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.

The Schoolmaster & the Acre Boys

Samuel A. Chase

An interesting obit appeared in the Lowell Sun of 1904.  It was that of local businessman, Mr. Samuel A. Chase.  Mr. Chase had been ill for 4 weeks, but had retained his senses to the end, even being able to list those who should be pall bearers at his funeral.  Details, that we may conceive to be morbid, were not uncommon at this time.  What was more interesting was what appeared in the rest of the article.  There were reminiscences from local tradesmen and city leaders speaking of his work with finances.  But the most touching comments were by those who knew him when he first came to Lowell- his boys, more specifically his Irish boys.

Samuel Chase left his home in Haverhill, Mass and came to early Lowell in 1853.  He procured a position as teacher at the Mann School, which was opened in 1844 on Lewis Street, mostly for the Irish who lived in the Acre.  At this point in Lowell’s history several attempts had been made to have a sort of parochial school off and on with only minimal success.  There were further attempts at “Irish Schools” where the priests had some say over the hiring of teachers and approval of texts.  This agreement between church and city lasted several years until it again evolved into public schools we know today.  The Mann School maintained a very high population of Irish boys from the Acre.  Many of the Acre girls left the Mann School in 1852 when the Sisters of Notre Dame opened a school for girls, which would become Notre Dame Academy.

The fame or infamy of the Irish boys was well known throughout the city and needless to say the young Mr. Chase when he took the position of teacher at the Mann School.  The reputation of the school was described as “tumultuous.”  To say the Irish boys of the Acre were known for their rowdiness would be an understatement.  More than one new teacher’s career was crushed after his experience at the Mann School.  Discipline had to be swift and severe. 

But the boys met their match in Samuel Chase, not through power and might, but by looking beyond their rough exteriors and seeing their potential.  Mr. Chase was a man of slight build.  He was not many years older than some of his own students.  He became their friend and they often returned after leaving the school to seek his advice.  Each year the school committee “examined” the schools.  On more than one occasion the “Acre boys” of the Mann were pointed out as exceeding the expectations of the superintendent and committee, even noting “they were not naturally inferior to other scholars.” He was a great proponent of music in the schools and included musical presentations for the committee and families who visited.  In 1869 the program for the committee included Johnny Whalen’s, “Finnegan’s Wake.”  And a “broth of an Irish boy,” Charlie McCue sang “No Irish Need Apply.”  Miss Ellen Bagley sang “The Drunkard’s Child” in a most excellent manner.  Eventually Chase was made principal of the school.  A later visit by the Committee noted how the students looked upon their school master with admiration.  His motto for his students was “Onward and Upward.”

He made it a point to visit the homes of his students in the Acre, and when needed he gave in Christian charity.  Upon his passing someone noted, he was “without pretence to a superior culture and in a school composed of foreign extractions most of whom are unrefined and poor, has gained a place so exalted .”  It went on to say, “Around the humble hearthstones of his pupils’ homes, humble benedictions are pronounced upon his name.”  “He won the hearts of the wild, untamed Acre boys and remained their friend.”  Many of those who graduated from the Mann under his tutelage and became the businessmen and politicians of the early 1900s credited him for their success.

His obituary closed with, “Such was Samuel A. Chase, the Acre schoolmaster, and as he now passes forth into darkness alone, the prayerful well wishes of thousands accompany him.”

Rest in peace, Mr. Chase.

Holy Week at St. Pat's - 1890

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.)

April 6, 1822- Our Story Begins

SPECIAL EDITION!-  Over the last 2 weeks I've had a flood of emails from folks willing to share their stories or asking for a little guidance.  Bob Rafferty, creator of the video Made in Lowell, wished to mark this day, the anniversary of Hugh Cummiskey's arrival in Lowell with a special posting.

What is the most important day of the year to an Irishman from Lowell? No, there isn’t a punch line… unless you answered St. Patrick’s Day? If you did, then the joke is on you. Today, April 6^th is the most important day in the history of the Irish of Lowell for it is the day that the first Irish set foot here. 

            Lowell was a much different place in 1822. For a start, it was named East Chelmsford. Most of the town was still covered by woods, swamp, and farmland. The Chelmsford Historical Commission has a lovely compendium of maps on their website (http://www.chelmsfordgov.com/CHCwebsite/Maps.htm) and this one from 1821 paints a clear picture of the land that Hugh Cummiskey and his thirty men arrived at on April 6^th, one hundred and ninety two years ago today: http://www.chelmsfordgov.com/CHCwebsite/CHC_files/Map1821NorthEast.jpg

Hugh Cummiskey was a man’s man. In his early 20’s he departed his home in County Tyrone, Northern Island to come to America. He made his home in Boston where he met his wife Rose, and ran work crews on jobs that changed the face of Boston. Early records show him working on a project to help flatten Beacon Hill for the construction on the State House; a project that employed a horse drawn railroad to take the debris removed from the hill and use it to backfill a swamp and create Boston’s Back Bay neighborhood. In 1822, Cummiskey and 30 Irish laborers walked from Charlestown, MA to East Chelmsford, where they arrived on April 6^th and were met by Mr. Kirk Boott, agent to the Merrimack Manufacturing Company. Boott and Cummiskey drafted a deal to widen and modify the canals that powered the Company’s mills. Take a moment and go back to that map. How many roads do you see? How many homes?  Buildings?  Establishments? You’ll observe mainly open farmland along a bend in the Merrimack River, and the 27 miles between Charlestown and Lowell was much the same. So imagine the walk that those 31 Irishmen took that day. They walked the edge of the Old Middlesex Canal, which had been built to move goods from the East Chelmsford (now Lowell) area to the seaport of Boston. The walk would have been dusty, and the men would have to be completely equipped with their own provisions. However, none of them were daunted by this.

