Acton has utilized many school buildings throughout its history, most of which are long-gone or unrecognizable.  The most recent to disappear was the red brick schoolhouse on Harris Street that was torn down earlier this spring.  We thought it an appropriate time to review the history of Acton’s school buildings. 

The Society has documents and maps that have tried to pinpoint the location of Acton’s early schools, the result of much work by local historians including James Fletcher, Horace Tuttle, Ida Hapgood Harris, Harold Phalen, Florence Merriam, Elizabeth Conant and others. In addition, Acton Memorial Library has made early town meeting records easily accessible online.  But even with those resources, it is still a very confusing subject.  Early schools were temporary and seasonal.  Historical documents refer to people, structures, and areas that are unfamiliar today.  (Where were “Deacon Brookses Squadron” and “Capt Haywards Corner”?)  Seemingly logical labels (“north”, “southwest, “east”) referred to various divisions of town at different times.  We have some payment records from early years, but it is not clear whether the payments to individuals “for schools” were for their own teaching and whether a school was actually kept on their own property.  As time went on, schoolhouses were built, used for a time and then abandoned, moved or creatively reused.  Town meeting records give us clues, but one has to be careful about making assumptions based on a favorable vote at a town meeting.  Acton had a habit of voting on an issue and later voting to reconsider the same issue, sometimes multiple times.  On school matters, there was a high probability that a vote would be overturned within the next few months or years.  Stepping bravely (or foolishly) into the quagmire, we begin our survey of Acton’s schools.

After a vote on March 3, 1739/40 not to “erect” schools, apparently the town voted to have a “reading, riteing and moveing Scool” in March 1740/41 (its funding was not clear).  Acton’s public education was more definitely organized by a vote in December 1743 to divide the town into three parts, holding a school in each section.  In the earliest years of Acton’s history, classes were held on private property by individuals who were willing to teach.  Exactly how the students were accommodated was not specified in town reports.  The individuals who kept the schools generally farmed, so presumably classes were held at times of the year when teachers and students were not needed for agricultural labor.  As time went on, expenditures for a “schoolmaster” began to appear in town reports.  Very early, the issue of equity arose; there had to be enough schools in town that all families had access to education for their children within a reasonable distance.  The number of school districts, (sometimes known as societies or squadrons), was a recurring issue at town meetings.  After the initial three districts in 1743, the number of divisions varied from four to seven. 

The first mention of town-owned school buildings appeared in town meeting records in 1771.  On May 27, the town voted that Acton should have seven school houses in the center of each division of the town.  Four had already been built privately and were to be purchased and repaired by the town.  Three new Schoolhouses were to be built, “Eighteen feet in Length and Sixteen feet wide” but the districts could, at their own expense, upgrade them to twenty by eighteen feet.   They apparently were to have four windows, plaster ceilings and at least partial plaster walls.

Locating North Acton's Schools

Starting our survey of Acton’s schools with the schoolhouse(s) in the vicinity of Harris street, we find that the 1771 list of proposed school locations did not include that area.  There was already a schoolhouse near the Healds’ residence on present-day Carlisle Road and apparently another near Josiah Piper's on “Procter’s” Road (now Nagog Hill Road) that could have served families in the northern part of Acton.  After some deliberation, on March 2, 1772, it was decided to leave the schoolhouse where it stood near Josiah Piper's.

After the schoolhouse vote, complaints started and a series of re-votes followed.  In particular, “Samuel Fitch and a Number of His Neighbours” thought themselves injured by being "to[o] Remote from Any School.”  (March 1774).  The town's response was that Mr. Fitch and his neighbors could have their school tax money to be used for alternative schooling.  Existing town maps do not show the location of Samuel Fitch’s house in Acton, but we know from the Tuttle/Scarlett maps that at least some of the neighbors mentioned, (David Lamson and the widow Temple), lived in the Nagog Pond/North Acton area.  (It was the same area that included John Oliver’s farm, the subject of another blog post.)  On January 4, 1775, the town voted to build a schoolhouse “to accomidate Samuel Fitch and others.”  One might think that was the end of the story, but on May 14, 1776, the town again voted that the Selectmen should build a School House in “Samuel Fitchs Society.”  Probably based on that vote, Horace Tuttle’s 1890 map dated the first Harris Street North Acton schoolhouse at 1776.  That may have been optimistic.  On January 31, 1780, the town was again asked to vote on building the same schoolhouse and postponed the vote.  In May, 1780, the town “voted that the Committe that was Imployed to Build a School House in mr Samuel Fitchs Society Do hire money in Behalf of the Town to Pay Said mr Samuel Fitch for what he has Don.”  Clearly, Mr. Fitch had taken matters into his own hands.  Unfortunately, the exact location and whether a schoolhouse was fully built at that point is not clear from the town meeting records.  Around that time, the redistricting of families that were set off to the District of Carlisle necessitated another vote on the location of a schoolhouse, combining the families in the Fitch area with those who had been in Lieut. John Heald’s district (the “northest part of this town”, November 20, 1780).  Money was voted toward building the schoolhouse at that time.

The next period in which school buildings were discussed was the 1790s.  On November 2, 1792, the town voted to reduce its school districts from seven to four.  That was a short-lived plan.  After proposals and counterproposals, on May 6, 1795, the town settled on five school districts and decided that “every Person Shall have the Liberty to Join the District to which he Chuses to belong and his Scholl [school] Rate Shall be expended in the School”. (Acton’s policy of school choice started early.  It was also subject to many later votes.)  Five schoolhouses were to be built including one “where the School House Stands near John Harris’.”  This is the first direct mention that there had been a school near the location of the (later) brick school house.  That was a welcome moment of clarity for us.  It was temporary. 

In the 1796-1797 period, there were numerous town meetings in which the town was asked to reconsider, repeatedly, previous votes on school districts and schoolhouses.  The warrant for the May 1796 meeting asked the town to “Reconsider all the votes that have been passed in the town meetings Respecting the Districting the town for Schools and building School houses for Seven years past” and in January 1797, the town was asked to reconsider all of their former votes on the issue.  On May 1, 1797, the town voted not to fund the building of the five schools.  Clearly, the decision-making process was not going well.  In October 1797, a committee was formed to “fix a place for a School house north District”.  

Based on the voting chaos, it seems unlikely that a new school was actually built before the town’s school districts were consolidated around 1800.  Town records discussed selling old school house(s) in the “east” part of town, and the Schoolhouse “near John Harris” was sold to David Barnard for $31.25 (Dec. 3, 1800).  The neighboring residents were clearly not happy, because the town was asked to vote on building a schoolhouse in the Northwest part of town in December 1801.  The town voted it down.

According to town histories, for a period of about thirty years, the north and east districts were combined.  There is no mention of a “North” school district in the records of those years and the sale of the schoolhouse indicates that the Harris Street site was not in use at the time.  Instead, a schoolhouse was built approximately at the current intersection of Davis and Great Road.  An 1830-1831 survey map shows a school at that location (and not at Harris Street).  According to Ida Hapgood Harris’s 1937 school history, “Old residents relate that 80 pupils were there at one time.  This was probably built around 1796.” (The document is at Jenks Library.)   

Leaving out occasional indecision during the early decades of the nineteenth century, on May 13, 1839, the town voted to split the “east” district again and build a brick schoolhouse in its "northern part" by November 1, 1840.  Given the uncertainty of any vote being realized, we were dubious about claiming that the schoolhouse actually was built at that time.  However, it must have been built then or soon thereafter, because in April 1844, the town voted that the North Acton district could put seats into their schoolhouse, as long as the town did not incur the expense.  The residents must have refused to pay for the seating, because in April, 1845, the town provided $12 to “put seats into the North School house in the place of stools which are now broken”.  (The students must have had an uncomfortable year.)

