NEW Cemetery Tour



What's in a Name? The story of Connaught Lane

Now that Walter can be called what was referred to as in the 19th century as a "gentleman" (aka retired),  he has been able to do a little digging and who knows what he will uncover.  Here is a recent find that adds another piece to the puzzle of what we call the Acre

Everyone 'knows' that the nineteenth century Irish identified with their county of origin, if not also with the province in which that county was located.  This also carried over to Lowell in the early nineteenth century as shown in the 1849 riot wherein the men and women from southern Ireland, the “Corkonians” fought a vigorous battle with the “Far Downers” of Connaught.  This was occasioned by some old country rivalries which carried over to Lowell.  However, the story of that riot is for another occasion.  Today is a far different, 'fun' discovery.  

O'Dwyer in the Irish Catholic Genesis of Lowell (1920) states that there are two plans in the Registry of Deeds dated 1832 and 1838 showing two intersecting streets in the “Acre” named Cork and Dublin streets.  Later these would become Marion and Lagrange streets only to have the original names restored several years ago.  This section of the Acre was largely settled by people from those counties. 

Across the Western canal. In the area bounded by Lewis, Dutton and Lowell (today Market Street) streets, were people from some of the counties in Connaught, and Ulster provinces, the “Far-Downers”

No streets were named to mark their presence unless one counts Commiskey's Alley between Merrimack and Lowell (now Market) streets, but that is named for an individual, not a place.

 

Recently, however, in the course of researching something completely unrelated I came across this little 'gem' from The American Citizen, 09/25/1854.

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is the first (and only) such place name found other than Cork & Dublin streets.  It is also the only reference I have been able to find.  Connaught Lane was located at the first “E” in Street between the buildings of Barrett and Little.  Today it is the parking lot of the Olympia Restaurant, abutting the wall of the Green School property..

Google maps

An Acre Memory: May Devotions

Grotto, 1890s

There are certain memories that are embedded in your very soul when you attend a parochial school, especially in the pre-Vatican II period.  There were First Friday Masses, novenas to the Saints, Parish Missions, 40 Hours Devotions.  You could add to the list yourself.  Maybe it was the sun that drew me outside to walk the backyard.  I looked at the lilac bush and the very first buds hinting of what to come were just showing themselves.  For me lilacs have an immediate connection to May, and if you went to a parochial school that meant the May Procession. 

I have friends who swear their time in parochial school put them into years of therapy.  Maybe they’re right.  I also see that many very successful people probably gained a firm foundation by “doing time.”   

Having gone through St. Patrick School with the Sisters of Notre Dame de Namur one can easily understand their instilling great devotion to Our Lady.  The history of the May Procession goes back to the earliest days of the school into the 1850s.  The tradition continued into the 1960s when I was there.  Devotion to the B.V.M. even flooded into the home.  Many Catholics wore the brown scapular and recited their daily rosary.  My mother at times would walk over and turn the TV off announcing it was time for the rosary, often in the middle of the Flintstones or I Dream of Jeanie.  Home May Altars were another custom associated with this time of year.  My grandfather would take old religious statues and repaint them.  To be honest he probably was not the greatest artist.  Often his artwork would give them haunting eyes that would follow you around.  Somewhere in the corner of the TV room would be set up a card table covered with a table cloth on which were arranged  plastic flowers, candlesticks, and the statue of Mary with Little Orphan Annie eyes.  The scene was carried out in homes of families and friends, sometimes with a note of competition.  One cousin had a mammoth set of rosary beads that had belonged on a nun’s habit.  If there was a winner, this was the gold medal. 

Back at school plans for the big procession started right after Easter.  Everyone knew that an 8^th grade girl would be chosen to crown the statue of Mary.  This led some girls to be a little holier than thou in hopes of being among the elect.  Maybe they wouldn’t get to crown Mary, but possibly be part of the court that would dress in long satin robes and carry signs with the titles of the 15 Mysteries of the Rosary.  Each girl would wear a crown of plastic flowers.  There was quite a bit of campaigning going on for the honor.  Some girls would volunteer to carry Sister’s school bag or maybe drop a hint of a possible future vocation to the Oder.  They’d do anything to grab that crown.

