By Catherine Cooper, Orleans County Historian

Illuminating Orleans – Vol. 2, No. 18

The headstone for “Aunt Selina” as she was known is in Lynhaven Cemetery in Lyndonville.

LYNDONVILLE – Lydia Selina Johnson of Lyndonville was the only nurse from Orleans County to serve in the U.S. Civil War. She was born on April 31, 1830, the daughter of Stephen Burr Johnson and Maria (Gilbert), the youngest of five children.

The following is an excerpt from a reading given by Selina Johnson at the Literary & Historical Society of Lyndonville, Feb. 22, 1898. Full text on file at the Orleans County Historian’s Office.

“Let me relate to you an incident that I witnessed in the Old Warehouse Hotel, in Georgetown, in the Fall of ’62, just after the second Bull Run Battle: there had been a soldier boy who had just passed his eighteenth birthday, by the name of Shepherd from Marble Head, Mass. brought in there after having lain in the battle field eight days.

“The surgeons, upon examining the wound, found that the leg was so badly shattered that it would have to be taken off at the knee. He stood the amputation well, but it was only a short time after, before it was discovered that tetanus had set in, and in about two days, the flesh had drawn back, so that the end of the bone protruded nearly an inch.

“It was decided that his only chance of life was to have the bone cut off so the flesh could be brought up and cover the end of it. They tried it, but it was not of any use…He was a terrible sufferer the last few days he lived. The only way he could get any relief from the fearful pain was for someone to clasp around the leg with both hands, as near where it was cut off as they could and while clasping tight, press the flesh down over the end of the bone. It was very hard work, so we nurses took turns.”

With the advent of the war, reformer Dorothea Dix had been assigned to organize a female volunteer nurse corps. The requirements were strict. Candidates were to be matronly persons of experience, good conduct, or superior education and serious disposition, who displayed habits of neatness, order, sobriety, and industry.

These criteria were designed to minimize potential problems or complaints as female nurses were not welcomed by the male medical establishment at first. Compensation for nurses was 40 cents a day and a three-month minimum period of service was required. As the war progressed, the nurses proved invaluable as caretakers in a sea of carnage, providing nurturing comfort and assurance to injured and dying soldiers, as well as medical care.

Selina had acquired nursing experience working with her brother Dr. Nathan Porter Johnson. She served under Dorothea Dix from September 1862 to July 1865. She contracted typhoid in March 1863 and came home to recuperate but returned to Washington in the fall of 1864. She worked in Georgetown, Washington D.C., Alexandria, Chesapeake, and Old Point Comfort, Virginia.

The disorganization during the early months of the war has been chronicled. Selina’s first experiences of those early months echoes those accounts. She described this to her audience in Lyndonville on that February evening in 1898:

“The Government was not prepared for such manslaughter. Hotels, schoolhouses, churches, and private homes were commandeered for hospital use. The Capitol building was full and there were 500 in the Patent Office Building. In the winter of 62 and 63, there were no less than 12,000 sick and wounded soldiers in the District of Columbia. If you counted those in and around Alexandria, you would have to multiply that number by two. Our Government was without the means to do with and they were ignorant of the needs of so many. They had to learn by experience. We lacked help and almost everything else but bread. Long weary tramps going from one Sanitary Commission house to another, sometimes getting the desired articles and at others, going home empty handed.”

The situation improved as time went by:

“During the winter of ’64 and ’65, I was in the Chesapeake Hospital, Fortress Monroe. At the time, everything was running like clockwork. Order had been brought out of chaos. There was plenty of everything and if we wanted anything, we knew where to get it.”

Selina’s account of her experiences is detailed and forthright. She describes the sufferings of the patients and the privations of the hospital conditions. Simple things made such a difference – wooden stools to sit on, tinware with handles for cooking. A dying soldier expressed a desire for new milk before it got cold with some bread in it, like his mother would give him. A kind lady who kept a cow brought him fresh milk morning and evening for the remaining week that he lived. This is but one of her graphic descriptions.

Following the Civil War, deceased soldiers’ widows, dependent fathers, and brothers were eligible for pensions. The Grand Army of the Republic, a veterans’ organization, waged a long campaign for the Dependents’ Pension Bill, which was approved in 1890. This expanded pension eligibility to include disabled veterans who had served for ninety days, or widows whose husbands had served for ninety days, regardless of whether the disability or death were service connected. Funding for the expanded benefits accounted for roughly 40% of the federal budget at that time.

However, nurses who had served in the Civil War were not automatically entitled to any post war service benefit and had to wage a long campaign until the Army Nurses Pension Act was finally passed in 1892. This entitled women who served as nurses in the Union Army to a pension of $12 per month, provided they had worked at least six months and had been hired by someone authorized by the War Department to engage nurses. This was a departure from previous legislation as it was not tied in with a woman’s marital status, but rather, was a recognition of her contribution.  It afforded a welcome degree of financial independence to many women.

