One-Spot Flea Killer
For almost four decades, from 1940 until 1974, there was an iconic landmark on Route 1 passed by thousands of drivers each day. It was a residence with a giant doghouse façade over it, the brainchild of Willis “One-Spot” Simpson. A postcard of this structure called it the “World’s Largest ‘Dog House’” and joked, “I’m in the Dog House.” It described the building as one of 20 residences on One-Spot Farm, a three-story dwelling placed between 40-foot concrete road signs and lit by hundreds of feet of neon for travelers on the Baltimore-Washington road commonly known as Route 1.
Why was it there?
This structure stood on land just south of the current Route 175, possibly on the corner of Hicks Roads on the west side of Route 1. The full sign on the house read “Home of One-Spot Flea Killer,” a rotenone-based powder advertised for killing fleas with just one-spot application. This advertisement on Route 1 brought attention to the business, the farm, and, of course, to Willis himself.
Vivian S. Simpson, One-Spot’s wife, was there at the start. Her name appears in 1928 in Ohio records for Kennel Gardens, Inc., of St. Clairsville, Ohio. The next year, an advertisement sought investors for a branch of Kennel Gardens, Inc., described as the “world’s largest breeding kennel,” to be opened on Washington Boulevard (Route 1). The reference was to see Mr. Simpson at a Pet Zoo in Carlin’s Park in Baltimore. By the end of 1929, it was announced that the Ohio headquarters of the business would be moved to an 18-acre farm near Elkridge, with Earl W. Simpson as manager.
The pet business focused on dogs, including boarding, cemetery lots, puppies, flea dip, dog shampoo, dog treats, and portable dog houses. Their advertisement featured the silhouette of a dog and the words “Kennel Gardens, Elkridge, Md.” By November 1933, that same kind of dog-image advertising had shifted to “One-Spot Flea Killer,” as Kennel Gardens filed a trademark application for an insecticide that was granted the next year.
The name worked. It was simple, visual, and memorable. Apply the powder in one spot, the ads said, and it would do the job. The image of the dog was not decoration. It was the brand.
Who was One-Spot Simpson?
Willis Earl Simpson was born in Morristown, Ohio, in 1888. He attended Ohio Northern University and in 1913 earned degrees in science, philosophy, and law. The Official Army Register later listed him with a B.Sc., Ph.B., and LL.B. from Ohio Northern. He also served in the college’s Cadet Battalion, like current-day ROTC, and earned the rank of Major.
He registered to serve in World War I while living in Three Forks, Montana. He later became a captain and served in France. Army transport records show him leaving New York on the Olympic in July 1918 and returning from Brest, France, on the Valacia in September 1919. During the fighting, when his commanding officer had “shell-shock” and exhaustion, Simpson took over command of the battalion and remained in command until relieved.
He married Vivian S. Schneider in about 1920. He never went just by his first name, often appearing in records as Earl, W. Earl, Willis E., or Willis Earle Simpson. He was a real character, which is plain to see from the 1940 book he published called Twenty-Some “Simposiums” by One-Spot Simpson, Including Getting a Job and How Not to Lose Your Pants.
In that book, Simpson gave advice on topics for businessmen, dog owners, farmers, poultrymen, and builders, as well as miscellaneous topics, such as how to get to sleep and how to build a book. He provided detailed practical advice on marketing and running a business, installing a flagpole, building a log house, and much more. It is quite an encyclopedia of knowledge—part how-to manual and part self-portrait of a man who always seemed to have another idea.
Simpson died in March 1976 at the age of 88.
The Flea Powder
A chemical engineer friend of Simpson’s had read about the idea of using rotenone dust as a flea powder. Simpson developed and marketed the insecticide under the name One-Spot Flea Killer. The product was first federally registered in January 1948, shortly after modern national pesticide regulation began.
The advertisements were bold. One-Spot was promoted for dogs and cats, and later ads claimed it killed fleas, lice, bedbugs, ants, aphids, crab lice, potato bugs, cabbage worms, and Mexican bean beetles. The product became known as a 1% rotenone dust, and in 1975 the Public Health Service’s Center for Disease Control listed One-Spot Flea Killer as an EPA-registered product for head, body, and crab lice.
In January 1955, the One-Spot flea powder factory and warehouse burned to the ground. Simpson put the damage at about $35,000 and said his insurance had lapsed recently. Newspaper advertisements after this were more limited, including boarding dogs and using the area as a vacation spot.
The larger regulatory story of rotenone continued after One-Spot’s peak. EPA later described rotenone as a botanical insecticide, acaricide, and piscicide. It found no evidence of carcinogenicity but also found rotenone highly toxic to fish and moderately to highly toxic to freshwater invertebrates. In other words, what had once been marketed as a practical flea powder became part of a much larger pesticide story as more was learned about the chemical.
What happened to the farm?
The farm became “One-Spot Town,” with a collection of homes, a petting zoo, a swimming pool, and even a motel for transients who were, at the time, called “hobos.” Simpson took pride in all he did, including the building of the 150-by-30-foot pool, its operation, and its maintenance. Sanitary conditions were important to him, so the pool came with rules: showers before entering, disinfectant for feet, injury waivers signed by parents, and liability insurance.
Simpson and his manager also created a permanent poultry fair with more than 200 varieties of chickens. He built a “Botel,” a small log house where a transient could rest, sleep, and even take a shower when the weather was warm enough. It seemed there was no end to his inventiveness, mechanical ability, and business skills, most of which he documented in his book of Simposiums.
What was not yet in his book was the future of “One-Spot Town.” In 1948, Simpson turned part of the property into “One Spot Heights,” a subdivision south of Lincoln Avenue on the west side of Route 1. They sold those lots over the next decade or more, and One Spot Heights still stands today as the neighborhood name left behind by the farm, the business, and the giant doghouse sign.
The iconic doghouse came down in 1974. But for anyone who remembers Route 1 before the interstate took most of the traffic, One-Spot was not just an advertisement. It was a landmark, a curiosity, and a little piece of Howard County roadside theater.
Read Hidden History of Howard County by Nathan Davis and Wayne Davis, published by The History Press, for more forgotten and hidden stories about Howard County.
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