By 1847, the town started printing the school committee’s annual reports, so we have a much more complete (and colorful) picture of what was going on with the schools after that time.  From the 1849 report, we find that by then, the whole town had new schoolhouses.  The school committee took a look back at the schoolhouses they replaced:
“...now entirely vanished from our view – the old, square, four-roofed, one-storied, red school-houses.... with their little porticoes made to store wood and to trample clothes in... the strange and uncouth carvings, etchings and engravings which enriched them within and without.  We remember too, the broken floors, the rickety and disfigured seats and benches, the blackened and dilapidated walls, and above all the ventilating apparatus, called windows.  Yet they were cheerful places... But they have passed away, and other houses of a very different model stand in their stead.”
 
Confirming that the brick school house had indeed been built, the committee wrote:
 
“In the place of the old house on the great road are built two substantial and convenient brick houses, capable of accommodating fifty scholars each.  They have good woodrooms and clothes rooms, and are furnished with black boards and Mitchell’s large map of the world; these last were purchased by subscriptions of the friends of progress in the district.  These houses were built at a cost of $525 each, exclusive of the land and its preparation.”

Despite the optimistic tone of the 1849 school committee, reading later town reports, one has to think that upkeep of the schoolhouses was a constant struggle.  By 1851, the school committee was admonishing all of the school districts to attend to repairs so that “there is nothing to excite the evil propensities of the young destructives.”  Vandalism seems to have been a perpetual problem.  The 1858-1859 School Committee reported about the winter term:
“Of this term for obvious reasons we shall say but little.  (Sadly, that story is lost to history.)  If the advancement in this, and preceding winter terms has fallen below the expectations of the parents, they should remember that such a miserable, dilapidated, cold, cheerless, uncomfortable and lonely old school house is not the place to look for anything remarkable.  The pupils one day the past winter, found a large supply of shavings, in consequence of one of their number falling through a defective part of the floor.  Occasionally the boys, out of school hours, amuse themselves by jumping from the floor and touching the ceiling, a feat that most of them can easily accomplish....  The location of the stove is such that [heat] is very unequally distributed.... Indeed the house may be comprehensively described as almost a perfect model of what a school house ought not to be."

By the 1863-1864 report, we read:

”...we wish to speak of our school-houses; and in no very flattering term either.  We know there are a plenty ready to say, they are good enough; what would be the use to build better ones, for the scholars to tear in pieces....  Why, they exclaim, “some of our school-houses have not been built comparatively but a short time, and just look at them.”  That is what we say, LOOK at them, and carefully too; and we think you will come to the sage conclusion, that they are ill planned, poorly built, shammy things....  We do not believe the children and youth in this town are so much worse than they are in others; and we know they have large, convenient, and even ornamental school-houses in other towns, and they are kept well too.  We believe if this town would build some good school-houses, convenient and well finished, that our scholars would take pride in keeping them so.  We do not think it a good way to cultivate feelings of respect for public property, by having constantly before the eyes of our children defaced benches, dingy walls, and plastering hanging from the ceiling here and there, in a manner to tempt even those not inclined to mischief, to hit it a poke and tumble it down....  We think all should be as willing to be taxed to raise money to build good school-houses for their children to attend school in, as they would be to raise money to build a good town house to attend town meeting in, and we think if the town is able to have a town house worth some eight thousand dollars, it is able to have school-houses worth as much.”

Ten years later, the town agreed that the brick building on Harris Street had reached the end of its useful life as a school.  Charles I. Miller’s reminiscences of North Acton (at Jenks Library) stated that a wooden replacement was built during the fall and winter of 1873 while school was still being held in the old brick schoolhouse nearby.  It was a time of change; the North Acton railroad depot had just been built at the end of Harris Street.  At that time, only one house and barn were visible from the station, but the area soon grew.

After the brick schoolhouse was taken out of service, it became a private dwelling.  The wooden schoolhouse served for 26 years.  The conflict between those who wanted schoolhouses close to home and those who wanted to achieve the efficiency of having larger, “graded” schools went on for decades.  By the 1890s, small, ungraded schoolhouses were falling out of favor.  It had become inefficient for one teacher to try to teach a broad range of subjects in one classroom that held up to seven grades’ students.  The East district was merged into the Center school, but the North Acton district held out longer.  Clearly frustrated, the Superintendent wrote in his 1897-1898 report that students in “out-lying districts” had:

a tendency to insubordination, which seemed to have its foundation in the idea that parental influence was paramount in all school matters pertaining to their district.... it prevails in out-lying districts generally, and is quite well developed at North Acton.” [page 59-60]
 
Eventually, even the North Acton school was closed.  In September 1899, its former students were transported to the Center school which then was divided into primary, intermediate and grammar “schools,” each with three grades apiece.  The former North Acton teacher, the long-serving Ella Miller, came with them.  The wooden school house at 52 Harris Street was sold off and became a dwelling.  That piece of Acton school history still stands.

Captain Isaac Davis's company of minute men gathered to leave for the Concord fight on April 19, 1775 at his home farm.  Current residents of Acton sometimes refer to the house currently standing on the property as the “Isaac Davis House.”  Given the fact that there is a granite monument in front that says in large letters “DAVIS HOME”, it’s an understandable shorthand.  Jenks Library has in its collection postcards going back more than a century that picture the current house and are labeled “Home of Isaac Davis”.  But did Isaac Davis really live in that house?

Unfortunately, what was once common knowledge has become lost as successive generations have associated the “home” on the granite marker with the building they see behind it.  In this case, old sources are very clear.  Rev. James Fletcher, in his 1890 history of Acton, (page 261), wrote “The house in which [Isaac Davis] lived, has been replaced by another and that one repaired and enlarged....  The original house was two story in front, and the back sloped down to one, the kitchen in the lower part.”  (It sounds very similar to the Society’s Hosmer House before it was enlarged to accommodate a second household.)

Thanks to D. Henry Scarlett’s helpful notebook, we can access the more colorful recollection of Moses Taylor who evidently had lived nearby as a child and played with the children of Nathaniel Brown who owned the farm.  (Nathaniel's father Captain Joseph Brown bought the property after Isaac Davis’s death.)  As related by Scarlett in 1906, “The house of Capt. Davis was not torn down by Nathl Brown, he only built the L which stands today.  Ward S. Haskell tore down the main or original part, totally destroyed it; and a few of the timbers were used in building the new main part while most of the lumber was used in building the hog house which still stands, at the rear of the present house.  The one large pine timber in this hog house is a cross-beam from the room in which Davis was laid out.”

Question answered.

Our previous blog post discussed finding a forgotten location by consulting our copy of the Scarlett map of Acton.  (The original was drawn in a notebook owned by the Acton Memorial Library.)  Scarlett’s work was so careful and useful, we wanted to know more about him.  At first, we were confused about why D. Henry Scarlett, who seemed to have lived in Tewksbury, MA for most of his life, became interested in Acton and knowledgeable about its history.  It turns out that his Acton connections were more extensive and long-lasting than we had expected.

Daniel Henry Scarlett was born in Bedford, MA on March 23, 1884 where his father was superintendent of the town farm.  His parents were Henry C. Scarlett who grew up in West Boylston, MA and Mary S. Mace who grew up in Tewksbury.  From Daniel Henry’s notebook, we learned that the family lived in Acton about 1887-1892.  Acton town reports confirm that his father and mother were running Acton’s town farm during those years.  The family then moved to Tewksbury where father Henry was known as a successful farmer.  Though his parents’ marriage had publicized problems, Daniel Henry was listed as living with both parents in the 1900 census. In 1905, his father Henry, divorced, married Hattie (Norton).  In the 1910 census, Daniel Henry was living with his father, stepmother, new siblings William and Carrie, and his father’s new mother- and sister-in-law.  Daniel Henry worked for the Boston and Maine Railroad as a crossing tender at Tewksbury/Baldwin Station near the Tewksbury State Infirmary.  He was a “flagman,” at his signaling post evidently every day of the week, a job he began around 1908 and continued until 1926.  His father Henry died in 1929.  In the 1930 census, stepmother Hattie, siblings, and “D. Henry” were listed as living together.  D. Henry was then a gardener at the State Infirmary.