Selina returned to Lyndonville after the war. She did not marry, she worked at her brother’s office, lived with her widowed mother until her mother’s death and subsequently lived alone. She was able to enjoy her nurses’ pension for twenty-three years. According to her obituary printed in the Lyndonville Enterprise of May 20, 1915, she was the primary founder of the Literary and Historical Society of Lyndonville and was a member of the Methodist Episcopal Church. She died at the age of 85 at the home of her niece, Mrs. Bessie Johnson, on North Main Street, Lyndonville. The Sons of the Veterans conducted military honors at her graveside in Lynhaven Cemetery.

Photo by Fred Holt of Albion – Lettuce is harvested on the mucklands in the 1930s.

By Catherine Cooper, Orleans County Historian

Illuminating Orleans – Vol. 2, No. 17

BARRE – The newly drained Tonawanda mucklands in southern Orleans County proved to be very productive.

In 1936, the Calarco brothers set a record for raising lettuce: 108,000 heads from three acres. In March of 1977, The Journal-Register noted that crops growing in the rich soil brought in about $7 million a year.

Mother Nature was not always kind. A windstorm in June 1926 and a hailstorm in July 1947 were but two of several weather-related setbacks experienced. Flooding was a recurrent problem.

Heavy rains in September of 1977 (7.28 inches, three times more than the monthly average of 2.37 inches) caused massive crop destruction. As a result of lobbying efforts, the Oak Orchard Small Watershed Protection District was formed whereby the Federal Government assumed all construction costs for a flood protection plan, while owners were responsible for maintenance and replacement costs. The project began in 1982. Erosion has continued to be a problem; some estimates indicate that a third of the original area has been lost.

Though many of the tasks associated with the large-scale crop production on the mucklands were mechanized, some, such as weeding, thinning, and harvesting still required labor intensive manual labor. Those who “worked on the muck” remember their experiences vividly. It was hard work. Hard on the knees, the back, the hands and the hours were long.

Ciel White of Medina recounted her experiences in an oral history interview conducted in 1982. Her mother and many other women “the wives of Italian and Polish families” worked on the muck in the early years.

Born in 1911, Ciel was only 7 when she started to accompany her mother to work during the summer and on Saturdays throughout the school year. Farmers provided transportation. In the spring, they worked on weeding the onions and carrots to help the crops thrive because “the weeds grew as fast as whatever was planted.” Hand weeding was necessary because the young plants were delicate. Lettuce was thinned after it reached a certain height.

Ciel recalled: “When you were weeding, you got paid by the day… which was from 7:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. The women got $1.50 a day, but the kids only got $1.00.

You would have an hour for lunch, you would bring your own. There was a well which they had dug so you could get water. There would be a pail there and a dipper, and everyone helped themselves. And a privy.”

When they were harvesting onions:

“Each person would take two rows, the rows were about a quarter of a mile long, and there would be two people. We would grab the tops of the onions, pull them out and put them in a single row between us, so that they could dry out. Once the managers determined the onions were ready, we would go back with a crate, two people would work with the one crate and we would get 10 cents per crate.”

Ciel often worked with her cousin, Pauline Cichocki:

“After we had filled a hundred crates, we would call it a day, which was $5 for each of us. Then we’d goof off for a little bit or help our parents so that they could earn some more money (depending on how we felt).

This was also true of the carrots which was the last crop that we finished on the muck in the fall. Sometimes we couldn’t go out early because there would be frost on the tops, then as it began to warm up, they thawed out a little bit. You really got wet, because it was late in the season, and you got heavy dews as well as frost. You wore gloves, because not only had you to pull the carrots out of the ground, but you had to wring the tops off them and put them in the crate, 10 cents a crate also.”

Their work clothing was practical:

“We wore bloomers, very full pant-like affairs that came down to the knees, with elastic, and a middy blouse and a sweater. And I can remember the black-ribbed stockings and laced shoes, they were high-topped shoes, ankle supporting. You had to put pads on your knee, or they would be raw. The women would make the pads that they would put in their stockings – several layers of flannel or soft material which acted as a cushion, so that the wood and muck wouldn’t go through and ruin your knees.

In the summertime, when it was unbearably hot with the sun reflecting off that black dirt, we used to wear wide- brimmed hats. When the wind would blow, it was terrible, the dust would get in your eyes.”

Nevertheless, she recalled that morale was good, the women would sing as they worked, Polish hymns and songs. They were working for extra money for their families. Ciel’s father worked for Wm. J. Gallagher and her mother put their muckland earnings in the family “kitty.” They had bought a home, 574 East Ave. in Medina, and were determined to pay off the mortgage.

Writing from Virginia recently, Jack Capurso, formerly of Albion, recalled working on the mucklands as a teenager for three summers, 1956-58.

“As I pulled weeds out of the onions, I remember marveling that most of what we would call dirt was actually small pieces of decayed wood mixed in with soil.

The work was physically demanding, ten hours a day, six days a week at the rate of 50 cents an hour ($5.14 approx., per inflation calculator). However, after three summers I had saved almost $1,000 ($10,300 in current value) towards my first year at Geneseo.

I remember vividly 26 July 1956, the day the Andrea Doria sank in The Atlantic. We watched film of the sinking while we were having lunch. I did my best to explain to the workers what was happening but at that time my Spanish was terrible, and their English was worse. I still remember the Puerto Rican workers and wonder what happened to them.

