Round and Round the Mulberry Bush

The Seavey, Foster & Bowman
Eureka Silk Mill circa 1878.

A blog on the Internet extolls the virtues of hidden fishing spots around Massachusetts. One entry in particular cites the Silk Mill Pond as a covert spot in Canton that might be of interest to anglers. The source writes of the secluded pond, “It gets pretty deep in the middle so if you want to use a deep running crank bait or let a swim bait sink a little deeper, you should be able to pull out a few. Most of my success has come from working the lily pads against the eastern shore along Old Shepard St.  The weeds are pretty thick tho so you'll have a tough time getting ur bait down to the fish.  Instead, fishing the edges of the lily pads will allow you to get the bait to their level and within their range.”

It would seem that bass masters are seeking out the same spot that Virgil and Vernon Messinger sought out, but for very different reasons. The Messinger Brothers built an empire along Silk Mill Pond. Take a drive down Old Shepard Street to see the pond - the mills have long since disappeared. For almost a century the Silk Mill complex was a driving force in our industrial history.

Textile manufacturing in Canton began with James Beaumont’s mill on Walpole Street, built in 1801. It was Beaumont’s belief that he produced the first piece of cotton cloth in America. The claim, however, was not quite true, as it seems cotton cloth was being produced in a small factory in New York as early as 1794. Yet, Beaumont’s empire was likely the first large-scale production of the cloth and made a fortune for the enterprising youth.

So, it is no surprise that when you look at Canton’s industrial history you will observe amazing progress in both manufacturing and invention of machines that support the cotton, wool, netting and silk industries.  Imagine Canton in the early 1800’s –Paul Revere is making copper, Leonard and Kinsley are manufacturing iron, the very parts of the machines needed to support textile mills. And, while Canton did not have quite the waterpower of other more famous manufactories, it certainly had enough to support the invention needed for amazing growth.

One of the oldest glass ambrotypes
taken in Canton is this circa.
1863 view of the first Silk Mill.

A map of 1831 lists the industries within the town’s boundaries, “2 furnaces for casting canons, bells, and etc., 2 rolling mills & 1 turning mill, 1 large wool factory, capable of manufacturing 600,000 yards per year, 3 cotton factories, 1 thread factory, one satinett factory, 1 wick yarn factory, 1 cutlery factory, 1 candlestick factory & one for farmer’s utensils; 2 steel furnaces, 4 forges, 3 grist mills, 1 saw mill, and 4 machine shops.” The size of the town, coupled with access to the railroad and proximity to Boston allowed Canton to become the hub of innovation in the early 19^th century.

When you consider all that is needed to support a successful venture, both today and two hundred years ago, it would seem that we were at the forefront of so many things. To our credit we boasted strong public schools, great thinkers and doers, and inspiration everywhere. It is against this backdrop that in April 1836 the Commonwealth of Massachusetts offered a bounty for the purpose of encouraging the manufacture of silk.

The period between 1825-1844 found so many individuals seeking discovery. In Congress, committee after committee was raised to support the silk industry in America. Locally, Governor Levi Lincoln’s focus was on economic development and was intimately aware of how to promote the textile industry as he himself was connected to the cotton enterprises in Worcester at the time. It was Governor Lincoln who helped fuel the silk industry by offering a bounty of “ten cents a pound for cocoons and a dollar a pound for raw silk.” The first year that the bounty was offered, merely $85 was paid out, signaling warning signs for the silk industry in Massachusetts.

Not heeding the fact that both the trees and the caterpillars could not thrive here, a great business emerged selling mulberry trees.  Subsequently, an enormous frenzy called “Morus Multicaulis Mania” swept New England. “Grave doctors of medicine and doctors of divinity, men learned in the law, agriculturalists, mechanics, and merchants, and women as well as men, seemed to be infected with a strange frenzy in regard to this mulberry tree.”

