A Postcard from Canton

A long trip for Hank Williams' coat

2011-08-10T07:37:00.001-04:00

From a glass plate negative. The Neponset Mills in Canton.
(Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame sits on the shores of Lake Erie in Cleveland, Ohio. My wife and I stopped in while driving to Chicago when we needed a halfway point to rest. The hall of fame is a shrine to rock in all its forms — from jazz to punk and all genres in between. We received our tickets and began our tour through the labyrinth of exhibits.

Within two minutes, we found ourselves in front of a case of items that recognized the contributions of Hiram King Williams — “Hank” — the American singer-songwriter who is considered one of the most important country music artists of all time. In the case were his hat, his boots and a coat he wore. The coat caught my eye — hanging on the hook you could plainly see the label, and it read “designed by Monarch — Neponset Emberglo.” Turning to my wife, I explained that no matter how far we travel, Canton is never far away. In true wife fashion, she rolled her eyes and moved on. I lingered on and thought how far that coat had traveled.

The Emberglo coat was crème colored and a heavy wool dyed with a western pattern, and according to the description was made in 1950. Emberglo was a trademark of the Neponset Woolen Mills, located on Walpole Street. The label had the word Neponset neatly stitched. Hank Williams’ coat started in the hands of factory workers from Canton. The coat tells a rich story that reaches beyond Hank Williams and into American history and the age of our industrial revolution.

The mill on Walpole Street is gone, but only recently. One of the most important mills in America, this site was first developed in 1801. When you stand here, you are on the original site of the second cotton factory in the colonies, the first being the 1799 Samuel Slater Mill in Pawtucket, Rhode Island. Today, a modern condominium complex, built by local developer John Marini, sits on this historic site.

The establishment of the cotton mill in Canton was due to the enterprise of a 22-year-old James Beaumont, a young man who had come from England to America in the spring of 1800. No stranger to manufacturing, Beaumont was born in Denby, a parish between Huddersfield and Sheffield, two important manufacturing towns in Yorkshire, England. Growing up on estates that produced wool and being part of a rather well-off family, Beaumont’s eye was on America. In 1799, Beaumont received a letter from two friends who had left England and settled in Lebanon, New Hampshire. The letter told of the opportunities that could be prospected in this new country. Beaumont sent a return letter with a draft of a spinning machine, which helped his friends begin their business in Lebanon. Soon thereafter, Beaumont decided he “got a hankering to go there and see what they were about.”

To leave England with secrets of manufacturing was risky, and if caught, Beaumont would face the full wrath of the English government. In order to avoid detection, he bought casks of hardware and cutlery along with bolts of cloth, and at the custom house in Liverpool he explained that he was simply a farmer’s son going to America on a trading trip.

Beaumont sailed to America on a trip that would take 56 days and would forever change textile manufacturing in the fledgling country. Landing in Salem, he visited a few factories, and by the winter of 1800 he had settled in Boston. An English acquaintance by the curious name of “Slimsey” (a nickname for sure) informed Beaumont that there was a fine mill-privilege in Canton, on which its two owners wished to set up a cotton factory, and that they were willing to erect a dam and the mill “if they could find somebody who would put in about $400, to pay for the machinery.”

Beaumont visited Canton, where he was so pleased with the mill-privilege that he agreed to furnish the machinery; his partners, Lemuel Bailey and Abel Fisher, would erect a substantial dam and a building for a factory. The construction of the dam and factory progressed during the year of 1801, and the machines were running by 1802. The first work of the factory was the manufacture of wickyarn for candle-makers. Soon thereafter, the mill began to make yarn for warp and filling for domestic fabrics. The first piece of cloth made was for sheeting. Beaumont said of it: “This, in 1802, was the first piece of cotton cloth ever made in America from mule-yarn, either all or in part produced.” Beaumont was mistaken: Cotton cloth had been made in 1794 in a factory in New York, but Beaumont’s mill was nonetheless producing fine cloth that sold for 50 cents a yard.

James Beaumont's House on Neponset Street
(now demolished). Circa 1900. (Courtesy of the
Canton Historical Society)

Beaumont did very well in this venture, and by 1823 at age 45, he retired from manufacturing and became a gentleman farmer. For a time he had a small mill in what was known as the British Block, not far from his original factory. His innovations continued, and he produced some of the first satin products in America. In 1808 he had erected the second brick house in Canton, the first being the Endicott House on Washington Street. In this handsome house Beaumont spent time with his family and friends and lived an entire life in his adopted home. Beaumont died in Canton in 1868 at age 90 and is buried alongside his wife, Abigail (Gookin), and his children at the Canton Corner Cemetery.

On February 18, 1823, the factory on Walpole Street was sold to Joseph W. Revere for $3,500. Within a year, Revere sold the mill to Darius Blake Holbrook, Charles Parker, and Dexter and William Hill, of Boston, for $120,000. These gentlemen, along with others, organized the Boston & Canton Manufacturing Company. The area quickly built up around the massive stone factory and included boarding houses, a school and even medical facilities. In three years the area prospered, and great growth led to the construction of a dirt road across the Fowl Meadows to support shipments to Boston. Quite literally, Canton burst forward under the growth of the mills along this section of town. Unfortunately, the business failed in 1827 and the mill would be vacant for four years.

On April 22, 1831, the Boston & Canton Manufacturing Company conveyed the mill to the Neponset Company. The new officers were well-known philanthropists and politicians from Boston. The certificate of which was recorded July 22, 1832, showing that the capital stock was $200,000, and that the officers were Harrison Gray Otis, president, Caleb Loring, Samuel Fales, and Robert G. Shaw, directors, and John S. Wright, clerk and treasurer.

Worth noting is the fact that this was the same Harrison Gray Otis, the prominent Boston businessman, lawyer and politician and arguably the most important member of the Federalist Party. Otis’ venture also failed, and by 1837 the site was again abandoned. Over the next 66 years many factories operated on this site, including a bleachery in the early 1880s, and by 1903 it was again making cotton and wool products for caskets and other uses under the name Neponset Woolen Mills.

The Neponset Woolen Mills survived into the mid 1950s, and this is where the Emberglo Jacket comes in. Some of the finest wool was manufactured and dyed in Canton in both the Neponset Mill and at Draper Mills. The trademark Emberglo figured prominently in advertisements and in store displays. Rich thick plaids were used for sportsman’s outerwear. The logo proudly proclaimed that the products were “loomed by Neponset craftsmen” since 1824 and featured the signature mill tower and the Canton Viaduct in the background.

A postcard view of the Neponset Woolen Mills

As the textile industry died in Canton, the site became the home of Emerson & Cuming, where they manufactured flotation devices for oilrigs. The early use of dyes and then the subsequent use and storage of advanced polymers on this property allowed the site to become heavily polluted. Eventually, the Emerson & Cuming site earned the dubious distinction of becoming one of Canton’s five hazardous waste “Superfund” sites.

In 2005 the original historic factory was demolished, and the site was remediated to deal with the chemical pollution. To pay tribute to the thousands of men and women who worked on this site for over 200 years, the Canton Historical Commission asked the developer to salvage some of the original stone and to build a replica of the bell tower. The original tower and bell was likely built during the 1800s, and around the turn of the 20^th century it had been rebuilt. Used to mark the passing of the workday, the bell was likely melted down when the tower became unsafe and was removed around 1930.

The new complex, known as River Village on Walpole Street at Neponset, is one of our town’s newest architectural landmarks. The focus is an impressive tower and stone lobby that serve as the grand entrance. But, honestly, what could match the original grandeur of the factory that once stood “stone-faced” on this property. And every time I hear an old Hank Williams song and slip on my wool coat on an autumn afternoon, I will think about Emberglo and the history of the Neponset Woolen Mill.

Our river runs through the meadows

2011-07-23T07:29:00.000-04:00

The Neponset River as it winds through
the Fowl Meadows circa 1890. (Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

At the edge of my property is a small stream, the Pequit Brook, and its source is the Reservoir Pond past Pequitside Farm. Living on a brook is an amenity that allows for plenty of opportunities to observe wildlife and the marking of seasons. Over time we have come to know the animals that inhabit our small corner of Canton. We have watched muskrats, ancient snapping turtles, the great blue heron, red-tailed hawks, numerous rabbits, fox, and all manner of mallards. The jewelweed and grass is abundant and the meadows are filled with red-winged blackbirds come fall. The winter gives way to woodpeckers and more flocks of waterfowl, even an occasional fisher cat and coyote. So abundant is the wildlife that at times we feel as though we live in a suburban wildlife preserve.

The Pequit Brook winds down through Sherman Street and eventually finds it way to the East Branch of the Neponset River. And the Neponset in turn finds its way to the Massachusetts Bay. Nobel laureate Hermann Hesse wrote: “How he loved this river, how it enchanted him, how grateful he was to it! In his heart he heard the newly awakened voice speak, and it said to him: Love this river, stay by it, learn from it. It seemed to him that whoever understood this river and its secrets, would understand much more, many secret, all secrets.”

So, what secrets does the Neponset River hold for us? To begin with, the name itself is somewhat of a secret. Of course it is an Indian name, and when the famous Algonquin scholar G. Hammond Trumbull was asked, he vainly endeavored to learn the significance of this name. “That word in all its forms of Naponset — Aponset, or Neponset defies analysis.” Many have surmised it means “river that flows through meadows.” This would be a fair description, since it travels through nearly seven miles of beautiful grassy meadows — the Fowl Meadows, in fact. So attractive to the early settlers were these grasses that the seeds were harvested and exported to Europe to produce the same luxurious grasses there.

Overall, the Neponset River travels more than 29 miles, starting at Gillette Stadium and ending near the gas tanks along the Southeast Expressway. The historical significance reaches back more than 10,000 years. Imagine the scene as Paleolithic man camps near the river right here in what would become Canton. Archeologists, both amateur and professional, have recovered over 2,600 Clovis spear points as well as mastodon tusks and caribou bones. The site, called Wamsutta, has been studied for more than 20 years. What were once the shores of a Pleistocene Lake seems to have been an important workshop of sorts where tools were made and wildlife harvested.

The recorded history of the Neponset starts around 1619, when Native Americans would use the river as a route to trade furs, largely muskrat and beaver. The wildlife was amazing. An apt description of what the Neponset River must have been like is found in a quote in a book written by Edward Johnson in 1628, entitled Wonder Working Providence: “The cod-fish, holybut and bass, do sport the rivers in, and alewives with their crowding sholes in every creek do swim.” The alewives in particular caused major legal battles in colonial Massachusetts, and the early records record heated arguments between mill owners who would dam and control the river and the fishermen whose livelihood was constantly in jeopardy as industry advanced. The argument to restore the fish and breach the dams still continues today.

The industrial growth as a result of this power source is nothing short of amazing. The second dam in the new world was constructed by Israel Stoughton, who was given permission to build a grist mill in what was known as Dorchester Plantation in 1634. What came next was a series of “firsts.” In 1640 shipbuilding began at what was known as Gulliver’s Creek (yes, there is a connection to Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels). Soon sawmills, a snuff mill, powder mills, tanneries, slitting mills, and fulling mills began to rise near the banks of the Neponset.

Several of the most famous mills in America were started along the Neponset. In 1728, the first paper mill was erected. In 1765, Dr. James Baker founded a chocolate mill in Milton, which would become the world-famous Baker’s Chocolate Company. Closer to home, the Canton River, which fed the east branch of the Neponset, was home to James Beaumont’s Neponset Mills, where arguably the first piece of cotton cloth in America was made in 1802. In 1801, Paul Revere made his home here in Canton and erected his copper rolling mill (another first in the nation) along the tributary branch of the Neponset.

To get the best view of the Neponset River in Canton, take a drive down Dedham Street, and as you pass the old Cumberland Farm Complex take a left onto the property owned by George and Nancy Bates. The Bates still own a small portion, but the largest is now owned by the Trustees of Reservations (TTOR). When you come here you are visiting Signal Hill. This is perhaps an oft-overlooked location from where you can “overlook” the Neponset Valley. The hike is easy and the views are entirely rewarding. The boundary line between Canton and Norwood follows the center of the river.

In 2002, George and Nancy Bates sold the development rights of 135 acres of upland and swamp to the then MDC. Signal Hill is the result of a 111-acre gift given to TTOR in 2005 by the Bates. While it is called Signal Hill because it once held signals to assist in the navigation of planes to the Norwood Airport, it might have been more historically named.

Historically speaking, this area was generally known as Taunt’s Farm. At one time there were two prominent hills here, each about 120 feet high. Turtle Hill (now known as Signal Hill) and Pillion Hill, which was removed for fill used in Boston’s Back Bay. What is left, the single hill, affords an easily accessible view of Boston. The first settlers here were John and Hepsibah Taunt. Likely settled in 1758, this land was rich with nutrients and made the perfect home for this private in the Stoughton Militia. Three generations of Taunts would live on this land until around 1844. Eventually Elisha White would buy the property, and by the 1930s the land would become part of the land acquisition program for the Canton Airport.

Dredging of the Neponset River in Canton, 1913.
(Photo by I. Chester Horton, courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

The river we see today is not the same river that was used by the prehistoric or colonial people. In 1911, the legislature was pressed to act by allowing the dredging and straightening of the river. The Fowl Meadows had become “foul.” The stench and disease (most notably malaria) was dreadful. The legislature ordered the river to be repaired of these nuisances. The dredging operation began in 1913 and would widen and deepen the river. The refuse from the muck was merely deposited on the banks, and by 1923 complaints abounded from the landowners whose once fertile fields would now no longer drain properly. The straightening also bypassed the “horseshoe” curve in the river, which abutted Horseshoe Swamp. Even today the boundary line with Norwood follows the old course of the river and Horseshoe Meadow remains in Canton.

Dredging of the Neponset River in Canton, 1913.
(Photo by I. Chester Horton, courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

In the 1960s the river was once again polluted and described as a “noxious mess.” A canoe trip in August 1966 from Canton was described in the Patriot Ledger as follows: “The moment we set our canoes into the putrid, murky water on Neponset Street we were overwhelmed by the noxious odor caused by the industrial waste dumped into the river by the various firms along its banks. Globs of sludge floated past us in the water.” So polluted was the trip that day, the canoes were forced to turn back — great globs of paper and raw sewage made the trip unbearable. This was a turning point for the Neponset. Once again the legislature took up the reclaiming of the Neponset River. In 1974, a bond bill was filed to begin the process of creating improvements to the damaged waterway.

Construction of the bridge over the
Neponset River to Norwood, April 1915.
(Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

At the lead of the conservation efforts was the Neponset Conservation Association. Founded in 1965, their mission continues today as the Neponset River Watershed Association. With over 700 members, hundreds of volunteers and a staff of three full-time and four part-time employees, this is the future of the Neponset River. For over 45 years this group has been responsible for raising the public awareness of our great river. The advocacy continues — just last week the legislature’s Environment Committee held a hearing on the Sustainable Water Resources Act. This act will hopefully set the process by which the Department of Environmental Protection, with the cooperation of the Department of Fish and Game, will set the definition for the amount of water that makes rivers sustainable.

In 2008 a member of the Massachusett-Ponkapoag Tribal Council testified at a public meeting organized to discuss the future of the Neponset River. I leave you with his sage words: “The Neponset people, and there were Neponset people, were forced to leave the Neponset River because those persons who came later decided there was a better use for the Neponset River than our use, which contributed to the well-being of our universe and yours for centuries. Now I’m going to speak for the elders — I’m going to speak for the finned, the furred, the winged, and the ancestors, mine and yours. These are the voices you are not listening to. Put the river back the way it was. Allow the herring to come back and sing their song.”

To visit Signal Hill, take Dedham Street and immediately after crossing I-95 and railroad bridges, take a left on University Road. Proceed through the office park. Parking is on the right just before the last building, also on the right. Free and open year-round, sunrise to sunset. Allow a minimum of one hour.

Dottie Shaw Takes Wing

2011-06-19T13:38:00.000-04:00

Dorothy Shaw’s formal portrait
in full pilot regalia, circa 1940s
(Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

Childhood should be a time of innocence, of youthful diversions and a time when you begin to see the world as your own and find a place within. You do, however, grow up fast when a family depends upon you to bring them together, even if you are just a child.

Dorothy Shaw grew up on Everett Street, that small street at the intersection where Chapman and Spaulding streets meet. “Dottie,” as she was affectionately known, was born in 1910 and was surrounded by a loving family that included a sister and two brothers. The house, still standing, had a magical turret and is one of the prettiest houses facing Chapman Street. Dottie’s father was a well-respected builder and her mother filled the house with love and affection.

Fannie Shaw, Dottie’s mother, was born in 1878, and her parents died shortly after she was born. Adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Henry Cushman, the girl thrived at the Crane School and was married at age 19 to Walter Shaw in 1897.

Dottie’s catapult from childhood into adulthood happened when she was 13 years old. Her mother had been seriously ill from the time Dottie was 10 years old. The illness was quite bad, and for three years Fannie Shaw endured several strokes and convulsions, leading to diminished eyesight and poor speech. At 1 a.m. on February 23, 1923, Fannie Shaw died, leaving the family in the care of her only daughter. It would be an understatement to suggest that this was difficult. Taking care of her brothers and father became a full-time job, and in addition to her schoolwork, there was always a mountain of chores to be attended to across the day and late into the night.

Taking care of siblings Walter Jr., Howard and Florence was only part of her job; balancing school was the other. Dottie excelled in all her subjects. As part of the Canton High School graduating class of 1926, Dottie graduated at the top of the class and was not only the class president but the valedictorian as well. In short, this was an extremely smart young woman.

