The night Knoxville saw its own deep impact

by Jack Neely

There was no reason to doubt John Crozier's account of what happened that night. At 48, the former attorney general and U.S. Representative was one of Knoxville's intellectual gentry. In his house on the corner of Gay and Clinch was reputedly the biggest library in the region.

On Thursday, Aug. 2, 1860, the former Congressman was sitting in a chair, leaning back against a locust tree on Gay Street in front of Captain Walley's cigar store, chatting with a friend about the upcoming presidential elections. Crozier, who'd been a prominent presidential campaigner for years, had been a Whig, an official elector for the Henry Clay ticket back in '44, but as the Whig party disintegrated, Crozier jumped ship to the Democrats. Crozier's political enemy, Parson Brownlow, called him "this little scoundrel," believing Crozier was planning to assassinate him.

Brownlow lived just down Cumberland from Walley's, but Crozier didn't have to worry about encountering his adversary tonight. The editor was an early-to-bed sort, sound asleep by 10:00.

This election of 1860 was turning out like none Crozier had ever seen. The Democrats had split into two parties, running Vice President John Breckenridge and Stephen Douglas; the decrepit Whigs were going to give it one last try with John Bell of Tennessee, a familiar face in Knoxville for years. And the new Republican party was running a dark horse, Abraham Lincoln.

It was past 10, but Crozier was in no hurry to get back to his houseful of kids. Walley's cigar store, on the east side of Gay between Cumberland and Church, was less than two blocks away; he was practically home already. Crozier and his friend were leaning in their chairs, looking south toward the river. He later recalled laconically, "There was a pause in our conversation."

His friend interrupted their speculations to say, "Look there," and pointed to the south, over the river. Crozier turned to his left and saw something.

"Suddenly a bright light illuminated everything around us," Crozier later recalled, "as when the sun shines at noonday. A most brilliant and remarkable meteor made its appearance at the south end of Gay Street...As it approached us its color was scarlet, leaving a trail behind it apparently about 60 feet long, having all the colors of the rainbow..."

Crozier said the meteor appeared to be "the size of a man's head and perfectly round."

Crozier continued his story: "Traversing Gay Street it appeared to be about even with the second story of the houses, and descending so rapidly I thought it would fall in the middle of the street immediately opposite to us. When it appeared opposite to us, its color became a cherry red and its appearance from being globular changed to pear shape. This change and shape struck me so forcibly I cried out, 'Look at its shape!'

"The meteor, as it receded from us, traveling from the southeast to northwest, appeared to ascend as rapidly as it appeared to descend when coming towards us. And to the eye it looked as if it was certain to strike the chimney of what was then the building of Mr. Henry Ault."

That was what's now the parking lot at Gay and Church. Convinced the meteor would hit them, pedestrians "were dodging in all directions, endeavoring to escape from a collision with the atmospheric monster. Those riding were equally certain they would be dashed from their horses, while those in buggies expected they would soon have to nurse the monster in their laps."

But Crozier was cool. "The reason, I suppose, it did not appear as if it would strike me, was on account of the well-defined line of Gay Street, it appearing to traverse above the immediate middle of the street—but I felt confident it would fall immediately opposite to me. I looked on at the grand display of the meteor without the slightest nervousness..."

On the contrary, Crozier claimed, "I was glad it was coming. Believing it was a meteoric stone and that it would fall in the middle of the street opposite to me, I intended to run to it as soon as it fell and claim it as my property. I was so selfish I did not intend that my friend...would share in the property but that I would make use of him as a witness that it was mine, and thus I would possess alone one of the greatest curiosities in the world."

Crozier seemed to admit the meteor's proximity may have been an optical illusion. "Under great excitement the mind acts very rapidly, and such was a portion of what passed through mine in a few seconds. To the eye it seemed reduced to a mathematical demonstration that, descending as rapidly as it appeared to...it must soon fall to the ground. If I had possessed a moment for grave reflection I would probably have come to a different conclusion."

Based on second-hand accounts, Brownlow's Knoxville Whig estimated the meteor had been 14 miles over Knoxville. Other accounts of meteor sightings that night have the fireball skating over the land in wavy sine curves. Crozier and others noted that about three minutes after the meteor's disappearance in the north came a rumble like an earthquake.

Judging by the sound of the explosion, Brownlow's Knoxville Whig speculated that, based on the sound, it must have crashed about 65 miles north of town. They called for evidence of its impact, but none came. A century later, old-timers would tell stories about a meteor landing in Union County.

"Many people believe such things as meteors, comets, etc., foretell of wars and bloodshed," Crozier added, with a noncommittal caveat: Whether the Atmospheric Monster made its appearance on Gay Street "to warn us of the bloody war that ensued shortly afterwards," the esteemed statesman concluded, "I neither intend to assert, deny, or discuss."