Jonathan Cobb was born in Sharon, and was raised in his father’s tavern on the town line between Canton. Attending Milton Academy and later Harvard, Cobb became associated with the law office of James Dunbar and came to know many Canton businessmen. By 1831, Cobb had moved to Dedham and became engaged in the manufacture of silk thread. An early pioneer and advocate for the fledgling silk industry, Governor Levi tapped Cobb to prepare the everyday manual on the subject.

Janice Fronko, a textile historian explains that “the people who had money to invest, lost a fortune, and Cobb lost over $50,000. These investors came to learn that the silk worms and trees had to come from other places.” The bombyx mori – the domesticated silkworm, was bred successfully in China and Japan. “As soon as the experiment in New England died out, the wealthy left standing turned to a new business plan to import the raw silk. Once here, the silk was turned into thread, dyed and turned out onto spools,” says Fronko.  

Things spiraled out of hand, when prices for the mulberry trees that once cost $3.00 per hundred rose to cost as much as $500.00 per hundred. Times were rife with speculation and a great panic ensued leading, of course to financial disaster by 1837. The raising and producing of silk in America soon fell to the true entrepreneurs, and in walked the Virgil J. Messinger of Canton.

A Collection of Embroidery Silks

Messinger opened his first silk factory in 1839. Shortly after opening the enterprise, he moved to Needham and made “sewings, gimps and fringes” with Lemuel Cobb (Jonathan’s brother.) By 1844 he returned and along with his brother, Vernon, erected a newer factory at what was called the Lower Silk Mill Pond. An exhibit in 1847 at Faneuil Hall extolled the amazing new sewing silk “nearly equal to the best imported.” The new modern factory was opened under the name “Messinger & Brother” and would become an empire known throughout the country.

In 1842 the quantity of silk manufactured in Massachusetts was 5,264 pounds, by 1845 Canton sent out 5,200 pounds – by far some of the largest output in the state. To solve the supply problems, the Messingers imported the silk skeins from China and pulled them into thread and dyed the resulting product.

Over the succeeding years the company grew and the mill grew from a modest wooden structure to a fine granite building designed on a grand scale. The business was sold in 1863 to Charles Foster and J.W.C. Seavey, who himself had been with the Messingers since 1853. By 1881, the firm became known as the Eureka Silk Manufacturing Company. Within a year the factory was aglow with the new invention of electricity. 

The evolution of Eureka was phenomenal, owing in large part to the patent of the Singer Vibrating Shuttle sewing machine. This lockstitcher was far better than any of the previous machines and millions of the machines, perhaps the world's first really practical sewing machine for domestic use, were produced well into the early 1900s.

As sales of the machine rose, so too did the fortunes of Eureka Silk. Yet, at the same time competition began to overtake the region and the rise of the business was offset with a precipitous decline.

In 1894, over 475 workers, mostly women were employed by Eureka in three large mills. On March 13, 1894 “practically the entire number of girls and young men left their work abruptly at about 7:30 Tuesday morning.” The spoolers and winders of the lower mill marched en masse to the upper mill and gathered more supporters. The two groups marched and eventually more than 375 workers went out on strike. Wages had been cut by ten cents a day and hours had been reduced as “hard times” led to insufficient paychecks.

The papers wrote that “the streets were crowded with a lively and brilliant throng” as a mass meeting was held at Oddfellow’s Hall. Newspaper reporters tried to report of the union meetings, but the “smiling and insistent reporter was as smiling and insistently excluded.” To all in town the front-page story was bolstered by the fact that things were quite “orderly and quiet except for the unusual number of bright dresses on the street and the silent spindles of two out of the three mills. The mill owners threatened to shutter the mills down, and the girls threatened to go to Brockton for better wages.  The state Board of Arbitration intervened and advised the workers to return. The wages had been as high as $6.08 for 58 hours of work, yet the economy of the silk business could no longer meet such generous terms.

