Episode 112

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Published on:

13th Aug 2026

The Park That Grew Up With Huntington: The Story of Ritter Park

Did you know Huntington’s beloved Ritter Park almost became the site of a municipal garbage incinerator? I uncover how visionaries, community spirit, and thoughtful design shaped one of West Virginia’s most cherished green spaces.

Whether your memories of the park involve family picnics, prom pictures, weddings, or just a quiet walk among the roses, this week’s episode uncovers the incredible story behind the green heart of Huntington.

Episode Highlights:

  • Discover how Ritter Park nearly became a garbage incinerator site instead of Huntington’s favorite gathering place 04:03.
  • Meet the visionaries: From Rufus Switzer, who dreamed of green spaces while others thought of industry, to Charles Lloyd Ritter, whose generosity changed the city’s path 05:04, and landscape architect Gus Wofford, whose careful designs define the park’s natural beauty today 09:38.
  • Learn how the Works Progress Administration’s handcrafted stonework and bridges still stand as a testament to craftsmanship and community pride 10:22.
  • Explore the history of the iconic Rose Garden, including the dedication of Truman Watts, who restored it to regional fame 13:33.
  • Uncover hidden corners of the park, from the vanished Lake Kapuskonwee to the story of the DAR Cabin, and reflect on how each element came to be a part of Huntington’s story 14:12.

A Thought to Take With You:

Next time you stroll through Ritter Park, look closer. Each stone, tree, and path holds a piece of our shared history—crafted by hands and hearts who believed Huntington deserved a gathering place as remarkable as its people.

If you have a memory you would want me to talk more about, just send me an email at TSTM@mail.com. Or post a comment on the Tri-State Machine FB Group page.

Welcome to the Tri-State Time Machine.

I'm your host Vanessa Hankins. This is a podcast where my guests and I share our memories and present day stories of the Tri-State Area. That's West Virginia, Kentucky, and Ohio.

Nothing too serious, no political views, and no ulterior motives.

We're just here to share our fun stories about this great area.

Whether you're a past resident or a current Tri-State resident, I think you're going to have fun with us.

So join in, press play on your podcast player, and welcome to the Tri-State Time Machine! 

https://ts-time-machine.captivate.fm/episode/ritter-park

Copyright 2026 Vanessa Hankins

https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/

Transcript
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This is the Tri-State Time Machine. Each week, your host Vanessa Hankins

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and her guests share memories and stories about the past,

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present, and the future of the tri-state area. That's West

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Virginia, Kentucky, and the Ohio areas. If you used to live

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here or you currently live here, you're going to catch yourself saying out

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loud, wow, I remember that. Now

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here's Vanessa. Welcome back to the Tri-State Time

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Machine. I know it's been a little

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Life has a funny way of filling every spare minute, and over the past several

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months mine has certainly done that. Between my work here at the

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Keith-Albee, family, and everything else that life has thrown my way,

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this little passion project, it had to take a back seat for a little bit,

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and I can't promise you it won't continue to happen. So thanks for

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sticking around and coming back. Um, one thing I will

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say is that I've learned that history It's not going anywhere.

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The stories are still here. The buildings are still standing.

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The places we pass every day are still quietly waiting for someone to ask,

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how did this come to be? What's the story? So today

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we're picking up exactly where we left off, and I can't think of a better

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place to return than one of the, one of the places that

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thousands of us have visited our entire lives as

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locals. A place where we've taken prom pictures, where we've celebrated

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weddings, where we've taught our children to ride bikes,

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where we've walked through some of life's happiest and, for some of us,

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sometimes hardest moments. Today we're talking about

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Ritter Park, but I have a feeling that by the end of this episode,

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you'll never walk through it quite the same way again.

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Every city has a place that feels like home. For New

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York, It's Central Park. For Savannah, it's

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Forsyth Park. For Charleston, it's White Point Garden.

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And for Huntington, it's Sutter Park. But here's the question:

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why? Why here? Why not somewhere else?

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Why does Huntington have this beautiful park tucked away on the south side

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while many other cities that are our size have never

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created anything like it? Today we're going to answer that question,

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but before we can appreciate Ritter Park, we have to imagine Huntington

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without it. If I asked you where Huntington's

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first park was, most people would probably answer

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Ritter Park, and technically they'd be right,

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but that's only part of the history, or part of the story, I guess.

