USA > Massachusetts > Hampden County > Hampden county, 1636-1936, Volume I > Part 30
Note: The text from this book was generated using artificial intelligence so there may be some errors. The full pages can be found on Archive.org (link on the Part 1 page).
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29 | Part 30 | Part 31 | Part 32 | Part 33 | Part 34 | Part 35 | Part 36 | Part 37 | Part 38 | Part 39 | Part 40 | Part 41 | Part 42
The Springfield Rescue Mission is one of the finest social agencies in the city. It is an independent agency, in the sense that it is not affili- ated with any social agency of national scope. It is supported by funds from the community chest, by contributions of a private nature, and in a small measure by funds received from the lodging depart- ment, where some of those who come are able to and insist upon paying a small amount of money for their keep. The staff consists of
393
SPRINGFIELD IS MADE A CITY
a group of paid workers, and a group of volunteer workers, all under Superintendent E. L. Smith, who is also a clergyman, and who took over the administrative duties of the organization after Captain Cum- mings' death a few years ago.
The setup of the building is simple, yet efficient. In the cellar is the dining hall and the kitchen. There are brown wooden tables and chairs, the brown walls are free of adornment, and the whole place is immaculately clean. On the first floor is the chapel, a large roomy hall with its furnishings painted white. On the first floor also are the superintendent's office, and a well-kept recreation room. The second floor consists mainly of separate sleeping rooms, and the third contains the large dormitory and shower baths.
The idea behind the Springfield Rescue Mission is to take men who have gone astray and reclaim them in the spirit of Jesus for nor- mal Christian living; to assist the needy and unfortunate with a view toward physical, spiritual, and mental rehabilitation; to assist homeless men to secure self-supporting employment, and in general to give them a new outlook on life.
The clock in the city hall tower of 1883 used to be kept at Boston time, which was nearly five minutes earlier than true time. For con- venience this was generally used throughout the city, but in 1883 the new standard time was adopted. Not until a few years afterward was the old custom abandoned of ringing the bell at the hour of nine in the evening, and on such momentous occasions as the straying of a child away from its mother.
The Irish monks who, in the sixth century, founded bishoprics in Iceland, and, later on, moved to some greater Ireland on the main- land, to make way for Norwegian newcomers, may have visited what we know as New England.
When the Catholic Acadians were driven into exile, the pathos of which our poet Longfellow immortalized in his beautiful poem Evangeline, one of the group settled in Worcester, and this is the first Catholic of whom we have any record in the heart of the Commonwealth.
At the close of the Revolutionary War Catholics in Massachusetts were not numerous and they were not welcomed. Banishment was what the law prescribed for them. In or near Boston were twenty- five or thirty Irish families with a few French and Spanish residents.
394
HAMPDEN COUNTY-1636-1936
These were the only Catholics in Massachusetts at that time, though the State is now fully half Catholic.
It was about then that the first sturdy Catholic missionary sought out the scattered groups of Catholic laborers along the railroads and canals, to give them the consolations of religion. Fitton, of blessed memory, blazed the pioneer trail of priestly activity and we can visual- ize that lone figure, on foot or on horseback, on hand car, or freight train, covering the vast area from the confines of Boston to the New York line, and from the borders of Vermont to Hartford. As we read the thrilling tales of priestly journeyings before the days of easy travel we marvel at the ground covered, the obstacles overcome, and wonder if they had a home and when they visited it, for at that time one priest covered the whole State.
That lone pioneer established missions and stations from Worces- ter and other towns on the east, to Springfield and towns on the west as far as Great Barrington. It is only justice, a century later, that we lay this wreath of gratitude to the memory of this great worker, who at Worcester built the first Catholic Church in western Massachu- setts, and said the first mass at its temporary altar amid a terrific thun- der storm which failed to hinder the priest or scatter the flock. Famine in Ireland, oppression in Poland, industrial necessity in Canada, sent large reinforcements to Catholic ranks.
The laborers were few but energetic to the point of being tireless, and not a canal was built, not a railroad constructed, not a mill oper- ated but a Catholic priest appeared. With the return of peace after the era of construction, came permanent structures of brick and mor- tar to replace the frame buildings. A lion-hearted pastor at Chicopee established the first Catholic school in charge of religious teachers, and in little more than half a century Catholic schools sheltered fifty thousand pupils in these counties.