In the end, the workers returned to their shuttles without any raise in wages and the mills resumed operation. Mill Number 1 ended production in 1903 and was destroyed by fire the following year. In 1906 Eureka Silk relocated to Connecticut and ceased all operations in Canton.

A long trip for Hank Williams' coat

From a glass plate negative. The Neponset Mills in Canton.
(Courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame sits on the shores of Lake Erie in Cleveland, Ohio. My wife and I stopped in while driving to Chicago when we needed a halfway point to rest. The hall of fame is a shrine to rock in all its forms — from jazz to punk and all genres in between. We received our tickets and began our tour through the labyrinth of exhibits.

Within two minutes, we found ourselves in front of a case of items that recognized the contributions of Hiram King Williams — “Hank” — the American singer-songwriter who is considered one of the most important country music artists of all time. In the case were his hat, his boots and a coat he wore. The coat caught my eye — hanging on the hook you could plainly see the label, and it read “designed by Monarch — Neponset Emberglo.” Turning to my wife, I explained that no matter how far we travel, Canton is never far away. In true wife fashion, she rolled her eyes and moved on. I lingered on and thought how far that coat had traveled.

The Emberglo coat was crème colored and a heavy wool dyed with a western pattern, and according to the description was made in 1950. Emberglo was a trademark of the Neponset Woolen Mills, located on Walpole Street. The label had the word Neponset neatly stitched. Hank Williams’ coat started in the hands of factory workers from Canton. The coat tells a rich story that reaches beyond Hank Williams and into American history and the age of our industrial revolution.

The mill on Walpole Street is gone, but only recently. One of the most important mills in America, this site was first developed in 1801. When you stand here, you are on the original site of the second cotton factory in the colonies, the first being the 1799 Samuel Slater Mill in Pawtucket, Rhode Island. Today, a modern condominium complex, built by local developer John Marini, sits on this historic site.

The establishment of the cotton mill in Canton was due to the enterprise of a 22-year-old James Beaumont, a young man who had come from England to America in the spring of 1800. No stranger to manufacturing, Beaumont was born in Denby, a parish between Huddersfield and Sheffield, two important manufacturing towns in Yorkshire, England. Growing up on estates that produced wool and being part of a rather well-off family, Beaumont’s eye was on America. In 1799, Beaumont received a letter from two friends who had left England and settled in Lebanon, New Hampshire. The letter told of the opportunities that could be prospected in this new country. Beaumont sent a return letter with a draft of a spinning machine, which helped his friends begin their business in Lebanon. Soon thereafter, Beaumont decided he “got a hankering to go there and see what they were about.”

To leave England with secrets of manufacturing was risky, and if caught, Beaumont would face the full wrath of the English government. In order to avoid detection, he bought casks of hardware and cutlery along with bolts of cloth, and at the custom house in Liverpool he explained that he was simply a farmer’s son going to America on a trading trip.

Beaumont sailed to America on a trip that would take 56 days and would forever change textile manufacturing in the fledgling country. Landing in Salem, he visited a few factories, and by the winter of 1800 he had settled in Boston. An English acquaintance by the curious name of “Slimsey” (a nickname for sure) informed Beaumont that there was a fine mill-privilege in Canton, on which its two owners wished to set up a cotton factory, and that they were willing to erect a dam and the mill “if they could find somebody who would put in about $400, to pay for the machinery.”

Beaumont visited Canton, where he was so pleased with the mill-privilege that he agreed to furnish the machinery; his partners, Lemuel Bailey and Abel Fisher, would erect a substantial dam and a building for a factory. The construction of the dam and factory progressed during the year of 1801, and the machines were running by 1802. The first work of the factory was the manufacture of wickyarn for candle-makers. Soon thereafter, the mill began to make yarn for warp and filling for domestic fabrics. The first piece of cloth made was for sheeting. Beaumont said of it: “This, in 1802, was the first piece of cotton cloth ever made in America from mule-yarn, either all or in part produced.” Beaumont was mistaken: Cotton cloth had been made in 1794 in a factory in New York, but Beaumont’s mill was nonetheless producing fine cloth that sold for 50 cents a yard.

