Michael Conroy, Xenia's oldest citizen, died at his home Thursday, May 6th in his 95th year. He was born at Mt. Mellick, Ireland in 1820. He came to America about the year,1850, locating in Xenia, Ohio, where he was united in marriage with Mary O'Conner in 1852. To this union ten children were born. In 1878 he with his family came to Xenia, Illinois. Mr. Conroy devoted his entire life to agricultural pursuits and was one of the most successful farmers of this vicinity.
At the outbreak of the civil war, he was among the first to answer Lincoln's call for volunteers, enlisting in the 5th, Ohio Vol. Inf. Being captured at the battle of Chicamauga, he was held prisoner for fourteen months, eleven of which was spent at Andersonville, from which he was released by the exchange of prisoners. Receiving an honorable discharge at the expiration of his term of service, he immediately re-enlisted in the 8th Ohio Vol. Cavalry in which he served until the close of the war.
Mr. Conroy was a devout Catholic and the funeral services were conducted by Rev. Henry Alberg at the St. Stephens' church In Flora. The remains were accompanied by the Xenia G. A. R. and laid to rest with their impressive services in the Catholic cemetery.
He Is survived by his wife, five sons, two daughters, thirty six grandchildren and eight great children.
(The Southern Illinois Record, May 13, 1915)
From the article by Dale Geisel published in the Clay County, Illinois, Advocate Press on May 28, 2003:"
Remembering an extraordinary soldier
By Dale Geisel
Mike Conroy: Died in Xenia, May 6, 1915.
So ended the long life of Michael Conroy. By all that appears on the surface, when Conroy was buried in Flora some 88 years ago it was the end of just one more ordinary life. There is nothing to indicate this 37 year Clay County resident was accorded a special honor upon his death.
Mike, as he was known to his family and friends, was anything but ordinary. Upon investigation, his valiant life stands out in its persistence for all to admire.
Conroy's name first appears in Greene County, OH in 1852 as a recent immigrant from Ireland. In 1861, as the Civil War began, the 31 year old showed his fondness for America by enlisting in the 74th Ohio Volunteer Infantry.
His wife, Mary, was left to tend to their five children while Conroy marched with his regiment to preserve the Union. It is likely that the $100 enlistment bounty and the steady army income were welcome to the destitute family.
Mike and the 74th Ohio fought with honor at Stones River and several smaller engagements before arriving at Chickamauga on October 20, 1863. There, Conroy and five other members of the 74th were captured by the victorious Confederates.
The hapless men were herded onto trains and shipped off to Richmond, VA where they were imprisoned in Pemberton Warehouse, formerly used for tobacco storage.
The prison was an austere place with no furnishings provided. The men had a thin layer of straw for bedding and only one stove to heat an area of several thousand square feet.
Food was a constant problem for the Union POW's. Generally, rations consisted of four to eight ounces of salt pork (until salt became rare in the Confederacy) or beef (often rancid), a small loaf of corn bread, and perhaps some beans or thin rice soup. Generally, all of these items were not available at one time. Seldom did the prisoners receive green vegetables or fruits. Sometimes the quantity was sufficient. Usually it was not.
The most insidious problem was time. As the months passed the prisoners used up their money. Their clothing wore to rags. And their health slowly deteriorated under the restricted diet.
Late in 1863, the Confederates opened a new prison facility in Danville, VA. This took Conroy away from the capital, where the prisoners were less likely to be liberated. Unfortunately for the prisoners, Danville rations were so poor that the typical prison maladies of scurvy and intestinal disorders made their appearance. Some men lost as much as 80 pounds during their Danville incarceration.
By mid-May of 1864, Conroy was on his way to Andersonville, a fairly new 16 and half acre prison stockade that had been built near Americus, in southwest Georgia. By the time Mike Conroy arrived, its population had already reached 20,000, twice its intended capacity. Not one human need was adequately met.
The long-walled stockade was essentially an open pen with a small, swamp bordered creek running across it. There were no buildings. A lucky few men possessed tents. Most lived beneath shirts and jackets stretched across pine limbs. Some lived in holes burrowed into the side of the hill that sloped up from the polluted creek.
Rations were often provided uncooked because the prison did not have the facilities to prepare food for so many men. Preparing a meal was a major undertaking because firewood was closely rationed and cooking implements were not provided. Many prisoners did not even possess containers for collecting their rations. They had to tie the end of a shirt sleeve in a knot and thus carry their uncooked corn meal. To cook the food, the men might trade a portion of their limited rations for the use of another prisoner's fire and pan. On some days, reduced rations or no rations were issued.