As it turns out, there were several smart women around town in those years. Dorothy Spear would go on to attend Bates College in Maine, while Kay Draper attended Wheaton. Not to be outdone, Dr. Rubin’s wife, Sophie, went to Radcliffe, and so many of her friends began life after Canton in wonderful and far-flung places. In writing her introduction to the Echo Yearbook, Dottie noted: “Years ago, there might have been excuse for students not going to college, but in this era of opportunities there is no one who cannot go to a higher institution … there are many ways for poor students to earn tuition.” Dottie wanted to desperately go to college, yet it was not to be. Keeping the family together was her focus, and soon she found a job in the local Boston Edison office in Canton Center where she was always a smiling face well known to many of Canton’s residents.

An aerial view of Chapman Street with the
Canton Airport in the background.
Photo taken by Dottie Shaw in 1933. (Courtesy of Jane Boland)

It would be the skies that would capture Dottie’s dreams. Everett Street is at the top of the Neponset Valley, and photographs from the turn of the last century show a broad expanse across which one could see straight to Norwood. By the early 1930s, the Canton Airport was in full throttle, and Dottie could see and hear the “airships” taxiing and lifting into the sky and roaring over her house. The idea of flying was one that captured many young hearts in those days, and Dottie’s was not excepted.

Perhaps it was Amelia Earhart who made an impression on 18-year-old Dottie Shaw. On June 17, 1928, it was Earhart who set off from Trepassey Harbor in Newfoundland and 21 hours later landed at Burry Port, Wales. The headlines were fantastic, and while three women had previously died attempting a transatlantic crossing, it was Earhart who was greeted by ticker tape and President Calvin Coolidge. Whoever it was who influenced her, Dottie Shaw was indeed influenced to take to the skies. While other young women were off in college, Dottie decided that one thing she could do to set herself apart would be to fly. To fly – to soar – to glide – to dream. Saving a small portion of her $16 paycheck each week, Dottie was able to scrape enough together to begin flying lessons at the Canton Airport. Walking to the airport, less than a mile from her house, was a weekly ritual. And if she was lucky, she could grab a ride from friends — including Ralph Beasley or his son Ralph Jr. These were heady days in aviation. Takeoffs were easy; it was the landings that would prove tricky. In August 1932 a flight permit was issued to the intrepid D.B. Shaw. One of the early masters of aviation took on Dottie Shaw as a student. G. Bancroft Hall, or “Banny” as he was known, would teach Dottie how to fly.

G. Bancroft Hall was a fixture in early New England flying, and by all accounts he favored Dottie with his vast knowledge of piloting. In 1929, Hall was a partner in the Wachusett Airways Company in Fitchburg and at the same time the chief pilot at Canton-based Wiggins Airways. In an old, dog-eared scrapbook, Dottie writes of Banny — “God’s gift to women students.” Taking to the skies for women became pretty extraordinary in the early 1930s, and yet there were several notable examples, largely from well-to-do families.

The “gang” hanging out at the
Canton Airport in 1933 (Courtesy of Jane Boland)

Flying was as much about the freedom of being in the skies as it was the camaraderie of the fellowship, and Dottie loved the people and the stories that were part of this sport. At the municipal airport in Canton there was a close-knit group of friends, and Dottie was certainly included. The “Gang” was Chin Jung, Ralph Beasley and his son, Ralph Jr., Dick Chase, Sumner Fischer, Charles “Scottie” Scott, Appellino “Red” Janeskus — from Stoughton, Uno Frederickson and several other “guys.” Dottie was the only woman flying in the group. Even in her canvas coveralls and grease-smudged nose, Dottie was a beautiful woman with a ready smile and a winning personality.

On Thursday, June 8, 1933, Dottie climbed into the single cockpit Spartan C2-60 monoplane, the “Trusty 902.” At 5’4” and 100 pounds soaking wet, the blonde, blue-eyed kid slid behind the controls. This would be her first solo flight, and she was probably quite nervous. Inscribed in the front of her scrapbook is an old saying: There are “old” pilots and there are “bold” pilots, but there are no “old, bold” pilots.

At 23, Dottie Shaw was certainly not old, but as for being bold, this is up for interpretation. It was a beautiful summer evening; a slight breeze kicked up the smell of sweet grass from the nearby hayfields. The runway was dusty as she taxied out and made the turn for her takeoff. At exactly 7:11 p.m., Canton’s first female pilot took flight from the soft grass meadow at the airport at the edge of the Fowl Meadows. Aloft above her beloved town, it was a magical evening. The small engine could get her up to a top speed of 93 mph and she must have reveled in the private view of Canton. Pulse quickened as she maneuvered on her own without Banny to gently guide her. After six hours of training spread over the course of a year, this was her moment, her dream of flying realized.

Dorothy Shaw, Canton’s first aviatrix,
posing in front of her “solo” ship in 1933
at the Canton Airport (Courtesy of Jane Boland)

On the ground a welcome committee was sure to be waiting. Perhaps her fellow students had stopped by, and certainly her instructor. At the head of the pack may have been Joe Garside. Joe came from a wealthy family in Hyde Park that had made a small fortune developing a special paint for canvas-covered planes. In 1927, he piloted his mother across the English Channel from Paris to London — Joe was only 13 at the time.

As far as formal instruction, Joe learned to fly in Charlotte, North Carolina, and a year later we find him soaring around the nation’s capital and the Washington Monument. The 14 year old soloed in 1928 at Hoover Field in Washington, D.C. (now the site of the Pentagon). Joe had tried to persuade the chief of the Department of Commerce (now the FAA) to waive the 16-year-old age requirement for private pilots. At the time, Joe Garside was the youngest pilot to solo in the world. The flight was a success; the waiver was not. Despite not having a pilot’s license, Joe flew extensively and by age 16 became a full-fledged pilot, owning several air-ships.

At 19, Joe Garside, very well known in early flying circles, became the manager of Wiggins Airways in Canton. Close to his home in Milton, Joe was an early pioneer of commercial aviation and attended MIT, studying aeronautical engineering. Of the 40 students who came for lessons, Dottie stood out. Spending more of her time at the Canton Airport, she soon became an assistant to the dashing, young airport manager. It would not be long before the two became an item. Eventually, the “air-pair” fell in love and began an extended courtship. In October 1938, Joe and Dottie were married and moved to the beautiful stone house at 180 Chapman Street.

Joe and Dottie were a well-suited pair — smart, ambitious and very friendly. In fact, both were described as having magnetic personalities. After ten years of trying to have a child, they turned to a family attorney in Brockton, who arranged for them to adopt a nine-day-old baby girl. Jane Garside said that from the time she was old enough to know, she knew she was adopted. “I was a very fortunate child,” she recalls. “I never desired to hunt for my birth mother, and Joe and Dottie were my mom and dad.” Jane was told from day one that she was special.

Dottie flew until the 1940s, joining the famous Ninety Nines, a women’s pilot organization founded by Amelia Earhart. After Jane was born, Dottie never piloted again. The family did fly together in small private planes, but Dottie exchanged her wings for the caring arms of a mom.

When Jane was 13 years old, her mom and dad divorced. In the mid 1950s, Joe engaged in a particularly public and forbidden love affair with a neighbor’s wife. Dottie asked him to move on by simply stating in rather stoic terms: “You can do whatever you want. I am keeping our house and Janie.” Jane continued to see her dad, but certainly was closest to her mother. The split was amicable even under the circumstances. In later years, Joe would reflect that his divorce was perhaps the biggest mistake he ever made in his life. Dottie remained on benevolent terms with her ex-husband, most likely because they were such close friends. Today we call people like Joe and Dottie soul mates.

Dorothy Shaw Garside in Honolulu, Hawaii, with her daughter
Jane, in 1963 (Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

Dottie’s life in Canton continued to be a proud and lasting tribute to the things she loved. A member of the Garden Club, the Sweet Adelines, and the Canton Historical Society, she remained active her entire life, and was frequently seen volunteering at Norwood Hospital as a “pink lady.” Jane recalls that her mother “had a beautiful voice” and loved organizing community activities, including the 50th anniversary of her Canton High School graduating class. In the winter of 1978, Dottie battled a nasty flu, and soon it was discovered that she was suffering from heart disease, which quickly led to two heart attacks, the second fatal. On January 4, her 68th birthday, Canton’s first female pilot departed this earth.

A Grave Matter

2011-06-05T07:38:00.000-04:00

The Gridley Cemetery, 1764.

After my last story, the one that helped rediscover the Boston milestones around town, I headed out to repaint the ancient relics. I had done this before, about five years ago. This time, my brother Jonathan and I dutifully drove to the stones around Canton and took some time painting in the carving and cleaning up the faces. At one point, Jonathan turned to me and asked, “What else can we paint?” The question was simple, almost asking, “What else has been lost that we can rediscover?”

It seems to me that there are plenty of long-neglected sites in Canton that could use a bit of sprucing up. Case in point: what is historically known as the Gridley Graveyard. Few people realize that it exists, but in fact it is closer than you may think. As you drive toward Cobb’s Corner, and just after the waterfall at Shepard’s Pond, on your left is Kinsley Place, a small street that dips down a hill.

Find a respectable place to park, and on your right is a tiny field hardly bigger than a postage stamp. You will not see any gravestones or markers. A crude sign is erected proclaiming the site as Gridley Cemetery. The weathered sign is slowly deteriorating and time is overtaking this space very slowly. Along the edges of the plot are a lovingly tended grape arbor and plenty of vibrant Hostas. Bearing silent testament to time is a large tree, a maple perhaps, standing at the back corner of this place. Measuring barely 20 by 25 feet, there is not much to see here. A recent mowing caused historian Jim Roache to wryly ponder if a cookout was planned, as this is a perfect picnic spot.

What lies beneath, however, is a part of Canton’s history that is both celebratory and sad. This plot was not planned; rather it was opened by necessity. In 1763, a full-blown epidemic ravaged Boston, and in May 1764, the scourge of smallpox darkened the small town of Stoughton. In the Canton Historical Society, in a lead-lined drawer, there is a small diary written in the hand of the Minister Elijah Dunbar. The entries are indescribably small and equally hard to read. The diary entries for 1764 are dark and forlorn. It would appear that people were falling ill at an alarming rate. The time was known as the “visitation,” and nothing would stop the pox from indiscriminately cutting down young and old in a matter of days.

Elijah Dunbar writes: “May 27, terrible time on account of the pox.” In June the entries pick up the pace of the disease: “Vilet died this night, a very terrible time, Leonards folks taken with the small pox, Mrs. Vose dies of the small pox, Old Joseph Fenno dies, Polly Billings dies of the small pox; purple sort, Leonards family in great distress, Sunday Mrs. Davenport dies of the small pox.”

By mid June, the parish began fasting and prayer in the hope of staving off the disease. At this same time, Mary Leonard and her newborn baby die followed three days later by Nurse Howard. Families perished, only to find few willing to bury the dead.

The Gridley Cemetery was opened to bury these dead souls. There are no official records that tell us who are interred in this ground. The markers were standing in 1893, but they are long lost. Folklore suggests that they were taken away and used as stone steps or foundation rubble in some of the homes in the vicinity. We do have a record of a few of the carvings.

They all tell a sad story: “Here lies ye body of Mr. Wally Leonard, who died of small pox, June the 14th, 1764, in the 44th year of his age.” And another: “Here lies ye body of Mrs. Mary Leonard, and her new born babe, the wife and child of Ensign Nathaniel Leonard, who died of small pox,June ye 14th, 1764, in the 39th year of her age.” Even the young were hardly spared: “Here lies the body of Mary Billings, daughter of Mr. William and Mrs. Mary Billings, who died of small pox, June 8, 1764, in the 18th year of her age.”

Eventually the small cemetery was enclosed with two low stone walls and became part of the conveyances when abutting property was sold. Principally, the cemetery was opened as a family burying plot for the Leonard family. You may recall Nathaniel Leonard carved the 1736 milestone, our oldest marker and now at Shepard’s Pond. Perhaps Leonard carved some of the stones that have been long lost. After Leonard died in 1772, his son Jacob conveyed the property to Richard Gridley, Edmund Quincy and others.

Major General Richard Gridley was an impressive man in American history. In fact, Gridley is credited as the founder of the U.S. Army Corp of Engineers. Born in Boston in 1711 to a well-established family, he would become a giant in the American Revolution. Space does not allow a full explanation of his accomplishments, but suffice it to say that Gridley was a patriot in the truest sense of the word. At age 61, Gridley had business interests in Canton and was involved in a venture that purchased Massapoag Pond to mine it for iron ore that would be used to cast cannons for the American Revolution. In the spring of 1772, Gridley purchased a house in Canton from the Leonard family. Gridley named his home “Stoughton Villa.” The house is now gone, but it is rumored that the peonies on the property still bloom from the stock planted by Gridley. Along with the house came the small burying ground.

Alongside the graves of the smallpox victims, the Gridley family is buried. General Gridley’s son, Scarborough, was laid to rest in 1787, and Gridley’s wife, Hannah (Demming), was buried in 1790. There were two daughters, Becky and Polly, who are perhaps buried here as well. It was the general, however, who was buried here to which the name of this place is attached.

In a declining age, Gridley was in financial distress. His business partnership had soured and had caused considerable financial drain. Among Gridley’s creditors was listed John Hancock, Edmund Quincy’s brother-in-law. Gridley’s last public appearance was at the laying of the cornerstone of the Massachusetts State House in 1795. That same year he signed the petition for the Act of Incorporation of the Town of Canton. In late life, at an advanced age, Gridley took great pleasure in tending to his gardens. Cutting dogwood bushes in the summer of 1796, Gridley contracted blood poisoning and died at age 85. On June 23, the old revered general was laid to rest in the quiet spot of this family graveyard.

The final resting place of the remains
of an American Patriot, Major General Richard Gridley,
1711-1796 (Photo by George T. Comeau)

For almost 80 years the grave was neglected. As early as 1874, however, a move was afoot to somehow recognize this great man. Gridley, a Freemason, was celebrated in an early magazine article written by Brother D.T. V. Huntoon, with a closing remark that read: “The school that is situated nearest to where his house stood is called the Gridley school, but the children, as they pass and repass the little graveyard, know not that one of the distinguished men of the Revolution sleeps his last sleep in its quiet precincts. But the Patriot and Mason, as he passes, may pause and ask himself: Is it right that one, who in days gone by defended his country with bravery, and upheld the ancient landmarks with zeal, should thus be forgotten and neglected by his Brethren and countrymen?”

On an autumn day in 1876, a small committee of men gathered at the Gridley Cemetery with the intent to remove the moldering remains of the deceased patriot. After a false start, the men located the grave, and seven feet below the surface the coffin was reached. A trowel was used to clear the grave, and the skull of Gridley was lifted from the earth. A quantity of grey hair attached helped identify the remains, to which a small braided ponytail, his queue, was pocketed by Elijah Morse. The contents of the grave were placed in a box and reinterred at a suitable monument at the Canton Corner Cemetery.

Today, you can visit Gridley’s final resting place, impressive in size and topped with a cannon in the imitation of a “Hancock” or “Adams,” which served Gridley so well at Bunker Hill. On the other hand, you can visit his wife and family more than two miles away to the south on Kinsley Place, in a long forgotten graveyard that tells a story that should be memorialized and respected for the souls buried therein. On this 215^th anniversary of Gridley’s death, plan a pilgrimage to both spots and pay homage to the man and his family, a true son of Canton and of America.

Mile by Mile

2011-05-24T07:01:00.000-04:00

You probably drive by them all the time without noticing. They sit by the side of the road, silent necessities of our Colonial era that are no longer needed in a modern age. The small stone mile markers, milestones, have been marking the distance from Boston since the early 1700s.

Today, with our satellite-guided navigation systems and global positioning devices, we are hard-pressed to get lost in our modern age. Our milestones are wonderful reminders of a distant age; they require no winding or batteries, and their warranties have long run out, but they still tell the distance to Boston and can be counted on in all types of weather.

The milestones in Canton are part of a network of stones that all lead the way to Boston. Five roads connected Boston with neighboring towns and were collectively called the Bay Roads, since they ultimately led to the Massachusetts Bay at Boston Harbor. Likely these began as Native American paths to the shore, and over time became developed cart paths and ultimately roads and highways. Our “bay road,” the Old Bay Road from Boston Bay to Taunton, extended from the earliest of settlements at Providence, Rhode Island, and the Narragansett Bay. This path was used for more than a century prior to the American Revolution and for more than 50 years thereafter. It would be the “turnpike” systems that would replace this road in the mid 1800s, but until then Bay Road was the route most preferred.

What began as a bridle path and then a cart path would become our main thoroughfare. Laid out by the selectmen of Dorchester in 1700 and again in 1712, it has had many names. In 1703 it was called the road leading to Billings’ in Sharon. In 1707 this was called the road leading to Rehoboth. Other names over the years included “Road to Rhode Island,” “The King’s Highway,” and “the great road from Boston to Taunton.” In 1840, that portion that travels through Canton between Milton and Sharon became known as Washington Street.

As the early colonists began building and improving roads, they erected mile markers to measure the distances between taverns, churches, meetinghouses, schoolhouses and blacksmiths. It was Paul Dudley, a Roxbury native educated at Harvard (class of 1690), who left an enduring legacy of milestones throughout greater Boston. From 1729 onward, Dudley erected stones measuring the distance to the then Boston Town House, now the Old State House. All of the distances on the stones, including Canton, assume a route along Washington Street in Roxbury to Eliot Square. In reality, the distances between each stone are wonderfully accurate.

At Roxbury, the town center was located at John Eliot Square, where a meetinghouse had been built in 1632. And at the fork of Roxbury and Centre streets can be found the “Parting Stone,” the terminus between the roads that lead to Boston.

For our purposes, let’s start our journey at the Milton line as we cross in front of the Blue Hills. It is here, just slightly over the Canton and Milton boundary line, that milestone 12 sits. Actually, as I began writing this story, it occurred to me that I had never actually seen this milestone. A quick detour away from the computer and out across Canton was in order.