            As a teen, a few friends and I got the bright idea that we were going to walk to Boston. Having ridden the commuter rail line to North Station, we considered the train tracks to be the most direct root so we filled our backpacks with bottled water and sandwiches and set out in early morning for a fun filled day in Boston. We hopped on to the train tracks at Red Bridge, behind E. A. Wilson’s workyard on Broadway, and off we went.  About 7 or 8 hours later we found ourselves at North Station…EXHAUSTED. We immediately bought train tickets home to Lowell, and slept the entire ride. We weren’t nearly the men that Hugh and his workers were.

Upon arrival in Lowell after their 27 mile trip (a marathon is only 26.2 miles) over rough terrain, Hugh and his men went immediately to work on the canals which would power the mills that made Lowell become the second largest city in Massachusetts. Employing the methods he had gained experience on in Boston, Hugh would lead his men to use the fill from the Suffolk canal to backfill swampland in Lowell… and if you’re reading this from an apartment in the Market Mills… that swampland was where your apartment building stands today…thanks to Hugh.   

Hugh brought water to the water powered mills of the American Industrial Revolution. He brought land were there was once swamp. His sweat anointed the land beneath the State’s Capitol building. And he was instrumental in bringing about the infrastructure of early Irish community in Lowell. So today, as you go about your day, lift a glass to those early Irish pioneers, and the man that led them here: Mr. Hugh Cummiskey.

Slainte!

Mrs. Castle & the Know-Nothings

The Philadelphia Know Nothing Riot, 1848

“I know nothing.”  When a member of the Native American Party was asked about this semi-secret political group that was based on American nativism and anti-Catholic bigotry, that was to be his response.  “I know nothing.”  New England in the 1850s was fertile ground for such a group.  Too many immigrants.  Too many Catholics.  They infiltrated every level of government and Lowell was no exception.  Members of the Know-Nothings felt it their duty to purge America of foreign, especially Catholic, influence. 

Reading through the few accounts of life that exist of life in this period there is a story that keeps popping up.  It tells of when the Know-Nothings were in power and made themselves known in Lowell.  The year was 1854 and tensions were tight.  The Know-Nothings were known to make visits to convents and demand entry to see what atrocities they could find.  The Sisters of Notre Dame spent the nights in vigil waiting for the alarm to be sounded.  Men spent the night in the church tower keeping their eyes on Lowell Street for the mobs to be crossing the bridge which would lead them to the church and the convent.

It was a June night when their fears became reality.  According to one account that has been passed down to us, the crowd with guns and bayonets advanced upon the convent in martial order, followed by the mob yelling, shrieking and brandishing clubs and road tools.

On came the frenzied force, their shouts filling the air and penetrating the convent walls to the great terror of the sisters. The roar of the mob signified no mercy to the noble women whose lives were dedicated to mercy, and there seemed to be no hope. But in the meantime the news had reached a Catholic woman whose life was of less value lo her than her religion.

The woman in question was Mrs. Julia Castle (Cassell), wife of Henry Castles.  Putting a large rock in an apron, she called upon the neighboring wives, mothers, and sisters to follow her example, and soon full fifty women were massed in front of the convent gate, led by the dauntless Mrs. Castle. There they stood, shoulder to shoulder, right in the teeth of the advancing horde, each one firmly resolved lo let the infuriated Know-Nothings trample over her body ere the gates should be forced and the sacrilege consummated.

Leading the military company was a burly policeman, whose sworn duty was to preserve peace and order. He was some thirty yards in advance of the rest, his zeal in the cause having quickened his steps. When he pompously ordered the woman to make off and clear the way, instead of being obeyed as he expected, he found himself in the grasp of a pair of stout Irish arms, and felt himself lifted bodily ore the ground. The canal was nearby, but before the approaching mob could come up he was seized by the scruff of the neck and the seat of his trousers, and was flung into the slimy depths. The crowd halted in amazement at the audacity of the thing, and then, by one of those instantaneous impulses which sometimes turn the current of events and shapes history, the mind of the mob was diverted from its infamous purpose.  The sight of the half drowned wretch as he floundered and splashed in the reeking water ere he crawled up the banks, changed the yells of rage to shrieks of laughter, and gave men time to take a second thought of what they were contemplating. When old Mrs. Castle, her straggling grey locks unconfined, bade them come on and get treated to more drinks of the same tap, they turned about and slunk home. Had the convent been burned there would have been a bloody retaliation that night, and many who participated would have never seen the light of another day.

Stories tend to snowball.  They grow with each telling.  The above narrative was part of Mrs. Castle’s death notice when she passed away in 1887.  So did it happen?  There is an eyewitness who swears to her account.  There are other accounts; one written by a Sister of Notre Dame, and then the actual newspaper account from the period.  One can imagine Mrs. Castle telling her story year after year; her grandchildren sitting on her lap.  And with each telling, the story grows.

So what’s your story?