Tag: Moore

Early History, People

Reminiscences of Morris – Number Six

Donna Foote

by A. S. Avery, Morris Chronicle, October 14, 1874

John Stockwell was a little old man who used to wear a long-tailed coat much too large for him. His business was making corn husk door-mats. He was very courageous when out of danger. It was amusing to hear him tell how he would mow down the enemy in case of war. Cannon was his favorite weapon, loaded with log-chains, which were to spread out as they were discharged, and mow down the enemy by thousands. He was an ardent admirer of Generals Washington and Jackson and was a little proud when called General Stockwell. He was desperately afraid of the Indians, and fifty years ago the Oneidas frequently came and encamped near the village, the squaws selling brooms and baskets. The boys tormented the General by whooping and yelling in the evening around his house, near Arries’. Upon one occasion they disguised themselves and chased him into Gifford’s house. “Hide me: hide me!” said John, “the Indians are after me.” “Where?” said Christopher. “Anywhere, quick, quick, they are after my scalp!” So Gifford picked him up and tucked him into the oven.

John Roberts was another character. He was a large man, full six feet high, an excellent mechanic (wheelwright), and possessed one of the best memories. All the details and history of the Revolutionary War; all the public events, were at his tongue’s end. He, too, like nine-tenths of the people of his day, took a little too much toddy. Here is the original of a certain story which is often requested, viz.: On a certain occasion he met Priest Hill, now in Cal., in Moore’s store. Roberts, being a little full, apologetically regretted that he had not attended meetings of late; that he felt it his duty to contribute something to the dominie’s salary; that he always thought a great deal of the Episcopalians, and that if he joined any church it would be the Episcopal, for they never meddled with politics nor religion.

Thomas Joclyn — “Uncle Tom” — was fond of his half-pint: he was not quarrelsome, but frequently drunk. In those days, men were imprisoned for debt, and upon one occasion, Tom was seized by the constable and locked up in one of the chambers of the old red tavern. The window of this room was not fastened, and beneath the window outside stood an old table, so Tom crawled out and, hanging by his hands to the window-sill, dropped himself down. The window in the room below was raised, and as his feet struck the table it tipped over throwing Tom headfirst into the room. Before he could recover from his surprise at finding himself in the house, the constable caught him again. “How came you in here?” asked the constable. “How?” said Tom; “Well I should like to know how myself; but the fact is, the house stands on a mitre.”

Allen Holcomb sometimes made coffins, and upon one occasion, a townsman called and ordered one made for his child. Holcomb charged him $2.50, and the purchaser complained of the price as exorbitant. Holcomb, being a very passionate man for a “Friend” said, “Well, when thee dies, I’ll make thy coffin for nothing, and I’ll make it out of Hemlock so thee can go through h–l snapping.”

Once upon a time, Zeba Washbon employed Jo Hawley to clear off a piece of pineland, agreeing to give him a certain sum and all the ashes he could save; informing him that white pine ashes were worth $2.00 per bushel. Jo went to work, cleared it off, and burned it over, but when he looked for his white pine ashes they were not to be found. Jo said nothing but waited his opportunity. At the proper time, Washbon got Jo to sow it to round turnips. Instead of getting turnip seed he got mustard. In due time it came up very nicely. After waiting a couple of weeks, the discovery was made that they were not turnips, and Washbon asked Hawley if he had not made a mistake in the seed. “No,” said Jo, “no mistake at all; you just sow some white pine ashes over the piece and you’ll have as nice turnips as ever you saw.”

Very few of my readers can recollect the excitement when Gen. Jackson was running the second time for President. I was then a little puny lad of nine years. The neighborhood of boys, like their fathers, were nearly equally divided into “Jackson men” and “Adams men”. I was a Jackson man.

Upon a certain occasion in that summer before election, we boys were playing on the green in front of the church, and a part of the time our sport consisted in each party trying to make more noise than the other by “hollerin” “hur-r-a-w for Jackson!” and “hur-r-a-w for Adams!” The excitement increased; hard names (as we thought) were called until it became necessary to “resort to arms!” Our reputation was at stake, our strength must be tried, our courage must be put to the test. Off went the coats and everyone was preparing for the contest. I was one of the smallest boys, and wore trousers that buttoned to my coat, and wishing to appear as big as any of them, endeavored to pull off my coat like the rest, and off it came; but down went my breeches, and there I stood with my shirt on. My ludicrous appearance caused a shout from all parties, while I was so mad I cried and gathering up as well I could, started for home.