James Beaumont's House on Neponset Street
 (now demolished). Circa 1900. (Courtesy of the
Canton Historical Society)

Beaumont did very well in this venture, and by 1823 at age 45, he retired from manufacturing and became a gentleman farmer. For a time he had a small mill in what was known as the British Block, not far from his original factory. His innovations continued, and he produced some of the first satin products in America. In 1808 he had erected the second brick house in Canton, the first being the Endicott House on Washington Street. In this handsome house Beaumont spent time with his family and friends and lived an entire life in his adopted home. Beaumont died in Canton in 1868 at age 90 and is buried alongside his wife, Abigail (Gookin), and his children at the Canton Corner Cemetery.
 
On February 18, 1823, the factory on Walpole Street was sold to Joseph W. Revere for $3,500. Within a year, Revere sold the mill to Darius Blake Holbrook, Charles Parker, and Dexter and William Hill, of Boston, for $120,000. These gentlemen, along with others, organized the Boston & Canton Manufacturing Company. The area quickly built up around the massive stone factory and included boarding houses, a school and even medical facilities. In three years the area prospered, and great growth led to the construction of a dirt road across the Fowl Meadows to support shipments to Boston. Quite literally, Canton burst forward under the growth of the mills along this section of town. Unfortunately, the business failed in 1827 and the mill would be vacant for four years.

On April 22, 1831, the Boston & Canton Manufacturing Company conveyed the mill to the Neponset Company. The new officers were well-known philanthropists and politicians from Boston. The certificate of which was recorded July 22, 1832, showing that the capital stock was $200,000, and that the officers were Harrison Gray Otis, president, Caleb Loring, Samuel Fales, and Robert G. Shaw, directors, and John S. Wright, clerk and treasurer.

Worth noting is the fact that this was the same Harrison Gray Otis, the prominent Boston businessman, lawyer and politician and arguably the most important member of the Federalist Party. Otis’ venture also failed, and by 1837 the site was again abandoned. Over the next 66 years many factories operated on this site, including a bleachery in the early 1880s, and by 1903 it was again making cotton and wool products for caskets and other uses under the name Neponset Woolen Mills.

The Neponset Woolen Mills survived into the mid 1950s, and this is where the Emberglo Jacket comes in. Some of the finest wool was manufactured and dyed in Canton in both the Neponset Mill and at Draper Mills. The trademark Emberglo figured prominently in advertisements and in store displays. Rich thick plaids were used for sportsman’s outerwear. The logo proudly proclaimed that the products were “loomed by Neponset craftsmen” since 1824 and featured the signature mill tower and the Canton Viaduct in the background.

A postcard view of the Neponset Woolen Mills

As the textile industry died in Canton, the site became the home of Emerson & Cuming, where they manufactured flotation devices for oilrigs. The early use of dyes and then the subsequent use and storage of advanced polymers on this property allowed the site to become heavily polluted. Eventually, the Emerson & Cuming site earned the dubious distinction of becoming one of Canton’s five hazardous waste “Superfund” sites.

In 2005 the original historic factory was demolished, and the site was remediated to deal with the chemical pollution. To pay tribute to the thousands of men and women who worked on this site for over 200 years, the Canton Historical Commission asked the developer to salvage some of the original stone and to build a replica of the bell tower. The original tower and bell was likely built during the 1800s, and around the turn of the 20^th century it had been rebuilt. Used to mark the passing of the workday, the bell was likely melted down when the tower became unsafe and was removed around 1930.

The new complex, known as Rive­­r Village on Walpole Street at Neponset, is one of our town’s newest architectural landmarks. The focus is an impressive tower and stone lobby that serve as the grand entrance. But, honestly, what could match the original grandeur of the factory that once stood “stone-faced” on this property. And every time I hear an old Hank Williams song and slip on my wool coat on an autumn afternoon, I will think about Emberglo and the history of the Neponset Woolen Mill.

