USA > New York > Chenango County > Smyrna > Early years in Smyrna and our first Old home week > Part 14
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The life of the writer has all been spent in Smyrna, the town of his birth, and while fully aware there are better and more at- tractive places up and down our land yet to him none offer more pleasing attractions than the healthful and quiet resorts that abound within our own borders. Never an extensive trav- eler it has been his privilege to look over a goodly portion of our country, and while he has seen the beauties of the landscape from the Pine Tree State to California and its Golden Gate, watched the sun rise from the depths of the broad Atlantic, seen it sink away into the watery bed of the great Pacific, stood on the summit of the Rockies, awed by one of the finest views im- aginable, watched the rolling waves of all the great Lakes save one, and viewed nearly every point of interest in our own New York, the great Empire State, yet, he has looked on all these with but little more satisfaction than when on a summer's day
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he has looked over the handsome hills and valleys of Smyrna, and old Chenango, or wandered along the brooks and streams, among many attractive places, or sought the solitude. of that quiet and romantic resort, pleasing to all who have ever visited the same, our own delightful and fascinating Smyrna Falls.
Concerning our town and its people much of the past is known and written. Its history equals not a few and excels many in various respects. Its future remains unknown and un- written, but we can only hope that the lives and teachings of the past generations will ever be a strong incentive to righteous acts, in the hearts and minds of those who are to come after them.
May the memory of the moral and religious lives of the fathers and mothers be a guide and a shield to all their posterity.
"Before the hills in order stood, Or earth received her frame, From everlasting thou art God, To endless years the same. A thousand ages in thy sight, Are like an evening gone, Short as the watch, that ends the night, Before the rising sun.
Time, like an ever rolling stream, Bears all its sons away, They fly, forgotten, as a dream, Dies at the opening day. Our God, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come, Be thou our guard while troubles last, And our eternal home."
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OUR FIRST OLD HOME WEEK
AUGUST
7-14, 1904
OLD_HOME WEEK COMMITTEE
OLOHa
OUR FIRST OLD HOME WEEK.
" Once more among the stately hillsides look, Where flows the limpid stream, called Pleasant Brook."
The observance of an Old Home Week, or a time in which the many sons and daughters of old Smyrna who, during the earlier and later days of the past, have gone out from among us might re-visit their old homes and mingle together once more with old neighbors and friends, had many times been brought up by our citizens and many plans connected with the same pre- sented, but nothing definite concerning such a gathering was ac- complished until the winter of 1904, when after much talk and much discussion a meeting was called at the office of George P. Pudney, Esq., on Saturday evening, February 27, from which an adjournment was made to the same place on Monday eve- ning following, at which meeting it was unanimously voted to observe an "Old Home Week," the date of the same to be the week of August 7th-14th, and a committee chosen to formulate a plan for such an observance, consisting of the following gen- tlemen: George P. Pudney, Stephen K. Willcox, William E. Stover, John W. Shepardson, Wendell S. Phillips, William L. Chapman and George A. Munson. This meeting was adjourned to Monday evening, March 14th, when the following officers were chosen : President, George P. Pudney, Esq .; Recording Secretary, Wendell S. Phillips; Corresponding Secretary, George A. Munson, Esq .; Treasurer, Stephen K. Willcox, Esq. This meeting was adjourned to Tuesday evening, March 22d, when the balance of the committee were chosen, as follows:
Executive Committee, of which the President, Secretaries and Treasurer were to be a part. John W. Shepardson, Dwight L. Sweet, William E. Stover, Manson K. Messenger, Dr. Thurs- ton G. Packer and William L. Chapman.
At another meeting held at the same place on Monday eve- ning, March 28th, the following Vice Presidents were chosen:
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Norman Congdon, Abel Comstock, Stephen Robbins, James P. Knowles, N. Jerome Brand, Loren R. Collins, George Bavin, Lynn F. Williams, Avery K. Reynolds, Casher Taylor, Gilbert Tuttle, Francis G. Stanton, Wesley D. Wilbur and Lamando Finch. Other committees were also chosen as follows:
Finance-William W. Lyon, William H. Comstock, Charles W. Humphrey, George W. Crumb and Fred A. Sweet.
Invitation-George A. Munson, James T. Comstock, Ed- mund P. Tobey, Frank R. Taylor, J. Orville Preston.
