Hampden, Hicks in the Sticks
I mentioned in another thread I'd become aware of an facebook page for the old home town, where people have been posting photos, newspaper clippings, etc, from and about Hampden, MA. I'd post a link but it's a closed page. The guy who started it keeps access as tightly controlled as he can, but with almost "800 members" he's lost control of the page itself... it's become pretty democratic... that's a synonym they use in polite company, for chaotic.
So to make a long story longer, this thread is a place for me to post some of the stuff I found interesting (acknowledging extreme bias), and for your brickbats, guffaws, and catcalls. No Lynchings, I'm already hung. :p:
OK, small town, western MA, in the county with the same name, quasi-rural, suburb of Springfield(no, not the Simpson's Springfield). Population is about 5200 now but 1930 was 684, 1940 was 1023, and 1950 was 1323. Where my grandparents lived, and eventually my parents, got telephones in the late 1930s, but no electricity until the late 1940s... war effort, you know.
OK, that's the setting for these items I'll be posting now and then. I promise I won't repeat all this crap.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
First Item: New Jr High School Principal, Mr Dennis, snappy dresser, new two-tone Buick 2-dr hardtop, neatly trimmed mustache, and not long out of being King of the whole damn US Marines, according to him. His mouth was reprimanding you, but his eyes and sneer said he wanted to kick the shit out of you, then make you march 60 miles, double time, 200 lb pack, and no water.
Um, not real popular with the students... at least us cool ones. :rolleyes:
That was in September of 1956, then by the end of November, THIS!
It's Dennis, that son-of-a-bitch, I see his fingerprints all over this. He'd call for full dress blues every damn day, if he could get away with it.
But with Joe McCarthy and Ronald Ray-Guns preparing to drive the commies out from under my bed, what's a school board to do?
This provocation set the stage for a running battle the next couple years. On a personal note, boots. I know this varies, especially in Old Blighty where Wellingtons are rubber, but for this time and place, this is correct.
I wore Wellingtons, but of course Mr Dickhead classified them as Engineer boots. Since that's what I wore all the time, everywhere,(unlike the whippersnappers these days who own two, three, even four pair of shoes), it's a problem. My mother got no where with him, Pop had to go down there. Mr 82nd Airborne convinced Mr Marine Corps to back-the-fuck-up.
Shirts outside of trousers was the next battle. Since my school clothes came with a Husky label (cloth bags for fat kids), I thought my shirt on the outside looked neater and was a lot more comfy. Turns out my mother agreed with me... or had become fed up with Mr I'm-in-charge, so that was a series of skirmishes that last until I graduated.
Toward the end of my illustrious Jr High career the sideburns became another bone of contention because there was no standard for length. Never give a power freak, or a recalcitrant student, any leeway for interpretation, avoid grey areas no matter what shade.
OK, I got a little long winded over a simple clipping but now I understand why my Grandparents would look at a very unremarkable snapshot and drift off with eyes glazed over for extended periods.:o
I went through some of the same shit
This poem is labeled anon. I Googled it just for the hell of it and it showed up a couple of places but no one taking credit. Therefore you are allowed to read it in any voice you want, Poe, Longfellow, R2D2, anyone.
I do know the art work was done by my first art teacher in grade school, however she retired when I was in I think 3rd grade. She had been really talented sitting with a pair of shears, no scissors for her, real shears, and she cut profiles out of black construction paper. You could even tell who it was. Her paintings sold for real money and wouldn't hang on anybody's refrigerator.
The first class with the new teacher, she brings an easel, pad, and water colors already mixed in jars. She proceeded to paint a black cat without a drawing under it, just painted the whole thing freehand, not as good as the old teacher was of course, but not bad. I couldn't make out much detail though, with it being all black,and without a drawing under it. The only thing that wasn't black was the eyes, they were still white because she hadn't painted anything in the holes.