When I come to Albion this summer to visit relatives and friends, I am going to try to find my way back to the muck. I know the memories will return, and I will smile.”

Two books on local agriculture are available at the NIOGA libraries:

• Farm Hands: Hard Work and Hard Lessons from Western New York Fields by Tom Rivers, 2010

• Mom & Pop Farming in Orleans County, New York by Canham & Canham, 2016

By Catherine Cooper, Orleans County Historian

Illuminating Orleans – Vol. 2, No. 10

MEDINA – George Kennan was indeed on home ground for this final lecture of a 200-lecture, nationwide tour. He had worked at the Union Bank, just across the street from Bent’s Opera House, in the 1870s. His home was on the same block, 127 West Center St., currently the location of the Canal Village Farmers’ Market.

Though he wrote and lectured on Russia a century ago, George Kennan’s observations on Russia have an eerie familiarity today. Born in Norwalk, Ohio, in 1848, he became adept at using the cutting-edge technology of the day: the telegraph.

He was a military telegrapher during the Civil War and soon was assistant chief operator for the Western Union in Cincinnati, Ohio. Yearning for travel and adventure, he eagerly pursued a Western Union opportunity to participate in a plan to connect communication between Europe and America by means of an overland cable route through British Columbia, the Behring Straits, Siberia and Russia. In 1865, Kennan was hired by the Russian-American Telegraph Company to travel to Siberia as part of a team to survey the land for stringing a cable.

A remote and vast area, Siberia presented many challenges. The group traveled on whaleboats, horses, rafts, dog sleds and reindeer sleds, had hair-raising brushes with death along precipices, became acquainted with nomadic tribes – the surly Chookchees and the more pleasant Koraks.

The hardy travelers ate manyalla, a staple tribal food made of clotted blood, tallow, half-digested moss taken from the stomach of a reindeer. They sampled alcohol made from fermented toadstools. They dressed in layers of clothing made of reindeer skin, they slept in yurts and outdoors, built fires from trailing pine, and survived a minus 68 degrees below zero night.

Upon his return, Kennan wrote a vivid account of his many adventures in Tent Life in Siberia. Having been smitten by the “travel-bug,” he vowed to return to Russia. Availing of his treasure trove of colorful travel tales, he embarked on a series of lecture tours to raise money for a second trip and in 1879, he set off for the Caucuses, a remote and mountainous region between the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea.

Kennan explored this region at a critical time in its history. Russia had gradually asserted its power over the area throughout the 18th century but in name only as its highhanded treatment and insensitivity to ethnic allegiances created a simmering hostility. It was home to a myriad of fiercely independent khanates and kingdoms whose ethnic distinctions were reflected in the 40 different dialects spoken.

Kennan learned about the intricacies of the “adat” and the “gortse,” the customary laws of honor killing. He described his guide, Akhmet, as “a tenth century barbarian.” Akhmet had killed at least fourteen men and he was amazed that Kennan had never killed, gone on raids, protected his cattle or avenged blood. In Akhmet’s opinion: “Humph! Yours must be a sheep’s life.”

Welkenna, the home of George and Emeline Weld Kennan, is shown from a photograph taken during the construction of the Medina Post Office in 1932.

Upon his return “penniless but happy,” Kennan compiled his journal adventures in his next book, Vagabond Life. It was at this point that he connected with Medina. His brother, John, a cashier at the Union Bank, secured a job for him. George boarded with John at 200 West Center St., and fell in love with Miss Emeline Weld, who lived just across the street. They married and moved to Washington D.C. where Kennan was hired by the Associated Press, but they maintained the family home in Medina and returned frequently.

Kennan’s travels in Russia had left him with a largely favorable impression of the government. The Russian practice of using exile to Siberia as punishment was long established but had increased after the assassination of Tsar Alexander II in 1881. Tales of extreme cruelty filtered through to the West.

In 1885 Kennan signed a contract with Century Magazine for a series of articles on the exile system. Accompanied by artist George Frost, they set out optimistically, but soon encountered scenes of despair. Every subsequent prison visit and conversation left them harrowed and in despair. Kennan’s opinion changed, he concluded that the Russian system of exile was “one of the darkest blots on the civilization of the nineteenth century.”

He wrote about his experiences in Siberia and the Exile System which was translated into 19 languages. He lectured extensively, advised government officials, and effectively caused a shift in opinion regarding the tsarist regime. He was the recognized expert on Russian issues for many years. He returned to Russia in 1901 but was expelled immediately. He believed that the overthrow of the tsarist regime was inevitable. He disliked Lenin and feared his extremism.

By 1920 he had to accept that the Bolsheviks were firmly in power. In an article first published in the Medina Tribune, July 12, 1923, he wrote:

“Let no one be deceived. The Russian Leopard has not changed its spots. The first essentials of Republican institutions are freedom of elections, freedom of assembly and freedom of the press, and these things the new Bolshevist “constitution” does not guarantee – or even promise.”

