Our Relationship with Mother Nature

A photo of the storm of 1898 taken near
Washington and Pond Streets by
George Burt (courtesy of the
Canton Historical Society.)

If you live in New England and you do not love the snow, at the very least you have to appreciate the amazing forces of nature that converge upon us and present themselves in the form of a Nor’easter. The recent storm that dumped 18.2 inches of snow as recorded at the Blue Hill Observatory ties for the third largest amount of snow in January ever measured at this renowned meteorological station.

This was an intense snowstorm and it is amazing how quickly we recover from such a storm. Snowplows begin work early on, and our intrepid DPW crews work day and night to ensure that we are hardly interrupted by Mother Nature’s fury. Criticism over snow removal today is echoed in a Canton newspaper commentary of 1898: “If the critics had the handling of the job probably they would be criticized just as harshly.” So while we may complain about the weather, there is little we can do about it. There are, however, several notable snowstorms to look back upon that provide a historical glimpse of the relationship between man and nature.

Most significantly is the Great Snow of 1717. The storm began on February 27 and lasted until March 9. What was thought of as one long storm was actually four storm systems back to back that crippled Boston and our town of what was then Dorchester. Just seven days prior, a storm had already dropped a significant amount of snow, so when the Great Snow bore down, the cart paths and roads were already hampered. The severity of this storm is hard to fathom today. Colonists had little warning, and in their memory there was never an event like this one. The natives who lived alongside the early colonists shared that there had been no snow in over 200 years that equaled this storm.

A woodcut depicting the storm of 1717

The damage was severe and brought incredible hardship as a result. Vast numbers of cattle were lost — buried where they stood they died in place. Nearer to the ocean, the wind brought driving rain, snow and sleet, and when combined with the wind-chill actually formed rime over the animals’ eyes such that they wandered blindly into the sea and drowned. Cotton Mather, the politically influential Puritan minister, wrote of the devastation: “One gentleman, on whose farms were now lost above 1100 sheep, which with other cattel, were interred (shall I say) or innived, in the snow, writes me word that there were two sheep very singularly circumstanced. For no less than eight and twenty days after the storm, the people pulling out the ruins of above 100 sheep out of a snow bank, which lay 16 foot high, drifted over them, there was two found alive, which had been there all this time, and kept themselves alive by eating the wool of their dead companions.”

By many accounts the storm wiped out 95 percent of the deer population. Many houses, smaller then for sure, were covered completely over and not even the chimney showed over the drifts more than 25 feet deep. It would take months to recover from this storm. Orchards were destroyed, bird populations were disrupted, and transportation was all but limited to walking.

It would be the advent of modern science that brought a keener study of storms and their affects. The Blue Hill Observatory figures prominently in the annals of atmospheric science. Founded in 1885, it would be the perfect place to record storms as they rolled through the Neponset Valley. The year 1898 was a particularly bad season for winter storms, including two major storms that brought death and destruction to our area.

The first “great storm” recorded at the observatory came in late January 1898 and was classified as a blizzard. This storm caused $82 million in damage. Ships were driven ashore, and in Boston alone more than 200 horses were killed. In Canton, thermometers dropped to 15 degrees below zero on February 4. At the height of the storm, two trains collided head-on at Canton Junction at the terminus of the Stoughton Branch. Several passengers were injured and the cowcatchers in front of the engines were destroyed.

The local paper wrote about the effects of the storm: “Wires succumbed everywhere. The telephone operator sat before a silent switchboard. In the depots the telegraph instruments were mute. Electric light wires gave way and on Sherman Street several poles were down. All over town trees were broken down and windmills suffered severely. The snow clung to the sides of buildings in heavy sheets and made many beautiful pictures and the oldest inhabitant has been busy with reminiscences all week to match this storm with ‘those when we were boys.’” The damage was considerable and the town spent more than $1,000 cleaning up the mess.

That same year, in November, what would become known as the Portland Gale produced a storm surge of about ten feet in Cohasset harbor and hurricane-force winds in Nantucket. The storm killed more than 400 people and sank more than 150 boats and ships. The storm dumped 15 inches of snow, and it took two dozen men 48 hours to dig out Randolph Street by hand. Most notably, this storm destroyed the S.S. Portland, which wrecked off of Stellwagen Bank with 192 passengers on board. Fortunately, no Canton residents were on board, but many locals reported that they “felt a sad familiarity with the scenes that must have occurred” that fateful evening. In a small leather diary, Frederick Endicott takes note of “a snow storm with very high winds.” Continuing on, he writes of “immense drifts,” adding that it “took nearly the whole morning to get shoveled out.” And the final entry that week mentions the “great loss of life at sea in Sunday’s storm. Steamer Portland wrecked off Cape Cod.”

