When most people think of Tyrone’s place in American history, they usually think of the Pennsylvania Railroad or the town’s important role in paper manufacturing.

But tucked into Tyrone’s past is the story of Colonel James Crowther, a Tyrone businessman and mayor who became a Civil War commander and gave his life to the Union at Chancellorsville, one of the bloodiest battles of the war.

Local historian Dustin Elder calls Crowther’s story “one of my favorite parts of Tyrone history that most people don’t know anything about.”

Born in Centre County to Eli Crowther and Mary Reynolds on January 16, 1818, James Crowther grew up on a farm in Penns Valley. He and his wife, Sarah, had three children who survived to adulthood in an era when it was very common for children to succumb to diseases or accidents.

Though he began as a farmer, Crowther eventually realized that his talents were in business. He moved his family to Curwensville and opened a livery stable, a mostly forgotten but once essential business that provided travelers a place to board horses or rent one for travel.

When Crowther heard about a new railroad town along the Juniata River, he saw an opportunity and moved his family and livery business to what would become Tyrone, establishing stables along what was then Logan Street, near the Juniata River.

Crowther also became involved in civic life in his adopted hometown.

“He joined a local militia, which was very common at the time, and [he] very quickly rose through the ranks and became the head of the local artillery unit,” Elder said.

In 1860, Crowther was elected as Tyrone’s third mayor, but when the Civil War broke out in 1861, he was among those who answered President Lincoln’s call for 90‑day volunteers.

At 43, Crowther was much older than the typical soldier, and with his background in business and politics, he was chosen to lead about 100 men as a company commander.

After his first term of service ended without seeing battle, Crowther faced a decision: return to his family and business in Tyrone, or reenlist and likely go to war. He chose to reenlist.

This time, he joined the 110th Pennsylvania Volunteers, a regiment made up of “good old Central PA boys” and young men from Philadelphia, a mix Elder describes as “by all accounts… the most dysfunctional unit.”

Their first commander, Elder says, “had goals of becoming a politician… All he wanted to do was get his name in the paper.” Crowther, by contrast, “was the opposite. He’s like, I want to do this. I want to, you know, save the Union.”

It took nearly two years for the 110th Pennsylvania to look like a real unit, but under Crowther’s leadership, which included no drinking, daily prayers, and curfews, the regiment slowly transformed into a disciplined unit.

Their first test came at the Battle of Kernstown, where Crowther wrote home about bullets whistling past his head and tearing through his coat.

“By most accounts, they perform really, really well,” Elder said. “They don’t fall apart, they don’t run away…It’s really kind of their birth in fire.”

Crowther was then promoted to lieutenant colonel and took command of the entire regiment in April 1863, just weeks before the Battle of Chancellorsville, which was Robert E. Lee’s greatest victory and Crowther’s last stand.

General Lee targeted a spot called Hazel Grove as the point where his divided forces would reunite.

“Guess where James Crowther and the 110th Pennsylvania were positioned? Hazel Grove,” Elder said. “The most important spot on the battlefield.”

As Confederate forces closed in, Crowther’s orders were to hold at all costs and retreat only if necessary.

Confederate soldiers reportedly called on Crowther’s men to surrender. Instead, Elder recounted, “he answered that guy’s call with an order to his men to fix bayonets and prepare for hand‑to‑hand combat.”

Overwhelmed by the rebels, Crowther finally ordered a retreat and, true to his character, tried to be the last man off the field, ensuring his soldiers escaped first.

But just as he turned to leave, a bullet struck him in the right breast.

According to his lieutenant’s report, Crowther’s final words were “Stay with me.” The officer tried to carry the six‑foot‑one, “farmer strong” colonel to safety, but could not.

Forced to withdraw, the lieutenant left his commander dying on the field at Hazel Grove.

Just days earlier, Crowther had written a letter to his wife, Sarah, sensing the danger ahead.

Elder recalled its closing lines: “My dearest wife, I love you. I hope I make it. Don’t forget about me, and don’t forget about the children, and tell them not to forget about me.”

The next letter Sarah received was from the lieutenant, informing her that her husband had fallen at Chancellorsville.

Crowther’s body was buried by Confederate troops, who recognized his rank and laid him in a separate grave from the other Union dead, marking it with a cracker box bearing his name.

Later, arrangements were made to recover his remains and personal effects, including his sword, trunk, and uniform, and send them to his family in Tyrone.

A prominent Tyrone citizen, John D. Stewart, volunteered to travel south and bring his personal effects home.

“By most accounts, he got the stuff from Chancellorsville,” Elder says. But somewhere on the journey back, likely in Harrisburg, Stewart stepped off the train and left the trunk behind.

Crowther’s belongings were never seen again.

“To this day, we don’t know where any of Crowther’s stuff is. It’s gone,” Elder said.

Sarah could not save the family business or afford to bring her husband’s body home. Their eldest son, who might have taken over the livery, also enlisted and like his father, was killed in the war.

Today, Colonel James Crowther is buried in the Fredericksburg National Cemetery under a standard government headstone “just like everybody else’s,” Elder says. He is the highest-ranking soldier buried in the cemetery.

His memory lives on through a collection of his letters, compiled into two books by local historian Bob Heilman, and through efforts by local historical groups and storytellers like Elder.

“If you were going to build a statue in Tyrone and you wanted someone that wasn’t controversial in any way, James Crowther’s probably the guy,” Elder said. “Civil War hero, died protecting our country.”