From small and humble beginnings the Roman Catholic Church in Springfield has grown in a comparatively short time to wonderful proportions, with churches, schools and institutions, with bishops and priests and religious organizations.
In 1847 an archbishop from Boston helped in the dedication cere- monies of St. Benedict's Church in Union Street. A great change has taken place in the religious life of this community since then. At that time you could almost count the Roman Catholic churches of New
395
SPRINGFIELD IS MADE A CITY
England on the fingers of one hand. The people were mostly poor emigrants from Ireland in a community strongly opposed to their faith and church.
The following account of the March blizzard of 1888 was writ- ten by Charles Goodrich Whiting and appeared in the "Springfield Republican": "The storm now upon us (March 12), which in its course up the Atlantic coast reached this region late Sunday eve- ning, and has brought pretty nearly all the concerns of men to a standstill will be remembered in history as the greatest of a gen- eration. No middle-aged man can recall its parallel. It began with a light snowfall with a deceitful gentleness, and people said it would probably turn to rain as soon as the sun rose. The wind was northeast, and chilly, but not very cold. As the night grew toward morning the wind increased in strength and velocity, the snow came faster, and the drifts began to pile. It was already so much of a storm as nine o'clock approached that mothers felt apprehensive as their children started for school. By this time, too, the railroad trains were giving up the contest. And so it went on; the wind becoming a gale from the north, the snow continuing to fall, and drifts to grow, all paths to close up; all means of locomotion were withdrawn from the streets; there were no trains run and consequently no mails received or dispatched; there was no business done in shops or stores for few ventured abroad, and they only persons who had work to do.
"Those who had come to their daily tasks in the morning could not get home at night, and the hotels were crowded with men and women whose employers had to house them there; while business men who could not join their families were added to the homeless throngs. There were many rumors of missing children who had not reported since their schools were let out, even into the evening. There was much reason to fear that some of the rumors might be true in a temp- est so fierce and unceasing, where besides the fine, light snow that the wind bore in its fury, a keen sleet that cut the face was driven sharply. The wind was of such fury that every breath seemed to tear the lungs, and this trebled the labor of the walker, contending against snow mid- thigh or waist deep, so that an ordinary three-minute walk in a side street would consume a quarter of an hour. This was in the middle of the afternoon; by night the side streets were given up as impass- able by anyone, the sidewalk drifts covering the fences from sight except for an occasional gulch scooped by the arctic winds.
396
HAMPDEN COUNTY-1636-1936
"There was no such thing as getting a view of the storm during the day; the vision could reach but a few rods, the clouds could not be seen, all the air was a mad whirl of flakes, and to look up Main Street was to see an ominous moving wall, frayed and tossed at the edges, of a sort of dull brown color in the height of day, deepening as the unseen sun dropped below the blocks.
"How far the storm reaches no one knows at this writing. It took from between nine and ten o'clock Sunday night until eight o'clock
-
-
1
-
MASONIC BUILDING, SPRINGFIELD
yesterday morning for it to reach Lowell, which is not very rapid traveling for such a coast gale as this. In the evening, about twenty- four hours after it began, the snow had apparently almost ceased falling here, and the temperature was less exasperating, though the winds still blew swiftly, heaping up the snow, whistling and wailing around the eaves and down the chimneys, and making life out of doors about as undesirable as it ever is.
"The appearance of the city (the next day) was unprecedented. In the unbroken quiet of the morning hours it lay, except for Main
397
SPRINGFIELD IS MADE A CITY
Street, as trackless as the forest. Like the forest there was the excep- tion of its lesser animal life, for as the rabbits and foxes mark the woodland with paths, so had the cats and dogs streaked the wilderness of the streets and gardens with their tracks. Gradually as the day grew toward noon the streets became curiously diversified with trails, those who had to pass through taking the middle of the road as far as it might be, but describing long curves or sharp diagonals, to take advantage of the lowest grades; and sometimes, confronted by an absolutely forbidding drift across the whole highway, the trails led directly over miniature Alps and White Mountains. Fences were largely not matters of faith but pure supposition, and great drifts rose even to second-story windows, covered hen houses in sepulchral mounds, or combed up like ocean waves twelve to fifteen feet high- poising there as if a moment more might dash them to break in foam against the assailed houses.
