The area north of Evansville called Stringtown has gone by several names. It was first called Skelehorn Hill after an Englishman named Thomas Skelehorn who owned a quarter section of land there in 1818. As other settlers arrived and set up their little businesses – wagon shop, blacksmith shop, sawmills, cooperage, cabinet – the place became known as Mechanicsville.
In 1848 a Mechanicsville post office was established that remained in operation until 1851. Reopened in 1863, it continued until 1879.
About 1880 the name was changed to Zipp when Frank Zip jr. was appointed postmaster. The post office, which remained in operation until 1896, was in a small building beside the Zipp residence at the north end of Stringtown Road,
Although Zipp remained as a small dot on Hoosier roadmaps as late as 1987, the area has been colloquially called Stringtown for many years. No one seems to know why it was named Stringtown unless it is because the businesses and residences are strung out along both sides if the road that follows the high ridges on the hill.
There is a interesting story about the Zipp family. Frank Zipp emigrated from Germany in the 1850’s, a cobbler by trade. In addition to his shoe shop, he opened a combination grocery-saloon which was tended by his 20-year old son, Frank Jr.
On the afternoon of June 17, 1877, a somewhat notorious character called Red Fred walked into the saloon with three companions and ordered drinks for the house. When it came time to pay the check , Fred said he didn’t have any money but would come back one day soon and settle up. This made young Fred mad, and he ordered Red Fred to get out of his place and never come back.
That brought on a violent argument that ended when Zipp clobbered Red Fred over the head with a club he kept handy under the bar.
Bleeding profusely, Red Fred left the saloon and went into Evansville where, the next day, he filed charges against Frank Jr. for assault and battery and against Frank Sr. for operating an establishment that sold whisky illegally on Sunday.
Both father and son were arrested, but when the day of the trial came, Frank Sr. decided it would be better to get it over with by pleading guilty and paying the fine, which amounted to $7 and some cents. He then went home.
Young Frank stayed in town and ended up at Charlie Proll’s Germania Saloon at Third and Main near the old courthouse, where he imbibed what were perhaps several drinks too many.
Suddenly he pulled a derringer out of his pocket, put the muzzle beside his head, and shouting , “Goodbye World!” pulled the trigger.
The gun discharged, and Frank Jr. fell to the floor dead, or at least that is what they thought. The coroner was called, but by the time the coroner arrived Frank had come to and was back on his feet.
Bleeding profusely from the wound, he managed to walk down the street under his own power to the office of Drs. Achilles and Wilde at the corner of Fourth and Vine streets.
Frank Zipp must have been a very hardheaded young man, because when Achilles removed the slug, he found that the bullet had penetrated the flesh and then flattened itself like a wafer against Frank’s skull. There was no injury to the brain.
After the wound was cleaned, stitched and dressed, Frank Jr. went home with only a bad headache.
