Fall River: You Can’t Go Home Again

Fall River’s Braga Bridge (soon to be painted dark blue)

Fall River is a very different city today than when I first visited there in 1977.  It’s different than it was in the 1980’s and even from the 1990’s.  And to a native Fall Riverite, it is especially different from just 18 years ago.

Haunted attraction in old mill building on Anawan Street.

A person named “Kerri” wrote what I think is a very heartfelt, moving and accurate blog at  ManufacturerThis.org just a couple days ago about Fall River’s decline in the past 18 years when she moved away.   It bears reading.  Here’s an extract:

“It was also a boomtown for iron works, brick makers, and fishermen who supported the manufacturing infrastructure.   But over the last 18 years, Fall River has lost 15,000 manufacturing jobs– in a city of 91,000.   Its unemployment rate is the worst in the state at 14.1%, with New Bedford, MA – a town next door with an economy tied to Fall River’s – second at 14%.”

My only disappointment in reading what she wrote is that neither she nor members of her family got out of their car and walked around.  They might have been even more disappointed if they had.   On the other hand, they might have enjoyed the beautiful vistas from Martha Street and other Hill-crest viewpoints.  They missed walking Main Street, north and south, and observing the mom and pop businesses that have endured for more than 30 years, and the new ones occupying the same floor space of those from a hundred years ago.

By contract, just last month I visited the city where I worked for over 20 years and was bowled over by it’s development.  Pine Avenue in downtown Long Beach, California is a thriving, dynamic “happening” place at night with theatres, restaurants, galleries, shops, bistros – people of all ages and origins walking and enjoying themselves.  A highly visible but overtly friendly police presence gives one a sense of safety.  I could not believe it was the town I knew.  Twenty years ago you dared not walk the downtown streets after dark.  The thought occurred to me that this dynamic change could have happened in downtown Fall River.  They could have developed Main Street this way.  But, they didn’t.

I was able to “go home again”, but Kerri wasn’t.  Sad, very sad.

The Month of April – Lizzie Borden

So here’s a partial and selective extraction from my continuous work-in-progress Historic Timeline of Fall River and Lizzie Borden.

