Massapoag House

Massapoag House from an 1848 sheet music cover.
(Collection of the author)

Our kitchen is the “Canton room,” according to my wife. Of course, all things Canton seem to find their way into every room of our house. As part of her spring-cleaning ritual, several pieces of framed artwork have found their way onto the kitchen walls, pieces that might have been relegated to an upstairs closet. One of my favorite bits of Canton memorabilia is the sheet music cover for the Massapoag March. This once grand part of Canton’s history can now only be found in images and distant memories.

Today, as a new hotel goes up near the foot of the Great Blue Hill, it turns out that this is our first new hotel since the Massapoag House was built in 1789. And while there is a long history of taverns and boarding houses in Canton, indeed the Massapoag House was a true “hotel” by all standards.

The view of the Kinsley Iron Works and Massapoag Hall.
 (Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

The three-story Massapoag House was an imposing structure located on the land of the present-day post office. For over 70 years this landmark was the center of social and Catholic life in our community. It is hard to imagine such a grand building imposing upon the streetscape, but Massapoag House was quite a special place. At the Boston Museum of Fine Arts there is a painting in the Karolik Collection of American Paintings, and this 1850 landscape by an unknown artist (perhaps Joseph Hidley 1830-1872) shows an idyllic view of Canton and the Kinsley Iron Works, and most specially the Massapoag House.

The building began life in 1789 as a private residence for Jonathan “Quaker” Leonard. Quaker Leonard was, well, a Quaker — a member of the Society of Friends — and a businessman and partner of Adam Kinsley. And at age 26, Quaker Leonard was building considerable wealth. Leonard descended from a family that hailed from Pontypool, England, and when they came to America, they brought with them the knowledge of the working of iron ore.

Leonard’s father, Eliphalet, began making guns for the American Revolution in Easton, and it was here that Jonathan Leonard met Kinsley. Leonard, known to be eccentric and bright, obtained even more insight into iron production when, upon hearing that steel was being made in Pennsylvania, he traveled there to investigate. Under the guise of being a simpleton, he engaged in industrial espionage and worked as a menial employee at the furnace, thus bringing even more knowledge to the business in Canton and Easton.

As for the other half of the partnership, for folks who know their history, Kinsley is a name synonymous with iron in Norfolk County, and at the time in America. In 1788, Leonard and Kinsley erected a blacksmith’s shop near the present-day waterfall at “Forge” Pond. The business was brisk, and between 1790 and 1800, more than 200 mill-saws and 3,600 scythes were manufactured, all implements of a growing post-colonial economy.

At the time, the majority of iron ore came from Lake Massapoag in Sharon. This 353-acre spring-fed lake was drawn down to expose bog iron that would be refined in Canton and Easton. It is no wonder that Massapoag House would have such a strong connection to the great pond in Sharon, as the source of wealth was the raw material that would build a nation.

So, in 1789, Leonard built Massapoag House next to the factory — by all accounts a large and imposing two-story building. The firm of Leonard & Kinsley continued until 1821 when the partnership split, and Leonard took the land on the easterly side of Washington Street and Kinsley took the land on the westerly side. Eventually, the Kinsley Iron Works would own all of the land when Leonard’s fortunes turned bad. Leonard believed that a rich mine of lead ore would be found in Easton, and he exhausted his considerable fortunes in pursuit of this mine. Massapoag House was lost to his creditors sometime between 1833 and 1835. Leonard left, some say in shame, and according to Huntoon, moved to New Orleans. Recent sources seem to indicate that he died on October 25, 1839, in Biloxi, Mississippi. Massapoag House became a public house managed by David Spaulding.

By the time the Viaduct was being built in 1834, James Bent was running his tavern at the site, and he ran a stagecoach line from Canton to Boston. Bent was the son of Captain William Bent, the landlord of the Eagle Inn. So in keeping with the family business, Massapoag House continued to be a tavern. A stop in Canton would have been on the route to Providence or Boston, and the stage line would have several places to drop passengers. The building was remade as a public house and the Canton Lyceum (a literary society) met regularly at this tavern. In fact, the Canton Lyceum was the “salon” of Canton — where ideas were debated regularly and eventually the literary collection would become the foundation of the Canton Public Library. The big change for Massapoag House would come in 1848, when Lyman Kinsley, Adam Kinsley’s son, expanded, remodeled and added a third-story, thus creating the finest rural hotel in New England.

