The Rum Hole on Market Street

Patrick Cummiskey Jug

James Gallagher owned a shop on Market (Lowell) Street that sold clothing and accessories.  That was by day, by night Mr. Gallagher had another profession, rum dealer.  In 1845, upstanding citizens who had taken the pledge asked, “Is there no way Mr. City Marshall that this breathing hole of hell can be stopped?”  The rum hole in question was known to openly sell even on the Sabbath!

The history of temperance in the 19^th century had its ups and downs in the city and the state.  To point out Mr. Gallagher as “the” rum hole on Market Street is unfair.  There were untold numbers on Market Street and throughout the city.  As soon as one was closed down another would open.  The Acre and along Central Street were the most notable places to find them.  There were waves of hundreds even thousands of individuals in Lowell taking the temperance pledge, followed by periods of quiet tolerance of imbibing.  Fr. James McDermott of St Patrick and later St Mary churches was a promoter of the pledge and was noted by Protestant clergy as a model for his people.  It’s interesting to note that one of Lowell’s premier Irishmen, Hugh Cummiskey, took the pledge and donated money to purchase temperance medals to be distributed to oath takers.  Yet a short time later Rose Cummiskey (Hugh’s wife perchance?) is caught selling liquor.

The term “drunkard” was used multiple times on a daily basis for decades in the local papers, often attached to an Irish surname.  Trying to a keep a tally of the numbers arrested and the $2 fine often attached to it became laborious.  In any given month there weren’t just dozens, but dozens of dozens.  Males were not the only perpetrators.  Females were listed as well, sometimes being found passed out in alleys or having to be dragged out of rum holes.  Mrs. Ryan was one of the female operators of one such establishment in the Acre.   Repeat offenders could be given a higher fine ($3 or $5) and others were sent away.  A sad case in the 1850s was that of a father and son repeatedly being arrested for drunkenness and petty crimes.  The writer said the son was a “chip off the old block.”

Those who frequented such places had to be on guard since there were many occasions of patrons being beaten and robbed.  Even innocent citizens passing by had to be aware of who was loitering near such places.  Gangs would assault men beating them and removing their “purses”.  The perpetrators were often identified as being Irish “ruffians”. 

What did the citizens of Lowell think?  Was this an example of prejudice against the Irish, or the reporting of a problem of society at large?  There are a number of articles noting the lack of temperance in the city, almost to the point of outrage.  Some of these articles do point to the Irish population directly and the decline in the city’s morals with their increasing number.  On the counterpart there are voices that speak out about the good work being done by the likes of the Fr. Mathew Temperance Society and other organizations.  Added to that there are voices that speak of the problem belonging to society as a whole and ask how to solve the conditions that could bring about such conditions.

How would we have reacted living in Lowell and seeing such conditions?

The Parish Archives contains a number of ceramic jugs and bottles from this period.  One of our prized possessions is a ceramic jug from Patrick Cummiskey’s store at 83 Market Street (probably a nephew of Hugh).  We’re always looking to increase our holdings.  If you have photos, printed items, or artifacts that tell the story of Lowell’s Irish or the Acre, drop us a line. 

The Girl in the Window at Pilling Shoe, the Acre

Pilling Shoe Advertisement

It’s about this point in summer vacation in the 1960s that we as ten year olds would start getting bored.  There are only so many trips down to the river to look for fish swimming around, or walks over to Burbeck’s to look at the list of different flavors declaring which one we’d get the next time we had some money.  There were only so many times you could make your way over to Francis Gate and throw a stick into the canal then run across Broadway Street and watch it reappear on the other side of the bridge.  We’d walk the streets looking to find Coke bottles we could return to the store for 2 cents.  When we were really desperate we’d go through garbage cans looking for empties.  A few empty tonic bottles would award us with a visit to Ovie’s or Charlie’s, the 2 competing stores on the corners of Broadway and Walker Streets to get mint juleps or peach stones.  Peach stones were the best buy- 3 for a penny.

On a list of things to do would be a trip over to Shaffer Street to go to the Pilling Shoe factory.  The brick building was flanked by tenements and small houses along Shaffer Street and the Pawtucket Canal and Tyng Street on the other.  I’m not sure when the downsizing happened, but by the time we hung around Shaffer Street the shoe business was about gone.  I do recall stories of workers throwing shoes out the windows.  If you knew the right person a young woman could darn well end up with a new pair of high heels.  Just know what was coming off the line, be at the right window at the right time, and be able to catch pretty well and they were yours.  I think a lot of romances began and ended at the windows of Pilling Shoes.