George Kennan died at his West Center St. home on May 15, 1924. Emeline passed away on May 28, 1940. They are buried at Boxwood Cemetery.

(Diplomat George Frost Kennan (1904-2005) was a cousin. They shared a birth month and date – Feb. 16 – as well as a passionate interest in Russia. Both wrote and lectured on Russian affairs and ironically, both were expelled from Russia by the governments of their time.)

Located at the intersection of Oak Orchard River Road and Route 18, the Carlton Presbyterian Church was torn down in 1960-61.

By Catherine Cooper, Orleans County Historian

Illuminating Orleans – Vol. 2, No. 9

“Thursday, October 27, 1854. Warm and pleasant. The Presbyterian Church was dedicated today.” – Sarah Ballou

“February 16, 1853. Snows and thaws most of the day. Elder Mudge had a donation last night, got over 100 dollars.” – Sarah Ballou

At that time, it was customary for a congregation to hold a donation party for the pastor once a year to raise funds for his living expenses.

Sarah Ballou continued to record diary entries about farm life on the Oak Orchard River Road in Carlton for the years 1853-55. Though brief, they combine to convey a wealth of information.

The annual cycle of farm work continued for Hosea and Sarah. He chopped wood, plowed, threshed oats, harvested wheat and corn, despite being unwell in 1853, afflicted by some unnamed lingering ailment. There are many references to his ill health, but there is no reference to a specific illness, or even any emotion, though it must have been worrisome for them since their livelihood was dependent on his ability to work.

His troubles began in February, 1853. He bought a new sleigh on  Jan. 28, but was “most sick” on Feb. 2, a little better on Feb. 3. “Not very well, a pain in his stomach” in April and sick again in July. Both of them were sick in September, and even had assistance with chores.

Sept. 8: Cool. Belinda came and washed for me. Frank doing the work here, plowing. Both of us sick.

Sept. 13: Pleasant. Helen came here this morning. Hosea don’t [sic] get much better.

Sept. 27-30: Hosea has chills.

Oct. 27-30: Hosea is quite sick.

Oct. 24: He is sick tonight. He finally went to see a Dr., but there is no reference to a diagnosis. There are no subsequent references to his ill health.

Hosea “carried some turnips to the  Dr.” in December, perhaps as a partial payment for his care.

Their farm operation was small but varied. Sarah used the diary to record sales. They regularly sold butter (14 to 19 cents per pound) and eggs (9 to10 cents per dozen) at the store. Additional sales included:

• 150 bushels of wheat for $2 a bushel

• 88 ½ lbs wool, for 35 cents a lb.

• Sold wheat for $254

• 332 lbs pork for $5.25 a hundred

• Steers for $55

• 15 sheep for 20 / a head. (The / sign indicated a shilling, 12 ½ cents)

Sarah continued her sewing business and used the diary to record the garments she made for her clients. She purchased several items in Albion for her own wardrobe: a blue silk bonnet, gave 3 dollars for it, a cashmere dress, 3 / a yard, a delaine dress, shoes, got 3 yds. silk for a cape & got a pair of mitts, gave 4 /.

An entry in Sept. 1854 mentioned that: “Hosea went to Mr. Gates to pay him all he owed on the land $100.40.”

As soon as he owned the land, Hosea started to make improvements. He had a well installed in Oct. 1854 by a Mr. Hubbard and his team of workers. The cost was $40, Hosea built the platform around it.

He started building a house the following year.

June 4: Cold. Hosea commenced drawing hemlock lumber for a new house, from the lake. Got it of John Pratt. Gave $7 a 1000.

Sarah noted the following costs associated with the construction: Sand from Elias Williams, 7 loads, 2 / a load. Lime from Barre, 32 bushels, 14 cents a bushel. Shingles from Albion, 17 bunches, $23

He also got pine lumber from the lake, the cost was not indicated. George Beardsley, Levi Lawrence and a Mr. Ostrander worked on the house, Hosea helped when he was not doing farm work.

Unfortunately, the last diary entry is from October 30, 1855, they were still working on framing.

There are some intriguing references in the diary entries for this period. Hosea bought a “balm in gilead tree,” a balsam poplar also called black cottonwood.

In April 1854, he got a ton of plaster from Knowlesville and  “sowed plaster”  the following day. The “plaster” was gypsum, which was used as a fertilizer, being a source of calcium and sulfur.

A good deal of the Ballou’s activities were centered on The Bridges.  They attended exhibitions at the schoolhouse. In October 1853, Hosea attended a political meeting at The Bridges, L.M. Burrows the speaker. He went to hear a Dr. Knapp from Lockport speak in October, 1854. According to an article by Jim Boles of the Museum of disABILITY, Dr. Knapp promoted hydropathy, also known as the Water-Cure Treatment, which purported to cure pains, insomnia, mental disorders, addiction and arthritis.

We leave Hosea and Sarah in 1855, having had a five-year glimpse into their world. They had a new house, a well, cows, sheep, horses, chickens and hogs. They produced their own butter, eggs meat. Gooseberry bushes and melons added variety to their garden. Peonies, rose bushes and poplars enhanced the property. They had relatives nearby and a robust social circle.