Now when the cat was done, I couldn't tell because I couldn't see much change for some time, she took out the jar of headache inducing nuclear yellow paint, and a rather large brush. When she was satisfied everyone who didn't have to pee was paying attention, she took the rather large brush and painted yellow over the cat. Not a second coat, more like trying to obliterate graffiti on a cement wall. Well the yellow didn't do a lot to the black, kind of tinted it a little... highlights I guess, except the eyes. Now those burning yellow eyes with no pupil, no detail, on an almost featureless black cat, were pretty impressive. The best part was nobody saw it coming, just as she'd intended. I had a 3rd grade shock and awe art teacher. :shock:
This isn't the first cold winter in New England. Some winters were not real cold, below freezing at night but getting above freezing during the day a couple days a week. Other winters would have periods which were colder than a witches boobie, for weeks. I theorized we didn't have much snow when it was real cold because any moisture in the air turned solid, hundreds of miles before it could get to us.
It did make it unpleasant to get out of bed at 5, and hike down to the barn, feed, water, and milk, then hike back and get ready to catch the school bus at 7. And because the bus turned around at our house, I didn't have the luxury of waiting inside until the bus went up the road then wandering out because they always loaded on the way down. Back then they didn't give a shit which side of the road you lived on, extending clutch life was more important.
I remember this date when it hit 37 below down along the river, we were toasty at 25 below up on the mountain. But as much as it was the topic of conversation, it was only for a couple nights then back to normal misery.
Gotta be careful of those frozen deadly body parts, whether they be rat's tails stabbing cats or frozen legs of lamb used as bludgeons before they are eaten by investigators.
One of the local characters, one of the few more famous than infamous.
Thornton Burgess wrote books about his friends, Peter Rabbit (briefly known as Peter Cottontail), Jimmy Skunk, Sammy Jay, Bobby Raccoon, Little Joe Otter, Grandfather Frog, Billy Mink, Jerry Muskrat, Spotty the Turtle, Old Mother West Wind, and her Merry Little Breezes.
There's is no River Road, he lived on Main Street. :rolleyes:
"mousical"
hahahahaaahhaha!
John Hampden was a Brit rabble rouser who looked from what I've found, more like Don Vito Corleone.
I think Sundae posted a photo of his statue over there.
So Don Vito... er, John, along with four other dudes told King Charles I, he could run the country but only with Parliament's blessing.
Kings don't like that uppity tone, so wham bam thank you ma'am, the
English Civil War was on.
But as only the British can do, the 9 year war 1642-51 was divided into three parts, 1642-46, 1648-49, and 1649-51.
I guess 1647 was tea time?
Anyway, the County of Hampden, state of Massachusetts, in the new world was named for John Hampden.
Now when the hicks broke off from Wilbraham (formally Springfield Mountains) some people didn't agree.
Not surprising considering how cantankerous those Yankees are.
I was curious what year, at least approximately, this happened. I asked some people but nobody I had easy access to, remembers Homer Goodrich or Hampden Garage. Well, it seems Homer must have had his spinach ration. Of course back in the day you used whatever bolt you could get your hands on, not like these whippersnappers with their 'torque to yield", one use bolts. :headshake
Eye injuries are never any good, did he fully recover?
Poor bugger. I'll bet that hurt... go ask Harry Reid how much.
Eye injuries are never any good, did he fully recover?
Who knows, I can't even find out when it happened. I could probably narrow it down by combing the census reports, but I don't want to invest that much in it.
Whatever happened to ol' Threadeye?
Eye injuries are never any good, did he fully recover?
Who knows, I can't even find out when it happened. I could probably narrow it down by combing the census reports, but I don't want to invest that much in it.
Whatever happened to ol' Threadeye?
See above.
It says water tanks but we would call them watering troughs.
1908, traveling Kickapoo Indian Show. They also sold beadwork and Kickapoo Indian Snake Root medicine and worm lozenges.
I do know the art work was done by my first art teacher in grade school, however she retired when I was in I think 3rd grade. She had been really talented sitting with a pair of shears, no scissors for her, real shears, and she cut profiles out of black construction paper. You could even tell who it was.