The missing 12th milestone that was
removed from Route 138 sometime
in the early 1970s
(Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

Milestone 12 was last recorded in 1950 when 22 milestone markers were carefully located and mapped after 200 years with the hope that “these milestones may still so repose after 200 more.” Locating these markers was a passion of Channing Howard, a founder of the Boston engineering firm of Whitman & Howard and an avid historian. Mr. Howard lived in Winthrop and meticulously plotted the routes and locations of the stones leading to Boston. Several letters on the topic of milestones can be found in the Canton Historical Society between Charlotte Endicott Wilde, an avid local historian, and Mr. Howard. Included in the society file are several maps showing the locations as they were found in the 1950s.

Driving over Route 128, and to your left, heading towards Blue Hill, is Milestone 13. In the cloverleaf between the exits there is a “Welcome to Canton” sign, and just next to it is the 13^th mile marker placed by John Spare in 1786. Exactly one mile to the north on Route 138 should be the 12^th milestone. I pulled off the road at a safe spot and walked in both directions north and south. No stone to be found. The 12^th marker should be on the westerly side of the road, just at the line. Plenty of poison ivy can be found, and two private driveways. The marker is lost. Even a “trespass” behind a high stockade fence failed to yield the whereabouts of the marker. Placed here by Lemuel Davenport, this granite monument read “12 miles to Boston, 1774, L.D.” Stoughton historian Howard Hansen recalls seeing the milestone in the early 1960s; by the early 1970s the road was leveled, a hill removed and the stone disappeared. Likely this relic adorns a garden or has become a backyard conversation piece.

Turning south and continuing back into Canton, just over the bridge that crosses Route 128 (now I-93), you will again pass the John Spare milestone. Spare was the son of Samuel Spare, an early settler, who came to Stoughton in 1738. The marker was placed quite near the family home on what was known as Cherry Hill. John Spare was a member of the Stoughton Minutemen and served in the Revolutionary War.

Another mile south should yield milestone 14, and the odometer places this spot directly at the Old English Burying Ground. In front of the burying ground are two large stones with historical inscriptions detailing this site. In 1952, Mrs. Wilde, in a letter to Mr. Howard, writes, “I could not help wondering if the opposite side of [these] stones, which is wholly covered by banking and turf, might not have been the old 14 mile stone.” It may be the case that the milestone was reused in this wall, for in 1843, after many years of complaint and controversy, a new wall was erected. Granite posts, which had adorned the mansion of Gardiner Greene in Boston, were reset and iron gates were installed. Alas, the gates and any trace of milestone 14 are lost.

Further south we come to milestone 15, simply marked “B 15 M” and leaning into Washington Street in front of the earliest section of St. Mary’s Cemetery. This grey ghost is easy to find and almost as easy to hit with an ill intentioned driver. Milestone 16 is reported to have been approximately where the old Endicott house stands, just before the high school. It has long been believed that this stone may very well be buried in one of the old walls that grace this section of Washington Street.

The 17th Mile Stone. Relocated from the original
location (shown here) and now at the waterfall on
Pond & Washington Streets. (Courtesy of the
Canton Historical Society.)

Measuring another mile, the final stone along Washington Street should by all accounts be located near the present-day Dockray and Thomas Funeral Home. Many residents, however, know that the 17^th milestone is located near the falls at Shepard’s Pond in the “Hardware” section of Canton. This is our oldest stone, set here in 1736 by Nathaniel Leonard. Leonard, born in 1717, was active in the early iron business. This stone originally sat across the street and had been saved after being buried in the roadway, reset in place, and in more modern times moved by the town of Canton across the street in the small park near Pond Street. Interestingly enough, this milestone is more than three-eighthsof a mile away from where a measured mile should place it. At 275 years old, it can sit wherever it wants, even if it no longer accurately measures the distance to the Old State House.

A youthful Ed Galvin, member of the
Canton Historical Society, repaints the 17th milestone
on Pleasant Street on Memorial Day 1965.
(Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

One final note to share on Canton milestones: There are three more stones that are quite curious. There is a stone at Canton Center railroad crossing measuring the distance to Providence, Rhode Island. And on Pleasant Street there are two more Boston milestones marked “B 17 M – 1773” and “B 16 M – 1773.” So, curious reader, you may be thinking, “Ah, these are the missing stones on Washington Street. Not the case, the 17^th stone is Nathaniel Leonard’s near Pond Street, and no explanation has surfaced as to why the markers that follow the “Bay Road” depart up through Pleasant Street.

Channing Howard wrote in 1939 that it was his work to “rescue from threatened oblivion and preserve the story of this noble road — great in both history and romance — for those who come after. May its glory not grow dim.” To this end, every few years I go out and repaint the letters and dates on these markers. If you are so inclined to join me, I’ll have a brush and paint ready. We can all preserve our town’s history, mile by mile.

The author plans on visiting each stone on Memorial Day weekend and repainting these relics. If you would like to come along, drop an email to geocomeau@gmail.com.

Remembering the Civil War

2011-05-08T10:49:00.000-04:00

Company A, the Canton men who were the first to leave Massachusetts
in the Civil War, shown here at a reunion on September 17, 1898.
(Photo by J. W. Wattles, Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

It may be cliché to say that you can touch history, but in all honesty, our history is made up of the places, artifacts and stories that we preserve for future generations to “touch.” Nowhere is this more evident than in the new exhibit at the Canton Historical Society that lays bare the artifacts brought back by Canton soldiers from the American Civil War.

Affectionately, I have always called the “Histy” Canton’s Attic. The building itself was completed 100 years ago and the Classical Revival building with a modest exterior holds thousands of photographs, artifacts and stories that create a link to our place here in Canton. The Historical Society has been collecting and preserving our history since 1871, when it was founded by a group of men to “obtain and preserve all material that would throw light upon the history of the town.” Many of these men fought in the Civil War, and they carefully placed their artifacts into the building for safekeeping.

It must have been with great pride in Canton and in our military role in the Civil War that prompted Wally Gibbs, the president of the society, to begin work on the current exhibit focusing on the Civil War. As Mr. Gibbs examined the holdings in the vault, and in musty drawers and boxes, he put together the story of war that is poignant and memorable. Each object selected is a direct connection to the intense hardship of battle and the bloody trials endured by our boys as they fought a war on home soil.

The history of Canton is intertwined with the Civil War. More than 600,000 men died in battle and even more would return home with disfiguring wounds on both their bodies and minds. Canton’s resident historian, James Roache, recounted the heavy loss of life from Canton: “In a town of almost 3,500 inhabitants, Canton would suffer the loss of 30 men in battle.”

The names of our lost men are inscribed on the memorial tablets that flank the interior at Memorial Hall. Our town hall is in fact a memorial to those who lost their lives in giving the ultimate sacrifice for freedom. The soldier who once stood outside Memorial Hall, and now is in a corner of the interior, was a tribute to the soldiers of Canton. Today, observe the patina of the statue, weathered and beaten, silently watching the tax collections and dog licenses.

A Union soldier's cartridge case.

In the Canton Historical Society it is in the ordinary that we touch the extraordinary. There is the pewter plate used by Larra E. Wentworth in 1863. The Union canteen carried by Captain John Hall. And most touching is the simple tin plate that was picked up at Wilderness, Virginia, along the rebel lines. Buttons, belt buckles, and dress swords fill a case where time stands still and the battles have ended.

There are Union guns and Confederate rifles. The most interesting of these guns is the Confederate single-shot rifled musket that was taken from the battlefield at Bull Run. The rich, dark wood, smoothed by time, bears a rip from a Union bullet that tore the gun “from the hands of a South Carolinian rebel.” The force of the direct hit on the gun sent the weapon flying and wounded the rebel soldier. Attesting to the force of the shells are two bullets that met midair, united by the impact. The ammunition quieted but still telling tales.

The Civil War bugle owned by Wallace McKendry
from Ponkapoag (Photo by George T. Comeau)

Also long quieted is the bugle that belonged to Wallace McKendry. The son of Captain William McKendry and Harriet Billings, McKendry was born in Ponkapoag and enlisted in Company D 22^nd Regiment and served as a sergeant in the Peninsular Campaign. The cloth cord and tassels are intact, and the owner’s name is simply engraved.

Most remarkably, the Histy owns the two dress swords worn by the grandsons of the patriot Paul Revere. These two men, Paul Joseph and Edward Hutchinson Robbins Revere, were heroes in the truest sense. Upon the call of duty, Paul Joseph Revere would leave a wife and two children. A dear friend urged him not to leave home, to which Revere remarked, “I have weighed it all, and there is something higher still. The institutions of the country — indeed free institutions throughout the world — hang on this moment.”

The war stories surrounding the two Revere men from Canton are the stuff of movies, and sadly of life during war. Space precludes sharing the list of heroics as well as the tribulations. Suffice it to say that imprisonment, torture, hostage exchanges, glorious battles and, ultimately, sacrifice and death, paint a vivid portrait of the lives of these Cantonians. Both of these men represent the covenant with the Union and freedom, offering their lives to consummate the ideals of the United States of America.

The Revere men stand elegant in a large framed portrait above the door to the society vault that contains their military dress swords. Ask Wally Gibbs to see the swords, and touch a rare piece of Revere family history. Edward Revere’s sword is simple and tells the story of the surgeon who died heroically on the battlefield of Antietam on September 17, 1862. Colonel Paul Joseph Revere’s sword is engraved with the names of the battles in which he took part. Ball’s Bluff, Yorktown, West Point, Seven Pines, Fair Oaks, Peach Orchard, Savages Station, White Oak Swamp, Glendale, Malvern Hill, Antietam, and his final battle, Gettysburg. The names chill the air, and each battle brought him closer to death and into history for the name of his family and country. Mortally wounded on July 2, Paul Joseph Revere died at Gettysburg on July 4, 1863.

Detail from a captured Confederate Flag on display at
the Canton Historical Society

As if to punctuate the battles, there is the captured battle flag of the Confederate Army. In a hand-painted case the flag lies under glass. The 12 stars are faded, and the leather eagle slightly worn. The story behind this flag is found in a handwritten affidavit that reads: “This flag was captured by First Sergeant Edwin West of Wallace’s Zouaves 11^th Indiana Regiment at the 3^rd day fight — Battle of Shiloh.” The flag was claimed by West as to have been captured from the First Texas Calvary, taken from the hands of Colonel John O’Neil. In a letter of inquiry dated 1899, the last surviving Civil War veteran from Canton, John D. Billings, wrote to United Confederate Veterans and inquired as to Colonel John O’Neil’s whereabouts. The answer back was that O’Neil was not connected to the First Texas Calvary, but rather was a major, lt. colonel and colonel of the 10^th Tennessee Infantry. O’Neil died in St. Louis, and perhaps along with him was the story behind the capturing of this flag. No matter, the flag is preserved and is a beautiful piece of our history.

Colonel John D. Billings

Many of the items at the society, hundreds in fact, were collected by Colonel Billings. The notes that accompany the fragments of war indicate a man who was thorough and direct. Of the multitude of fragments from the war collected by Billings, we find such items as a piece of a scabbard picked up at Appomattox Courthouse, fragments of a shell found at Cold Harbor, and a tin cartridge case from Antietam. Billings lived until 1933, dying at age 91, and his passion for the war is evident by the breadth of his collection.

Sometimes the stories and connections to our nation’s past can be found in our own hometown, and the items on display are superb connecting points.

Massapoag House

2011-04-24T07:41:00.000-04:00

Massapoag House from an 1848 sheet music cover.
(Collection of the author)

Our kitchen is the “Canton room,” according to my wife. Of course, all things Canton seem to find their way into every room of our house. As part of her spring-cleaning ritual, several pieces of framed artwork have found their way onto the kitchen walls, pieces that might have been relegated to an upstairs closet. One of my favorite bits of Canton memorabilia is the sheet music cover for the Massapoag March. This once grand part of Canton’s history can now only be found in images and distant memories.

Today, as a new hotel goes up near the foot of the Great Blue Hill, it turns out that this is our first new hotel since the Massapoag House was built in 1789. And while there is a long history of taverns and boarding houses in Canton, indeed the Massapoag House was a true “hotel” by all standards.

The view of the Kinsley Iron Works and Massapoag Hall.
(Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

The three-story Massapoag House was an imposing structure located on the land of the present-day post office. For over 70 years this landmark was the center of social and Catholic life in our community. It is hard to imagine such a grand building imposing upon the streetscape, but Massapoag House was quite a special place. At the Boston Museum of Fine Arts there is a painting in the Karolik Collection of American Paintings, and this 1850 landscape by an unknown artist (perhaps Joseph Hidley 1830-1872) shows an idyllic view of Canton and the Kinsley Iron Works, and most specially the Massapoag House.

The building began life in 1789 as a private residence for Jonathan “Quaker” Leonard. Quaker Leonard was, well, a Quaker — a member of the Society of Friends — and a businessman and partner of Adam Kinsley. And at age 26, Quaker Leonard was building considerable wealth. Leonard descended from a family that hailed from Pontypool, England, and when they came to America, they brought with them the knowledge of the working of iron ore.

Leonard’s father, Eliphalet, began making guns for the American Revolution in Easton, and it was here that Jonathan Leonard met Kinsley. Leonard, known to be eccentric and bright, obtained even more insight into iron production when, upon hearing that steel was being made in Pennsylvania, he traveled there to investigate. Under the guise of being a simpleton, he engaged in industrial espionage and worked as a menial employee at the furnace, thus bringing even more knowledge to the business in Canton and Easton.

As for the other half of the partnership, for folks who know their history, Kinsley is a name synonymous with iron in Norfolk County, and at the time in America. In 1788, Leonard and Kinsley erected a blacksmith’s shop near the present-day waterfall at “Forge” Pond. The business was brisk, and between 1790 and 1800, more than 200 mill-saws and 3,600 scythes were manufactured, all implements of a growing post-colonial economy.

At the time, the majority of iron ore came from Lake Massapoag in Sharon. This 353-acre spring-fed lake was drawn down to expose bog iron that would be refined in Canton and Easton. It is no wonder that Massapoag House would have such a strong connection to the great pond in Sharon, as the source of wealth was the raw material that would build a nation.

So, in 1789, Leonard built Massapoag House next to the factory — by all accounts a large and imposing two-story building. The firm of Leonard & Kinsley continued until 1821 when the partnership split, and Leonard took the land on the easterly side of Washington Street and Kinsley took the land on the westerly side. Eventually, the Kinsley Iron Works would own all of the land when Leonard’s fortunes turned bad. Leonard believed that a rich mine of lead ore would be found in Easton, and he exhausted his considerable fortunes in pursuit of this mine. Massapoag House was lost to his creditors sometime between 1833 and 1835. Leonard left, some say in shame, and according to Huntoon, moved to New Orleans. Recent sources seem to indicate that he died on October 25, 1839, in Biloxi, Mississippi. Massapoag House became a public house managed by David Spaulding.

By the time the Viaduct was being built in 1834, James Bent was running his tavern at the site, and he ran a stagecoach line from Canton to Boston. Bent was the son of Captain William Bent, the landlord of the Eagle Inn. So in keeping with the family business, Massapoag House continued to be a tavern. A stop in Canton would have been on the route to Providence or Boston, and the stage line would have several places to drop passengers. The building was remade as a public house and the Canton Lyceum (a literary society) met regularly at this tavern. In fact, the Canton Lyceum was the “salon” of Canton — where ideas were debated regularly and eventually the literary collection would become the foundation of the Canton Public Library. The big change for Massapoag House would come in 1848, when Lyman Kinsley, Adam Kinsley’s son, expanded, remodeled and added a third-story, thus creating the finest rural hotel in New England.

Opening Night Invitation, 1848
(Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

The drawing in my kitchen is featured on the opening playbill for the Grand Ball, held on Thursday, February 3, 1848. It was Kinsley that gave the house its name, Massapaog House. There is another painting of this place. A beautiful landscape at the MFA was probably commissioned at this time and features both Kinsley’s new building and his factory. The color version of the oil painting shows a beautiful blue sky with cotton candy clouds. It is doubtful that the area ever boasted a beautiful sky, since the factory was so close by. For many years the hotel flourished, but the smoke from the forges in the immediate vicinity would make a stay disagreeable. By 1909, the fortunes of the Kinsley Iron Works were dissolved, and once again creditors would step in and sell the property.

In 1909, the Catholic Church bought the building at auction. As such, in more modern times the association more closely recalled with this building is that of the Canton Catholic Club and Guild. The basement boasted three bowling alleys while a movie theatre showed silent films, and in the rear of the first floor there was a large billiards parlor. Canton’s Catholic population had swelled during the late part of the 19^th century, and to help occupy the attention and time, the Catholic Club offered many diversions. This was the home to the Canton Royal Rooters of 1915.

The fire that destroyed the Canton Catholic Club,
1918, photo by Judge Gregory Grover.
(Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

The end would come more than 129 years after it was built. Early on January 5, 1918, fire destroyed the 130-year-old structure. “It was an absolutely fascinating thing to watch,” recalled Town Clerk Carlton Taber, who as a young boy remembered being at the scene after hearing the fire alarm split the frigid morning air. “The water became ice in nothing flat.” Judge Gregory Grover took several photos from his front lawn where the fire was fought.

So, as you climb the stairs to the Post Office, it is hard to imagine that the center of social life in Canton was here on this site. If you pause for a moment, you might hear the laughter of children, or catch a whisper of lovers on a first date; the strains of music float through time from the dance hall where Nathaniel Bent would cut the “pigeon’s wing.” As Huntoon writes: “The happy nights passed in the old hall will linger in the memory till time with us shall be no more.”

Balancing history at Pulpit Rock

2011-04-18T12:13:00.000-04:00

Balancing Rock, Canton, Massachusetts
(Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

By now you have no doubt created a short list of sites to visit in Canton that demonstrate some of the local curiosities of history and geology. Many people have followed my recent columns and report trips to the Stone Bridge or the Indian Cave. This week we plan another “trespass” to our neighbors up on York Street.