Music-Gardner N. Willcox, Leland L. Ferris.
Field Sports-John T. Condon, Walter G. Willcox, Edward B. Lyon, William P. Graham, Frank E. Rickard.
Early in May following invitations were sent out far and near to nearly every state and even beyond the seas, nearly all receiving them sending back a hasty response, all in warmest sympathy with the project, and hoping for its complete success.
The following is a copy of the circular invitation issued by the invitation committee:
OLD HOME WEEK. Smyrna, N. Y., August 7-14, 1904. INVITATION.
Smyrna cordially invites you to participate in Old Home Week, which will be observed during the week of August 7, 1904.
Fully believing that a reunion of old citizens, friends and neighbors will be of much benefit to all, we sincerely trust that there will be a large attendance.
Sunday, August 7-All the churches will unite in appropriate services for the occasion.
Monday evening, August 8-Every School District will unite in burn- ing Beacon Fires.
Tuesday, August 9-Registration of Visitors.
Tuesday Evening, August 9-Grand Banquet, with Toasts and Speeches by former citizens.
Wednesday, August 10-Grand Reunion and Field Day, including Day Fireworks.
Wednesday Evening, August 10-Grand Display of Fireworks.
It is expected the entire week will be devoted to a general renewal of old acquaintance, and that there will be many family reunions and various other attractions.
Let it be a week worthy of the occasion.
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Among the responses were the following:
SANTA CRUZ, CAL., July 30, 1904.
TO GEORGE A. MUNSON, ESQ .:
The Old Folks at Home, and the New Generation of Smyrnaites.
GREETING :- When I received in May the announcement of Old Home Week in Smyrna, and an invitation to attend from Mr. Munson, my boyhood friend, I inwardly resolved to be there. Nothing seemed more desirable to me than the prospect of a reunion with the remaining friends and acquaintances of early days who still linger in Smyrna, or who might journey thither on this occasion.
For weeks 1 cherished that dream of prospective happiness and vas very loth to put it aside. But the shaping of events has rendered this impossible. My vocation which makes me responsible for the appearance and contents of a daily paper, is one of the most exacting that our modern complex civilization has yet developed. Time and tide wait for no man, the proverb runs, but time in its demands upon a newspaper man is abso- lutely ruthless.
The "Good Old Summer Time" brings throngs of visitors and a constant succession of news events in Santa Cruz, which with the incidental attention that must be paid to politics, left me no loop-hole this year out of which I could escape to Smyrna to shake hands with you, mingle a tear with you for the "dead already" and exchange greetings of good cheer for the days of the journey to come. Hence I send these words of "hail and farewell." If perchance there should be an opportunity for their hearing in the busy days of your reunion, you will know that though long severed by time and distance, I am not negligent, nor forgetful of obligations to the land of my birth.
To do even this requires a brief isolation from my regular routine of work. Perhaps we will understand each other better, if 1 sketch the surroundings from which I write, before I let recol-
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lection bridge the chasm of the years, and thought traverse the width of the continent that separates us.
Mr. Munson is the only one of my old school fellows or youthful acquaintances who has visited me here. That was in the earlier years of my California life, but he can geographically locate Santa Cruz.
Knowing that 1 desired to hide myself from the world for a few days the manager of the Big Creek Electric Light and Power Company tendered us the use of his summer cottage, near the power house. This is 18 miles from Santa Cruz in the heart of the Big Creek canyon. Half a mile above is the power station where the "power" from this stream and from another in a neighboring canyon carried through the hill in a tunnel, is converted into electrive energy, to be transmitted 18 miles to Santa Cruz where it propels the street cars, lights the city, and furnishes power for manufacturing. The surplus power is trans- mitted 20 miles further (38), where it performs similar service in the town of Watsonville. Wires are now being strung to many farm houses where electric power propels pumps, churns, feed cutters, wood saws, and banishes the lantern and the lamp from farm life. This stream for which the poverty of the imag- ination of the early settlers left no name but Big Creek, flows about 2,000,000 gallons of water per diem.
In my Smyrna days we should have as soon thought of measuring the clouds as to measure the flow of Pleasant Brook or the Chenango River. In California the worth of water is more than land and every stream is gauged as accurately as land is surveyed. In this county there are fifty running streams of varying capacity, but their aggregate water rights could not be purchased for half a million dollars.