But the winds of war had begun to roil.

On November 18, 1854, Hosea and Sarah went to hear a fugitive slave lecture.

The following year, on August 18, 1855: “We went to The Bridges in the afternoon to hear Fred Duglass [sic] lecture on slavery.”

Historian bemoans technology’s assault on handwritten letters

Orleans County Dept. of History Collection – This letter dated June 19, 1861 was sent from JB Jaquith in Liberty, Missouri, to his sister in Albion.

By Catherine Cooper, Orleans County Historian

Illuminating Orleans, Vol. 2, No. 8

The letter pictured above includes the following passage:

“We are in the midst of Civil War. There is (sic) about 3,000 US troops at Kansas City, a detachment came down to Liberty and took 80 secessionists prisoners today. I took seven US sabers, one army pistol and a keg of powder from a secessionist wagon……..

The letter ends:

“I was never so nonplussed in my life. Two months ago, I was the happiest man alive. Since then I have had the bronchitis and my school is broke up. Every kind of business is at a stand, no money, no circulation, can’t collect anything for a year….and last, but not least, my wife’s health is not as good as I could wish it.

Note: While living in Missouri in 1864, Josiah Jaquith was shot and killed by Southern sympathizers for his Union sentiments – Signor

Personal, handwritten letters have long been the main means of communication for those separated by distance. Technology’s assault on letter writing began with the invention of the telephone in 1876 and continued as phones became more accessible and more affordable.

However, the widespread adaptation of internet technology for personal communication in the past ten years caused a huge decline in letter writing. The immediacy of contact and response to emails and texting is addictive. Why would we ever write a letter again? Handwriting! Who can read it? No delete or spell-check! We are too busy to take the time, too harried to compose, too impatient to wait for a response.

But those very elements – time, thought, composition – make letters precious. Letters are also sensory. We hear the plop of the letter in the letterbox, we feel the paper, we see the stamp design, we read the handwriting, we absorb the contents. We may keep the letter if we choose, or we may have the satisfaction of ripping it, burning it, balling it up and tossing it, if so inclined. Much more satisfying than replying with emojis.

Remarkably, many letters have been saved and have survived time and often unfavorable storage conditions. Reading one is like stepping back in time. The Orleans County History Dept. collection includes letters from the 1830s written to Cyrus Jaquith (1799-1866) in Barre. (Incidentally, Mr. Jaquith was married to three sisters: Amanda Bloss, who died in 1835, Percy Bloss, who died in 1838 and Anna Bloss, who survived him and died in 1876.)

Orleans County Dept. of History Collection: These Jaquith letters are from the 1830s.

The earliest letters in this collection were written on large sheets of paper folded in such a way as to form an envelope. The 1834 letter is addressed to Mr. Cyrus Jaquith, Albion, NY, with the instructions: To be left at Albion Post Office in Orleans County, state of NY.

A collection of over 160 letters written by Cora Beach Benton of Albion to her husband Charlie who was serving in the Union Army with the 17th New York Artillery, describes daily life during that time, the financial difficulties faced by those at home and general attitudes to the war. The letters were painstakingly transcribed by Tom Taber into a volume called Hard Breathing Days which is available at NIOGA libraries. These letters show why historians value letters for research: letters convey how people thought and felt at a given time, the writers are describing history as it was happening, the sense of immediacy is palpable.

There is a resurgence of interest in letters. Several websites now offer to mail subscribers a weekly or monthly letter from a historic person, handwritten, on paper or parchment, complete with background material to explain the context.

An English event where real letters are read aloud has become a huge success. LettersLive was first presented in 2013 and most recently attracted an audience of 5,000 at the Royal Albert Hall.  The letters selected were written over the centuries by the famous and the unknown. The readers selected are generally actors, so there is an element of performance to the presentation. Whether sad, happy, amusing or dismaying, the letters selected are moving. Grace Bedell’s letter to Abraham Lincoln was featured on the program. It was read by Louise Brealey and Tom Hiddleston.

Inspired by this example, the Medina Historical Society will present a Letters Alive program on at 7 p.m. on Monday, Feb. 28, at Lee-Whedon Memorial Library in Medina. Tom Taber will read a Cora Beach Benton letter. The audience is invited to share aloud their treasured letters.

We each save letters that we cannot bear to destroy. There are surely collections of saved letters in boxes and drawers in your homes awaiting a fresh read. Take an afternoon and step back in time. You may even wish to consider donating the collection to your Town or Village Historian or to the Orleans County Department of History.

By Catherine Cooper, Orleans County Historian

Illuminating Orleans – Vol. 2, No. 7

ALBION – Luigi D’Orazio and Luisa Fortunate, top left, were married on June 27, 1919, at St. Joseph’s Church in Albion, by Rev. Sullivan. The attendants were William and Teresa Sigisimondo, also of Albion. The calf-length hemlines and free-form design of the ladies’ dresses reflect the fashions of the day.