This is one of her Christmas cards.
There are some advantages to everybody knowing everybody... and their business. :)
In the early '70s Joe Kelly's barn burned, I heard it was kids playing with matches. It's hard for people who never lived in a farming environment to grasp what a horrific tragedy a barn fire is. Not just the loss of a building, and more than the death of some livestock. It's a loss of the accumulated fruits of the past years labor, like your boss says he wants last years pay back. Oh and half wage for the next few years.
They had trouble getting enough water on it to kill it completely, so Rodiman pushed his D-8(they go any damn place they want), through the woods to finish the job.
Whenever my Cub Scout troop went anywhere, there was the den mother, usually one or two other moms, plus always an older Boy Scout. I always thought he was a bully, but come to find out he was a murderer.
This is the first three pages of the story as written almost a year later in a magazine. Surprisingly they got the major points right.
Towing the Soap Box Derby cars up the hill.
During the Big One, WW II, Daddy Warbucks was raking in the cash like a Cocaine Cartel Chief.
That had to come from somewhere in bigger lumps and a lot faster than taxes could reap.
The solution was what we call a War Bond drive, but at the time they were called War Loan Drives.
Don't know exactly when this one took place but the captured V-1 would indicate later in the war.
It looks like people had been signing the V-1 and the tow truck with chalk.
I found this one interesting, although no one else probably will. Looking south toward the hills of CT. The edge of Chet's barn on the right, Leonard's house on the left and my horses in the middle.
I didn't know you had vehicles with only one horsepower, Bruce. :)
positively bucolic. thanks xoB. :)
Do you still have horses? When was that taken?
I'd guess by the paved road and lack of barn/garage behind the house, that was probably taken around 1970ish. The horses are buried in that pasture.
Oh my god, hide the women, children and livestock. The boy scouts, lots of them, are shooting GUNS.
Led and encouraged by miscreants like this...
. Not only that, when they win the prize is BULLETS!
Mark my words, by the end of the year, the whole town will be accidently murdered in their sleep. :eek:
For Mothers' Day the
Grange planted trees.
Homer, one of the sons of Mrs Percy A Fuller mentioned in the clipping, died this week at 95.
A tongue in cheek piece I wrote, knowing both Leonard and George were avid readers of the magazine.
That's great! Reminds me of that video a few years ago of Griff's saw rig of death.
You'd think it was the Rock of Ages.
Jesus, people...
Don't stop thinking about tomorrow,
Don't stop, it'll soon be here,
It'll be, better than before,
Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone.
Two phrases leap out at me from post #35:
"An attractive granite boulder..."
was moved with
"...the town tractor."
Well you can see from the photograph the rock is quite comely.
Smooth shoulders rounding down to the classic boulder shape so often seen in classical paintings and motion pictures. Then the shapes falls away to a solid Congregational worthy base. A light and dark patina shows it's classic features to good advantage.
The town always had to have a tractor, not just for mowing, but for a front end loader with which to load trucks and carry attractive boulders.
:haha:
Aunt Dot is a genuine badass.
My grandfather built on the mountain with lots of woods to harvest and sell for firewood. His cousin built a couple miles away in the lowland by the river and farmed. This article is about my mothers cousin, Aunt Dot. She always wore men's cloths, like bib overalls and a flannel shirt, never married, and took no shit from anyone. She worked in Smith&Wesson's factory custom shop (the Wessons lived close by), and shot on the company pistol team in competitions.
I last saw her at year ago at my mother's funeral. Now in her mid-90s she managed the rough terrain and side hill of the cemetery pretty quickly with no assistance. Genuine old New England Yankee, and genuine badass.
Sorry the end of the article was clipped off but you can make out what they are saying.
It's Stoll there, but very little paint as that's not environmentally correct these days.
Hey, get away from that nice '57 ragtop, ya brats.
