Our staff picks

Love is great, but this year, our February cover section is dedicated to breakups: messy ones, funny ones, and even breakups that helped Columbusites become who they are today. We asked our staff how they deal with a split. Here’s what they said.

For me it was always true crime documentaries and every flavor of Doritos.

— Jack McLaughlin, Editor-In-Chief

I suspect my next break up would be followed by a party....Paul-a-Palooza '24.

— Paul VanHorn, Account Executive

A bottle of wine and sad movies.

— Anna Gerhard, Account Executive

My last breakup was more than 23 years ago, so I'd say I'm disqualified.

— Meggin Weimerskirch, Advertising Director

Having my best friends over for cringy movies, wine, and a whole lot of venting.

— Atlas Biro, Creative Designer

Thank you, next!

— Justynne Pride, Marketing Director

This last time I ordered a DIY tooth gems kit on amazon and gave myself some. Usually I cope with some kind of bad drastic change like a tattoo or hair color.

—

Lizzy Saunders,

Brand Manager, (614) Beer

ON the WEB

Do you check your news and entertainment updates on 614now.com? You should. Every day we’re posting Columbus’s top news, entertainment, and sports stories from throughout Central Ohio. Check out all the Columbus news online, including the new ones below at 614now.com and suscribe to our daily email!

→ Popular OSU gameday bar spared from demolition, for now

The popular campus spot known for its sizable gameday gatherings, in addition to the nearby University Baptist Church of Columbus, were planned to be demolished to make way for a pair of mixed-used buildings from a Texas developer.

→ New hot dog concept comes to Italian Village food hall

Junkyard Dogs, the recently-opened eatery from Ed Bisconti of Borgata Pizza Cafe and QFM96 host Jerry Elliot, has taken over the Hatch kitchen in Budd Dairy Food Hall, a rotating space for vendors.

→ The Mom Prom is coming to Columbus

Grab your best 80s attire and get ready to breakdance the night away, because The Mom Prom is coming to Columbus. The event, a fundraiser for the Ohio, Kentucky and Indiana chapter of the Make-A-Wish Foundation, invites guests to an 80s-themed dance party at Lower.com Field.

614 Video

Did you know that (614) launched a YouTube channel with some very shareable video content? It’s true. Keep an eye out for more on our (614) Columbus account and on social media. In the meantime, check out the newest videos on our channel: now playing...

• Tasting Columbus—NEW episode!

Have you checked out our TV show “Tasting Columbus?” Join food scientist Matt Teegarden as he eats his way through Columbus’ food scene. Make sure to tune in at tastingcolumbus.com or scan the QR code above.

By John Clark

Story Design by

He was one of Columbus’ most successful Black industrialists. He employed 500 to 600 people to produce a decorative, aluminum trim that became popular in homes across the country. And in 1943, when the government came calling, he served a vital role in America’s race to invent the atom bomb and end World War II. Yet, chances are you’ve never even heard his name.

Lyman Beecher Kilgore was born in 1888, in Hillsboro, Ohio, about 65 miles southwest of Columbus. Life was hard. His mother died when he was only six years old. When his father left for the West Coast shortly afterward, he and a brother were left behind to be raised by a grandmother who could do little more than feed and clothe them. But at school, his teachers saw Kilgore for the bright, young man he was. In high school, he was a whiz at geometry, solving complicated mathematical problems in his head.

Not long after he graduated, Kilgore married Mabel, a neighbor, and moved to Columbus. In the early 1930s, Kilgore found his calling as a linoleum craftsman – first as a contractor for various stores in town, and then with B & T Floor Covering at Front and Long Streets. Always alert, he began to notice that the company never seemed to have enough raw materials on hand, slowing its output and putting valuable contracts at risk.

Kilgore devised a plan. He used his savings to buy the needed items at wholesale, kept plenty of them on hand and then sold them to the company at a nice profit. Later, when B&T found itself on the edge of bankruptcy, Kilgore stepped in and quietly bought the company. He kept all of the factory’s officers, preferring, instead, to work behind the scenes.

Kilgore eventually transformed B & T Floor Covering into B & T Metals and moved it to 435 West Town Street, in Franklinton, eventually adding on to the point that the factory commanded almost an entire city block. Under his leadership, B&T Metals became not only one of Columbus’ largest manufacturers, but also a model for racial harmony. He built a cafeteria for his employees and invited workers from nearby firms – those whose owners claimed Black and White workers couldn’t get along – to have lunch together. →

And when World War II came, Kilgore displayed his dedication to his workers’ welfare by buying a large farm and giving them their own space to grow crops. This helped ease the burdens brought on by rationing and food shortages.