By the time I stood outside those windows, shoes weren’t being thrown.  The building had been chopped up into smaller businesses.  Old shipping docks for the millions of shoes made on site were now part of a fruit and vegetable distributor.  The bottom floor was a small book store.  I went walking in one day looking for comic books and walked out with a new world opened to me.  The young clerk handed me a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.  It was the first real novel I ever read and was hooked from that point on.  The rest of the old shoe factory had been rented to a printing business.

One day in the early 60s a group of us made our to Shaffer Street.  All the windows were thrown wide open in the July heat.  Looking up we saw guys in t-shirts and work pants manning the presses.  Some of the workers were sitting on the window ledges trying to get what breeze they could.  Others were sneaking a smoke and throwing the butts out the window.  Our little group yelled up to a group of women leaning out the window.  They were packing notepads into cartons.  My friends whistled and cat called up to them.  They  begged for a few notepads to be tossed down.  They pleaded and cajoled, knelt on the ground blowing kisses up to them.  I bashfully stood on the side.  The girls loved it and threw little notebooks out from the third floor.  My friends scrambled to the sidewalk taking away all they could.  One young blond woman with her hair tied back with a yellow scarf yelled out, “Hey kid, this one is for you.”  Down from the third floor window floated her gift to me, a small white notepad.  It was like Juliet on the balcony.  I kept that notebook for the longest time safeguarding it, like a knight’s favor from his lady.

But I digress.  The Pilling Shoe factory had quite a past.  Lowell is well known for its cotton manufacturing history, but the story of shoe production is almost important. Lowell was once one of the nation’s leading producers of shoes, and Pilling Shoes boasted being the seventh oldest such business in the US.  The factory on Shaffer Street was built in 1890 and had had a number of additions since its opening.  John Pilling wanted more than to produce shoes.  He prided himself on making a quality product and providing his employees with a decent wage and proper work environment.  Each summer an annual outing to Canobie Lake Park was sponsored by Mr. Pilling.  And each winter Mr. Pilling would clear out the bottom floor of his factory and give his employees an evening’s entertainment by putting on a “hop.”  The walls were lined with white cloth so oil from the machinery would not soil the ladies’ dresses.  Crates were also covered to provide makeshift benches for the revelers.  The high point of the evening was a grand march and a cake walk.  In 1899 the prizes were an umbrella for the gentleman and a feathered fan for the lady.  John Pilling once decorated a tree on Pawtucket Blvd with 1000 one dollar bills to prove to a friend of the Yorick Club that money did grow on trees. 

At the beginning of the 20^th century there were whispers of unions making their way into the shoe industry.  Mr. Pill wanted nothing of this and announced a 10% wage increase immediately.  When the rumors resurrected again a few years later workers walked out of Pilling Shoe.  Mr. Pilling again announced no union would be allowed at his factory, but welcomed all back without fear of repercussion.  The notice in the Lowell Sun also included the announcement of another wage increase.  

The sounds of the lasting and tacking machines filled the neighborhood during work hours, and then there would be a sense of silence as the shift ended.  A writer talking about Pilling Shoe said that once you were employed you had a job for life.  Multiple members of the same family and even multi-generations of the same family worked for Pilling.  But like many factory jobs they would find cheaper labor and resources in other places.  By the 1970s Pilling Shoes was converted to elderly housing and remains so today.

The Irish Doctor

A number of physicians' names reoccur from time to time in the few records of Lowell's Irish.  One of them was a Dr. Green, a Yankee who ministered to the needs of the early irish community.  As time passed other names began appearing as well.  But Arthur Quinn Phelan was one of their own.  Here is his story brought to us by guest blogger, Rosemary K. Nunnally.  We greatly appreciate her contribution to recording the story of the Irish in Lowell and invite others to submit their stories as well.  Every family has a story.  What is yours?

Arthur George Phelan from the report on his funeral.
Published in the Lowell Sun on August 23, 1897.