"Main Street was a marvelous sight in the morning, nor less so when the cleaning of the sidewalks had heaped the sides of the streets as they were never heaped before. Up Harrison Avenue a long notched ridge, a veritable Sierra Nevada, reared its imposing bulk ; Market Street up to noon was a wild stretch of mountain and valley. The Hill showed the freakish mischief of the gale that swept out gullies and canyons where no one wanted to go, to pile full the house- hold pathways and the public walks.
"The fall was three feet on the level, and the nearest approach to that in the memory records is the twenty-two inches that fell in the storm of January 31, 1882. William Smith, of Pine Street, remembers a snowfall of four feet in the last part of March, when he was a boy in Dalton, almost eighty years ago, but then it did not blow. A lesser fall with such a wind produces on the hills as great drifts as we have now in the city and, moreover, pounds and presses the snow so close that oxen draw sleds over the drifts.
"Here the drifts were nowhere solid enough to bear even boys upon their surface, and on snowshoes alone could one traverse the wild scenery with freedom. If we are to have old-fashioned winters as a regular thing, we shall have to practice the aboriginal craft of snow- shoe locomotion. Such winters will be very unpopular, however, and everyone will be content to look back upon this March storm as unrivaled, unapproachable, unique and ideal."
Boyhood Memories of a Springfield Mayor
CHAPTER XXIV
Boyhood Memories of a Springfield Mayor
I was born in the village of Wales, twenty-five miles east of Springfield. My mother died when I was two years old, and my grandfather took my two sisters, both older than myself. The name I bore was Fordis, a hard and unusual name for a great many people to remember and write, as shown in later years by the weird addresses on much of my mail. I would not think it possible so many errors could be made with six letters of the alphabet.
My earliest memories are of a comfortable white farm house in a peaceful little valley where my grandfather's home stood on a low knoll near the road with many great maple trees near by. Directly back of the house rose a long, low range of hills, and for miles to the west there were no habitations. Instead, were just forest, wilderness and hills. The road through the "Hollow," as it is called, ran north and south for about three miles, keeping to the western side, and finally climbing out at the south and over Dimmock's Hill into the skirts of Wales. Our house had in front of it across the highway a great meadow and fields extending easterly about a third of a mile to the East Hill, and a large brook nosed its way through the meadow to the delight of the trout fishermen.
Somewhat to the North of us, near a wooded bend in the road, were the ruins of a good sized gristmill, and there the water wheel and remains of the dam gave mute testimony of days when the "Hol- low" was of some importance. Crossroads were lacking, and the valley was very much shut in. The nearest we came to getting a dis- tant view was the northern hills, whence from our valley we could see Tower Hill and Steerage Rock about three miles away.
It is not to be expected that a little lad of four or five years away back in the country would have an exciting life, but the activities on
Hampden-26
402
HAMPDEN COUNTY -- 1636-1936
our farm were interesting. Haying was fun, and sometimes the men would have a race to see who could mow a long swath quickest; how the scythes would rip through the fresh green stems, after which that jug of water, flavored with plenty of ginger and molasses, would be dug out of its resting place wrapped in cool damp grass.
When it came to getting out the grass from the wet swampy ground, it was the oxen's turn to perform. They stood still while being loaded, but sank lower into the swamp and sometimes the great brutes would only reach the uplands by wallowing through water almost up to their flanks.
My people made maple sugar, and the great maples were made to contribute their sweet sap, but it was something like trying to build up a bank account-it took an awful amount of running and boiling and smoky tears to get a little sugar.
The days of butchering were very bad days, and I shall not go into details, but it seemed just too bad to see creatures that you had known, and perhaps named and fed, stagger up and down the lane bleeding to death. It was one of the first demonstrations to me that all was not ideal with the plan of things.
Among the most delightful places I remember was my grand- mother's dairy. It was built into a small side hill and walled up at one end. The cold spring water oozed copiously among the dark stones and was drained away. There were two rooms, a small and a large, but there was little daylight in the large one. The person fortu- nate enough to get into that room on a hot afternoon was treated to a draught of cold cream or buttermilk.