In our classroom Sister Margaret Paul announced we were having a contest.  We were each to build a May Altar and bring it into class to compete for a very special prize.  In preparation for the big day, we were all corralled into the school hall to watch the 1950s classic, The Song of Bernadette on an ancient 16mm projector.  You could see the smiles on the Sisters’ faces while Bernadette was in the throes of her visions.  I was mesmerized by the old projector and watched the film go from one spool to the other.  The best part was when the film would split and you could watch it melt right there on the screen.  (Full disclosure:  I own a DVD of the Song of Bernadette and have to admit to secretly watching it.)

The night before the May Altar competition was due, we were at my Aunt’s house.  That’s when I announced to my parents I needed to go home and build and altar.  What????  Ok, even back then I waited until the last minute to do anything.  Luckily my cousin Armand had a tiny statute of Mary I could use.  (I still have the statue if Armand wants it back.)  We flew home in the ‘61 Ford.  My Dad took out a roll of Reynold’s Wrap and began constructing a tin foil grotto.  He then took my Easter eggs, ripped off the fancy foil (ate the chocolate), and created a backdrop.  A few cotton balls around Mary’s feet and voila!  It was done.  I don’t know what they got so bothered about. 

May Procession, 1953

On the way to school the next day I added a few dandelions for affect.  The classroom was heady with all the bouquets of lilacs kids had brought in.  Along the window sill were the 30 or so home-made May Altars.  Some were works of art.  Sister looked at mine and said, “Put it over there.”  My tin foil grotto was banished to the back of the room, after all my hard work. 

As the day wore on, one by one students’ heads began hitting the desks.  We were being drugged by the smell of lilacs like Dorothy and the poppies in the Wizard of Oz.  Sister banished the lilacs to the outdoors.  Mary would have to do with plastic flowers.  Of course the winner of the classroom competition was Sister’s pet who had given her a new Miraculous Medal as a bribe.  There’s one in every crowd.  I wasn’t too disappointed when I saw the big prize was a prayer card with 350 day of plenary indulgences attached to it.  But soon it was time for the grand procession.

There were about 300 students in the school at the time.  We were all lined up 2 by 2 to form a column that would march around the block to the church.  We were instructed that one person would begin the Hail Mary and the other would give the response.  The idea was great, but the reality was that as soon as Sister walked past, you started talking about something else.  For a few, rosary beads became weapons being used like helicopter blades spinning around your finger.  As soon as Sister would turn around you’d hear, “Holy Mary, Mother of God…….”

Our demeanor changed as we processed into the church alight with candles and the smell of incense.  As the voices of 300 children sang the strains of Immaculate Mary the tiny crown of flowers and ribbons crafted by one of the Sisters was placed upon the head of the statue.  How many generations of school children had carried out this same devotion gazing upon this same image?  We were a link in a chain that had traversed time continuing what our parents and theirs before them brought to this place.  Ave Maria.

One Soldier's Story

My vacations often turn into destination points.  This time a liitle note brought me to the story of a fallen Irish soldier from Lowell who did not come home.  So off to Sharpsburg, MD.

He was one of the 23,000 that died that day in Sharpsburg.  His family would never even have the privilege of having his earthly remains interred with other family members in Saint Patrick Cemetery.    He was not the only Lowellian to die at Antietam on that September day in 1862.  Few facts surround his brief life.  And his simple marble marker at the National Cemetery is all that is left to tell his story.

 

Maybe it was the lure of the glories of the battlefield that drew him to join the 19^th Mass Infantry in August of 1861.  There were other Lowell boys signing up that day; perhaps that was the catalyst, or maybe it was the lack of work in the city and the need to help the family earn enough to feed themselves.  Maybe it was his way of showing his patriotism to his new homeland.  Records show a Cassidy family immigrating from Ireland living in the Acre at this time.  There is also a slate stone in the Catholic Burial ground with the names of a number of young children bearing the Cassidy name.  If this was the family we were looking for, Francis would have been about 18 at the time of his signing.

Within a few months, the 19^th Mass found themselves in Virginia, part of the Peninsula Campaign.  Conditions could not have been worse.  The extreme heat, unsanitary conditions, diseases from wading through swamp water, and lack of food took its toll.  Private Cassidy is marked “missing.”  Eyewitness accounts state that many soldiers lay along the trails collapsed with dysentery and extreme fatigue.  Some soldiers resort to eating raw flour that was finally rationed to them, hunger overcoming common sense.  What happens to Pvt. Cassidy is not noted but he does return to his unit before the march to Antietam Creek.  He may have thought himself fortunate to have survived the Peninsula, but his final destiny awaited him.

