People have asked me why my first two novels, Ace of Diamonds and Echoes of Malice, are set in rural Franklin, Pennsylvania. My wife spent several of her formative years here and still has family and friends in town so we visit often. It’s a lovely area that, today, is a quiet, out-of-the-way town nestled in the hills of northwestern Pennsylvania. It’s located at the confluence of the Allegheny River and French Creek and is perhaps most notable for its rural beauty and historic town center. But there were times when Franklin was at the center of world events, and I find its history fascinating.

In the late eighteenth century, the area was caught between Britain and France as those countries fought for world dominance. During the French and Indian War, the North American theater of a larger global conflict, the two empires fought for control of the strategic Ohio River Valley, with each constructing a string of forts to strengthen their territorial claims and control commerce. In 1753, the French captured a British trading post located in what would become modern-day Franklin, and soon a twenty-one-year-old militia Major named George Washington was dispatched with a letter from the Virginia Lieutenant Governor demanding that they leave. The French cordially refused, and conflict raged through North America for the next six years. In 1756, France built Fort Machault on the site, but by 1759 the tide had turned, and the French destroyed their fort and retreated to Canada. The following year, the British constructed Fort Venango near the Fort Machault ruins; three years later it was destroyed by Indians during Pontiac’s rebellion. Franklin then receded into the background as a new nation was forged.

Franklin again took center stage a century later, when it was at the epicenter of the world’s first oil boom. In 1859, the world’s first commercial oil well was drilled in nearby Titusville, and soon the oil rush was on. Within two years, Franklin and nearby Oil City were the hub of a region that produced two million barrels of oil annually and generated enormous wealth. Among the wave of fortune seekers was John Wilkes Booth, who came to Franklin in 1864; within the year, his Dramatic Oil Company failed, and he moved on. One can only wonder how history might have changed had Booth’s oil venture succeeded and he remained in Franklin, rather than assassinating President Lincoln in Ford’s Theater in April of 1865.

For much of the twentieth century, Franklin remained a thriving community, its economy powered by the oil industry and the businesses that it spawned. By the 1990s, however, the Pennsylvania oil industry had withered, and once famous local companies such as Quaker State, Valvoline, and Pennzoil faded into oblivion. Inexorably, the businesses that depended on the oil industry failed, and Franklin’s flame slowly dimmed. Ironically, in the twenty-first century, Pennsylvania has become the nation’s second-largest oil producing state, but that has not restored Franklin’s glory days.

Today Franklin is defined by the legacy of the oil era and the region’s natural beauty. Many of the buildings from Franklin’s golden era still exist, in varying states of preservation. The heart of the town is Liberty Street, which in 2010 was named as one of America’s Ten Great Streets, and many scenes in this novel, and its predecessor, are set there. This thoroughfare, reminiscent of a picture post card of a bygone era, is anchored by the Italianate style, twin-spired Venango County Courthouse, built in 1869, and two flanking parks. Fountain Park, to the west, is notable for its hundred-year-old trees and the ornate centerpiece fountain constructed in 1896. Bandstand Park, to the east, often hosts concerts and community events, and contains memorials commemorating Venango County Civil War veterans, Vietnam War veterans, and police and firefighters who died in the line of duty.

A pleasantly charming feature of downtown Franklin is the sound of bells echoing from nearby buildings and the more distant surrounding hills. Two church bell towers sound their Westminster chimes each quarter hour and, on the hour, they’re joined by the distinctive metallic clang of the courthouse bell, sounding one time for each hour that has passed. On special occasions, the church bells serenade the town with appropriately themed short concerts. These bells give a rhythm to the city.

While it seems implausible that Franklin will ever return to the forefront of world events, perhaps that’s for the best. The city retains a small-town simplicity that serves as a reminder of a dynamic past but seems light years away from the congestion and unrest prevalent in modern urban centers.