Our river runs through the meadows

The Neponset River as it winds through
the Fowl Meadows circa 1890. (Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

At the edge of my property is a small stream, the Pequit Brook, and its source is the Reservoir Pond past Pequitside Farm. Living on a brook is an amenity that allows for plenty of opportunities to observe wildlife and the marking of seasons. Over time we have come to know the animals that inhabit our small corner of Canton. We have watched muskrats, ancient snapping turtles, the great blue heron, red-tailed hawks, numerous rabbits, fox, and all manner of mallards. The jewelweed and grass is abundant and the meadows are filled with red-winged blackbirds come fall. The winter gives way to woodpeckers and more flocks of waterfowl, even an occasional fisher cat and coyote. So abundant is the wildlife that at times we feel as though we live in a suburban wildlife preserve.

The Pequit Brook winds down through Sherman Street and eventually finds it way to the East Branch of the Neponset River. And the Neponset in turn finds its way to the Massachusetts Bay. Nobel laureate Hermann Hesse wrote: “How he loved this river, how it enchanted him, how grateful he was to it! In his heart he heard the newly awakened voice speak, and it said to him: Love this river, stay by it, learn from it. It seemed to him that whoever understood this river and its secrets, would understand much more, many secret, all secrets.”

So, what secrets does the Neponset River hold for us? To begin with, the name itself is somewhat of a secret. Of course it is an Indian name, and when the famous Algonquin scholar G. Hammond Trumbull was asked, he vainly endeavored to learn the significance of this name. “That word in all its forms of Naponset — Aponset, or Neponset defies analysis.” Many have surmised it means “river that flows through meadows.” This would be a fair description, since it travels through nearly seven miles of beautiful grassy meadows — the Fowl Meadows, in fact. So attractive to the early settlers were these grasses that the seeds were harvested and exported to Europe to produce the same luxurious grasses there.

Overall, the Neponset River travels more than 29 miles, starting at Gillette Stadium and ending near the gas tanks along the Southeast Expressway. The historical significance reaches back more than 10,000 years. Imagine the scene as Paleolithic man camps near the river right here in what would become Canton. Archeologists, both amateur and professional, have recovered over 2,600 Clovis spear points as well as mastodon tusks and caribou bones. The site, called Wamsutta, has been studied for more than 20 years. What were once the shores of a Pleistocene Lake seems to have been an important workshop of sorts where tools were made and wildlife harvested.

The recorded history of the Neponset starts around 1619, when Native Americans would use the river as a route to trade furs, largely muskrat and beaver. The wildlife was amazing. An apt description of what the Neponset River must have been like is found in a quote in a book written by Edward Johnson in 1628, entitled Wonder Working Providence: “The cod-fish, holybut and bass, do sport the rivers in, and alewives with their crowding sholes in every creek do swim.” The alewives in particular caused major legal battles in colonial Massachusetts, and the early records record heated arguments between mill owners who would dam and control the river and the fishermen whose livelihood was constantly in jeopardy as industry advanced. The argument to restore the fish and breach the dams still continues today.

The industrial growth as a result of this power source is nothing short of amazing. The second dam in the new world was constructed by Israel Stoughton, who was given permission to build a grist mill in what was known as Dorchester Plantation in 1634. What came next was a series of “firsts.” In 1640 shipbuilding began at what was known as Gulliver’s Creek (yes, there is a connection to Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels). Soon sawmills, a snuff mill, powder mills, tanneries, slitting mills, and fulling mills began to rise near the banks of the Neponset.

Several of the most famous mills in America were started along the Neponset. In 1728, the first paper mill was erected. In 1765, Dr. James Baker founded a chocolate mill in Milton, which would become the world-famous Baker’s Chocolate Company. Closer to home, the Canton River, which fed the east branch of the Neponset, was home to James Beaumont’s Neponset Mills, where arguably the first piece of cotton cloth in America was made in 1802. In 1801, Paul Revere made his home here in Canton and erected his copper rolling mill (another first in the nation) along the tributary branch of the Neponset.

To get the best view of the Neponset River in Canton, take a drive down Dedham Street, and as you pass the old Cumberland Farm Complex take a left onto the property owned by George and Nancy Bates. The Bates still own a small portion, but the largest is now owned by the Trustees of Reservations (TTOR). When you come here you are visiting Signal Hill. This is perhaps an oft-overlooked location from where you can “overlook” the Neponset Valley. The hike is easy and the views are entirely rewarding. The boundary line between Canton and Norwood follows the center of the river.

