Bringing Old Times Back
Moving Pictures of Life in Orange Countyin the Days of Long Ago
It is with great pleasure that The Antiquarian welcomes the following most interesting and valuable addition to his recent paper about ancient Craigville, introducing the reminiscent newspaper clipping he resurrected from among his old papers. It is not only a pleasure to The Antiquarian, but it surely will be similarly one to the readers of his attempts to "bring back old times." This communication is from Benjamin C. Sears, of Blooming Grove, and the thanks of The Antiquarian are hereby sincerely given him for his kind thoughtfulness in the matter, and wishes there were more in the county of his kind, ready to contribute from their fund of recollection and from their family traditions and records matters that would be of the greatest importance If put on the record. What a collection of treasures there must be in the possession of the old Orange county families, lying easy at hand, but permitted to lie victim to time and oblivion. The Antiquarian would be delighted to record such, and the readers of the same would be under lasting debt for the opportunity.
"I was much interested in the clipping which The Antiquarian duly set forth in his notes, but are some errors in it, I think, in that account of Craigville and Hector Craig," writes Mr. Sears.
"Hector Craig was a great friend of Andrew Jackson, and was appointed by him Surveyor of the Port of New York. He lived at one time at the corner of Broadway and Courtlandt street, New York, and had room to raise peaches in his back yard. He afterward moved to Greenwich Village, where he had large grounds about his house, commodious stables, etc., and he was wont to drive from New York to Craigville with two horses to a two wheeled gig, in nine house {hours}, always dining at Garry Bamper's, at Hohokus, a famous hostelry of its day.
"Hector Craig married a daughter of John Chandler, and had three ,sons and four daughters. One daughter married William F. Havemeyer, who was elected Mayor of New York when the Tammany ring was broken up, forty-odd years ago, having been elected to the same office 25 years before. Mayor Havemeyer probably had as much to do with bringing about the reforms at that time as anyone, through his influence over Dick Connelly, a leader in the Tweed ring. Another daughter of Hector Craig married William Fitz Randolph, and another married Barrett Ames, who purchased the Craigville property, and, in connection with his brother-in-law, E. Peet, built the cotton mill where the old paper mill stood, and conducted it for a number of years. Mr. Ames had been a cotton mill merchant in Mobile, Alabama.
Garrett Ames had two sons, one Hector, died in early life in Acapuelas where he was United States Consul. Mr. Ames also had two daughters, who married, one Mr. Peet, and one Irving Van Wart, a nephew of Washington Irving, and I think the last visit Irving made away from home was at Craigville, for he went home quite ill, and died soon afterward. Irving spent much of the winter during which he was writing his Life of Washington with Mr. Ames at the latter's city home, which was in the at that time aristocratic "Colonade Row," in Lafayette Place, opposite which the Astor Library was built-the latter now a melancholy unoccupied pile, with historic memories, and the former, or what is left of it, a gloomy receptacle for all sorts of grimy mercantile and manufacturing concerns.
"After Mr. Ames's death the Craigville cotton mill was operated by the twin sons of Mr. and Mrs. Irving Van Wart, a short time, then the property was sold to different parties. Mrs. Van Wart died some time after her father, and her husband died a little later, in England, his father having been at one time President of the Chamber of Commerce of Birmingham, England, although a native of this country.
Two of Hector Craig's daughters drove from New York to Blooming Grove one time, and on the way stopped at Garry Bamper's old hostelry at Hohokus, for the purpose of dining. The eccentric old landlord met them at the door, and very gruffly declared that there was nothing in the house, and if there was there was no one there to prepare it for ladies to eat.
"'Perhaps,' they replied, 'If we tell you we are the daughters of Hector Craig you may entertain us.'
"The old man threw up his hands and exclaimed. 'God bless you! God bless you! Come right in! You shall have everything there is in the house!'
"Mr. Craig's driving time from Hoboken to New York was nine hours, and he made it quite regularly once a week during the season.
"Probably the old village will not be a busy place again unless the whole ravine is filled with water by a high dam at the old factory site, and the power, with its deeded right to dam on Walton Lake, is used to generate electricity for light and power In the surrounding towns and villages."
"Say," said an old-timer to The Antiquarian, the other day, "what has become of the smart Aleck of a boob who used to get full of booze every time he came to town and wanted to fight?" The Antiquarian didn't know, but he remembered that there used to be just suck a fellow in the days gone by. In the "good old days" every community seemed to have its bully, and he never let an opportunity go by without coming to town, filling up, and then proceeding to look for fight. Circus day, election day, Fourth of July, court week, any occasion that gave the day away to recreation or excuse from work, that was the day of the rural bully.
He most always more than met his match after his boast that he could lick his weight in wildcats, and went home with a broken face, but he was on hand as scrappy as ever the very next time that he came in from his wayback retirement. There was a prevailing opinion that he should have his day, and as much of the fun he craved as he was able to get out of it, and so he was given entire freedom to soak himself with fighting goods to the limit, and sail in and lick or get licked, just as the fates rule that day. The police or constabulary force of the towns was few and far between, and the rough and peace-disturbing amusement of the bucolic bully was seldom very severely dealt with, or even met with mild admonishment. But it is no longer thought to be "sporty" to come in and be drunk on the streets, and go forth in search of trouble. The "cooler" is just beyond for all such nowadays.
No. The country bully is no longer a holiday terror, as coming to town to get drunk and raise a fuss is not now regarded as an indication of being smart, or as a mark of championship of a community's idea of sport. No. The Antiquarian doesn't know what has become of the smart aleck of a boob the old timer referred to, but he is gone, and he is not a pleasant memory. He has gone along with the town drunkard, that pitiful character, usually one who, in his sober moments, was of gentle mein, often a genius, a master of his trade or calling and almost invariably with an excellent wife, patient and sorrowful, but in his cups a wretched mortal, staggering home, or the shameful butt of the thoughtless tavern crowd, and a general nuisance. Heaven be praised that he is no longer a curse to his town, himself and his family. The common town drunkard had disappeared before the humanizing moral forces of the present day.
Yes. The old times had their advantages and their quiet pleasures and wholesome customs. And men were wise, with humility. But let us never conclude that all wisdom and happiness died with those times or their men.
THE ANTIQUARIAN.