Opening Night Invitation, 1848
(Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

The drawing in my kitchen is featured on the opening playbill for the Grand Ball, held on Thursday, February 3, 1848. It was Kinsley that gave the house its name, Massapaog House. There is another painting of this place. A beautiful landscape at the MFA was probably commissioned at this time and features both Kinsley’s new building and his factory. The color version of the oil painting shows a beautiful blue sky with cotton candy clouds. It is doubtful that the area ever boasted a beautiful sky, since the factory was so close by. For many years the hotel flourished, but the smoke from the forges in the immediate vicinity would make a stay disagreeable. By 1909, the fortunes of the Kinsley Iron Works were dissolved, and once again creditors would step in and sell the property.

In 1909, the Catholic Church bought the building at auction. As such, in more modern times the association more closely recalled with this building is that of the Canton Catholic Club and Guild. The basement boasted three bowling alleys while a movie theatre showed silent films, and in the rear of the first floor there was a large billiards parlor. Canton’s Catholic population had swelled during the late part of the 19^th century, and to help occupy the attention and time, the Catholic Club offered many diversions. This was the home to the Canton Royal Rooters of 1915.

The fire that destroyed the Canton Catholic Club,
1918, photo by Judge Gregory Grover.
 (Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

The end would come more than 129 years after it was built. Early on January 5, 1918, fire destroyed the 130-year-old structure. “It was an absolutely fascinating thing to watch,” recalled Town Clerk Carlton Taber, who as a young boy remembered being at the scene after hearing the fire alarm split the frigid morning air. “The water became ice in nothing flat.” Judge Gregory Grover took several photos from his front lawn where the fire was fought.

So, as you climb the stairs to the Post Office, it is hard to imagine that the center of social life in Canton was here on this site. If you pause for a moment, you might hear the laughter of children, or catch a whisper of lovers on a first date; the strains of music float through time from the dance hall where Nathaniel Bent would cut the “pigeon’s wing.” As Huntoon writes: “The happy nights passed in the old hall will linger in the memory till time with us shall be no more.”

Part II: Leonilda Verzone – A Life in Canton

Leonilda Verzone at age 16

My grandmother, my Nana, turns 100 today. As you read this story, it is my joy to reflect upon what her place in my life and in Canton means. Leonilda (Verzone) Salemme was born in New York, but was raised by her paternal grandmother in the small village of Brusnengo in northern Italy; her childhood was marked by being born an American but raised an Italian, and growing up in a family that she only discovered at age 11.

In Canton she attended public schools but never graduated from Canton High School, owing to her slow progress with the English language. Instead, she began to help her mother, Cesira, in all things domestic. Domestic life was part of the family tradition. Cesira Achino, a servant, was born in 1889 and immigrated to New York aboard the La Savoie in 1905. At 16 she traveled 19 days at sea in wretched third class and arrived at Ellis Island among hundreds of thousands of immigrants. Cesira would live with cousins in New York City and would eventually meet Emilio Verzone. Emilio, my “Nonno,” arrived in New York in January 1905 aboard the same ship as his future wife. The ship passenger manifest lists $45 in his pocket, and the 20-year-old laborer joined two of his brothers, Ricardo and Giuseppe, who had arrived together in 1901.

The hardworking brothers were almost immediately successful. Photographs of the period show them impeccably dressed and perfectly groomed. By 1914, Emilio had declared his intention to become a citizen of the United States, which was successfully granted in 1917. All of the brothers became citizens quickly within a few years of their arrival.

It would seem that their occupation was that of wait staff serving the wealthy in Palm Beach, Florida, and New York City. Ricardo (Richard) Verzone amassed a small fortune as the maître d’hotel of the famous Plaza Hotel in New York. This was the golden age of the grand hotel, and the work was prestigious as well as lucrative. In 1912, the Plaza organization sent the now anglicized Richard and his brothers to Boston to open the Copley Plaza. Richard went on to open the Black and White Club in Marlboro and became an early investor in the Boston Garden organization. The family tragedy that was never discussed in our house growing up was his suicide in Quebec in 1933. Nana would only discuss this with me when I was old enough to research the Boston Globe clippings, and even 50 years after his death she would weep for his lost soul.

A year after Richard’s suicide, his mother, Ernesta, (Nana’s grandmother) traveled for the last time from Brusnengo, Italy, to the United States and settled in Canton in the family home. Ernesta brought steamer trunks full of correspondence and photographs chronicling the entire family history. Literally, hundreds of documents in an archaic Italian dialect are in our family archives as a result of her last trip. It is indeed amazing to have saved both sides of the family stories by matching the letters sent and received. A young friend, Sabrina Ugazio, in Brusnengo has helped me translate some of the letters and documents. Rosa DiFabianis Verzone is buried alongside her daughter Maria at the Canton Corner Cemetery.

