“Alexander Shaw, who met a horrible death by falling in the fire last week at his home, two miles east of Quincy, was one of the strangest characters known to Northeastern Kentucky. He was a hermit and had lives that secluded, unnatural life for more than forty years. He came from Pittsburg, many years ago, and bought one of the finest farms on the Ohio River. On this plantation were three excellent houses. These good houses accommodates his tenants, while he sought a secluded spot and erected thereon a log house for himself. He furnished this uncouth building inside with upholstery that would have adorned a grand mansion. The mantel for this cabin cost fifty times more than the building itself. The finest velvet carpets overspread the floors of the best rooms. A piano, costing $1000, stood in one corner of the cabin, from the keys of which the strange old genius invoked the grandest melodies. He had a large and varied collection of musical instruments and was a skillful performer on all of them. Around his rude structure he erected a tall and heavy ‘staked and ridered’ fence.”
“The yard was overspread with soft, clean grass. It was decorated with the finest shrubbery and garnished with flowers of all varieties. He had a perfect passion for flowers and kept his eyes eagerly out for all the latest species. In fact, he had three acres of land devotes to the cultivation of flowers. They were not grown for profit, but solely to gratify his own clamoring instinct for beauty.”
“The anomalous character of this man was also exhibited in his dress. Though one of the wealthiest men in this part of the State, he was never known to have $3 worth of clothes on at any one time. Such as he wore, however, were scrupulously clean, and were washed by his own hands. Often he would go in his shirt sleeves in winter and then appear wrapped in an overcoat during warm weather. He wore nothing but a kind of long shirt made of the coarsest of ‘domestic,’ and reaching down to his ankles.”
“He did all his own making and mending, washing and cooking.”
“He said he wouldn’t allow the best cook on earth to get a dinner for him at his house. He said he knew when he prepared his own meal that not a particle of dirt or poison would go in the food.”
“His is credited with having many thousands of dollars buried. That he had a great deal of money is an unquestioned fact, but where it all is will probably remain a secret forever.”
“He used to make large deposits in various banks, but during his later years he became alarmed at the graceful facility with which they ‘broke’ and withdrew all his money. He used to keep a big gilded gourd hanging above his mantel, in which he kept a half-gallon of silver for ready use.”
“AS Agnew, a merchant of this city, relates this characteristic anecdotes of the old gentleman: Several years ago he had quite a large sum of money on deposit in Dugan’s bank in Portsmouth. One day he went up to see Mr. Dugan, and not finding him at the bank, sought him at his residence. Mrs. Dugan, who answered the summons of the bell, beheld a ‘trampish’ looking man, barefooted, on the doorstep. Her first impulse was to close the door in his face, but as he claimed he wanted to see her husband on important business, she became reassured and invited him into the parlor. She then went to summon a boy to go for her husband, and while out, she head strains of of entrancing melody streaming from her piano. When she hurried into the parlor her ‘trampish’ looking visitor was seated at the piano striking notes of melody, like sparks from its rejoicing keys. When her husband came in the two shook hands warmly and Mrs. Dugan was formally introduced to the noted Lewis County hermit of whom she had heard so much.”
“He was radical in his Democracy, and didn’t like to ‘enter on his list of friends’ persons who opposed him in politics. In making out his ticket at the polls he would linger over it long and tediously, religiously careful to make no mistake by which a Republican would happen to get his vote.”
“He came into Quincy one morning and told that he had one of the most horrible dreams the night before that had ever visited his couch. He awoke, he said, suffering with cold, clammy perspiration. Being asked what was the character of the dream that rendered it so horrible, he replied: ‘I dreamed that I was voting at a county election, and by some mishap made the wrong marks and voted the Republican ticket straight!'”
“He was 85 when he fell face downward in the fire and was burned to a crisp.”1
