Steubenville, Ohio. A place I still think of as my hometown, even though I grew up across the river in Follansbee, West Virginia. Perched on the banks of the Ohio River, just thirty minutes west of Pittsburgh, Steubenville has always felt like a crossroads of people, of industry, of stories both glamorous and grim.
This city has produced an impressive (and sometimes eyebrow-raising) list of natives: Dean Martin, whose crooner’s voice once lit up the airwaves; Jimmy “The Greek” Snyder, the famous sports commentator; baseball Hall of Famer Rollie Fingers with the iconic handlebar mustache; adult film star Traci Lords; and even the Wu-Tang Clan’s own RZA, Robert Diggs.
Steubenville was once a flourishing town, known for its bustling downtown and The Hub department store, back when shopping trips and Friday nights drew crowds from all over the Ohio Valley. The Dean Martin Festival turned the city into a nostalgic celebration of music and celebrity, and for a while, it felt like those glory days would last.
But the same highways that brought visitors—U.S. Route 22 and State Route 7—also brought something darker. As the 1990s rolled in, Steubenville found itself tangled in the web of gun and drug trafficking that stretched from Texas and St. Louis to New Jersey and New York. For all their chart-topping fame, some connected to the Wu-Tang Clan allegedly saw Steubenville as fertile ground for business that went far beyond music.
With that influx came a spike in violent crime… murder, mayhem, and a creeping sense that the city was losing its grip. But as shocking as the violence was, it was the corruption that really choked Steubenville. For decades, rumors swirled about city officials and police officers taking payouts to look the other way. Illegal gambling halls and bookies operated almost openly, while legitimate businesses struggled to survive.
Ironically, when the local mafia presence was finally broken, some residents felt the streets grew even less predictable. Those so-called “clean-cut monsters” might have policed the underworld better than the people actually wearing badges.
In the years since, corruption has retreated but never disappeared entirely. It’s become more discreet, more bureaucratic—a quiet resistance to progress that you can feel every time a promising development plan gets shot down.
Look at the riverfront: acres of valuable property that could—and should—be the centerpiece of a vibrant downtown. Today, there’s little more than a functional boat ramp. No docks. No restaurants. No nightlife. No attractions to draw tourists or locals. Even the restrooms are often locked, a sad testament to the addiction and crime that still haunt parts of the city.
Imagine it differently. Imagine a real marina with slips and fuel service. A waterfront restaurant and bar buzzing with music on summer nights. A small boutique hotel that lets visitors soak in views of the Ohio River instead of driving past Steubenville altogether.
It’s not that people haven’t tried. But for every fresh idea, there’s been an entrenched city manager or an aging council member who just won’t let go of the old ways. Even as younger leaders begin to step forward—newer faces on the council, a younger mayor—the old guard still outnumbers them.
That’s the tragedy of Steubenville. It’s a city with opportunity and potential that most places would envy, if only it could get out of its own way.
I still believe Steubenville could be great again. But it will take more than wishful thinking. It will take courage. It will take new leadership willing to face down decades of inertia and say, Enough.
Because if Steubenville ever decides to embrace change, there’s no limit to what it could become.
Hard Lessons & Honest Thoughts 