When the sign “John W. Kern, Attorney at Law,” was hung out in 1870 there were no factories as now and no artisan class. It was above the average of county seats at the time and yet they were just beginning to build streets and it was not an extraordinary sight to see wagons mired in the thoroughfares. There were no clubs, but the “poor man’s club” was all too much in evidence, and the Clinton House, standing on the present site of the Frances Hotel, was a favorite gathering place for the gossips. It was a paradise for the gambler--the happy hunting grounds of the sporty element who flocked from afar, flamboyant in its cheap finery, unafraid of the law or the authorities, plucking the innocents without let or hindrance, crowding the “poor man’s clubs” with boisterous company. And just beyond this element in a sort of a mysterious haze loomed a more sinister element supposed to be engaged in transactions frowned upon by the laws of state and nation. This was the situation during the first twelve of the fifteen years of Kern’s residence in the town. Then something happened that brought about a cleansing. For many years the most powerful citizen, politically, among the lower strata was a physician, who was highly skilled in his profession, and known professionally over the state. He never charged the very poor for his services and thus he ingratiated himself into their affections, and he exercised a sway over the sporty element which was long hard to analyze. Many feared him without knowing why. One day, while mayor of the city, the police were informed by a traitor in his camp, who apparently feared him, that he proposed to burn the flour mill belonging to one of his enemies, and carry a leaking sack of flour to the home of another of his enemies, feared by the doctor, with the view to getting him out of the way by way of the penitentiary on the charge of arson. The police appeared at the mill as the doctor emerged with his sack of flour, and in his attempt to escape he was shot down. The incident created a sensation. The community was divided as to his guilt or innocence, and to this day there are some who cling to his memory as to the memory of a martyr. But the fact was developed that the prominent physician, potential politician and mayor was the head and brains of a lawless gang which had been under the observation of the federal secret service. His death scattered the gang, and with the gang the criminal element which revolved about it. The gamblers took to their heels. The new Kokomo emerged. But it was in the old Kokomo that John Kern passed his younger days.