This is a 2026 photo of the Potter mansion, courtesy of Mike Lengauer.
This is a 2026 photo of the Potter mansion, courtesy of Mike Lengauer.
Potter Mansion — a bluegrass song about a Sandy Lake tragedy.
© Lannie Dietle 2026
Jim lost his baby daughter,
and then he lost his wife.
He called his son to say
he was gonna take his life.
He mentioned arson and suicide,
and sounded nonchalant.
He said come over quick,
and take anything you want.
I was there at the mansion
when the whole thing went down.
Jim couldn't take it anymore,
and he was gonna burn it to the ground.
We got there in a hurry,
but we didn't have a plan.
Jim had crazy in his eyes,
and a revolver in his hand.
He shot up all the things
his wife had come to treasure.
In his sadness and his pain,
it gave him a little pleasure.
We talked and we pleaded,
and we tried to appeal to reason,
but there was madness in the air,
and his resolve began to deepen.
I was there at the mansion
when the whole thing went down.
Jim couldn't take it anymore,
and he was gonna burn it to the ground.
He asked me to mail a letter,
and get a pack of smokes.
He warned me not to call the cops,
or his wrath I would provoke.
The letter mentioned arson,
to void a fire insurance claim.
The smokes were one last pleasure
before settin' the house aflame.
I was there at the mansion
when the whole thing went down.
Jim couldn't take it anymore,
and he was gonna burn it to the ground.
I smoked a cigarette,
to calm my nerves a bit,
then I went back inside,
to convince Jim his plan to quit.
We talked and we pleaded,
and we tried to appeal to reason,
but there was madness in the air,
and his rage began to deepen.
He looked out the window,
and saw cops behind the trees,
and of course, he assumed the guy
who called them was me.
I dashed out to my car,
just a runnin' for my life.
Jim's son was close behind me,
a-tellin' me to drive.
I backed down the driveway
just as fast as I could.
I was hunkered way down;
Jim's son was clingin' to my hood.
I was there at the mansion
when the whole thing went down.
Jim couldn't take it anymore,
and he was gonna burn it to the ground.
Jim lost his baby daughter,
and then he lost his wife.
That's when he called to say
he was gonna take his life.
He mentioned arson and suicide,
and sounded nonchalant.
He said come over quick,
and take anything you want.
We jumped in the car,
and raced over to save his life,
but we couldn't replace his baby daughter,
or fix things with his wife.
Oh, we couldn't replace his baby daughter,
and we couldn't save his life.
The song is drawn almost entirely from my own first-hand knowledge. Jim was devastated after his wife left him and decided to commit an obvious, self-reported act of arson so she couldn't collect insurance, followed by suicide. A few supplemental details came from an article titled "The Potter House," which the Mercer County Historical Society sent to me after learning — through a preliminary draft of the book — that I had been an eyewitness.
One verse says "we didn't have a plan" when we rushed to the mansion to try to save Jim's life. Several months after writing the song, I remembered that one of Jim's sons — most likely Mark — intended to ask Jim for his deer rifle so he wouldn't be able to accurately engage anyone at long range. After so many decades, I'm no longer certain whose idea it was or whether the idea was successfully implemented.
In regard to the photo at the top of the page, my car was parked near the right-hand end of the house. The driveway I backed down rapidly — with Mark clinging to my hood — ran down the steep hillside generally toward the bottom edge of the photo, and onto Broad Street. That auxillary driveway is no longer there.
Shortly after our dramatic vehicular exit, Jim set the mansion on fire and committed suicide. I was later told that the fire failed to consume the house because the closed doors and windows deprived the flames of oxygen.
L. Dietle
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