And so, in this family that served the wealthy and famous, Nana decided to open a beauty salon. She attended the Wilfred Academy of Hair and Beauty Culture in Boston, and by the mid 1930s she opened a shop in downtown Canton at 620 Washington Street. Specializing in “all areas of beauty,” she had an active and dedicated clientele. As children growing up in her house on Walpole Street, she was never pleased when we would play with hundreds of plastic curlers, strewing them throughout.

Leonilda Verzone as a bride to
George Salemme, taken in 1936

Nana would meet George Salemme from Dedham, the only boy from a family of seven girls and the youngest child. Talk about pressure — what girl would be good enough for little Georgie? The sisters: Irene, Florence, Frances, Celia, Rose, Veda, and Elizabeth all watched as George and Leonilda married on Columbus Day, October 12, 1936, at St. John’s Church with a reception at Oddfellow’s Hall in Brooks Block on Bolivar Street.

George & Leonilda Salemme
on Walpole Street

The photograph of Nana in her wedding gown is splendid — a white satin dress with tiny flower pearls, long trail, veil, and a pearl crown. The photo shows a beautiful 25-year-old woman. Immediately following the wedding the newlyweds moved to Wall Street and eventually back to a house on Walpole Street, which had been purchased by an uncle and adjoined the house that Nana had grown up in.

My grandfather, George Thomas Salemme, is my namesake, and for those wondering if there is any relationship to the infamous Salemme family — just ask me in person the next time we talk. George worked at United Drug in Dedham and eventually at the Neponset Mills on Walpole Street. It would be this factory where so many Canton immigrants would work using dyes and chemicals that they would eventually die of cancers at a time when cancer was common and with unknown origins. Nana tells of the great pain in the final days of her husband’s life when she would sleep on the floor for fear of even the slightest movement on the mattress, which could bring excruciating pain to her dying husband.

Over the course of their marriage, George and Leonilda had three daughters: Nadine, Janice, and my mother, Andrea. The girls grew up on Walpole Street, attended Canton schools, and lived full lives. Nana opened up a penny candy store in a small addition on the house that helped make ends meet. Over time the family grew up. Nana grieved the loss of her oldest daughter, Nadine, and would tell of how heavy the burden of a mother to outlive a child. Another burden was the fact that by the early 1960s Nana had begun to lose her sight. She became totally blind by 1968, and despite this handicap she never missed a beat.

Nana at the Hellenic Nursing
Home in Canton, MA

My brothers and I grew up in that house on Walpole Street. I was born a few years after my grandfather died, and so the house would seem fuller as Comeau children would come along in due course. For me, the amazing part of Nana’s life was the aphorisms she would share at each critical turn in my own life. “Deeds not words” seemed to be her most oft-quoted motto. Early lessons in art, literature, and especially history were critical to my personal growth. It was as if she had taken the role of her own grandmother in supporting the ongoing raising of the children in her household.

As the fog of age began to cross Nana’s mind, she began to slip back into her childhood. We had a 90^th birthday at Pequitside Farm to celebrate her life. She implored us not to have a party, then promptly created a guest list. At 95 she celebrated at the Hellenic Nursing Home, where she lives today in a secure and loving environment. Today, at 100, she murmurs of her childhood and giggles, cries, and smiles as each day moves forward. Last week, my mom and my wife read her the first part of this story; she laughed and nodded as if the fog was parted ever so slightly. In her mind she is again climbing the hills above Brusnengo and skipping down the path of her youth.

Happy 100^th birthday Nana!!!

Canton's Christmastide Traditions

James Dunbar's Poem "Santa Claus" in the collection 

of the Canton Historical Society (photo by George T. Comeau)

Samuel B. Noyes sat down to write his weekly column for the Norfolk County Gazette. It was Christmas week in 1887, and he thought back at how quickly the year had slipped by. This had been a pretty industrious year for the town of Canton. Our small community was a boomtown; the factories had been going full tilt and Elijah Morse had broken ground on his new factory on Washington Street. Kinsley Iron Works was enlarging their shop, new safety tracks were placed on the Viaduct, a new almshouse was built for the poor, and a new Episcopal Church was being built. All in all, it was a very busy year in a bustling town.