Men like Mike Conroy and his comrades were most unfortunate. Every resource they had was exhausted long before Andersonville. Their health, which had already been compromised by seven months of imprisonment, was further damaged by the reduced diet. One-by-one, Conroy's friends began dying.
By June, Mike Conroy was showing the first signs of scurvy. Yet he would not seek medical attention. The hospital was just a smaller stockade, full of fetid offal of thousands of dying soldiers. The veteran prisoners spoke of how the hospital was nothing more than a halfway house on the way to the graveyard. In their minds it seemed that prisoners never returned from the hospital. The patient-to-doctor ratio was over 200 and most of the doctors were incompetent for this type of work.
As June wore on, Conroy's scurvy worsened. Teeth began falling out. A roaring sound manifested itself inside his head. The muscles and ligaments of his legs began to tighten so he could not stand up straight. Joints swelled, and sores blotched his skin. Soon there was no choice. In July of 1864, he was admitted to the hospital. This event seems to have caused the first notification of his survival to be sent north.
The news that he was alive must have been received with mixed emotions. By this time the people in the North had learned about the conditions in Andersonville. The Conroy family must have been relieved to know that Michael had survived the battle of Chickamauga. Yet their concern for his continued survival must have been intense. If they could have seen the true condition of Andersonville, especially the hospital, their hope would have been completely dashed.
In early September of 1864, the Union Army captured Atlanta. Essentially there was nothing between the prisoners and their friends and neighbors in the army, except distance.
This prompted the Confederates to evacuate Andersonville. All prisoners who were fit to travel were placed on trains and sent to prisons in the east. In September and October, Conroy received treatment for scurvy in Savannah, GA.
As the war swung strongly in the Union's favor, Conroy was finally exchanged. This was in accordance with the Confederate policy of exchanging the sickest prisoners first. While this would seem to be a humanitarian gesture, these men were released because they would be of little use to the Union Army in their weakened condition.
By the time Mike Conroy was released, all five men who had been captured with him had perished from the treatment they had received in the Rebel prison camps. Conroy's existence, while miraculous, was still tenuous.
The Confederates released Conroy on November 18. By November 26 he was on Union soil in Maryland. After two weeks, he was sent home to Clifton, OH for a 30 day convalescent leave. Apparently, he was seriously weakened by his ordeal. A witness wrote that Mike was so weak that he had to be assisted when he walked and had to be helped up from his chair. He was so swollen that he was hardly recognizable.
On January 9,1865, Mike Conroy reported to Camp Chase, OH for mustering out purposes. He must have still been weak because, although he was entitled to immediate discharge, he was not mustered out until March 1.
Incredibly, Mike enlisted in the 8th Ohio Cavalry on March 2. This move is almost beyond the understanding of a 21st century American. Why would a man who had barely survived the horror of war's worst prison camp decide to reenter the Army? Was he seeking revenge on the southern nation that had so misused him? Was he a superpatriot? Did the $500 enlistment bounty appeal to him? We simply cannot know his motivation.
His only service consisted of patrolling with his unit in Pendleton County, WV. Fortunately, there were no mishaps, and he was again mustered out of service in July of 1865. Conroy probably participated in the Grand Review that was held in Washington D.C., following the war.
As if to cap off this chapter in the life of this incredible survivor, a daughter was born to Mary Conroy in September of 1865, exactly nine months after the barely ambulatory Michael had spent his furlough at home. The Conroy's were blessed with three more children in the next four years, making a total of ten.
In 1878, the Conroy Family moved to Clay County. Here they became farmers in a completely new life. This life was not easy.
Mike Conroy, according to his thick pension record, suffered many illnesses and injuries throughout the remainder of his life. He claimed that many of his infirmities were attributable to his time in Civil War prisons. Then, at age 76, he was alone and working on a barn door at his Xenia farm when the door fell on him and broke his femur. Conroy seems to have worked well into his golden years.
It has been said that many of the Andersonville survivors suffered lifelong illnesses from the deprivation or extended captivity and many died premature deaths. Despite a grueling 14 months in captivity, Michael Conroy seemed to be unaffected, as far as life-span is concerned. He was 89 when he died in 1915.
We are all indebted to the members of our country who have served in our country's armed forces. These service people have gone without question, many willingly giving their lives so our country might be preserved or made safe. Yet, others were deprived of their opportunity to die the noble death. Instead, they were locked away, often to be martyred, in ignoble circumstances.
The Union prisoners refused many opportunities to betray their country and join the Confederate service in exchange for money and life outside the prisons. We cannot help but pay tribute to those who died during their imprisonment. But Michael Conroy, a tough-as-nails Irishman who gave his all but never gave up, deserves special recognition around this Memorial Day. His never-say-die attitude stands out as an example for every citizen of Illinois. (Mr. Geisel is from Springboro, OH. and sent us this article.)
