26 Skowhegan’s Pauline Eaton Oak Director of the Georgia 1924 Peach Festival
Brian Swartz
31 Waterville’s Jane Frances Muskie
Maine’s First Lady to the end
James Nalley
34 Farmington’s Chester Greenwood Inventor of earmuffs
John Murray
38 Adelphia “Del” Bissonette The Winthrop whacker
Kenneth Smith
42 The 1930 Dry Spell Fires destroyed a Minot farmhouse
Brian Swartz
48 1893 Paris Hill Murder Judge sheds a tear while sentencing boy
Brian Swartz
51 Bridgton Celebrates Maine’s 100th birthday A star is born
Charles Francis
55 Maine’s Fryeburg Fair
Blue ribbon classic 2025 press release - Fryeburg Fair
60 Mineral Springs Of Androscoggin County Elixir of choice for generations
Charles Francis
Publisher Jim Burch
Editor
Dennis Burch
Design & Layout
Liana Merdan
Field Representative
Don Plante
Contributing Writers
Charles Francis
John Murray
James Nalley
Kenneth Smith
Brian Swartz
AIt Makes No Never Mind
by James Nalley
s for this month’s region, it is safe to state that it is known for its abundance of waterways. In fact, according to the Maine Department of Environmental Protection (DEP), there are approximately 6,000 lakes and ponds, with approximately half assigned a state identification number and named. In roughly 30 cases, they have one name with the word “lake” and the other with the word “pond.” For example, Lake Christopher, located in Greenwood, is also known as Bryant Pond, while Wilson Lake in Wilton, is also called Wilson Pond. This raises the question: What makes an inland body of water a lake or a pond?
In general, the main distinction between the two is that a lake includes deep waters that receive no sunlight at their depths, whereas sunlight penetrates to the bottom of all areas of a pond. Of course, ponds are typically small, while lakes tend to be large. However, these definitions do not hold if depth is the only consideration. According to Linda Bacon at the Maine DEP, “If we held to the depth distinction, some ponds would become lakes mid-summer when algal populations limit light penetration to the bottom. The surface area distinction makes no
sense for seven-acre waters that are 50 feet deep.” In this regard, there is Penny (or Penney) Pond in Belgrade, which is a 39-acre lake with a maximum depth of 38 feet.
To make it a bit more confusing, there is the term “Great Pond,” which the state of Maine officially uses to define lakes and ponds that are greater than 10 acres in size. Under this definition, impounded water (i.e., water collected behind a dam, dike, or other barrier) larger than 30 acres is considered a “Great Pond,” while such water less than 30 acres, but greater than 10 acres, also falls under this definition. Then, there is the massive Great Pond. As the largest body of water in the Belgrade chain of lakes, it covers approximately 8,230 acres but only includes a depth of 69 feet. Meanwhile, although it is not within this month’s region, Acadia National Park includes 14 so-called Great Ponds.
Finally, there are other prime examples of how a waterbody’s name is not a clear guide as to its biological status, including Moose Pond (in the towns of Bridgton, Denmark, and Sweden), which covers about 1,600 acres at a maximum depth of 70 feet. There is also Little Sebago Lake. In this case,
the word “little” is relative, since it is approximately 5 ½ miles long, with a maximum depth of 52 feet. Thus, there is no definitive line between lakes and ponds, at least in the state of Maine.
On this note, let me close with the following jest: An American and an Englishman are about to be executed on a cold winter day. The executioner asks the American, “Any final requests?”
The American replies, “My first is to drink one last shot of whiskey and smoke a cigarette.” They bring him a shot and a cigarette. “Anything else?” The American replies, “I want to be buried by George Washington.” They execute him and bury him near Washington. Then, when asked about his final requests, the Englishman replies, “I want to swim in that lake over there.” The executioner replies, “But it’s frozen.” The Englishman says, “Fine, we’ll wait until it melts.” They waited until summer, and the Englishman swam for an hour. “Anything else?” “I want to be buried near Queen Elizabeth II.” The executioner says, “But she’s not dead.” The Englishman says, “Fine, we’ll wait until she dies!”
Rumford’s Fourdrinier Paper Machine
One of the greatest
by Charles Francis
In the early 1900s, Rumford Falls had a papermaking machine that turned out some five to six hundred feet of paper per minute. No other paper-producing town in the country or the world could equal its output. Simply put, it was a real record breaker.
