Clang Clang Clang

The Blue Hill Street Railway, No. 65
at Mattapan Square on August 15, 1903. 

Canton sounds different - historically speaking. For one thing, the sound of factory whistles, or a neighbor’s cow, or even the clinking sound of the milkman’s bottles. So much of our daily lives have changed over the course of our town’s history. We cannot quite place a date or time when most sounds ended, except for one. The sound of the trolley bells that once clanged through Canton Center were silenced forever during a snowstorm on February 5^th an 6^th 1920.

The photographs are an anomaly, when we see the Blue Hill Street Trolley cars frozen in time, we cannot but help to ask the question – is this really Canton? It all started in 1899 and the trolley line lived for twenty-one years. Promoted, constructed and owned by Stone & Webster, the Blue Hill started during the height of the trolley era in New England. The fifteen-mile line connected Boston with the suburban towns of Milton, Canton, Stoughton, Sharon and Norwood. In particular it served the fledgling Blue Hills Reservation and was a critical link for businesses and factories along the route.

Two Unidentified Conductors in the early 1900's 

What made this trolley different than most, and likely led to it’s downfall, was the fact that this system was built from the suburban towns into the city as opposed to being built as an extension from existing city lines. As a result, the system was plagued with equipment, operations, and financial problems from the start. The Blue Hills Street Railway was never profitable, and near the end of its life, it was the financial ruin for some investors.

It was originally to be named the Stoughton, Canton and Boston Street Railway and was the work of Charles A. Stone and Edwin S. Webster. Stone met his lifelong friend and partner, Webster, while they were studying electrical engineering at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.  These two men graduated in 1888 and left an indelible mark on electrical engineering, still visible today.

Electricity was an exciting new field and cities and towns were building local utilities to meet the large-scale demand of this new innovation. In 1889, Stone and Webster’s parents provided seed money to form a consulting firm, the Massachusetts Electrical Engineering Company, whose first client was a paper mill in Maine in need of a hydroelectric plant for its power. Public utilities became the niche specialty for the firm, and they began managing power stations in 1895, financing them in 1902 through an in-house securities department, and constructing them throughout the firm's history. By 1912, the firm had 600 consultants housed in an 8-story building, yet Stone and Webster retained adjoining desks and jointly signed their firm’s letters.

In Canton, Stone and Webster had little difficulty finding investors in the project. Several notable and wealthy citizens signed on. The initial incorporators were a “who’s who” of Canton’s upper echelon. Names like Forbes, Huntoon, Chapman, French, Sprague, Everett, Endicott and Rogers brought the capital needed to build this ambitious system.  The route was originally proposed as, “commencing at the terminus of the Brockton Street Railway Company in the town of Stoughton… extending through the towns of Sharon, Canton and Milton…to the line separating Milton from Boston… and the town of Hyde Park. Its length will be fifteen miles.”

Within a few months nine miles of track were completed making it possible to get from Stoughton Center along to Cobb Corner – via Central Street, and then up Washington Street to Ponkapoag where Connor’s Wayside Furniture is today. Over time rails were laid down Sherman Street to connect to Canton Junction. Eventually trolleys would run over the Spaulding Street Bridge and down through Jackson Street to Neponset Street and terminate at the bridge over the Neponset River into Norwood.

The building of tracks was only part of the equation. If you drive down Bolivar Street, just after the Town Barn in the distance you can see what many locals refer to as the Chicken Factory. The moniker was earned in 1935 when Furman - Meyers, Inc. began operation of a poultry dressing and packing plant. But, before it was destined to handle chickens, this was a state-of-the-art power station running coal-fired turbines for the Blue Hill Railway. Another power vestige is the Kessler Machine Works at the Canton Viaduct, originally a power sub-station. And, the small pizza place across from Canton Junction was once a waiting room for the trolley system – relocated to Sherman Street at some point in its history.