February 1899 on Chapman Street.
Photography by I.C. Horton
(Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

Canton has always “weathered” the various storms much like surrounding towns. The photographs taken by local shutterbugs show classic street scenes with houses covered in snow up to the first floor windows. The views looking down the “Turnpike,” now Route 138 in Ponkapoag, are idyllic scenes of winter. The images of the blanketing of fields across the meadows looking toward Blue Hill are among the most splendid views in the collection of the Canton Historical Society.

The view across meadows towards the Blue Hill.
Photo taken in 1898.
(courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

An observer of 1898 wrote: “Standing at the turn of the road just beyond the old Fenno house a wide stretch of country is spread out at one’s feet and the effect is the more striking from the steepness of the slopes. The ice covered surface of Ponkapoag Pond and the frowning projections from Blue Hill make this gorge seem far deeper and more picturesque than can be expressed in measurements in feet and inches, while to the west the eye may range for miles without meeting a barrier in the way of overtopping heights. On a clear day the view rivals many famed mountain scenes and the beholder never wonders that here men grow old contentedly and maintain their health and strength and good nature through a green old age.” 

And that is why we live in Canton.


This story ran in the Canton Citizen on January 20, 2011.

Walpole Street - Circa 1900

Walpole Street looking towards Neponset Street circa 1900

As part of a larger project, I began working with large-format glass plate negatives from the basement of the Canton Historical Society. The boxes that contain several dozen of the plates are made of old cardboard and have become quite musty over the years. The last time someone looked at these plates was the mid 19070's - small handwritten notes are in each box describing the contents and each plate is wrapped in thin tissue with the date and time of the exposed photograph.

What is beautiful about these plates is the wonderful views that have long since vanished from our memory. The view of Walpole Street is another superb example of the major changes that our town has undergone as progress marches us forward. In this photograph is the Neponset Woolen Mills which many folks referred to as the "Stone Factory" owing to the impressive stone walls that stood here for almost 175 years. In the distance is the Canton Viaduct. And, to the right of the frame is an ancient small house that certainly dates to well before the American Revolution.

Walpole Street is one of our most ancient ways. As early as 1733 it was described as the road leading from "ye bridge by ye old forge." The road ran through the land of Timothy Jones and Joseph Hartwell. In fact, Jones and Hartwell petitioned the town (then Stoughton) to erect gates for passengers to open and shut as they passed - it is likely this request was not granted. By 1840, the road was designated "the road leading from the Stone Factory by Thomas Kollick's to the Sharon Line." Perhaps the small house is a remnant of one of the early landowners of record - Jones, Hartwell, Jordan, Comings or Kollick. More research will most certainly yield an answer.

Today, it is the road to Sharon. The factory has been replaced by a condominium complex that gives a nod to the past with a copy of the original tower. The small house has been lost long ago, and today an automobile repair shop is approximately where it once stood. The Viaduct is the lone survivor in the image - built in 1835 - just a few years after the factory was constructed.

So, what is there to fall in love with in this image? The superb tones, the sharpness of the building, and the factory and house balanced along the country road. The current project that I am working on takes advantage of enormous advances in high-resolution scanning to rediscover long lost images and see new pieces of the image that would not be evident if we simply printed the image on photo paper. In 1976, Ed Bolster carefully held each plate up to the light and made the small notes that are tucked in each box. Almost 35 years later, we hold the plates up to a new light and discover all that is wonderful and all that is lost in Canton.

Looking North

Looking North

While writing the upcoming book that features early views and postcards from Canton, I came upon plenty of great material that just could not fit into the space provided. And so the blog is a perfect place to share these images and build upon some great material that would otherwise still be in obscure places. 

This is a glass plate negative that is in the collection of the Canton Historical Society. It is amazing to search the basement cabinets and find negatives that have not been seen in over 100 years. In this case, there was a dusty box, heavy with dirt and placed in a lead lined draw - the boxes contain the fruits of the Kanton Kamera Klub (KKK) and the photography is at times beautiful, poignant, and plain. The glass plates are fragile, quite old, and remarkable in their clarity and detail. Modern scanning equipment does away with the need for a darkroom and enlarger as well as chemicals and a printing process. The result is immediately gratifying and always with a sense of "wow".  

The photo was taken after 1897 and the photographer is standing just to the front of Memorial Hall on Washington Street looking north. The scene is wonderfully familiar because the Trinity Episcopal Church (now Schlossberg-Solomon) is a great focal point. This photo was taken the around the same year the church was built at a cost of $5000.00. There is a wonderful story about the bell that hung in this belfry. In 1906 the Revere & Sons Company began to dissolve the property on Revere Street. During the Civil War the Union Army would confiscate cannons, armaments, and bells to be shipped north and into the hands of the Revere Company in Canton to be melted down and recast into cannons for the war effort. A bell that had been cast in 1856 was confiscated during in New Orleans and shipped with other heavy scrap to Canton. The peal and ring of this bell was so beautiful that it was saved by the Revere Family (no stranger to bells) and used on the property. Edward H.R. Revere donated this bell to the Trinity Episcopal Church in 1906.  By 1969 the church had outgrown it's small building and a new home was established at the foot of the Blue Hill. The bell was moved to bell tower and continues to ring out as it has for more than 150 years in four locations. 