A visit to Balancing Rock, also known as Pulpit Rock.
Photo by Eliot C. French, 1912.
(Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

By many names, the site is the same — Pulpit Rock, Balancing Rock, or Indian Council Rock. The subject of Indian lore, local history and today controversy, this site is among our most famous geological wonders. Located on a trail within 50 yards of the cul-de-sac at the end of Village Gate Road, the rock sits on a 60-acre parcel slated for development. Actually, not just sitting; balancing. The local developer plans to preserve the site with a small park and hopes that in doing so he will encourage the support of local opposition groups to the subsequent development of the remaining parcel. Rather than wade into the controversy, let’s focus on the rock.

Not to be taken for granite, um granted, Pulpit Rock is quite large, and was placed by the retreating glaciers atop bedrock that sits as a stone promontory 100 feet above hilly land and glacial till. The exact coordinates on the GPS place us at 71d26m W, 42d10m N. The land was part of the Colonial era site known as the “Great Sheep Pasture Lot.” But, in terms of time, the significance extends back to 14,000 years ago when the Neponset River Valley was formed by the waters of glacial melt. It may be hard to imagine today, but the Neponset River was more than a mile wide and swelled to a lake wider than five miles in the Neponset Basin.

Enormous significance is given to our area by professional and amateur archaeologists. Paleoamerican artifacts that date to 10,000-12,000 BP (years before the present) have been discovered in Canton, and in one site more than 2,600 tools and projectile points have been unearthed. Canton was rich in the tools and food needed by early man to survive in a hostile and harsh New England environment. There is little doubt that prehistoric man in New England called Canton home.

Pulpit Rock serves as a superb reminder of the people that inhabited this area thousands of years before the “contact period,” that time of European contact with native populations. There is, however, no person with greater curiosity in the history of this site than the owner and developer, Patrick Considine. Many stories abound as to the importance of Pulpit Rock, and recently new and exciting theories of use and significance have emerged.

To understand the new theories about Pulpit Rock you have to understand its owner, Pat Considine. Growing up on the family farm in North Clare, Ireland, Mr. Considine was familiar with ancient stone ring forts, dolmens and megaliths. As a boy he learned that “stone formations are an important part of the history of man.” And so when he began purchasing the land off York Street that contained Pulpit Rock, he was constantly trying to square off between folklore and history. Sometimes both are so intertwined it is impossible to separate the two.

Over the past five years as Mr. Considine amassed the 60-acre parcel, he was on a continuous path to learn more about Pulpit Rock. There is little written about this site. Some theories suggest that the Puritan missionary John Eliot used Pulpit Rock as his “pulpit” to preach his cross-cultural mission of converting the native population to Christianity. The area now known as Canton was once part of Eliot’s second so-called Praying Towns — a place where the Native Americans could live apart from the English and rule themselves as a Christian society. Eliot writes “though our poore Indians are much molested in most places in their meetings in way of civilities, yet the Lord hath put it into your hearts to suffer us to meet quietly at Ponkipog for which I thank God, and am thankful to yourself and all the good people of Dorchester.”

Katherine Sullivan, then president of the
Canton Historical Society,and Edward Bolster
lead a visit to Balancing Rock in 1972.
(Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

The Indians that settled on the 6,000 acres of the Ponkapoag Plantation certainly would have been familiar with Pulpit Rock. It is a commanding site across the land and a promontory from which folklore claims smoke signals could be seen in Sharon. But folklore was not enough for Mr. Considine, who felt the site had more significance than what had been handed down through local stories. He asked himself how he would “approach an investigation” that linked the site to pre-historic times — something that seemed elusive. On a beautiful autumn day Mr. Considine traveled to Exeter, New Hampshire and visited the New Hampshire Technical Institute and began researching standing stone sites in New England.

The seminal work on standing stones is titledManitou and tells the story of ancient Native American ritual sites across New England. The book was written by two established scientists who researched archaeoastronomy. This was the first book to examine a class of data that was ordinarily overlooked by prehistorians and is widely described as “a new research paradigm.” In Europe, especially Ireland and Britain, stone circles and megalith sites have been studied extensively for almost 50 years. In the United States, the SunWatch site near Dayton, Ohio, may date to the 1100s.

In December, Mr. Considine invited several individuals from the New England Antiquities Research Association (NEARA) to learn more about the prehistoric nature of Pulpit Rock. NEARA was founded in 1964 and has had plenty of experience supporting and debunking stone sites. Along on that day was Dr. Frederick Martin from Dedham. Dr. Martin is a research physicist who graduated from Yale and is active in the field of ion optics. Near the end of the day, almost as the group was leaving the site, Mr. Considine pointed out a row of stones ten feet from an ancient stone wall. These stones had been a curiosity to Mr. Considine, and the folks from NEARA became excited when they placed them in context with Pulpit Rock.

The row of stones, six feet in dimension, was aligned in the same direction and moved by humans. The second stone was what they termed a Manitou. Manitou is a word that is used by Algonquin speaking people to mean “spirit,” and these stones have been discovered across the New England landscape. The Manitou is similar in shape to a Colonial headstone and placed in places of great spiritual power. At Pulpit Rock the series of stones is aligned with magnetic north, and the theories that are emerging include the fact that this site may have been used to keep track of the passage of a year and possibly in connection with ceremony.

“There is a stone on which you can stand and see the Winter Solstice sun set over Pulpit Rock,” Dr. Martin said. “There is another stone that allows you to see the moon set at predictable intervals.” In essence, a straight line of monuments in which there are several unequivocal sightlines for annual and lunar timekeeping. A ceremonial stone clock, if you will allow the description.

What excites Mr. Considine is the fact that Pulpit Rock is quite similar and in his words “preeminent” to other sites with almost identical features. By mid-winter at the period of solstice late in the day, a deep shadow crosses the Manitou at Pulpit Rock and marks the darkest part of the year. Amazingly, the stones may line up to true north as it was over 10,000 years ago while today it sits off-axis by less than a few degrees.

Dr. Martin is working on publishing his findings in the journal Time and Mind, which specializes in archeoastronomy and prehistoric symbolic landscapes. He terms the site as fascinating and says that “since agriculture on bedrock is impossible, and colonial farmers are not known to be interested in the moon, it may be concluded that the stone row was constructed before the arrival of Europeans in New England.” The discovery in Canton is exhilarating in that it helps explain the long tradition of folklore and sacredness of a site long held so by modern people. The connections of Pulpit Rock to ancient people who were aligned by lunar and seasonal calendars is emerging as a very important reason for the site to be preserved.

This story originally appeared in the Canton Citizen on April 7, 2011.

The Fowl Meadows: For Peat's Sake

2011-03-27T07:44:00.000-04:00

The Fowl Meadows at the Neponset River circa 1890.
(photo by L.C. Horton, courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

There is an ancient map from 1794 inscribed with the names of the selectmen of Stoughton — Elijah Crane, Jabez Talbot and Nathan Crane — and on this map there are more than six bridges that cross the Neponset River in what is now Canton. Today, we mostly cross the Neponset River along Neponset Street, yet this road is among the newer roads, historically speaking. When we drive past the old Canton Airport, we see wetland and what we now consider “open space.” To the early settlers, this land was well supplied for access to food and valuable pastures.

The early bridges were used to access land in the Fowl Meadows, our western boundary. The first mention of this land dates to 1646, and much of this area was granted to Dedham in grants of 1653. As the train to Boston runs through these meadows, you can see luxurious grasses, and in late fall the meadows turn almost reddish in color. The grass here is actually called “fowl meadow” and is also known as “false redtop” (Poa serotina). This grass is typical of New England and “makes a soft and pliable hay, of excellent quality.” It could be mowed late in the season and made nutritious hay that was used as winter fodder.

The bridges that were used to access these meadows for grazing were named for the men who built them and owned grants to the meadows. Holmses Bridge, Thorp’s Bridge, Woodards Bridge, Fishers Bridge, and Majors Bridge — all ancient owners of meadows across the Neponset River. Vestiges of these structures are long lost. I know of a small arched double row of stones that is almost hidden by time and quite near the railroad tracks off University Avenue that I believe once played a part in the loading of carts filled with hay, but for the most part these crossings have been long lost.

What lies below the soft fields of grass is a thick, rich soil abundant with nutrients enriched by the river and thick with peat. After the retreat of the last ice age, the peat formed as the grasses decayed and were compressed by time. The peat is quite thick and Daniel Huntoon (History of Canton) observed, “Should our supply of coal ever become exhausted, fuel can here be obtained in an unlimited abundance.”

The peat is dense, and because of a lack of oxygen it inhibits the decay of archeological artifacts. In fact, some of the oldest artifacts in New England have been discovered along the Neponset River. Spots along the Fowl Meadows have served professional and amateur archeologists with a view that spans almost 18,000 years of human occupation. Amazing stories tied to the worksites, campsites, and migration of humans through this land will be shared in future articles.

The peat bogs gave rise to a little known and hardly mentioned industry in Canton. In 1908, J. Harry Hartley purchased 100 acres of land in Canton and Norwood. Hartley was the military editor of the Boston Globe and an esteemed member of the Ancient and Honorable Artillery Company of Massachusetts. This “newspaper man” had a vision that peat would become a new “cheap and inexhaustible fuel” for Boston.

Various attempts at harvesting peat had already been tried in New England. Peat, known as “bog fuel,” is the earliest stage of the creation of coal. The Boston and Maine Railroad tested this fuel in 1904. A large supply of peat was harvested in Lexington, and the railroad experimented over the winter of 1905 and found the fuel burned exceptionally well, but faster than coal. Also, in 1907, Mathew C. Sharpneck of Boston patented a new machine and assigned his patent to the American Peat Machinery Company of Portland, Maine. The machine used a series of blades to chop the peat and mix it such that it forms “ribbons of dark mud” that would be dried on a rack and cured with a current of air.

Hartley, the newspaper man, was well aware of the use of peat fuel in Europe and purchased one of Mr. Sharpneck’s machines. A plan was conceived along with Hartley’s son, Charles H. Hartley. Together these two men began the process of harvesting peat in the Fowl Meadows. In June 1908, all preparations were placed into operation. A small railroad track was laid deep into the Fowl Meadows and carts were connected via a steel cable to a series of sheds at the edge of the bog. A 100-foot-long building contained an engine house and the peat machine. Workers shoveled the heavy, wet peat into the hopper cars, and a winch pulled the cars along the rail to the main factory building. The contents were dumped onto a conveyor belt and processed through the peat machine. Drying sheds were also built on the property and the finished product was bagged for sale. This pioneering operation left little record. We would imagine that it soon thereafter failed, for no records exist that show otherwise.

The other reminder of the peat in the Fowl Meadows is the enormous fires that have historically consumed this land. Many times summer lightning storms would strike the ground, and the ensuing blaze would be all consuming. In 1923, a stubborn bog fire burned for several months. Norwood became “Smokytown” as the subterranean inferno blazed through the fall. This had been a year in which drought conditions had raised the alert to fire marshals throughout the commonwealth. More than 2,344 fires burned over 46,646 acres of fields and woodland, causing extensive damage.

In Canton, the summer of 1923 was particularly bad, and by all accounts the worst that had been seen in more than 40 years. Several tons of hay owned by Elijah White was destroyed in mid October by a fire that was set by two boys. That same day three tons of hay was burnt at William Murphy’s house on Bailey Street. In one day alone, fires were reported on Everett, Turnpike, Pecunit and Walpole streets, as well as Spring Lane and six other locations. In all, more than 13 fires burned on Friday, October 12, 1923. This set a record for the most working fires in one day in the Canton Fire Department’s history.

The bog fires burned for nine weeks. The smoke was excessive and more than 1,700 acres were ablaze through 1923. Hiking deep into the underbrush, firemen cut a four-mile-long ditch through the meadows and kept water pumping through the cut to create a fire line. The fire burned five to six feet underground, fueled by the never-ending supply of peat. Firemen on horseback worked their way into the deepest reaches of the meadows to access the edges of the fire and reported hellish scenes where the fire undercut root systems such that trees would collapse. “Through the smoke wreaths the bare branches of the trees showed gaunt and spectral … tongues of yellow flames were burning briskly amidst the tangle … rain was ineffective, breathing was difficult, eyes smarted and shed involuntary tears, and the heat of the ground felt hot through the sole of one’s boots.” The smoke from these fires caused such darkness that auto accidents became commonplace. After nightfall, travel became treacherous; you “literally could not see your hand in front of your face.”

The fires, although less frequent, are still a problem today. If you talk with Jim Fitzpatrick, our former fire chief, he can tell many stories of the meadow fires that were started by lighting or train sparks or errant cigarettes thrown from moving cars. More than 170 brush burn permits have been issued this year, so as you smell the wafting smoke from the spring burning season, recall the stories of the great fires in the Fowl Meadows and think about our history for peat’s sake.

This story ran in the Canton Citizen on March 24, 2011

A Ring of the Son of Thunder

2011-03-13T10:39:00.001-04:00

Memento Mori ring cast as a memorial to
Rev. Samuel Dunbar, 1783. (Courtesy of Eldred’s Auction)

The simple inscription on the inside of a small gold ring tells an amazing story that reaches back over 300 years to the birth of Samuel Dunbar. The inside of the ring in a colonial script reads: “Rev’d Saml. Dunbar June 15, 1783 AE 78” and a makers mark “PR.”

For all purposes, know that when I write of Canton, I write of the place that began as Dorchester, became Stoughton, was divided into parishes, and ultimately became what we know as Canton in 1797.

A receipt from 1777 signed by Samuel Dunbar
in the collection of the Canton Historical Society

As this town grew, the need for ministerial guidance was at the forefront of this community. The town minister was as important, and perhaps even of greater importance as that of the town doctor or miller. Samuel Dunbar was born in Boston on October 2, 1704, and when he was 4, his father died. At a very early age he attracted the attention of the Reverend Cotton Mather. Mather held the strictest of religious doctrines, best exhibited by his views on witchcraft and the subsequent hangings at Salem. Under Mather’s guidance, Dunbar attended Boston Latin School and Harvard College. By 1727, the people of Canton reached out and sent letters of inquiry asking that the 23 year old accept a ministry over the Church of Christ in Stoughton.

Through the years in Canton, a handsome house was built on what is now Chapman Street. A family grew and the reverend became extremely influential in all things religious and politic. The image of the man in a “long black gown, his snow white bands, his flowing gray wig, his black short-clothes, his knee and shoe buckles” stir a very proper picture of a righteous man. Upon the death of a resident who had not been an attendant at church, Dunbar stood at the head of the coffin and turned to the surviving relatives and proclaimed that “his body was before them, but his soul was in hell.”

In his early ministry in Canton he was a staunch supporter of the Crown, as all were in the middle of the 18th century. Dunbar was of the highest moral character and most esteemed by the entire community. When the call of duty was made by the king in 1755, Dunbar, as chaplain, accompanied Richard Gridley and Paul Revere (then 21) to fight against the French at Crown Point.

The Doty Tavern depicted in an 1876
drawing for Potter’s American
Magazine (Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

Over the years, as discontent grew among the people of the colonies, the fiery reverend changed sides and vociferously supported the patriots’ cause. In fact, in 1774 Dunbar bore witness to the birth of liberty. On Tuesday, August 16, 1774, delegates from around the surrounding towns gathered at Doty Tavern, at the foot of the Blue Hill, to hold a “Congress.” This meeting would bring about the emancipation from the tyrannous hands of the king. What would become known as the Suffolk Resolves was first discussed at this meeting. Dunbar, against the advice of family, friends and fellow ministers, attended the meeting and opened with a prayer that was described as “the most extraordinary liberty prayer” ever heard. It would not be hard to imagine coming from a person who once prayed that God would “put a bit in their mouths and jerk them about, send a strong northeast gale, and dash them [the British fleet] to pieces on Cohasset Rock.”

Dunbar was an amazing man, and in the truest sense a patriot, alongside Adams, Hancock, Revere, and Warren. He was known alternatively as a “Son of Thunder” and a “Son of Consolation.” As the “eldest Son of Liberty,” Dunbar bore witness to an extraordinary time in our history, giving comfort during times of distress and thanks during times of triumph. Samuel Dunbar lived long enough to see victory and the birth of our nation.

The first minister to publicly read the Declaration of Independence from the pulpit died on June 15, 1783. It would take 13 days for the great man to die, in excruciating pain, yet surrounded by family and friends at his home in the Old Parsonage. Huntoon describes the scene: “As the shades of evening approached, his pulse became slower and his breath shorter…” An affectionate friend kneels and inquires upon the old man’s pain, to which the response is, “I have served a good Master, and he has not forsaken me.”

Samuel Dunbar’s Parsonage which once
stood on Chapman Street. (Courtesy of the
Canton Historical Society)

Dunbar’s obituary ran in the Independent Chronicle and the Universal Advertiser on July 3, 1783. “They gather’d together, and with a generofity and tendernefs chearfully agreed to inter him at their common expence” continuing “the congregation, form’d in two ranks, proceeded from the dwelling houfe of the deceafed firft, the church next, then the deceafed borne by twelve principal men of the parifh, and the pall fupported by eight of the neighboring minifters.” Once committed to the grave, the obituary concluded, “The sweet remembrance of the just, Shall flourish when he sleeps in dust.”

And now to the ring. A recent caller from Cape Cod inquired as to what I knew of Dunbar, all of which I have related in this story. The initials “PR” intrigued me. Could this be … Paul Revere? In fact, this gold ring was most likely cast by the hands of the patriot and friend of Dunbar. As was the custom for the wealthy, a provision was made to quickly gather up gold and silver and have it cast into rings as a Memento Mori. These rings would be given as gifts to those closest friends as a way of signifying the importance of the man and as a literal reminder that you too shall “remember your mortality.”

