The day they hanged Mary the elephant

Jason Sandford

Jason Sandford is a reporter, writer, blogger and photographer interested in all things Asheville.

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Ashvegas hosted the circus a couple of weeks ago and we meant to get this story to you then, but simply ran out of time. So, belatedly, here it is.

The circus brought clowns, acrobats and animal performers to town. The circus also drew a raft of protesters complaining of inhumane animal treatment.

In commemoration, we want to tell you the disturbing true story of one of the most infamous incidents in all of circus history. And it all happened 90 years ago, right over the mountains in Erwin, Tennessee. Please take a moment to ponder the fate of Mary the elephant, as well as man’s inhumanity…

There’s nary a man alive today who can tell you exactly what happened. All great tales start like this, by way of telling you that, while some of the facts have been lost along the way, there’s no questioning that what follows did, in fact, happen.

Listen close:

On Sept. 13, the weather suited the sad procession. Clouds and rain had settled over the mountains as they do, like a dark, sodden sponge, dispensing a soaking rain. The dirt streets had turned to thick, yellow mud, and the five elephants ambled through it all, nose-to-tail, dodging sinkholes along the way.

Despite the dreariness, Erwin had the feel of promise. Hell, more than that. Boomtown. Rough and ready, some said. Some 2,000 residents lived here, and more arrived every day. Erwin was home to railroad repair facilities. And in 1916, the railroads ruled. The tracks bustled with activity, and railroad executives held sway in the economic, political and social fortunes of a town and its people. Erwin felt blessed.

Mary the elephant led the procession to the trainyard. Nervous, she bellowed. She seemed nervous, unusual for the animal that was the star of Sparks World-Famous Shows circus. She’d worked in front of crowds all her life and had grown into “the largest living land animal on earth,” according to a circus handbill. It also read: “3 inches taller than Jumbo and weighing over 5 tons.”

Some argued over her size. Did she weigh 10,000 pounds, or just 7,500? Where did she come from? Had she grown up with Sparks as a beloved animal, one of earth’s most perceptive and intelligent creatures? Or had she earned a reputation as a killer over the years and been sold from circus to circus after murderous rampages in years past?

There was no disputing that Mary had killed at least one man. Rumors had spread faster than mountain kudzu, but few doubted the basics – Mary had used her long trunk to toss one of her trainers aside during a walk in Kingsport, Tenn. A trainer had used his curved stick to poke one of Mary’s massive ears when she tried to reach for a watermelon rind. She snatched up the trainer, threw him into a drink stand, then walked over to where he lay. She picked up one of her massive legs and set it down on his head. Brains and blood squirted out. And that was the end of Red Eldridge.

What happened? Was that Mary’s nature, or had she been abused? Was it true that she’d killed before, or was she irritable because of the abcessed teeth they later found in her mouth? Did she simply lash out for no reason at all?

Whatever the cause, the reaction was swift The scared Kingsport crowd that had gathered for a distraction from life’s drudgeries demanded action. A local lawman immediately pulled out a pistol and fired at Mary. The bullets did little more than knock a few hunks of flesh from her hide. Other trainers moved into action to calm the pachyderm and settle the crowd, but they couldn’t quell chants of “Kill the elephant! Kill the elephant!”

But how? How to kill a gargantuan elephant? Some wondered if Mary could be electrocuted on railroad tracks. Others suggested that she be placed between two train engines and either ripped asunder or smashed in between. Still others suggested that Mary was demon-possessed and needed an exorcism. Yet another rumor flew that a few residents planned to pull a Civil War cannon out of a barn and blast her.

The circus held its Kingsport show, without Mary performing, and quickly left to make its next show, Erwin. Perhaps the Sparks show manager hoped that everything would blow over.

It didn’t, and the public pressure was such that something had to be done. So it was settled. Mary would be hanged.

After the performance in Erwin, the elephants were marched down to the trainyard. They walked as they walked for the circus, nose to tail. But when they stopped at Clinchfield Railroad’s derrick car, Old 1400, the trainers separated Mary. The other elephants, sensing what was to come, bellowed and refused to move on. But the trainers forced them along, while at the same time chaining one of Mary’s legs to the train car.

A massive crowd had gathered. Some said 3,000. That would be the entire town. Some said 5,000. Curious. Rapt. They had demanded action, and now they were getting it.

A worker quickly put a thin chain around Mary’s massive neck, and the train car operator began winching her up. She’d barely gotten off the ground when the chain gave way, and she crashed back to earth in a heap. In all the nervous commotion, nobody had removed the chain around Mary’s leg.

The crowd, shocked at seeing Mary loose, panicked and ran for cover. Mary, stunned and with a broken hip and torn leg, sat in a heap. Finally, someone worked up their courage to scramble up Mary’s back with another chain and wrap it around her neck. The boom raised up Mary again, slowly strangling her to death.

Mary was buried a few hundred feet up the tracks from where she died.

Nobody today can remember exactly where Mary lies, but her death still haunts.

Links for more on the day they hanged the elephant:
Blue Ridge Country Magazine article
Roadside America article
Tennessee history page