This treasured family photograph was recently shared with the Orleans County Dept. of History by family members. While it simply captures a moment in time, it reverberates with local history, as it connects to the sandstone industry, to immigration and assimilation. It reflects how economic cycles cause population migration, but it also shows how family bonds last over time and distance.

The sandstone industry was booming in Orleans County in the 1890s. At its peak, 50 quarries employed 2,000 men. Laborers were in demand as were skilled stone workers.

Camillo D’Amico (1861-1929) was a skilled stone mason from Alfedena in the Abruzzo region of central Italy, who at the age of 31 decided to try his fortune in this country.

The D’Amico family in 1910 – Standing: l-r, Pasquale, Quindo, Gaetano, Josephine, Marianne. Seated: Rose (Mother), Amelia, Camillo (Father), Lydia.

Alfedena’s sandstone and limestone quarries, located 65 miles southeast of Rome, furnished paving stone and structural stone for buildings in Rome for over 900 years. Word of Orleans County’s quarries had spread apparently – when Camillo made enquiries, he was told of opportunities in Fancher, Orleans County, NY. He left Naples on August 4, 1892, on board the Vessel Marseilles and arrived at the Port of New York on August 24, 1892.

Camillo was one of many from the Alfedena area who moved here to work but remained and made Orleans County their home. Newly arrived workers boarded with family. In the 1910 Census, the Camillo Monacelli family had 8 Italian boarders, four of whom were cousins. New family names were introduced to the county: Passarelli, Nenni, DiLaura, Fortunato, D’Amico, D’Orazio, to name but a few. The hamlets of Fancher, Hulberton and Brockville pulsated with life. St. Rocco’s Church in Hulberton was built in 1906 by local stonecutters.

Camillo’s wife, Rose (Passarelli) came to America five years after Camillo, in the spring of 1897, with their four children, Gaetano, Marianna, Pasqualino and Alfonzo. Quindo, Josephine, Lydia and Amelia were born in the United States. Sadly, four other young children died between 1903-1906 and were buried at the “old” St. Joseph’s Cemetery on Brown Street in Albion.

Camillo diversified as the sandstone industry declined. In the 1905 Census, he was listed as a “saloon-keeper” and in 1910, the family moved to a fruit and dairy farm on the Hulberton Road. The family recalls that their brother Quindo and cousin Harry Passarell would skate five miles along the Erie Canal in winter to attend Holley High School.

The D’Amicos and D’Orazios who had come to America from the same region were connected by marriage years later, when Luigi and Luisa’s daughter, Albina D’Orazio, married Camillo and Rosa’s grandson, Emidio Di Laura, on July 6, 1946.

The Italian population of Hulberton, Fancher and Brockville declined, but the heritage remained strong. St. Rocco’s Italian Festival celebrated in September, became a grand occasion for reunions. That festival continues the Sunday before Labor Day.

As the years went by, the Di Lauras maintained contact with family both in Orleans County and in Alfedena, Italy. Luigi D’Orazio died on Dec. 23, 1995 at the age of 66, while on an extended visit to Alfedena. The Di Laura children spent summers in Albion with family on McKinstry Street in Albion. They continue to visit as adults, acknowledging a connection of over one hundred years to a young, newly married couple.

Photographs and family information courtesy of the grandchildren of Luigi and Luisa (Fortunato) D’Orazio.

The Gaines Centennial Parade held in Childs in September 1909 included a team of oxen.

By Catherine Cooper, Orleans County Historian – Vol. 2, No. 6

The struggles encountered by the first settlers in this area are well documented – the long arduous trip from New England or southern New York State, the rough terrain, the hard work required to clear the land.

Their first-person accounts, which are chronicled in the 1871 book Pioneer History of Orleans County by Arad Thomas, describe their struggles and achievements.

But none of those accomplishments would have been possible without oxen. It was ox-power that pulled the laden wagons. It was ox-power that hauled tree stumps out of the ground and logs to the mills.

Oxen, being slow, steady and sure-footed, were more suited to the journey west than horses. They could pull heavier loads than horses, and having more stamina, they could pull steadily for longer periods of time.

Oxen are castrated male cattle, four years old, who have been trained to work. They are referred to in the Bible and were used throughout Europe in medieval times. Oxen are not native to this country, but were brought here by Edward Winslow, a Plymouth Pilgrim who was sent back to England for supplies. He returned in 1624 with three Devon heifers and a Devon bull.

The early travelers to this area generally had one team of oxen, though Andrew Weld of Vermont came in a wagon pulled by three yoke of oxen. The journey generally took a month.

Seymour B. Murdock’s account is one of the more colorful of the Pioneer reminiscences:

“In the transit from Dutchess County, we had a hard time, traveling with an ox team, with a family of twelve persons. We were little more than a month on the way.

From the Genesee River to Clarkson Corners was one dense wilderness.

The roads, if they could properly be called, were completely impassible.

At the crossing of Otter Creek in Gaines, fire had consumed the logs…. which left an almost perpendicular ascent for us to rise. To accomplish this, we took off our oxen and drove them up the old road, and then with teams on the hill, and chains extending from them to the tongues of the wagons below, we drew our wagon up. In doing this, at one time, the draft appeared too much for the team, the oxen fell and were drawn back by the load, and the horn of one of the oxen catching under a root, was torn entirely off.”