The machine that turned out this incredible amount of paper was a Fourdrinier Paper Machine. While there were other Fourdrinier machines in the United States and in Europe, Rumford Falls had the largest in the world. The giant machine was one of
paper
makers in the world
the Rumford papermaking advances that put the town in the forefront of the American and world papermaking industry. Another advance which put Rumford in the forefront of the papermaking industry was the development of the western Maine railroads.
In 1894 the Rumford Falls and Rangeley Lakes Railroad went into operation. The line, which extended into the heart of the Rangeley Lakes region, brought in the wood that was needed for the paper and sulfite industry of Rumford. Three years later, a branch
of the Rangeley Lakes was extended to Canton and Livermore Falls as part of the Maine Central Railroad. That branch gave Rumford a direct connection with New York.
For much of its early history, Rumford was a farming and lumbering community, Then, in the early 1880s, industrial pioneer Hugh Chisholm had a vision of using one hundred and seventy-seven-foot Pennacook Falls as a power source for making paper. In the summer of 1893, Chisholm saw his vision realized when the first rolls of paper came out of Rumford Falls Paper. Chisholm’s vision was followed by the Continental Paper and Bag Mills Corporation and by International Paper. Within a span of just a few short years, Rumford went from a sleepy little town of around two hundred to a community that boasted what no other town in New England of its size had. Rumford had a fine downtown business structure and handsome residential homes, but the crown jewel of the development was
MASON’S CARPENTRY
the Rumford Falls Fourdrinier Paper Machine.
The Fourdrinier Paper Machine was the first paper machine to make continuous paper and it made its paper out of cheap wood pulp. Prior to its development, most paper was made from rags. It was a long and involved process which involved dipping the rags into vats and then pressing and drying the result. The great Fourdrinier at Rumford Falls took in wood pulp in the form of a soupy mix at one end and ejected it at the other in the form of a continuous roll of paper. The development of the Fourdrinier was what turned Rumford Falls into a papermaking town.
What made the Fourdrinier so significant a development in the evolution of papermaking was that it turned out a roll of paper. The first wood pulp papermaking machines were developed at the end of the eighteenth century in France. However, all they turned out were single sheets of paper.
(cont. on page 8)
(cont. from page 7)
The Fourdrinier was developed in England at the very beginning of the nineteenth century. In the late 1820s, a Connecticut company began manufacturing them in the United States. The Fourdrinier’s great advance was the machine’s continuous wire mesh belt that both drained and allowed water to be sucked out. At the end of the wire mesh belt, the pulp was picked up by felt rollers which both pressed out more liquid and formed up the rolls of paper. The final step in the Fourdrinier process was the dryer section, which was either dryer rolls or a giant dryer. The Rumford Falls Fourdrinier had dryer rolls.
The giant Fourdrinier at Rumford Falls was a landmark in papermaking for more than just its overall size. The older Fourdrinier still turned out rolls of damp paper. These rolls had to be scraped off the dryer and then wound onto a dry end dryer. More often than
not, the roll had to be rewound even another time to make for consistent grain and texture. It was a cumbersome and time-consuming process. The Rumford Falls Fourdrinier, however, was a continuously moving apparatus that eliminated the older processes.
The Rumford Falls Fourdrinier was considered the state-of-the-art in papermaking of its day. In just over a minute, a soupy mix of wood pulp was turned into a finished roll of paper. The machine was, in fact, the first of the great high-speed modern paper makers of today.
By the 1920s, Oxford Paper, the largest book paper mill in the United States, had joined Rumford Falls’ other mills. Continental Paper was turning out some sixty thousand tons of paper a year and shipping eight carloads of paper and bags a day. International had gone from sixty tons of newsprint
and forty tons of sulfite a day to two hundred tons of paper a day. Looking at these companies from another standpoint, Continental was using thirty-five thousand gallons of fuel oil a day and International was going through seventy-five million feet of spruce a year. In turning out three hundred and fifty tons of paper a day, Oxford was using two hundred cords of spruce daily and three hundred cords of poplar. It was also going through four hundred tons of fuel annually.
The 1920s figures for Rumford Falls’ production are astronomical given the time period. They would not be so great, however, had it not been for the success of that special Fourdrinier Paper Machine, the machine which set Rumford Falls on its way to becoming a dominant force in American papermaking.
