that academics, as well as critics and writers trained in academia, became interested in the pulp genres, and another proliferation commenced. I don't think that proliferation was economic. Instead it had to do with the academic's need for recognition, validation, improved status, and prestige. Academics and intellectuals pride themselves on being theorizers and discoverers. But what happens once everything has already been discovered? How are you going to make yourself extraordinary when there aren't anymore all-explanatory theories to be made? Well, if you're going to make a name for yourself and earn the esteem (better yet, envy) of your colleagues, you have to find things where they don't exist, in places where there isn't any room anymore for theorizing or discovery. You have to come upon new lands in an already thoroughly mapped world.** And if that takes making things up, well, your self-esteem (which you paradoxically seek to be provided you by other people), dependent as it is on your status and prestige, is at stake, and so you'll do it. Yes, you'll cloak your invention--not discovery--in high-falutin' scholarly language, but you're still making it up. Your hope is that no one will notice. Your hope is that those letters you have appended to your name will provide cover for your ideas and theories and blind people to your purpose. They have to believe what you're saying because you have a Ph.D. You're an expert.

I have written before about a couple of cases of scholars making stuff up. One has to do with Francis Stevens and the so-called sub-genre or sub-sub-genre of "dark fantasy." The other has to do with zombies and when they arrived in America. But I think there's another one, although in this case, it seems to have been critics and academically trained authors who tried to create a "new" thing.*** That "new" thing was called "the New Weird," and I started writing a long series about it in mid 2017. I got pretty far in my series, but it has remained only in draft form since then. As it stands, it's a little out of date. What I'd like to do is bring it more up to date and to publish it in this space over the next few weeks.

Beware, there is much reading to come.

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*There were exceptions: Gothic romance, Utopian fiction, and the English ghost story come to mind.

**Charles Fort came up with an all-explanatory theory. He also wrote a book called New Lands (1923).

***The academic training and viewpoint of the authors is important, I think, in understanding the development of "the New Weird." In his introduction to the 2008 anthology The New Weird, Jeff VanderMeer referred to authors of pulp fiction, for example H.P. Lovecraft and Clark Ashton Smith, as "self-taught." I'm not sure that he meant that as a pejorative, but it's clear that he was making a distinction between what he called "Old Weird" and a more well-educated, well-informed, and more aware (or self-aware) "New Weird."

North•West Stories Romances, Spring 1945, with a cover story, "The Snow-Witch" by Dan Cushman. The artist's signature is on the lower left, but I can't read it. It's times like these when we need an Internet Western & Northern Fiction Database.

Text copyright 2026 Terence E. Hanley

Rocketships & Holidays

It has been a long time since I posted twice in one day, but it occurs to me . . .

Today, Easter Sunday, April 5, 2026, we have a spacecraft on its way to a trip around the Moon. Today, one of our astronauts, mission pilot Victor Glover, gave an impromptu message for people on Earth. Among his words:

I think, as we go into Easter Sunday, thinking about all the cultures all around the world, whether you celebrate it or not, whether you believe in God or not, this is an opportunity for us to remember where we are, who we are, and that we are the same thing, and that we've gotta get through this together.

Nearly sixty years ago, on Christmas Eve, December 24, 1968, the Apollo astronauts, Bill Anders, Jim Lovell, and Frank Borman, were also on their way to a circumlunar flight. In a live television broadcast, they read from the Book of Genesis, beginning with the words:

In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.

Both spacecraft were named for Greek gods. Even so, their astronauts named only God.

There was war then and there is war now. But there will be peace, if only people will turn towards it and the Creator of all things.

Original text copyright 2026 Terence E. Hanley

Happy Easter 2026!

Metropolitan Magazine, Special Easter Number, April 1906,
with cover art by Jules Guerin (1866-1946).

Happy Easter

from Tellers of Weird Tales!

Terence E. Hanley, 2026.

100 Years of Amazing Stories

In April 1926, H.P. Lovecraft returned from Brooklyn to his Providence home. In New York, he had been an outsider. Once in Rhode Island again, he was an insider, at least in his own life and his own home. Weird Tales published "The Outsider" in its issue of April 1926. Lovecraft could easily have read it on his train ride home. If he had, would he have seen any irony in his situation? After all, he had gone out into the world, just like his narrator, and now he was on his way home again. Except that he was happy.