“What is the matter, bubby?” said my mother. “Uh-uh-uh-bo-o-o, darn him,” said I, bawling as hard as I could, “Hen Holcomb called me an Adams man.”

Next week we will speak of Elm Grove.

Excerpt from Morris, New York 1773-1923 by Joyce Foote, 1970

The previous text was taken directly from the book Morris, New York 1773-1923 by Joyce Foote, 1970. I made a few minor edits, but the content remains unchanged.

Early History, People, Places

Reminiscences of Morris

Donna Foote

Excerpt from Morris, New York 1773-1923 by Joyce Foote, 1970

by A. S. Avery, the Morris Chronicle, September 9, 1874

Number 1

“When I was a boy.” How often do we hear this remark, and how it calls up in our minds the scenes and incidents of by-gone days. Each individual sees in his mind’s eye a different picture but alike real. Oh! Who can stay the ravages of time? For it is Death ticking off the moments of our lives, and change – continual change, and I might add, eternal creation and destruction is the immutable law of nature. How it strikes on the ear of the young. Past history lived over again.

We will start from the old cherry tree at the East end of Main Street, and walk over the village of Morris, and tell how it used to look, fifty years ago.

There were two cherry trees here then, which “we boys” have often climbed and more often stoned. To-day this old tree is a land-mark. From the top of this high bluff on the North, “old Sayles” and Eli Cole used to take a large sled, pile on 15 to 20 cords of wood and slide down the hill into and across the road.

Near by on the right hand is the new residence of Col. V. P. Van Rensselaer (Godley). The trees in the door-yard have just been set out and are growing finely. The residence is one of the finest west of Albany. The window glass is the largest, for but few persons had seen in that day anything but 7×9 glass in a dwelling house.

Going down the road we first come to the mill-road. The road ran down the hill through the woods on the East side of that old oak tree, and the factory store (stone house) and shed stand right in the old highway (Hargrave St.). The next building on Main Street is Joshua Weaver’s Harness Shop. The next near by, is his dwelling house owned by Peleg Weeden (Keehan). The next house was a little one-story building, end to the road, occupied by Mills, and afterwards by Edward Wing, who built the two-story part of the present house in 1830, now occupied by S. G. Weeden (Jacobsen). The next was a small two-story house built by Bentley, and owned by Allen Holcomb (Faber), in the rear of which he manufactured Windsor chairs. Across the road in front of these aforementioned houses, was a clearing full of stumps, and log heaps. The next was a long one-story-and-a-half house, with two front doors, owned by Asahel Avery (Harrington), one end of it being used for a Cabinet Shop. Across the road opposite was a one-story brick house built by Gen. Jacob Morris for his son, John C., for an office, but John, not taking a fancy to living there, it was used as a dwelling house, and at this time was occupied by Ebenezer Dewey.

The next house was owned by Col. Van Rensselaer, and rented to Elijah Hitchcock, afterwards occupied by Rev. Russell Wheeler, John Roberts, Samuel Somers, and others, finally sold to Richard Garratt, and now owned by Mrs. Matthews (Field house site). Across the road, six years before (1818) was built by Mr. McGeorge, the Episcopal Church, with a half circle fence in front. The church cost $5,500. The next house was a small one-story house owned by Eliakim Howe (Gage), a tailor by trade. The site of J. K. Lull’s house (Sheldon) was a hog-yard. The next house was owned by Cornelius Jenne (Harris), a shoemaker; this house was so recently altered over that its appearance is in remembrance of most town’s people. Across the road, on the site of the Otsego House (Sheldon), was Davis’ barn. At the foot of the steep hill in front of Squire Harrison’s (Benedict) house was a goose pond.

The present site of J. M. Lull’s house was an orchard, and near where the stone store is, stood the tavern barn. The old Red Tavern, built by Sturgis Bradley before 1800, situated about where the kitchen of the Louiville Hotel (Morris Inn) is, was a long two-story building with a double piazza on front, and a one-story bar-room on the East end. In front of it on a green, large enough to put up a circus tent, stood the sign between two posts, reading, “Z. Roberts’ Inn”. Across the road, on the East of the four corners, stood a story-and-a-half red store facing the West, built by Mr. Pratt and owned by Luther Skidmore. This store was moved and is now R. Cooley’s house (A. Pickens), and the present building (Rendo) was built by Chauncy Moore in 1832.