A call to my friend, Nina Zannieri, the executive director of the Paul Revere House, confirmed, “It looks pretty good to us.” But, how does “pretty good” stack up? Digging further we found that in 1783 Paul Revere wrote in his day book that he cast eight rings for a single client, Capt. James Indicot. Zannieri writes, “It seems unlikely that is related to the one in your picture.”

What Zannieri did not immediately connect was the fact that Indicot was actually James Endicott — of Canton. James Endicott served as a captain in the Revolution at Lexington, Dorchester Heights, Cambridge, and Ticonderoga. Endicott was a friend of Revere; in fact, when Endicott’s house burned to the ground in 1806, it was Paul Revere who led the public financial campaign to rebuild the house against the impending winter. The brick house still stands on Washington Street, just past the high school.

Endicott, at 44 years old, was a rising and prominent citizen. A representative to the General Court, justice of the peace appointed by John Hancock, member of the committee that separated Canton from Stoughton, and the town treasurer, it was Endicott that placed an order for eight gold rings with Paul Revere. The daybook entry is made after May but before July 1783, and reads, in part, “to 8 Gold morn’g ring, weight 15.8 – 4 pounds, 4 shilling, 4 pence. Making ——- 1 pound, 6 shilling, 8 pence – Paid.” So, eight rings were cast about the same time as the death of Samuel Dunbar; one has survived.

On April 9 at Eldred’s Auction Gallery in East Dennis, we will see Paul Revere’s memorial gold ring cast for our second minister, Samuel Dunbar, hit the auction block. Presale estimates for this piece of our town’s history are between $4,000 and $8,000. History is alive and well — but at the right price.

Part II: Leonilda Verzone – A Life in Canton

2011-02-24T20:27:00.000-05:00

Leonilda Verzone at age 16

My grandmother, my Nana, turns 100 today. As you read this story, it is my joy to reflect upon what her place in my life and in Canton means. Leonilda (Verzone) Salemme was born in New York, but was raised by her paternal grandmother in the small village of Brusnengo in northern Italy; her childhood was marked by being born an American but raised an Italian, and growing up in a family that she only discovered at age 11.

In Canton she attended public schools but never graduated from Canton High School, owing to her slow progress with the English language. Instead, she began to help her mother, Cesira, in all things domestic. Domestic life was part of the family tradition. Cesira Achino, a servant, was born in 1889 and immigrated to New York aboard the La Savoie in 1905. At 16 she traveled 19 days at sea in wretched third class and arrived at Ellis Island among hundreds of thousands of immigrants. Cesira would live with cousins in New York City and would eventually meet Emilio Verzone. Emilio, my “Nonno,” arrived in New York in January 1905 aboard the same ship as his future wife. The ship passenger manifest lists $45 in his pocket, and the 20-year-old laborer joined two of his brothers, Ricardo and Giuseppe, who had arrived together in 1901.

The hardworking brothers were almost immediately successful. Photographs of the period show them impeccably dressed and perfectly groomed. By 1914, Emilio had declared his intention to become a citizen of the United States, which was successfully granted in 1917. All of the brothers became citizens quickly within a few years of their arrival.

It would seem that their occupation was that of wait staff serving the wealthy in Palm Beach, Florida, and New York City. Ricardo (Richard) Verzone amassed a small fortune as the maître d’hotel of the famous Plaza Hotel in New York. This was the golden age of the grand hotel, and the work was prestigious as well as lucrative. In 1912, the Plaza organization sent the now anglicized Richard and his brothers to Boston to open the Copley Plaza. Richard went on to open the Black and White Club in Marlboro and became an early investor in the Boston Garden organization. The family tragedy that was never discussed in our house growing up was his suicide in Quebec in 1933. Nana would only discuss this with me when I was old enough to research the Boston Globe clippings, and even 50 years after his death she would weep for his lost soul.

A year after Richard’s suicide, his mother, Ernesta, (Nana’s grandmother) traveled for the last time from Brusnengo, Italy, to the United States and settled in Canton in the family home. Ernesta brought steamer trunks full of correspondence and photographs chronicling the entire family history. Literally, hundreds of documents in an archaic Italian dialect are in our family archives as a result of her last trip. It is indeed amazing to have saved both sides of the family stories by matching the letters sent and received. A young friend, Sabrina Ugazio, in Brusnengo has helped me translate some of the letters and documents. Rosa DiFabianis Verzone is buried alongside her daughter Maria at the Canton Corner Cemetery.

And so, in this family that served the wealthy and famous, Nana decided to open a beauty salon. She attended the Wilfred Academy of Hair and Beauty Culture in Boston, and by the mid 1930s she opened a shop in downtown Canton at 620 Washington Street. Specializing in “all areas of beauty,” she had an active and dedicated clientele. As children growing up in her house on Walpole Street, she was never pleased when we would play with hundreds of plastic curlers, strewing them throughout.

Leonilda Verzone as a bride to
George Salemme, taken in 1936

Nana would meet George Salemme from Dedham, the only boy from a family of seven girls and the youngest child. Talk about pressure — what girl would be good enough for little Georgie? The sisters: Irene, Florence, Frances, Celia, Rose, Veda, and Elizabeth all watched as George and Leonilda married on Columbus Day, October 12, 1936, at St. John’s Church with a reception at Oddfellow’s Hall in Brooks Block on Bolivar Street.

George & Leonilda Salemme
on Walpole Street

The photograph of Nana in her wedding gown is splendid — a white satin dress with tiny flower pearls, long trail, veil, and a pearl crown. The photo shows a beautiful 25-year-old woman. Immediately following the wedding the newlyweds moved to Wall Street and eventually back to a house on Walpole Street, which had been purchased by an uncle and adjoined the house that Nana had grown up in.

My grandfather, George Thomas Salemme, is my namesake, and for those wondering if there is any relationship to the infamous Salemme family — just ask me in person the next time we talk. George worked at United Drug in Dedham and eventually at the Neponset Mills on Walpole Street. It would be this factory where so many Canton immigrants would work using dyes and chemicals that they would eventually die of cancers at a time when cancer was common and with unknown origins. Nana tells of the great pain in the final days of her husband’s life when she would sleep on the floor for fear of even the slightest movement on the mattress, which could bring excruciating pain to her dying husband.

Over the course of their marriage, George and Leonilda had three daughters: Nadine, Janice, and my mother, Andrea. The girls grew up on Walpole Street, attended Canton schools, and lived full lives. Nana opened up a penny candy store in a small addition on the house that helped make ends meet. Over time the family grew up. Nana grieved the loss of her oldest daughter, Nadine, and would tell of how heavy the burden of a mother to outlive a child. Another burden was the fact that by the early 1960s Nana had begun to lose her sight. She became totally blind by 1968, and despite this handicap she never missed a beat.

Nana at the Hellenic Nursing
Home in Canton, MA

My brothers and I grew up in that house on Walpole Street. I was born a few years after my grandfather died, and so the house would seem fuller as Comeau children would come along in due course. For me, the amazing part of Nana’s life was the aphorisms she would share at each critical turn in my own life. “Deeds not words” seemed to be her most oft-quoted motto. Early lessons in art, literature, and especially history were critical to my personal growth. It was as if she had taken the role of her own grandmother in supporting the ongoing raising of the children in her household.

As the fog of age began to cross Nana’s mind, she began to slip back into her childhood. We had a 90^th birthday at Pequitside Farm to celebrate her life. She implored us not to have a party, then promptly created a guest list. At 95 she celebrated at the Hellenic Nursing Home, where she lives today in a secure and loving environment. Today, at 100, she murmurs of her childhood and giggles, cries, and smiles as each day moves forward. Last week, my mom and my wife read her the first part of this story; she laughed and nodded as if the fog was parted ever so slightly. In her mind she is again climbing the hills above Brusnengo and skipping down the path of her youth.

Happy 100^th birthday Nana!!!

Leonilda Marie Antoinetta Verzone – A Life Begins

2011-02-17T08:14:00.000-05:00

Leonilda Marie Antoinetta Verzone in her
christening gown.

The story of my grandmother, my “Nana,” is actually a story about countless immigrants who have made Canton their home and created a community of diversity and American values shaped by their experiences in far-flung countries around the world. How she came to Canton is a fascinating journey.

Leonilda Marie Antoinetta Verzone was born on February 24, 1911. That makes her 100 years old next week. A great accomplishment, but the path through a life is complicated and full of joys and sorrows, surrounded by family and friends.

Nana’s life began in New York City. Born to immigrant parents, she was an American citizen at birth. When she was 40 days old it was decided that New York City was no place for her to be raised, and her mother and grandmother took her back to Italy while her father stayed behind working as a waiter at the venerable Plaza Hotel. The trip to Italy was marked by the fact that Nana’s grandmother fell and broke her leg, and upon arrival in Italy she recuperated slowly. Nana’s mother soon returned to America, and the small child was left behind, moved from aunts to cousins and eventually to her paternal grandmother.

Ernesta Verzone and Leonilda Verzone
circa 1916, Biella, Italy

At an early age Nana could never understand being left alone in Italy in the care of her grandmother. The only explanation seemed to be that World War I precluded sending her home. Letters would be exchanged and money would be sent for her support. The only connection to her family would be the occasional photographs that would be mailed to daughter and her grandmother. The small town in northern Italy was called Brusnengo, and it was here that Nana would go to school and play along the steep slopes of the fields surrounded by vineyards and small family “palazzinas” — villas. Her stories of her youth were full of trips to Torino and Biella. Brusnengo is still a small and beautiful town and very much like Canton in many respects. There is a strong community of “townies” who have lived their whole life in that place, and festivals gather neighbors throughout the year. Nana’s stories always stoked my imagination of her childhood home, and while she loved being with her grandmother, America was always pulling her dreams across the Atlantic.

Brusnengo in 1925

Nana’s grandmother had a wonderful mouthful of a name: Rose Luigia Maria Teresa Ernesta Verzone. For short, her name was Ernesta, and she was born to the DeFabanis family in 1859 and was raised in Fiano, Italy. It is easy to see the affection for all things Italian in a family, which, like many Canton families, can trace a significant lineage back to “the old country.” Ernesta was a schoolteacher, a widow, and also the maternal head of the “familia.” This strong woman ran the family concerns in Italy – her ledgers are detailed and track the rise and fall of the family fortunes in Brusnengo. She was the correct person, at 52 years old, to raise young Leonilda.

Leonilda's U.S. Passport
Photo taken in Italy

Finally, in 1922, the letter from her father arrived — simply — “send my daughter to New York and I will meet her upon arrival.” Arrangements were made, her passport was issued in Rome on March 17, and five days later she arrived at the port city of Genoa. At age 11, and by herself, she boarded the passenger ship Giuseppe Verdi as one of the 1825 third-class travelers and began the 17-day passage back to her homeland. She slept on the upper bunk so her feet would remain dry. The bunks were arranged in wards, and the ocean water was frequently awash on the floors. At a top speed of 16 knots, the days seemed like eternity to this wide-eyed girl who could only speak Italian.

Every photo tells a story, and the passport photograph that was taken for the trip to the United States shows a confident 11 year old in a new blue dress made from wool and decorated with simple embroidery. The dress had been handmade especially for the trip, and while her grandmother wanted a simple front, the dressmaker insisted that as she was traveling to America the style called for something more sophisticated. In the photo, she is adorned with tiny pearl earrings in each ear and a matching necklace. On her right shoulder her virgin hair is extremely long, and in fact when she came to Boston it would be cut for the first time — the hair saved, to this day, in a small package in a dresser drawer as a relic from her childhood.

Upon arrival in New York City, Nana would not have to go through immigration as she was already an American Citizen, and yet on April 8 she was in fact becoming an American for the first time. She had never met her father, yet she often told the story of arriving at the top of a majestic flight of stairs at Ellis Island and at the bottom stood the “most handsome man in the world.” After a night in New Jersey, the train trip to Boston brought her to the venerable Copley Plaza, where her father, Emilio Verzone, was the headwaiter, his brother being the maitre d’hotel after successfully managing the “Plaza” in New York.

Hotels and hospitality were a family business, and in the 11 years that Nana was in Italy the family had begun to moderately prosper. The Verzone family lived on Columbus Avenue, and since Nana’s departure a sister was born and the family consisted and older brother and a five year old sister, and soon anther brother would be born. Quite simply, the family outgrew the rental brownstones of Back Bay. Fellow waiters at the Copley Plaza hotel told Emilio of Canton, where dozens of northern Italian families from Gattinara had settled. Family names so familiar to us today: Bertiletti, Crevola, Zanazzo, Carrara, Piana, and Dardano all trace their lineage to the Commune of Gattinara, which was close to Brusnengo, Emilio’s hometown.

The Verzone children
Hugo, Leonilda, Gino and Florence

In Canton, the family settled on Walpole Street in a large farmhouse with a barn and several acres of fields along the Neponset River. The house that Nana would now call home was filled with laughter, her new brothers and a sister, and plenty of characters. The smells of rabbit, polenta and risotto would fill the warm kitchen. To make ends meet, Emilio would rent out rooms to Italian boxing contenders who would travel to Boston for prizefights. Glorious stories would be shared with this new little girl who would be amazed by the newness of it all. The dining room was a mix of English and Italian languages flowing over the house, sternly attended by a father and mother who slept in separate beds for most of their life. So much to learn about this new place, it was as if life exploded around her and Canton would be her new home for a lifetime.

Nana attended Canton Public Schools, and her brother Hugo would teach her English and she would take care of her sister Florence and baby brother, Gino. Her childhood transition from Brusnengo was complete. She writes in an early letter on Copley Plaza Stationary, “tutti un bacio con me” — a kiss to all from me.

Next week, we continue Nana’s story as she grows up, gets married, and finds a life in Canton.

This article originally ran in the Canton Citizen on February 17, 2011.

A Cave to Remember

2011-02-03T08:11:00.003-05:00

Fairbanks Ledge on Standish Way
(photo by George T. Comeau)

I was intrigued the day I opened the email from my good friend and fellow historian Dave Lambert. Lambert is one of the town of Stoughton’s preeminent local historians, and since Canton was once part of Stoughton, he shares my passion for all things related to the history of our two sibling communities.

The email arrived in early January 2009. The body of the email was simple and read: “Here are the images of Fairbanks Cave in 1908, and the location in 2009. Want to go on an adventure; let me know!”

An adventure? “Yes” always was my answer. After all, I assume, dear reader, that you saw my last installment on the subject of trespassing. The very idea of a “cave” in Canton was more than I could hope for. The email contained the map illustrated with this story.

Old maps are not new to Canton. The “Histy” has dozens upon dozens. Nestled in banker’s boxes, on the shelf above the vault door, hanging on walls, in flat files, and just about everywhere throughout the building. In fact, several similar maps to the one that Lambert sent me are in a small metal drawer just inside the Historical Society vault. Some of the maps are so old and creased that great care must be taken with simply unrolling the vellum.

It turns out that actually finding this cave would be harder than it seemed. Canton has changed so much in a hundred years. The landscape has been bulldozed, filled, excavated, and man has dominated the natural form such that little unprotected and untouched open space remains. A cave might surely be lost to growth and expansion of subdivisions and modern construction.

That said, the accompanying map that came with Lambert’s email had a few tantalizing clues. It was amazingly detailed and accurate in measure and scale. The map was sketched en route to accompany an outing of the Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC). The trip of 44 persons came to Canton on April 11, 1908, and “hiked” from Canton Junction to the Wetherbee Pasture and onto the Fairbanks Cave. The total hike was 4.5 miles and took a few hours to complete. Today, actually finding this cave would take me several days of research and driving around town.

The Wetherbee Pasture in 1918 Now the
Blue Hill Country Club
(courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

The map was drawn by E.G. Chamberlain. Chamberlain had written the guide on the Blue Hills for Appalachia, the Journal of the AMC, in 1883 and likely led the club’s excursion to Canton and Milton in 1883. Chamberlain’s map of the Blue Hill Range is highly detailed and superbly drawn. By 1904, Chamberlain’s Blue Hill Panorama had been carelessly copied by so many people that he had an original copy lithographed, and it became standard issue for all day hikers from the AMC.

It was the practice of the AMC to bring along a mapmaker on outings to draw details of the trip and publish these as small “blue prints” to be distributed to members. The map that Lambert had emailed me was a small blueprint that captured small details in the paths and landscape perfectly. It should prove easy to find the cave’s location simply looking at old maps and overlaying Google Maps with the 1908 drawing.

The puzzle on the Fairbanks Cave Map is that I could find no local reference to Fairbanks. It was Chamberlain’s practice to name objects discovered by the club during their outings. For instance, Chamberlain writes of a trip to Amesbury, Massachusetts: “After visiting Powder House Hill we crossed a deep valley and ascended a higher hill, which diligent search shows has never appeared on any map. Even the recent state topographic map omits it. So I called it ‘Lost Hill’ on my outing map.” This was a clue that perhaps Chamberlain had simply named the cave on whim.

It turns out that in the Canton Historical Society a small map drawn to accompany the 1887 Fast Day Walk to the same spot described the topography, 21 years earlier, as Fairbanks Ledge. The historian Daniel Huntoon walked with the society members that day and told the story: “A huge mass of cold gray granite rises abruptly in the midst of the woods and underbrush. On the westerly side is an opening where six or eight men might easily find shelter. Here tradition asserts that one Fairbanks, ages ago, was obliged to secrete himself for a long time in order to avoid the officers of justice. It would appear that an Indian made some offensive gesture, accompanied with an insulting remark to Fairbanks; whereupon the latter, upon the impulse of the moment, fired a charge of buckshot into the Indian, from the effects of which he died.”