The 1909 Skowhegan-Athens Electric Railroad
Proposed railroad brought support and opposition
by Brian Swartz
Although the failed Skowhegan and Norridgewock Electric Railroad had demonstrated by 1906 that building an electric railroad in the Skowhegan area made no sense economically, a proposal to build an electric railroad from Skowhegan to Athens began percolating circa 1909. The 11.72-mile railroad would begin in downtown Skowhegan and run through eastern Madison before crossing Cornville to end in Athens.
The promoters claimed the railroad would economically boost a region gradually losing its population. Strong
support coalesced in Skowhegan and Athens, strong opposition in Madison and Cornville — but the opposition was not so much against the railroad per se as against its funding.
Actual construction would cost $10,000 per mile or $120,000 altogether. Another $30,000 was needed to purchase rolling stock, thus start-up costs would total $150,000.
Obviously lacking sufficient private capital, how would the promoters pay for their railroad? Why, “the towns through which it will pass will have to help,” they claimed. Noting the rail-
road’s overall cost, they “desired ... that $75,000 of this be raised by the towns and private subscriptions.”
Taking their proposal on the road, promoters attended “many town meetings” over the next two years and touted the economic benefits of the Skowhegan-Athens Electric Railroad. Farmers in Cornville and Athens could transport their crops and lumber easier to market, especially with the railroad connecting with the Maine Central Railroad in Skowhegan. Investors would develop hydropower and build mills on local streams. Increased eco-
nomic activity would boost the population.
During their respective town meetings, voters in Skowhegan and Athens approved the requested sum ($15,000 for Skowhegan). Promoters sought $5,000 from Madison and $3,000 from Cornville; voters in both towns “refused several times.”
Madison voters rejected the proposed railroad because of geography. Under-populated eastern Madison would benefit economically from the railroad. But most people lived in the town’s western section (called “Madison bridge”). Seeing no benefits for them from the railroad, they overwhelmingly voted down the requested $5,000. And it made no difference when eastern Madison residents offered “to pay the whole assessment.” The project would get no funding from Madison.
Even with Maine Central promising $15,000 to the project, promoters got nowhere through 1910. The next year
they asked the Maine Legislature to pass a bill granting the electric railroad development rights similar to a steam railroad’s.
The bill would authorize the Skowhegan-Athens railroad to use “the roads or private land as it sees fit,” essentially authorizing the line to acquire land as needed and despite an owner’s opposition. The railroad could ship freight, buy out two existing local telephone lines, and “construct a telephone line for its own use.” The railroad also must “furnish electricity for Athens, Cornville, and a part of Madison,” and the railroad bed “would be built as substantially as a steam road.”
The bill would also let the four towns contribute “up to one per cent of their valuation” to the railroad, if voters approved doing so by “a majority vote … at any regularly called town meeting.”
The legislature’s Committee on Railroads and Expresses scheduled a public hearing to be held in Augusta on (cont. on page 12)
(cont. from page 11)
Thursday afternoon, March 16, 1911. “A lively hearing developed, the proposition being very strongly backed and supported,” observed a newspaper reporter.
Representing the railroad’s promoters, Waterville attorney Harvey D. Eaton detailed the railroad’s proposed route and why the line was needed. He claimed, “the railroad must be a sort of neighborhood affair” and was not “an attractive proposition to speculators.”
Private citizens spoke for and against the bill. Athens resident J. F. Holman believed the railroad “would be of great economic benefit and especially to the lumber business.” In places “lumber is rotting on the ground because it cannot be handled under present conditions.”
George Ayer, another Athens resident, paid $2 per ton for freight moved by horse or ox teams. A railroad would reduce that cost, and economic activity would so increase that “1000 cars a year” would pass over the railroad.
Elderly Skowhegan resident Jefferson Savage “did not object to having the railroad built,” but opposed Skowhegan “contributing any money to it.” Another Skowhegan resident, A. K. Butler, presented to the committee members a document signed by 91 Cornville residents opposing the railroad.
Madison officials sent Bernard Gibbs to speak for them. Several farmers in East Madison did not want the state letting the railroad take their land. During the most recent town meeting, voters rejected the railroad’s requested $5,000 by a 182-111 vote.
Testimony continued a while longer before the hearing ended. During their Tuesday, March 21 meeting to discuss various bills, committee members voted that the Skowhegan-Athens Electric Railroad bill “ought not to pass.”
The electric railroad was never built.
by Kenneth Smith
MCrossing Over Maine’s covered bridges
ost bridges we drive over today are extensions of the roadway. Often, we cross rivers unaware of our passage. A century ago such an event would have been impossible to ignore.