Irishman Arthur Quinn Phelan, M.D. ministered to the needs of the citizens of Lowell, MA in the later part of the 1800’s.  His obituary in the Lowell Sun on January 11, 1890 said this: “Dr. Phelan was a gentleman generally beloved and respected. He was modest and retiring and relied entirely upon his worth as a gentleman and a physician to build up his practice. To know him was to respect him.”  What was the story of this good doctor from County Cork?

The newspapers of Lowell were filled with stories of the accidents and difficulties that befell the working families of the city.  Several of these articles mentioned Dr. Phelan as the physician who assisted the sick or injured person.  On July 8, 1882, the Lowell Sun reported that Alexander Reed, aged 8 years, died Thursday night from the effects of a concussion caused by an exploding rocket on the South Common, during fireworks that evening.  Dr. Phelan, who attended him, gave his opinion that the death resulted from fright.  In 1884, seventy year old Mrs. Hannahan fell while leaving St. Peter’s Church.  Dr. Phelan assisted with her fractured thigh though it was doubtful she would survive the shock.  Mrs. Ganley was shot in 1886 and Dr. Phelan attended her.  On January 8, 1887 the Lowell Sun told the story of a boy named Rolly who had his hand caught in the gearing in the Prescott.  One of his fingers had to be amputated with Dr. Phelan doing the service.

Arthur Quinn Phelan was born to Lanford and Mary Phelan in County Cork, Ireland in 1848.  He came from an affluent family.  Arthur’s uncle Robert Swanton was a landowner in West Cork.  Mr. Swanton was killed in 1881 after obtaining an eviction decree against a tenant during the Land War.  Arthur’s family was able to apprentice their son to Dr. O’Callahan, a leading physician in Cork.  Arthur went on to Dublin and passed the examination for the College of Surgeons of Ireland and was a pupil of Dr. Baxter for two years.

It is not known why Arthur Phelan left Ireland.  He came to Lowell in 1868 possibly with members of his family.  In the 1870 census, twenty-two year old Arthur was living with his mother and sisters, Ann and Elizabeth.  Arthur worked for Joseph Plunkett as an apothecary, a pharmacist, for a few years and then studied medicine with Dr. F. C. Plunkett.  Arthur next enrolled in the College of Physicians and Surgeons at the University of New York, graduating after 12 months on Feb. 15, 1876.

Dr. Phelan returned to Lowell and opened an apothecary shop at the corner of Summer and Gorham streets.  He was so successful in his practice of medicine that he sold the apothecary business and opened a medical office in his home on Gorham Street.  Arthur enjoyed a busy life with his wife Mary Malloy and three children – Arthur G., Mary and John.

As a dedicated physician, Arthur was on call for his patients all day, every day; in all conditions; for all ailments and illnesses.  In the winter of 1889 – 1890, the inhabitants of Lowell were suffering with “the grippe”, today called influenza.  Dr. Phelan’s services were in such great demand that he could not rest, even when he contracted the disease.  He showed signs of pneumonia.  Four days later, another physician was called.  Arthur Phelan died that afternoon on January 7, 1890 at age forty-two.

The Lowell Sun reported on Dr. Phelan’s funeral at St. Peter’s Church. The church was almost filled with the friends and relatives of the deceased.  Over 100 members of Court Middlesex Ancient Order of Foresters attended along with delegates from Division 2, Ancient Order of Hibernians and the Massachusetts Medical Society.  The funeral cortege was quite lengthy.  Arthur was buried in the Catholic cemetery, St. Patrick’s in Lowell.

Following Arthur’s death, his wife and daughter carried on as pharmacists in Lowell for over twenty years.  Arthur’s son, Arthur George, died of tuberculosis at age 22 in 1897.  Son John became a civil engineer.  By 1920, the census recorded daughter Mary married to James Monaghan and living in Waltham, MA with her mother in the same household.  John Phelan was living in Washington D.C. and worked for the War Department as a civil engineer.  He had married Emily Matter and had a son John J. Phelan, Jr.

St. Patrick’s Cemetery in Lowell has only a record of son Arthur George’s burial in 1897.  However there must be other family members also buried there.  Dr. Arthur Phelan bought the large plot in December, 1873 presumably for his mother who died in January of 1874.  There is no stone on the large grassy space.