Contributor: Hugh Marshall (49315410) • [email protected]
At the outbreak of the civil war, he was among the first to answer Lincoln's call for volunteers, enlisting in the 5th, Ohio Vol. Inf. Being captured at the battle of Chicamauga, he was held prisoner for fourteen months, eleven of which was spent at Andersonville, from which he was released by the exchange of prisoners. Receiving an honorable discharge at the expiration of his term of service, he immediately re-enlisted in the 8th Ohio Vol. Cavalry in which he served until the close of the war.
Mr. Conroy was a devout Catholic and the funeral services were conducted by Rev. Henry Alberg at the St. Stephens' church In Flora. The remains were accompanied by the Xenia G. A. R. and laid to rest with their impressive services in the Catholic cemetery.
He Is survived by his wife, five sons, two daughters, thirty six grandchildren and eight great children.
(The Southern Illinois Record, May 13, 1915)
From the article by Dale Geisel published in the Clay County, Illinois, Advocate Press on May 28, 2003:"
Remembering an extraordinary soldier
By Dale Geisel
Mike Conroy: Died in Xenia, May 6, 1915.
So ended the long life of Michael Conroy. By all that appears on the surface, when Conroy was buried in Flora some 88 years ago it was the end of just one more ordinary life. There is nothing to indicate this 37 year Clay County resident was accorded a special honor upon his death.
Mike, as he was known to his family and friends, was anything but ordinary. Upon investigation, his valiant life stands out in its persistence for all to admire.
Conroy's name first appears in Greene County, OH in 1852 as a recent immigrant from Ireland. In 1861, as the Civil War began, the 31 year old showed his fondness for America by enlisting in the 74th Ohio Volunteer Infantry.
His wife, Mary, was left to tend to their five children while Conroy marched with his regiment to preserve the Union. It is likely that the $100 enlistment bounty and the steady army income were welcome to the destitute family.
Mike and the 74th Ohio fought with honor at Stones River and several smaller engagements before arriving at Chickamauga on October 20, 1863. There, Conroy and five other members of the 74th were captured by the victorious Confederates.
The hapless men were herded onto trains and shipped off to Richmond, VA where they were imprisoned in Pemberton Warehouse, formerly used for tobacco storage.
The prison was an austere place with no furnishings provided. The men had a thin layer of straw for bedding and only one stove to heat an area of several thousand square feet.
Food was a constant problem for the Union POW's. Generally, rations consisted of four to eight ounces of salt pork (until salt became rare in the Confederacy) or beef (often rancid), a small loaf of corn bread, and perhaps some beans or thin rice soup. Generally, all of these items were not available at one time. Seldom did the prisoners receive green vegetables or fruits. Sometimes the quantity was sufficient. Usually it was not.
The most insidious problem was time. As the months passed the prisoners used up their money. Their clothing wore to rags. And their health slowly deteriorated under the restricted diet.
Late in 1863, the Confederates opened a new prison facility in Danville, VA. This took Conroy away from the capital, where the prisoners were less likely to be liberated. Unfortunately for the prisoners, Danville rations were so poor that the typical prison maladies of scurvy and intestinal disorders made their appearance. Some men lost as much as 80 pounds during their Danville incarceration.
By mid-May of 1864, Conroy was on his way to Andersonville, a fairly new 16 and half acre prison stockade that had been built near Americus, in southwest Georgia. By the time Mike Conroy arrived, its population had already reached 20,000, twice its intended capacity. Not one human need was adequately met.
The long-walled stockade was essentially an open pen with a small, swamp bordered creek running across it. There were no buildings. A lucky few men possessed tents. Most lived beneath shirts and jackets stretched across pine limbs. Some lived in holes burrowed into the side of the hill that sloped up from the polluted creek.
Rations were often provided uncooked because the prison did not have the facilities to prepare food for so many men. Preparing a meal was a major undertaking because firewood was closely rationed and cooking implements were not provided. Many prisoners did not even possess containers for collecting their rations. They had to tie the end of a shirt sleeve in a knot and thus carry their uncooked corn meal. To cook the food, the men might trade a portion of their limited rations for the use of another prisoner's fire and pan. On some days, reduced rations or no rations were issued.
Men like Mike Conroy and his comrades were most unfortunate. Every resource they had was exhausted long before Andersonville. Their health, which had already been compromised by seven months of imprisonment, was further damaged by the reduced diet. One-by-one, Conroy's friends began dying.