A Frequent Winter Image

In the earliest of days the line was operated in three parts due to the fact that it crossed railroad tracks along the way and the railroad declined to allow crossings. This meant that passengers would board the trolley at Stoughton Square, and have to get off two more times and board another waiting trolley just to get to Ponkapoag. Eventually the Massachusetts Railroad Commission allowed the crossings and by September 1901 most of the system was built. The complete connection though to Mattapan was competed in the summer of 1903.

The trolley never made money for the investors. In fact, it hemorrhaged money consistently throughout the operation. In 1903 the company turned a profit of $84.67 and it likely never was able to pay any dividends to shareholders. Most of the ridership occurred between Memorial Day and Labor Day when thousands would flock from Boston to the Blue Hill Reservation. The local population of Canton at the time was under 5000 citizens, and most did not travel between the towns served by the trolley system.

Not only did the trolley line lose money, it was also at times a dangerous ride. John Carroll lives on Pleasant Street and his father; also John Carroll was a conductor on the Blue Hill Street Railway. “My dad used to tell stories of how he would fly down the hills in Milton neat the fire station.” Under their own power, the twenty-eight foot cars would gather quite a lot of speed unless checked by the breaking systems. Derailments were common and descendants of Faustina Estey Shaw Jennison still recall her remarking how she was on that streetcar the day it tipped over by Canton Corner Cemetery. “She said she thought she was going to wind up early at the cemetery in that accident,” she would exclaim to her family.

The worst accident, however, occurred at 9:00 pm on October 10, 1904. A Mattapan bound trolley was unable to stop due to wet leaves on the rails, slamming head on into a car heading towards Ponkapaog Hill. The motorman, Frank Smith, was killed and found dead, “tightly wedged between the vestibules of the two cars.” The thirty year-old trainman left five children. James Duggan, an employee of the railway, had his left leg crushed in the accident and amputated above the ankle. In the darkness of the wreckage the motorman, Ed Sheehan, “managed to crawl over” to Dugan. “What is the matter Jim?” Dugan said his legs were crushed and he was afraid he was bleeding to death. Sheehan tied the leg with a handkerchief and then fainted beside his comrade whose life he saved. The seven passengers from Mattapan were badly shaken up, and the lawsuit that ensued cost the trolley company dearly. 

In order to build ridership, the company began raffling off small pets to encourage children and their parents to ride. Rabbits, white rats, and “well bred pigeons” were distributed. One resident remarked, “his home was being turned into a fully equipped menagerie.” The local paper observed, “there are so many pretty animals not needed in the High Street neighborhood, it might be suggested that they be rounded up and tagged for delivery at Blue Hill.” And, while ridership was built up, the finances never worked out.

The End of the BHSR - February 6, 1920

The winter of 1919-1920 spelled the death knell for the system. The company was placed into receivership, and the residents of Canton voted to appropriate $1500 at the special town meeting in the hopes of saving the company. Mother Nature was not as accommodating. A series of snowstorms forced the system to its knees. The steam generator at the power station failed and on February 5^th an intense nor’easter dumped 17.3 inches of snow on Canton. The local paper described the storm. “Two trains stalled from Thursday night until Saturday morning, one hundred and fifty passengers dependent on Red Cross and citizens for food and shelter. Bread supply exhausted within an hour of each baking. Blue Hill St. Ry. out of coal in midst of storm and may have to wait until line is opened up by thaw.”

The situation was dire; snowdrifts totally covered the trolley cars. “They are still up there, with the snow drifted up to the car roof… under the feet of pedestrians and horses the car line path packed into a solid mass of ice.” The paper went on to consider that “it is presumed that the line will have to be dug out before service could be given, and the lowest estimate of the cost is $2000. In the present state of the road’s finances…it looks as if the management will have to wait for the next thaw to clear the line.”

The cars stayed right where they froze on that February day. Several months later they were returned to the carhouse and never ran again. Mothballed until a massive fire at Cobb Corner in 1921 destroyed the entire rolling stock and the line became totally abandoned. In time the tracks along Washington Street were torn up and scrapped. There are a few rails rumored to be in a driveway on Sherman Street. There are scrapbooks with tickets, and John Carroll still has his father’s motorman’s badge from a uniform cap. 