"Killed by a Blast" Patrick Tiernan July 4, 1840

Patrick Tiernan's stone,
St. Patrick Cemetery

How you prepared to celebrate the Fourth of July probably had a lot to do with the kind of family you came from.  Many of Lowell’s citizens made their way to rum shops to fill their stoneware jugs in order to toast the day.  On the other extreme was the Cold Water Army who had taken the pledge and had chosen non alcoholic beverages as their drink of choice.  Those who were more interested in politics were reminded to wear their Harrison badges to any festivities.  Many of Lowell’s citizens were taking carriages to Concord’s sacred battleground to see the giant parade, hear the Declaration of Independence being read, and then partake in a free supper.

Those who stayed in the city had to find their own ways of celebrating.  While many would spend that Saturday gathering with family and friends, others created their own entertainment.  Some liked to celebrate by firing off pistols or firecrackers.  One tragic victim of the day was Patrick Tiernan.  The next day’s newspaper recorded the events.  A few boys and men got together and brought along a small cannon.  As youth would do, they loaded it with a double charge.  The cannon exploded and the shrapnel flew into the 16 year old’s face.  As period newspapers would do, the details were rather gruesome.  Half the boys face was torn off.  The eye socket and nasal area were exposed.  He lingered until the next day and died at noon.  He was taken to the Catholic Cemetery (St. Patrick) and was interred.

That is about all known about Patrick or his family.  Trying to find the rest of his family’s story has proven futile, not too amazing for anyone else trying to locate Lowell’s Irish in this period.  Interestingly his stone tells us most about him.  He was born in County Longford and was just 16 years of age.  He is one of the few to have a slate stone, most internments were either unmarked or marked with a wooden cross or marker.  Just as interesting, is that his stone is one of the few shamrock stones in the cemetery.  This leads one to believe his family must have had the means to purchase such a stone.  Adding to his family’s tragedy is what is included to the stone’s inscription.  Patrick’s 24 year old brother, Thomas Tiernan, died in New York just one week later.  No other details were added or are known.

NOTE: When we first started doing cemetery tours almost 20 years ago, Patrick's stone was in very good condition.  Unfortunately today it is broken into a dozen pieces with no hope of restoration due to cemetery policy.

Corpus Christi - 1882

Benediction at St. Patrick's, 1920s

Today is the Feast of Corpus Christi.  Few today know the Latin meaning- the Body of Christ.  Even fewer recall the days of processions around the church with “stations” set up for Benediction.  Before Vatican II, the Feast of Corpus Christi was considered a major day of observance and was looked forward to with much anticipation.  Every year until the 1950s, the Sisters of Notre Dame recorded the day’s events in the journal they kept.  The following are excerpts from the journal:

June, 1882-  We had our annual procession which this year was more magnificent than ever.  Over one hundred fifty cadets trained by the Xaverian Brothers and dressed in Our Lady’s colors, white and blue, lent a new charm to the scene.  Thousands of voices blended in one grand harmony chanting the strain of Pange Lingua as the procession wound in and out of the garden walks.  As the procession passed through the street the band played some religious airs and as soon as our Dear Lord once more entered the church the organ pealed forth its grandest strains of welcome.  Here Benediction was given a third time, the entire congregation singing the Tantum Ergo and when all was over the Te Deum was chanted by the thousands (reported to be 10,000) present.

Mr. Manning's Corn Cakes & an Acre Memory

Manning Advertisement

A small parade of men and boys made their way down Broadway Street in Lowell’s Acre neighborhood on an October evening of 1868.  It was just before the big presidential election of that year.  The marchers carried torches and sang political songs supporting their candidate, Ulysses S Grant.  It was a heated contest that year, and boys were stationed along the parade route to keep an eye on any “missiles” that might be thrown at the marchers.  When they approached the corner of School and Broadway the group came to a halt to unfurl a flag as the crowd joined in singing The Star Spangled Banner. Speeches were made and the flag was suspended between William Manning’s shop and the opposite street corner.

Mr. Manning had just opened the shop a few months before.  He probably didn’t realize that Manning’s Silver Corn Cakes would become a national sensation and last for decades.  Manning, a relative of the well known Manning family of the Manning Manse in Billerica, had experimented with different types of popping corn and received a patent from the US Patent Office after perfecting a popping machine.  He purchased an acre of land on Broadway Street and built his empire. 