Their valleys are often little more than ravines (called can- yons in California) as the distance from the Santa Cruz range to the sea is only from twenty to thirty miles. The canyon of Big Creek is a cleft of from two hundred to twelve hundred feet in depth. Run a stream of water through Dark Hollow, and
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clothe the hillsides with heavy timber and you have a suggestion of the scene. In lieu of Smyrna hemlocks, for evergreens, we have pine, fir, spruce and redwood. In place of the beech, cherry and ash of the Smyrna woods, there are sycamore, laurel, alder, madrone, buckeye and oak. The maple is the only tree in common, but the California specimen is inferior to the sugar maple of Smyrna. In height these trees range from 50 to 250 feet and up to 8 and 12 feet in diameter. The aboriginal ani- mals, deer, rabbit and quail, still dispute occupancy with man, and trout would be abundant but for the fact that fishermen are yet more abundant. In this retreat is built the bungalow from which 1 write. Branches of giant oaks overhang its roof and the shade of tall redwoods, and mighty firs falls across its porches. Sylvan simplicity, with "modern improvements," fur- niture to fit a parlor, hot and cold water, bath room, twenty-six electric lights, refrigerator, etc., are included. These July morn- ings the first task is to touch the fire in the huge throated fire- place. We have slept under two blankets at night, and revel in a delicious day temperature of from 70 to 85 degrees. In two days perhaps twenty flies might be counted, but nary a mosquito, gnat or wasp. Just now my recollection runs to the Smyrna picnics drenched by thunder showers, to the stifling nights of midsummer, to the wilted collars and twisted tempers of the summer time, to the perils of choke cherries and milk, and the after consternation of the alimentary region, when gorged with un- der-ripe watermelons, a temptation not to be resisted, when the mercury would clamber above ninety and not come down day nor night.
1 am glad I came up here to write you, for as 1 stood last night by the whirring generators of the power that was pulling cars and lighting houses ten, twenty, thirty, forty miles away, it gave the imagination a strength which helped me to send the current of thought back over the years, and bring before me again faces and places familiar in other days. I shall be in Smyrna on Old Home Week even if not seen. The vision is
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not the only testimony to the spirit, the physical form not the only evidence of existence.
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Our forefathers, a majority of them, came up from Connect- icut a hundred years ago or thereabouts, to better their condition. They succeeded. Most of them were farmers or craftsmen en- gaged in supplying the wants of farmers. For farming purpo- ses the valley of the Chenango and its tributaries was incompar- ably superior to the stone-walled pens called farms in Connecti- cut. The first generation in Smyrna settled their sons and daughters about them. There was land enough and occupation sufficient. The fathers brought up from the Nutmeg State their "steady habits" and by the precept and example, as far as possi- ble they transmitted them. Smyrna has sent one man to Con- gress, and I have heard that one of the Smyrna boys of my youth has been in the penitentiary, but barring these exceptions the sons of Smyrna have done their full share of the world's work and upheld the dignity of American citizenship at home and abroad. In fifty years from the day that the ax was leveled at the virgin forest, the township of Smyrna was all occupied, and the village grown to the limit of its tributary support. For the past half century Smyrna has simply held her own, and sent her swarming sons and daughters out into the world. And the world is a wide one. What tales were told of this wide world before the days of telegraphic service and daily newspapers.
In those days when every store was a club room, what sto- ries were related by LeGrand Jaynes, Denison Kelsey, "Ben" Holley and Plumb Smith, and others whose identity escapes me now. Great rovers those fellows were, and all of them could draw the long bow. Plumb Smith had been in the Mexican war. LeGrand Jaynes made money enough somehow out of the outside world to build a fine house in Smyrna, and he could tell a story which would put to blush the tales of Gulliver or Robinson Crusoe. Long before Horace Greeley began his ex- hortations to young men to "go West," these travelers and others
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had fired the heart of many a Smyrna boy to seek his fortune in the great outside world.
So Smyrna while not achieving greatness in herself has grown great in the culminated conquests of her sons, who to- day can be found in nearly every state, and some of them over the oceans.
