WHEN FARMING WAS DANGEROUS IN YATES COUNTY

Yates County is nestled in the bucolic blissful bosom of the Finger Lakes region in upstate NY. Home to just under 25,000 people and a number of Mennonite horses, the county is notable as a place where farm animals quiver when residents express amorous intent. This citadel of conservative sentiment offers the best in what progressive enlightened medieval thought, the NRA, and Q-Anon has to offer. Despite the idyllic pedigree, on occasion there has been a stain or two on the historical ledger. We must hoof it back to the year 1911 to investigate one of those raw historical blights. On a hill overlooking glistening Keuka Lake at a scenic spot known as Bluff Point, one Charles Sprague did willfully and wickedly aim a shotgun at unarmed George Martin (husband of the diminutive Minnie Martin), and shot him. The bullet went through the subject’s gall bladder and liver. Martin was mortally wounded, he grimaced in pain before his lamentable demise. Sprague had deliberately killed Martin. This was a homicide. An act that was no small potatoes.

Why did Charlie do it? Was he angry at George? Did he dislike him? Inquiries revealed there had been some squabbling between the two as well as a bout or two of barking between Sprague and Pascal Van Lew, who was the father-in-law of George, thus making him the father of the mourning Minnie. That fateful October day was an outgrowth of their ongoing feud. A dispute over potato harvesting made it impossible to patch things up. Sprague was a tenant of Van Lew and was supposed to help with the crops as part of his rent. He was not very reliable. It was hard to get good help in those days.

On the morning in question Sprague got off to an early start fortifying himself with alcohol before confronting his prey. Some studies show that adding booze to simmering resentments can make for a volatile mix. When Sprague returned to the farm, intoxication fed his saucy temperament and while waving a club in a somewhat menacing manner, Sprague demanded Van Lew, and George, and George’s loyal wife Minnie “get off of his land.” What audacity! It wasn’t Sprague’s land, it was Van Lew’s. The vexed Van Lew, still a stout eighty-two, told Charlie to go pound his pud or something equivalent. There was no hope of mending this breach, particularly when Sprague indicated he was going to get a gun and settle matters once and for all. Near high noon he did just that. After fetching a shotgun from his uncle, also named Charles Sprague, the deranged Charles Sprague stormed back to the premises and discovered that Van Lew had left. Levelling George Martin would have to do. One shot was all it took to fell Martin and set the tongues wagging throughout the county. The rumor-mongers probably mentioned that picking potatoes had clearly become a hazardous occupation.

Martin lingered before he died and he was coherent enough to declare that Sprague was the villain. A deputy sheriff and policeman collaborated in their arrest of Sprague who was held on the charge of first degree murder. A grand jury rendered the necessary indictment and the trial commenced on February 6, 1912. District Attorney Spencer Lincoln explained to the jury that if the guilty Sprague was convicted he would soon be residing in an agricultural shangri-la. Then the prosecution presented its case with Van Lew and the aggrieved Minnie testifying what a rogue Sprague was. They also included a story about a horse with eczema which left members of the jury scratching their heads. Evidence was entered detailing the fatal wounds, and after submitting the statement penned by George Martin before he breathed his last, the prosecution rested.

It made for a pretty compelling case and Sprague’s counsel tried to counter by claiming it was just a tale concocted by the vengeful Van Lew and grief-stricken Minnie. There were some holes in that legal Hail Mary as the relatives clearly didn’t manufacture the holes in the ill-fated George. The defense also contended that the shooting was “purely accidental”, again this was stretching the limits of credulity as Sprague had to make an effort to secure the weapon before he could accidentally unleash the fatal projectile. The highlight of the trial other than testimony about a horse with a nuisance itch was when Sprague took the stand in his own defense. He conceded that things had been contentious but he never intended to kill anyone. In fact he said he went to his uncle’s seeking a potato digger but grabbed a gun instead so he could go hunting, then when arguing with Martin the gun just kind of discharged while pointed in the direction of the victim’s liver. Sprague clearly regretted slaying Martin and if he had it to do over, he might have been content with the potato digger. If Martin could have testified, he likely would have agreed.

To buttress the defense cause, character witnesses were called on behalf of Sprague but the tactic backfired – they did him more harm than good. A presentation on ballistics sealed the deal and after a brief session that required only ballot, the not wholly impartial jury rendered a verdict of guilty. Sprague was displeased with the outcome. The judge then pronounced the sentence and Sprague was soon to become a baked potato.

His day of reckoning would be delayed because of appeals and as his wretched existence was drawing to a close he became fast friends with Jesus. The Catholic version. Auburn, NY would be the site where the climax would transpire and the method would be electrocution. Unlike some neighboring counties, Yates elected to employ a more civilized justice coda by entrusting the punishment to the experienced prison staff at Auburn. Just a handful of interested parties would be in attendance. Contrast that with the barbarians in Seneca and Wayne Counties, where over the decades hanging was the preferred technique and advance notice was issued so thousands could hang out and gape. Yes, they are certainly less well-bred in those backwaters, and capital punishment was a public spectacle complete with vendors who peddled refreshments as enthusiastic crowds gathered for a swinging denouement. One assumes a lot of roast beef sandwiches and salt potatoes were consumed at such events.

Sprague would have none of that, but the state did generously provide him with a free chicken dinner the night before his rendezvous with eternity. A plea to the governor to grant clemency had been rejected. As a curious aside, although his mother and sister visited him and even his aunt showed up to comfort him on the final day; Sprague’s wife was conspicuous by her absence. Not once did she stop at the prison to see him during his tribulation. One supposes she had better things to do. Many wives often do. Sprague didn’t seem distraught over her dereliction and his parting words were: “I am innocent.” On Monday, May 1 he was strapped to the contraption but there was a minor glitch in carrying out the terminal transaction. As a stout man of over six foot and 220 pounds it took more juice than expected to finish him off. The first jolt which lasted over a minute wasn’t sufficient. When he was examined by doctors, the heart was still beating. Sprague was zapped again and earned the distinction of being the last person ever executed at Auburn Prison. That was probably little solace to him as his corpse was returned to Penn Yan and buried in the Friend Cemetery. According to all reports, Sprague’s body has remained undisturbed and Penn Yan still serves as a haven for those seeking a wholesome lifestyle. To impart meaning, let it be known that the saga of poor George Martin, his devoted spouse Minnie, the antsy horse, and Charles Sprague is instructive because it demonstrates the toxic brew of alcohol and anger, and will be remembered wherever bodies and potatoes are planted.