In 2002, George and Nancy Bates sold the development rights of 135 acres of upland and swamp to the then MDC. Signal Hill is the result of a 111-acre gift given to TTOR in 2005 by the Bates. While it is called Signal Hill because it once held signals to assist in the navigation of planes to the Norwood Airport, it might have been more historically named.

Historically speaking, this area was generally known as Taunt’s Farm. At one time there were two prominent hills here, each about 120 feet high. Turtle Hill (now known as Signal Hill) and Pillion Hill, which was removed for fill used in Boston’s Back Bay. What is left, the single hill, affords an easily accessible view of Boston. The first settlers here were John and Hepsibah Taunt. Likely settled in 1758, this land was rich with nutrients and made the perfect home for this private in the Stoughton Militia. Three generations of Taunts would live on this land until around 1844. Eventually Elisha White would buy the property, and by the 1930s the land would become part of the land acquisition program for the Canton Airport.

Dredging of the Neponset River in Canton, 1913.
 (Photo by I. Chester Horton, courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

The river we see today is not the same river that was used by the prehistoric or colonial people. In 1911, the legislature was pressed to act by allowing the dredging and straightening of the river. The Fowl Meadows had become “foul.” The stench and disease (most notably malaria) was dreadful. The legislature ordered the river to be repaired of these nuisances. The dredging operation began in 1913 and would widen and deepen the river. The refuse from the muck was merely deposited on the banks, and by 1923 complaints abounded from the landowners whose once fertile fields would now no longer drain properly. The straightening also bypassed the “horseshoe” curve in the river, which abutted Horseshoe Swamp. Even today the boundary line with Norwood follows the old course of the river and Horseshoe Meadow remains in Canton.

Dredging of the Neponset River in Canton, 1913.
(Photo by I. Chester Horton, courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

In the 1960s the river was once again polluted and described as a “noxious mess.” A canoe trip in August 1966 from Canton was described in the Patriot Ledger as follows: “The moment we set our canoes into the putrid, murky water on Neponset Street we were overwhelmed by the noxious odor caused by the industrial waste dumped into the river by the various firms along its banks. Globs of sludge floated past us in the water.” So polluted was the trip that day, the canoes were forced to turn back — great globs of paper and raw sewage made the trip unbearable. This was a turning point for the Neponset. Once again the legislature took up the reclaiming of the Neponset River. In 1974, a bond bill was filed to begin the process of creating improvements to the damaged waterway.

Construction of the bridge over the
Neponset River to Norwood, April 1915.
(Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

At the lead of the conservation efforts was the Neponset Conservation Association. Founded in 1965, their mission continues today as the Neponset River Watershed Association. With over 700 members, hundreds of volunteers and a staff of three full-time and four part-time employees, this is the future of the Neponset River. For over 45 years this group has been responsible for raising the public awareness of our great river. The advocacy continues — just last week the legislature’s Environment Committee held a hearing on the Sustainable Water Resources Act. This act will hopefully set the process by which the Department of Environmental Protection, with the cooperation of the Department of Fish and Game, will set the definition for the amount of water that makes rivers sustainable.

In 2008 a member of the Massachusett-Ponkapoag Tribal Council testified at a public meeting organized to discuss the future of the Neponset River. I leave you with his sage words: “The Neponset people, and there were Neponset people, were forced to leave the Neponset River because those persons who came later decided there was a better use for the Neponset River than our use, which contributed to the well-being of our universe and yours for centuries. Now I’m going to speak for the elders — I’m going to speak for the finned, the furred, the winged, and the ancestors, mine and yours. These are the voices you are not listening to. Put the river back the way it was. Allow the herring to come back and sing their song.”

To visit Signal Hill, take Dedham Street and immediately after crossing I-95 and railroad bridges, take a left on University Road. Proceed through the office park. Parking is on the right just before the last building, also on the right. Free and open year-round, sunrise to sunset. Allow a minimum of one hour.

Dottie Shaw Takes Wing

Dorothy Shaw’s formal portrait
 in full pilot regalia, circa 1940s
(Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

Childhood should be a time of innocence, of youthful diversions and a time when you begin to see the world as your own and find a place within. You do, however, grow up fast when a family depends upon you to bring them together, even if you are just a child.

Dorothy Shaw grew up on Everett Street, that small street at the intersection where Chapman and Spaulding streets meet. “Dottie,” as she was affectionately known, was born in 1910 and was surrounded by a loving family that included a sister and two brothers. The house, still standing, had a magical turret and is one of the prettiest houses facing Chapman Street. Dottie’s father was a well-respected builder and her mother filled the house with love and affection.