"Very Ingenious Fellow"

Tracing D. Henry Scarlett’s life only through vital records and censuses, one would not realize how many interests and talents he had. D. Henry Scarlett was an amateur astronomer.  He had no formal training, but he used his earnings from the railroad to buy telescopes.  He told a reporter that “I am almost as familiar with the stars as with the streets of Lowell, and I dearly love to study them.  I haven’t any observatory, but I hope to have one some day.”  Lowell Sun (Nov. 11, 1915 p. 6)  During 1911-1912, he observed Mars through a five-inch telescope set up on his father’s land.  His observations and drawings were published in Popular Astronomy (1914, vol. 22).  His patience and attention to detail were quite obvious.  Professor A. Lawrence Lowell of Harvard described his work as “wonderful”; Scarlett had shown that an amateur with a relatively low-powered telescope could observe much more than astronomers had believed possible.  Scarlett said in the Nov. 1915 Lowell Sun interview that one had to make one’s observations when the atmosphere was right; he had been known to be out all night, even enduring sub-zero temperatures in order to get his observations.

D. Henry Scarlett received recognition for his work.  He was made an honorary member of the Astronomical Society of France.  High school classes came from Lowell to look through his telescope.  According to a later interview, when World War 1 came, he thought he would be called up, so he donated his telescope to Harvard.  He registered for the draft but evidently was not called.  He continued to save his railroad earnings, hoping to build his own observatory.  He bought a piece of land in the Wamesit part of Tewksbury across from the post office (evidently at 283 Main Street).  A 3-ton, level base was installed on the property and drilled with bolt holes to hold down a telescope.  Scarlett built a small home and a protective structure that was placed on two railroad tracks so that it could be moved out of the way when the telescope was in use.  In 1928, his dream came to fruition and he obtained a 12-inch reflector telescope.  Over the next few years, his observatory was visited by many teachers and students. (Lowell Sun, Dec. 19, 1931, p. 14)

Astronomy was only one of Scarlett’s interests.  He was an avid collector, taking a particular interest in geology, botany, and history.  A 1931 article (Lowell Sun, Dec. 19, p. 14) said that the stone wall and brick walk that Scarlett had built outside his observatory were made of items of either scientific or historical interest.  One of the stones was taken from the cellar wall of Acton’s first house.  To our surprise, the paper mentioned that the centerpiece of his garden “which attracts the attention of passers-by is a clever piece of workmanship, begun by Mr. Scarlett when he was 16 years of age and completed recently.  It is an exact replica in miniature of the Acton memorial."  Under that, he placed soil from the graves of Capt. Isaac Davis the other Acton men killed on April 19, 1775 (presumably taken from Acton’s Common).

It turns out that the display was actually an evolution of Scarlett’s work as a teenager that merited mention in the Boston Daily Globe (Aug. 4, 1901, page 25).  As a seventeen-year-old, D. Henry Scarlet had created a 75x100 foot miniature village representing Acton on his parent’s farm at 1018 Livingston Street in Tewksbury.  It contained a 14-foot model of the Acton monument, a replica of the Congregational church, a railway, trains, cemeteries, the town farm, and a number of houses, buildings, and streets.  He kept a guest log to record his many visitors.  His father was interviewed for the article; at the time, he sounded a bit dubious about the extent of his son’s absorption in the project and suggested that his talents might be better developed away from the farm.

D. Henry Scarlett later worked for the railroad.  His flag man’s shanty was described by a newspaper reporter as revealing “neatness personified,” made more habitable by cupboards and chairs that Scarlett had made. (Lowell Sun, Nov. 11, 1915, p6).  He probably had time between trains to attend to his hobbies, or perhaps he indulged his creativity after work.  His woodworking also included custom-designed items made of pieces of historically significant wood.  One of his ornamental cups was described as “made from wood taken from the home of Capt. Davis in which [Scarlett] set small pieces of wood, all splendidly matched, from the homes of every one of the soldiers in Capt. Davis’ company.”  (Lowell Sun Dec 19, 1931, p. 14).  He had been working with "historic" wood for many years by that point, apparently having been inspired by similar work done by members of the Bunker Hill Historical Association, especially Reuben Law Reed.  (The Society has one of Reed's creations.)  In March, 1906, Henry Scarlett donated to the town of Acton an ornamental gavel, sounding block, powder horn, and case that he had created out of 188 pieces of wood, brick, stone, and other materials from historic properties.  He included in the case a notebook describing the contents of his gift and then made at least one backup copy in which he described the significance of all of the pieces and added historical tidbits that he had learned from talking to Acton residents during visits to the town.  (Jenks Library is fortunate to have a scan and a transcription.)  The notebook also contained his Acton maps with notes about his sources, drawings of the sword of Captain Isaac Davis, and a record of his speech at the presentation of his gift at Town Meeting:

“Perhaps you think it strange that a young man should take so much interest in this town... I lived in this town from the time I was three years old until I was eight; five years of the pleasantest days of my childhood.  I commenced to attend church in that old meeting-house around the corner and began my education in that School-house a few steps down the street....  As I grew up, I decided that someday I would make Acton some kind of a present, as many others have already done.... as an object lesson to all who wish to look upon its contents, and examine the records concerning the same.” 

The five years of Henry’s early Acton residence included the dedication of the Acton Memorial Library when Acton’s citizens and former residents were contributing funds and items of historical significance to its collection.  The 1890s were years in which pride in the town’s history was at a very high level; the enthusiasm must have had a large influence on the young boy.  Only in his early twenties in 1906, Henry Scarlett had obviously spent a lot of time talking to Acton residents (whom he mentioned by name). His notes about the tiny relics used in his gift are filled with detailed memories that would otherwise have been lost.

Back to Acton, and then West

Around 1936, Henry Scarlett sold off his Tewksbury property and moved his home and observatory to land that once belonged to Captain Isaac Davis (across the street from the site where Davis’s house once stood).  Evidently, Scarlett replicated the arrangement he had created in Tewksbury for sheltering his telescope.  Jenks Library has pictures taken by Belle Choate of how his yard looked decades later; the base created for the telescope and remnants of the tracks used for moving its protective structure were still there.  Construction was evidently done by November 11, 1936 when the Concord Enterprise reported that village boys had been guests at the Acton Astronomical Observatory of D. Henry Scarlett on Isaac Davis Way.  The boys viewed rare items in the home and then looked at the moon through the telescope. 

In 1937, Daniel Henry Scarlett married Mrs. Helen (Arnot) Harris, a native of Ontario, daughter of David Arnot and Isabelle McElwaine.  Scarlett was 52 and listed as retired.  After having stayed in place for so many years, in retirement, D. Henry was free to travel.  The couple took a “motor trip” through Canada in 1938, returned via Niagara Falls for short time, and then headed to Mexico, sailing out of New Orleans, and then to Southern California where Helen’s brother lived.  On their trip to Mexico, they were accompanied by 21-year-old Alfred N. McDougall from West Acton.

For all of D. Henry Scarlett’s affection for Acton, he did not stay long.  In 1942, he sold his property and moved out west.  By early 1944, the couple was living on Oracle Road in Tucson, Arizona.  Both died in Tucson, Helen on May 20, 1946 and D. Henry on  June 17, 1958.  They were buried in Evergreen Cemetery in Tucson. 

Our lesson from researching Henry Scarlett is that even in this era when we can access so much online, archives and libraries hold treasures that are easy to miss.  In this case, Henry Scarlett’s work was preserved at Acton’s Memorial Library and shared with our predecessors at the Society.  We are lucky that Acton history was among Daniel Henry Scarlett’s many interests and that he took the time to record stories from older townspeople.  As we discover so often, history unrecorded is history lost.

Having just written in our previous blog post about how easily history can be forgotten, we discovered that the same can be said about other people’s historical research.  At Jenks Library, we have several well-used maps including copies of Horace Tuttle’s 1890 map of old Acton houses and sites.  But when our co-president mentioned unfamiliar Henry Scarlett maps, we had to pull our copies out of the drawer where they had been filed.  It’s time for the Scarlett maps, quite literally, to see the light of day.