My school days at the little box of a schoolhouse were few, because I left the valley while quite young, but I remember two excit- ing incidents in connection with it. The teacher was a fine young fellow and we little people were his first charges. Among the larger boys was one by the name of Works, who was allowed a little school- ing in the winter. One day during recess the big lad got gay with a dirty broom, and when he had whacked everybody else with it, he stuck it in the teacher's face. Of course, the teacher couldn't "laugh that off," and so I witnessed my first battle by big fellows. Right prevailed, but the teacher had to carry the fight out of the school- room into the yard, and his Works did follow him.
The other incident meant great delight to a little chap of four years. It occurred one morning when we went to school in a snow
403
BOYHOOD MEMORIES OF A SPRINGFIELD MAYOR
storm. The storm grew worse and the snow accumulated fast, so that by four o'clock it was quite deep. Just before school closed my grand- father appeared with the oxen yoked to the big sled, and with bundles of straw before the runners to "break out" the road. We children greatly enjoyed riding home through the deep, white snow, drawn by those powerful, wallowing cattle.
That same winter we had a fine Christmas. My father came out from Springfield and brought a friend, and an uncle and aunt drove up from Southbridge; we had a grand time in the big room, with food enough for a small regiment, and pleasing presents.
My next sporting event was when old white Billie, the driving horse, ran away with me in the sleigh, as an observer. My sister and another big girl of thirteen winters and myself started for the post office more than two miles from home, with my sister driving. On Brimfield Plain a horse came up behind us and his heels rang too loud, I think, to suit Billie. Anyway, Billie took us for a mile ride that made me proud of him. When we got to the post-office good old Bill real- ized that he was at the end of the line, and he slowed up and turned into the Wales Road. Some of the hard workers usually found around the post-office stove ran out and caught the reins, and that was all the excitement the town had that day.
The murder of Jim Fisk was my introduction to newspapers. Our weekly contained large pictures of Fisk, Stokes, and Miss Mansfield, and told all about what had happened. I didn't think it was a nice thing for Mr. Stokes to kill Mr. Fisk. The whole affair was certainly news to me.
My people were quite religious, and my grandmother was a Second Adventist. About this time a preacher of the sect came to work on the farm. He was a good man, and he prayed long and loud. I was interested in my small way and tried to do my part. One of the hymns we used to attempt was worded "All I want, all I want is a little more faith in Jesus."
Another interesting newspaper experience was the sensational story of the assembling of the Second Adventists on Terry Island in the Connecticut River, near Windsor Locks, for the purpose of taking off from that point to meet Christ on the occasion of his second com- ing. The news was thoroughly illustrated in our weekly paper. The story, as it was told to me, while it was consistent with my grand-
404
HAMPDEN COUNTY-1636-1936
mother's belief, did not enthuse me because I had only gotten started down here on earth. I was much relieved when the fateful days passed and no newspaper reports came stating that people with wings had been observed flying over the Connecticut River.
One of the important daily events in our little town was the pass- ing of the four-horse stagecoach as it traveled from Southbridge to Palmer, a twenty-mile run. The Post Road was one mile north of our house, and it was something of an event to go up to the turn on an errand for the stage driver. Stage drivers were important persons representing contact with the outside world. They cheerfully did favors for the farmers and farmers' wives, shopping for them in the larger terminal towns; it might be matching a piece of cloth, buying a box of pills, getting a tool, or taking care of an express package.
I remember some strange characters who lived in the town. An uncle and aunt of mine conducted the town farm for several years, and I used to go to see them. The inmates were not numerous, but three of them were certainly unfortunate exhibits.
"Tom" was just plain crazy, but was harmless, and allowed to walk about the farm. No matter how hot it was he covered his head with a blanket, and stumbled about beating the air with a bundle of sticks trying to keep devils away. Another case was a creature who was quite a giantess, well over six feet high, with the squarest shoulders I ever saw, strong, well proportioned, with no excess of fat, hair kept short, and she wore dresses, and was called Hannah. The poor thing was pleasant and easy to manage, and would sit on a rock and jabber smilingly. The voice was changeable, but mentality almost lacking. The third case was that of a half-witted man who was usually smiling, and he wanted to please. When directed he could do some farm work. He was about forty years of age, and for short intervals pleasant and amusing. His great obsession was the stagecoaches, and he seemed to live to see the stage come into town. If he was allowed to lead out one of the horses, or if the driver spoke pleasantly to him, he was proud and happy.