The basement contained the popping room, which used 5000 bushels of corn and 100 hogsheads of molasses a year.  Four large kettles were kept busy on the bottom floor and 12 more on the first floor to make corn cakes.  Horse power was used to grind the corn.  Large cutting knives were used to cut the cakes.  Later, Manning diversified into making corn balls and a variety of other products..  His cakes sold two for a penny. 

The business quickly prospered with 6 buildings taking up the corner.  Stables for the horses and storage sheds were added to fill the demand for corncakes.  The fame of Manning’s Silver Corn Cakes quickly spread from the Acre, across the city, state, and eventually the country.  Mr. Manning was nearly 90 when a broken hip led to his demise and death in 1923.  The business was sold and the land transferred over to a roofing company.  And all of this started in a corner shop in the Acre.

As soon as I saw the advertisement for Manning’s Silver Corn Cakes,  I was taken with his story. I had to find out more about him and his Acre connection.  I think few in my age group would forget buying corn cakes and old-fashioneds.  I’m not sure if it’s just a Lowell, or New England thing.  Finding corncakes today is a rarity.  Most are poor imitations of the original.  I recently found such an example at a local “candy house.”  It was a quarter size of the original and about $3 or $4.  The worst travesty was that it was not a real corn cake or an real old-fashioned.  As a kid I might get mine from the BC on Merrimack Street or more likely at Ovie’s on Broadway.  There was an unwritten rule that one did not buy them in mid-summer. The corn cake would be too sticky and the old-fashioned would melt too easily.  If memory serves, the pair cost a nickel.  I doubt anything will ever equal the memory of sitting on the stoop, taking out the corn cake from the brown paper bag; smelling the caramel, feeling the sticky sweetness, and finally squashing the vanilla crème drop onto the corn cake.  Ahh, youth!

What's your corn cake memory?

TEMPERANCE—1840

 

Fr. Theobald Mathew giving
"the pledge."

Alcohol, and the availability and abuse of it, were a constant problem in nineteenth century Lowell. In any given year, alcohol related offenses led the list of arrests and cases heard before the Lowell Police Court.  This was, unfortunately, also a major problem within the Irish community.  There were many 'rum cellars'  - mostly unlicensed - all along Lowell street. All too sadly the epithet “drunken Irishman” had some foundation in fact.  In 1840, Father Theobald Matthew, a priest in Ireland, was preaching total abstinence from alcohol and many thousands were “taking the pledge” to stop drinking – or to never start.  In Lowell, Father James T. McDermott, pastor of St. Patrick's Church, urged his congregation to take the pledge. After one Sunday sermon, it was reported that 501 parishioners had done so.   On a subsequent Sunday, another 500 also pledged total abstinence.  At the same time the 'Cold Water Army' was active, urging abstinence on the part of all, Catholic and Protestant alike.  In a letter printed in the ADVERTISER on 19 June, a writer commented that, “From present indications, our Protestant population will be outdone in the great work of temperance, by their Catholic brethren”.  Visitors to Lowell street on a Saturday commented that “...not a drunkard was seen.”

 

A positive step taken as a result of Fr. McDermott's effort occurred at a Merrimack street business.  A letter appearing in the COURIER of June 20, related that “A gentleman has just informed us that as he was passing a store on Merrimack street yesterday, his attention was attracted by some ten or a dozen men, who were all busily engaged in removing casks from a store where “the ardent” has formerly freely been dealt out.  On inquiring, he learned that the owner, although a licensed retailer, had voluntarily surrendered his license, and was removing all his liquor casks of all description from his store.  That owner was Hugh Cummiskey, a trader will known and possessing great influence in Lowell.  We cannot heap too much praise upon him for this act”.

This short recitation of the 1840 temperance movement was prompted by the discovery, in the ADVERTISER of June1,  of the following “gem.”

POLICE COURT

June 1, 1840 – William Congden was brought up, charged with being a drunkard.  It appeared in evidence that said Congden was decidedly drunk in the Catholic Church, and behaved very improperly during divine service.  His Honor regarded it as an offense of rather an aggravated character, and fined him $5.00 and costs. [note: about $10.00 total or almost two weeks pay]  He evidently got into the “wrong pew.”