I have written before about "The Outsider." I wrote then about Frankenstein's monster and Kaspar Hauser, two other outsiders who only wanted to be in. But they never could be. And now I think that Grendel could have been an outsider made bitter and murderous by his awareness of his situation. He was a march-stepper, a wanderer along borderlands, like Lovecraft. Could he have once seen himself in a mirror? Could that have driven him away to lurk in fen and fastness? Probably not, for Grendel was not a modern man.*

Lovecraft could have read another magazine on the way home that spring. That one was the first issue of Amazing Stories, published in New York City by Hugo Gernsback. Weird Tales is supposed to have been the first American magazine devoted entirely to fantasy fiction. I'm not sure that that's true. It would take a lot of reading through the first thirty issues of the magazine, published from March 1923 to March 1926, to find out whether it is so. But we can be sure that the first issue of Amazing Stories was full of fantasy and nothing else. It was the first fully science-fictional magazine in America. I wonder if Lovecraft read it at all. He must have. But how early in its history of publication?

Here are the contents of Amazing Stories #1, adapted from the Speculative Fiction Database:

• "A New Sort of Magazine," editorial by Hugo Gernsback
• "Off on a Comet, or Hector Servadac," part one of a two-part serial by Jules Verne (1877)
• "The New Accelerator" by H. G. Wells (1901)
• "The Man from the Atom" by G. Peyton Wertenbaker (1923)
• "The Thing from -- 'Outside'" by George Allan England (1923)
• "The Man Who Saved the Earth" by Austin Hall (1919)
• "The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar" by Edgar Allan Poe (1845)

All of these stories were reprints. Wells, Hall, and Poe also had stories in Weird Tales. Note that Hall's story is of "The Man Who . . ." type, while England's is of "The Thing . . ." type. England's story is also about "the outside," just as Lovecraft's story in Weird Tales that month was. I'm sure his was a different type of outside. The cover art and three interior illustrations of that inaugural issue were by Frank R. Paul. F.S. Hynd illustrated Poe's story.

Amazing Stories is still around, although it isn't currently in print but only on line. Unfortunately, it allows its contributors to use AI tools in the writing of their stories. I don't have to tell you that I hate AI in writing and art. Even so, I'll say: 

Happy 100th Anniversary to Amazing Stories!

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*There is another outsider who looks in on and raids the celebrations of men. He is the Grinch. Could his name and Grendel's have come from the same root? Most obviously: grin, from the Old English grennian, "to show the teeth (in pain or anger)," or the Old Norse grenja, "to howl."

Amazing Stories, April 1926, with cover art by Frank R. Paul. Those are skaters, I presume on one of the moons of Saturn. Have they arrived on sailing ships? Update (Apr. 2, 2026): Good old me, comment below, has pointed out that the illustration is for "Off on a Comet, or Hector Servadac" by Jules Verne. Thank you, Good old me.

Original text copyright 2026 Terence E. Hanley

Henry Leverage (1879-1931)-Part Two

David Carroll Henry, later known as the author Henry Leverage, was born in Wa-Keeney, Trego County, Kansas, on October 9, 1879, to John Cummings Henry (1848-1901) and Susan Ann (McFadden) Henry (ca. 1856-?). David C. Henry had younger sister, Sadie Lucinda Henry, later Vinschger.

I found David C. Henry in the U.S. Census of 1880 (in Wa-Keeney, Kansas) and Henry Leverage in the New York State Census of 1915 (at Sing Sing Prison) and nothing in between. That's okay, for Robert Messenger has the early part of Leverage's career covered in his blog posting of November 7, 2019. Henry, aka Leverage, was a liar, or a self-booster, however you'd like to think of it. He told all kinds of stories about going to sea, traveling in the Far East and Europe, and fighting in the Great War. He was a bit like L. Ron Hubbard, minus the utter insanity and the deadly danger he represented to people he perceived as his enemies. (Both men claimed expeditions to Alaska. Leverage was charged with inciting a riot in San Francisco in 1912, too, at Pier 54 as the Star of Russia was about to sail. That's one example I can find of his criminal misadventures.) In any case, Leverage's crazy way of life caught up with him in late 1914 when he was sent upriver by New York Judge William H. Wadhams for receiving stolen property (an automobile). Claiming that his real name was Charles Henley, Leverage was received at Sing Sing Prison, Ossining, New York, on December 16, 1914. He was single, in good health, stood 5 feet 5-1/2 inches tall, and weighed all of 121 pounds. After two years, four months, and 28 days in Sing Sing, Leverage was released on April 17, 1917, just eleven days after the American entry into the Great War, a war in which Leverage did not fight, even if he later claimed that he had. Before going up, he said in court, "I admit that I have been an ocean card sharp and a general crook and that I did not have to steal." But he did anyway. The good thing, I guess, is that he seems to have turned his life around while in prison.