The evolution of river crossing began with area inhabitants locating a ford — a shallow, quiet spot which could be waded. If nature cooperated and blew down a large tree which reached from bank to bank, people could scramble over it. Some primitive civil engineer determined that if the tree was limbed, split in half lengthwise, and the sections laid next to one another, a more stable passage was created. Next, the sections were spread and other logs placed crosswise to form a wider, more stable walkway.
The problem was that high water usually washed the primitive bridge away on an annual basis. If the stream was wide, the bridge would sag in the middle, creating all sorts of problems.
In the Middle Ages, the situation was solved by the use of a triangular truss, an upright kingpost placed in the center, and braced on an angle to both ends of the bridge. Later, arches were
employed, made by laying planks on top of one another.
From 1500 to 1800 European bridge builders developed no further innovations. In America, linking of towns became a necessity if we were to become a nation. Trade and commerce had to flow quickly and easily from area to area. Boat travel was slow and unreliable, and bridges were the obvious solution. Our population was concentrated in the Northeast in our nation’s early years, so it followed that the bridge builders and innovators came from this region.
In 1792 Timothy Palmer built a span across the Merrimack using a series of wooden arches made by placing planks on top of one another. William Howe of Massachusetts patented a major ad-
vance in bridge construction in 1838. It was a series of “X” trusses located along the top of each side. An iron rod with turnbuckles ran through the center of each truss, providing for stability and stress adjustment.
Roofed bridges were not new, dating back to biblical times. In America, the idea caught on, and Yankee masons and carpenters turned it into an art form. No hard numbers exist for the total number of covered bridges built in the U.S. during the construction boom from 1840-95. Today there are about a thousand left, two hundred in the Northeast. In Maine, just nine remain of the one hundred and thirty that were originally built. These covered bridges are Watson Settlement Bridge, Littleton; Lowes Bridge, Guilford; Morse Bridge, Bangor; Robyville Bridge, Kenduskeag; Bennett Bridge, Wilsons Mills; Lovejoy Bridge, Andover; Newry Bridge, Sunday River; Hemlock Bridge, Fryeburg; Porter Bridge, Porter.
Most towns, before they built a bridge, had a “hog wrassle.” The bridge site had to be located to the satisfaction of most residents. Style and construction were discussed at length. Usually,
agents for the architects would attend preliminary meetings, displaying models of their latest design. In-town crossings were controversial, but town line, shared bridges or state line crossings (ex. Porter-Parsonsfield Bridge) were ordeals. If the voters approved the project, selectmen handled the details. Local contractors who always used area craftsmen were selected to keep the money “in town.” If two towns were involved, the road commissioners would do battle to the last inch of bridge, as to who built to what point.
If the span was a long, costly one, a toll company was often formed and shares of stock sold to the public. Typical toll fees were three cents to cross on foot, ten cents per cow and twenty-five cents for carriages and later cars. Tolls were very unpopular and many were dropped, hurting investors. Restrictions were quick to be enacted. No smoking was allowed (five-dollar fine) and
speeding over five mph was prohibited (three-dollar fine).
Why were bridges covered? Here is a list of reasons, but none provide the real answer:
1. To make them artistically and aesthetically attractive.
2. An all-weather meeting place for dances, church picnics, and town gatherings.
3. A sheltered place to bargain, dicker, advertise, and sell wares.
4. A secluded area to romance the ladies.
5. An all-weather fishing platform.
6. A place to watch log drives.
7. A storm shelter for horses, riders and wagons.
8. A tourist stop.
9. A subject for artists and photographers.
10. A rainy-day playground.
11. A swimming and diving area.
12. A site for boxing matches.
13. Robber’s roosts.
The real answer is that roofs protected the underpinnings, for wood will rot when exposed to the weather. Eventually, covered bridges spanned watercourses from Maine to Oregon. However, millions of Americans have never set foot on one. If you have not experienced the wonder, you should while there is time. Their numbers continue to dwindle, falling victim to time, neglect, vandalism, fire, storms and ice. The major destructive force was, and is, floods. Often swept intact from granite foundations, they have been carried downstream like Noah’s Ark. A bizarre example of this occurred in 1869. The Taconic Bridge in Waterville, ripped from supporting abutments by flood waters, tore off down the Kennebec. Warned by telegraph, officials twenty miles downriver in Augusta, fearing for their own covered bridge, gathered a crew, commandeered a train and head(cont. on page 16)
(cont. from page 15)
ed up-river. At Vassalboro, they found the runaway temporarily snagged on flotsam. Using ropes and grapples, they tied the bridge to the train and towed the hulk into a backwater. Augusta’s bridge was saved.