One wonders,  Could it have been the 'sacramental wine'?
Submitted by Walter Hickey

Strange Happenings at Barnes’ Folly

Barnes' Folly

Lowell’s newest physician, Dr. John H Barnes, had big plans literally.  Having just finished his apprenticeship with Dr. J. W. Graves, Dr Barnes purchased a plot of land in 1832 on the edge of the Acre on Merrimack Street near the corner of Lewis Street.  He contracted with Osgood Pingrey to do the carpentry work on a building he was having built from canal rubble for the bottom floors and brick for the upper stories. The plans called for a series of dry goods stores at the basement and street levels and a number of halls to be rented out on the remaining floors.  Where the term Barnes’ Folly comes from is rather unsure.  According to the Lowell Cutural Resource Inventory, where the previous information can be found, it could be from the large size of the building or because the property changed hands so many times.  Whatever the reason, Dr Barnes’ hope for such a venture soon dissipated.  The building was sold, foreclosed, returned to the bank for nonpayment of taxes and sold yet again.  And yet it still stands there today with its original canal rubble foundation.

One of the first uses of the new building was space to teach Irish students.  The venture was not very successful perhaps because the school was probably paid for by parents who were hiring their own teachers rather than attend the public schools.  Attendance was not mandatory and even a few cents to pay the rent might be more than the pioneer Irish could afford.  The rooms in Barnes’ Folly were often rented out for offices or as venues for plays and musical presentations such as Damon and Pythias.  The area’s reputation quickly declined and soon the site is mentioned in a number of police reports.  A certain William Marston was arrested with a certain “Sal Sprague” for fornication at the Folly.  Each was fined $10.  In 1857 George Dane, the blacksmith who lived on Dane Street, had the misfortune of falling down a flight of stairs at the Folly and breaking his leg so badly amputation was a possibility. 

Liquor was often involved with the goings on at Barnes’ Folly.  The St. Nicolas Saloon in the building was cited for being the cause of a number of disturbances.  The saloon itself was known to sell liquor on the Sabbath!  A sad case happened in 1862.  Catherine Mullen was found dead on the floor in one of the rooms at Barnes’ Folly.  It was apparent that she died of alcoholism.  Her husband was away at war and Mrs. Mullen had taken $12 from the city and spent it all on liquor.  Barely a stick of furniture was found, just some straw ticking and a few clothes.  She was buried in a pauper’s grave. 

Another sad case was a 17 year old girl whose mother and  sisters resided at Barnes' Folly with her.  She was found murdered in the Pawtucket canal.  Screams were heard in the neighborhood, but no one responded.  She was known to be in the company of "rowdy young Irishmen."

Conditions got so bad that in 1864 complaints against the building were lodged before the Board of Aldermen.  The owner, Alanson Folsom, met with the Board at the building to discuss matters.  He was ordered to improve conditions.  Being so close to the Western Canal, it happened that residents of the Folly occasionally met their end by accident or design in the canal.  Also being one of the tallest buildings in the area the mention of someone falling out a window was not unknown. 

A final mention of Barnes’ Folly was when the city tried out their new fire steamers on the building.  The sheer size of the building made it a great target for the fire hoses.  The curse of the building began to fade towards the 20^th century when a new owner bought the building and adapted it to new uses.

St Patrick Goes to the World's Fair - 1893



St. Patrick tapestry, St Patrick Church

February, 1893- Early in February, preparation was made for the exhibition of the children’s work at the “World’s Fair” held in Chicago.  The higher classes of the Parochial School and Academy of Lowell sent several elegantly bound volumes of specimens of class work- both written and illustrated.  Needlework and drawings were also a particular feature of our contribution.

The exhibit of the Sisters of Notre Dame was highly commended and at the close of the “Fair,” which lasted six months, a diploma and medal were awarded to fifteen of our houses in Massachusetts, Lowell’s parish and day schools being among the favored.     From the Annals of the Sisters of Notre Dame, Lowell, MA, 1893.