Gordon Casey was a local character and fire chief back when the volunteers elected the chief. This race was in 1951 at the Plainville track in CT. That track was dirt when it opened but the fans complained so much it was paved before the second week. It ran from '48 to '81 then sold to a NY developer who bought several CT racetracks. Now it's a Lowes home Improvement, Loews theater, K-Mart and A.C. Moore plus several fast food restaurants. I noticed the byline on the clipping is Monica Tinty. The Tinty family was principal owner of that track. I guess the paper was happy with free coverage. :haha:
Seems Casey was doing well at Riverside too. That's where I misspent my youth. Riverside Amusement park had a 1/5th mile paved oval track, which is great for spectators. To short to go really fast, so they'd have to duke it out through traffic. In Casey's day they were averaging about 40 for 25 laps, in mine they were closer to 50. If that sounds awfully slow, try in in a local parking lot, it's like doing 15 mph through the grocery store with your shopping cart.
The cars were latter '30s coupes, gutted out with roll cages and no glass. Minimum weight was around 1200 lbs. Any V-8 engine(mostly Chevy and Ford) under 301 cubic inches, as modified as you could afford, with a single carburetor, open headers, and no blowers. Burning a racing fuel that made exhaust which smelled sickeningly sweet from the nitromethane.
Every Saturday afternoon we'd go to the park, slip into the woods behind the Rollercoaster and hang out for awhile. Then when the race teams started arriving we'd stroll into the pits and hang out with the drivers and crews. Then just before the racing started, we'd walk across the track and up into the stands. The only thing we had to do is make sure to get our hand stamped with the invisible ink that glowed under the blacklight, when going to the toilet or refreshment stand. If we forgot, it was pay to get back in, which usually wasn't an option, or hang outside until whoever drove came out. The woods/pits route was out after they started racing. A lot of time invested, but every Saturday night for five months, times seven years, adds up to about $600. Shit, you could buy several running used cars for that kind of money, if we had it.
The feature race was 25 laps with a 50 now and then. Then once a year came the 500, not miles, laps, which was 100 miles. That was the biggie, the one you missed family shit and cancelled dates to see, Riverside's superbowl. And like the NFL's superbowl, more often than not it was boring. It's a long race, don't break something, and don't dice it up with other drivers because there's plenty of time. Ho hum. But sometimes two or three cars would get into a serious battle.
Every single one in our crowd rooted for Gene Dixon's M-6 sponsored by Walkers Motors who supplied our school busses... except me. No surprise there. I liked Buddy Krebb's flying 0. If Dixon won, the ride home was rough with everyone breaking my balls. If Krebbs won, I couldn't return the abuse being seriously outnumbered, so I would take the high road... I could be gloating smugly just as well up there. :D
The closest track that raced regularly was about 60 miles away. I can remember going there with the neighbor boy and his dad a few times. His dad even raced, and won, occasionally.
Quarter-mile, round dirt track.
That was a lot of fun. Fist fights, driving around the track before the race, cotton candy, popcorn, hot dogs, live music...Pretty cool stuff for a kid raised by safety nazis, and fraidy cats.
We used to go to the Stafford Speedway in CT, once is awhile. Half mile dirt oval that had 4 inch wire mesh above the wall that protected the spectators. Know what, that wire doesn't stop dirt worth a shit. :lol2:
This would be in the late '50s, the local Lions Club sponsored a Walkathon, whatever that is. I supposed it's walking(heel&toe) for some set distance.
The guy that won is tagged as from Ft Monmouth, NJ, but that's a fer piece down the road, so he's probably local, maybe home visiting, but being in the military stationed at Ft Monmouth, that's his address.
The guy in the funny hat was the race organizer, and on the far right the President of the Lions Club. My Dad was chairman of the Board of Selectmen at that time, so I guess that's why he got tapped to present the trophy.
The trophy looks like a piece of crap to me, but I guess they all are unless you win the America's Cup or the Stanley Cup.
