
Every summer, usually in late June or July, Lexington gets a warning that sounds routine until it isn’t: flash flooding possible. The city sits in a shallow limestone bowl, its founding creek — Town Branch — buried under the pavement of Vine Street since the nineteenth century, and when a cloudburst stalls overhead the…

In 1910 the Lexington Herald gave a full section front to the safe-and-sane crusade — the campaign insisting America’s fireworks Fourth killed more people than the Revolution it commemorated.

At Woodland Park’s Kentucky Chautauqua, the Fourth of July meant brilliant lectures, helpful schools, splendid music — and a former Opera House stagehand going up in a balloon he called a thing of shreds and patches.

On the 50th Fourth of July, Lexington raised a glass to the living Thomas Jefferson — and learned from the same newspaper, seventeen days later, that he and John Adams had both died that very afternoon.

In April 1930, a 66-ton embalmed finback named Goliath rolled into Lexington in a glass-walled railcar — and 3,000 people came out the first night.

A two-sentence notice in the spring of 1911 banned tapping Lexington’s storm sewers for sewage. The cross-connections it targeted are the same ones at the heart of the city’s $590 million EPA consent decree, entered almost to the day a century later.

by Paul Oliva, Lexington Times Web Editor Editor’s note: In August 2023, this publication ran a remembrance of Michael Joseph “Mickey” Shannon, the Irish-born horseman who edited the original Lexington Sunday Times in 1911 — the colorful predecessor whose name we carry. Three more years of digging — through the digitized Lexington Herald and…

At first light on Oct. 18, 1862, John Hunt Morgan’s 1,800 horsemen hit a Union cavalry camp on the grounds of Ashland — the Henry Clay estate, a mile from the courthouse in Morgan’s own hometown. The fight lasted about as long as breakfast; the argument over his statue lasted a century. The finale…

Lexington’s most famous madam ran the “most orderly of disorderly houses” on Megowan Street, was pardoned by a governor, bankrolled by a Philadelphia millionaire, and shuttered by the War Department in 1917 — then spent 23 reclusive years in the fading mansion. Between the wink and the scrapbook at UK lies the documented story,…

In April 1897 — six years before the Wright brothers — tens of thousands of Americans saw a cigar-shaped airship with colored lights crossing the night sky, and Kentucky papers from Paducah to Hopkinsville carried the sightings. Lexington’s Daily Leader covered the wave with Bluegrass skepticism: a Muncie hoax of balloons and lanterns, a…