The whole country was abuzz about the news that Chicago would host a World’s Fair, also called the Columbian Exhibition, in order of the 400^th anniversary of Columbus’ arrival in the Americas.  The city prepared by building over 200 buildings that would house the exhibits that would show the best of America.  As soon as news of the Fair was announced, Catholics around the country rallied that they should play an active role.  There was much being discussed about Columbus being Catholic and how Catholics helped build the foundation of the country.  This was also the period of massive European immigration and many of them being Catholic.  There was growing fear that Catholics educating their children in parochial schools was not American enough and possibly a plot for a Catholic takeover.  The goal of hosting a Catholic Educational Exhibit was one way of showing what was going on in the Catholic schools and how students were being prepared to be future citizens.  Even Pope Leo XIII gave his blessing to the venture.

The exhibit was shown in the massive Manufacturers and Liberal Arts building.  Catholics were given 10,000 sq. ft. to show the work of all the Catholic schools of the entire country who wished to send in materials.  Tables filled the area and every square inch of wall space was covered with artwork, illustrated manuscripts, needlework, vestments, musical pieces, and anything else that could demonstrate the viability of Catholic education.  Pieces of religious artwork were kept behind wire in fear of anti-Catholic vandalism.  To balance the religious entries, bunting and American flags filled any empty space.  A Chicago newspaper reported that the Catholic schools looked more American than the public schools.

As stated in the Sisters’ journal the girls of the academy at Lowell sent examples of their art and

written work.  A newspaper account stated that a certificate was received by the girls with much excitement at the close of the exhibit.  It showed a tell engraving and was signed by many Catholic dignitaries.  The Lowell community was accorded an extra commendation for their fine work.

Photos taken during the Chicago exhibition show one of the tapestries produced by the Lowell academy.  It is of St. Patrick shown as a bishop with crosier and miter banning the snakes from Ireland.  That tapestry is still in possession of the church.  At one time it hung in the rectory.  Hints of the scarlet red of his cope and emerald green of the landscape are still present.  Years of priests’

Photo from Fair, showing the St Pat's tapestry.
(SND Archives)

smoking and being open to sunlight have taken some wear.  The family of a former pastor thought it wise to reframe it with glass, not the best archival treatment for a tapestry.  It is one of the myriad of projects that awaits a benefactor to come to its aid.  A good cleaning and a new backing, and Patrick would be in fine shape.  Still he looks pretty good for being about a hundred thirty years old and having traveled to Chicago to see the World’s Fair!

The Genealogy Genie

See description below

One mission of LowellIrish is to collect your stories.  How many have been lost because no one has written them down?  Every tour I lead ,or talk I give, inevitably one or two people tell me a great story of a relative's experience.  Some of the stories are humorous accounts of Catholic school education.  Others are stories of loss and pain.  And some are about success amidst adverse conditions.  If we are to succeed with our task, we need you.  Share your family's story.  We thank a reader, Pat Coleman, for this week's entry about discovering your past.

I am Patrick L Coleman, great great grandson of James and Margaret Coleman. I have fathered the next generation of Colemans and grandfathered the one after that. I am a retired research biochemist, a gardener, and in the midst of writing both a family history (not Coleman, but Melloys from Donegal) and a mystery story where the protagonist is a biochemist. I live in Minneapolis where, even as I write this on April 30th, there is still snow falling, not enough to shovel, unless one shovels the lawn, annoying nonetheless.

My Coleman ancestor, James, lived in and near Lowell from the late 1830s until about 1850.  While I knew his wife's maiden name, Margaret Walsh, and where each came from in Ireland, I knew nothing about their siblings or parents.  This is how the story stood through thirty years of genealogy research.  Then the Genie of Genealogy granted me three wishes in my search for my Coleman ancestors, based on the “Missing Friends” columns of the Boston Pilot.  But first some context.

My immigrant ancestor James Coleman made his appearance in American rather early, as Irishmen go.  He traveled from Ireland to St Andrew, New Brunswick, thence through Passamaquoddy, Maine, arriving in America on October 1, 1835.  He was single and listed himself as a farmer.  However, when I found traces of him in the Northeast over the next fifteen years, he was always a laborer working with other Irish to build the infrastructure for the first wave of American industrialization—canals, bridges, factories.

He met Margaret Walsh/Welch, also born in Cork, and they married in Hallowell, Maine in 1837.  Judging from the birthplaces of their children they traveled between Lowell, Mass., Maine, and Canada over the course of the next decade.  Margaret indicated on their marriage documents that she was a resident of Lowell at that time, and they returned there during 1845-48, and probably at other times, too.