April 18, 1774	Paul Revere and William Dawes warn “The British are coming.”
April 19, 1775	Minutemen of Lexington and Concord battle British regulars and start the American Revolution.
April 01, 1778	Oliver Pollock invents the dollar sign, i.e. “$”.
April 30, 1789	George Washington becomes the first U.S. President.
April 4, 1803	First town meeting held at home of Louisa Borden.
April 30, 1803	US more than doubles its size thru the Louisiana Purchase.
April 1, 1844	Abraham Borden invests money for his son Andrew & William Almy to start furniture business. (Andrew is 22 years old).
April 24, 1844	Andrew, Abraham & William Almy purchase lot on Anawan St. for $1500.
April 20, 1854	William S. Borden, son of Deacon Charles L. Borden, is born (Arnold Brown’s “illegitimate son of AJB”)
April 22, 1854	City Charter adopted for Fall River, establishing 6 Wards.
April 22, 1854	James Buffington elected first Mayor of Fall River. Southard Miller elected Alderman of City of Fall River.
April 17, 1859	Philip Harrington, later to be Captain of Fall River Police, is born.
April 3, 1860	Pony Express service begins in St. Joseph. Mo.
April 9, 1865	General Lee surrenders to General Grant, ending Civil War
April 10, 1865	Nathaniel B. Borden dies; former Mayor, Senator, mill owner and bank president. (Married 4 times).
April 14, 1865	Abraham Lincoln assassinated at Ford Theater. (Lizzie is almost 5 yrs old.)
April 26, 1865	American Civil War: Gen. Joseph E. Johnston surrenders to Maj. Gen. William T. Sherman at Durham, NC
April 26, 1872	Andrew buys 92 Second St. house from Charles C. Trafton for $10,000. (Lizzie is almost 12 years old).
April 19, 1873	Bessie Borden born. Daughter of Jerome C. Borden.
April 25, 1873	Emanuel Taylor, mill worker, has his arm cut off on machinery. Dr. Seabury Bowen summoned and performs surgery.
April 24, 1884	At 6 PM fire started amongst cotton in the basement of Sagamore Mill No.1
April 14, 1890	John Morse goes to Warren, RI to visit his Uncle Charles Morse for a year and a half. (LR75-76)
April, 1892	Borden barn is broken into while Andrew and Abby are at Swansea farmhouse.
April, 1892	Lizzie tells dressmaker Hannah Gifford that Abby is a “mean, old thing”.
April 3, 1893	Emma & Lizzie sell 74 acres of land to Leander E. Gardner. (LR556)
April 10, 1893	Judge Blaisdell resigns as Judge of the Second District Court.
April 24, 1893	District Attorney Knowlton writes Attorney General Pillsbury that he’d like to “get rid” of the Trial of the case.
April 16, 1894	New Bedford Bar Association formed. Hosea Knowlton is founding member.
April 17, 1897	UFO crashes in Auroa, Texas, dead “alien” found and buried. (Dallas Morning News p5)
April 19, 1897	First running of the Boston Marathon.
April, 1899	Rev. Buck tenders his resignation to Central Cong. Church after 32 yrs of service (HistoryCCC194)
April 17, 1901	William S. Borden is found dead hung from a tree in Fall River with empty bottle of Carbolic Acid by his side..
April 1, 1902	Lizzie purchases east side of Belmont from Mary Swift. (LR559)
April 3, 1905	Nance O’Neil begins 3-week engagement at Tremont Theatre in Boston; leaves for Australian tour one month later.
April 18, 1906	San Francisco earthquake and fire kills 452.
April 22, 1909	John Morse travels from Iowa to Boston.
April 15, 1912	White Star liner Titanic sinks on her maiden voyage after hitting an iceberg; 1,500 die.
April 6, 1913	Boston Sunday Herald special edition: “Lizzie Borden 20 Years After the Tragedy” by Gertrude Stevenson.
April 13, 1913	Boston Sunday Post publishes interview with Emma Borden by reporter Edwin Joseph McGuire.
April 29, 1913	The all purpose zipper is patented.
April 6, 1917	Woodrow Wilson signs Declaration of War against Germany, allowing U.S. to engage in World War I.
April 15, 1919	Strike by Boston operators disrupts telephone service throughout New England.
April 9, 1920	Melvin O. Adams dies at the of 70 in Boston, Mass.
April 15, 1920	Bandits kill guard, shoot paymaster at shoe factory in Braintree, MA (Sacco & Vanzetti case).
April 14, 1924	Lizzie forms a partnership with Jacob Dondis in her half share of the AJ Borden Bldg on So. Main and Anawan.    (LR56)
April 29, 1924	Hannah B. Reagan, former police matron, dies at the age of 73 in Fall River.
April 8, 1927	Two way test of “Television” with AT&T President Gifford & Secretary of Commerce Herbert Hoover.
April 13, 1933	Emma’s estate sells Maplecroft. (LR561)
April 27, 1933	The play: Nine Pine Street opens on Broadway at Longacre Theatre starring Lillian Gish as Lizzie Borden.
April 18, 1936	Louis McHenry Howe dies at Bethesda Naval Hospital;  Eleanor Roosevelt contacts Grace Howe (Lizzie’s cousin and major legatee) in Fall River and notifies her of her husband’s death. Louis lies in state in the East Room of the White House.
April 19, 1936	Grace and son Hartley travel from Fall River to Washington, DC.
April 22, 1936	President Franklin D. Roosevelt attends Louis McHenry Howe’s burial funeral in Fall River at Oak Grove Cemetery.
April 10, 1944	Orrin Augustas Gardner, cousin and major legatee in Emma’s Will, dies in Deighton, MA.
April 13, 1945	Franklin D. Roosevelt dies. Harry Truman sworn in as President.
April 22, 1948	Premier of Agnes DeMille’s Fall River Legend ballet in NYC.
April, 1952	Edward R. Snow’s radio broadcast stating a boy found undisturbed dust in barn loft on August 4, 1892.
April 10, 1982	Edward Rowe Snow dies at the age of 80.
April 6, 1997	Memorial for Hartley Howe at Fall River Marine Museum where he had been a Trustee.
April, 2003	Robert Dube’ files application with FR Planning Board to build single home on driveway of 306 French; some neighbors protest; Dube’ later rescinds application.
April 8, 2003	The Herald News reports Robert Dube’, owner of 306 French St. (“Maplecroft”) is listing home for sale at $725,000.
April 27, 2005	Demolition begins of Leary Press adjacent to 92 Second St.
April, 2008	Third printing of David Rehak’s Did Lizzie Borden Axe for It? Is published. Contains newly found Lizzie letter.

