Ode to 145 Bailliere

 An Ode to 145 Bailliere Drive

For twenty-four years, you have been more than a house.

You have been our gathering place, our refuge, our front-row seat to life's most precious moments.

Behind your doors, children grew, families gathered, friendships deepened, and memories were made that can never be packed into boxes or loaded onto a moving truck. Your rooms echoed with laughter during birthday parties, holiday celebrations, and countless conversations around the dinner table. Thanksgiving feasts filled your kitchen with warmth and tradition. Christmas mornings brought joy, anticipation, and the glow of lights reflected in happy faces.

Outside, summer seemed to belong to you. The pool became the center of endless celebrations—family reunions, neighborhood gatherings, and carefree afternoons that stretched into warm Indiana evenings. Friends arrived as guests and left as family. The sounds of splashing water, music, laughter, and children playing became the soundtrack of a life well lived.

Yet what made you truly special was the view beyond your windows.

The peaceful lake that has reflected every season of our lives carried a deeper meaning for me. To live on the lake named for my great-grandfather, Harry DeTurk, was a gift beyond measure. Every sunrise over the water, every quiet morning with a Diet Coke, every glass-like evening reflecting the sky connected me not only to nature's beauty, but to my family's story.

You gave us a setting that felt almost too beautiful to be real. The stillness of the water. The changing colors of the trees. The calls of geese overhead. The gentle rhythm of the seasons arriving and departing year after year. Through life's celebrations and challenges, that view remained constant—a reminder of where we came from and what truly matters.

A house is built with lumber, brick, and stone.

A home is built with memories.

And by that measure, 145 Bailliere Drive has been the richest home we could have ever hoped for.

As we prepare to turn the page and begin a new chapter, we leave with grateful hearts. We will miss the lake, the pool, the parties, the holidays, and the countless ordinary days that became extraordinary simply because they happened here.

Thank you for sheltering our family.

Thank you for holding our memories.

Thank you for twenty-four wonderful years.

You will always be part of our story.

With love and gratitude,

Chip, Michelle, Emmah & Ben Keller; George & Marty

Keller Family History in Morgan County

 When I think about where my story begins, it doesn’t start in Martinsville. It starts in 1826, in Baden-Württemberg, Germany, with my third great-grandfather, Frederick Keller.

Frederick was born into a world far removed from rural Indiana. In the 1840s, he made the brave decision to leave Germany and come to America, joining many others who crossed the Atlantic in search of opportunity and stability. He eventually settled in Brown Township in Morgan County and established a home in the area now known as Keller Hill Road. Every time I pass that road, I’m reminded that it represents more than a family name; it marks the place where our roots in Morgan County first took hold.

Frederick’s decision to settle here anchored the Keller family to this community for generations. His children and grandchildren built their lives in Morgan County, becoming part of its farms, businesses, churches, and civic life. Among them was his grandson, Morton Vance Keller, my great-grandfather, who would leave a particularly notable mark on local history.

In 1932, during the depths of the Great Depression, Morton was elected Sheriff of Morgan County. It was a difficult time to hold public office. Families were struggling, jobs were scarce, and law enforcement faced enormous challenges. During his tenure, Sheriff Keller housed the infamous bank robber John Dillinger in the Morgan County jail. That single fact often captures people’s attention when they hear our family name. For me, it is more than an interesting historical footnote; it is a reminder that my family once stood at the intersection of national headlines and small-town responsibility.

When Morton became sheriff in 1932, he moved his family to Martinsville, the county seat, so he could better carry out his duties. That move proved permanent. While this branch of the Keller family in Morgan County began in Brown Township, from that moment forward Martinsville became home. The Kellers have been residents of Martinsville ever since.

My grandfather, Robert L. Keller (known to many as “Big Bob”) continued the family’s deep presence in the community. Before becoming known locally for his leadership and involvement, he served his country during World War II as a Lieutenant Colonel in the United States Army. Like many men of his generation, he answered the call during a time of global crisis. His military service reflected a commitment to duty that seemed to run in our family, from law enforcement to public service to national defense. It is a point of pride for me that his life was marked not only by local devotion, but by service on a much larger stage.

After the war, he returned home and married Dorothy Grizzle. Together they raised two children: my aunt, Kay Keller O’Neal, and my father, Robert Keller II. Through them, the Keller name carried forward not only in family records but in the everyday life of Martinsville.

As Frederick’s third great-grandson, I see our history not simply as a collection of dates, but as a steady thread running through Morgan County’s story. It begins with a young immigrant from Germany willing to risk everything for a new start. It continues with a Depression-era sheriff entrusted with public safety at a time of uncertainty. It includes a World War II officer who stepped forward in defense of his country. And it carries on through generations who chose to remain in Martinsville, building lives, raising families, and contributing in quiet, lasting ways.

Nearly two centuries after Frederick first set foot in Morgan County, our family is still here. Roads have been paved, buildings replaced, and eras have come and gone, but the commitment to this place has remained constant. I am proud to be part of that legacy; a legacy rooted in hard work, public service, and an enduring connection to the community my ancestors chose so long ago.