They left Lowell and the Eastern seaboard in 1851, stopping in Sandusky, Ohio, for the winter as well as for the birth of son James in November that year.  Now with four children, they arrived in Dubuque, Iowa in 1852, where James became a naturalized citizen, and, for the next several years the family resided, while James commuted to a hilly farm in Allamakee county, Iowa.  His place was six miles from the Minnesota border and thirty-some from the Mississippi River.  He continued working as a laborer in Dubuque, one summer as a gardener, while periodically visiting his farm putting in crops in the spring and harvesting them in the fall.

This was the status of the Coleman story when the Genie appeared.  With respect to “wishes” there was a caveat: isn't that always the way?.  I don't get to make the wishes (a small detail about Irish Genies that they never talk about).  Rather my ancestors planted clues more than a century ago which I had to find.  It was akin to the TV quiz Jeopardy, guessing the question that gave the discovered answer.

I was to learn that the first question the Great Green Genie wanted me to ask was about Margaret's voyage to America.

From Missing Friends, 23 July 1842:

Of MARGARET WALSH, who is married to a man named James Coleman, a native of Spring Hill, parish of Glanmire, county of Cork, Ireland, who sailed for America in March 1840, and landed in St. Andrews.  Any information respecting her, will be most gratefully received by her father, Edmund Walsh, who is now living in the city of Lowell, Mass., by letter in care of Richard Walsh.

It seems that her father Edmund, later called Edward, had now come to America and couldn't find his daughter.  She and James and family (one month old John Patrick) were in Canada or Maine, judging by the various birthplaces John P. listed for himself over the next 70 years.  In the years since their marriage record, shipping and census records showed that James had been living in Maine twice, Canada, and Massachusetts in the intervening years; sometimes with Margaret and the growing family, sometimes not.

A puzzling element in that ad is the father claiming the daughter had left only two years before when she had been married five years ago.  You would think he knew.  Or is that pointing to more story than we imagine?

Not two years ago I stumbled upon the Genie again, but only through the serendipity of doing a search on the digital version of Missing Friends.  I searched “Allamakee” rather than “Coleman” or, heaven forbid, “Welch/Walsh/Welsh (and sometimes Walch).”  By using the county name I managed to by-pass the typo that was made more than 130 years ago, where the typesetter wrote “Cleman” instead of “Coleman.”  Margaret Coleman, now over sixty and with an empty nest, had time to consider the past and wonder about her siblings.  She wrote:

From Missing Friends, 13 Mar 1880

OF JOHN, WILLIAM, PATRICK, EDWARD, CORNELIUS, also MARY, ELLEN, HANNAH, and SUSAN WALSH, sons and daughters of Ellen and Edward Walsh.  Information of all, or any of the above named will be received by their sister. Address James Cleman, Quandahl P. O., Allamakee county, Iowa.

What a goldmine!  Mom and Dad and all the siblings.  Still the problem was they were cloaked in the surname Walsh, a problem even if the name had but one spelling.  The best tool I had from this clue was “Cornelius,” but, even though it provided many candidates in the US during the last half of the 19^th century (but not too many), none had a tell-tale attribute that I could pin to the scantily defined Ed & Ellen Walsh family.

However, as unlikely as it might be, I have made some progress through the Ann Walsh connection, despite her marrying a man with a surname as popular as her own, William Fitzgerald.  So now I know that Ann Walsh married William Fitzgerald, a butcher in Troy, NY, (later Coxsackie, NY) and that they had ten children from 1870-1885, all with the standard-issue Irish names (Thomas, Michael, William, Anna (aka Hannah), Nellie, Ellen, Mamie, James, Mary, Frank), not even one Cornelius, Fergus, or Deirdre.

At this point the story-teller should have the readers in the palm of his hand waiting for the voila of the third wish.  Alas, I'm still trying to figure out the question I'm supposed to ask.  This is not to say I've made no progress, just that I'm still waiting for the great leap forward that the first two wishes provided.

Maybe this blog post will provide a clue to help me ask the correct question for the answer the Genie has in mind.

PHOTO CAPTION: The fellow with the hat and the watch chain is John P Coleman, the first born of James and Margaret. He was a prosperous businessman in Dubuque, Iowa in the second half of the 19th century. He owned a saloon, restaurant, and hotel on the levee of the Mississippi River.