In researching John Oliver, (c. 1750s-1840, Revolutionary War soldier), we used written records to determine who his neighbors were, but we were disappointed that we did not have an exact location for his farm.  It does not appear on the Tuttle map.  However, it turns out that this omission was corrected around 1906.  Based on Acton residents’ memories, D. Henry Scarlett created his own map of Acton, meticulously adding features to Tuttle’s work.  Where the Tuttle map had a blank space in North Acton between John Handley’s land and the railroad, Scarlett placed John Oliver’s farm.  He also drew a “cart road” leading from what is now Great Road through John Handley’s property up to Oliver’s, as well as the Reed and Temple properties. 
 
Scarlett’s location for Oliver’s farm jibes with the written materials that we have.  Given John Oliver’s location away from any roads, it makes sense that access would be needed.  Town records show that in September, 1800 “the Selectmen proposed and laid out a bridle way to accomidate John Oliver by Said Olivers and John Handleys erecting gates on bars where it is necessary.”  The approved right-of-way, a rod and a half wide, started east of John Handley’s house “near the old way where Said Olivers used formerly to pass” then went northwest through Handley’s property and common land to “John Olivers land near the Southeast corner of Said Olivers House.”  Though the exact route of the “cart road” in Scarlett’s map may not be perfect, it seems close.  The map shows a gate, an open field, and a route ending just southeast of Oliver’s house.  An 1821 deed held by the Society also jibes with the location of Oliver’s property on the Scarlett map.  The deed states that the wood lot being sold was bounded “southwesterly by John Oliver’s to a heap of stones in the swamp.”  Scarlett’s map shows John Oliver’s location on a brook with wetland nearby; parts of his property undoubtedly were wet, at least seasonally. 

We are grateful to Henry Scarlett for answering our question about John Oliver’s farm.  But seeing Scarlett's careful work made us curious about him.  Research into his life story provided us with several surprises that will require a future blog post.

Family researchers sometimes find pre-1850 US federal censuses to be frustratingly sparse, but they can yield useful discoveries.  Perusing the 1840 census, we discovered that it listed Acton’s pensioners from the Revolutionary War.  Among them we found John Oliver, age 92.  Curious about him, as his name was not as familiar as the minute men of April 19, 1775, we traced him through existing federal censuses, military documents, and Acton town records. 
 
In the 1790 census, John Oliver’s household was listed in the “free white” column, with one male aged 16 or over, one male under 16, and five females.  In 1800 and 1810, John Oliver’s household of five was listed in the column for other persons (i.e., not considered white, not slaves, and not “Indians not taxed”).  The ages and gender of household members were not specified.  In 1820, the household consisted of a free white male and female, both age 45 or older, with one person engaged in agriculture.  In 1830, John Oliver’s household members were all listed as “free colored persons”; three males (one each in the age categories 10-23, 24-35, and 36-54), and seven females (two under 10, two between 10-23, three between 24-35, and one each between 36-54 and 55-99).  (Oddly, this does not seem to include a male as old as John Oliver himself; there is not enough information to sort out whether it was a simple error or something else.)  Finally, in 1840, John Oliver was listed as a 92-year-old military pensioner in a household of five “free white persons,” one male in his nineties, one female in her forties, and three children under the age of ten, two boys and a girl. 
 
Though official records were inconsistent in classifying John Oliver’s race, they were remarkably consistent with respect to his Revolutionary War service.  It is very well-documented, partly because he lived long enough to be eligible for a military pension and partly because he served in several companies for which written evidence exists.  His 1832 pension application contains the record of John Oliver’s testimony in open court about his Revolutionary War service as well as corroborating statements from those who knew him. 
 
John Oliver stated that at the end of April 1775 he enlisted at Acton, was stationed in Cambridge at “the colleges,” participated in Battle of Bunker Hill, and was moved to Winter Hill, serving for a total of eight months.  (Locations are shown at the top left of a 1775 map.)  His officers were Colonel John “Nickerson” (Framingham, actually Nixon), Lt. Colonel Thomas “Nickerson” (Framingham), Captain William Smith (Lincoln), 1st Lt. John Hale of Acton (actually Heald, probably the court clerk’s error), and 2nd Lt. John Hartwell (Lincoln).  This shows up in Massachusetts Soldiers and Sailors of the Revolutionary War (MSSRW), a massive undertaking by the Secretary of the Commonwealth in the 1890s and early 1900s that pulled together extant written records to try to document military service.  It corroborates John Oliver’s service in Captain William Smith’s Company, Col. John Nixon’s 5th regiment, with an enlistment date of April 24, 1775 (v. 11 p. 639).  As he stated, he stayed after the original enlistment term of 3 months and 15 days had expired, as he showed up on a September 30, 1775 company roll.  In John Oliver’s pension application, Solomon Smith of Acton, age 78, confirmed both John Oliver's membership in Capt. William Smith’s company and his eight months’ service.  Smith mentioned officers Col. John “Nickson” of Framingham and 1st Lt. John Heald of Acton.  Lt. Heald actually commanded the company at Bunker Hill, as Captain Smith was ill.
 
John Oliver stated that he enlisted in February 1776 for two months and was stationed in Cambridge at “the colleges,” serving in the company of Captain Asa Wheeler (of Sudbury) in Col. “Roberson’s” Regiment.  In the pension application, James Wright of Carlisle, age 78, confirmed Oliver’s Feb. 1776 service in that company.  MSSRW (p.639) similarly shows that he served in Capt. Asahel Wheeler’s Company, Col. John Robinson’s regiment that marched Feb. 4 (year not given), service 1 month, 28 days.  That service was precipitated by the need in early 1776 to strengthen the American position around the city.  The culmination of that effort was the evacuation of the British from Boston on March 17, 1776.
 
John Oliver next enlisted in Acton in September 1776, serving for two months and participating in the Battle of White Plains in Col. Eleazer Brooks’ Regiment, Capt. Simon Hunt’s company.  Solomon Smith confirmed that 1776 service in his deposition, and MSSRW (p. 648) showed that John “Olliver” of Acton was with Captain Hunt at White Plains.  Brooks’ regiment was in the heavy fighting at Chatterton Hill in the White Plains battle on October 28, 1776.  They had apparently been sent across the Bronx River to occupy the hill but did not have time to create more than the most quickly-formed defenses before the fighting began.  Accounts vary, but it seems that the primary defensive structure for John Oliver’s unit was a stone wall and that the Americans did not have artillery support to match their opponents'.  The fighting against both British and Hessian forces was brief but intense, and the Americans retreated.
 
John Oliver stated that around April 1778, he enlisted at Acton for three months, but “owing to circumstances he hired one [_ben?] Leighton to go as a substitute for him for the term of one month.”  After the month, John Oliver went to Cambridge where Leighton was stationed and served until the expiration of the three-month term.   His officers were Col. Jonathan Reed (Littleton), Capt. Harrington (Lexington) and 1st Lt. Elisha Jones (Lincoln).  This was the only service for which John Oliver seems to have lacked corroboration in 1832.  The pension application reported “the only evidence that he can obtain would be from one Ephraim Billings whose mind is very much broken he is unable to give his deposition upon that account.”  (Ephraim Billings was the sergeant of that company.)  MSSRW (v. 11, p.647) has an entry that John Olivers of Acton was on a list of men detached from Col. Brooks’ Regiment to relieve guards at Cambridge (“year not given probably 1778”) and was reported as belonging to a company commanded by Lt. Heald, Jr. of Acton.  According to a muster roll dated May 9, 1778, Col. Jonathan Reed of Littleton was in command of a detachment in Cambridge.  Capt. Daniel Harrington and 2nd Lt. Elisha Jones served under him there, so John Oliver may well have been transferred to their command in the spring of 1778.
 