What Real Courage Looks Like - Bill Nutter

 My grandfather, Bill Nutter, was a quiet hero from right here in Martinsville, Indiana. I still keep his old Marine Corps photos on my desk, along with that faded V-mail letter he wrote home during the Battle of Iwo Jima, dated March 4, 1945. In it, he tried to sound cheerful for my grandma Harriet, mentioning he was on a "little rock" called Iwo Jima, how things were "swell" all things considered, and how much he loved getting their pictures to keep in that battered frame. Reading those words now, knowing what was really happening, the savage fighting, the black sand, the caves full of danger, I can only imagine the strength it took to shield his family from the worst of it.

After graduating from Martinsville High School in 1940, he spent a year at DePauw University before enlisting in the United States Marine Corps. Like so many young men of his generation, he answered the call without hesitation. He served in the Pacific and was there on Iwo Jima from February 19 to the end of March 1945, one of the bloodiest battles in Marine Corps history. He came home, built a life, married my grandma, raised a family, including my mom, and lived a good, steady life in the town he loved. But he carried those memories quietly. He passed away in 1989 when I was 18, and I've missed him every day since. There are so many things I wish I could ask him now, about the war, about what it felt like to stand on that volcano after the flag went up on Mount Suribachi, about the buddies he lost.

I remember and thank those who have sacrificed so much by serving our country, not just my grandpa, but every veteran who faced the unknown so the rest of us could live free. His service, his letters, his pictures; they're a reminder to me of what real courage looks like: not loud or boastful, but enduring, loyal, and deeply tied to family and home. He taught me, without ever saying it outright, what it means to be proud of where you come from and grateful for the freedoms we enjoy.

Semper Fi, Grandpa. I carry your story with me, and I'm honored to be your grandson. Thank you…for everything.

Kuwait Comes to Martinsville

Growing up in Martinsville, Indiana, I thought our life was fairly ordinary. We were a close-knit family in a small town where everybody seemed to know everybody. My grandmother, Harriet Nutter, worked as an interior decorator at Kittle’s Furniture in Indianapolis. To me, that simply meant she had good taste and an eye for detail. I had no idea at the time that her gift for hospitality and friendship would open a window to the wider world for our entire family.

Around 1980, a couple from Kuwait walked into Kittle’s looking for furniture. Their names were Dr. Khaled Al-Nassar and his wife. What began as a professional interaction soon grew into a genuine friendship. My grandmother had a natural warmth about her. She didn’t just sell people sofas and dining tables; she connected with them. Before long, she had invited the Al-Nassar family down to Martinsville for dinner.

Looking back, it still amazes me. In a small Indiana town in the early 1980s, our extended family gathered around the table with a family from Kuwait. There were no grand speeches about cultural exchange or global understanding. There was simply food, conversation, and laughter. I remember how kind they were, how curious we all were about one another, and how natural it felt despite the miles and cultural differences between us. Over the next 10 years, the al-Nassar family visited us several times.

One of Dr. Al-Nassar’s daughters even attended Martinsville High School for a day with my sister, Mimi Keller Boyd. For Mimi, it was probably an exciting change of routine. For the rest of us, it was a glimpse into how big the world truly was. Those moments felt special, but in a child’s mind, they were simply part of the story of our family.

Then, in 1990, the world changed.

In October of 1990, after Iraq invaded Kuwait, Dr. Al-Nassar provided significant witness testimony before the United States Congress regarding atrocities committed during the occupation. His video testimony is still available to view on CSPAN.  I remember realizing that this was the same man who had once sat at our dinner table in Martinsville. The same father whose children had laughed with us and posed for pictures in our living room. The conflict that dominated headlines and nightly news broadcasts was no longer distant. It was personal. During their last visit, I’ll never forget how grateful they were to the United States for coming to Kuwait’s rescue. Over the years, I've searched for any trace of the al-Nassar family, hoping to reconnect, but I've found nothing.

As I look back now, I see how unique and fortunate we were. In a small town in Indiana, we were given a firsthand connection to people whose lives would soon be caught in a major world event. We were reminded that history is not just something that happens in faraway capitals or on television screens. It happens to families. It happens to friends.

My grandmother probably never imagined that inviting customers to dinner would one day connect her family to a pivotal moment in international history. But that was Harriet Nutter. She believed in welcoming people in. Because of her, I learned early on that the world is both larger and smaller than we think.

And I remain grateful for that lesson. 

Remembering Blandell Hutson: A Life That Tells a Fuller Story

 

Growing up in Martinsville, I didn’t learn about my hometown from headlines or reputation. I learned about it around the dinner table.

And more often than not, Blandell Hutson was sitting there with us.

Blandell was a regular guest in our home, holidays, birthdays, the kind of gatherings where stories are told and retold. As a kid, I didn’t think much about it. He was simply part of our extended circle. It was only later, as I got older and became more aware of Martinsville’s reputation as a “sundown town,” that I began to realize how much his life quietly challenged that narrative.

Because the truth is, Blandell Hutson didn’t just pass through Martinsville. He lived here, worked here, built relationships here, and by all accounts, did well.