By June, Mike Conroy was showing the first signs of scurvy. Yet he would not seek medical attention. The hospital was just a smaller stockade, full of fetid offal of thousands of dying soldiers. The veteran prisoners spoke of how the hospital was nothing more than a halfway house on the way to the graveyard. In their minds it seemed that prisoners never returned from the hospital. The patient-to-doctor ratio was over 200 and most of the doctors were incompetent for this type of work.
As June wore on, Conroy's scurvy worsened. Teeth began falling out. A roaring sound manifested itself inside his head. The muscles and ligaments of his legs began to tighten so he could not stand up straight. Joints swelled, and sores blotched his skin. Soon there was no choice. In July of 1864, he was admitted to the hospital. This event seems to have caused the first notification of his survival to be sent north.
The news that he was alive must have been received with mixed emotions. By this time the people in the North had learned about the conditions in Andersonville. The Conroy family must have been relieved to know that Michael had survived the battle of Chickamauga. Yet their concern for his continued survival must have been intense. If they could have seen the true condition of Andersonville, especially the hospital, their hope would have been completely dashed.
In early September of 1864, the Union Army captured Atlanta. Essentially there was nothing between the prisoners and their friends and neighbors in the army, except distance.
This prompted the Confederates to evacuate Andersonville. All prisoners who were fit to travel were placed on trains and sent to prisons in the east. In September and October, Conroy received treatment for scurvy in Savannah, GA.
As the war swung strongly in the Union's favor, Conroy was finally exchanged. This was in accordance with the Confederate policy of exchanging the sickest prisoners first. While this would seem to be a humanitarian gesture, these men were released because they would be of little use to the Union Army in their weakened condition.
By the time Mike Conroy was released, all five men who had been captured with him had perished from the treatment they had received in the Rebel prison camps. Conroy's existence, while miraculous, was still tenuous.
The Confederates released Conroy on November 18. By November 26 he was on Union soil in Maryland. After two weeks, he was sent home to Clifton, OH for a 30 day convalescent leave. Apparently, he was seriously weakened by his ordeal. A witness wrote that Mike was so weak that he had to be assisted when he walked and had to be helped up from his chair. He was so swollen that he was hardly recognizable.
On January 9,1865, Mike Conroy reported to Camp Chase, OH for mustering out purposes. He must have still been weak because, although he was entitled to immediate discharge, he was not mustered out until March 1.
Incredibly, Mike enlisted in the 8th Ohio Cavalry on March 2. This move is almost beyond the understanding of a 21st century American. Why would a man who had barely survived the horror of war's worst prison camp decide to reenter the Army? Was he seeking revenge on the southern nation that had so misused him? Was he a superpatriot? Did the $500 enlistment bounty appeal to him? We simply cannot know his motivation.
His only service consisted of patrolling with his unit in Pendleton County, WV. Fortunately, there were no mishaps, and he was again mustered out of service in July of 1865. Conroy probably participated in the Grand Review that was held in Washington D.C., following the war.
As if to cap off this chapter in the life of this incredible survivor, a daughter was born to Mary Conroy in September of 1865, exactly nine months after the barely ambulatory Michael had spent his furlough at home. The Conroy's were blessed with three more children in the next four years, making a total of ten.
In 1878, the Conroy Family moved to Clay County. Here they became farmers in a completely new life. This life was not easy.
Mike Conroy, according to his thick pension record, suffered many illnesses and injuries throughout the remainder of his life. He claimed that many of his infirmities were attributable to his time in Civil War prisons. Then, at age 76, he was alone and working on a barn door at his Xenia farm when the door fell on him and broke his femur. Conroy seems to have worked well into his golden years.
It has been said that many of the Andersonville survivors suffered lifelong illnesses from the deprivation or extended captivity and many died premature deaths. Despite a grueling 14 months in captivity, Michael Conroy seemed to be unaffected, as far as life-span is concerned. He was 89 when he died in 1915.
We are all indebted to the members of our country who have served in our country's armed forces. These service people have gone without question, many willingly giving their lives so our country might be preserved or made safe. Yet, others were deprived of their opportunity to die the noble death. Instead, they were locked away, often to be martyred, in ignoble circumstances.
The Union prisoners refused many opportunities to betray their country and join the Confederate service in exchange for money and life outside the prisons. We cannot help but pay tribute to those who died during their imprisonment. But Michael Conroy, a tough-as-nails Irishman who gave his all but never gave up, deserves special recognition around this Memorial Day. His never-say-die attitude stands out as an example for every citizen of Illinois. (Mr. Geisel is from Springboro, OH. and sent us this article.)