School No. 6

Schoolhouse Number 6 - The Revere School

Just as you are about to leave Canton, heading for Norwood, you will pass Chapman Street on your right. To gain your bearings, today there is a traffic light at the intersection of Neponset and Chapman streets; a slight hill to your right in front of you is a small service station, and the scene in this photograph is the original Revere School, or Schoolhouse Number 6. Built in 1827 at a cost of $600, it would serve Canton children for over 87 years.

This building is lost to time. The photograph is taken from a glass plate that I recently found in a box in the basement of the Canton Historical Society. I have long had a keen interest in the Revere School, and finding this relic of a previous incarnation of the original Revere School proved useful material for this lesson. The photograph is almost 125 years old and looks as crisp as the day it was taken. Behind this photo is a story that perhaps could be told by many of the early schoolhouses in Canton. 

The construction of School No. 6 coincided with the establishment of the Boston Manufacturing Company, a large, sprawling complex that was begun in 1824. Three entrepreneurs erected a stone mill that would stand on the corner of Walpole and Neponset streets for 183 years. This area came to be known as the Stone Factory section of Canton. The young owners knew that in order to be successful, labor and amenities that supported labor had to be close by. 

The town of Canton opened up a road across Fowl Meadows in order to shorten the route for teams of horses to reach Boston. As part of the neighborhood, the industrialists built a small chapel, comfortable boarding houses, large barns, and this one-room schoolhouse. The population exploded around the Stone Factory District, and so successful were the early company days that the monthly payroll exceeded more than $7,000. Unfortunately, many of the workers in the mill were children.

Along with boom came bust, and the attendance at School No. 6 would rise and fall with the fortunes of the company. An early report on the school laments the fact that “a great evil in this school is the irregularity of attendance. Children who are in school to-day, and in the Mill at work to-morrow, cannot, in the nature of the case, make any progress in their studies.” Along with tardiness was an issue with retaining adequate teachers. In one year the school reported “energetic and persevering” teachers, and in the next a new teacher was described as “deficient in energy, decision and firmness.” As the school committee saw it, the old settlers sent their children with regularity, and the “floating population” — those who worked in the mill — would ebb and flow. 

The public descriptions of the teachers who taught in the summer and winter terms at School No. 6 were often quite severe. In 1847, describing the teaching style of Mr. Isaac A. Parsons of Maine, the school board writes, “There was a want of dignity in manner, of correctness of language which should characterize a teacher of youth. Children cannot be expected to have good manners and refinement unless they witness them in example and copy they are taught to imitate in school.” Parsons was also marked down for his lack of keeping the register and “exhibiting a culpable deficiency of neatness and accuracy.”

The payroll for School No. 6 also reveals issues that marked the time. In 1857, for example, the salary for a female teacher was $18 per month and for her male counterpart $34. The school at that time was called backward and difficult to govern, and given that on one week 50 to 60 children would attend, and then the next 20 to 30 would be in their seats, there is no question that challenges abounded. 

In 1854 the small building was enlarged, but problems persisted. Again, parents needed children in the mill to assist with the labor pool. In fact, most children would leave this school by the time they reached age 11 or 12, as a job working in the mill or laboring in a field would be their lot in life. 

By 1865 the stream of immigrants brought new challenges to School No. 6: “The foreign population for the most part are ill educated, or not educated at all. Some pretend to speak the English language; others do not; and some speak vulgar, local dialects.” Joseph Wattles, who wrote the school report that year, ended his missive with a quote by Alexander Pope: “Words are like leaves, and where they most abound, much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found.”

By 1870, the schoolhouse became known as Neponset School in recognition that the Neponset Woolen Mills had taken over the old stone factory. Harrison Gray Otis had taken over the mill, and measured success returned to the area. Finally, in 1881 the school was officially named the Revere School in honor of the close connections in the general area to the patriot Paul Revere.