Leverage was a newspaper editor at Sing Sing. He began as editor of The Star of Hope in April 1916, succeeding former attorney Henry Hoffman Browne. After The Star of Hope went out of business, Leverage became editor of the weekly Star-Bulletin, in February 1917. While he was in prison, Leverage also wrote the screenplay for The Twinkler (1916), a prison drama based on his own story. The film, now lost, starred William Russell and Charlotte Burton and was released on December 18, 1916.

William Leverage was the author of scores of short stories in the crime, detective, aviation, railroad, Western, romance, and other genres. His series characters include Chester Fay and "Big Scar" Guffman. The Internet Speculative Fiction Database lists the following stories in the genres of science fiction and fantasy:

• "The Wild Star" in All-Story Weekly, December 29, 1917
• "The Skywaymen" in All-Story Weekly, February 15, 1919
• "The Voice in the Fog" in Weird Tales, June 1923
• "Black Light" in Scientific Detective Monthly, April 1930
• "The Sealed Room" in Amazing Detective Tales, June 1930
• "The Black Cabinet" in Amazing Detective Tales, September 1930

For Munsey's Magazine, he wrote "The Absconder," "The Gray Brotherhood," "The White Moll," and others. For The Saturday Evening Post, he wrote perhaps his most successful story, "Whispering Wires," a mystery adapted to the stage by Kate L. McLaurin and to the silver screen by William M. Conselman. The movie version was released in 1926 and starred Anita Stewart.

The FictionMags Index has a list of Henry Leverage's credits from 1917 to 1932. These include stories in Adventure, The Argosy, Battle Stories, Black Mask, The Blue Book Magazine, Clues, Cosmopolitan, Detective Story Magazine, Flynn's Weekly, Prison Stories, Railroad Man's Magazine, Short Stories, Star Magazine, Telling Tales, Top-Notch, and others. I found two more in newspapers, "Shyster Lawyers and Human Souls" in the Leavenworth New Era (July 14, 1916) and "An Occasional Offender" in the Sacramento Union (Nov. 27, 1927).

In addition, Leverage wrote novels, The Shepherd of the Sea (1920, a "Northern" rather than a Western), Where Dead Men Walk (1920), The Ice Pilot (1921), The Phantom Alibi: A Detective Story (1926), and The Purple Limited: A Detective Story (1927). His non-fiction included "Two Years of Prison Reform" in Forum, published in May 1917, just a month after he was released from prison. He also wrote a column, "Dictionary of the Underworld," which appeared in Flynn's Weekly from January to May 1925.

Henry Leverage married a woman named May. They were enumerated in the 1930 U.S. Census while living in Los Angeles. He died on February 24, 1931, at Druskin Hospital in New York City at age fifty-one, the same age as his father when he died.

Henry Leverage's Story in Weird Tales

"The Voice in the Fog" (June 1923)

Further Reading

Yesterday's Faces: From the Dark Side by Robert Sampson (1987, pp. 81+), plus lots of newspaper articles about him and his father.

An advertisement for the stage adaptation of Whispering Wires, from the Sacramento Union, November 10, 1926.

Thanks to The Internet Speculative Fiction Database and The FictionMags Index.