Fannie Shaw, Dottie’s mother, was born in 1878, and her parents died shortly after she was born. Adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Henry Cushman, the girl thrived at the Crane School and was married at age 19 to Walter Shaw in 1897.

Dottie’s catapult from childhood into adulthood happened when she was 13 years old. Her mother had been seriously ill from the time Dottie was 10 years old. The illness was quite bad, and for three years Fannie Shaw endured several strokes and convulsions, leading to diminished eyesight and poor speech. At 1 a.m. on February 23, 1923, Fannie Shaw died, leaving the family in the care of her only daughter. It would be an understatement to suggest that this was difficult. Taking care of her brothers and father became a full-time job, and in addition to her schoolwork, there was always a mountain of chores to be attended to across the day and late into the night.

Taking care of siblings Walter Jr., Howard and Florence was only part of her job; balancing school was the other. Dottie excelled in all her subjects. As part of the Canton High School graduating class of 1926, Dottie graduated at the top of the class and was not only the class president but the valedictorian as well. In short, this was an extremely smart young woman.

As it turns out, there were several smart women around town in those years. Dorothy Spear would go on to attend Bates College in Maine, while Kay Draper attended Wheaton. Not to be outdone, Dr. Rubin’s wife, Sophie, went to Radcliffe, and so many of her friends began life after Canton in wonderful and far-flung places. In writing her introduction to the Echo Yearbook, Dottie noted: “Years ago, there might have been excuse for students not going to college, but in this era of opportunities there is no one who cannot go to a higher institution … there are many ways for poor students to earn tuition.” Dottie wanted to desperately go to college, yet it was not to be. Keeping the family together was her focus, and soon she found a job in the local Boston Edison office in Canton Center where she was always a smiling face well known to many of Canton’s residents.

An aerial view of Chapman Street with the
Canton Airport in the background.
Photo taken by Dottie Shaw in 1933. (Courtesy of Jane Boland)

It would be the skies that would capture Dottie’s dreams. Everett Street is at the top of the Neponset Valley, and photographs from the turn of the last century show a broad expanse across which one could see straight to Norwood. By the early 1930s, the Canton Airport was in full throttle, and Dottie could see and hear the “airships” taxiing and lifting into the sky and roaring over her house. The idea of flying was one that captured many young hearts in those days, and Dottie’s was not excepted.

Perhaps it was Amelia Earhart who made an impression on 18-year-old Dottie Shaw. On June 17, 1928, it was Earhart who set off from Trepassey Harbor in Newfoundland and 21 hours later landed at Burry Port, Wales. The headlines were fantastic, and while three women had previously died attempting a transatlantic crossing, it was Earhart who was greeted by ticker tape and President Calvin Coolidge. Whoever it was who influenced her, Dottie Shaw was indeed influenced to take to the skies. While other young women were off in college, Dottie decided that one thing she could do to set herself apart would be to fly. To fly – to soar – to glide – to dream. Saving a small portion of her $16 paycheck each week, Dottie was able to scrape enough together to begin flying lessons at the Canton Airport. Walking to the airport, less than a mile from her house, was a weekly ritual. And if she was lucky, she could grab a ride from friends — including Ralph Beasley or his son Ralph Jr. These were heady days in aviation. Takeoffs were easy; it was the landings that would prove tricky. In August 1932 a flight permit was issued to the intrepid D.B. Shaw. One of the early masters of aviation took on Dottie Shaw as a student. G. Bancroft Hall, or “Banny” as he was known, would teach Dottie how to fly.

G. Bancroft Hall was a fixture in early New England flying, and by all accounts he favored Dottie with his vast knowledge of piloting. In 1929, Hall was a partner in the Wachusett Airways Company in Fitchburg and at the same time the chief pilot at Canton-based Wiggins Airways. In an old, dog-eared scrapbook, Dottie writes of Banny — “God’s gift to women students.” Taking to the skies for women became pretty extraordinary in the early 1930s, and yet there were several notable examples, largely from well-to-do families.

The “gang” hanging out at the
 Canton Airport in 1933 (Courtesy of Jane Boland)

Flying was as much about the freedom of being in the skies as it was the camaraderie of the fellowship, and Dottie loved the people and the stories that were part of this sport. At the municipal airport in Canton there was a close-knit group of friends, and Dottie was certainly included. The “Gang” was Chin Jung, Ralph Beasley and his son, Ralph Jr., Dick Chase, Sumner Fischer, Charles “Scottie” Scott, Appellino “Red” Janeskus — from Stoughton, Uno Frederickson and several other “guys.” Dottie was the only woman flying in the group. Even in her canvas coveralls and grease-smudged nose, Dottie was a beautiful woman with a ready smile and a winning personality.

