During much of the 1800s, the house that stands at 5362 S. Main St. in Sylvania served as a safe haven for runaway slaves who fled north by way of the Underground Railroad. In  the basement there is a distinct change of brickwork where, according to oral tradition, two large, built-in ovens played essential roles in hiding slaves. One oven was used for cooking (and keeping the slaves warm); the other was the doorway to temporary safety within the home owned by Miles Lathrop.

Today, the dwelling that has housed almost 10 families remains on the same plot of land. But for the first time since its construction in 1838 — more than 163 years — it sits vacant. Its windows are boarded. The house that is potentially, arguably, a national historical treasure faces an uncertain future, as plans to either demolish or relocate the landmark are caught in a gentle, yet steely, tug of war between preservationists and expansionists.

Marie Vogt has lived in the house since 1954 and has been looking for a buyer for more than a year. She approached the city of Sylvania, requesting $700,000 for the property, but was rejected. Days prior to the Sept. 11 attacks, Nan and Neil Buehrer bid $330,000 on the property with another couple who wanted to turn the house into a bed and breakfast. The investors had toured the house several times and hired a building inspector to review the residence. The Buehrers, who had experience renovating older homes, researched how to convert the four-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bath home into a bed and breakfast without altering the historic structure and value of the residence.

Following the Buehrer’s bid, St. Joseph’s Catholic Church bid $350,000 for the property, wishing to build several new facilities, including a new gymnasium, to accommodate its 10,000 parishioners and 800 students. The church hoped to add the land to its recently purchased eight acres adjacent to the Vogt house. The Buehrers were hopeful that they would get the property. “We had been told by her (Vogt’s) attorney that she really wanted to keep the house intact, and he expected that she would take our offer,” said Mr. Buehrer. “Then we heard from a parishioner at the church that they had unlimited funds and would continue to outbid us.” After hearing that, the couple said that they expected Vogt to ask for a counter offer, but the attorney representing Vogt never called.

On Oct. 31, Marie Vogt sold the house and its 3.7 acres to St. Joseph’s Catholic Church for $350,000. St. Joseph’s had looked into keeping the Vogt house and using it for part of its new campus, but after learning that renovation of the 163-year-old house could cost upwards of $100,000, the church obtained a demolition permit. In a letter to parishioners, St. Joseph’s stated that the cost for keeping  the house and sustaining it “were not consistent with good stewardship practices.”

When news of the impending demolition spread, preservationists picketed in the church parking lot during Sunday services Oct. 28 and Nov. 4.  “We were confused at first,” said Ray Olczak, a 20-year member of St. Joseph’s finance committee. “We had been very up front about the whole thing, we weren’t being surreptitious, and we thought everyone who had any interest knew we wanted the property, then BOOM! We are faced with pickets on Sunday morning.”

Preservationists like Gaye Gindy, a Sylvania historian and author, said that they were astounded that Vogt — who for years had given school tours in her home to teach the story of slaves hiding in the basement on their journey north — sold the house to the church, knowing that it wanted to tear the house down.

“My heart was just broken that she could do this after all the years of her saying how much she loved the house and how she loves the history of it,” Gindy said. “We assumed that the church had met her price of $700,000, which would be hard to turn down,” Gindy continued. “But when I found out that they paid $350,000, and she sold it to them instead of the couple who wanted to buy it to restore (it) into a bed and breakfast, my heart broke.” Bonita Scheidel, a Sylvania City Council member, asserts that St. Joseph’s long-standing offer to buy the property was common knowledge, though the offer was considered low, and unacceptable.

The sale to the church, she says, was a complete surprise, considering that the bed and breakfast bid had not been declined yet. (Under law, when dealing through a real estate agent, sellers are required to respond to bids chronologically. But home owners selling the property themselves do not have to conform to this requirement — though fair housing laws are still applicable.) Vogt said that she had discussed the future of her home with members of preservationist groups and Sylvania City Council, though apparently no offers were made. Concerns over the property took center stage at a Sylvania City Council meeting Nov. 5, where a standing-room-only crowd debated the future of the property. Some defended St. Joseph’s plans for expansion, others wished to see the house moved and preserved and some wanted the home to remain where it is, untouched. The council passed a resolution to find a location for the Vogt house, but acknowledged that St. Joseph’s property rights took precedence.

