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HAMILTON COUNTY HISTORICAL SOCIETY
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Dottie Young: A Life Rooted in Hamilton County
​Mark Passwater in the jail office
By Nancy A. Massey, Hamilton County Historical Society, Board Director
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Two days before her birthday, Sandra Lynch and I sat down with Dottie Young at the Hamilton East Public Library for a conversation about her life and her reflections on living in Hamilton County. The interview was part of the Hamilton County Historical Society’s ongoing oral history initiative—an effort to preserve the lived experiences of longtime residents whose stories illuminate the county’s past and guide its future.
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Dorothy “Dottie” Jane Zeiss Young was born on August 7, 1946, in the old Harrell Hospital on 9th Street in Noblesville. Her early morning arrival marked the beginning of a life deeply interwoven with the land, people, and traditions of Hamilton County. Raised in Clarksville—a small community nestled between Noblesville and Pendleton—Dottie’s childhood unfolded in a world of barns, bicycles, and neighborly trust. She fondly calls it “a golden time.”
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Dottie’s family roots in the area stretch back to the 1830s. On her father’s side, the Zeiss family came from Tiffin, Ohio, traveling by train with their livestock and even their dog to settle in Wayne Township. Her mother’s lineage includes the Careys, Paulsels, and Lehrs—names etched into the cemeteries, church rolls, and civic records of Hamilton County. Her great-grandfather Carey fought in the Civil War and later cared for orphans in Westfield. Her grandmother was born in a log cabin on Hinkle Creek and attended the Quaker church in Noblesville.
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Dottie’s early years were filled with freedom and imagination. “We’d ride our bikes, play hide-and-seek in barns, and explore abandoned buildings,” she recalls. “Nobody worried. You just had to be home for supper.” She remembers the Mexican families who moved into an old lodge building, how the children taught her Spanish, and how her father ran electricity from his shop to help them. The local church pitched in with food and support. “It was a beautiful time,” she says. “We didn’t have much, but we had each other.”
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The Clarksville Masonic Lodge—once the second-longest continuously active in Indiana—played a central role in the town’s social calendar, especially during its legendary December oyster suppers. Dottie fondly remembers the pump organ tucked in the corner. The lodge was a place of fraternity and charity. Its furniture was eventually moved to Noblesville, where it lives on—restored, repurposed, and preserved.
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Her family home sat across from the historic residence of Abraham and Sarah Nicholson, the town’s founders. Over time, it became a gas station, then a beloved neighborhood landmark. “We lived on Highway 38, now the Bataan Memorial Highway,” Dottie says. “I always joked I’d name my life story ‘My Life on the Bataan Highway… or How Can I Get Off This Road?’”
When one of the two general stores burned down in the 1950s, Clarksville had no fire department. Locals formed a bucket brigade from the Masonic Lodge pump in Clarksville. “It was like a scene from an old movie,” she recalls.
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Her father’s shop, once a blacksmith shop built in the 1840s to attract tradesmen to the territory, stood as a symbol of Clarksville’s working-class resilience.
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Dottie’s father, Richard, was a cabinetmaker and a self-taught artist with extraordinary talent. From Roman-themed illustrations for the 1929 Noblesville Shadow yearbook to advertising murals for theaters in Bloomington, Omaha, and Davenport, his legacy shines in photos and ink. Dottie inherited his creativity—and his conviction that art gives dignity to history.
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Her mother, Thelma, worked as a nanny before marrying and later took a position at Butler University alongside her husband as caretakers of Ross Hall.
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Dottie attended Durbin Elementary School, where kindergarten didn’t yet exist, and completed eighth grade in Wayne Township. At the time, the township didn’t offer high school, so students had to choose between Noblesville, Lapel, or Walnut Grove. Dottie chose Noblesville, following in the footsteps of her parents, grandparents, and siblings. She became a cheerleader—an unexpected honor for a girl from Durbin—and took the role seriously. “There were only five of us,” she says. “We had a cheer block. It was organized and passionate—not like today’s squads.”