On Thursday, June 8, 1933, Dottie climbed into the single cockpit Spartan C2-60 monoplane, the “Trusty 902.” At 5’4” and 100 pounds soaking wet, the blonde, blue-eyed kid slid behind the controls. This would be her first solo flight, and she was probably quite nervous. Inscribed in the front of her scrapbook is an old saying: There are “old” pilots and there are “bold” pilots, but there are no “old, bold” pilots.

At 23, Dottie Shaw was certainly not old, but as for being bold, this is up for interpretation. It was a beautiful summer evening; a slight breeze kicked up the smell of sweet grass from the nearby hayfields. The runway was dusty as she taxied out and made the turn for her takeoff. At exactly 7:11 p.m., Canton’s first female pilot took flight from the soft grass meadow at the airport at the edge of the Fowl Meadows. Aloft above her beloved town, it was a magical evening. The small engine could get her up to a top speed of 93 mph and she must have reveled in the private view of Canton. Pulse quickened as she maneuvered on her own without Banny to gently guide her. After six hours of training spread over the course of a year, this was her moment, her dream of flying realized.

Dorothy Shaw, Canton’s first aviatrix,
posing in front of her “solo” ship in 1933
at the Canton Airport (Courtesy of Jane Boland)

On the ground a welcome committee was sure to be waiting. Perhaps her fellow students had stopped by, and certainly her instructor. At the head of the pack may have been Joe Garside. Joe came from a wealthy family in Hyde Park that had made a small fortune developing a special paint for canvas-covered planes. In 1927, he piloted his mother across the English Channel from Paris to London — Joe was only 13 at the time.

As far as formal instruction, Joe learned to fly in Charlotte, North Carolina, and a year later we find him soaring around the nation’s capital and the Washington Monument. The 14 year old soloed in 1928 at Hoover Field in Washington, D.C. (now the site of the Pentagon). Joe had tried to persuade the chief of the Department of Commerce (now the FAA) to waive the 16-year-old age requirement for private pilots. At the time, Joe Garside was the youngest pilot to solo in the world. The flight was a success; the waiver was not. Despite not having a pilot’s license, Joe flew extensively and by age 16 became a full-fledged pilot, owning several air-ships.

At 19, Joe Garside, very well known in early flying circles, became the manager of Wiggins Airways in Canton. Close to his home in Milton, Joe was an early pioneer of commercial aviation and attended MIT, studying aeronautical engineering. Of the 40 students who came for lessons, Dottie stood out. Spending more of her time at the Canton Airport, she soon became an assistant to the dashing, young airport manager. It would not be long before the two became an item. Eventually, the “air-pair” fell in love and began an extended courtship. In October 1938, Joe and Dottie were married and moved to the beautiful stone house at 180 Chapman Street.

Joe and Dottie were a well-suited pair — smart, ambitious and very friendly. In fact, both were described as having magnetic personalities. After ten years of trying to have a child, they turned to a family attorney in Brockton, who arranged for them to adopt a nine-day-old baby girl. Jane Garside said that from the time she was old enough to know, she knew she was adopted. “I was a very fortunate child,” she recalls. “I never desired to hunt for my birth mother, and Joe and Dottie were my mom and dad.” Jane was told from day one that she was special.

Dottie flew until the 1940s, joining the famous Ninety Nines, a women’s pilot organization founded by Amelia Earhart. After Jane was born, Dottie never piloted again. The family did fly together in small private planes, but Dottie exchanged her wings for the caring arms of a mom.

When Jane was 13 years old, her mom and dad divorced. In the mid 1950s, Joe engaged in a particularly public and forbidden love affair with a neighbor’s wife. Dottie asked him to move on by simply stating in rather stoic terms: “You can do whatever you want. I am keeping our house and Janie.” Jane continued to see her dad, but certainly was closest to her mother. The split was amicable even under the circumstances. In later years, Joe would reflect that his divorce was perhaps the biggest mistake he ever made in his life. Dottie remained on benevolent terms with her ex-husband, most likely because they were such close friends. Today we call people like Joe and Dottie soul mates.

Dorothy Shaw Garside in Honolulu, Hawaii, with her daughter
 Jane, in 1963 (Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

 Dottie’s life in Canton continued to be a proud and lasting tribute to the things she loved. A member of the Garden Club, the Sweet Adelines, and the Canton Historical Society, she remained active her entire life, and was frequently seen volunteering at Norwood Hospital as a “pink lady.” Jane recalls that her mother “had a beautiful voice” and loved organizing community activities, including the 50th anniversary of her Canton High School graduating class. In the winter of 1978, Dottie battled a nasty flu, and soon it was discovered that she was suffering from heart disease, which quickly led to two heart attacks, the second fatal. On January 4, her 68th birthday, Canton’s first female pilot departed this earth.