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When Huntington was founded in 1871 by a railroad Magnate

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Collis P. Huntington. The city wasn't designed around green space. It was

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designed around commerce. Streets, rail yards, warehouses,

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factories, and homes— that all took priority.

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The original town plan did not include a public park. Picture

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Huntington around 1880. The railroad whistles echoed through the

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valley. Factories lined the river. Smoke drifted from

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chimneys. Horse-drawn wagons crowded the muddy streets.

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Coal dust settled on the buildings. The smell of industry was

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simply part of everyday life. It wasn't ugly to people then.

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It smelled like jobs. It smelled like progress. And Huntington was

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growing almost as unbelievably fast.

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Residents eventually began asking a simple question: where can families

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go? Not to shop. Not to work.

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Not to church. Just to enjoy

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themselves. As early as 1881, city leaders

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discussed creating a public park, and several attempts had failed.

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And then came Four Pole Creek. Today it feels peaceful,

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but in the early 1900s, this wasn't Huntington's showpiece. It

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was the edge of town. Then came one of the biggest what-if moments

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in Huntington history. In 1908, the city purchased roughly

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55 acres along Four Pole Creek, not for recreation,

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But as the future site of a municipal garbage incinerator.

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Imagine that. So instead of roses, smoke.

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Instead of wedding photos, ash. Instead of children riding

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bicycles, garbage wagons. The Huntington we know

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today almost never existed.

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But history has a funny way of changing because one of the determined

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people involved, one of the most determined, Actually, 2

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people. And that's where our story really begins.

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Every great city has at least one person who looked around and simply said, we

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can do better. For Huntington, that man was

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Rufus Switzer. Most people recognize the name. Very

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few know of the man. Born in Cabell County in 1855,

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before Huntington even existed, Switzer watched his region

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transform from farms into one of America's

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fastest-growing industrial cities. He began his career as a

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schoolteacher before becoming an attorney and eventually one of Huntington's most respected

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civic leaders. By the early 1900s, Huntington had a

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garbage problem. City officials believed an incinerator was the

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modern solution, but Switzer disagreed. He looked

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at the same land everyone else saw and imagined something entirely different.

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A public park? Many believed the land was far too outside the

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city. Today that seems unbelievable, but back then it wasn't

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considered the outskirts. Switzer believed that Huntington would grow to the

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park. He even reportedly offered to buy the land himself for the

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same price that the city had paid if that was what it was going to

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take to save it. Eventually he became the mayor, and one of

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his priorities was creating Huntington's first true public park. He

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hired landscape architect J.T. Withers to prepare a master

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plan. Unfortunately, as

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what seems to happen often, politics

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intervened. Switzer lost the reelection before the plan could

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be realized, but his vision survived. His greatest

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accomplishment wasn't building a park. It was convincing the entire city

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that it deserved one. Of course, even

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visionaries need allies, and Rufus Switzer found one in a Lubbock

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baron whose name would eventually become synonymous with the park itself:

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Charles Lloyd Ritter. History has a funny way of

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creating heroes. Sometimes they're driven by generosity, sometimes by

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self-interest. Sometimes it's impossible to separate the two.

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Charles Lloyd Ritter was one of Huntington's wealthiest businessmen.

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Born in Pennsylvania after the Civil War, he built his fortune in the timber industry

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before relocating his business interests to Huntington. He chose Huntington

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because of its railroads, the Ohio River, and its growing

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importance as an industrial hub. As his success grew, Ritter

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built an impressive home on the hillside overlooking the southern edge of the city.

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From there, he could see the property that the city intended to use for a

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garbage incinerator. Imagine spending your life's fortune building a

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beautiful estate only to learn smokestacks and burning

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refuse would soon dominate the view. Whether his

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motivation was protecting the property values, civic pride, or

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both, Ritter approached city leaders with an offer that changed

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Huntington forever. If the city abandoned the incinerator plan and

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instead created a public park, he would donate approximately

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20 additional acres adjoining the property. His only request was

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that the roadway provide access towards his estate. And the city

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accepted. That decision permanently changed Huntington.