The AMC Outing to Fairbanks Cave
(courtesy of David Lambert)
Click to enlarge details

The map is very technically drawn and is very similar to several other hand-drawn maps of the same period. Canton had plenty of connections in the AMC. Frederic Endicott, a prominent Canton resident and superb surveyor and cartographer, served as a councilor to the AMC. Many of Endicott’s maps survive in the Canton Historical Society and are superbly drawn and highly accurate. Endicott drew the 1887 Fast Day Walk map that identifies this site as Fairbanks Ledge.

The overlays of historic maps, the AMC Map, and our new age Google Maps – complete with satellite imagery – do not solve the question. After unsuccessfully locating the cave using our modern technology, it was time to talk to people in the area.

I called Mrs. Meadow, who lives on the west side of Elm Street and whose property I guessed the cave would be located on. Meadow came to Canton in 1956 and had purchased the Draper property on Elm Street. The original tract of land totaled almost 75 acres, and when Route 95 cut through the property it was reduced to the present 40 acres. This large property is largely intact and could be a breakthrough in this research. Mrs. Meadow, however, did not think the cave was on her property, but a return call from her son, Richard, confirmed both the existence and the location.

Richard Meadow, a prominent archeologist at Harvard University, had indeed recalled what he described as the “Indian Cave.” In reality, it was a large rocky outcropping with a deep hole that he would explore with other friends while hiking his own property and the neighboring Fish property. A small opening in the fence gave access to the area where the “cave” was situated.

And so the mystery is solved; you too can visit the Indian Cave. It turns out that the “cave” was never really lost and never really a cave in the truest sense. Fairbanks Ledge is readily accessible if you drive to the very end of Standish Way. The rock is, as Huntoon described it, “immense,” and well worth the drive by. Finding an old map and discovering our rich local history is as impressive as the journey itself.

This story originally appeared in the Canton Citizen on February 3, 2011.

Our Relationship with Mother Nature

2011-01-22T08:55:00.000-05:00

A photo of the storm of 1898 taken near
Washington and Pond Streets by
George Burt (courtesy of the
Canton Historical Society.)

If you live in New England and you do not love the snow, at the very least you have to appreciate the amazing forces of nature that converge upon us and present themselves in the form of a Nor’easter. The recent storm that dumped 18.2 inches of snow as recorded at the Blue Hill Observatory ties for the third largest amount of snow in January ever measured at this renowned meteorological station.

This was an intense snowstorm and it is amazing how quickly we recover from such a storm. Snowplows begin work early on, and our intrepid DPW crews work day and night to ensure that we are hardly interrupted by Mother Nature’s fury. Criticism over snow removal today is echoed in a Canton newspaper commentary of 1898: “If the critics had the handling of the job probably they would be criticized just as harshly.” So while we may complain about the weather, there is little we can do about it. There are, however, several notable snowstorms to look back upon that provide a historical glimpse of the relationship between man and nature.

Most significantly is the Great Snow of 1717. The storm began on February 27 and lasted until March 9. What was thought of as one long storm was actually four storm systems back to back that crippled Boston and our town of what was then Dorchester. Just seven days prior, a storm had already dropped a significant amount of snow, so when the Great Snow bore down, the cart paths and roads were already hampered. The severity of this storm is hard to fathom today. Colonists had little warning, and in their memory there was never an event like this one. The natives who lived alongside the early colonists shared that there had been no snow in over 200 years that equaled this storm.

A woodcut depicting the storm of 1717

The damage was severe and brought incredible hardship as a result. Vast numbers of cattle were lost — buried where they stood they died in place. Nearer to the ocean, the wind brought driving rain, snow and sleet, and when combined with the wind-chill actually formed rime over the animals’ eyes such that they wandered blindly into the sea and drowned. Cotton Mather, the politically influential Puritan minister, wrote of the devastation: “One gentleman, on whose farms were now lost above 1100 sheep, which with other cattel, were interred (shall I say) or innived, in the snow, writes me word that there were two sheep very singularly circumstanced. For no less than eight and twenty days after the storm, the people pulling out the ruins of above 100 sheep out of a snow bank, which lay 16 foot high, drifted over them, there was two found alive, which had been there all this time, and kept themselves alive by eating the wool of their dead companions.”

By many accounts the storm wiped out 95 percent of the deer population. Many houses, smaller then for sure, were covered completely over and not even the chimney showed over the drifts more than 25 feet deep. It would take months to recover from this storm. Orchards were destroyed, bird populations were disrupted, and transportation was all but limited to walking.

It would be the advent of modern science that brought a keener study of storms and their affects. The Blue Hill Observatory figures prominently in the annals of atmospheric science. Founded in 1885, it would be the perfect place to record storms as they rolled through the Neponset Valley. The year 1898 was a particularly bad season for winter storms, including two major storms that brought death and destruction to our area.

The first “great storm” recorded at the observatory came in late January 1898 and was classified as a blizzard. This storm caused $82 million in damage. Ships were driven ashore, and in Boston alone more than 200 horses were killed. In Canton, thermometers dropped to 15 degrees below zero on February 4. At the height of the storm, two trains collided head-on at Canton Junction at the terminus of the Stoughton Branch. Several passengers were injured and the cowcatchers in front of the engines were destroyed.

The local paper wrote about the effects of the storm: “Wires succumbed everywhere. The telephone operator sat before a silent switchboard. In the depots the telegraph instruments were mute. Electric light wires gave way and on Sherman Street several poles were down. All over town trees were broken down and windmills suffered severely. The snow clung to the sides of buildings in heavy sheets and made many beautiful pictures and the oldest inhabitant has been busy with reminiscences all week to match this storm with ‘those when we were boys.’” The damage was considerable and the town spent more than $1,000 cleaning up the mess.

That same year, in November, what would become known as the Portland Gale produced a storm surge of about ten feet in Cohasset harbor and hurricane-force winds in Nantucket. The storm killed more than 400 people and sank more than 150 boats and ships. The storm dumped 15 inches of snow, and it took two dozen men 48 hours to dig out Randolph Street by hand. Most notably, this storm destroyed the S.S. Portland, which wrecked off of Stellwagen Bank with 192 passengers on board. Fortunately, no Canton residents were on board, but many locals reported that they “felt a sad familiarity with the scenes that must have occurred” that fateful evening. In a small leather diary, Frederick Endicott takes note of “a snow storm with very high winds.” Continuing on, he writes of “immense drifts,” adding that it “took nearly the whole morning to get shoveled out.” And the final entry that week mentions the “great loss of life at sea in Sunday’s storm. Steamer Portland wrecked off Cape Cod.”

February 1899 on Chapman Street.
Photography by I.C. Horton
(Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

Canton has always “weathered” the various storms much like surrounding towns. The photographs taken by local shutterbugs show classic street scenes with houses covered in snow up to the first floor windows. The views looking down the “Turnpike,” now Route 138 in Ponkapoag, are idyllic scenes of winter. The images of the blanketing of fields across the meadows looking toward Blue Hill are among the most splendid views in the collection of the Canton Historical Society.

The view across meadows towards the Blue Hill.
Photo taken in 1898.
(courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

An observer of 1898 wrote: “Standing at the turn of the road just beyond the old Fenno house a wide stretch of country is spread out at one’s feet and the effect is the more striking from the steepness of the slopes. The ice covered surface of Ponkapoag Pond and the frowning projections from Blue Hill make this gorge seem far deeper and more picturesque than can be expressed in measurements in feet and inches, while to the west the eye may range for miles without meeting a barrier in the way of overtopping heights. On a clear day the view rivals many famed mountain scenes and the beholder never wonders that here men grow old contentedly and maintain their health and strength and good nature through a green old age.”

And that is why we live in Canton.

This story ran in the Canton Citizen on January 20, 2011.

Trespassing: A Bridge to the Past

2011-01-08T13:45:00.000-05:00

Stone Bridge over Ponkapoag Brook

(photo by George T. Comeau)

You really should not trespass. And yet, while it is indeed risky to admit to this fact, sometimes the prize is worth the risk. Let me place by way of disclaimer the fact that you should in no way follow in my footsteps; let this be fair warning. You should leave the trespassing to well qualified Canton historians who are happy to tramp through backyards, fields and swamps in search of historic sites and long lost cellar holes. In fact, that is what we will do this week. Let’s take a virtual tramp through Canton and discover a hidden artifact that is still intact and pretty much inaccessible to all but the trespasser.

There are some wonderfully hidden sites in Canton that have been lost to both time and memories. I have always been fascinated with the old stonewalls that crisscross throughout the town. Many of these walls served as both boundary lines and pens for livestock. As you ride the train to Boston from Canton Junction you will see plenty of old stonewalls in the swamps heading toward the Fowl Meadows. As you drive down York Street or meander down Chapman Street, look between the old house lots and see the ancient walls that are reminders of an agricultural Canton when the stonewall was a staple of a small farm and garden.

Take Elm Street for instance — a perfect example of one of our most beautiful streets in Canton. Go slow, not only for the curves, but to take in the splendor of this colonial roadway. As for trespassing, that is just what I did recently when I parked my truck along the intersection of Greenlodge and Elm and took off on foot after the recent snowstorm. I was looking for a very old bridge that crosses Ponkapoag Brook on what was originally Back Street — the “back” road to Dedham Street.

On my right, climbing a gentle hill, were the remnants of the old country road disappearing even deeper into private property. This road dates to 1738 and follows the layout of an earlier road called the Packeen Path. If you bought your Christmas tree at the Pakeen Farm on Elm Street, this is the same property that was part of the original 12 Divisions shown on the 1696 map of what would become Stoughton and Canton.

Situated well above the marshes of the Fowl Meadow, this path was used extensively as a native trail and later became a colonial cart path. By 1798, the old road was discontinued and in the process created a time capsule of sorts as it has been largely untouched for over 200 years. The pathway is bordered by stonewalls that measure one rod wide (16 ½ feet) and a deep upland of white pine. I decided it would not be proper to travel further than necessary onto private property and instead sought after the stone bridge spanning the Ponkapoag Brook.

I had been to this bridge a few times before, but only in the summer when it was hardly possible to see the structure due to the overgrowth. As I tramped further and the snow got a bit deeper, and the afternoon light got dimmer, I was almost forced to give up for the day. The fresh snow was only marked by the occasional rabbit track and now my footfalls. The only sound was the running of the stream — pure, clean and cold — a layer of ice running up the side of the banks. This trespass was made easier by the fact that the path I was on was the new interceptor project for the Greenlodge Street sewer project.

Ancient Stoughton Record of 1744 in the collection of
the Canton Historical Society (photo by George T. Comeau)

About half a mile up on the left was the old stone bridge — hidden in the woods in an improbable place, since any use for this structure ended in 1798 when the old Country Road was abandoned. The bridge was as wonderful as I recalled. Dating to between 1738 and 1744, this is a quintessential cart bridge over a babbling brook. It is hard to imagine, but this bridge was the highway between the iron forge, built in 1717 on Walpole Street, and the Blue Hills. There is a series of huge volumes of Ancient Stoughton Records in the Canton Historical Society and within a dusty tome is an obscure reference to the bridge in 1744. The brittle paper details the laying out of the road by the selectmen of Stoughton and has a single line that reads in part “from thence to Puncapogg Brook where ye Bridge now is & over ye Brook Marked a large Maple tree by ye Brook.” Our bridge is more than 266 years old and may in fact be approaching 275 years old.

Dropping down the icy bank of “ye Brook” to take a photo for our non-trespassing readers, it was a joy to see this relic in such wonderful condition. The deck is a series of four stone slabs of Dedham granite, each measuring three feet in width and eight feet in length. Although covered in snow, I recall that there are no quarrying marks and they are likely natural in form. The abutments built on the north and south banks of the brook are dry fieldstone. This is a superbly crafted bridge and would have had to support the weight of animals and carts loaded with iron destined for Boston. The abutments are built up of five courses of rough stone and were likely completed by skilled masons in the “traditional English form.”

In 1875, the Canton Historical Society organized its annual Fast Day Walk (Patriots Day) and described their “trespass” to this site thus: “turned abruptly down a neglected lane, along the line that once divided Lot No. 5 of the Twelve Divisions from the Indian land. We examined with care an old stone bridge, which has stood, where it now stands, long anterior to the memory of those now living. It is remarkable for the size of the top stones, the largest measuring eight feet by seven and nine inches. These stones were selected in the adjoining fields and have never been touched by chisel, wedge or hammer.”

So little is written about this bridge that it is hard to even know if there was an earlier bridge at this spot. What we do know is that this is one of the few remaining examples of a mid-18^th century slab stone Colonial period bridge in eastern Massachusetts. Dr. Arthur Krim, who has researched Canton for the Historical Commission, believes that this bridge is worthy of inclusion on the National Register of Historic Places; it is just that important.

This story ran in the Canton Citizen on January 6, 2011.

Canton's Christmastide Traditions

2010-12-23T15:00:00.001-05:00

James Dunbar's Poem "Santa Claus" in the collection

of the Canton Historical Society (photo by George T. Comeau)

Samuel B. Noyes sat down to write his weekly column for the Norfolk County Gazette. It was Christmas week in 1887, and he thought back at how quickly the year had slipped by. This had been a pretty industrious year for the town of Canton. Our small community was a boomtown; the factories had been going full tilt and Elijah Morse had broken ground on his new factory on Washington Street. Kinsley Iron Works was enlarging their shop, new safety tracks were placed on the Viaduct, a new almshouse was built for the poor, and a new Episcopal Church was being built. All in all, it was a very busy year in a bustling town.

Samuel B. Noyes, prominent Canton attorney
and local historian. (Courtesy of the Canton
Historical Society)

Noyes, a prominent lawyer, saw himself as a historian. In fact, Noyes was descended from the Noyes’ that had settled Newbury, Massachusetts, and he reveled in knowing that the family home in the small town of Newbury was one of the oldest in the state, having been built in 1646. The family connections meant that Noyes knew everyone and in fact was part of a prominent Canton delegation that attended Daniel Webster’s funeral in October 1852.

Noyes enjoyed all things Canton and was a friend of Daniel Huntoon, the town’s preeminent historian. Huntoon had died just over a year ago (almost to the day), and now Noyes felt as though it was his duty to adopt local history and stories that his dear friend was so well known for. Noyes’ intensive research, recollections and accounts would be accurate for history’s sake.

Christmas was the topic at hand, and he decided he would dedicate his column to the various celebrations across the community. The holiday began on Friday afternoon as the children opened their schoolrooms to public exhibitions fitting the holiday. The children would sing songs, have small plays, and generally celebrate the season with music and poetry. Santa Claus exchanged his reindeer and sleigh for horse and carriage. Each school was a stop on Santa’s rounds where he distributed confections and fruit to all the children.

The children also had gifts to present, and in the Eliot school, Miss Capen and Miss Sumner were given thoughtful little gifts — perhaps a silk handkerchief or a small, ivory-handled fan purchased in one of the many shops along Washington Street. Teachers, in turn, exchanged smiles knowing that the holiday would bring a welcomed break from the routine of the winter lessons.

It was that handwritten poem by James Dunbar that reminded Noyes of the joy and spirit of Christmas: “I have come, little friends, I have come at your call, A right Merry Christmas, man woman and child. I have just left the top of Blue Hill you must know, where I spied you all out, peering over the snow. I spied out the roof with my double lens glass. I could see through the windows each laddie and lass. I have popguns and whistles and tops for the boys, I have knickknacks and notions and holiday toys. I go my rounds over mountain and hill; no stockings I find which I do not well fill. Three cheers, Mr. Draper, three cheers for this day! Distribute these presents, begin right away!”

At each church there were festivities and celebration. At the “old church” at Canton Corner the organist began services with Mozart’s Gloria, and the choir rose to meet the drone of the pipes with “Exulting Angels.” The heavy fragrance of evergreen and mountain laurel filled the air, and Noyes was enchanted by a large basket of scarlet geraniums that he described as blazing like “the star” itself before the altar.

The large Roman Catholic Church on Washington Street was overfilled to capacity. This was the sixth mass of the day, and Noyes felt the spirit of the season overwhelm the wooden building. This denomination had grown steadily from five men working for Joseph Warren Revere in the 1830s to now the largest part of the community. These were the Irish: the workers, immigrants, and the poor. Yet their church steeple dominated the skyline as if reaching for heaven itself. As poor as these working families were, they were extremely devout and attentive to their spiritual needs. Noyes peeked inside the double doors and was met with the heavy smell of wet wool mixed with pine boughs. The inside of this church was magnificent and ablaze with light.

Interior view of St. John the Evangelist Church in 1912.
(Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

Catholics had been in Canton since 1814, regular masses had been said here since 1831 at least once a month and sometimes even more often. In short, this was a significant foothold in a largely Protestant town. Noyes wondered if it would continue to grow and how it might change to accommodate this growing movement in Canton.

Father Flatley was the head of the Catholics in Canton, and he had been in Canton before there was even a parish here. Flatley’s early ministrations were in a small church, almost a barn, on what would become known as Chapel Hill. In 1850 the small building served as the Church of St. Mary. Noyes marveled at how far the ministry had developed in 26 years. There were hundreds of Catholic families in Canton, and they had their own cemetery at Canton Corner, one of the earliest in the state. In fact, by 1861, they were an independent parish with a second mission in Stoughton.

In a few short years, Father Flatley was able to raise enough money, more than $4,000, to buy land and build an impressive wooden church with enough lumber left over for a small chapel in the adjoining town of Sharon. Noyes looked up in wonder at the high tapering tower; inside the church there were magnificent frescoes of archangels on bended knee. Valuable candelabras blazed on the altar, and a second altar was dedicated to the Sacred Heart. In the center rear wall of the church were three enormous stained glass windows that flooded the church with light. The Blessed Virgin Mary and St. John the Evangelist in superb details watched over the entire congregation as they sang their Christmas hymns.