Original text copyright 2026 Terence E. Hanley

Henry Leverage (1879-1931)-Part One

Né David Carroll Henry

Aka David Carl Henry, Carl Henry, Carl Henry Leverage, Charles Henley, Winfield Byrd, Sing Sing No. 65368
Author, Newspaper Editor, Movie Scenarist
Born October 9, 1879, Wa-Keeney, Trego County, Kansas
Died February 24, 1931, Druskin Hospital, New York, New York

I began with the author Henry Leverage on June 30, 2022, but gave up on him when his case became too complicated, confused, unclear, and uncertain. Usually when you're doing this kind of research, if something seems wrong, it is wrong. Or as a fence builder I met in the Missouri Ozarks said when talking about fence posts, "If it looks crooked, it probably is crooked." Anyway, there was a reason for my confusion, and it's because "Leverage" was a liar, and he seems to have lied about everything in his life. From more than one hundred years distance, he looks crooked, like a crooked post. In fact he admitted that he was a crook, and so I can honestly say that I'm not impugning the reputation of a long-dead man. Yes, he was a liar, or a teller of tales if you want to be nice about it, and a convicted criminal, but he also told real fictional tales--i.e., pulp fictional tales--after he was released from prison. You could say that Leverage leveraged his lies against potential profits to be made as an author. Maybe personal economic considerations decided him on his adopted surname.

I am not the discoverer of Henry Leverage's identity. That distinction goes, I assume, to Robert Messenger of Canberra, Australia, who writes on the blog ozTypewriter: The Wonderful World of Typewriters. You can find Mr. Messenger's posting on Henry Leverage, entitled "Henry Leverage -- The Pulp Fiction Author Who Made His Corona 3 Portable Typewriter Sing Sing: Seven Million 'Sold Words' in 11 Years" and dated November 7, 2019, by clicking here. Mr. Messenger's angle is to write about Leverage's use of a Corona portable typewriter during his successful career as an author of short stories and novels. I won't rehash Robert Messenger's biography of Leverage. I'll just provide some facts, many of which are peripheral, as well as make some corrections.

According to Robert Messenger, Henry Leverage was actually David Carroll Henry, not British at all, as he claimed, but peculiarly American and born plumb in the middle of the country, in fact about one hundred miles from the geographic center of the United States at that time. His father was John Cummings Henry (b. June 19, 1848, Ontario, Canada; d. May 3, 1901, at home, Denver, Colorado), who is supposed to have invented the first electric streetcar in the world, put into operation in Kansas City in 1883. The elder Henry was an electrical engineer and was supposed to have held more than 70 patents. He was more than that, too.

I have found John C. Henry in the U.S. Census of 1880 in Wa-Keeney, Kansas. His son, David C. Henry, was then eight months old. It is from that record that I have been able to find out more about John C. Henry and to trace him and his family through public records. Unfortunately, the man later known as Henry Leverage is hard to find in those records, and so his life story and all of the assumptions I must make about him are secured only on one end, at least at this point in my research. (We'll see how things develop.) If Henry Leverage wasn't David Carroll Henry, then I don't know what to think. It seems like he was, though.

John C. Henry was a pioneer in what is now Trego County, Kansas. I assume that he arrived in that place by railroad, which had been laid down in the area in 1868. A newspaper item from 1888 states that Henry was "the first to obtain a patent for a quarter section of land [i.e., 160 acres]" and "the first to build a substantial residence" in Trego County. The first patent for his quarter-section of land was dated March 1, 1873. I have found record of a second patent, dated September 6, 1876*, for that same quarter-section, namely, the Northwest 1/4 of Section 8, Township 12 South, Range 23 West. A newspaper article from 1879 says that "the first furrow of prairie sod [in Trego County] was turned by him." He later grew millet and wheat. Henry built his house, a stone construction, at Trego Tank in 1875. His farm, described as "handsome" and "prosperous," was about a mile west of the later site of Wa-Keeney.

Prior to that, on May 28, 1874, Henry was appointed postmaster of Park's Fort, a 30-foot x 30-foot sod embankment with no buildings, only tents, located about six miles west of Ogallah and about two miles east of what became Wa-Keeney. That same article states that the railroad station at Park's Fort was moved to Henry's farm, and though the wording is ambiguous, it appears as though there were two or three saloons there, while "the principal industry was the collection of buffalo bones and hides." In other words, Henry's farm seems to have been the original settlement in Trego County, before the founding of Wa-Keeney in 1877-1879. In 1879, Henry and a partner acquired a general store in Wa-Keeney, renaming it Henry & Kyle. He ran a meat market in a 12 x 15-foot building in Wa-Keeney and became secretary of the Wa-Keeney Coal Prospecting Company in 1880. Henry seems to have been a prominent and accomplished man in his adopted home country, state, county, and town.