Dunker's Church, Antietam

At 2 a.m. on Wednesday September 17^th, 1862 Pvt. Cassidy is awakened to the sound of revelry.  The Confederates were on the move.  By dawn the sound of gunfire drew closer.  The men of the 19^th became anxious.  Their Captain had them go through the manual of arms to relieve the building tension.  They were ordered to form 3 lines.  The rolling cornfields of the Maryland town became the site of the greatest loss of American lives in a single day.  Inept leadership then ordered the 19^th to march forward through the cornfields.  The long single lines made perfect targets for the Rebel forces as they cleared the fields.  They did not stand a chance.  The bodies piled up on top of each other.  Those who did make it through found they were attacked on their flank.  The order was to charge, adding more numbers to the slaughter.  Less than 50% of the 19^th survived the day.  It is most probable this is where Pvt. Francis Cassidy met his end.

The day after the battle, horse drawn carriages brought photographers to the battlefield.  This new technology documented what Americans had only read about previously.  Soldiers bent bayonets into hooks to drag bodies to shallow graves.  Pvt. Cassidy was fortunate that someone did so for him and marked a rough hewn board with his name and regiment.  He was lucky.  Many visitors weeks,

Grave of Pvt. Francis Cassidy

months, and even years later report limbs and skulls poking out of the ground from unburied dead.  More than likely his family could not afford to have his remains transferred back to Lowell.  Local papers often recorded when bodies arrived and when services would be held.  No such privilege for Pvt. Cassidy.  Several months later his remains were reinterred in the Cemetery just a mile from where he fell. 

There is a sad beauty to the Cemetery.  Thousands of marble headstones with simple inscriptions of name and regiment line up like soldiers standing at attention.  The white markers on a field of green give a sense of peace, countering the tragedy of young lives lost.

Pray

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Any readers who are familiar with Saint Patrick's Church, the Acre, or O'Donnell's Funeral Home will certainly know the Corcoran family.  Dick and Mae Corcoran were well known and respected life-long members of St. Pat's, and many will remember their home on Wilder Street.  They and their crew of kids were involved in every aspect of parish life, and many remain so today.  This past St. Patrick's Day the Corcoran Clan was a major part of the musical program, "Everything Irish."

Two members of their family were severely injured in Monday's tragedy.  Follow the link to keep updated or to contribute to their medical bills.     http://www.gofundme.com/celesteandsydney

Keening

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I'm uncomfortable with the term "historian" when it is applied to me. Those are very dedicated individuals who spend much time researching and seeking how and why things happened. Me, I'm a collector of other people's stories- the good, the bad, the happy, the sad, the true, and the....... what we wished really happened. For a number of years I did oral histories with members of the community. It all started because of my Dad. As a kid we'd drive around and he'd tell me the story of the Acre Shamrocks and swimming in the canals, stuff that would make a great oral history. Unfortunately I never gave him the time to do a history with me. I've lost that chance.  I recall one story he shared with me.

When he was a kid living on Waugh Street in the Acre, a neighbor passed away. This must have been about 1925 when he was 7 or 8. His mother took him by the hand to attend the deceased woman's wake. He remembered seeing a wreath hanging on the door with a black crepe ribbon to announce to passers-by that the family was in mourning. He had never been to a wake before and had no idea what to expect. They walked into what would be called today the family room. The deceased was laid out in a casket, of course provided by O'Donnell's. The house was mobbed with family and friends. He remembered the gnarled hands of the deceased neighbor with the rosary beads intertwined. Candles burned at both ends of the coffin. His mother and he took a seat. There was no hope of escaping. The table before him had glasses stuffed with cigarettes and a bowl with clay pipes and tobacco. These were meant as tokens of remembrance from the family. The room where the deceased was laid out was quiet and reverent with mostly women whispering and nodding and holding lace handkerchiefs in their hands.