Finally, in 1780, John Oliver enlisted at Acton for six months’ service in and around West Point.  He said that he served in Col. Brooks’ Regiment under Capt. White and Ensign Levi Parker (Westford).  MSSRW (v. 11, p. 639) places him in Captain William Scott’s company, marching out July 22, 1780 and serving six months.  Perhaps he was transferred; the Continental Army seems to have undergone various reorganizations over time.  Several extant lists show John Oliver as a six-month volunteer in 1780.  One list describes him as 23 years old, 5 feet, 6 inches tall, complexion dark, engaged for the town of Acton.  He was present at Camp Totoway, Oct. 25, 1780.  In the pension application, Charles Handly of Acton, age seventy, testified that Oliver enlisted into the continental service for six months in 1780 and first marched to West Point, from there to New Jersey, and then to West Point and then was discharged in Patterson’s Brigade.  In May, 1782, the selectmen of Acton billed the Commonwealth of Massachusetts for wages paid to John “Olivers” for this service.  (The town had neglected to include his wages on a previously-submitted pay roll.)    
 
In his pension record, John Oliver stated that he lived in Acton when he first enlisted and had lived in Acton since the war.  Based on later records, he apparently had a young family during the war years, though their birth records are lacking.  Acton’s records do show that in 1788, town meeting voted to abate his tax rates along with Peter Fletcher’s (no reason noted) and that in 1789, he was paid for working at Laws Bridge.  In a less-than-appealing practice of earlier days, in 1790, the town of Acton “warned out” residents who had “lately” moved into town, a practice that was meant to assign responsibility for the poor to the towns from which they came.  A fairly long list of people was warned out in 1790.  Among those was John Oliver, “who is residing in Acton Labourer who has lately come into this town for the purpose of abiding therein not having obtained the Towns Consent" and therefore that he should "Depart the Limits thereof with his wife and their children.”  Given his service in the Revolution, this seems to be an act of eye-opening ingratitude, but it was standard practice of the day.  He was not the only veteran on the list or the only one who had been in town since before the Revolution.  Duly warned about a lack of safety net, John Oliver continued to live in the Acton, apparently near the family of John Handley (who lived not far from Nagog Pond on the road to Littleton).  In 1800, the selectmen laid out a “bridle way to accomidate John Oliver by said Olivers and John Handleys” that was accepted as a town “way” in May 1801.  He was paid for “lowering a bridge with Stone near Mr. Jonathan Davis” in 1802.  He showed up in town expenditures for 1813 - 1815 being compensated for supplying wood and taking care of people (apparently relatives) who were on the town’s needy list due to sickness or injury.  Finally, in the 1830s, he was able to receive a pension for military service.  He seems to have achieved old age in good health and outlived most of the Revolutionary War generation.

John Oliver died in November, 1840.  His probate record included a petition to the court that Francis Tuttle be made administrator of the estate.  It was signed by “all the sons & daughters of Mr. John Oliver Late of Acton” and included three heirs: Abijah, Joel and Fatina [Fatima].  (Presumably there could have been other children who died earlier; Abigail Triator, daughter of John Oliver, died in Acton Oct. 13, 1819, for example.  Without birth records or detailed census data, it is very difficult to put together the whole family.)  John Oliver left behind a home farm with a house, barn and about 14 acres of land (appraised at $300), a cow, hay, lumber, corn, potatoes, pork, beef, beans, tools, some furniture, household goods, old books, a few pieces of furniture, and a note with interest.  He also had debts to Ephraim and Joel Oliver (grandson and son, respectively) and Edward Tuttle.  Abijah and Joel signed a petition to sell the real estate to pay off the debts because a partial sale of the land would “greatly injure” the farm.  Both sons stayed in Acton, however, and can be found in later years’ federal and state censuses and local records.

 
We would like to find out more about John Oliver’s life, both in Acton and before he arrived.  The 1790 warning out notice does not mention where he originally came from, but his pension application says that he was born in Concord in 1759.  We have not been able to corroborate that in Concord’s records.  (A search only yielded a John Oliver born to Peter and Margaret in 1747.  That date better matches his age of 83 given in his 1832 pension record, the age of 92 in the 1840 census, and a supposed 1772 birth year for son Abijah.  However, it obviously conflicts with the 1759 birth year also given in the pension application and his age of 23 in the 1780 descriptive soldier list.)  We have not found a marriage record for John Oliver in the 1770s before the children evidently were born. His children’s births were not recorded in Acton at the time.  (Only Abijah appears in Acton births, but in a later volume and without parents’ names.  It seems to have been added to Acton's vital records in the 1800s when Abijah's children's births were recorded as a group.)  John Oliver’s death is mentioned in the town’s vital records without details, though his probate file is an excellent source of information about his family and possessions as of 1840.  The house on his farm presumably did not survive; his homestead was not marked on an 1890 map of Acton’s old houses and sites created by Horace Tuttle (although John’s sons’ homes were marked).  John Oliver’s grave evidently was marked with a Sons of the Revolution marker in 1895.  Unfortunately, its location is no longer remembered; no gravestone exists.  It is likely that he was buried in Forest Cemetery as was his son Joel and his daughter-in-law Esther, but that is conjecture.
 
History can easily be forgotten unless someone makes an effort to preserve it.  From the mid-nineteenth century on, Acton’s local historians and native sons and daughters wanted to emphasize Acton’s importance in the Revolutionary struggle by remembering its “first at the bridge” role.  One can’t blame them when reading Lemuel Shattuck’s 1835 History of the Town of Concord (and Acton) in which he made the dismissive statements about the town of Acton that its history before the Revolution “contains no features worthy of particular notice” and afterwards “is of little general interest.”  In reaction to such attitudes, more historical attention has been given to people who fought on April 19, 1775, and less notice has been given to others’ later war service.  Acton provided many soldiers to the Revolutionary cause.  Some of their identities, unfortunately, will never be known with certainty.  Some, however, can be discovered.   John Oliver’s service was extensive and his life in Acton long.  He should be remembered.

A question about possible Underground Railroad sites in Acton led us to investigate, more generally, anti-slavery sentiments and activity in Acton.  Because our local newspaper access starts after the Civil War, we doubted that we would find out much.  Fortunately, William Lloyd Garrison’s abolitionist newspaper The Liberator is available for research and gave us a surprising amount of information about what was (and perhaps was not) happening for the cause of abolition in Acton in the 1830s – 1850s.  Most of the material related to James Trask Woodbury, minister of Acton’s Evangelical Society starting in 1832. 

The earliest Liberator references to Reverend Woodbury were quite complimentary.  When the Middlesex County Anti-Slavery Society was formed, he was chosen as one of its counsellors (Oct. 11, 1834, p. 3).  He became Secretary the next year (Oct. 17, 1835, p. 3).  He spoke against slavery at various gatherings, including a convention in Groton, meetings of Sudbury’s female anti-slavery supporters, and the New-England Anti-Slavery Convention in Boston in May, 1835 (May 30, p. 3).  He hosted Anti-Slavery Society meetings and speakers at his church, including “Mr. Thompson” (Jan. 31, 1835, p. 3) and Charles C. Burleigh who described him as “the excellent minister, our true-hearted abolitionist brother, Mr. Woodbury.” (March 28, 1835, p. 2)  He was later called "one of the early movers in the anti-slavery agitation”. (March 4, 1853, p. 3) 

At the New England Anti-Slavery Convention in July, 1836, Rev. Woodbury spoke impassionedly about the moral duty of the church to stand against slave-holding as a sin and a crime (July 23, 1836, p. 1).  In July 1837, Rev. Woodbury was asked to speak at the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society’s July 4 celebration, though he declined the opportunity. (July 7, 1837, p. 3)  He was quite obviously held in high esteem by William Lloyd Garrison and his compatriots.  However, that was about to change.

Hindsight and a very different worldview make it difficult for us today to relate to the mindset of ministers of the 1830s, but to understand what came next, we have to recall that it was a time of religious upheaval.  Preachers of many viewpoints had been upending the status quo.  More orthodox ministers were trying to hold onto their “flocks” and guard them against what they saw as spiritually disastrous errors. 

