The 162-year-old house sits on top of a hill surrounded by a beautiful landscape of green grass. The three-story mansion’s red finish looks as if it were freshly painted. The first floor, with its old-fashion furniture and design, is like something out of a Tennessee Williams novel. The second floor, once a large ballroom, is just the same.

A small narrow hallway leads to the third floor, where John Crenshaw allegedly kept kidnapped, free blacks that he captured during the mid-to-late 1830s. The long narrow corridor, separating a row of six rooms on each side, smells of old dead wood and decaying cement. Virtually untouched in almost 160 years, the eerie brown and dingy area is remarkably well lit by two large windows at each end of the corridor.

Double wooden bunk beds adorn each room. Some are slightly larger than a bathroom stall, with a barred window and a single door. The others resemble small tombs. The two largest rooms is where slave children and families were believed to be held.

From the inside out, the beautiful view of the landscape from the third floor window does not have quite the same effect. The former home of John Crenshaw has been well kept during the years, and so has the truth of what really happened here.

The Old Slave House closed its doors in 1996 after nearly 70 years as an Illinois tourist attraction. The house sits on top of Hickory Hill in Gallatin County near Equality and is the only documented location in the state where slaves were kept.

George Sisk and his wife, the house’s owners for almost 30 years, have been working since 1996 to have the state operate the house as a historical site.

Because of health problems and the daily complications of running the house, the two were forced to close the house four years ago. They still believe the house should be open to the public, but have had trouble convincing the state.

“The state of Illinois would rather stay away from it,” Sisk said. “The house is terrible enough, [but] they don’t even want to acknowledge the third floor, and that slaves were kept there.”

He and his wife have sent petitions to the governor with more than 10,000 signatures from Illinois residents calling for the house to be reopened. Sisk said they cannot maintain the house for very much longer.

“Two years at the most,” he said. “This place is hanging on by a thread now. We’re on a fixed income, and I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

Sisk’s grandfather bought the house in 1913, 42 years after Crenshaw’s death. He opened the house up as a tourist attraction in 1930, where it remained in the family for nearly 70 years.

The house has other artifacts, including guns and other items owned by Crenshaw. A picture of Crenshaw and his wife, Sina Taylor Crenshaw, hangs on a wall on the second floor.

John Musgrave has extensively worked on the Crenshaw story and the history of the house, first as a reporter for the Harrisburg Daily Register, and now as a freelance journalist. He said it’s a crime that the state has not stepped in sooner.

“The idea of Illinois celebrating Black History Month is a joke,” Musgrave said. “There is not one historic site or state park in Illinois that even mentions black history, let alone anything that tries to interpret [black history] year round.”

The state is the Sisks’ last hope. The Illinois state legislature set aside $500, 000 to buy the house in its 1997 budget. The money was going to be allocated to Gallatin County, which would oversee the property.

Sisk said he could not agree to the deal because the county could not provide the resources to maintain the house. Sisk feared the county would have to raise taxes to support the house, and did not want that burden placed on the area citizens.

I decided not to take the money because it would break the county, he said. They wanted to give the money to the county, so we can go away and shut up. The money means nothing to me. I want the state to take it over and preserve [it].

David Blanchette, a spokesmen for the Illinois Historic Preservation Agency, said the money is no longer there for the house. Blanchette said there is nothing his agency can do for the house as long as it is privately run. After Sisk said no, the money was put back in the state’s overall budget and was spent elsewhere, he said.

We have agreed for years to buy his home, he said. After Mr. Sisk refused to sell, we didn’t and couldn’t take it on.

Once the agency agrees to purchase a structure, it has to come up with an operational budge, including maintenance, advertising and the hiring of a staff.

Blanchette also disagrees with the notion that the state does not want to acknowledge parts of its history that are less than flattering. He admits questions were raised about the validity of the house’s history, but that the agency is neutral concerning those matters.

We don’t agree or disagree, Blanchette said. We don’t shy away from negative history. We have our own historians and try to verify what we can. [But] no state purchase can even be thought about unless there is money in the budget.

Nancy Dawson, an SIUC professor of black American studies, considers the house a sacred landmark for all Americans, not just blacks. She last visited the house shortly before it closed in 1996.

She made it a point to take her classes to the legendary slave house. Dawson questions whether Illinois wants the true history of slavery in the state to get out.

I don’t think the slave heritage is something that the state is really proud of, she said. I think we need to look at all of the different interpretations of history.

John Crenshaw had the house built during the mid 1830s by an Ohio architect named John Calvin. A corner stone near the front porch of the house has 1838 as the date of completion.

Crenshaw also owned a portion of the salt mines near the Saline River in Gallatin County, a major business entity in the region beginning in the early 1800s. By 1827, Crenshaw was the largest salt manufacturer in Illinois, earning the title of, “King of the Galantine Salines.” It is believed that Crenshaw kidnapped free blacks and had them work on his salt mines.

George Sisk said the history of the Southern Illinois region does not rest with Crenshaw’s history alone. He still has hope that the state will recognize the house as a true historical site and a part of our American history.

People should write the governor and ask that they preserve this house for future generations to see, he said. “I’m really concerned because this is too important to keep children and tourists from learning about their past.”