Tag Archives: Smith

Orringtons Illustrated Monthly News, 1910

Provided by Sharon (Bennett) Caron. Transcribed by Anne B. Allen, June 2015.

This letter is believed to have been written by Delia Cottle Smith, Sharon Caron’s grandmother. Delia was Beulah Hardison Smith’s mother-in-law. She was the mother of Vernon Vanbuskirk Smith and his sister Adria, the letter’s other author.

Orringtons Illustrated Monthly News

March 9th, 1910

My dear Boy.  I entended to write to you Sunday but was called out at 3 in the morning –   Ferd came after me and about 4 a dear little [baby] was born – a little girl and looks like Ethel – she is so pleased with it – there nurse was sick and couldnt come so I stayed until today Monday p.m. until they got someone & I got $2.00 for it.  Yesterday was a lovely day – as I went out at the back door there set three [boys] by the side of the house – Arthur K Harold E and Donald B – Adria said Don came in here to see you and was surprised to find you away – he wanted your address but papa couldn’t find it so he said he would write to Whitman – you better send him your address – this has been a terrible day, been raining [pitchforks] all day and the snow is nearly all gone and the ice is not safe now – big holes and I guess it will go out early this spring.

Nattie K is going out of the hen business.  I guess he can make more money at his trade  – he has sold all of his [hens] – it is no use for anyone to try to keep hens if they have a trade – I wish we had his nice hen house down here.  Edd Crowell is still killing [pigs] – he killed 4 last week.  I dident sleep much last night – the baby was fussy until 2:30 this morning so I slept from that untill 6 oclock and I am so sleepy I will have to go to [bed] now and finish this tomorrow.

Tu morning – I will try and finish the news today to send out tonight – you know the old chairs I was going to have you remodel for me – well I got papa at it – he sawed them in two and made me the cutest little [table] like this one – only I put little pieces of dishes on the top into the putty and you cant think how pretty it looks – he done a good job – I have got to guild the edges today and varnish it and it will be done and ready to put my [plant] on.  I do hope you wont get a cold this spring working out in all kinds of weather – there are lots of people around here that have been sick with colds but so far we have all escaped them.  Vida Grenon was real sick Saturday with tonsilitis – the minister and wife went down to Bucksport – he came home and she stayed down over Sunday and she and Vida came up on the 9 train yesterday in all that rain.  I hope she didn’t take more cold but Mrs. Grenon said they couldn’t stay there.

Well we hear the RFD [mail wagon] is coming back to the corner.  They say he can’t go anywhere down there – only to card clubs – he cant get to the theaters so easy down there as he can up here – they are going to move into Grace Reeds house – well now I must go to cooking and your sister has got the dishes washed and wants to write a while so I will give this up to her.

Isent this kind of letter writing fun, the next news will be that Mr. Scogden has bought a 2 years old [horse] – he had him harnessed up and he went good – he is dark red with a white strip in his face.  I had my birthday party and I had a pair of [gloves] for a present – they are tan kid – it is a lovely day today and Ethel Bowden is down here to spend the day, papa is out in the barn making a thill for his gigger – when mama went to Bangor to get my gloves she got papa a [fiddle] record, a medley – it is real pretty – I have had such a nice time to practice on the organ – I expect to be a lovely player by the time you get back – I have read that book The True Hero, do you play on your [harmonica] any.

Well Adria has stoped writing and is playing with Ethel – she has been sick just as you were when Adria was born – she is better now.

Delmont has found a chum – he is with Paul Blare the most of the time – he has never been here but once since you went away.  I don’t miss your presents as I did but I miss you in the pantry – the cake hangs on so long and the baked beans we have hard work to get them eaten and I don’t bake so many either – had Tomy brought Nichols [wagon] when you went away – he says he likes it and I heard today that he was going to move to So Orrington – that is the place for him as he goes down there every morning.

The ice is so poor – lots of holes in it today.

Every one that asks for you says I am so glad for him – not one has said they were sorry you had gone so you see how glad everyone is to have you gone – oh some did say they would miss you.

It is a lovely day so I guess we will go to the Grange tonight all right – have not been since you went away – have you been to see [                ] and [                    ] yet – you can take this illustrated news to him as it will only be published once a month, hopeing to hear from you soon – ever the same with love, Mother & Adria.

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Snow’s Corner, District No I: A Poem by Sid Whelden

This Poem Courtesy of the Heirs of Elaine Gray.
Donated to the Orrington Historical Society April 19, 2000.

Snow’s Corner, District No I

A one room school, with it’s two by four yard,
To play much ball in it, really was hard.
We mostly played “Scrub” Hardly room for that?
More suited it was for just Three Old Cat.