Samuel B. Noyes, prominent Canton attorney
and local historian. (Courtesy of the Canton
Historical Society)

Noyes, a prominent lawyer, saw himself as a historian. In fact, Noyes was descended from the Noyes’ that had settled Newbury, Massachusetts, and he reveled in knowing that the family home in the small town of Newbury was one of the oldest in the state, having been built in 1646. The family connections meant that Noyes knew everyone and in fact was part of a prominent Canton delegation that attended Daniel Webster’s funeral in October 1852.

Noyes enjoyed all things Canton and was a friend of Daniel Huntoon, the town’s preeminent historian. Huntoon had died just over a year ago (almost to the day), and now Noyes felt as though it was his duty to adopt local history and stories that his dear friend was so well known for. Noyes’ intensive research, recollections and accounts would be accurate for history’s sake.

Christmas was the topic at hand, and he decided he would dedicate his column to the various celebrations across the community. The holiday began on Friday afternoon as the children opened their schoolrooms to public exhibitions fitting the holiday. The children would sing songs, have small plays, and generally celebrate the season with music and poetry. Santa Claus exchanged his reindeer and sleigh for horse and carriage. Each school was a stop on Santa’s rounds where he distributed confections and fruit to all the children.

The children also had gifts to present, and in the Eliot school, Miss Capen and Miss Sumner were given thoughtful little gifts — perhaps a silk handkerchief or a small, ivory-handled fan purchased in one of the many shops along Washington Street. Teachers, in turn, exchanged smiles knowing that the holiday would bring a welcomed break from the routine of the winter lessons.

It was that handwritten poem by James Dunbar that reminded Noyes of the joy and spirit of Christmas: “I have come, little friends, I have come at your call, A right Merry Christmas, man woman and child. I have just left the top of Blue Hill you must know, where I spied you all out, peering over the snow. I spied out the roof with my double lens glass. I could see through the windows each laddie and lass. I have popguns and whistles and tops for the boys, I have knickknacks and notions and holiday toys. I go my rounds over mountain and hill; no stockings I find which I do not well fill. Three cheers, Mr. Draper, three cheers for this day! Distribute these presents, begin right away!”

At each church there were festivities and celebration. At the “old church” at Canton Corner the organist began services with Mozart’s Gloria, and the choir rose to meet the drone of the pipes with “Exulting Angels.” The heavy fragrance of evergreen and mountain laurel filled the air, and Noyes was enchanted by a large basket of scarlet geraniums that he described as blazing like “the star” itself before the altar.

The large Roman Catholic Church on Washington Street was overfilled to capacity. This was the sixth mass of the day, and Noyes felt the spirit of the season overwhelm the wooden building. This denomination had grown steadily from five men working for Joseph Warren Revere in the 1830s to now the largest part of the community. These were the Irish: the workers, immigrants, and the poor. Yet their church steeple dominated the skyline as if reaching for heaven itself. As poor as these working families were, they were extremely devout and attentive to their spiritual needs. Noyes peeked inside the double doors and was met with the heavy smell of wet wool mixed with pine boughs. The inside of this church was magnificent and ablaze with light.

Interior view of St. John the Evangelist Church in 1912.
(Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

Catholics had been in Canton since 1814, regular masses had been said here since 1831 at least once a month and sometimes even more often. In short, this was a significant foothold in a largely Protestant town. Noyes wondered if it would continue to grow and how it might change to accommodate this growing movement in Canton.

Father Flatley was the head of the Catholics in Canton, and he had been in Canton before there was even a parish here. Flatley’s early ministrations were in a small church, almost a barn, on what would become known as Chapel Hill. In 1850 the small building served as the Church of St. Mary. Noyes marveled at how far the ministry had developed in 26 years. There were hundreds of Catholic families in Canton, and they had their own cemetery at Canton Corner, one of the earliest in the state. In fact, by 1861, they were an independent parish with a second mission in Stoughton.

In a few short years, Father Flatley was able to raise enough money, more than $4,000, to buy land and build an impressive wooden church with enough lumber left over for a small chapel in the adjoining town of Sharon. Noyes looked up in wonder at the high tapering tower; inside the church there were magnificent frescoes of archangels on bended knee. Valuable candelabras blazed on the altar, and a second altar was dedicated to the Sacred Heart. In the center rear wall of the church were three enormous stained glass windows that flooded the church with light. The Blessed Virgin Mary and St. John the Evangelist in superb details watched over the entire congregation as they sang their Christmas hymns.

An early 20th century Christmas Card from
L.L. Billings, Canton, MA. (Courtesy
of the Canton Historical Society)

As Noyes turned to walk back toward Washington Street, he walked down an avenue of pine trees, laden with snow, and he could hear the brogues of the families singing clear and loud in the early evening services. Over $600 was raised that year as a Christmas offering by these worshippers.