Born in 1906 in Martinsville, Blandell was a lifelong resident of Morgan County. His roots ran deep. Newspaper clippings from as early as 1912 place him here as a child with his family. He graduated from Martinsville High School with the Class of 1925 and remained connected to his classmates for decades, attending reunions well into later life. That alone tells you something. He wasn’t isolated. He was part of the fabric of the community.

Like many of his generation, Blandell answered the call to serve during World War II. He spent more than two years in the Army, including time overseas in England and France before returning home to Martinsville. After the war, he resumed his work and his life here. Not somewhere else, not in a place that might have seemed more welcoming, but right here.

And he worked. Blandell was known throughout Martinsville as a shoe shine man, a trade he began as a young man and continued for decades. For over twenty years, he shined shoes at Coffey’s Barber Shop just off the square, becoming a familiar and dependable presence in the daily lives of countless residents. He built a steady clientele and a reputation for reliability. There’s dignity in that kind of work, and respect earned the old-fashioned way.

But Blandell’s life wasn’t just about work. He was part of a church family. He and his wife, Bessie, became members of First Baptist Church, where they were welcomed and embraced. One story recalled years later describes how Bessie was warmly received into what had been an all-white congregation. It was an act of simple but profound Christian kindness that left a lasting impression. Blandell himself was remembered as “a real gem” by those who knew him.

That matches the man I remember.

He was kind. Steady. Easy to be around. The kind of person adults respected and kids felt comfortable with. My family didn’t “make a point” of including Blandell. He was included because he belonged. Newspaper mentions from the 1970s and 1980s even show him listed among guests at our family holiday gatherings, just another name among friends.

That’s how I knew him. Not as a symbol, not as an exception, but as a friend.

I remember my father telling me a story that has stayed with me. One year, Blandell’s niece invited him to Christmas dinner in Indianapolis. He politely declined. When asked why, he simply said he already had plans. He was going to Bobby Keller’s.

That was our home.

That was where he chose to be.

None of this is to deny Martinsville’s complicated and, at times, painful racial history. That reputation didn’t come from nowhere. It is real, and it deserves to be acknowledged honestly.

But it is not the whole story.

Blandell Hutson’s life reminds us that history is rarely as simple as a single label. Even in places with difficult pasts, there are also stories of relationships, respect, and shared community. There were African Americans in Martinsville who built lives, formed friendships, contributed to the town, and were, in meaningful ways, part of it.

Blandell’s life stretched across nearly the entire twentieth century, from 1906 to 1996. Think about how much changed in America during that time. Through it all, he remained in Martinsville. That says something, not just about him, but about the place, too.

When I think of Blandell now, I don’t think about labels or reputations. I think about a man who sat at our table, who chose to be there, who lived a long and steady life in the same town I call home.

And I think about how important it is to tell the full story. Because places, like people, are never just one thing.

 

 

Sources

 

●     The Reporter-Times (Martinsville, Indiana), June 10, 1912, p. 4. (Reference to Blandell Hutson as a child with his family)

●     The Reporter-Times (Martinsville, Indiana), May 4, 1938, p. 1. (Obituary of Martha Louise Hutson, Blandell’s mother)

●     The Reporter-Times (Martinsville, Indiana), May 12, 1941, p. 1. (Selective Service listing including Blandell Hutson)

●     The Reporter-Times (Martinsville, Indiana), December 23, 1947, p. 1. (“Blandell Hutson Still Shining ’Em,” detailing his shoe shining work)

●     The Reporter-Times (Martinsville, Indiana), July 6, 1966, p. 11. (Obituary of Eva Hutson Bryant, his sister)

●     The Reporter-Times (Martinsville, Indiana), June 19, 1972, p. 1. (Obituary of Bessie Lee Hutson, his wife)

●     The Reporter-Times (Martinsville, Indiana), March 7, 1973, p. 15. (Estate notice for Bessie L. Hutson, listing Blandell as administrator)

●     The Reporter-Times (Martinsville, Indiana), August 7, 1975, p. 5. (Martinsville High School Class of 1925 50th reunion)

●     The Reporter-Times (Martinsville, Indiana), November 25, 1978, p. 3. (Thanksgiving dinner guests at the Keller home, including Blandell Hutson)

●     The Reporter-Times (Martinsville, Indiana), December 28, 1981, p. 3. (Christmas gathering at the Keller home, including Blandell Hutson)

●     The Reporter-Times (Martinsville, Indiana), November 20, 1986, p. 5. (61st reunion of the Martinsville High School Class of 1925)

●     The Reporter-Times (Martinsville, Indiana), January 22, 1991, p. 1. (Cultural Enhancement article describing Blandell Hutson as “a real gem”)

●     The Reporter-Times (Martinsville, Indiana), November 11, 1993, p. 42. (Notice of Blandell Hutson’s World War II enlistment)

●     The Reporter-Times (Martinsville, Indiana), November 17, 1995, p. 28. (Article noting his return from military service and work at barber shop)

●     The Reporter-Times (Martinsville, Indiana), December 27, 1996, p. 2. (Obituary of Blandell L. Hutson)

●     The Reporter-Times (Martinsville, Indiana), May 30, 2001, p. 3. (Retrospective article about First Baptist Church and the Hutsons’ role)