Equipment? Town furnished School House that’s all.
To play “Haley Baley Over” with pudding bag ball
No grass grew where we played “Tag” round the school.
Sharp corners, heels flying, the steps the “Gool.”

In Winter

The overflowed brook, gave us our skating,
The swing of our arms, gave us our rating:
In Spelling Matches, with Pierces Crossing,
Miss Read, or, Miss Dodge, doing the “Bossing.”

After the Spelling, The playing of games,
Now so silly? Like this. Some of the names?
Post Office, Green Carpet, and, Needles Eye,
If you didn’t get “picked” you wanted to die.

The Teachers? We had were mostly females,
In memory of them our mind never fails;
Jesse R. Nellie A. Josephine King,
Also Alice Dodge, Who taught us to sing?

Poor Dodge, acted a bit shy with us boys,
None of us added a bit to her joys.
She told me, President, I could be,
So smart? Some Hooey. Now, Look at me?

Male teachers/ The Phillips Boys, Mose, Chas. and Will,
Benton Lenthist, Red Head, Nickname B.L.
He almost pulled off Fred Bennet’s ear, ‘Cause?
He thought Fred to blame, – Maybe he was.

Of all the pupils who went to District One,
We’ll name a few, now, just for fun.
The Bakers and Smiths, from Baker Hill,
The Hilliers, Four, The oldest called Bill.

There was James, Frank, Winnie, or, Dunny,
From a family large. It wasn’t funny.
With Muriel, Arnold,and Steven that’s all,
Of school age, at that time, last name Hall.

Just two Rideouts, A girl and a boy,
The girl Evelyn, and the boy of course Roy.
The Wheldens, Christine, and a string bean kid,
Sidney, by name, mostly shortened to Sid.

The older boys, who in winter time went,
Polly P. Fred B. Hersey S. Galen Kent.
More girls, Daisy O. Ethel H. Hasel S.
Oh, Herbert Snow. Went west! That’s all I guess.

But , Yes, Left out of this tale is the name,
Bertha Freeman, Of Cats Cradle fame.
Teacher, Caught us playing, stood us out in the floor.
Made us play “Cats Cradle,” More and yet more.

The studies we had? I have left them out
All books, We went through and through, just about.
“How far did you go? Then it would appear
You should start again – Just about here.”

They got Algebra for us older guys
Just some more figgerin’ in disguise?
And, though we didn’t attend High School,
Our after life, proved us not a fool.

So, This ends the Saga of District One
No, Let’s say, That’s how it all begun;
There a few of us left, But, Are we old?
By the train of our thoughts, can our age be told.

Sure Sign, ie, Reminising?

Sid Wheldin X His Mark

A Note from Sidney Whelden, found at the bottom of the original typewritten poem: 

Dear School Supervisor –

This was written after my return from a visit to Maine and of course particularly to Orrington (last year 1959). I borrowed my step daughter’s typewriter and by dint of “pick and poke” hope I have made it readable.

Was pleased to see you again! Hope it will be possible to see you next summer.

Sincerely

Sidney

A Note from Orrington Historical Society Member Bruce B.:

Sidney Byron Whelden (b. Winterport 12 Jun 1885; d. Abington, Massachusetts 13 Aug 1975) was the son of Ezra Rodden Whelden (b. Frankfort 12 Jun 1847; d. prob Orrington 04 Nov 1914) and Emma (nee Eaton) Whelden (b. c. 1854 in ?; d. bef. 1892, poss. in Brewer [NFI]). He m. a “Jennie” (b. New York c. 1884) bef. 1920, and she either died or they divorced in the 1940s, as Sid remarried in 1950 in Massachusetts, aged 65.

In stanza 10 of the poem, the Christine mentioned is Sid’s older sister, Christine May Whelden (b. Winterport 18 Nov 1880; d. Jun 1954, m. Charles Wallace Puffer [b. Brewer 04 Feb 1878; d. 1953] on 28 Dec 1904).

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Remarkable Record of Capt. Brown, Who Made 101 West India Voyages

This article was likely published around the year 1919. Although the author and newspaper are unknown at this time, it’s possible that it was published in the Bangor Commercial.

Remarkable Record of Capt. Brown, Who Made 101 West India Voyages

The death last week of Captain Joseph Atwood Brown of Orrington marks the passing of one of the last old time ship captains. He was born in North Orrington July 1, 1831, oldest of the five children of Cornelius and Eliza (Smith) Brown.

His father being a ship captain, he was early attracted to the sea and at the tender age of eleven went summers as cookee with his uncles Charles and Stillman Brown. At sixteen he began in earnest, making long voyages to foreign ports. He continued in this chosen calling for fifty-one years, making 101 round trips to the West Indies alone, besides visiting many European countries.