Noyes never imagined that St. John’s wooden church would one day be replaced with a modern, steel and brick building after nearly 100 years of service to Canton’s Roman Catholics. The old Unitarian Church at Canton Corner has stood for over 187 years and the echoes of Christmas’ past still resound from the pulpit.

The thoughts and prayers of Christmas were felt throughout the Canton of 1887. The focus on simple gifts, fellowship of neighbors, and Christian charity were well understood. Among Noyes’ final thoughts in that column were dedicated toward “useful and beautiful gifts that love and friendship bestowed upon himself.” Canton is as it was over a hundred years ago — a town of love and friendship.


This story ran in the Canton Citizen on December 23, 2010.

The Congregational Church

The Congregational Church 

When you look at this picture, it will be almost impossible to place this location today. Both the building in the foreground and the church in the background are long gone. The snapshot was taken in April, 1969 and the photographer is standing on Washington Street. The corner is at the intersection of Neponset Street where the small convenience store is now. 

The church is the Congregational Church and the classic structure was dedicated in 1860. The total cost was $6895.00 and in a large part the families of the community donated generously. Built by John Ellis Seavey whose family has a long and illustrious connection with Canton. 

Of interest is the fact that the interiors, pews and pulpit along with the top of the steeple  were all constructed by one man; Hugh MacPherson. According to the stories, MacPherson was simply visiting the town of Canton when the first loads of lumber arrived to build the church. A devout Baptist, MacPherson nevertheless assisted and soon became a deacon of the very church he helped to build. Thus is the power of transformation. 

As for our friend Hugh MacPherson, I have seen a series of photographs taken at Revere & Sons Copper Yard after they moved from Canton and the watchman was named McPherson - which is spelled a bit differently but it is believed to be the same person.  The photo to the left shows McPherson with his dog. A query to Jim Roache yields great additional information. Roache found the death record for Hugh MacPherson indicating that he died on January 22, 1924 and was born in Glascow, Scotland in 1836. In fact, in 1868 there are only two MacPhersons living in Canton; Hugh and David. Hugh lived on Church Street - around the corner from the new Congregational Church. David MacPherson seems very well off being taxed for 8 horses and nine carriages, but living at home. My sense is that it is likely that David was John's brother and lived here in Canton when John came to visit in 1860. David enlisted in the 24th Mass at age 21 (1861) as a Drummer, Appointed Pricipal Musician May 1863, re-enlisted Jan. 1864 and was discharged Jan. 1866. David was also born in Glasgow, Scotland (1844) but gave his place of residence when he enlisted as South Reading. 

But I digress, and now back to our church. There are a few vestiges of the original church as reminders to Canton. The organ was donated in 1958 by Mildred Morse Allen and is still in use today at the new church on Washington Street. Also, the four sides of the clock are still in town - and the clock itself and one face is proudly keeping time atop Memorial Hall. As you walk in the Canton Historical Society, immediately on your right is another clock face from the steeple.

In 1961 the church was renamed the United Church of Christ. After 103 years the church needed to be replaced. Largely the congregation had outgrown the church and families needed more space for programs and fellowship. By 1963 a new church was opened near St. Mary's Cemetery on Washington Street and the congregation moved to their new home. The church property was sold to the Mobil Oil Corporation in 1969 for $50,000 and was soon demolished. The parking lot on Neponset behind the convenience store is all that is left of the property. As is often the case, these are ghost images from another time, but in our place that still have bits and pieces connected to our town today.  (photo credit: Kelleher Collection, Canton Public Library)

Washington Street Aerial

Washington Street Aerial

One of my favorite aerial views of Canton Center.

Now look closely, you will see at the center of the image, the old St. John's Church. The steeple rises up and you can see where it was set back from the present day church. Behind the church is the St. John's School. Also, the Grover House has yet to be moved and is across the street from the Church entrance.

Suburban growth has certainly changed this view from circa 1965. Missing from this image is the large construction projects of hundreds of condominium developments that had sprung up in the late 1980's through current projects today off of Ames Avenue. The shovel shop is now gone as is the block along Washington Street across from St. John's. You can see the large amount of open-space that once graced the downtown. Missed opportunities for a "town common" perhaps.

There is the familiar curve of Washington Street, and while folks may be concerned about traffic today, at least at the moment this picture was taken, traffic seems downright idyllic. Click on the picture to enlarge and then enjoy the nostalgia and the hunting for past and present landmarks.