It was also during this period that Kilgore, unwittingly, used his trained workforce and specialized factory equipment to help America win the race to build the first atomic bomb. It was a contribution toward ending World War II whose details continued to emerge long after his death in 1948. For much of 1943, a select group of Kilgore’s employees worked for a top-secret government program that became known as the Manhattan Project.

Leaders of the Poject had the know-how, but they lacked the manufacturing expertise and equipment. So, they contracted with the DuPont Company to convert chunks of uranium metal taken from mines in the Belgian Congo into usable rods. DuPont, in turn, called on the Battelle Memorial Institute, here in Columbus, for help. Battelle had already been doing scientific work for the government, and they had the technical expertise to do the job. However, they lacked the necessary equipment.

DuPont began a furious search for machine shops in the Midwest that had the capability to turn uranium “billets” into precisely milled rods. Within a short time, they set their sights on a handful of factories, including B&T Metals, barely five miles from Battelle offices. Training began; and by March 1943, 12 specialists at B&T were stretching uranium in a corner of the factory’s second floor.

The men were sworn to secrecy. But it probably wasn’t necessary. They, and even factory owner Kilgore, had no idea what this strange material was, much less how it was likely to be used. Over the next six months, they processed an estimated 50 tons of the rare material, which was then delivered under armed guard to the Hanford nuclear production site in Washington State.

Coincidentally, as the men who worked with uranium went about their top-secret work, other B&T employees were fulfilling their duty to Uncle Sam by creating and plating all sorts of metal parts for the armed services, much like many factories across the country were doing.

The government provided no special safety precautions for the uranium workers at B&T. Due to their precision work with such tools as micrometers, they couldn’t even wear gloves; they handled the highly radioactive materials with their bare hands. They were given weekly physical exams; and once a month they saw four doctors in one day.

One former employee later recalled that during this time he received a visit at his North Side home by federal agents investigating the disappearance of two of the mysterious rods. Victor Sharp, who continued to work for B&T until he was in his late ‘70s, said the disappearance was later determined to be a clerical error.

Another, Cecil W. Campbell, later told reporters how the uranium would emit strange waves, like heat rising from a highway. And if two rods should roll together, he said, it might create a spark or even a small fire.

Finally, the uranium billets stopped coming and the armed guards left. Government workers came to perform a cursory clean-up at the factory, and the B&T workers went back to their usual jobs. It wasn’t until the U.S. bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August 1945 did Kilgore and his employees begin to understand the outcome of their work.

Kilgore died in 1948. But even then, so little was actually known about his Manhattan Project work that in a detailed article about the Black entrepreneur and human rights supporter in The Ohio State News, there was no mention of that connection. Manufacturing at B&T Metals continued after the war, with the presidency of the company being handed down to a son-in-law and then a grandson, David Tolbert.

As for the cleanup, inspectors for the Department of Energy returned in 1989 and, finding low levels of contamination, ordered additional remediation, which finally occurred in 1996. Since then, the property – the soil and the parts that have not been demolished – has been declared safe for all usual activities.

By 2005, B&T Metals employed only four workers, performing specialty work like creating metal frames for chalkboards, and it soon closed. Of the portions that remain standing, one is the Chromedge Art studios at 289 West Walnut Street – named for B&T’s signature product. It was added to the B&S Metals factory in 1940. Another part of the old factory, 435 West Town Street, referred to by today’s owners as “the Hulk,” was built in 1945. It sits vacant, but is being eyed by the Franklinton Arts District as a potential music venue. The portion of the building where uranium was extruded is long gone.

Seventy-five years after Lyman Kilgore died, some have been working quietly to preserve his story and celebrate his accomplishments. Rita Fuller-Yates represents an organization called Columbus Black History. Rita told (614), “Lyman Kilgore was one of the reasons Black entrepreneurship thrived in Columbus.” And she said he was always trying to help others succeed. To make ends meet, she said, “many of the Black men of Columbus would work for B&T Metals part-time after working their city jobs during the day.” But, she noted, the Kilgores and the Tolberts were private people who didn’t like to shout their accomplishments.

Perhaps the time has come for wider recognition and appreciation of this humble, African-American entrepreneur and business owner who brought racial harmony to his little corner of Franklinton all those decades ago … and, of course, contributed to ending World War II. ♦

To read more stories like this, check out John Clark's book, "Columbus Uncovered"