There is still a house in that lonely quarter, located not far to the west of the current Wakeeney. (The hyphen was dropped in the early 1900s.) An online "street" view from dusty Old U.S. Highway 40 shows a lane behind a double pipe gate that leads to a distant, weathered house, well away from the road. It looks like there are other structures there, too. Was that Henry's house? I can't say. But Trego Tank was located one mile west of Wa-Keeney, and so it was in about the right place for Henry's quarter-section and that old gray house still standing. Trego Tank was for several years the only stop along the Kansas Pacific Railroad in what became Trego County. There was a deep well there and a large windmill. I don't see a windmill in the "street"-view picture I'm looking at, but there is a low, brushy area with a few trees, and so maybe there is water not far below the surface. This is at the top of a ravine that flows to the south, soon into Big Creek. There must be water there after all. Now comes news that Henry's horse Patsey was killed at Trego Tank on July 16, 1880, by a westbound train. Called "the old favorite," Patsey "had a reputation second to none for his speed and endurance." A month later, an article by Henry on "changing the climate" made the rounds of Kansas newspapers. His article was about water, which was and is one of the defining resources and issues of the American West.

Platted and established in 1877-1879, Wa-Keeney was named for its founders, Albert E. Warren and James F. Keeney. The two men were boosters, and the place that they founded is referred to on line as a "colony." That colony seems to have been from Chicago. A plat map from 1886 shows a place west of Wa-Keeney called Colony Station. I'm not sure whether there is a connection between the "colony" of Wa-Keeney and the place called Colony Station. In any case, by 1883, Wa-Keeney was in decline due to crop failures and other misfortunes. Nonetheless, Wakeeney still exists as the seat of Trego County government. As it so happens, we drove that way several years ago on our way to Denver. Not long after that, I based a long short story on that trip and one of its sights, the World's Wonder View Tower, or Tower Museum, at Genoa, Colorado.

John C. Henry seems to have been gone from Trego County by 1884, when he appears to have lost his farm after having become delinquent on his taxes. Maybe the misfortunes of the early 1880s turned Wa-Keeney from a boomtown to a bust. Anyway, when I said that Henry Leverage was peculiarly American, what I meant is that he may have been what I have described before as an American type, the commercial crackpot or the earnest conman. He seems to have been a low type of character, but maybe he came into the world in a place started by high and respectable men of the same essential type. Maybe he learned something from them.

By the way, Trego County was named for Captain Edgar Poe Trego (1838-1863) of the 8th Kansas Infantry, who was killed in action at the Battle of Chickamauga on September 19, 1863. So it looks like Henry Leverage, a teller of weird tales, began life in a place named for a man who was named (presumably) for the original teller of weird tales in America, who was of course Edgar Allan Poe.

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*That was less than three months after the Battle of Little Bighorn, which happened two-and-a-half states and about 700 miles to the northwest of Trego Tank.

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According to Robert Messenger, Henry Leverage, né David Carroll Henry, was born in Wa-Keeney, Trego County, Kansas, on October 9, 1879, so just a few months after Trego County was organized on June 21, 1879. His father was, again, John Cummings Henry. His mother was Susan Ann (McFadden) Henry, a Pennsylvanian born in about 1856. David C. Henry and his younger sister, Sadie Lucinda Henry (b. July 28, 1881, Kansas City, Missouri; d. ?), were baptized in Philadelphia, at Norris Square Methodist Episcopal Church, on November 4, 1886. The Henry family lived in Wa-Keeney, Kansas, and Denver, Colorado, presumably also in Kansas City, Missouri (in the 1880s). John C. Henry died at home in Denver on May 3, 1901, and was buried at Fairmount Cemetery in that city. His wife and daughter afterwards shared a household in Montclair, New Jersey (1910, 1920, 1930). By 1940, Susan A. Henry was gone. In the meantime, Sadie L. Henry had married Edward J. Vintschger, later chairman of the board of Markt & Hammacher Company, a New York-based export firm co-founded by his father. They lived in Montclair for many years. David C. Henry was nowhere in sight. Sadie's husband, then, was presumably straight, while her brother was admittedly crooked.

To be continued . . .

Wa-Keeney, Kansas, 1880s, from the website Legends of Kansas.

Original text copyright 2026 Terence E. Hanley