Pretty much all we have now are the photographs that show this amazingly wonderful yet failed experiment in regional transportation. As the snow falls, it is hard to imagine the frozen trolleys on the hill in Ponkapoag. And, of course we will never hear the sound of the bell ringing along our main street as we head into history.

Casey Places His Bet

Brooks Block the scene of a superbly executed
State Police daytime raid on Casey’s.

Thomas E. Casey was an entrepreneur and knew he needed adequate space for a new venture in Canton that would change the ordinary lives of the everyday man. Walking up Washington Street on a late July afternoon in 1938, Casey a bright 32 year-old upstanding citizen of Canton saw just such an opportunity.

Born in 1906, Casey was a newspaperman of sorts. Working for the Canton Journal, and subsequently the Norwood Messenger and Boston Record. These were jobs, yet Casey wanted a career and during the depression a quest for “easy money” would take Casey down.

At the intersection of Bolivar and Washington Streets stood the massive and imposing Brooks Block, originally built around 1856, the building was the cornerstone of the community. Over the years the corner landmark was home to the post office, the telephone exchange, a string of drugstores, the police department and several fraternal and social organizations. In 1887, the upper stories of the building were renovated and the Odd Fellows Hall occupied the third floor. In 1905, another grander renovation was completed transforming the stunning reception hall.

A majestic space by all accounts, Odd Fellows Hall was large enough to host weddings and huge parties. Shows, musicals, and all sorts of entertainment were the order of the day. And on one occasion George Polley, “The Human Fly” wowed hundreds of onlookers as he nimbly scaled the façade without the aid of ropes or harness. It was a magnificent stunt worthy of the building. And, yet, by the summer of 1938 Brooks Block was showing its age and the Canton Lodge of Masons was moving out of their spacious third floor space to a new home. A sign went up “space for rent.”

And that is when Casey saw the prospects of his business venture brighten considerably. Over the next two month, Casey planned to build one of the finest establishments ever seen outside of Boston. His “parlor” would occupy the entire third floor. Casey knew he would do well. There were plenty of customers that worked in the radius of our small suburban town. And, while times were indeed tough in 1938, the Work Progress Administration (W.P.A.) was busy with all sorts of local projects right here in Canton.

The W.P.A. was the most ambitious New Deal Agency that had been created by Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Employing millions of unemployed, the main thrust was to carry out construction projects. In 1935, when the Canton Post Office was built, a New Deal project included the painting of the mural celebrating Paul Revere’s Copper Industry in Canton. And, over the course of nine years, Canton received many additional benefits that added badly needed pay to suffering families’ wallets.

In Canton, the W.P.A. projects included bridges, dams, sewer lines and sidewalks constructed by local laborers from all across town. The hot argument surging through town in 1938 was whether to accept federal aid to build a new High School on the land known as the French Estate on Washington Street. The town meeting that year voted against the question, but in true Canton fashion it took nine years to settle the question and new High School was built in 1947. 

All the men that were building the new bridges and sidewalks across town had money and it seemed to Casey that he could give them a place to spend it. In the central room, Casey installed three 20-foot long tables with benches so the patrons would be comfortable. After all, they would be spending considerable time in his establishment. On the third floor of Brooks Block, Casey built glassed in teller windows. A state-of-the-art amplification system was installed, along with special staging and an elevated illuminated board. To complete his operation, Casey installed dozens of phone lines, not all that difficult considering that the building was once home to New England Telephone.

The scene of the crime; on the third floor of the
Odd Fellows Hall sixty-five men
gathered to gamble their depression era paychecks.

What Casey had built over the course of several weeks was one of the most “well-equipped horserace betting establishments” in this section of eastern Massachusetts. Unfortunately for Casey, it was also highly illegal. Illegalities aside, it made no matter to the patrons, however, who flocked to the new scheme in droves.