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The kitchen was another story. People who came to the house brought plates of sandwiches or cakes. It overflowed with offerings. Of course there was the whiskey. Jugs of the "water of life" bought at local watering holes covered what empty space there was in the kitchen. This was the male's domain. Smoke filled the room. and the glasses were being passed around again and again. My Dad loaded his plate with food, and his mom quickly escorted him out of this part of the house. He sat in the back of the viewing room while his mother made the rounds with the other ladies. As he was eating off his plate he almost jumped out of his chair. In back of him was a row of old ladies, really old ladies. They were like a chorus from some Greek tragedy. In unison they started high pitch wailing that went on and on. A few other old ladies joined in. "She's gone. She's gone" Then there were a series of lamentations not in any words he could recognize. Followed by, "We'll never see her again." There were intercessions to Blessed Virgin Mary and all the saints. Then the wailing would begin again. Much later he asked his mother who they were and she said they were the keeners. Some were family members, but other were paid professionals whose job was to set the mood and recount the actions of the soul who had passed. It was a practice that had pretty much died away by that time, and maybe he wasn't aware that he was witnessing one of the last grand Irish wakes in Lowell. He told the story a number of times over his life, and said the sound of the keeners was something he always would remember.

Back at the wake, the mourners carried on until the priest arrived and then all the women got on their
knees for the rosary. The sound from the kitchen of the glasses being filled and refilled mixed in with the Hail Marys. This same routine would be carried on for 2 more nights. His mother walked him back home only to turn around and return to the wake. It was her job to "keep watch" the whole night with a few of the other women. They would spend the entire night with the deceased telling stories of her life and struggles and then begin the rosary again. "...... now and at the hour of our death. Amen"

Making Their Mark on the City

City Documents, 1894

The Seal of the City is familiar to most Lowellians.  The river.  The mills.  The bales of cotton.  They have all been well-known symbols of Lowell as the City of Industry.  A careful look through city documents shows that the Seal has gone through several changes over the decades; each one emphasizing a certain phase of the city’s evolution.  Often a cornucopia, a horn of plenty, can be seen in the sky, advertising the profits created by the mills.  In the 1880s and into the 1890s a new image is seen in the skyline, a church tower.  The steeple of Saint Patrick Church can be seen amongst the outline of the mills.  The 13^th century gothic-style church had been completed in 1854.  Early visitors commented on the grandiose size of the church compared to the shanties, shops, and dwellings of the Acre.  The gold cross that adorned the top of the steeple could be seen from many points across the city marking the Irish presence in the City.  While the church was built in the middle of the Anti-Catholic panic of the 1850s, by the 1880s the Irish had assumed political power.  It was sending a message to the old guard.  Now it was the turn of the Irish to add their brand onto the City’s official seal for all to see.

The idea for this post came from Anam Cara honoree, Dick Howe Jr., who shared this finding during Dr. Mitchell’s presentation.

Ecce Lignum Crucis: Behold the Wood of the Cross, 1900

Interior, St Patrick Church, c. 1900

Included in the parish archives are a few issues of a small magazine printed monthly by the parish called The Calendar.  It gives interesting insight to the workings of the community and the way people worshipped at the turn of the century.  Reading through the journal reminds one how little and how much things have changed in the last century.

The April 1900 issue focused on the rites and rituals of Holy Week.  It was assumed every adult would show up for each of the liturgies.  It began with the procession of palms around the church on Palm Sunday, continued with daily Mass and Tenebrae on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, and the Triddum of Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday services.   If one attended each of the expected liturgies it could amount to 10 or more hours in church.  A special note was made to the male parishioners.  The parish priests had addressed certain male congregants about not fully participating in the ceremonies.  They often stood down the back of the church or even outside the doors.  The writer advised that males show follow the good example of the women by being more active participants.   He continued that men should be taking the leadership role here and to not allow the women to outdo the men in piety.  Warning was also given to some of the faithful who were arriving late and leaving early.  Their comings and goings had been duly noted by the priests. 

The Catholic bookstores were well stocked with small prayer books that contained all the prayers for each of the services.  The price was a mere 50 cents and each parishioner was encouraged to bring his/her copy to church each day.  Parishioners were also encouraged to bring their Protestant friends to services, but wait to answer their questions until later.  The writer knew with certainty that many Protestants were just waiting for a personal invite to attend one of the services.  It was the Catholic’s duty to remind their Protestant friends to keep silence and to forego answering questions until they are outside. 

The tradition of visiting 7 churches on Holy Thursday was expected of Catholics.  Each church would decorate an altar of repose where the Blessed Sacrament would remain overnight. Men from the Holy Name Society would keep vigil until dawn when the Good Friday prayers would begin.   It became an unspoken tradition that each church would try to outdo the other with a bit of extravagance.  The faithful were reminded when visiting not to just look at the flowers and candles, but remember that this was an opportunity for prayer.  The writer also noted that some had begun taking carriages form church to church and that walking was the preferred way of traveling on such a sacred night.  And not to forget that visitors should always approach the altar on 2 knees on such an occasion.