An early 20th century Christmas Card from
L.L. Billings, Canton, MA. (Courtesy
of the Canton Historical Society)

As Noyes turned to walk back toward Washington Street, he walked down an avenue of pine trees, laden with snow, and he could hear the brogues of the families singing clear and loud in the early evening services. Over $600 was raised that year as a Christmas offering by these worshippers.

Noyes never imagined that St. John’s wooden church would one day be replaced with a modern, steel and brick building after nearly 100 years of service to Canton’s Roman Catholics. The old Unitarian Church at Canton Corner has stood for over 187 years and the echoes of Christmas’ past still resound from the pulpit.

The thoughts and prayers of Christmas were felt throughout the Canton of 1887. The focus on simple gifts, fellowship of neighbors, and Christian charity were well understood. Among Noyes’ final thoughts in that column were dedicated toward “useful and beautiful gifts that love and friendship bestowed upon himself.” Canton is as it was over a hundred years ago — a town of love and friendship.

This story ran in the Canton Citizen on December 23, 2010.

The Canton Airport: Part II

2010-12-09T15:00:00.000-05:00

Peter "Richie Sarra" in front of his plane
at the Canton Airport

Today, Neponset Street is crowded with large trucks moving fill in and out of the worksite heralding the beginning of the hazardous waste cleanup of the old Canton Airport. What was a dream of national aviation will soon become public parkland, and few will know that this site once sat center stage in hearts and minds of local aviators.

The selection of the site for the Massachusetts Air Terminal and Arena (MATA) was largely based on an engineering study that determined the Neponset River and the Fowl Meadows could be controlled through dikes and runoff channels. In 1930, anything seemed possible, even taming nature. But as work began, flooding was a constant issue. Planes fitted with pontoons would make their landings on the flooded runways, and seasonally the airport would be closed to general air operations. Local resident Jane Roache worked as a secretary at the Helio Corporation and tells of having to board a military cargo truck to ford the waters and get to work on flooding occasions.

The winter of 1935-1936 was especially severe and snowpack remained deep through an extremely cold season. By the spring, Mother Nature had set up a perfect scenario for flooding, and in mid March more than 17 inches of rain fell over the course of back-to-back storms. The situation was dire, and local pilots from Canton played their part in “errands of mercy.”

Most notably, it was the emergency takeoff of Dick Babcock stealing the show that season. Babcock was a 1930 graduate of Canton High School, attended MIT, and was a well-known charter pilot. Through the ingenuity of the airport manager, Joe Rizzo, he loaded Babcock’s plane off the back of a flatbed truck, drove over Neponset Street to Cross Street in Norwood, and created a makeshift runway on Route 1. Police closed the highway for half a mile in either direction, and the young aviator flew his 240-horsepower Stinson four-passenger monoplane to relieve the drought-stricken areas of New England. This was the second time that Babcock had performed his “wings of mercy” flight, as earlier that year he flew through severe fog to deliver food and clothing to stranded families along the coast of Maine. Babcock was 23 years old and well on his way toward becoming a legend of the air.

Every week there were stories of Babcock’s heroics and flying records. The local paper reported his trips up and down the early flight paths. This all came to a tragic end when, on a foggy October evening in 1937, Babcock crashed nose-down in a muddy pasture owned by Albert Merlau near Cowlesville, New York, about 26 miles from Buffalo. The only witness was a mailman who heard the engine of the small red plane splutter and witnessed the crash. It was a terrible end for Babcock and his two passengers. The shock on the town of Canton and his family was deeply felt. Looking back at the 1930 Canton High School yearbook, Babcock, the class president, had been voted the most irresponsible.

While there were plenty of crashes and at least one mid-air collision, not all accidents ended as tragically. Several stories of weekend fliers ditching into local pastures and fields were commonplace. In the summer of 1935, Ralph Beasley of Messinger Street and Johnson Bennett of Washington Street narrowly escaped certain death when their monoplane crashed into Orlow Bright’s field on Chapman Street. Later that same year, in early November, Arthur Wilbart, to his great disappointment, landed on his own automobile parked near the runway. It turns out that taking off is easy, and landings get sticky.

Many notable men and women learned to fly here in Canton. The flight school was extremely popular and well attended. Students from MIT and Harvard would spend their weekends (and trust funds) at the field and became successful pilots. Thomas Piper, the son of the president of Taylor-Piper Aircraft, spent his time away from his studies at Harvard in pursuit of flying his dad’s Taylor Cub. By 1940, 60 percent of all private planes were Piper Cubs, and Thomas went on to help run his father’s business.

The airport was a busy place on weekends; lifelong residents still recall the flying shows and air demonstrations that were commonplace in the late 1930s through the late 1940s. John Carroll on Pleasant Street recently told me of spending afternoons watching Bobby Draper flying acrobatic loops over the airfield. Peter “Richie” Sarra would spend time flying with his brother in their 1947 Mcclish Funk B85C. The “Bee” could be seen zipping over the Blue Hills with Richie smiling behind the console of the two-seater. With a top speed of 117 miles per hour, this was a terrific plane. Sarra’s plane still takes to the air with an owner in Revere, Pennsylvania. NC77700 is one of 40 remaining “Bees” registered and still flying. And Canton’s own Dottie Shaw learned to fly at age 22, and by age 26 became a member of the famous Ninety-Nines.

Perhaps the greatest sight that Canton residents witnessed was the first daytime visit of the German airship Hindenburg. Crowds gathered at the airport on August 19 for the first daytime flight of the famous dirigible. “Her silvery hulk gleaming in the noonday sun,” thousands gathered at Glider Hill and along the airport property.

Accompanied by an escort of three National Guard airplanes, there was noise and spectacle. The Hindenburg slowed as it passed over Canton and afforded the stunned audience an amazing show. Less than a year later on May 6, 1937, she returned and flew over Canton at 300 feet. Citizens reportedly said that it was so low due to cloud cover that “passengers in the giant zeppelin could be plainly seen.” By 7:25 p.m. that evening, the Hindenburg burst into flames, and 13 passengers, along with 22 crew-members, perished.

The Helio-1 hanging in storage at the National Air
and Space Museum in Suitland, MD.

One of the last chapters in Canton Airport history was the development of the Helioplane, which was a highly specialized plane that was renowned for its ability to utilize short takeoffs and landings. The plan was to create a plane that could be in anyone’s garage and land in your own backyard. The creation was the engineering accomplishment of Otto Koppen of MIT and Dr. Lynn Bollinger of Harvard. With an investment of $150,000, the first Helioplane was developed in Canton and flew in April 1949. This diminutive plane combined the advantages of helicopters with simplicity, speed, and the range of a fixed-wing aircraft. At the height of construction, the Helio Corporation employed 45 skilled craftsmen at the Canton Airport.

By the late 1950s the Canton Airport was closed and became the site of a junkyard where PCB-laced transformers were scrapped. The hangars were demolished and soon disappeared into the landscape. The runways, disused and overgrown, returned to wetland. There is, however, a final reminder of the heyday of the great airport. In a state-of-the-art hangar in Suitland, Maryland, hangs the Helio 1 — flown with about 100 hours of time on its engine, developed and flown in Canton, and now in the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum. The small red plane dreams about once again soaring over the fields and marshes of Canton.

Read more about the Helio-1 by clicking here.

This story appeared in the Canton Citizen on December 9, 2010

The Canton Airport: Part I

2010-12-02T07:22:00.001-05:00

The Massachusetts Air Terminal and Arena

There are long-lost plans of men and women that, if implemented, would have changed Canton forever. The most notable of these plans was the development of the Massachusetts Air Terminal and Arena. The ambition of the men who devised the plan was to construct a major air terminal along the border of Canton and Norwood — in essence an airport that would become one of the nation’s hubs for the fledgling passenger and commercial air industry.

The public’s interest in aviation was intense; Charles Lindbergh had completed his historic solo non-stop flight across the Atlantic in 1927. Instantly famous, Lindbergh stoked the imagination of the American spirit, and people across the country would forever cast their eyes and hearts to the sky. Add to the equation Amelia Earhart, who by 1927 had already counted more than 500 hours of solo flying, and instantly both men and women could picture themselves soaring through the sky.

A small group of men gathered together to discuss the ambition for building landing fields, hangars, and assorted recreational facilities for the Massachusetts Air Terminal and Arena (MATA). In the spring of 1930 the engineering firm of Merick Widlish & Co. of Chicago began the engineering plans and study for the new airport. Merick Wildish began engineering for cities and private corporations in 1907 and specialized in community-based airfield development — they knew their stuff, and the plans showed a prescience as to how great air traffic would become in the United States. On June 16 the engineers unveiled a masterful plan that would begin the transformation of 1,298 acres from a shallow wetland of thick peat to the proposed “world-class airport.”

Investors in MATA had purchased land in the Fowl Meadows along Neponset Street and bordered by a new state superhighway off of present day Route 1. For newcomers to Canton, the airport is about to become parkland and is on the right-hand side as you leave Canton for Norwood on Neponset Street. One important feature was that the land bordered almost a mile and a half of railroad lines and proposed industrial land. The purchase, when recorded in the Dedham Registry of Deeds, was said to be the largest single parcel of land ever to be assembled by a private company in the commonwealth.

These were heady dreams — the plans included eight runways, hangars, dirigible docking bays and a mast, a separate area exclusively for aviation club members, hotels, and a fire department base. In addition, the arena areas included a nine-hole golf course with country club buildings, a tennis club, athletic fields, and a small stadium. To see the detailed plans today makes one think of the mega-developments we now find so common dotting our highways across every major city. Yet this was Canton in 1930, and the plans were unique from any other development in the country at this time.

The men who conceived of this airport were aware of the fact that the highway and the railroad made a perfect juncture for their plans. The developers predicted the future in an early newspaper press release: “Boston is the nearest big city to Europe, and some day there will be regular transatlantic service by air.” To gain support and generate public interest, the citizens of Norfolk County were invited to open houses on site where engineers pointed out the ambitious plans. The general premise was “to get acquainted with the site of one of America’s great airport projects and to enjoy a view of surprising beauty and a vision of Norfolk County’s future.”

On a balmy Sunday afternoon, 2,500 people attended the tour of the property and viewed flagged lines where the runways would be laid out. Their imaginations were set loose on that October day. Gathering at Glider Hill — Inspiration Point — were the managers, engineers, and leaders of the project, as each one took a hand at explaining the vision. More than 200 cars visited the site and caused a general ruckus that probably had never been seen in this small town previously.

A political Cartoon from 1936 featuring the Canton
Airport. (Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

Within weeks of the open house the excitement reached a fevered pitch. A general committee was formed in several towns, and Canton named over 170 members — all leading individuals in the community. The general sentiment was in favor of the new airport, and what was once pasture and grazing land would be transformed into an economic engine for the region.

Work began in January 1931 and a steam shovel began bringing up gravel on the site to compact the new runways. J.P. White Contracting was awarded the bid to build the project, and it would take four months to get the land ready for the construction of the hangars and administration building. Most of the laborers on the project were Canton men who were badly in need of work while in the throes of the Great Depression. Despite the weak economy, more than $130,000 was raised through private investors in the fledgling company.

The first planes to land in Canton touched down in the spring, and the town was abuzz with excitement. It is hard to overstate the interest. Every week the front page of the local paper blazed headlines about the airport, and advertisements regularly invited locals to climb aboard and see the town from the air.

Officially, the first air service to use the hangars and field were operated by Lt. Robert S. Fogg, reputedly the “safest flyer in New England.” Fogg had a considerable record, carrying over 27,000 passengers on his charter service without a mishap. On a Wednesday afternoon in early June, a brilliant black and orange, open cockpit biplane, powered with a Wright motor and capable of a top speed of 135 miles per hour, taxied to a stop in front of the newly completed hangar that would soon hold 15 planes. When Fogg touched down purely by chance, he was met by Selectman Joseph Wattles and Paul Draper — two of our most prominent citizens.

January 2, 1942 - The Canton Airport. Neponset Street
is at the bottom of the picture. (courtesy of the National
Archives, and the Collection of Marc J. Frattasio)

On June 26, 1931, the Canton Airport was opened for business. When it opened it was the third largest in the state. Traffic around the airport snarled as curiosity reigned supreme. “Chief Flood detailed motorcycle officer Whitty to the place to handle it and members of the Canton Boy Scouts ably helped keep the crowd in order.”

Every weekend hundreds of people would come to see the “aeroplanes” land and take off from the Canton Airport. In fact, while there was an airport in East Boston (now Logan International), at times passenger flights hampered by fog in Boston would be forced to land in Canton, where passengers would be transferred to Canton Junction to complete the trip into Boston.

With our new airport came increased interest in aviation and a new frontier to explore. Canton would be at the center of New England aviation history, and along for the ride would be several notable residents. In the next installment of this story, we will highlight details of Canton fliers, the Hindenburg visit, and a first in aviation engineering produced right here and now in our nation’s attic.

Click here to see more photos and read more information about the Canton Airport.

This story appeared in the Canton Citizen on December 2, 2010.

James A. Bazin

2010-11-18T21:09:00.002-05:00

James Bazin's Spectacles - in the collection of the Canton Historical Society

James A. Bazin: A glimpse of history through thin, gold frames

On a recent historical tour of Canton for residents at Orchard Cove, I was extolling all of the amazing oddities that made Canton, well, uniquely Canton. And after rattling off a list of firsts in America that are connected to Canton, one of the passengers gave me a look that suggested she did not quite believe my facts. It was when our bus passed the home in Ponkapoag owned by James A. Bazin, and I recited the fact that Bazin invented the first reed instrument in America. The Bazin house still stands to the left of the driveway at the entrance to the Ponkapoag Golf Course.

Bazin (pronounced Bay-Zahn) is perhaps one of Canton’s most interesting citizens. The photo is of his spectacles, and it made me think of all the amazing things that Bazin saw through his eyes and what he produced while a citizen of Canton. History is made up of touch points, and holding his glasses (which are in the collection of the Canton Historical Society), you can feel the pulse of history through the thin gold frames.

James Amireaux Bazin was born in Boston in 1798. He was the fifth of ten children born to Jean Bazin and Jeanne (Amireaux) Bazin. Jean, a watchmaker, was a French Huguenot who came to Boston in 1788 from Helier, on the Isle of Jersey — a small town off the coast of France. In 1812, when Bazin was 14, the family moved to Canton and settled in Ponkapoag. The family “hired a small house known as the Sherman House, built by John Wentworth in 1805.” This house was still standing in 1922 on Sassamon Street. It appears that the education that Bazin received was extremely supportive of his early interests, which included astronomy, mathematics, as well as the fine arts.

We know much of Bazin’s life because he was one of the most highly esteemed citizens in Canton. Also, more than 100 personal items are in the collection of the local historical society and each one is a connection to his time and place in our town. The items are both plain and complicated: a small serving dish, a china platter, a teapot and pewter serving pieces — all connected to the fantastic — an astronomical model of the universe, magnifying eyeglasses, a walnut rotary pump. And then there are the instruments, perhaps Bazin’s finest contributions to the creation of early reed instruments in America. The range again is wonderfully collected: a small harp, two organ pianofortes (from 1853), and several reed-based lap organs alongside two reed trumpets of fantastic invention.

Bazin came to examine a simple free-reed instrument when he was 23 years old. A group of men brought him a broken pitch pipe and asked him to repair it. Bazin made the repair but also created a new invention, which became a sliding brass pitch pipe that could be adjusted along a series of pitches from c” to d’”. From this small invention he began making several variations on the theme and eventually moved to reed trumpets, which he invented in 1824. For many years his trumpet accompanied the choir at the Unitarian Church in Canton Corner and reputedly it could be heard “a mile away.” In 1831 Bazin invented a harmonica. In fact, Bazin had only read about the harmonica invented in Germany, so it is likely that indeed this was the first reed harmonica in America.

Bazin's Inventions

Bazin also created lap organs, table organs, a seraphine, and several larger instruments. What is amazing is that his earliest instruments were patented, sold reasonably well (although at a loss), and today are in private collections as well as the Museum of Fine Art, the National Museum of American History, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Darcy Kuronen, a noted expert on early musical instruments, writes of Bazin: “Each of his surviving examples of his instruments shows a restless desire to improve their operation and versatility, with no one model bearing much resemblance to another.” To all of Bazin’s credit, his work was very complex, and as such, forms the foundation for later adaptations that would become commercially viable.

James Amireaux Bazin by R. C. Steadman

Bazin never married, and lived in the large house in Ponkapoag with his sister Delicia. The Bazin family was quite distinguished, and while not wealthy, they were held in extremely high regard by the townspeople. Along with all of the items that have survived from the family collection is an enormous French Bible and 17^th century charters from France where the family had emigrated. Many residents of Ponkapoag in the mid 1800s were quite familiar with Bazin’s house as it was described as a museum “filled with antique furniture, rare old books, old prints, models and plans.” One of the oddities on the second floor of his house was a camera obscura — basically an optical device that projected a 360-degree view of Ponkapoag onto an interior wall as entertainment. He delighted in bringing his neighbors into the darkened room and showing the village as a painted picture.

A true renaissance man, Bazin maintained an impressive garden, sang in the church choir, and was a supporter of the fledgling Canton Public Library, donating several ancient French and English books to the early collection. In 1840 he became town clerk, a position he held for nine years. Bazin’s portrait, drawn by R. C. Steadman, hangs in the office along the left-hand wall as you stand at the counter. When he died in 1883 at age 85, his obituary read, “His long life had been a comfort to himself and a credit to his adopted town and fellow citizens.”

The family headstone is a massive granite ashlar in Canton Corner Cemetery. But the best reminders of Bazin’s life are the musical instruments that were born from his invention and let us see through his eyes the genius of Bazin.

This story appeared in the Canton Citizen on November 18, 2010.