I was still a small boy when my father announced that he would take me to Springfield with him for a visit; so I, who had never been farther than Palmer Depot, emerged from the hills and vales of Brim- field and saw Springfield for the first time. The armory, surrounded by what seemed miles and miles of high iron fence, interested me. The
405
BOYHOOD MEMORIES OF A SPRINGFIELD MAYOR
soldiers came out all dressed up and fired a big gun, but didn't hit any- thing. I was taken to a museum, where I saw a tiger with glass eyes, also some dead birds, some spotted eggs that didn't look very fresh, and a great fish, all bones, with an awfully long nose. It was a sword fish, and there were many other exhibits that I do not remember. After a happy week I returned to the Hollow with more knowledge of the wonders that existed beyond Foskits Mill and Palmer Depot than I would have thought possible. I hadn't had any idea that North America was such a big place.
A few months later we moved into Springfield to live, and my father rented a small cottage on King Street. After that I had little connection with Brimfield. Most of my schooling I got in the Oak Street schools. In my studies I think I did fairly well, although never a keen student. I could not memorize easily, and had to work hard for a commendable recitation. Most of my recitations were in Mr. Barrows' grammar school. "Daddy" Barrows was very well liked. He always wore a long-tail coat which provided an ideal place of concealment for his very practical strap. I enjoyed especially the hours devoted to writing and music lessons.
As to music, I was supposed to be very good. In fact, for one brief period I threatened to be a singer. I sang a solo at an exhibi- tion in the school hall and had a tryout for a solo to be sung in the city hall at an important festival, but alas, a top note or two caused my "undoing." I was rejected. I took the decision peacefully enough, but my grandmother never really had much confidence in the judg- ment of the school authorities after that.
The "Eighties" were a decade during which several emotional efforts were put forth on a large scale. Moody and Sankey, a Rev- erend Mr. Earle and Elder Lutz visited the city and caused much religious excitement. Music and organization were relied on greatly to make these drives a success, and many people were advertised as "having been brought into the fold." Francis Murphy held great temperance meetings in the city hall, and it was a feature of the temperance movement of the period to make a widespread use of pledge-signing.
Elder Lutz was rather in a class by himself, and was severely criticized by many. He came under the auspices of a good man, but eventually drifted down and out. He was rough and sensational, and
406
HAMPDEN COUNTY -- 1636-1936
admitted he had been a very "tough egg," a drunkard, gambler, fake, adventurer, and he certainly showed signs of extremely hard wear, including a glass eye. My impression is that the Elder's converts were rather disappointed in his moral accomplishments.
I was always fond of animals, and at various times took on small pets. I kept rabbits, guinea pigs, white mice, pigeons and chickens. They did their best to make me prosperous, and they certainly could multiply. I once set thirteen eggs under a hen, and in due season thirteen chickens arrived, and of these, twelve fine, barred Plymouth Rock chickens grew to lusty youth. I traded them to my father for a watch, and he got rid of the chickens by trading them for a cord of wood.
I picked up quite a few pennies one way or another, and some of them I saved without any great effort. One of my best jobs was dis- tributing insurance circulars for my friend, Colonel Warriner. I used to do this sort of work for him on a Saturday now and then, for which he generously paid me a dollar a day. I would pay ten cents for a lunch in a restaurant, and feel that I was a regular business man.
My first contact with politics came during a presidential campaign. Colonel Warriner hired a big two-horse dray, filled it with little kids, including myself, furnished us with red, white and blue capes and caps, and put us in a big torchlight procession.
What with the bands, the drums and fifes, the redfire, the miles of lanterns, the hundreds of men marching to music, I was thrilled beyond all telling. When the great parade was over the colonel took us to his offices and served us with doughnuts and coffee. After that I had no use for Democrats.
Need help finding more records? Try our genealogical records directory which has more than 1 million sources to help you more easily locate the available records.