The Fowl Meadows: For Peat's Sake

The Fowl Meadows at the Neponset River circa 1890.
(photo by L.C. Horton, courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

There is an ancient map from 1794 inscribed with the names of the selectmen of Stoughton — Elijah Crane, Jabez Talbot and Nathan Crane — and on this map there are more than six bridges that cross the Neponset River in what is now Canton. Today, we mostly cross the Neponset River along Neponset Street, yet this road is among the newer roads, historically speaking. When we drive past the old Canton Airport, we see wetland and what we now consider “open space.” To the early settlers, this land was well supplied for access to food and valuable pastures.

The early bridges were used to access land in the Fowl Meadows, our western boundary. The first mention of this land dates to 1646, and much of this area was granted to Dedham in grants of 1653. As the train to Boston runs through these meadows, you can see luxurious grasses, and in late fall the meadows turn almost reddish in color. The grass here is actually called “fowl meadow” and is also known as “false redtop” (Poa serotina). This grass is typical of New England and “makes a soft and pliable hay, of excellent quality.” It could be mowed late in the season and made nutritious hay that was used as winter fodder.

The bridges that were used to access these meadows for grazing were named for the men who built them and owned grants to the meadows. Holmses Bridge, Thorp’s Bridge, Woodards Bridge, Fishers Bridge, and Majors Bridge — all ancient owners of meadows across the Neponset River. Vestiges of these structures are long lost. I know of a small arched double row of stones that is almost hidden by time and quite near the railroad tracks off University Avenue that I believe once played a part in the loading of carts filled with hay, but for the most part these crossings have been long lost.

What lies below the soft fields of grass is a thick, rich soil abundant with nutrients enriched by the river and thick with peat. After the retreat of the last ice age, the peat formed as the grasses decayed and were compressed by time. The peat is quite thick and Daniel Huntoon (History of Canton) observed, “Should our supply of coal ever become exhausted, fuel can here be obtained in an unlimited abundance.”

The peat is dense, and because of a lack of oxygen it inhibits the decay of archeological artifacts. In fact, some of the oldest artifacts in New England have been discovered along the Neponset River. Spots along the Fowl Meadows have served professional and amateur archeologists with a view that spans almost 18,000 years of human occupation. Amazing stories tied to the worksites, campsites, and migration of humans through this land will be shared in future articles.

The peat bogs gave rise to a little known and hardly mentioned industry in Canton. In 1908, J. Harry Hartley purchased 100 acres of land in Canton and Norwood. Hartley was the military editor of the Boston Globe and an esteemed member of the Ancient and Honorable Artillery Company of Massachusetts. This “newspaper man” had a vision that peat would become a new “cheap and inexhaustible fuel” for Boston.

Various attempts at harvesting peat had already been tried in New England. Peat, known as “bog fuel,” is the earliest stage of the creation of coal. The Boston and Maine Railroad tested this fuel in 1904. A large supply of peat was harvested in Lexington, and the railroad experimented over the winter of 1905 and found the fuel burned exceptionally well, but faster than coal. Also, in 1907, Mathew C. Sharpneck of Boston patented a new machine and assigned his patent to the American Peat Machinery Company of Portland, Maine. The machine used a series of blades to chop the peat and mix it such that it forms “ribbons of dark mud” that would be dried on a rack and cured with a current of air.

Hartley, the newspaper man, was well aware of the use of peat fuel in Europe and purchased one of Mr. Sharpneck’s machines. A plan was conceived along with Hartley’s son, Charles H. Hartley. Together these two men began the process of harvesting peat in the Fowl Meadows. In June 1908, all preparations were placed into operation. A small railroad track was laid deep into the Fowl Meadows and carts were connected via a steel cable to a series of sheds at the edge of the bog. A 100-foot-long building contained an engine house and the peat machine. Workers shoveled the heavy, wet peat into the hopper cars, and a winch pulled the cars along the rail to the main factory building. The contents were dumped onto a conveyor belt and processed through the peat machine. Drying sheds were also built on the property and the finished product was bagged for sale. This pioneering operation left little record. We would imagine that it soon thereafter failed, for no records exist that show otherwise.