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And ironically, while Rufus Switzer supplied the vision, the park

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eventually became known by Ritter's name. The surrounding neighborhood

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flourished as predominant Huntington families continued to

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build homes around the new green space. By 1913, the

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land had been secured. The dream had become reality. Or

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had it? Because Ritter Park that opened in 1913 looked

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almost nothing like the park that we know today. September 11th,

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1913, after years of debate, Huntington officially

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opened Ritter Park. The celebration included the extension of the streetcar line

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so residents throughout the city could travel directly to the new park.

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Imagine boarding a trolley with hundreds of your neighbors, not to attend a

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ball game or a parade, but to celebrate the opening of a public park.

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Yet visitors expecting today's Ritter Park would have been surprised.

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No rose garden, no iconic stone bridges, no

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amphitheater— you know, where our folks at HART like to perform—

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no fountain, no limestone walking paths.

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The park was largely just open fields, trees, Four Pole Creek,

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and possibility. Mayor Rufus Switzer had hired

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landscape architect J.T. Withers to prepare a master plan worthy of Huntington's

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first great public park. Before the plan could be realized, politics had

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intervened like we talked about earlier, and Switzer left office and the master

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plan was abandoned. So for years, development slowed.

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If Rufus dreamed Ritter Park and Charles

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Ritter helped save it, there's one more man whose name

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deserves to be remembered. Because when you picture Ritter Park today,

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you're really picturing his work. Have you ever noticed that

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nothing in Ritter Park feels accidental? The creek seems to

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bend naturally. The bridges invite you to slow down. The

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roads gently curve instead of running straight. The trees, they frame

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the landscape. That wasn't luck. That was design.

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The man responsible for the landscape

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architect was Augustus Gus Wofford.

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Unlike Switzer and Ritter, Wofford wasn't a politician or a

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businessman. He was a landscape architect who believed parks should shape how

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people experience a place. When he began working with Huntington's

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Park Commission in the late 1920s, Ritter Park existed for years

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but still lacked the defining features that people associate with it today.

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And then came the Great Depression. While the nation struggled economically, New Deal

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programs like the Works Progress Administration put skilled craftsmen

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back to work, you know, building public projects.

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So Ritter Park, luckily, became one of those projects.

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The WPA did not create Ritter Park. It transformed it.

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Every stone bridge, every retaining wall, every staircase,

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every carefully fitted block of native stone required human

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hands. Imagine standing beside Four Pole Creek in the 1930s.

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No excavators, no hydraulic equipment, only

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masons with chisels, hammers, levels, and determination.

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Each stone was selected, trimmed, lifted,

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placed, adjusted one by one.

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Nearly a century later, those same structures still carry thousands

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of visitors every year. That's a

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remarkable amount of craftsmanship if you really think about it.

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Wolford also embraced Four Pole Creek rather than hiding it. Instead of

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treating the creek like an obstacle, He designed the park around it.

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The bridges became destinations instead of simple crossings. The roads

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curved to reveal the new views. The landscape unfolded slowly,

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encouraging visitors to wander rather than rush. Perhaps my

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favorite thought is this: many of the towering trees providing

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shade today were planted by people who knew they would never enjoy them at full

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maturity. They planted them anyways. That is one of the

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greatest acts of optimism imaginable. By the

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end of the 1930s, Ritter Park had finally become the park

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Huntington's early leaders envisioned— not simply a public space,

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a civic masterpiece. If Ritter Park has a heart,

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it beats inside the Rose Garden. That's where our story goes

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next. Close your eyes for a second. Picture Ritter

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Park. I bet almost everyone listening pictured the

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same place. Not the playground, not the tennis courts,

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not Four Pole Creek. You pictured the Rose Garden.

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Weddings, prom pictures, family photos, graduation

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photos, maybe someone you love. Thousands

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of roses have quietly become the backdrop of thousands of lives. The

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Rose Garden was not part of the original 1913 park. For

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more than 20 years, the hillside where it is now sat empty and

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simply was just another beautiful slope overlooking the Four Pole Creek.

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During the 1930s, landscape architect Gus Wolford, as we discussed earlier,

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designed the terrace garden that would become one of the most recognizable

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places in Huntington. But why roses?

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During the early 20th century, roses symbolized beauty, prosperity,

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and civic pride. Cities across America created elaborate

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rose gardens to show that they were more than factories and railroads, and

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Huntington wanted to do the same. The garden unfolds

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4 terraced levels connected by a stone stairway and a retaining wall.