In 1854 he married Rebecca Bartlett, daughter of Samuel and Mary (Snow) Bartlett, who died nine years ago. He leaves two daughters, Mrs. Cara M. Conley of Brewer and Mrs. Leland B. Blake of South Orrington, and two grandchildren, Mrs. Charles Spinney of Brewer and Mrs. Fred Dionne of Dorchester, Mass.

In the early seventies he made a trading voyage up the west coast of Africa, sailing up and down that coast and trading at the different ports. He remained there eighteen months, the entire voyage taking about three years. While there he contracted the dread disease, yellow fever, the effects of which followed him through life.

Two other times he was stricken with this disease. Once in Pensacola, Fla., where the Masons saved his life by taking him into their private hospital and nursing him until he was able to join his ship. The third time was in Havana, Cuba. His vessel was due to sail and the American consul said he must leave her and go to a hospital, but he pleaded so hard that they put on board an old negress, who had relatives in New York and who understood handling the fever, and he sailed. The negress tended him so well that when the ship reached New York he was able to be on deck.

For many years he commanded the schooner Fred Smith, sailing for the old firm of Smith Brothers of New York. On many of these voyages he carried his family, visiting many South American and West Indian ports and remaining away from home months at a time.

Later, leaving the Fred Smith, he turned his attention to barging, at the time when that business was in its height. Among others, he commanded the barge Roman, remodeled from the old steamship of that name. On a voyage in her, heavily laden with 1,700 tons of coal, and having with him as mate his son-in-law, the late Capt. Samuel M. Conley, he was shipwrecked off the coast of Virginia. Thinking the barge was riding heavily, Mr. Conley lowered a lantern into the forward hold, when the rush of water swept it out of his hands. Hurriedly reporting the condition and signaling to the tug boat, he rushed to the captain’s cabin, seized a dunnage bag and filled it with what he could find, ordered the life boat to be lowered and then went to report to the captain, whom he found calmly steering.

“Come, captain,” said he, “the boat is ready.”

“My place is here; I shall not desert my ship,” was the reply.

Mr. Conley did not stop to bandy words. He called the men and they bore him kicking and struggling to the boat, where he collapsed in the stern. As they pushed off from the sinking ship it was discovered that a great hole had been made in the boat while lowering her. A sailor thrust his oil jacket into the aperature, Mr. Conley took charge; the sailors rowed with almost superhuman strength, and the boat made its way over the waves mountain high to the tug, Storm King, which, a few days later, landed them safely in New York. A humorous incident of the affair was that, although the dunnage bag contained quite a number of boots, no two were mates, and when the captain reported at the office in New York he had only the water-soaked garments in which he stood. All his nautical instruments, marine glasses, charts, etc., were lost, as well as his clothes.

In 1892, being a yellow fever immune, Capt. Brown was sent to Santos, Brazil, to recover the bark Archer, whose crew all had died with the fever. Orders were to take her to Turk’s Island, load with salt and proceed to New York. The bark had lain so long in that terrible heat of Brazil that her calking was poor, but, in spite of this, picking up a scrub crew in the fever-stricken port of Santos he set out to follow directions. All went well till the salt was loaded and they were started homeward, when the vessel began to leak like a sieve. The crew became mutinous; they said they would leave her, would not pump, etc., and when told by Capt. Brown that they must, said they would soon dispose of that little man and desert the doomed ship while land was near.

In the midst of this confusion, Capt. Brown appeared on deck, a small but formidable, figure, with a revolver in each hand.

“The first man who refuses to pump, dies,” he calmly announced. One look decided them. They turned to the pumps.

Before reaching New York, however, they were overtaken by a severe gale, dismasted, and finally driven into Bermuda, where the vessel was sold. This was Capt. Brown’s last voyage.

Later, he entered the employ of the late J. Weston Hopkins, working in the Hampden Creamery, when it was located in Hampden, following it to Bangor when it was moved and remained here till 1899, when he sustained a severe injury, being thrown violently from a high cream cart onto a concrete floor, breaking his collar bone and injuring his head.

After recovering somewhat from this injury, he moved onto his little farm in Orrington, making his home there till the death of his wife in 1913. During the last six years he has lived in the home of his daughter, Mrs. Leland Blake, gradually failing until the end found him in fancy once again the commander on the quarter deck, giving his orders, guiding, directing, until his Ship of Life floated out of the troubled waters and found anchor in the peaceful Haven of Rest.

Twilight and evening bell,

And one clear call for me,

And may there be no sadness of farewell,

When I put out to sea.

For if from out that bourne of time and place

The tide shall bear me far;

I hope to meet my pilot face to face,

When I shall cross the Bar.

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