Crossing the shunpike running from New Berlin to Huntsville, on the West corner was the two-story residence of Squire Davis, and just beyond the house was the one-story red shop and post-office, and in the rear is the Tannery, the bark-mill and fulling mill run by water from the brook. The next building across the brook was Dr. Wing’s office, moved from the opposite side of the road. We come next to the shunpike that led into the settlement known as “Hayti”, on the corner stood a one-story house owned by Luther Skidmore (H. Lull). Further on stood the new red school house, built by Uri Jackson. And near the tenant house of H. R. Washbon was an old house occupied by Joseph Pearsall, who always dressed in the Continental costume of sledrunner coat, knee breeches, long stockings, and buckles on his shoes. On the road to South New Berlin, near the present site of Matteson’s Tannery (near H. Crumb), was an old building called the File Factory, used afterwards for boring gun barrels, and lastly as a dwelling house.

Let us retrace our steps, and start again at the four corners.

On the South-east corner was a small red store built by Dr. Hadley and Mr. Goble, occupied by Edward Williams; it is now Turney’s saloon (First National Bank). Next West of it was a two-story tavern (there were no hotels in those days) built and occupied by Jeremiah Cruttenden (Telephone Office). There was a picket fence in front of it, and farther out in the road were three poplar trees. The bar-room was one-story high on the west end. Where now is the Perry Block (Kinney) was the tavern shed. It was here that the first elephant in the country (old Bet) was exhibited. A road ran down by the side of the brook to the other street, and on this was Franchot & Van Rensselaer’s distillery. The brick house of Dr. Wing (Buhr) was commenced in 1824; the bricks were burned about three miles down the creek by Winton & Dayton. An old one-story house stood in what is now the garden, occupied by Cy Jackson. The next and last house on the main street was a two-story house on the present site of Lyman Brooks’ house (Catholic Center), owned by Dr. Bard. And where now is Murdock’s barn (H. Pickens trailer) was Eli Walter’s wagon shop, and across the road opposite, was the “old schoolhouse” (D. Foote) in Lull’s woods. It is said, these woods were underbrushed to furnish whips for the school-master. To say he wore up one breech “gad” a day would be a modest estimate. In those days it was master and servant or slave; instead of Teacher and pupil. Walter’s house stood where Murdock’s (H. Pickens house) now stands. The house where W. E. Bunn (Lennox) lives was built by Dr. Hadley and at that time was owned by Stephen Walker, and his carpenter shop was situated about in the door-yard of L. J. Davis (Shields), it was sided up with shingles. Lynn Cruttenden had a blacksmith shop where L. J. Davis’ is, and R. Cooley’s (A. Pickens) garden, near the brook was an ashery. Opposite the ashery was a one-story house occupied by Frank Harris (Burdick), a basket maker. The wagon shop on the corner was owned by John Bard (Moore). Where C. H. Turney’s house is was Lysander Curtis’ (Lamb) gun shop. On the opposite side of the road was a small one-story house occupied by Allen Jackson (Stafford); he was killed by the bursting of a 56 on the 4th of July in 1814. In those days there were no platform scales and many articles were sold at gross weight, 2,240 lbs. for a ton, and 56 was a weight with a hole drilled into it. In this was put a charge of powder, then a crease was cut in a plug which was driven in, and then primed and fired.

The next house, I. Mansfield’s (G. Mansfield), was owned by Lyman Cruttenden. The next, H. M. Perry’s (B. Jacobsen), by E. C. Williams, the second-story was a Masonic Hall. The next, Dr. Fox’s (Collier), was the residence of John Bard, and the next was Franchot’s old store, moved to the corner below, and occupied by Benj. Lull, hatter; afterwards by J. S. Bergen, and later by Obediah Seely (Merrick). Near the site of A. C. Moore’s (F. Elliott) house was a small one-story white house owned by Mrs. Lewis Franchot. The rear of the Franchot (Gutierrez) house, by the creek bridge, was built by Judge Franchot in 1810. In what is now the factory pond near the old cotton house, was the Miller’s house. The mill has been raised, but stands on the old site.

Coming back to the corners again, on the road to New Berlin, at the foot of the hill opposite James Little’s (P. Decker) residence, was a blacksmith shop (R. Stafford), and on the left hand at the top of the hill was the residence of Newell Marsh. A little further on, about opposite the road that goes down to the sled factory, was a red house which was moved about 1830 nearly opposite Stephen Walker’s (L. Foote) residence, and occupied by Norman Newell, afterwards by Rufus Sanderson, and now by Moses Luther (gone now – R. Lull’s vacant lot).

The previous text was taken directly from the book Morris, New York 1773-1923 by Joyce Foote, 1970. I made a few minor edits, but the content remains unchanged.