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You never see the entire garden at once, and honestly, I've never thought of that

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before, but you discover it one level at a time,

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and that was intentional. Over the decades, thousands of rose bushes

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representing hundreds of varieties have filled these terraces. The

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garden eventually gained national recognition, and experts from the American Rose

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Society praised both its design and its beauty. One name

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deserves special recognition: Truman Watts.

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Beginning in 1989, Watts dedicated himself to restoring and maintaining the rose

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garden. Under his care, it became one of the finest municipal rose gardens in the

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region. Most visitors only see the blooms. They never

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see the pruning, the soil preparation, the winter protection.

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You know, none of that. So thankfully, he had a vision and the work

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ethic to restore that and make it happen. If you've

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made it this far with me, I want to promise you something.

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The next time that you're in Ritter Park, slow down. Because

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once you know its stories, you'll start to see things that you never noticed before.

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Let's start with something hiding in plain sight. Lake

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Kapuskonwee. And I don't think that I'm saying that right. I'm probably butchering

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it, and I'm sorry if I am. But anyways, it's an artificial lake

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once occupied Part of today's park near the playground area.

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But after a tragic drowning of a child, the lake was drained and eventually

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disappeared from the landscape. Today, children laugh and play where that

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forgotten lake once shimmered. Not far away were the stone-lined lily

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pods. They weren't accidents of nature. They were intentionally

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designed to work with the natural contours of the hillside, allowing water to

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move gently through the landscape. And then, you know, we talked about

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that amphitheater earlier. Tucked naturally into the hillside, it

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almost disappears until you're standing inside it. That too

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was intentional. Rather than forcing the landscape to fit the design,

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the design embraced the landscape. Near McCoy Road stands one of the

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park's most overlooked treasures, the DAR Cabin.

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Its history stretches back long before Ritter Park existed, with ties to an

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earlier farmstead and even use during a flu epidemic before being

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restructured by the Daughters of the American Revolution. Look up into the trees.

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Some have watched over this park for generations. They

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witnessed the Great Depression, World War II, the

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1937 flood, countless weddings,

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thousands of family photos, millions of footsteps.

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Those trees have watched Huntington grow up. The neighborhood surrounding

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Ritter Park also tells a story. Beautiful homes in Colonial

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Revival, Tudor Revival, Craftsman, and Prairie styles

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spring up because of the park itself. In

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2012, Ritter Park received a national recognition when the American Planning

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Association named it one of America's Great Public Spaces, not

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because it was the biggest, not because it was the most expensive,

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but because generation after generation has continued choosing

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it as the place where life happened. So the next

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time you're walking through Ritter Park, pause on one of those stone

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bridges. Listen to Four Pole Creek.

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Look up into the branches planted by people who knew they would never enjoy their

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full shade. Walk through the rose garden.

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Stand where the lake once existed. Remember the vision

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of Rufus. Remember the generosity of Mr. Ritter.

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Remember the craftsmanship of Gus and the WPA

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workers? None of this had to exist.

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This place could have been smokestacks. It could have been garbage wagons.

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It could have been that incinerator. But instead,

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it became Huntington's gathering place. A place where childhood memories

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became wedding photographs. Morning walks became lifelong

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routines. And one generation quietly

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hands the park off to the next. This has been

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Tri-State Time Machine. I'm Vanessa Hankins. Until next

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time, keep looking closer, because history is

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almost always hiding in plain sight.

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Thanks for listening to the Tri-State Time Machine. If you have a memory

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you want Vanessa to talk more about, just send her an email at

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tstm@ Or

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post a comment on the Tri-State Time Machine Facebook page. Did you like

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the episode? Be sure to share it with friends and family. It's the only way

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we can continue this fun work that we do. You can find a link in

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the show notes that you can use to share it.

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About the Podcast

Tri State Time Machine
Memories & Future from the Tri-State Area
Tri-State Time Machine dives into the stories, legends, and hometown voices that make Appalachia—and our corner of WV, OH, and KY—so unforgettable.

About your host

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Vanessa Hankins

Tri-State Time Machine is a podcast about the Tri-State area hosted by local Vanessa Hankins.