The early years were difficult for all, particularly 1816, “The Year with No Summer.”

Adin Manley recalled:

“We had three yoke of oxen and nothing for them to eat, this was the worst of all. We turned them into the woods and cut browse for them, but the poor cattle suffered much.”

Later, when the settlers were more established, oxen played a role in the well-earned “mirthful enjoyment” enjoyed by the younger people. William C. Tanner recounted:

“As cold weather approached, our season for evening parties commenced.

We sometimes went four or five miles to an evening party, on an ox sled, drawn by two yoke of oxen, with as many passengers as could pile on, and as far as appearances would prove, all enjoyed both the ride and the dance first rate.

The first regular ball we attended was held at what is now Millville, in Shelby, July 4, 1819.”

This ball was held in the upper room of a new store, presumably the location of what was later the T.O. Castle store and Post Office, on the corner of Maple Ridge Road and East Shelby Roads.

Oxen were used in Orleans County for quite some time. The Ballou diaries, written in the early 1850s in the Town of Carlton refer to their oxen:

October 21, 1851: Got the oxen shod.

May 24, 1852: One of the oxen is sick.

October 12, 1852: Hosea traded the oxen off today for a horse.

The Agriculture Society of Ridgeway and Shelby’s Fourth Annual Competition held in Medina in September 1861, included a category for Working Oxen “Particular reference will be made to the matching and docility of the animals.”

The Orleans County Agricultural Society Fair held in Albion in June 1871, also included a category for Working Oxen, one for the Best Pair of Working Oxen and one for the Best String of Ten Yoke of Oxen.

Once their laboring days were past, oxen were suitable for providing beef at the age of eight. Ox tongue, oxtail and ox tripe could also be enjoyed while roasted ox heart was an old English classic dish. Ox or cow foot soup was yet another thrifty use of the humble ox. Ox hides were used to make leather.

Despite their stellar qualities, oxen were superseded by horses, as Arad Thomas observed:

“A little progress, and pride and ambition substituted horses and lumber wagons as the common vehicles of travel, in place of the oxen and sleds.”

By Catherine Cooper, Orleans County Historian

“Illuminating Orleans” – Vol. 2, No. 4

Name a site where you could easily purchase any item under the sun, at a competitive price, allowing you to buy goods without going to a store and then have that item expeditiously sent to your home, availing of the most up-to-date transportation methods?

Yes, you guessed it: Sears, Roebuck and Co.!

A Sears, Roebuck catalog from 1902 was recently donated to the Orleans County History Department. The catalog highlights the similarities between Sears, Roebuck and Amazon.

Sears started in 1886, selling watches by mail-order, then a new purchasing method. In 1994, Amazon began selling books online, also a new concept. In both instances, the combination of energetic leadership, fortuitous timing and a particular combination of socio-economic and demographic factors facilitated their explosive growth and market dominance.

Richard Sears and Alvah Roebuck issued their first catalog, 322 pages in 1891. At that time, 65% of the population lived in rural areas and were required to travel to often distant post boxes to pick up their mail, or to pay carriers for delivery.

The Rural Free Delivery Act was passed in 1894 to provide mail delivery, free of charge, to all. Naturally, the legislation had encountered the opposition of the paid carriers and of the store owners who rightly feared the prospect of mail-order shopping.

The Sears catalog which has been donated to the History Dept. is a hefty tome, 1,208 pages, offering every item imaginable. All the items are listed in the eight-page index, from Abdominal Belts to Zitho Harps.

The catalog included a comprehensive range of dress and work clothing for the entire family

Suddenly, the floodgates of consumerism were open, everyone could buy anything, conveniently and privately. Thanks to Sears’ inspired privacy policy, people could shop “incognito” as the company vowed that every transaction would be strictly confidential, that their name and address would not appear on any article of merchandise. One can well imagine that this would have been appreciated especially by customers in small communities.

The catalog is printed in black and white, but carpet, floor linoleum and oilcloth patterns were shown in color.

This was not a free catalog – the cloth bound edition cost $1, and the paperback edition 50 cents. These prices may seem inexpensive to us, but at the time, one could purchase one pair of men’s very best quality German knit socks for 40 cents and three pairs for $1.20.

Sears’ justification for the charge was very logical: the cost of sending free catalogs to everybody was a waste of paper and money, and a cost which was passed on to the customer. Providing the catalog only to those who intended to buy reduced waste and cost and ultimately benefitted the customer. Unfortunately, paper and money are still being wasted on the mailing of multiple copies of unsolicited magazines.

Spades, shovels and tools for every task.

The Sears catalog provides an insight into the daily life of the era, the items that people wore and worked with, the items that surrounded them in their homes: furniture, kitchen items, guns, musical instruments, horse tackle, door locks, heating stoves, clothing, footwear. Then, there are the more unexpected items: tents, power windmills, ploughs, tombstones.