The Dinner Pail

Fall River’s industrial greatness was once measured by the total number of spindles it had, and was known as the “Spindle City”. It was also known as the “City of the Dinner Pail”, the title of Jonathan Thayer Lincoln’s 1909 book exploring the dichotomy of mill owners and mill workers and the need for management and labor to better understand each other. If the towering smokestacks were the iconic symbol of the power and prosperity of their owners, the dinner pail was the iconic symbol of that class of poor men, women, and children who labored long and hard within those mills. What follows beautifully captures the era and importance of “the dinner pail”. Kudos to you, Alice. :)

THE DINNER PAIL —Alice Grinnell Killam (American Heritage Magazine)

“In the years since I have had to use the services of a baby-sitter, inflation has hit this little business. I was amazed to find that the rate per hour has more than doubled. My grandchildren are baby-sitters, and they make a lot of money. Listening to one of their conversations, I discovered that accompanying fringe benefits are important to them and are carefully considered before they accept jobs: large color televisions, for instance, and families that leave out lots of snacks.

I couldn’t resist a lecture on how tough things were when I was young and how lucky they were to be able to earn money so easily. I had a different way of earning money, and memory came flooding back as I described it.

I was born in Fall River, Massachusetts, a hilltop city overlooking Mount Hope Bay, an arm of Narragansett Bay. These deep blue waterways were carved out by the same glacial activity that forged a chain of long, narrow lakes east of the hill, which funnel into the Quequechan River. With the force of the lakes behind it, the river descends rapidly with a fall of 130 feet in one half mile before it joins the waters of the bay.

As early as 1700, gristmills and iron-works were standing along its banks, and when a few decades later the spinning jenny made such improvements in the weaving of cloth that what had been a cottage industry moved into mills, the swift Quequechan proved an ideal site for them. Eleven mills were strung along the banks of the lakes in 1872, and there were forty-three by 1876. By 1900 Fall River was largely given over to the weaving of cotton cloth.

The mills were enormous affairs, three stories high, built of the granite that was abundant in the area. They were insatiable in their demand for workers. Sometimes whole families labored in them, and what long hours they worked! The starting whistle summoned them to the job at seven o’clock and, except for a toot at noon, didn’t blow again until five-thirty, with no coffee breaks and only a half-hour for lunch. The short lunch break posed a problem in getting these hardworking people fed. It was before the days of company cafeterias, and there wasn’t time enough to go home. This is how my friends and I earned our spending money. We carried dinners to the mills, either for our parents and relatives or for families whose children were grown.