School No. 6

2010-11-05T15:57:00.002-04:00

Schoolhouse Number 6 - The Revere School

Just as you are about to leave Canton, heading for Norwood, you will pass Chapman Street on your right. To gain your bearings, today there is a traffic light at the intersection of Neponset and Chapman streets; a slight hill to your right in front of you is a small service station, and the scene in this photograph is the original Revere School, or Schoolhouse Number 6. Built in 1827 at a cost of $600, it would serve Canton children for over 87 years.

This building is lost to time. The photograph is taken from a glass plate that I recently found in a box in the basement of the Canton Historical Society. I have long had a keen interest in the Revere School, and finding this relic of a previous incarnation of the original Revere School proved useful material for this lesson. The photograph is almost 125 years old and looks as crisp as the day it was taken. Behind this photo is a story that perhaps could be told by many of the early schoolhouses in Canton.

The construction of School No. 6 coincided with the establishment of the Boston Manufacturing Company, a large, sprawling complex that was begun in 1824. Three entrepreneurs erected a stone mill that would stand on the corner of Walpole and Neponset streets for 183 years. This area came to be known as the Stone Factory section of Canton. The young owners knew that in order to be successful, labor and amenities that supported labor had to be close by.

The town of Canton opened up a road across Fowl Meadows in order to shorten the route for teams of horses to reach Boston. As part of the neighborhood, the industrialists built a small chapel, comfortable boarding houses, large barns, and this one-room schoolhouse. The population exploded around the Stone Factory District, and so successful were the early company days that the monthly payroll exceeded more than $7,000. Unfortunately, many of the workers in the mill were children.

Along with boom came bust, and the attendance at School No. 6 would rise and fall with the fortunes of the company. An early report on the school laments the fact that “a great evil in this school is the irregularity of attendance. Children who are in school to-day, and in the Mill at work to-morrow, cannot, in the nature of the case, make any progress in their studies.” Along with tardiness was an issue with retaining adequate teachers. In one year the school reported “energetic and persevering” teachers, and in the next a new teacher was described as “deficient in energy, decision and firmness.” As the school committee saw it, the old settlers sent their children with regularity, and the “floating population” — those who worked in the mill — would ebb and flow.

The public descriptions of the teachers who taught in the summer and winter terms at School No. 6 were often quite severe. In 1847, describing the teaching style of Mr. Isaac A. Parsons of Maine, the school board writes, “There was a want of dignity in manner, of correctness of language which should characterize a teacher of youth. Children cannot be expected to have good manners and refinement unless they witness them in example and copy they are taught to imitate in school.” Parsons was also marked down for his lack of keeping the register and “exhibiting a culpable deficiency of neatness and accuracy.”

The payroll for School No. 6 also reveals issues that marked the time. In 1857, for example, the salary for a female teacher was $18 per month and for her male counterpart $34. The school at that time was called backward and difficult to govern, and given that on one week 50 to 60 children would attend, and then the next 20 to 30 would be in their seats, there is no question that challenges abounded.

In 1854 the small building was enlarged, but problems persisted. Again, parents needed children in the mill to assist with the labor pool. In fact, most children would leave this school by the time they reached age 11 or 12, as a job working in the mill or laboring in a field would be their lot in life.

By 1865 the stream of immigrants brought new challenges to School No. 6: “The foreign population for the most part are ill educated, or not educated at all. Some pretend to speak the English language; others do not; and some speak vulgar, local dialects.” Joseph Wattles, who wrote the school report that year, ended his missive with a quote by Alexander Pope: “Words are like leaves, and where they most abound, much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found.”

By 1870, the schoolhouse became known as Neponset School in recognition that the Neponset Woolen Mills had taken over the old stone factory. Harrison Gray Otis had taken over the mill, and measured success returned to the area. Finally, in 1881 the school was officially named the Revere School in honor of the close connections in the general area to the patriot Paul Revere.

Things gradually improved at the Old Revere School. The general observation in 1886 was that the superintendent of schools met with “cheerful faces, clean hands, clear voices, bright smiles,” all of which went along with “swept floors, well dusted desks and clean windows.” Within 30 years a new modern school on Chapman Street would replace this building. Until that time, however, the two-room schoolhouse would continue to serve Canton until 1914.

This story appeared in the Canton Citizen on November 4, 2010.

Massapoag House

2010-07-25T09:33:00.000-04:00

The Massapoag House

A recent column in the Canton Citizen commented on the fact that a new hotel is being built in Canton and that this was the first new hotel since the Massapoag House was built in 1789. And, while there is a long history of taverns and boarding houses in Canton, indeed the Massapoag House was a true "hotel" by all standards.

The three-story Massapoag House was an imposing structure located on the land of the present day post office. For over seventy years this landmark was the center of social and Catholic life in our community. It is hard to imagine such a grand building imposing upon the streetscape, but Massapoag House was quite a special place.

The building began life in 1789 as a private residence for Jonathan “Quaker” Leonard. Quaker Leonard was, of course, a Quaker - a member of the Society of Friends, and a businessman and partner of Adam Kinsley. And at age 26, was building considerable wealth. Leonard descended from a family that hailed from Pontypool, England and when they came to America - they brought with them the knowledge of the working of iron ore. Leonard's father, Eliphalet began making guns for the American Revolution in Easton, Mass and it was here that Jonathan Leonard met Adam Kinsley. Leonard, known to be eccentric and bright, obtained even more insight into iron production when upon hearing that steel was being made in Pennsylvania he travelled there to investigate. Under the guise of being a simpleton he engaged in industrial espionage and worked as a menial employee at the furnace thus bringing even more knowledge to the business in Canton and Easton.

As for the other half of the partnership, for folks who know their history; Kinsley is a name synonymous with iron in Norfolk County, and at the time in America. In 1788 Leonard and Kinsley erected a blacksmith's shop where the present day Centerfield's Restaurant now stands. The business was brisk and between 1790-1800 more than 200 mill-saws and 3600 scythes were manufactured, all implements of a growing post-colonial economy.

At the time the majority of iron ore came from Lake Massapoag in Sharon. This 353 acre spring fed lake was drawn down to expose bog iron that would be refined in Canton and Easton. It is no wonder that Massapoag House would have such a strong connection to the great pond in Sharon as the source of wealth was the raw material that would build a nation.

So, in 1789, Leonard built Massapoag House next to the factory and by all accounts a large and imposing two story building. The firm of Leonard & Kinsley continued until 1821 when they split and Leonard took the land on the easterly side of Washington Street and Kinsley took the land on the westerly side. Eventually the Kinsley Iron Works would come to own all of the land when Leonard's fortunes turned bad. Leonard believed that a rich mine of lead ore would be found in Easton and he pursued this search and in doing so exhausted his considerable fortunes. Massapoag House was lost to his creditors sometime between 1833 and 1835. Leonard left, some say in shame, and according to Huntoon, moved to New Orleans. Recent sources seem to indicate that he died on October 25, 1839 in Biloxi, Mississippi. Massapoag House became a public house managed by David Spaulding.

By the time the Viaduct was being built in 1834, James Bent was running his tavern at the site and he ran a stagecoach line from Canton to Boston. Bent was the son of Captain William Bent the landlord of the Eagle Inn, so in keeping with the family business, Massapoag House continued to be a tavern. A stop in Canton would have been on the route to Providence or Boston and the stage line would have several places to drop passengers. The building was remade as a public house and the Canton Lyceum (a literary society) met regularly at this tavern. In fact, the Canton Lyceum was the "salon" of Canton - where ideas were debated regularly and eventually the literary collection would become the Canton Public Library.The big change for Massapoag House would come in 1848 when Lyman Kinsley, Adam Kinsley's son, expanded, remodeled and added a third-story thus creating the finest county hotel in New England. The drawing (above) was featured on the opening playbill for the Grand Ball held on February 3, 1848. It was Kinsley that gave the house it's name, Massapaog House.

For many years the hotel flourished, but the smoke from the forges in the immediate vicinity would make a stay disagreeable. By 1909 the fortunes of the Kinsley Iron Works were dissolved an once again creditors would step in and sell the property.

In 1909, the Catholic Church bought the building at auction. As such, in more modern times the association more closely recalled with this building is that of the Canton Catholic Club and Guild. The basement boasted three bowling alleys, while a movie theatre showed silent films and in the rear of the first floor there was a large billiards parlor. Canton’s Catholic population had swelled during the late part of the 19^th century and to help occupy the attention and time, the Catholic Club offered many diversions. This was the home to the Canton Royal Rooters of 1915.

Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society

The end would come more than 129 years after it was built. Early on January 5, 1918, fire destroyed the 130 year-old structure. "It was an absolutely fascinating thing to watch," recalled Town Clerk Carlton Taber, who as a young boy remembered being at the scene after hearing the fire alarm split the frigid morning air. "The water became ice in nothing flat." Judge Gregory Grover took this photo from his front lawn where the fire was fought.

So, as you climb the stairs to the Post Office, it is hard to imagine that the center of social life in Canton was here on this site. If you pause for a moment you might hear the laughter of children, or catch a whisper of a lover, perhaps the music of dance hall where Nathaniel Bent would cut the "pigeon's wing." As Huntoon writes: "The happy nights passed in the old hall will linger in the memory till time with us shall be no more."

Walpole Street - Circa 1900

2010-06-19T10:23:00.007-04:00

Walpole Street looking towards Neponset Street circa 1900

As part of a larger project, I began working with large-format glass plate negatives from the basement of the Canton Historical Society. The boxes that contain several dozen of the plates are made of old cardboard and have become quite musty over the years. The last time someone looked at these plates was the mid 19070's - small handwritten notes are in each box describing the contents and each plate is wrapped in thin tissue with the date and time of the exposed photograph.

What is beautiful about these plates is the wonderful views that have long since vanished from our memory. The view of Walpole Street is another superb example of the major changes that our town has undergone as progress marches us forward. In this photograph is the Neponset Woolen Mills which many folks referred to as the "Stone Factory" owing to the impressive stone walls that stood here for almost 175 years. In the distance is the Canton Viaduct. And, to the right of the frame is an ancient small house that certainly dates to well before the American Revolution.

Walpole Street is one of our most ancient ways. As early as 1733 it was described as the road leading from "ye bridge by ye old forge." The road ran through the land of Timothy Jones and Joseph Hartwell. In fact, Jones and Hartwell petitioned the town (then Stoughton) to erect gates for passengers to open and shut as they passed - it is likely this request was not granted. By 1840, the road was designated "the road leading from the Stone Factory by Thomas Kollick's to the Sharon Line." Perhaps the small house is a remnant of one of the early landowners of record - Jones, Hartwell, Jordan, Comings or Kollick. More research will most certainly yield an answer.

Today, it is the road to Sharon. The factory has been replaced by a condominium complex that gives a nod to the past with a copy of the original tower. The small house has been lost long ago, and today an automobile repair shop is approximately where it once stood. The Viaduct is the lone survivor in the image - built in 1835 - just a few years after the factory was constructed.

So, what is there to fall in love with in this image? The superb tones, the sharpness of the building, and the factory and house balanced along the country road. The current project that I am working on takes advantage of enormous advances in high-resolution scanning to rediscover long lost images and see new pieces of the image that would not be evident if we simply printed the image on photo paper. In 1976, Ed Bolster carefully held each plate up to the light and made the small notes that are tucked in each box. Almost 35 years later, we hold the plates up to a new light and discover all that is wonderful and all that is lost in Canton.

Reservoir Pond

2010-03-28T08:39:00.010-04:00

The Canton Reservoir from Pleasant Street

So much discussion is presently raging surrounding the possible loss of the Canton Reservoir - or the Rez - as it is affectionately known. Many people may not realize that in fact this is a man-made pond, built to serve industry in Canton and part of a rich history tied to the need for water and power.

Daniel Huntoon starts the conversation in his History of Canton. "Reservoir Pond is situated at the geographical center of the town, and is a modern pond, having been raised to its present size, about three-hundred acres, by a dam erected in 1827. In 1832 the land was sold to the Neponset Woolen Company for $314, and subsequently became the property of the Revere Copper Comp

any. A dam was erected before 1720. To build this, several of the inhabitants affirmed that they had been at great trouble and charge to flow their swamp lying on Pequit Brook, and were much provoked when the town, in 1722, used their dam as a roadway. This dam was usually known as Hartwell's dam, from Samuel Hartwell, who resided on the southerly border of Pequit Brook, on the site now occupied by Mr. Pitcher. The meadows, known as "Crossman's" meadows, because Dr. George Crossman at one time lived near them, were flowed by the Neponset Woollen Company in order to form a reservoir in case of scarcity of water, and the water can be retained of allowed to flow at option."

So, in a nutshell we see that there is a 288 year history of holding back the water of Pequit Brook at Pleasant Street. And, while the water was used primarily for power needs further downstream, in fact it is hard to imagine the 200 acres of open space

as anything other. The recreational uses have been plentiful and many residents both old and young recall skating, swimming, boating, fishing, and even ice sailing on the Rez.

So, what is all the controversy today? And could we lose our beloved Reservoir? The answer is complicated. The roadway is owned by the Town of Canton, but the Dam and the body of water (and land underneath) is owned by a private development company which purchased the Reservoir when they purchased the Revere Copper & Rolling Mill. In 2007 the Commonwealth of Massachusetts inspected the Dam at Pleasant Street and classified the condition as poor and posed an extreme hazard for the residents and property to the south of the dam. There is a great issue across Massachusetts whereby more than 60 "high hazard" dams are in danger of failure. In some case the wholesale breaching of the dam - thus allowing the water to return to the natural boundaries is being contemplated. This is the case at the Canton Reservoir, where one option to simply remove the Dam rather than repair the structure. The owners, businessmen from Chicago, will choose the least costly method of solving this problem. The residents who have for years enjoyed the recreational and natural uses of the pond may find declining values and perhaps future development in their backyards. Stay tuned as the history continues.

The Crane School

2009-12-13T09:00:00.006-05:00

The Original Crane School

Ah, the sweet taste of Corvus brachyrhynchos (Common Crow) which was recently consumed by my good friend and fellow local historican, James Roache. I was researching the Canton Postcard History and came across the glass ambrotype (above) of what was marked the Crane School. This image was taken sometime after 1854 and is a very early image. Folks who remember the Crane School are more likely to recall a very different building in Canton Center. Indeed, all the photos I have seen show an entirely different structure, and that is what puzzled me as well.

On April 18, 1854 a new school was dedicated in District No.3 (Canton Center) According to Daniel Huntoon, this house, when built was declared to be a building “which in beauty of architecture, completeness of design and adaptation, is unequalled” The land on which it stands has been owned and occupied by Major General Elijah Crane; for which reason the committee aptly named the school after Crane.

The Crane School housed students from the first grade to high school level. The first examination for high school level took place at the Crane School in 1866 and continued there until a High School was built in 1869. The school district system was abolished in 1868 and the Town took possession of the schoolhouses in 1870. From that time forward the “School Committee” directed all school activities.

So, if the photo above depicts the Crane School, why do we remember such a different building as portrayed in the postcard to the left? Forty years after the original structure was completed, the building exhibited major deficiencies. Poor ventilation, heating, plumbing and a floor plan that could not meet the needs of the students and a burgeoning local population. By the turn of the century the defects were still not addressed, in particular the use of individual stoves for heating of the classrooms. By 1903, no major improvements were made with exception of needed repairs for a leaky roof, broken windows and other minor repairs or painting. By 1906, the town voted to spend $16,000 for some much needed improvements to the fifty-two year old structure. Architects from Boston were hired and they produce plans that completely changed the appearance of the building. The total cost of the remodeling was $16,966.80 and the Superintendent reported that “we have a modern substantial structure" ... The change has been so great both within and without that no trace of the old arrangement remains."

Indeed, the change was great. The roofline, was entirely recreated, new systems installed throughout, and the side wings extended. Some of the signature clues of the original building remained, however, and this is where Messrs. Comeau & Roache disagreed. I absolutely saw that the architects played off of the paladian windows, the fluted columns of the pediment and entrance and the decorative quoins on the corners and below the roofline. There were other smaller and obscure clues, and I felt sure something major had changed over time. But, Mr. Roache was having none of my folderol over this building, insisting it may have been another school that Canton children had attended but not necessarily located in Canton. Then, at the Historical Society I spied another photo lying on a display case. A casual glance at an exterior view of a schoolhouse with graduates in front resurrected the friendly argument. Mr. Roache listened to my case and promised to revisit this issue in the near future. Within a few hours the answer was found and we learn that the building had had multiple lives over it's 113 year history.

By 1949, the last graduates exited the building and in 1950 the school committee turned the property over to the Selectmen. The end for the Crane School was in sight. At the end of 1954 a Planning board report on the property was completed and present by John T. Blackwell to the March Town Meeting in 1955. It was voted to accept the report and approve $6,000 to raze the building and prep the lot of possible sale. Town Meeting of 1967 finally voted to sell the lot with the stipulation that said land to be used by the purchaser primarily for a super market. The loss of this building has long remained a point of great sadness for Cantonians. All we have are the memories and the photographs, and now we have another version of the school to miss. Thank you Jim, for the Corvus brachyrhynchos, next time the dish will be mine to consume.

2009-11-14T17:00:00.001-05:00

Arcadia Publishing

Postcard History Series
Canton, Massachusetts
written by George T. Comeau

publication release date: November 2009
$21.99

Canton is a town like so many New England towns. Here you will find a rich history that extends back to early connections with the founding fathers and to an expansive industrial center made possible by superb water rights and one of the first railroads in the nation. Our town is proud of the location we occupy in American history, enriched by strong associations with patriots, industrialists, great thinkers and doers. Inside this book are postcards and photographs that capture the spirit of enterprise and pride in our community.

Over 200 photographs, many never before published, are collected in one book that showcases the outstanding history of Canton. Landmarks that have long been lost and new ones to be discovered are part of a fascinating book.

Order your copy today. Or, fill out the form below and you will receive invitations to release events and scheduled talks. Read more about this book in a recent article that appeared in the Canton Citizen.