Every page of this catalog is a fascination – the descriptions, the terminology that would be unacceptable today: “underwear for fat men,” the outrageous items, and the outrageous claims:

“WHITE STAR SECRET LIQUOR CURE:

Makes them stop drinking forever.

Drunkards cured without their knowledge.”

The 60-gauge current Heidelberg Belt “seeks the weak, diseased parts at once…cures vital weakness, nervous debility or impotence”

From a historian’s point of view, the catalog is an invaluable resource to help identify items, since so many are no longer familiar to us. It can also be used to help date photographs by comparing clothing and background items.

This 120-year-old catalog is in remarkably good condition. It was originally owned by Herbert C. Hill of Shelby. A printing press which he operated was previously donated to the Cobblestone Museum. We thank the Hill family for their generosity.

‘Corduroy’ and ‘Plank’ roads, and ‘Path Setters’ were thoroughfares through community, including the swamp

This photo taken in 1898 shows the toll house which stood near the Edwin McKnight farm between Medina and Shelby. H. Justin Roberts recalled riding through this toll gate as a young boy, in a lumber wagon, with his aunt and uncle.

By Catherine Cooper, Orleans County Historian

Illuminating Orleans – Vol. 2, No. 3

The diary of Hosea Ballou presented in the previous two columns have led to some questions.

A reader inquires if the diarist, Hosea Ballou, was related to Major Sullivan Ballou, of the 2nd Rhode Island Infantry whose poignant last letter to his wife featured prominently on The Civil War, a PBS series produced by Ken Burns. Major Ballou was killed at the Battle of Bull Run in 1861.

Sullivan and Hosea Ballou were both fifth generation descendants of James Ballou, son of Maturin Ballou (1627 – 1661), an Englishman of French descent, who was an early settler of Rhode Island. He had six children, three of whom lived to have families of their own. A family genealogy published in 1888 contains a remarkable listing of over 8,000 descendants.

In his 1851 diary, Hosea Ballou mentioned working on the roads in the Town of Carlton in the spring – this topic has also generated some discussion.

Prior to centralized government and mechanization, towns were responsible for roads. A road tax was assessed, eligible males were required provide labor or pay the tax. In addition to local labor, locally available materials: wood, stone, and later, quarried stone, were used.

H. Justin Roberts (1893-1991), a Shelby farmer, provided a very clear explanation of that system in an Oral History interview conducted by Anna Roberts Bundsuch in 1989:

“A farmer with a small farm in each town was appointed road commissioner. In addition to the road commissioner, there were path masters scattered throughout the town. Each farmer wanted to be path master because he could get the road improved past his farm. My father tried it for one year. The road past our house got a new topping.”

He explained that the road commissioner was salaried, but the path masters were not. The road commissioner would travel around the town in his horse and buggy to check the condition of the roads. Farmers would spend four or five days each year working on the roads, generally in the spring after the crops had been sown.

“There was no department – there was just the commissioner who worked with the path masters. When a road needed repair, the farmers along the road worked their highway taxes. They didn’t have anything to use but gravel. A farmer would be assessed so much money for road work. He’d take a dump wagon and haul for so many days to pay his taxes. A man who didn’t have horses would do the shoveling and use a pick. The gravel had to be shoveled onto the wagons.

Two or three big farms in a town, their assessment would be quite high, and they would put two teams and two wagons on.

The dump trucks were an ingenious affair. The bottom was made up of 4 x 4’s, there were side boards and end boards. The wagon would be filled up with gravel and then there would be a man on the road to assist in the unloading. He’d grab a crowbar and lift up the first 4 x 4; then as the wagon moved along, the gravel would fall out.

There were two gravel pits in the Town of Shelby. The town would pay the owner of the pit a little something for the gravel.”

He continued and explained the term “corduroy road”:

“I used to hear my father tell this story. In the early days, the road south of Medina was impassible through the swamp. So, they cut trees along the right of way: cut logs and laid them side by side all the way through. You bumped over each log and that is why they called it a corduroy road.”

Many of the early roads were called Plank Road, for example the Alabama Plank Road which led to the Sour Springs Hotel. Medina’s Main Street was originally referred to as Plank Road.

Mr. Roberts also described winter road work:

“In the winter, sleighs were used, but wherever snowbanks crossed the road, the snow was shoveled by hand. Mostly the farmers took care of their own roads. Farmers had 50 gallon kettles to heat water and maybe to boil beans to feed the hogs. They’d put a chain around one of those kettles and hitch it behind the bobsleigh and get a big heavy man to ride in the kettle. They’d drag that down one side of the road and the other side coming back to make a track.”

Since bone-chilling temperatures are forecast, another Oral History account from the Orleans County History Dept. Collection may be of interest. In an interview with Clifford Wise in 1969, Mrs. Minnie Allis described how one kept warm when traveling on a sleigh or cutter in winter:

“They had soap stones and these big buffalo robes to put on your lap; they had heavy underwear and top buttoned shoes and they put overshoes on and bundled your head up; fur mittens; they used to carry ear muffs to put your hands in.”

Burt Dunlap of Shelby, in a cutter, c1908. From the Scott Dunlap Collection, Medina Historical Society