This is where Pop worked before the Army called.
There's badass Aunt Dot again. No idea why this was in a NH newspaper, or why they fucked up the which was who in the caption. Can't figure out the backdrop either, looks like sand with holes dug in it, but there seems to be a bottom edge like a curtain or poster. Could be the shot out target board, I guess. Whatever, Dot don't care. :haha:
The VFW, not to be outgunned by Dot's Ladies Pistol Team, finally got their 155mm Howitzer. I love the attraction of possible new members noticing the big gun, excuse. They're right on Main Street, often with crowds big enough on summer weekends they spill out into the road, and the most popular bar for many many miles around. Nah, it made the collective memberships dicks 155mm longer. Probably officers get a double share.
It says members from as far away as Wales, that's Wales, MA, not across the pond. :headshake
That howitzer is now been moved from down by the hall up to a small berm beside the road. Looks like it was leveled up with 2x12 cutoffs, and a bunch of extras piled underneath. Wonder when, and/or if, they'll pour anchors.
Ran into badass aunt Dot on Friday, told her I belong to a small online community and had posted a couple clippings. The one of the pistol club and the rabid raccoon story, so now people all over the world know her as badass Aunt Dot. She grinned like only a wrinkled 95 year old lady can, and said, "I lived that."
Yes you did, Dot, yes you did. :notworthy
Whenever my Cub Scout troop went anywhere, there was the den mother, usually one or two other moms, plus always an older Boy Scout. I always thought he was a bully, but come to find out he was a murderer.
This is the first three pages of the story as written almost a year later in a magazine. Surprisingly they got the major points right.
More poop on this murderer
He murdered his folks and brother in 1958 at 17 years old
Went to jail in 1959 at 18.
Paroled in 1974 at 33. Got married and had a job.
Jailed for not reporting to his parole officer in 1982 at 41. 8years and still on parole?
Was denied parole, and preparing for another parole hearing in 1984 at 43 when he failed to report back to a residence in Boston when he'd been assigned.
Also, I just got the trial story.
Certainly has had a troubled life, bad karma for bullying us cub scouts .
This is a drone video of the old cemetery on Chapin road. Some of the dates go back to the 1700s. I had to turn the sound down half way.
[YOUTUBE]WitNi6pZFfo[/YOUTUBE]
[YOUTUBEWIDE]WitNi6pZFfo[/YOUTUBEWIDE]
But they still just do what they want to do!
Why can't they be like we were,
Perfect in every way?
What's the matter with kids today?
In 1763 the town was incorporated as part of Wilbraham, until it split off in 1868. The road from NY to Boston passed through until Ben Franklin moved it over to make the Boston Post Road come out even. The Scantic river at an elevation of about 250 ft, squeezed in between 1000 ft peaks, was fed by a number of streams, so it had water power. But being 15 miles from the City of Springfield, the Connecticut River, and the railroad, when horse and wagon was the only alternative, I'm amazed how much industry happened.
I remember them well, although they had been shut down for years. My grandfather supplied much of the wood, but he called them coke kilns.
My brother sent me this clipping from a paper published by the Hampden County Improvement League which was a state agricultural extension agency of U-Mass.
We done good. My 2 year old that won first in the state also was Grand Champion at the Eastern States Exposition. She had a purty mouth.
Showmanship was a spotless animal groomed with shiny hooves and horns. Led by a person with white shirt, khaki pants(creased), shiny shoes and combed hair. Not my bag.
Aunt Dot is a genuine badass.
My grandfather built on the mountain with lots of woods to harvest and sell for firewood. His cousin built a couple miles away in the lowland by the river and farmed. This article is about my mothers cousin, Aunt Dot. She always wore men's cloths, like bib overalls and a flannel shirt, never married, and took no shit from anyone. She worked in Smith&Wesson's factory custom shop (the Wessons lived close by), and shot on the company pistol team in competitions.