The other reminder of the peat in the Fowl Meadows is the enormous fires that have historically consumed this land. Many times summer lightning storms would strike the ground, and the ensuing blaze would be all consuming. In 1923, a stubborn bog fire burned for several months. Norwood became “Smokytown” as the subterranean inferno blazed through the fall. This had been a year in which drought conditions had raised the alert to fire marshals throughout the commonwealth. More than 2,344 fires burned over 46,646 acres of fields and woodland, causing extensive damage.

In Canton, the summer of 1923 was particularly bad, and by all accounts the worst that had been seen in more than 40 years. Several tons of hay owned by Elijah White was destroyed in mid October by a fire that was set by two boys. That same day three tons of hay was burnt at William Murphy’s house on Bailey Street. In one day alone, fires were reported on Everett, Turnpike, Pecunit and Walpole streets, as well as Spring Lane and six other locations. In all, more than 13 fires burned on Friday, October 12, 1923. This set a record for the most working fires in one day in the Canton Fire Department’s history.

The bog fires burned for nine weeks. The smoke was excessive and more than 1,700 acres were ablaze through 1923. Hiking deep into the underbrush, firemen cut a four-mile-long ditch through the meadows and kept water pumping through the cut to create a fire line. The fire burned five to six feet underground, fueled by the never-ending supply of peat. Firemen on horseback worked their way into the deepest reaches of the meadows to access the edges of the fire and reported hellish scenes where the fire undercut root systems such that trees would collapse. “Through the smoke wreaths the bare branches of the trees showed gaunt and spectral … tongues of yellow flames were burning briskly amidst the tangle … rain was ineffective, breathing was difficult, eyes smarted and shed involuntary tears, and the heat of the ground felt hot through the sole of one’s boots.” The smoke from these fires caused such darkness that auto accidents became commonplace. After nightfall, travel became treacherous; you “literally could not see your hand in front of your face.”

The fires, although less frequent, are still a problem today. If you talk with Jim Fitzpatrick, our former fire chief, he can tell many stories of the meadow fires that were started by lighting or train sparks or errant cigarettes thrown from moving cars. More than 170 brush burn permits have been issued this year, so as you smell the wafting smoke from the spring burning season, recall the stories of the great fires in the Fowl Meadows and think about our history for peat’s sake.

This story ran in the Canton Citizen on March 24, 2011

Trespassing: A Bridge to the Past

Stone Bridge over Ponkapoag Brook

 (photo by George T. Comeau)

You really should not trespass. And yet, while it is indeed risky to admit to this fact, sometimes the prize is worth the risk. Let me place by way of disclaimer the fact that you should in no way follow in my footsteps; let this be fair warning. You should leave the trespassing to well qualified Canton historians who are happy to tramp through backyards, fields and swamps in search of historic sites and long lost cellar holes. In fact, that is what we will do this week. Let’s take a virtual tramp through Canton and discover a hidden artifact that is still intact and pretty much inaccessible to all but the trespasser.

There are some wonderfully hidden sites in Canton that have been lost to both time and memories. I have always been fascinated with the old stonewalls that crisscross throughout the town. Many of these walls served as both boundary lines and pens for livestock. As you ride the train to Boston from Canton Junction you will see plenty of old stonewalls in the swamps heading toward the Fowl Meadows. As you drive down York Street or meander down Chapman Street, look between the old house lots and see the ancient walls that are reminders of an agricultural Canton when the stonewall was a staple of a small farm and garden.

Take Elm Street for instance — a perfect example of one of our most beautiful streets in Canton. Go slow, not only for the curves, but to take in the splendor of this colonial roadway. As for trespassing, that is just what I did recently when I parked my truck along the intersection of Greenlodge and Elm and took off on foot after the recent snowstorm. I was looking for a very old bridge that crosses Ponkapoag Brook on what was originally Back Street — the “back” road to Dedham Street.

 On my right, climbing a gentle hill, were the remnants of the old country road disappearing even deeper into private property. This road dates to 1738 and follows the layout of an earlier road called the Packeen Path. If you bought your Christmas tree at the Pakeen Farm on Elm Street, this is the same property that was part of the original 12 Divisions shown on the 1696 map of what would become Stoughton and Canton.

Situated well above the marshes of the Fowl Meadow, this path was used extensively as a native trail and later became a colonial cart path. By 1798, the old road was discontinued and in the process created a time capsule of sorts as it has been largely untouched for over 200 years. The pathway is bordered by stonewalls that measure one rod wide (16 ½ feet) and a deep upland of white pine. I decided it would not be proper to travel further than necessary onto private property and instead sought after the stone bridge spanning the Ponkapoag Brook.