These patrons were largely the working classes from all the surrounding towns including Boston. Word of Casey’s pari-mutuel betting parlor spread like wildfire and it was extremely successful. It was a very well run operation. In the center of the room sat the men who were placing bets on several of the horse races of the day. On a giant board illuminated by floodlights, were posted the names of the horses running in the afternoon races across the country. The exact odds as those at the tracks were posted on board around the room. And, the battery of telephones was used to take and place bets as well as receive results almost instantaneously.

Throughout the day, the results were announced to the crowd and time stamped bets at the teller windows “prevented the operators from being defrauded.” It was perfect in every way, and well received by the men digging sewers for the W.P.A. In 1938, it turns out the biggest celebrity in America was a horse named Seabiscuit. The story was classic; a horse that rose to greatness with the assistance of a “a half-blind prizefighter and failing jockey, a mute mustang breaker, and a bicycle repairman-turned-overnight millionaire racehorse owner. Against the dreary backdrop of the waning depression, the W.P.A. workers found inspiration in this amazing animal. It is no wonder that Casey had hit upon success from these men’s hopes.

Unfortunately, a byproduct of gambling is losing and the wives of those government workers were not amused by their husband’s diversions. Reportedly, a wife of one of the losing gamblers dimed out Casey to the Massachusetts State Police in Framingham. A newspaper reported the cause of the complaints came “from the wives of W.P.A. workers and other men of low income, who declared that their husbands were losing their pay the bookie office.” Poor Casey had barely been in operation a week or two when a raid was planned.

On September 15^th “in the heart of Canton’s business district” the state police gathered outside the entrances to Brooks Block. Word in a small town travels fast, and soon “hundreds of townspeople gathered in Canton Square and along Washington Street to watch the long arm of the law fall upon Casey. Unfortunately for the wives who complained so vociferously, the “raid was timed to coincide with the running of the fifth and sixth races at the various tracks, when the largest number of betters would be wagering their money.” The plan was to capture as many patrons as possible and send a clear message to gamblers.

As the troopers of the flying squadron waited for the signal, they were armed with “sledgehammers, axes, and jimmies. At about five o’clock, perhaps as the fifth race at Pimlico began, more than sixty-five men were awaiting the outcome of the race. As the horses entered the first turn, the doors to the third-floor room splintered open, chaos ensued and the unlucky men were huddled into the corner of the grand betting parlor.

For the gamblers the outcome that day was bleak. “Residents of not only Canton but Brockton, Stoughton, Boston, Norwood, Milton, Braintree, Foxboro and Walpole were among those trapped.” Casey was arrested on the charge of maintaining and promoting the enterprise. Immediately after notifying the sixty-five men of their arrest, Lieutenant John McLaughlin of the State Police informed them that they could only leave the place upon posting a $25 bail – a sum equal to $402 today.  That princely sum was reduced to $10 as a result of the scofflaws’ inability to pay.

Albert A. Ward, the Canton bail commissioner set up a table in the room and one by one the men had to positively identify themselves and post bail. Owing to the fact that many of them were unable to post bail, Casey himself posted bail for many of them. As soon as the last man was out of the room, the State Police took axes to every piece of equipment in the room destroying Casey’s illicit dream. Arraignments were held in Stoughton and Casey was fined $520 (almost $10,000 in today’s economy) and the cases against the 65 others were dismissed.

Much to the embarrassment of the wives and families of the gamblers, every one of their names were printed in the paper the next day. Familiar Canton names such as Podgurski, McSorley, Sykes, Shea, Pocaro, and Sims were among the roll call of men playing the ponies that fateful afternoon.

As for Casey, soon thereafter he entered into business with his father involving a different vice, that of maintaining a liquor parlor, and all quite legal this time around. A resident of 315 Walpole Street, his house is still standing. Casey became a special police officer, operated a taxi business and by the time he died in 1958, at age 53, a well rehabilitated upstanding man of the community. In 1943, an epic fire tore through Brooks Block destroying the magnificent building. Seabiscuit was nominated for seven Academy Awards, and lost to Lord of the Rings.