Henry Howard arrived in Coshocton, Ohio, on June 18th, 1885. Originally from Florida, he was looking for work and found a job in the mines on his first day in town, the Coshocton Age newspaper reported. 

The following evening, unaware that local residents were hunting for an unidentified Black man accused of sexually assaulting two white women, Howard decided to take a walk through town. It would be his last stroll as a free man.

James Mooney, a white newcomer to town, was at the Hardscrabble saloon when he spotted Howard out for his walk, according to the Coshocton Age. Mooney had heard about the attack and thought Howard looked suspicious, so he decided to perform a citizen’s arrest and turned Howard over to the police. Howard, who stood about 5’6” and was wearing a cap and a corduroy suit when he was detained, was taken to the Coshocton County jail to await trial on the charges of assaulting the two women. But a mob of 200 masked men had other plans. 

Once the lights went out for the night at the jail, the mob broke down the building’s front door. In a matter of minutes, they emerged with Howard and were greeted by “deafening cheers” from the crowd that gathered on the courthouse lawn. The Richwood Gazette described the mass as “jammed with strangers,” all gathered to witness the county’s first lynching.

Around 11 o’clock, an angry mob, now consisting of about 1,000 people, dragged Howard from one tree to another on the courthouse lawn, his arms and legs bound. The first tree was too small to support his frame, according to the Richwood Gazette. That did not stop his assailants from finding another, a large elm, to carry out his murder. Noose around his neck, Howard confessed to the crime and “said he was sorry,” the Springfield Daily Republic reported. 

His earlier alibi — that he was digging coal at the mines at the time of the attack — was never investigated, according to the Equal Justice Initiative, a nonprofit advocacy group that has examined lynching cases across the country in its Lynching In America report.

This case highlights the long history of racial violence and terror targeting Black men who stood accused of assaulting white women. The allegations were rarely tested in a court of law and frequently led to public lynchings and reinforced systemic oppression. White terror groups “focused intense energy on imposing their own vision of a righteous society,” which usually meant targeting Black men for perceived sexual transgressions against white women,” according to the Lynching In America report. 

Without due process, most people of color accused of similar crimes were never formally prosecuted but instead fell victim to vigilante “justice,” often carried out through mob violence.  The Equal Justice initiative reported that Howard was one of at least 15 documented victims of lynching in Ohio between 1877 and 1950. 

The Coshocton Tribune called the lynching  a “disgrace,” pointing out that even if Howard were guilty, “two wrongs don’t make a right.” Howard’s killers were never prosecuted. 

Lucy Bryan Malenke stumbled across Howard’s story in 2020, about five years after she began researching the history of Coshocton, where her husband was raised. African Americans currently account for about one percent of the city’s population, which is ninety-six percent white.

“I’d just co-founded a racial justice organization called Coshoctonians for Peace and Equality with my friend Javanna Ramsey, whom I met at a Black Lives Matter rally,” said Malenke, a retired teacher, in an interview. “We were looking for a project that could help engage our rural, conservative, mostly white community in conversations about race, and a neighbor mentioned to me that we’d had a lynching here in the late 1800s. I found the New York Times article about Henry Howard’s lynching almost right away.”

As a result of Malenke and Ramsay’s advocacy, Coshocton held its first Juneteenth celebration in 2021. At the ceremony, which was held in front of the courthouse where Howard was killed, members of the community honored Howard and all the other people who have lost their lives in racially motivated killings across the country. 

“Everyone got a chance to come and scoop some of that soil into a jar,” said Malenke,  referring to the ground within the courtyard where Howard was killed. African American members of the community spoke at the event and  shared their reflections on what freedom means to them. 

Malenke spent months researching Howard’s lynching, poring over old newspaper clips and interviewing residents who shared stories about the killing that had been passed down from family members. But she was unable to find out anything about Howard’s family or descendants and she wonders if his family ever learned what happened to him. 

For Malenke, the uncertainty surrounding Howard’s family serves as a reminder of the larger impact of such violence, not just on the individuals who suffered, but on entire communities whose histories have been obscured. It highlights the ongoing struggle for Black Americans to reclaim their heritage and to ensure that the lives and stories of their ancestors are remembered and honored. 

In June 2022, members of the Equal Justice Initiative’s Community Remembrance Project and  Coscoctonians for Peace and Equality officially memorialized the site of Howard’s killing with a marker. One side of the marker tells the story of his murder while the other summarizes the history of lynchings across America. 

“During this era, White people’s allegations against Black people were rarely subject to scrutiny and often sparked violent reactions, even when there was no evidence tying the accused to any offense,” the marker reads. 

This project “really helped our community see how this lynching was not a tragic and isolated incident but part of a bigger story that still hasn’t reached its conclusion,” Malenke said.