Contributor: Hugh Marshall (49315410) • [email protected]
Michael Conroy, Xenia's oldest citizen, died at his home Thursday, May 6th in his 95th year. He was born at Mt. Mellick, Ireland in 1820. He came to America about the year,1850, locating in Xenia, Ohio, where he was united in marriage with Mary O'Conner in 1852. To this union ten children were born. In 1878 he with his family came to Xenia, Illinois. Mr. Conroy devoted his entire life to agricultural pursuits and was one of the most successful farmers of this vicinity.
At the outbreak of the civil war, he was among the first to answer Lincoln's call for volunteers, enlisting in the 5th, Ohio Vol. Inf. Being captured at the battle of Chicamauga, he was held prisoner for fourteen months, eleven of which was spent at Andersonville, from which he was released by the exchange of prisoners. Receiving an honorable discharge at the expiration of his term of service, he immediately re-enlisted in the 8th Ohio Vol. Cavalry in which he served until the close of the war.
Mr. Conroy was a devout Catholic and the funeral services were conducted by Rev. Henry Alberg at the St. Stephens' church In Flora. The remains were accompanied by the Xenia G. A. R. and laid to rest with their impressive services in the Catholic cemetery.
He Is survived by his wife, five sons, two daughters, thirty six grandchildren and eight great children.
(The Southern Illinois Record, May 13, 1915)
From the article by Dale Geisel published in the Clay County, Illinois, Advocate Press on May 28, 2003:"
Remembering an extraordinary soldier
By Dale Geisel
Mike Conroy: Died in Xenia, May 6, 1915.
So ended the long life of Michael Conroy. By all that appears on the surface, when Conroy was buried in Flora some 88 years ago it was the end of just one more ordinary life. There is nothing to indicate this 37 year Clay County resident was accorded a special honor upon his death.
Mike, as he was known to his family and friends, was anything but ordinary. Upon investigation, his valiant life stands out in its persistence for all to admire.
Conroy's name first appears in Greene County, OH in 1852 as a recent immigrant from Ireland. In 1861, as the Civil War began, the 31 year old showed his fondness for America by enlisting in the 74th Ohio Volunteer Infantry.
His wife, Mary, was left to tend to their five children while Conroy marched with his regiment to preserve the Union. It is likely that the $100 enlistment bounty and the steady army income were welcome to the destitute family.
Mike and the 74th Ohio fought with honor at Stones River and several smaller engagements before arriving at Chickamauga on October 20, 1863. There, Conroy and five other members of the 74th were captured by the victorious Confederates.
The hapless men were herded onto trains and shipped off to Richmond, VA where they were imprisoned in Pemberton Warehouse, formerly used for tobacco storage.
The prison was an austere place with no furnishings provided. The men had a thin layer of straw for bedding and only one stove to heat an area of several thousand square feet.
Food was a constant problem for the Union POW's. Generally, rations consisted of four to eight ounces of salt pork (until salt became rare in the Confederacy) or beef (often rancid), a small loaf of corn bread, and perhaps some beans or thin rice soup. Generally, all of these items were not available at one time. Seldom did the prisoners receive green vegetables or fruits. Sometimes the quantity was sufficient. Usually it was not.
The most insidious problem was time. As the months passed the prisoners used up their money. Their clothing wore to rags. And their health slowly deteriorated under the restricted diet.
Late in 1863, the Confederates opened a new prison facility in Danville, VA. This took Conroy away from the capital, where the prisoners were less likely to be liberated. Unfortunately for the prisoners, Danville rations were so poor that the typical prison maladies of scurvy and intestinal disorders made their appearance. Some men lost as much as 80 pounds during their Danville incarceration.
By mid-May of 1864, Conroy was on his way to Andersonville, a fairly new 16 and half acre prison stockade that had been built near Americus, in southwest Georgia. By the time Mike Conroy arrived, its population had already reached 20,000, twice its intended capacity. Not one human need was adequately met.
The long-walled stockade was essentially an open pen with a small, swamp bordered creek running across it. There were no buildings. A lucky few men possessed tents. Most lived beneath shirts and jackets stretched across pine limbs. Some lived in holes burrowed into the side of the hill that sloped up from the polluted creek.
Rations were often provided uncooked because the prison did not have the facilities to prepare food for so many men. Preparing a meal was a major undertaking because firewood was closely rationed and cooking implements were not provided. Many prisoners did not even possess containers for collecting their rations. They had to tie the end of a shirt sleeve in a knot and thus carry their uncooked corn meal. To cook the food, the men might trade a portion of their limited rations for the use of another prisoner's fire and pan. On some days, reduced rations or no rations were issued.