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In the period from 1850 to 1880 when Smyrna was most prolific in stocking the country with good citizens, the social conditions in Smyrna were favorable for the development of men of self-reliance, independence of thought and action and honor- able ambition. The population had as yet received but little foreign admixture, the schools were attended by pupils whose parents and grandparents were of the same soil and were taught by kindred only a little larger grown. Teaching district school sufficed in lieu of a college education for a majority of the Smyrna made men and women of a prior generation, and re- sults prove it in no wise inferior as a preparatory to the more costly and fashionable "higher education" of a later period.
Questions of social importance and questions of state were settled in the country debating societies, and in the open forum conducted in shop and store wherever neighbers did congregate. Among my earliest recollections are those of fierce debates on politics and religious topics in Smyrna stores. Spiritualism was a new thing, and James O. Ransom who kept a store just beyond the residence of John Willcox was its local prophet. My uncle, William Taylor, was a clerk in his store, and my childish fancy was tremendously stimulated by the sanguine enthusiasm of Mr. Ransom. The Spiritualists met in an "upper room" (I think Lawson Hall). Their adherents included the venerable Mr. Hartwell, Paris G. Holley and wife, and many other people of prominence in their time.
Politics singed and sizzled in those days. I vividly recall Woodbringe Spencer, a gentleman of the old school, who was a capitalist by the standard of the times, and being a bachelor de- voted his time to the discussion of public affairs. He was called
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a Copperhead by his opponents and I guess came near deserving the title. The voice of Alfred Glynn was another which could be heard across the street almost any day. He had better ideas concerning public affairs, in his own opinion, than the entire na- tional administration.
Since 1 can remember, Smyrna had about 400 voters. Three hundred of them were Republicans, and one hundred Democrats and for more than a generation the count never varied more than ten from these figures. Yet these 100 Domocrats put up as gallant a fight on general election day and at town meetings as if a victory was in sight and the eyes of the nation were upon them.
Leroy C. Sweet was the invincible leader of the Democrats, and I have never seen in any part of the country an abler or more faithful party man than he. My grandfather Richard D. Taylor was the standing nominee for Supervisor and would reg- ularly poll the hundred Democratic votes, while the balance were given to Asa Wilber or Andrew Shepardson.
There were three Inspectors of Election, and as the law re- quired one of them to belong to the minority party, there was one Democrat annually elected. For many years this lone Democratic office holder in Smyrna was my father, Alfred Tay- lor. His colleagues for several years were Yale Northrup and Augustin Pier. Nepotism was strong enough to secure my ap- pointment as one of the clerks of election. In those days the political parties printed their own ballots, of different colors and "stickers" or "pasters" were used for split tickets. Election day was a great day, outside of the sale of molasses candy and gin- gerbread by the small boy whose thrifty marketing backed by the hard work of mother and sisters at home, often brought in forty cents, sometimes sixty, and sometimes a dollar or more. It was pull and haul all day long. Loud words were regarded as the strongest arguments, and tempers often collapsed under the strain. About five o'clock Andrew Shepardson would come in to the polling place, look over the poll list and declare how the vote stood. He often hit it exactly and never missed by
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more than three or five. 1 thought this was a marvelous feat and 1 held Mr. Shepardson in great awe. He was a man of ability, and deserved all the political honors conferred upon him. Leaving my post for a hasty lunch one day, I observed Col. Hall in an excited mood surrounded by a ring of bystanders. Failing to convince, he offered to clinch his argument by bet- ting ten dollars. 1 knew nothing then of Col. Hall's "circum- stances" but the fact that he had ten dollars to risk established his standing in my mind as a man of wealth. While the local ticket varied some from year to year during a generation the name of Francis E. Dimmick always appeared "for Justice of the Peace." Squire Dimmick was a man of strong individuality and talents far above the average of his fellows. Joe Antone, the lone Indian of Smyrna, was a conspicuous figure on election days as long as he lived. He sold bows an arrows, and appar- ently enjoyed the admiring curiosity with which he was regarded by the boys. Standing in a group one day someone asked him his age. He stood erect, broad chested and active. "Seventy- seven" said old Joe, and pointing with a finger to his heart ad- ded "me boy yet."
