The "Baron Henrich Wilhelm Stiegel: His Stories - Part III" Story

It was an ordinary day.  Writing the story telling of the demise of Baron Henry William Stiegel is a tough assignment.  Mr. Stiegel came to the New World in 1750 from a small town near Cologne, Germany.  Within a few years he had built an alleged fortune as an iron master and glassmaker.  He bought enough land to form and build the industrial town of Manheim, Pennsylvania.  He treated his employees well and lived in great luxury with his family.  And, he just might have survived had it not been for his extravagance in a time when all seemed to go bad.  His future looked bright at one time, but his fortune soon turned for the worse.  Money in the Colonies became increasingly tight and taxes from England became more oppressive.  He hired some of the best artisans who came from Europe to help run his businesses and paid them well, as he should have.  The profits that he did gain from his glassworks weren't high enough to pay off his debts so he had to mortgage his two ironworks and glassworks as well as give up thoughts of a second glassworks.  But, he did not give up his extravagant lifestyle.  He still had sole ownership of his town of Manheim, but that wealth was mostly on paper.  Eventually his debts caught up with him and he lost property after property and finally was placed in debtor's prison.  While in prison he wrote pitiful letters to those he thought could and would help him, but to no avail.  He comprised spiritually moving prayers, which didn't help either.  Finally enough of his friends in the legislature passed an act for his release and he left Lancaster County Jail.  

Sketch of the school where he went back to teach.

He tried to return to his old home at the Elizabeth Furnace, but the owners, whom were allegedly his friends, didn't like it and he had to leave.  He tried teaching school in one of the schools he had established years before which didn't work out.  He went back to Elizabeth Furnace and became a foreman for a short time, but that also didn't work out.  He had become a shell of his former self and at forty-eight years of age was a thin, bent, nearly bald man with poor eyesight who had become a dejected and beaten man.  He had to rely on relatives for his existence.  During this time of helplessness he did get to witness the rise to power of his beloved nation whose industry and art he had greatly stimulated.  On January 10, 1785 he died, penniless and in poverty and buried in an unmarked pauper's grave.  A main thoroughfare in his beloved Manheim still bears his name taking workers, school children, tourists and even myself past the lot where his glassworks once stood until 1812.  Even though I can't photograph his tombstone for this story, his name I will never forget for all the good that he did in his life.  It was another extraordinary day in the life of an ordinary guy.