Things gradually improved at the Old Revere School. The general observation in 1886 was that the superintendent of schools met with “cheerful faces, clean hands, clear voices, bright smiles,” all of which went along with “swept floors, well dusted desks and clean windows.” Within 30 years a new modern school on Chapman Street would replace this building. Until that time, however, the two-room schoolhouse would continue to serve Canton until 1914.

This story appeared in the Canton Citizen on November 4, 2010.

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.

The Crane School

The Original Crane School

Ah, the sweet taste of Corvus brachyrhynchos (Common Crow) which was recently consumed by my good friend and fellow local historican, James Roache. I was researching the Canton Postcard History and came across the glass ambrotype (above) of what was marked the Crane School. This image was taken sometime after 1854 and is a very early image. Folks who remember the Crane School are more likely to recall a very different building in Canton Center. Indeed, all the photos I have seen show an entirely different structure, and that is what puzzled me as well.

On April 18, 1854 a new school was dedicated in District No.3 (Canton Center) According to Daniel Huntoon, this house, when built was declared to be a building “which in beauty of architecture, completeness of design and adaptation, is unequalled” The land on which it stands has been owned and occupied by Major General Elijah Crane; for which reason the committee aptly named the school after Crane.

The Crane School housed students from the first grade to high school level. The first examination for high school level took place at the Crane School in 1866 and continued there until a High School was built in 1869. The school district system was abolished in 1868 and the Town took possession of the schoolhouses in 1870. From that time forward the “School Committee” directed all school activities.

So, if the photo above depicts the Crane School, why do we remember such a different building as portrayed in the postcard to the left? Forty years after the original structure was completed, the building exhibited major deficiencies. Poor ventilation, heating, plumbing and a floor plan that could not meet the needs of the students and a burgeoning local population. By the turn of the century the defects were still not addressed, in particular the use of individual stoves for heating of the classrooms. By 1903, no major improvements were made with exception of needed repairs for a leaky roof, broken windows and other minor repairs or painting. By 1906, the town voted to spend $16,000 for some much needed improvements to the fifty-two year old structure. Architects from Boston were hired and they produce plans that completely changed the appearance of the building. The total cost of the remodeling was $16,966.80 and the Superintendent reported that “we have a modern substantial structure" ... The change has been so great both within and without that no trace of the old arrangement remains."

Indeed, the change was great. The roofline, was entirely recreated, new systems installed throughout, and the side wings extended. Some of the signature clues of the original building remained, however, and this is where Messrs. Comeau & Roache disagreed. I absolutely saw that the architects played off of the paladian windows, the fluted columns of the pediment and entrance and the decorative quoins on the corners and below the roofline. There were other smaller and obscure clues, and I felt sure something major had changed over time. But, Mr. Roache was having none of my folderol over this building, insisting it may have been another school that Canton children had attended but not necessarily located in Canton. Then, at the Historical Society I spied another photo lying on a display case. A casual glance at an exterior view of a schoolhouse with graduates in front resurrected the friendly argument. Mr. Roache listened to my case and promised to revisit this issue in the near future. Within a few hours the answer was found and we learn that the building had had multiple lives over it's 113 year history.

By 1949, the last graduates exited the building and in 1950 the school committee turned the property over to the Selectmen. The end for the Crane School was in sight. At the end of 1954 a Planning board report on the property was completed and present by John T. Blackwell to the March Town Meeting in 1955. It was voted to accept the report and approve $6,000 to raze the building and prep the lot of possible sale. Town Meeting of 1967 finally voted to sell the lot with the stipulation that said land to be used by the purchaser primarily for a super market. The loss of this building has long remained a point of great sadness for Cantonians. All we have are the memories and the photographs, and now we have another version of the school to miss. Thank you Jim, for the Corvus brachyrhynchos, next time the dish will be mine to consume.