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After high school, Dottie worked at RCA in Indianapolis to save money for college. She attended Indiana University, working multiple jobs to support herself, including scheduling appointments for Kirby vacuum sales and working in Bloomington schools. Her determination and work ethic were shaped by her family’s example—her father worked three jobs to put her brother through Purdue’s chemical engineering program.
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Dottie’s professional life included teaching in Indianapolis Public Schools and raising her daughter, Emily. But her heart remained in Hamilton County, where she became a tireless advocate for historical preservation, community service, and civic engagement.
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She joined the Hamilton County Historical Society in 1973 during the county’s sesquicentennial and has served in nearly every leadership role since, except treasurer. She helped launch the Flower Faire, organized teas and style shows, and traveled across the county collecting oral histories from service veterans and donations.
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Her involvement extended to the Cemetery Commission, where she worked to protect and restore neglected burial grounds. “I hate to see vandalism and neglect,” she says. “We led the way for other counties.” She’s also been a longtime member of Tri Kappa, a philanthropic sorority that allowed her to serve others even when resources
were tight. “It’s a wonderful sisterhood,” she says. “You get to help people in meaningful ways.”
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One of Dottie’s proudest achievements was helping save the Sheriff’s Residence and Old Jail from demolition in the 1990s. “They wanted to tear it down for parking,” she recalls. “Irvin Heath threatened to chain himself to the porch. People thought it was just old—but it was historic.” The building was eventually restored, including its tower, which had been destroyed by a tornado in 1948.
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She remembers stories of girls avoiding the 8th Street side because prisoners would yell crude things through the windows. Former inmates have returned to show their children where they once stayed—some of their drawings still visible on the walls.
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At a recent museum open house, a woman said, “This is beautiful... and I wanted it torn down. Was I crazy?” Dottie reflects, “Some people can’t see the potential beneath age and wear. But if enough of us do, we can change minds.”
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Her reflections on Noblesville’s growth are tinged with both pride and concern. “I remember driving with my mom and seeing the lights from Indianapolis. I said, ‘Maybe someday they’ll come here.’ She said, ‘I hope not—too many people.’” Dottie has watched subdivisions replace cornfields, historic homes vanish, and barns collapse. She mourns the loss of landmarks like the Opera House and the Armory, where she once cheered at county-wide basketball tournaments. “We need to slow down and think before we tear things down,” she says. “Maintenance matters. Appreciation matters.”
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Dottie’s passion for preservation is matched by her love of storytelling. Her family photos—colorized portraits, snapshots in galvanized tubs, church gatherings, and memento mori images—tell stories of resilience, humor, and heartbreak. She speaks of her grandmother who died of tuberculosis, her cousin who drank disinfectant, and her great-grandfather who was kicked by a horse and lay by a fence post for three days before dying. “History isn’t perfect,” she says. “But it’s ours.”
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Some family photos hint at deeper stories: a possible memento mori photograph of a layered ancestor, haunting and serene. Others spark laughter—like her grandfather’s sleigh tipping in the snow, rolling out a very round passenger who simply laughed, got up, and rode on.
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She’s especially concerned about the loss of cursive writing. “If kids don’t learn it, they won’t be able to read the letters their ancestors left behind,” she says. “I tried to share a letter my cousin wrote to my mother when she was dying. My children couldn’t read it.”
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Today, Dottie lives in Noblesville, watching the landscape change and remembering the people who shaped it. She speaks with reverence about her neighbors, her teachers, and her family. Her message to future generations is clear: Appreciate the past. Preserve what you can. Ask questions. Stay curious.
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“I used to think everything was perfect,” she says. “But we’re made of people. Not all of them are perfect—but we keep striving.”
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“History isn’t flawless, but it’s ours to reckon with. That’s why I believe so strongly in preserving and knowing our past—good, bad, and complicated.”
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In sharing her story, Dottie Young has given Hamilton County a gift—not just of memory, but of meaning. Her life reminds us that history lives in barns and bridges, in handwritten letters and family photographs, in laughter and loss. And most of all, in the voices of those who remember.
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With stories like hers, Hamilton County doesn’t just remember its past—it learns from it.
​Mark and Marjorie on a date