Another observation in this photograph is the Blue Hill Street Railway BHSR tracks that run through right side of the frame. The tracks actually help date the photo. The mystery is that clearly written on the paper sleeve that protects the glass plate is 1897 - but I do not think this is entirely accurate given that the BHSR was not chartered until 1899. There are a few other glass plate negatives that were taken at this same point and on the same day, so more research is in order. This is, however, a wonderful glimpse looking at Washington Street as an unpaved dirt road that hints at a future Canton.

The Postal Train Wreck

The Postal Train Wreck

As a commuter to Boston, every day for the past twenty-six years, I have often thought back over the many aspects of the railroad that connects Canton with Boston and Providence. The Viaduct and Junction have always held a certain fascination for me. I occasionally see a train buff down at the siding photographing the Acella as it speeds through at 100 plus miles per hour. And, with the great speed and congestion along the routes it is always comforting to know that advanced switches and sensors ensure our safety on each trip into Boston.

This was not the case on the morning of Monday, August 8, 1898 when residents awoke to the sounds of a deadly and devastating crash at Canton Junction. Hundreds of residents rushed to the scene of the fatal crash that involved Train 70; the Boston Bound Mail Train. The train carrying fourteen mail clerks and comprised four cars left New York City at 11:30 PM Sunday night. As the train approached Canton Junction in an instant the cars slammed off the track. The train plowed towards Canton Junction and the speed caused them to quite literally dig into the stone track bed. Three men were killed and fourteen mail clerks were injured.  The clerks described being “tossed around like dice” in the railroad cars. It took some time to rescue the clerks, and the dead men were extracted late the same day. 

The Canton Journal reported from the scene and the New York Times picked up on the story the next day.

The morning was clear and when crossing the Viaduct engineer Sheldon could easily discern the signals, which indicated a clear track. Apparently there was no warning to the doomed men. As a rule with a clear track express trains slide over the bridge at fifteen to twenty miles an hour and on reaching the straight track the throttle is opened and by the time the depot was reached the speed is practically doubled. This appears to have been the case this morning.. It seems doubtful if steam was shut off before the switch was reached. Those in the cars felt no application of brakes and the few lookers-on were too horrified by the sudden catastrophe to be able to recollect just what was the condition at the moment the engine left the rails.

The rails turned the locomotive from the straight track and the momentum being too great to allow the heavy machine to be so abruptly turned from its course, it plunged diagonally across the switch and dived like an immense plow into the space between the tracks. The road bed was excavated to the depth of a yard for some fifty feet, the planking in front of the baggage-room carried away, and leaving the forward truck in front of the depot, the machine fell on its side and with well nigh everything stripped from boiler and frame, lay blowing off steam just north of the depot on the outbound track. The first car of the train followed the engine till its fall, when it also turned on its side, falling over on the turn-out west of the outbound track and slid by the tender cutting off the top of the cab and catching one of the unfortunate men on the engine under its forward end, crushed him into the ground beneath it. The other two men were found beneath the ruined cab. In this car were five mail clerks, who were thrown around, to use the expression of one of them, "like dice in a box." All were more or less injured and their wounds being temporarily dressed, were taken to Boston on a train at 6:30 to the hospital, where they were attended to and with the exception of Buckland sent home. The latter remained at the hospital, but is not thought to be dangerously hurt. The trucks of all the cars, the gas tanks, brake cylinders and all the rigging underneath the cars stuck in the trench dug by the locomotive in front of the baggage door and only the forward locomotive truck passed that spot. The second car laid right side up diagonally across the three tracks, while the third formed almost a right angle with it, the front end lifted high on the wrecked trucks lacking only a few inches of driving into the shelter roof of the station. The fourth car alone remained on its trucks, but the forward one was broken to such an extent as to require heavy chains to hold it together and was terribly strained. The track and interlocking signals were torn up and scattered in every direction.

By all accounts this was a horrific crash. The three dead were dug out several hours after the crash and after being viewed by the medical examiner, were taken by a local undertaker. The train crash was duly investigated and a faulty switch was discovered at the point where the Stoughton Branch joins the main-line.  Railroad historian Ed Galvin devoted a full chapter in his seminal A History of Canton Junction which he published in 1987. Galvin's book features additional photographs and a complete  discussion of this fatal accident.

The Canton Journal also remarked upon the huge number of people who came to view the "ruins" and observed several "cameras" in evidence.  This photo was probably taken Fred Endicott or W. Ames - both of whom were there that day and were members of the Kanton Kamera Klub (KKK). The KKK was a group of local men who took great delight in discussing and taking photographs of Canton landmarks and everyday life. The train wreck is another example of history passing through and we have witnesses who still speak to us one hundred and eleven years later.