Some Massachusetts clergymen had grown increasingly disturbed by some of William Lloyd Garrison’s non-conformist religious views and his criticisms of established societal and political structures (including churches).  Apparently, the tipping point was Garrison’s support of the Grimke sisters, whose anti-slavery lectures were attracting mixed-gender audiences and generating disagreements about the role of women in society.  The Congregational General Association of Massachusetts issued a letter in June 1837 to be read in Congregational churches, affirming the minister as people’s spiritual guide and leader, discouraging speakers from presenting “their subjects within the parochial limits of settled pastors without their consent”, and urging women to be unostentatious and modest, rather than assuming “the place and tone of man as a public reformer.”  (Aug. 11, 1837, p.1)  This Pastoral Letter, coupled with an “Appeal of Clerical Abolitionists” criticizing The Liberator for its treatment of the clergy (Aug. 11, 1837, p. 2-3) elicited a barrage of letters in various newspapers, many printed or reprinted in the pages of The Liberator.

Into the fray stepped Acton’s Reverend Woodbury.  He wrote a long letter in support of the Clerical Appeal that was published in the New England Spectator and reprinted on the front page of The Liberator (Sept. 1, 1837), including:
“I am an abolitionist... but I never swallowed Wm. Lloyd Garrison ... I became alarmed some months since, for the cause of abolition in such hands ... he is determined to carry forward and propagate and enforce his peculiar theology.  He is not satisfied to teach his readers and hearers the truth as he holds it in reference to slavery and its abolition, but he must indoctrinate them, too, on human governments and family government and the Christian ministry and the Christian Sabbath, and the Christian ordinances.  Slavery is not merely to be abolished, but nearly everything else.  ...  Desert the cause of abolition?  No—never.  But desert Mr. Garrison, I would, if I ever followed him.  But I never did.  I once tried to like his paper – took it one year and paid for it, and stopped it ... What there was of pure abolition in it I liked.  Like the veal in a French soup, I liked it – the whole of it – but I could not swallow the onions, and the garlics, and the spice, and the pepper.  ...  P.S.  No doubt, if you break with Garrison, some will say, ‘you are no abolitionists,’ – for with some, Garrison is the god of their idolatry.  He embodies abolition.  He is abolition personified and incarnate.”

There were many other letters, but Rev. Woodbury’s made quite a stir.  Probably because of Garrison’s extensive answer in The Liberator, Woodbury’s name came to be associated with the ministers who wrote the Appeal.  From the tone and depth of the response, it is clear that Garrison felt betrayed by someone he thought was a brother in the cause.  Leaving aside much in the rejoinder, we can learn from it how Rev. Woodbury’s thinking about abolition evolved.  Garrison remembered that Woodbury had dated his own conversion to abolitionism to a time when he stood by Washington’s tomb, but unfortunately the details of the story were not mentioned.  According to Garrison, Rev. Woodbury had followed Garrison in his thinking “from the colonization to the abolition ranks; from gradual to immediate emancipation; from associating with slaveholders as Christians to repudiating them as thieves and robbers, and ‘sinners of the first rank.’... I heard nothing of you in this cause till it had found a multitude of supporters.”  (Sept 1, 1837, p. 3) 

Some in the national American Anti-Slavery Society felt that the disagreement between the clerics and Garrison was a local and unfortunately personal dispute.  They did not take a side, probably hoping that the anger would die down and that the anti-slavery cause would not be split.  Unfortunately, that was not the case. 

In the October 27, 1837 Liberator (p. 3), some “personal interrogatories” were published questioning the motives of some of the ministers involved in the controversy.  Rev. Woodbury appeared prominently:
“Is it, or is it not true, that Rev. J. T. Woodbury, of Acton, is brother of Hon. Levi Woodbury, Secretary of the Treasury?  Is it, or is it not true, that the Hon. Secretary is fishing for the Vice-Presidency?  And is it, or is it not true, that the active abolitionism of his brother at Acton, has been deprecated as tending to injure the political prospects of the Secretary?”

The Liberator noted that such interrogatories were annoying some readers and should be used carefully.  But given the possibility of people all over the country being influenced by “certain suggestions from Boston, and Acton, and Andover,” it was a public service to answer such questions.  Under the circumstances, the reporting might not have been objective.  However, we did learn that Rev. Woodbury’s brother was indeed Levi Woodbury, who at various points was New Hampshire governor, senator, Secretary of the Navy, Secretary of the Treasury, and later, Supreme Court Justice and presidential hopeful.  (As it turns out, Rev. Woodbury had actually studied law with his brother Levi after graduating from Harvard in 1823.  He was admitted to the bar and practiced in New Hampshire before he decided to become a minister.)  The article related that Rev. Woodbury had told “an influential abolition friend – ‘I am not going to be so conspicuous in the anti-slavery cause as I have been.  My brother’s family complain that I am injuring his political prospects, and I have no idea of being in the way, by acting so prominent a part in this case’ !”  The writer seems not to have discovered the Woodburys’ brother who lived in Mississippi.  That would certainly have been mentioned in the interrogatories; another minister’s Southern connection was noted.  The article did report the discovery that Rev. Woodbury had spoken warmly about The Liberator from the pulpit in the past, so he must have “swallowed” Garrison.

One might have hoped that over time, some of the bitterness would have died down.  Rev. Woodbury continued to be involved in abolitionist activities, authoring a letter about a meeting in Concord that was published in The Liberator (Dec. 21, 1838, p. 3).   He was still involved in the Middlesex County Anti-Slavery Society in 1839; it met in his meetinghouse in Acton in July that year.  Unfortunately, on that occasion, the schism came directly to Acton.  There was dissension about whether or not men should be required to vote in political elections and, even more divisively, about the right of the women present at the meeting to vote on matters affecting the Society.  Eventually, the Society’s Secretary (Rev. J. W. Cross of Boxborough) resigned, and a walk-out followed by certain members, including Rev. Woodbury.  Evidently, they “withdrew for the purpose of forming a new Society.” (July 26, 1839, p. 3) 

Rev. Woodbury did not turn away from the cause of abolition.  His was the first name on an 1840 Acton petition for the abolition of slavery and the slave trade in the District of Columbia.  Evidently, he became an active supporter of a new abolition society that proposed to “abolish this great wrong at the ballot-box,” and he did “earnest work for the success of the party he professed to believe to be right.” (March 4, 1853, p. 3)  However, his apparently outspoken opposition to “Garrisonism” (as it was understood at the time) continued to draw ire from The Liberator. 

On July 27, 1841, Mr. Garrison and others met with the Middlesex County Anti-Slavery Society in “Chapel Hall, Acton”. (Aug. 6, 1841, p. 3)  At the meeting, four resolutions were adopted unanimously.  Along with important items (calling for the end of slavery in the District of Columbia and of laws preventing interracial marriage), a resolution passed that: “James T. Woodbury, of Acton, a professed abolitionist, and formerly among the foremost in rebuking those clergymen who refused to give any countenance to the anti-slavery movement, in refusing to read from his pulpit a notice of the quarterly meeting of this Society, has manifested toward our organization as bitter and hostile a spirit as has ever been shown by the pro-slavery clergy of the land, and identified himself, in this particular, with the feelings and wishes of southern taskmasters.”  This was surprisingly strong wording.  One can only imagine that perhaps Rev. Woodbury had been employing his considerable oratorical skills in a similar manner from the pulpit.  In 1852, The Liberator reported that the “warlike minister” had for years held up Mr. Garrison as “an infidel and a madman.”  (June 11, p.3)

Reading The Liberator was fascinating, because it yielded so much unexpected information about how the debates over abolition and other societal changes played out in Acton.   However, the reporting seems unlikely to have given us a full (or perhaps fair) picture of a minister who served in Acton for twenty years and whose departure to Milford in 1852 was at his own request, not his congregation’s.  Fletcher’s portrayal in Acton in History (pages 290-292) reveals James T. Woodbury as more of a “character” than one would expect from stories in The Liberator.  His preaching was effective despite (or perhaps because of) a lack of notes and learned references.  “Few have carried into the pulpit preparations so apparently meagre... He simply had the lawyer’s brief, a small bit of paper, which none but himself could decipher, and he with difficulty at times.”  He was a large, broad-shouldered man with a commanding presence who could modulate his voice very effectively and tap into listeners’ emotions.  He had a way with words and stories and was frank in expressing his convictions, unconcerned with whether others agreed or not.  “People gave him credit for meaning what he said, even if they did not agree with him.”