I last saw her at year ago at my mother's funeral. Now in her mid-90s she managed the rough terrain and side hill of the cemetery pretty quickly with no assistance. Genuine old New England Yankee, and genuine badass.
Sorry the end of the article was clipped off but you can make out what they are saying.
I found out yesterday that Badass Aunt Dot decided 99 years was enough of this shit and headed off to the Happy Hunting Grounds. I'll post her obit when I get it.
99 is pretty solid.
I have an aunt in her early nineties. Lovely woman but she seems tired.
I have zero aspirations in the longevity department unless health sciences develops to the point where I can avoid the rocking chair. Even then, I know the world is changing too fast for my ape brain.
...headed off to the Happy Hunting Grounds...
She's coming to Kentucky?
They left out so very very much...
Dorothy E. Dickinson, 99, of Hampden, passed away peacefully on Friday, November 30, 2018 at Baystate Medical Center. Born in Springfield, to the late Earle and C. Blanche (Bailey) Dickinson, she lived in Agawam until 1933 when the family moved to Hampden. She attended school in Agawam and Hampden and graduated from Springfield Trade School. It was a hard time to find jobs, so Dot waitressed in Springfield then worked at the Putney School in Vermont. When things were brighter in the labor market in 1942, she came home and went to work at Smith & Wesson, staying 30 years. Dot then went to Dan Wesson Arms for 11 years. She retired in 1983 to her home and enjoyed life. Dot always had animals to keep her busy and for the kids in the family to enjoy; ponies, horses and chickens. On her 95th birthday, she was still doing her “chicken chores.” Throughout the years she was always active in the local 4H clubs. At the Eastern States Exposition, she worked in the 4H building doing whatever was asked of her. For example, at age 90 she worked polishing apples and loved it when people would remember her from previous years’ fairs. She was also a member of the Hampden Federated Church for many years. In addition to her parents, Dot was predeceased by her twin brother Donald, sister Roberta Johnson and her lifelong friend of more than 75 years, Polly Hayden. She is survived by her brother Robert and his wife Barbara of Enfield, CT, many cherished nieces and nephews and many great and great, great nieces and nephews. Dot always said she was so lucky to have so many friends from all walks of life, and the best neighbors you could find. She would sit in her chair and look out the window, down through the fields, over the river to the woods, and the world was ok. The family is grateful to John Hayden for the years of care and concern he has shown to Dorothy. To honor’s Dot’s wishes, a Graveside Service will be held in the Spring in Prospect Hill Cemetery. Wilbraham Funeral Home is in charge of the arrangements. Memorial contributions in Dot’s name may be made to Hampden Federated Community Church, 590 Main St., Hampden, MA 01036.
I think I would have liked to have known Aunt Dot.
Somebody defaced your old copy of The Hampden.
It's the commies, they quit the cold war and ruined everything, no more full employment, strong unions, high tax rates, nor a chicken in every pot.
Now they skulk in alleys frightening urban foxes and defacing mid century communications mediums. :rtfm: Oh, the humanity.
At least they caught the perp that burned the outhouse. Took six months but there was no police force.
There were three selectmen, one was up for election every year, and the one up next was the Chief of Police for that year which means he got any mail addressed to the police. Oh, and he had a Chief badge. Only saw Pop flash it once, at an asshole hunter too close to the house. They had two part time uniformed cops that directed traffic by the two churches on Sunday, and kept town meetings and elections orderly. I think that was a legal requirement but I doubt if either cop was legal. The State Police covered the town.
I suspect they just listened and waited for somebody to brag or talk, then have a chat. We know you did it, pay for the damage and it will go away, or we can call the staties to lock you up and go through the courts and newspapers. Much rural law and order worked that way up until the mid 60s.
You can't toss a kid's salad! At school, nor anywhere else!:redcard:
Found a picture of my Mother's parents. It's their wedding photo in 1908 when she was 18 and he was 28. Both made 92.
xoxoxoGrandma was a looker.