Men like Mike Conroy and his comrades were most unfortunate. Every resource they had was exhausted long before Andersonville. Their health, which had already been compromised by seven months of imprisonment, was further damaged by the reduced diet. One-by-one, Conroy's friends began dying.
By June, Mike Conroy was showing the first signs of scurvy. Yet he would not seek medical attention. The hospital was just a smaller stockade, full of fetid offal of thousands of dying soldiers. The veteran prisoners spoke of how the hospital was nothing more than a halfway house on the way to the graveyard. In their minds it seemed that prisoners never returned from the hospital. The patient-to-doctor ratio was over 200 and most of the doctors were incompetent for this type of work.
As June wore on, Conroy's scurvy worsened. Teeth began falling out. A roaring sound manifested itself inside his head. The muscles and ligaments of his legs began to tighten so he could not stand up straight. Joints swelled, and sores blotched his skin. Soon there was no choice. In July of 1864, he was admitted to the hospital. This event seems to have caused the first notification of his survival to be sent north.
The news that he was alive must have been received with mixed emotions. By this time the people in the North had learned about the conditions in Andersonville. The Conroy family must have been relieved to know that Michael had survived the battle of Chickamauga. Yet their concern for his continued survival must have been intense. If they could have seen the true condition of Andersonville, especially the hospital, their hope would have been completely dashed.
In early September of 1864, the Union Army captured Atlanta. Essentially there was nothing between the prisoners and their friends and neighbors in the army, except distance.
This prompted the Confederates to evacuate Andersonville. All prisoners who were fit to travel were placed on trains and sent to prisons in the east. In September and October, Conroy received treatment for scurvy in Savannah, GA.
As the war swung strongly in the Union's favor, Conroy was finally exchanged. This was in accordance with the Confederate policy of exchanging the sickest prisoners first. While this would seem to be a humanitarian gesture, these men were released because they would be of little use to the Union Army in their weakened condition.
By the time Mike Conroy was released, all five men who had been captured with him had perished from the treatment they had received in the Rebel prison camps. Conroy's existence, while miraculous, was still tenuous.
The Confederates released Conroy on November 18. By November 26 he was on Union soil in Maryland. After two weeks, he was sent home to Clifton, OH for a 30 day convalescent leave. Apparently, he was seriously weakened by his ordeal. A witness wrote that Mike was so weak that he had to be assisted when he walked and had to be helped up from his chair. He was so swollen that he was hardly recognizable.
On January 9,1865, Mike Conroy reported to Camp Chase, OH for mustering out purposes. He must have still been weak because, although he was entitled to immediate discharge, he was not mustered out until March 1.
Incredibly, Mike enlisted in the 8th Ohio Cavalry on March 2. This move is almost beyond the understanding of a 21st century American. Why would a man who had barely survived the horror of war's worst prison camp decide to reenter the Army? Was he seeking revenge on the southern nation that had so misused him? Was he a superpatriot? Did the $500 enlistment bounty appeal to him? We simply cannot know his motivation.
His only service consisted of patrolling with his unit in Pendleton County, WV. Fortunately, there were no mishaps, and he was again mustered out of service in July of 1865. Conroy probably participated in the Grand Review that was held in Washington D.C., following the war.
As if to cap off this chapter in the life of this incredible survivor, a daughter was born to Mary Conroy in September of 1865, exactly nine months after the barely ambulatory Michael had spent his furlough at home. The Conroy's were blessed with three more children in the next four years, making a total of ten.
In 1878, the Conroy Family moved to Clay County. Here they became farmers in a completely new life. This life was not easy.
Mike Conroy, according to his thick pension record, suffered many illnesses and injuries throughout the remainder of his life. He claimed that many of his infirmities were attributable to his time in Civil War prisons. Then, at age 76, he was alone and working on a barn door at his Xenia farm when the door fell on him and broke his femur. Conroy seems to have worked well into his golden years.
It has been said that many of the Andersonville survivors suffered lifelong illnesses from the deprivation or extended captivity and many died premature deaths. Despite a grueling 14 months in captivity, Michael Conroy seemed to be unaffected, as far as life-span is concerned. He was 89 when he died in 1915.
We are all indebted to the members of our country who have served in our country's armed forces. These service people have gone without question, many willingly giving their lives so our country might be preserved or made safe. Yet, others were deprived of their opportunity to die the noble death. Instead, they were locked away, often to be martyred, in ignoble circumstances.
The Union prisoners refused many opportunities to betray their country and join the Confederate service in exchange for money and life outside the prisons. We cannot help but pay tribute to those who died during their imprisonment. But Michael Conroy, a tough-as-nails Irishman who gave his all but never gave up, deserves special recognition around this Memorial Day. His never-say-die attitude stands out as an example for every citizen of Illinois. (Mr. Geisel is from Springboro, OH. and sent us this article.)