Fletcher collected anecdotes about Rev. Woodbury that are worth mentioning to round out impressions of the man.  It was said that he liked to live outside of Acton village so that “he could shout as loud as he pleased without disturbing his neighbors.”  He wore clothes considered unusual at the time and “drove his oxen through the village in a farmer’s frock, with pants in his boots.  Because he had a mind to.”  He liked the choir in his church because it was large and included women (his wife among them).  “He got tired of this all gander music when in college.”  These stories hardly fit the image of the dour cleric that one envisioned from The Liberator.

Reverend Woodbury was elected to the Massachusetts Legislature in the 1850-1851 period, evidently with the aim of obtaining financial aid to erect a monument to the memory of Acton’s minutemen who died April 19, 1775.  Evidently, his legislative colleagues were at first unenthusiastic, but a two-hour speech by Rev. Woodbury managed to tap into their patriotic emotions and secure the funding.  When the monument was dedicated on October 29, 1851, Rev. J. T. Woodbury was given the honor of being president of the day.

Having left his mark on Acton in many ways, Rev. Woodbury left for Milford, Massachusetts where he was installed as Congregational minister on July 15, 1852.   He was mentioned in The Liberator as having given a speech at a large anti-slavery meeting in Hopedale (Aug. 11, 1854, p.3) that was also attended by Sojourner Truth and Garrison allies Charles C. Burleigh and Henry C. Wright.   Rev. Woodbury served the Milford church until his death in 1861 at age 58.  As had been his wish, he was buried with his son in Woodlawn Cemetery, Acton.

From a distance of almost two centuries, the dispute between James T. Woodbury and William Lloyd Garrison seems quite unfortunate.  Though both were committed to the anti-slavery cause, other issues and personal animosities came between them.  A letter to The Liberator (signed “Saxon”) described Rev. Woodbury as “one of those strong, ruling natures, which take the lead of affairs, and mould others to their own purposes.”  (March 4, 1853, p. 3)  Regardless of what one thought of Rev. Woodbury's stances on certain issues, his conviction and his ability to influence were undeniable.  One has to think that despite their differences, William Lloyd Garrison and James T. Woodbury had that in common.

Massachusetts has been experiencing a very cold start to winter, making us think about how Acton’s former inhabitants dealt with plunging temperatures.  A century ago, the January 1918 Concord Enterprise reported the effects of “Jack Frost” on the people of Acton and surrounding towns.  Plumbers were reported to have worked “day and night and through the New Year’s holiday repairing water pipes and frozen meters.”  (Jan. 2, page 5)  In Maynard, the American Woolen Company, a large employer and landlord, utilized its “electrical thawing machine” to help where possible with the frozen pipes in 100 of its houses.  On the 16th, the paper reported that “many calls were sent in to the plumbers who were simply unable to accommodate everyone.“ (page 1)  Current Acton residents and harried plumbers might assume that the news item was just written this week.

There were people, however, who welcomed periods of deep cold.  In the era before refrigeration, ice cut from local ponds and streams could be stored away to chill perishable goods in the warmer months.  Though ice is known to have been used and stored earlier, after Frederick Tudor and Nathaniel Wyeth developed the ice industry in the early- to mid-1800s, cutting ice and using it to chill fresh food became widespread.  In the late nineteenth century, ice was no longer viewed as a luxury for the rich but as a necessity.  By 1900, most homes were able to store fresh food in an insulated wooden icebox that was lined with zinc or tin.  To supply them, the ice man would make his rounds with blocks of ice; consumers would leave a sign in the window if they needed ice that day, specifying the weight of the block they needed.  The ice man would use large ice tongs to handle it.  Where there was demand, businesses grew up.  There was considerable competition in the ice business, and most local ponds became a winter resource, Acton’s included. 

For ice harvesting to be practical, the ice had to be at least eight inches thick and preferably more, as harvesting required horses and men to be out on the ice.  Hayden Pearson’s The New England Year (1966, pages 18-20) describes the basic process, and the US Department of Agriculture's Harvesting and Storing Ice on the Farm (1928) adds many details.  When the ice was deemed to be thick enough, workers would rush to harvest it.   Snow needed to be cleared, preferably by horse power, using a board placed between the runners of two-horse sleds, angled as in modern street clearing.  After clearing, horse-drawn "plows" would groove the ice two to four inches deep.  Making sure the first line was straight was critical; some farmers used a long board lined up with stakes as a straight-edge.  For subsequent grooves, a guide attached to the plow was used to keep the lines parallel.  The plows would then create grooves at right-angles so that blocks could be produced.  (The lines needed to be quite accurate, or there would be waste and problems in stacking and packing the ice in storage.)  After the ice was scored, the sawing would begin.  Individual harvesters (sometimes including boys released from school) would hold the four-foot ice saw's crossbar and saw up-and-down along the grooves. It was hard work.  Hayden Pearson remembered from his youth aching backs and shoulders and being exposed to a miserably cold wind blowing across a pond during harvesting at zero degrees or less.

To transport the sawed ice, a channel was cut to the shore.  The blocks were then pushed through the channel with long-handled hooks.  Alternatively, sometimes the ice would be floated in long strips, and then the blocks would be separated with a saw or a splitting fork before loading. In Pearson’s case, the ice was loaded on a sled and taken to his father’s farm ice house.  In larger enterprises, the ice house might have been located near the pond or at the ice dealer’s business.  The blocks were loaded into the ice house layer by layer, covered with sawdust in between layers and surrounded by a foot of insulating hay or sawdust next to the outside walls.  A ramp was used to push the ice up higher.  Commercial ice harvesters probably used Wyeth’s labor-saving two-bladed ice “plow” and a conveyor belt operated with pulleys or a horse-powered "elevator" to load the blocks of ice and the insulating sawdust into their ice houses.  In later years, trucks and tractor engines would be used, but the essence of the process was similar to Pearson’s father’s. 

It was a tough business; ice cutters had to wait until the ice was thick enough to work on safely but get the ice harvested before a thaw.  Given how hard it is to predict the weather today, one can imagine that timing was tricky in earlier days.  In December 1898 (Dec. 29, page 8) the Concord Enterprise reported that local businessmen Tuttles, Jones and Wetherbee had grooved their ice already, but the weather turned against them, necessitating a wait for more cold.  A significant thaw or precipitation might mean that the work would be ruined.  On Jan. 2, 1896 (page 8), the Concord Junction reporter noted the ice was 9 inches thick the previous week, but now it was probably 2 inches thick and honeycombed.  Another reporter gave offense to a Hudson (MA) ice dealer by commenting that Berlin (MA) ice harvesters had managed to get ice before the thaw, but Hudson’s had not.   It was a temporary problem; a week later, South Acton news reported “Sixteen below zero on Maple street Monday morning, and the ice scare is now over.” (page 8)   Ice had become so important by that time that papers reported on ice shortages as major problems.  For example, the April  4, 1890 issue of the Acton Concord Enterprise (page 3) reported on "rising prices for ice and the rush of the speculators to obtain all they can on the lookout for an ice famine.”