A last entry reminded parishioners that they were honored to have a piece of the True Cross imbedded in the altar stone of the main altar.  It was an honor not given to many churches and was installed with other relics when the altar was dedicated in 1854.  Its presence made being at St Patrick’s during the Triduum take on a special meaning.  (Note: the altar of which the writer speaks is the altar presently located in the lower church.  It once was in the upper church, but relocated after the fire of 1904.)

The Bells of St. Patrick's

It had been two year but many in the crowd recalled the fire of 1904.  That night crowds stood there and watched as the fire consumed the steeple.  As the wood and slate burned away only the metal bars that held up the tower kept it upright.  Soon the tower began to lean.  The cross that surmounted the steeple began to topple.  All stepped back as the bells glowed red with the heat and fell to their descent.  Some in the crowd claimed they could hear the last of their peels as the hot metal toppled to the ground.  And yet, just two years later in January of 1906 the new chimes of St Patrick Parish were to be dedicated.

Months prior to the dedication service of January, 1906 Father William O’Brien, pastor of St Patrick’s, Mr. M J Johnson, church organist, and Mr. William Goodwin, a well know chimes expert (and father of the late John Goodwin) traveled to Troy, New York to the Meneely Bell Company to commission a new set of chimes.  They made repeated visits during the casting and were present at the final tuning of the bells.  Mr. Kehn of the Meneely Company guaranteed that they would be among the finest set of chimes in the country.  The previous set of bells were 17 in number, and to be honest, were difficult to play, and, as listeners noted, the quality of tone just was not there. 

The 11 bells were delivered and set in carriages ready to be installed in the tower.  The formal dedication was to be on Sunday, January 21, 1906.  Each bell was inscribed with the name of a saint; Patrick, Immaculate Conception, Michael, Sacred Heart, Mary, Joseph, Anne, Bridget, Peter, Lawrence and Francis.  The combined weight was over 30,000 pounds.  Patrick, the bell with the deepest tone, weighs 3600 pounds. 

Fr. Walsh was the curate on the day of the dedication; he shared with the congregation how he was an altar boy at the dedication of the bells in 1854.  On this day the bell Patrick was located within the sanctuary surrounded by greenery and candles awaiting its baptism.  A brief history of the church was cast onto the bell commemorating the date of the church fire and rebuilding.  The remainder of the bells were arranged in the front yard of the church so that passersby could inspect them.  According to ancient rites, the bell would be sprinkled with water and given a Christian name since it would sing out to God.  The ceremony began with Solemn Vespers.  The De Profundis was sung asking God’s mercy upon the crowd and then the christening began.  The sermon was preached by Fr. Dorgan of the Immaculate Church.  He spoke of how the bells of St Patrick’s once rang in times of danger in the times of hatred by the Know Nothings in the 1850s.  Now they ring out as the church triumphant. 

Note: The original bell that hung in the 1831 church was located a few years ago.  When the church was dismantled in the 1850s, it was moved to the firehouse on Mammoth Road.  From there it remained on private property where it is today.  The present set of 11 bells is played by a system of straps and chains that pull clippers to strike the bells.  A winding staircase with 53 stairs rises to where a wooden stand is displayed where the bells are struck. 

The Day We Celebrate - 2013

Lowell's Acre neighborhood has been the root of so many different groups that have made their way to Lowell to begin their American experience.  The Irish were certainly the first to make their home here, but not the last.  For a number of years we've hosted a walk through the same streets and paths that those early Irish ambled from home to work and back again.  Braving the last of winter's winds, today's pilgrims found their way, as did their forebearers, to St. Patrick's Church where they walked those same steps recounting along the way the stories of our common past. 

Later in the afternoon the annual Irish concert and memorial Mass brought those who consider St Patrick's home to close out this year's celebration.  Ginny Corcoran and choir brought back many fond memories with their rendition of old time favorites.

The tower of St Patrick's is a landmark in the city.  Not many know of the 11 bells in the tower.  To add to today's celebration, Joe Connor's from Albany, NY, came to share his talents as a professional bell ringer.  Passersby stopped to look up at the tower as the bells rang out through the city.  We're most grateful to Joe for making the trip from his home and then climbing the 53 steps up to the tower to announce the Saint's Day.


View a YouTube video of Joe playing Danny Boy in the tower at St. Patrick's http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aee60OPL8Iw