I had been to this bridge a few times before, but only in the summer when it was hardly possible to see the structure due to the overgrowth. As I tramped further and the snow got a bit deeper, and the afternoon light got dimmer, I was almost forced to give up for the day. The fresh snow was only marked by the occasional rabbit track and now my footfalls. The only sound was the running of the stream — pure, clean and cold — a layer of ice running up the side of the banks. This trespass was made easier by the fact that the path I was on was the new interceptor project for the Greenlodge Street sewer project.

Ancient Stoughton Record of 1744 in the collection of
the Canton Historical Society (photo by George T. Comeau)

About half a mile up on the left was the old stone bridge — hidden in the woods in an improbable place, since any use for this structure ended in 1798 when the old Country Road was abandoned. The bridge was as wonderful as I recalled. Dating to between 1738 and 1744, this is a quintessential cart bridge over a babbling brook. It is hard to imagine, but this bridge was the highway between the iron forge, built in 1717 on Walpole Street, and the Blue Hills. There is a series of huge volumes of Ancient Stoughton Records in the Canton Historical Society and within a dusty tome is an obscure reference to the bridge in 1744. The brittle paper details the laying out of the road by the selectmen of Stoughton and has a single line that reads in part “from thence to Puncapogg Brook where ye Bridge now is & over ye Brook Marked a large Maple tree by ye Brook.” Our bridge is more than 266 years old and may in fact be approaching 275 years old.

Dropping down the icy bank of “ye Brook” to take a photo for our non-trespassing readers, it was a joy to see this relic in such wonderful condition. The deck is a series of four stone slabs of Dedham granite, each measuring three feet in width and eight feet in length. Although covered in snow, I recall that there are no quarrying marks and they are likely natural in form. The abutments built on the north and south banks of the brook are dry fieldstone. This is a superbly crafted bridge and would have had to support the weight of animals and carts loaded with iron destined for Boston. The abutments are built up of five courses of rough stone and were likely completed by skilled masons in the “traditional English form.”

In 1875, the Canton Historical Society organized its annual Fast Day Walk (Patriots Day) and described their “trespass” to this site thus: “turned abruptly down a neglected lane, along the line that once divided Lot No. 5 of the Twelve Divisions from the Indian land. We examined with care an old stone bridge, which has stood, where it now stands, long anterior to the memory of those now living. It is remarkable for the size of the top stones, the largest measuring eight feet by seven and nine inches. These stones were selected in the adjoining fields and have never been touched by chisel, wedge or hammer.”

So little is written about this bridge that it is hard to even know if there was an earlier bridge at this spot. What we do know is that this is one of the few remaining examples of a mid-18^th century slab stone Colonial period bridge in eastern Massachusetts. Dr. Arthur Krim, who has researched Canton for the Historical Commission, believes that this bridge is worthy of inclusion on the National Register of Historic Places; it is just that important.


This story ran in the Canton Citizen on January 6, 2011.

The Canton Airport: Part II

Peter "Richie Sarra" in front of his plane
at the Canton Airport

Today, Neponset Street is crowded with large trucks moving fill in and out of the worksite heralding the beginning of the hazardous waste cleanup of the old Canton Airport. What was a dream of national aviation will soon become public parkland, and few will know that this site once sat center stage in hearts and minds of local aviators.

The selection of the site for the Massachusetts Air Terminal and Arena (MATA) was largely based on an engineering study that determined the Neponset River and the Fowl Meadows could be controlled through dikes and runoff channels. In 1930, anything seemed possible, even taming nature. But as work began, flooding was a constant issue. Planes fitted with pontoons would make their landings on the flooded runways, and seasonally the airport would be closed to general air operations. Local resident Jane Roache worked as a secretary at the Helio Corporation and tells of having to board a military cargo truck to ford the waters and get to work on flooding occasions.

The winter of 1935-1936 was especially severe and snowpack remained deep through an extremely cold season. By the spring, Mother Nature had set up a perfect scenario for flooding, and in mid March more than 17 inches of rain fell over the course of back-to-back storms. The situation was dire, and local pilots from Canton played their part in “errands of mercy.”

Most notably, it was the emergency takeoff of Dick Babcock stealing the show that season. Babcock was a 1930 graduate of Canton High School, attended MIT, and was a well-known charter pilot. Through the ingenuity of the airport manager, Joe Rizzo, he loaded Babcock’s plane off the back of a flatbed truck, drove over Neponset Street to Cross Street in Norwood, and created a makeshift runway on Route 1. Police closed the highway for half a mile in either direction, and the young aviator flew his 240-horsepower Stinson four-passenger monoplane to relieve the drought-stricken areas of New England. This was the second time that Babcock had performed his “wings of mercy” flight, as earlier that year he flew through severe fog to deliver food and clothing to stranded families along the coast of Maine. Babcock was 23 years old and well on his way toward becoming a legend of the air.