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Outward and visible religion was ever in evidence in Smyrna. One of the earliest pictures on memories' walls is that of William Lucas under the influence of "the power." "Bill" Lucas as he was universally called had considerable power in his normal con- dition. He was a stout built six-footer with a voice like a bull of Bashan, and when he let himself out to shout Hallelujah, or Glory, he could be heard for half a mile. "Bill" Lucas as an "exhorter" created quite a stir in his time, and a lack of "book learning" did not deter him from "expounding" the Book of Revelations, or tackling the most subtle passage of Scripture for a text.
In the Methodist Church were two men always to be heard, Alfred Eastman and Solomon Brown, and another, stable pillar of the church, who rarely ever "spoke," Alonzo Bennett. Meth- odism in Smyrna reached its zenith during the pastorate of Rev.
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Samuel Moore, when the present church edifice was erected. During this period it furnished two young men to the ministry, E. L. Bennett and my brother, Fred P. Taylor, both of whom have finished their course.
In reviewing Smyrna history from this standpoint, the town seems fortunate in having a colony of Quakers among its early settlers. This peculiar people do not proselyte nor evangelize, but they exert an influence deeper and broader than is realized by superficial observation. I listened to hundreds of sermons in the Methodist, Congregational and Baptist churches in Smyrna, yet I doubt if they produced as permanent impressions as services attended in the Friends' meeting house. Sometimes these services were silent, sometimes the voice of wisdom was heard. A quaint philosophy abounded among the Quaker peo- ple. I recall an aged broad brim whose name need not be men- tioned, who related one day with great earnestness some inci- dents of his life. "When I was twenty-one years old" he said, "I started out to bring every man to my terms" a pause and he added with a stern humility "but I. have failed in a number of incidences."
Another scene comes up to me, when the residence of a Friend was in process of erection. A carpenter employed had made an aggravating, stupid blunder. Human nature and Quaker calm struggled for the mastery. Then he spoke with moderation and vehemence both in his voice "William, thee is a fool." The blundering workman unabashed replied "Then I am not to blame." "Yes thee is," came quickly from the Quaker's lips, "thee is to blame for not trying to hide it."
Time and distance has drawn the veil of forgetfulness over many a familiar face of long ago, but as I write these stand out before me as of yesterday the face of "Uncle" Henry Knowles, and the procession of Knowleses and Bosses, and Peckhams and Purdys, which were wont to file silently Sundays and Thursdays into the meeting house yard. In all the earth there were never fresher, rosier cheeks on maidens, nor more limpid and lustrous eyes than were concealed behind those witching Quaker bonnets.
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In mature years and with a fair knowledge of all creeds of Christendom and so-called heathendom I find none embodying more practical common sense, more consistent blending of the human and divine, than the doctrines of the Quakers. In the evolution of modern society we have nearly eliminated the So- ciety of Friends and established the Salvation Army. More's the pity. I have heard that the Stover meeting house at the head of Dark Hollow is no more. This free church had a romantic history. Built before my time by a man who didn't believe in Babel towers, as he designated the church steeple, this meeting house afforded a pulpit for predatory preachers of all cults. Keen cut in memory is the meetings held there by a darky preacher named Street, who used to drive up from Nor- wich and hold services on Sunday afternoons. To hear him sing while the hat was passed for collection repaid many for traveling miles. 1 now hear the refrain.
"And Mary came a running On purpose for to see The Angel says He is not here He's gone to Galilee."
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Revival meetings (1 do not speak flippantly) were the chief entertainment of winter evenings. They had to give way for the annual donation party, and to an extent for the singing school. The singing school as taught for a generation by Deacon Levi Collins, was a joint promoter of music and matri- mony. Speaking of Deacon Collins I would, and I believe every Smyrnaite would to-day, give more to hear old Deacon Collins sing "The Valley of Chenango" than to listen to the most popu- lar prima donna of the age. For the average boy or girl the school exhibition at the close of the winter term was the culmi- nating event of the season. At the first of these affairs of which I was among those present, for want of any other place I was seated on the platform at the feet of Miss Sylvia A. Lawson. I had seen her name signed to pieces of poetry in the Chenango Union, and to my juvenile mind a poet could not be common
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clay. I figuratively as well as literally sat at her feet and stared in open-eyed wonder and admiration at her bright and pleasing countenance. Afterwards I entered journalism through the same avenue by writing "pieces" for the Chenango Union, and I have lived long enough to discover that men and women may write for the newspapers and yet be intensely human.
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