That's remarkable hair for 1908
Found a picture of my Mother's parents. It's their wedding photo in 1908 when she was 18 and he was 28. Both made 92.
What a great pair of photos! The image quality is good and they both look great.
Plus having the physical paper photo cared for after all these years.
I have a photo from 1902 of my grandfather's mother but the image quality is not great and her hair looks...less than perfect.
xoxoxoGrandma was a looker.
Yes, she was hot. She was 54 when I was born so probably in her early 60's before I realized how hot when I lived with them for a year.
I grew up with this guy...
[YOUTUBE]WJG2UqpS3nQ [/YOUTUBE]
That put a smile on my face.
I cut out the boxes with a chain saw
!
Time for construct the house was sixteen sunny days
!!!!!!!!
This showed up in my mail today, Jr High boys doing a gymnastics show.
This was posed for the paper not part of the show, that consisted of various tumbling and balance routines plus some tableaus.
I wasn't asked to be in the show, I figure the coach worried my great athletic prowess would discourage the others.
I was over at the side of the stage with butch wax and a tie, describing the action to the enthralled masses.
We took the show on the road to the Soldiers Home over on rte 5.
The vets were so excited about my presentation they were chain smoking.
Eight men to a table and an ashtray the size of a toilet in the middle of the table with half the discarded butts still smoldering.
Missed a great chance to do a Hawaiian theme with smoking volcano and shit.
I heard today that Home hospital is being investigated because of a number of Kung Flu deaths.
An article in the Springfield Republican about how the town transitioned from complete village
to bedroom suburb after the automobile gave the common folks mobility.
However with the increase in automobiles the air got cleaner.
[ATTACH]70552[/ATTACH]
space
[ATTACH]70553[/ATTACH]
The Palmers were before my time but I don't even remember anyone mentioning them, usually bullshit
sessions bring up all the past local legends.
[ATTACH]70578[/ATTACH]
Runaway from a state run orphanage means underage, plus a phony name. I don't think that's a legal marriage.
They only knew each other for a day when they had somebody perform the ceremony, I wonder who that was?
[ATTACH]70579[/ATTACH]
I didn't know the Palmers but I did know Howard Wilkes pretty well, only black man in town except for a chauffeur
some rich folks had. I guarantee where it says "party" you should substitute "card game". :haha:
He had the first "Dogs Playing Poker" I ever saw. He lived almost a mile past the end of the paved road where
the mail boxes were for those folks. I'd take him his mail if I was going that way.
Load of wood headed for the kilns...
[ATTACH]70799[/ATTACH]
The hotel did a good business because it was on one of the main routes from Philly to Boston via NYC.
Then at the behest of the King, Ben Franklin established three "post roads" that were marked off with mile posts to charge for
mail transport. The northernmost route was through town but Ben moved it 20 miles further north which killed much of the traffic.
[ATTACH]70800[/ATTACH]
Someone sent me a further explanation of the cattle drives through town.
Plus a story I hadn't heard about Badass Aunt Dot, her sister, a friend Polly, and my Uncle Chet, riding 4 horses down from Vermont.
Google says 80.2 miles but that's on roads that didn't exist then.
1965 Memorial Day parade, and there's Badass Aunt Dot driving a couple of her ponies.
Raising and breeding ponies were a hobby of hers for as long as I can remember.
The Mrs of one of my bike riding buddies drives ponies. It's been very good for my garden.
They had a forest fire and it was a stinker because of no vehicle access and it was burning what they call underground mostly,
which isn't actually underground but under the detritus built up on the forest floor.
Finally after three days the got a national guard helicopter to drop enough water to kill it.
The drone videos aren't like the fires out west very little smoke and flames, just crawling uphill.
Anyway I was alerted to this so I went searching and found this gem on the fire departments site.
[ATTACH]71673[/ATTACH]
$7250, 30 lb, washer.
Is there a state or federal office of official names and phrases for anything bought with tax dollars.
I guess it would be next to the department of silly walks.