Fall River has been called the City of the Dinner Pail. Although I haven’t seen a dinner pail in many years, I remember it well. It was made of galvanized tin, had three nesting compartments, and a bail handle. A hot drink in the bottom compartment kept meat and potatoes warm in the smaller compartment above. A still smaller compartment on top held dessert, and a tight-fitting lid covered the whole thing. Thus this ingenious pail carried a whole dinner. The meals were prepared at home and carried by us children to the mills. The school day was broken up into two sessions, with a two-hour break in between, so at eleven-thirty hundreds of school children poured out of my school, rushed home to pick up the dinners, then set off for the mills, hurrying to get there before the noon whistle blew. There was no lingering to talk with friends on the way, but coming back I could saunter along if it was warm. If it was cold, I wasted no time getting back to my own warm dinner. I remember walking through snow up to my hips and through drenching rainstorms that made it feel as though my journey was a long one. But it couldn’t have been very far if I walked to the mill and back, ate my own dinner, and got back to school by one-thirty.

So it was that I began my working life at the age of seven. We were very poor but weren’t aware of it since all the families we knew were poor too. There was nothing unusual in women going to work as soon as the youngest child was in school. So when my younger sister started school, my mother went back to her old job as a weaver, and I was considered old enough to bring her lunch. After all, my grandmother, who had been born during the Industrial Revolution in England, had actually worked in a mill from dawn to dusk when she was just a year older than I. All I was asked to do was carry a pail. I felt capable of it and proud to be “carrying dinners” along with my friends.

The weavers worked in a downstairs room. To get to it, I opened a heavy door at the top of a flight of brass-bound stairs that led to another heavy door at the bottom. I was so short that the bottom of the pail bumped on the steps as I went down. The handle was not rigid, and the pail tipped perilously at each bump. The brass bindings were loose, and I was terrified that I would trip on the step and spill the dinner pail’s contents. Each trip down was a nightmare as I made my way, step by step, until I reached the bottom and struggled to open the other heavy door. Only then could I relax my viselike grip on the pail and breathe a little more easily as I crossed the spinning room: rows and rows of spindles where that marvelous spinning jenny quietly twisted the yarn into thread.

On the other side of this room was the door to the weaving room. I always hesitated before opening this door; the noise from the clattering looms, combined with the hot, oily smell, was a blow in the face, and I hated to go in. Hundreds of looms were lined up here, each working away with a life of its own. I would watch fascinated as the shuttle carrying the warp flew back and forth between the two rows of thread, while the heavy harness banged each row taut. It always looked as though the harness was trying to catch the shuttle in mid-flight, and I would wait nervously for the disaster to happen. But in spite of appearances, the looms were well under the control of the workers, who paced back and forth between the rows, changing bobbins and watching for imperfections in the woven cloth, each one tending from two to six looms. Spoken communication was impossible, but the workers became adept at carrying on long conversations in sign language. I couldn’t understand all of it, but I watched with admiration as they talked. A woman told my mother of a telephone call she had had, and the motions of her hands described the conversation perfectly.

The end of my journey came as I delivered the pail to my mother, its contents intact. At twelve o’clock the looms stopped, and the weavers were free to enjoy their lunches in the deafening silence.

We were paid twenty-five cents a week for this work. It doesn’t sound like a demanding job; the pain was in the doing of it every day. Many children carried two pails in each hand, and I remember one enterprising boy who used to load six or eight pails into a wagon. For a while I carried dinner to a supervisor who thought it beneath his dignity to be seen carrying a pail home at night. He paid me an extra ten cents a week to carry the pail home for him.

The job began to seem to be beneath my dignity, too, as I neared the end of grammar school. After struggling through a particularly heavy snow-storm, I told my employer not to expect me if we had another one. My days as a dinner carrier came to an inglorious end when I didn’t appear after the next storm and was abruptly dismissed. I can’t believe my own callousness in not thinking of the poor soul who missed his dinner!

Naturally, my grandchildren thought this was a pretty hard way to earn twenty-five cents. Looking back on it now, I can see benefits other than the money. The walk to the mills in all kinds of weather strengthened our legs, and the fresh air sharpened our appetites. It isn’t the long walk that I remember most when I think of those days. Rather, it is the rattling of loose brass as I crept down the steps toward the pandemonium and my mother’s smiling face.”