Contributor: Hugh Marshall (49315410) • [email protected]
At the outbreak of the civil war, he was among the first to answer Lincoln's call for volunteers, enlisting in the 5th, Ohio Vol. Inf. Being captured at the battle of Chicamauga, he was held prisoner for fourteen months, eleven of which was spent at Andersonville, from which he was released by the exchange of prisoners. Receiving an honorable discharge at the expiration of his term of service, he immediately re-enlisted in the 8th Ohio Vol. Cavalry in which he served until the close of the war.
Mr. Conroy was a devout Catholic and the funeral services were conducted by Rev. Henry Alberg at the St. Stephens' church In Flora. The remains were accompanied by the Xenia G. A. R. and laid to rest with their impressive services in the Catholic cemetery.
He Is survived by his wife, five sons, two daughters, thirty six grandchildren and eight great children.
(The Southern Illinois Record, May 13, 1915)
From the article by Dale Geisel published in the Clay County, Illinois, Advocate Press on May 28, 2003:"
Remembering an extraordinary soldier
By Dale Geisel
Mike Conroy: Died in Xenia, May 6, 1915.
So ended the long life of Michael Conroy. By all that appears on the surface, when Conroy was buried in Flora some 88 years ago it was the end of just one more ordinary life. There is nothing to indicate this 37 year Clay County resident was accorded a special honor upon his death.
Mike, as he was known to his family and friends, was anything but ordinary. Upon investigation, his valiant life stands out in its persistence for all to admire.
Conroy's name first appears in Greene County, OH in 1852 as a recent immigrant from Ireland. In 1861, as the Civil War began, the 31 year old showed his fondness for America by enlisting in the 74th Ohio Volunteer Infantry.
His wife, Mary, was left to tend to their five children while Conroy marched with his regiment to preserve the Union. It is likely that the $100 enlistment bounty and the steady army income were welcome to the destitute family.
Mike and the 74th Ohio fought with honor at Stones River and several smaller engagements before arriving at Chickamauga on October 20, 1863. There, Conroy and five other members of the 74th were captured by the victorious Confederates.
The hapless men were herded onto trains and shipped off to Richmond, VA where they were imprisoned in Pemberton Warehouse, formerly used for tobacco storage.
The prison was an austere place with no furnishings provided. The men had a thin layer of straw for bedding and only one stove to heat an area of several thousand square feet.
Food was a constant problem for the Union POW's. Generally, rations consisted of four to eight ounces of salt pork (until salt became rare in the Confederacy) or beef (often rancid), a small loaf of corn bread, and perhaps some beans or thin rice soup. Generally, all of these items were not available at one time. Seldom did the prisoners receive green vegetables or fruits. Sometimes the quantity was sufficient. Usually it was not.
The most insidious problem was time. As the months passed the prisoners used up their money. Their clothing wore to rags. And their health slowly deteriorated under the restricted diet.
Late in 1863, the Confederates opened a new prison facility in Danville, VA. This took Conroy away from the capital, where the prisoners were less likely to be liberated. Unfortunately for the prisoners, Danville rations were so poor that the typical prison maladies of scurvy and intestinal disorders made their appearance. Some men lost as much as 80 pounds during their Danville incarceration.
By mid-May of 1864, Conroy was on his way to Andersonville, a fairly new 16 and half acre prison stockade that had been built near Americus, in southwest Georgia. By the time Mike Conroy arrived, its population had already reached 20,000, twice its intended capacity. Not one human need was adequately met.
The long-walled stockade was essentially an open pen with a small, swamp bordered creek running across it. There were no buildings. A lucky few men possessed tents. Most lived beneath shirts and jackets stretched across pine limbs. Some lived in holes burrowed into the side of the hill that sloped up from the polluted creek.
Rations were often provided uncooked because the prison did not have the facilities to prepare food for so many men. Preparing a meal was a major undertaking because firewood was closely rationed and cooking implements were not provided. Many prisoners did not even possess containers for collecting their rations. They had to tie the end of a shirt sleeve in a knot and thus carry their uncooked corn meal. To cook the food, the men might trade a portion of their limited rations for the use of another prisoner's fire and pan. On some days, reduced rations or no rations were issued.
Men like Mike Conroy and his comrades were most unfortunate. Every resource they had was exhausted long before Andersonville. Their health, which had already been compromised by seven months of imprisonment, was further damaged by the reduced diet. One-by-one, Conroy's friends began dying.