The Enterprise often reported on ice cutting and the filling of ice houses at various Acton locations.  The longest-remembered operation was at Ice House Pond in East Acton where commercial ice cutting seems to have occurred from the 1880s into the 1950s, though ice demand decreased substantially after home refrigerators became common.  A large ice house was located next to the pond.  (See Tom Tidman’s history of ice cutting there and Acton Digest's Winter 1989 article about later years' harvesting at the pond, available at Jenks Library.)   Other locations for ice cutting mentioned in local newspapers were Grassy Pond, Lake Nagog, the mill pond in South Acton, and W. H. Teele’s property in West Acton (accomplished by damming Fort Pond Brook on his property in part of the wetland area now between Gates and Douglas schools).  There were undoubtedly other sources; it is estimated that there were about a dozen ice houses in town.  The newspapers mentioned ice houses belonging to Tuttles, Jones, and Wetherbee in South Acton, Freeman Robbins in East Acton, W. H. Teele, L. W. Perkins, A. F. Blanchard, and A. and O. W. Mead in West Acton, and George Greenough and W. E. Whitcomb, as well as unspecified milk dealers and the railroad (that transported milk to the city).  These owners and businesses would hire men on a contract basis to put in long, intense hours while the weather held.  For example, the February 2, 1899 Enterprise noted in West Acton that “The ice business of A. and O. W. Mead is rushing with 15 teams and 42 men.  They have been cutting about a week and the ice is very thick.” (page 8) 

Reporting usually noted the thickness and quality of the ice.  The danger to the workers was seldom mentioned.  However, in 1917, a report did mention frostbite: “Some of the best ice seen this season was hauled to the ice house of W. E. Whitcomb Saturday from Grassy pond.  It was about 14 or 15 inches thick.  Although the work was not completed filling the house, the work will be finished later.  Otto Geers of Stow, one of the drivers, froze his cheek.”  (Feb. 7, page 7)  Aside from the cold, working on ice was inherently hazardous.  In February 1908, the ice broke, sending one of the ice teams of Webb Robbins into the water.  For a while, "it seemed as if the entire outfit would go to the bottom.  The wagon was finally gotten out, but the load was a loss."  (19th, page 1).   

Coming back to the record-setting cold of December 1917-January 1918, not surprisingly, ice was harvested early and was of great quality that year, up to 27 inches thick.  The cold snap brought with it a “mysterious quake” felt during the night in South and West Acton.  (Concord Enterprise, Jan. 2, page 5)  Residents who were awakened from their sleep wondered if a powder mill or their boiler had exploded.  Later, based upon fissures found in Maynard, the noises were attributed to a “frost quake.”  The same cold froze not only residents’ water pipes  but also the apples and vegetables stored in their cellars.  A coal shortage that winter compounded people’s misery and delayed January’s school opening. 

Some took advantage of the cold to skate, play hockey or go ice fishing.  Aaron Tuttle was reported on January 23 (page 1) to have gotten “16 nice pickerel out of the mill pond.”   Others had to make concessions to conditions.  In Concord, on January 16th, a news item reported that “M. B. L. Bradford has had the lights of the Concord Curling rink cut out of the town’s electric circuit, to help save coal.  Though this cold winter has furnished perfect ice for curling, since Dec. 12, the rink has not been used once for the 8 to 10 o’clock evening play.” But even in that winter, the weather was fickle; the same column mentioned recent rain and warmth ruining the ice in the Middlesex School hockey rink (page 1).

Winter, regardless of the era, brings its own challenges.

Ads for ice dealers found in a 1902 Acton directory in the Society's collection.

Old photographs allow us priceless glimpses of times past, but it can be hard to relate to the people pictured because of their serious expressions.  Many of us learned that early photography required people to be still too long to make smiling practical.  However, by the mid-nineteenth century, the technology existed to capture more fleeting expressions.  Other possible explanations are that it wasn’t standard to smile in photographs because of bad teeth, cultural bias, or imitation of the solemn expressions in portrait paintings.

Whatever the reason, most of our older pictures at the Society feature people looking serious, including many from the schools.  However, even among early photographs, there are some surprising moments of personality.  One of our favorite school pictures was taken of the West Acton Grammar School around 1886.  The photographer must have had a good rapport with the children and, very unusually, let them hold objects.  There was obviously no technical difficulty in capturing their smiles.

In a picture from South Acton school around the beginning of the twentieth century, several students were smiling.  Perhaps the reason was the boy apparently hiding behind the back row with another boy gesturing in his direction.  The captured moment was a typical one in the life of a teacher, but an unusual moment of spontaneity in a class photo.  (The teacher may not have felt like smiling at that moment.)

Sometimes, the choice of subject is the most telling part of the picture.  A carefully composed image from another glass plate collection shows that there were also cat lovers among Acton's Brook Street Smith family.  The hand at the bottom right shows that someone was trying manage the dark cat's reaction to being on display.

For us in this era of photographic abundance and ease of culling and editing images, it is good to remember that those serious people in old photographs had just as much personality as we do.  It was not expected that they smile in a photograph, but they may have cracked a joke or simply smiled in relief the moment after the photo was taken.  That's something we all can relate to.

Before we leave the subject of Jonathan Hosmers and their roles during the Revolutionary War, we have one more issue to clear up.  The youngest Jonathan was remembered on his sister’s gravestone in Woodlawn Cemetery with the statement that he “died at Bennington in ye Servis of his Country In the 18th year of his age.”  The easy assumption from the wording of the gravestone is that he was killed at the Battle of Bennington.  That, however, could not have been what happened.

Jonathan Hosmer served in Captain George Minott’s company, Colonel Samuel Bullard’s regiment.  (Our previous blog post discussed finding sources of information and the difficulty of distinguishing his service from his father’s.)  Jonathan enlisted in Massachusetts on August 16, 1777, the day that the Battle of Bennington occurred.  Jonathan’s service lasted until October 1, and his pay included 9 days’ travel home, so he clearly was not killed in the battle.  One website lists Jonathan Hosmer as having been at Saratoga (apparently based on the fact that Bullard’s regiment went there after Vermont).  Was that possible? 

To answer that question, we tried to learn more about Captain Minott’s 1777 company.  It had been formed in response to an order from the Massachusetts legislature on August 9, 1777 that the towns needed to provide a sixth of their “Able-Bodied Men in the Training Band and Alarm List, now at home” to reinforce the Continental Army.  The order stipulated that if men refused to serve, they would be forced to.  In the following week, a number of men volunteered for a three-month tour of duty (either because they wanted to or they expected to be drafted).  The towns filled the rest of their quota with draftees.  Existing records give us no way to distinguish volunteers from draftees.  Seventeen-year-old Jonathan Hosmer’s name was on the Acton draft list drawn up by Simon Hunt and among those who joined the company of Captain George Minot/Minott of Concord.  Also in the company were Jonathan’s uncle Jonas Hosmer, two years his senior, and others from Acton, Concord, and surrounding towns.

Captain Minott’s Company was part of Col. Samuel Bullard’s Regiment, also known as the Fifth Middlesex County Militia.   A useful article by Edward A. Hoyt and Ronald F. Kingsley in Vermont History (2007, Volume 75, No. 2) described the activities of the Massachusetts three-month militia put under the command of General Benjamin Lincoln, (approximately 2,000 men in September, 1777, joined by about 500 soldiers from Vermont and New Hampshire).  According to the article, the men gathered in Bennington, Vermont.  Some were left on guard duty there while the rest of General Lincoln’s men were moved to Pawlet, Vermont around September 8.  In mid-September, the men were divided up, and three groups of 500 were sent on expeditions to “divide and distract” General Burgoyne’s army by attacking the detachments left to guard the British supply line up to Canada.  Because speed and surprise were necessary, the groups sent out were not complete regiments; experienced soldiers were mixed with the “inexperienced and less disciplined men.”  Records do not seem to list exactly who went and who stayed behind, so we cannot tell whether Jonathan Hosmer went out with one of the expeditions or served on guard duty in Bennington or Pawlet.  Most of the men moved on to join General Gates at Stillwater/Saratoga, some around September 22 and others after the expeditions returned to Pawlet at the end of September.  Given the timing of his discharge and assuming he did indeed die in Bennington, Jonathan Hosmer probably would not have been among them, though it is possible that he was discharged elsewhere and was on his return trip when he died there. 
 
Jonathan Hosmer was discharged before others in the company; it is likely that he was released early due to illness but died before he could get home.  Perhaps Jonas Hosmer, discharged a few days after Jonathan, carried home the news.  One can imagine the impact on the family.  (It is not surprising that Jonathan’s father, who would have known too well about the effect of war service on those left behind, was chosen later in the war to serve on a committee to provide for soldiers’ families.)  There do not seem to be any extant records about Jonathan’s death and burial.  Fortunately, his relatives made sure that he was remembered.  In 1783, when the family lost Jonathan’s married sister Submit, her gravestone was inscribed with a memorial to Jonathan’s service and his death away from his home.