Every week there were stories of Babcock’s heroics and flying records. The local paper reported his trips up and down the early flight paths. This all came to a tragic end when, on a foggy October evening in 1937, Babcock crashed nose-down in a muddy pasture owned by Albert Merlau near Cowlesville, New York, about 26 miles from Buffalo. The only witness was a mailman who heard the engine of the small red plane splutter and witnessed the crash. It was a terrible end for Babcock and his two passengers. The shock on the town of Canton and his family was deeply felt. Looking back at the 1930 Canton High School yearbook, Babcock, the class president, had been voted the most irresponsible.

While there were plenty of crashes and at least one mid-air collision, not all accidents ended as tragically. Several stories of weekend fliers ditching into local pastures and fields were commonplace. In the summer of 1935, Ralph Beasley of Messinger Street and Johnson Bennett of Washington Street narrowly escaped certain death when their monoplane crashed into Orlow Bright’s field on Chapman Street. Later that same year, in early November, Arthur Wilbart, to his great disappointment, landed on his own automobile parked near the runway. It turns out that taking off is easy, and landings get sticky.

Many notable men and women learned to fly here in Canton. The flight school was extremely popular and well attended. Students from MIT and Harvard would spend their weekends (and trust funds) at the field and became successful pilots. Thomas Piper, the son of the president of Taylor-Piper Aircraft, spent his time away from his studies at Harvard in pursuit of flying his dad’s Taylor Cub. By 1940, 60 percent of all private planes were Piper Cubs, and Thomas went on to help run his father’s business.

The airport was a busy place on weekends; lifelong residents still recall the flying shows and air demonstrations that were commonplace in the late 1930s through the late 1940s. John Carroll on Pleasant Street recently told me of spending afternoons watching Bobby Draper flying acrobatic loops over the airfield. Peter “Richie” Sarra would spend time flying with his brother in their 1947 Mcclish Funk B85C. The “Bee” could be seen zipping over the Blue Hills with Richie smiling behind the console of the two-seater. With a top speed of 117 miles per hour, this was a terrific plane. Sarra’s plane still takes to the air with an owner in Revere, Pennsylvania. NC77700 is one of 40 remaining “Bees” registered and still flying. And Canton’s own Dottie Shaw learned to fly at age 22, and by age 26 became a member of the famous Ninety-Nines.

Perhaps the greatest sight that Canton residents witnessed was the first daytime visit of the German airship Hindenburg. Crowds gathered at the airport on August 19 for the first daytime flight of the famous dirigible. “Her silvery hulk gleaming in the noonday sun,” thousands gathered at Glider Hill and along the airport property. 

Accompanied by an escort of three National Guard airplanes, there was noise and spectacle. The Hindenburg slowed as it passed over Canton and afforded the stunned audience an amazing show. Less than a year later on May 6, 1937, she returned and flew over Canton at 300 feet. Citizens reportedly said that it was so low due to cloud cover that “passengers in the giant zeppelin could be plainly seen.” By 7:25 p.m. that evening, the Hindenburg burst into flames, and 13 passengers, along with 22 crew-members, perished.

The Helio-1 hanging in storage at the National Air
and Space Museum in Suitland, MD.

One of the last chapters in Canton Airport history was the development of the Helioplane, which was a highly specialized plane that was renowned for its ability to utilize short takeoffs and landings. The plan was to create a plane that could be in anyone’s garage and land in your own backyard. The creation was the engineering accomplishment of Otto Koppen of MIT and Dr. Lynn Bollinger of Harvard. With an investment of $150,000, the first Helioplane was developed in Canton and flew in April 1949. This diminutive plane combined the advantages of helicopters with simplicity, speed, and the range of a fixed-wing aircraft. At the height of construction, the Helio Corporation employed 45 skilled craftsmen at the Canton Airport.

By the late 1950s the Canton Airport was closed and became the site of a junkyard where PCB-laced transformers were scrapped. The hangars were demolished and soon disappeared into the landscape. The runways, disused and overgrown, returned to wetland. There is, however, a final reminder of the heyday of the great airport. In a state-of-the-art hangar in Suitland, Maryland, hangs the Helio 1 — flown with about 100 hours of time on its engine, developed and flown in Canton, and now in the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum. The small red plane dreams about once again soaring over the fields and marshes of Canton.

Read more about the Helio-1 by clicking here.

This story appeared in the Canton Citizen on December 9, 2010