By June, Mike Conroy was showing the first signs of scurvy. Yet he would not seek medical attention. The hospital was just a smaller stockade, full of fetid offal of thousands of dying soldiers. The veteran prisoners spoke of how the hospital was nothing more than a halfway house on the way to the graveyard. In their minds it seemed that prisoners never returned from the hospital. The patient-to-doctor ratio was over 200 and most of the doctors were incompetent for this type of work.
As June wore on, Conroy's scurvy worsened. Teeth began falling out. A roaring sound manifested itself inside his head. The muscles and ligaments of his legs began to tighten so he could not stand up straight. Joints swelled, and sores blotched his skin. Soon there was no choice. In July of 1864, he was admitted to the hospital. This event seems to have caused the first notification of his survival to be sent north.
The news that he was alive must have been received with mixed emotions. By this time the people in the North had learned about the conditions in Andersonville. The Conroy family must have been relieved to know that Michael had survived the battle of Chickamauga. Yet their concern for his continued survival must have been intense. If they could have seen the true condition of Andersonville, especially the hospital, their hope would have been completely dashed.
In early September of 1864, the Union Army captured Atlanta. Essentially there was nothing between the prisoners and their friends and neighbors in the army, except distance.
This prompted the Confederates to evacuate Andersonville. All prisoners who were fit to travel were placed on trains and sent to prisons in the east. In September and October, Conroy received treatment for scurvy in Savannah, GA.
As the war swung strongly in the Union's favor, Conroy was finally exchanged. This was in accordance with the Confederate policy of exchanging the sickest prisoners first. While this would seem to be a humanitarian gesture, these men were released because they would be of little use to the Union Army in their weakened condition.
By the time Mike Conroy was released, all five men who had been captured with him had perished from the treatment they had received in the Rebel prison camps. Conroy's existence, while miraculous, was still tenuous.
The Confederates released Conroy on November 18. By November 26 he was on Union soil in Maryland. After two weeks, he was sent home to Clifton, OH for a 30 day convalescent leave. Apparently, he was seriously weakened by his ordeal. A witness wrote that Mike was so weak that he had to be assisted when he walked and had to be helped up from his chair. He was so swollen that he was hardly recognizable.
On January 9,1865, Mike Conroy reported to Camp Chase, OH for mustering out purposes. He must have still been weak because, although he was entitled to immediate discharge, he was not mustered out until March 1.
Incredibly, Mike enlisted in the 8th Ohio Cavalry on March 2. This move is almost beyond the understanding of a 21st century American. Why would a man who had barely survived the horror of war's worst prison camp decide to reenter the Army? Was he seeking revenge on the southern nation that had so misused him? Was he a superpatriot? Did the $500 enlistment bounty appeal to him? We simply cannot know his motivation.
His only service consisted of patrolling with his unit in Pendleton County, WV. Fortunately, there were no mishaps, and he was again mustered out of service in July of 1865. Conroy probably participated in the Grand Review that was held in Washington D.C., following the war.
As if to cap off this chapter in the life of this incredible survivor, a daughter was born to Mary Conroy in September of 1865, exactly nine months after the barely ambulatory Michael had spent his furlough at home. The Conroy's were blessed with three more children in the next four years, making a total of ten.
In 1878, the Conroy Family moved to Clay County. Here they became farmers in a completely new life. This life was not easy.
Mike Conroy, according to his thick pension record, suffered many illnesses and injuries throughout the remainder of his life. He claimed that many of his infirmities were attributable to his time in Civil War prisons. Then, at age 76, he was alone and working on a barn door at his Xenia farm when the door fell on him and broke his femur. Conroy seems to have worked well into his golden years.
It has been said that many of the Andersonville survivors suffered lifelong illnesses from the deprivation or extended captivity and many died premature deaths. Despite a grueling 14 months in captivity, Michael Conroy seemed to be unaffected, as far as life-span is concerned. He was 89 when he died in 1915.
We are all indebted to the members of our country who have served in our country's armed forces. These service people have gone without question, many willingly giving their lives so our country might be preserved or made safe. Yet, others were deprived of their opportunity to die the noble death. Instead, they were locked away, often to be martyred, in ignoble circumstances.
The Union prisoners refused many opportunities to betray their country and join the Confederate service in exchange for money and life outside the prisons. We cannot help but pay tribute to those who died during their imprisonment. But Michael Conroy, a tough-as-nails Irishman who gave his all but never gave up, deserves special recognition around this Memorial Day. His never-say-die attitude stands out as an example for every citizen of Illinois. (Mr. Geisel is from Springboro, OH. and sent us this article.)
Contributor: Hugh Marshall (49315410) • [email protected]
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