But preservationists insist that the historic site cannot be torn down. Some believe the home will lose historic merit if moved. Toledo historical architect, Ted Ligebel, has said that the house may have national significance because of the unique, undeveloped topography surrounding the building that allows school children and visitors to walk the same route slaves took through the woods and ravine to the safety of the Lathrop home.  Yet not everyone is convinced that the Vogt house served as a stop on the Underground Railroad and argue that “historic folklore” does not prove conclusive evidence.

To be labeled a historic landmark calls for documentation. Primary sources documenting the Underground Railroad, however, are scarce, because at that time in the country’s existence, written records could have indicted those who helped slaves escape — illegal in many states, considering that slaves were considered property. Penalties were steep for helping slaves to freedom. Because of this, there was no formal organization for the Underground Railroad, and therefore little in the way of physical record. Historians rely to a great extent on family stories passed down through the generations. Oral histories, according to Gindy, place the Lathrop home as a station on the Underground Railroad.  She believes the history she’s gathered from descendants of many of the approximately 10 families who have lived in the house, in addition  to the written history of the Harroun  family and house (another Sylvania residence considered to be a stop on the Underground Railroad), provide solid  documentation.

The Harroun house used to stand on the grounds where Flower Hospital sits. (Today, the barn remains.) The story goes that David Harroun transported escaped slaves from Maumee to Sylvania in two old lumber wagons covered with hay.  They were hidden in the attic or in the loft of the Harroun barn — as well as in the old Lathrop House. Miles Lathrop served as a fireman on the M.S. & N.I. Railroads and then worked as an engineer on the L.S. & M.S. Railroads, giving him many opportunities to help slaves.

But the only organization that lists the Vogt house on its historic register, according to its Web site, is Friends for Freedom. The lack of recognition for the Lathrop House might have to do with the process in which homes become historic landmarks. Typically, the homeowner seeks the identification and provides necessary documentation. Receiving the prestigious historic label does present some significant changes for the homeowner, often meaning prohibitive rules restricting what renovations and remodeling property owners can and cannot do to their house.

Scheidel, who serves on the Sylvania Historical Commission and is a member of the Sylvania Historical Society and St. Joseph parish, said there was some discussion regarding seeking national historic identification for Vogt’s home. Apparently, Vogt did not want this to happen. Friends of Freedom had sent Vogt an official red flag to display in her window, but she declined to display it. The home, therefore, has hung in a kind of limbo, in which it was recognized by many citizens as a special landmark, but carried no official designation and accompanying protections. Until the varying sides come to agreement, St. Joseph’s has offered to assist in the relocation of the house by donating the money they would spend on demolition — around $15,000 — to any group prepared to move the house.

(As of press time, members of St. Joseph’s were to meet Tuesday with citizens concerned with preserving the house to try and forge some consensus about what to do with the house.) St. Joseph’s representatives have suggested moving the house a few hundred yards north so that it would rest on property owned by the city of Sylvania. Asked to give a deadline for their plans, church spokesman Olzcak said, “I can tell you that it’s not a matter of days or weeks.” Church representatives said as long as they feel they are working in good faith with the preservationists, they will remain cooperative.

The church, however, will not allow the Historical Village Commission’s house-moving specialist to survey the house to give an accurate estimate. Gindy said that the church fears that a specialist looking at the structural qualities of the house might find something behind the basement brick wall or other evidence of the historical significance of the home that might ignite the public into further protest Said Scheidel: “I feel as if we’re in an enormous Catch-22.”

Considering that there is currently no place to put the building and little money with which to move it, it may take a miracle to save the house. “This is not a new debate,” said Sylvania City Council member John Billis.  “We have had decades of inaction regarding the historical value of the home.”