Built ruggedly (average lifespan fifty years), some defied the ravages of time and nature. In 1921 a new power dam was slated for construction on the side of the old Union Falls Bridge which linked Buxton and Dayton. A Portland movie company got word of the removal. The town of Buxton declared a holiday, and the bridge was dynamited on camera as the festival highlight.
Many of these bridges were solid enough to literally support a herd of elephants. When Barnum brought his famous circus to Calais/St. Stephen, the circus parade marched across the old international covered bridge over
the St. Croix River. The famous “Jumbo” led the pachyderm parade. Many wooden covered bridges supported trainloads of pulp, so the reluctant Jumbo had no cause for alarm.
The craftsmanship that went into these structures was remarkable. Built by hand with hand tools, covered bridges are simply beautiful. Timbers were slotted (mortised), hand drilled with augers, and pinned with large wooden pegs. One Maine bridge had over three thousand hand-drilled holes. Timbers were shaped by adzemen using a tool resembling a pick with an ax-like, razor-sharp head.
Bridges varied in style depending on the amount of usage. Some were single-laned, others were double-barreled with a walkway on one or both sides. Many had fancy arch entrances. All were unique.
Iron reinforcing rods, which con-
tributed to the construction boom, led to covered bridge demise. As more iron and steel were employed, the need to cover the underpinning was eliminated. With the advent and increased use of mechanized transport and the relocation and improvement of highways, their fate was sealed.
In 1957 Maine Governor Ed Muskie signed the first-of-its-kind bill in the U.S., allocating fifty thousand dollars in state aid to assist towns in maintaining their covered bridges. The fortunate few towns that still have covered bridges value them and work to maintain these historic structures. Grab the kids and camera and go take a look.
Charting The Androscoggin’s Headwaters
by Charles Francis
TMapmakers struck by its beauty
he early mapmakers who were sent by the Massachusetts General Court into western Maine to determine the extent and value of the state’s public lands in that area found charting the sources of the Androscoggin one of their most difficult tasks. Part of the reason had to do with the fact that a portion of the river leaves Maine for a time to swing through New Hampshire. Another difficulty was the fact that there were a significant number of large rivers and lakes as well as a number of lesser streams included in the Androscoggin
watershed. The rivers bear names like Swift, Ellis, and Magalloway. The lakes include those of the Rangeley system and the one bearing the fanciful name of Umbagog. The streams are almost too numerous to delineate.
The first mapmakers or cartographers to acquire any real understanding of the geography of Maine’s western lakes and mountains included Colonel A.J. Stone, J.A. Beard, and one Colonel Baldwin. The product of the labors of these men speaks directly to the mission they were charged with. It deals
with land value in terms of agriculture, the potential for the development of waterpower, and the problems that had to be met in establishing township lines. There is one notable exception to this, however. Each spoke — at least in passing — of the beauty of the region. Colonel A.J. Stone, whose primary mandate was to describe the geology of the region, devoted most of his work to that section of the Androscoggin between Dixfield and the general area of Andover. His findings, which appeared in Geological Reports are for the most
part dry and scientific. When speaking of the mountains, however, Stone says, “I doubt whether there is a state in the union that can show so many as we can on the Androscoggin and its tributaries.”
Specifically, the country to which Colonel Stone was referring had as its southern boundary a line running north and a little south from Phillips in the east to Umbagog Lake in the west. Its most northerly extremis was the Magalloway River.
From the reports of these first mapmakers to venture into the western mountains it seems clear they had a confusing time at best, simply because they do not mention significant areas of the country. The Rangeley lakes are not mentioned as a source of the Androscoggin nor is the Rangeley River. The specific sources that they do deal with are Umbagog, the Magalloway, and the streams of Andover North Surplus, that
oddly-shaped rectangle just to the north of Andover and west of Phillips.
Umbagog Lake, the largest portion of which lies in New Hampshire, is described as “an irregular, shallow sheet of water, with grassy and boggy shores,” surrounded by mountains with valuable stands of timber. It is also, according to the early mapmakers, where the Androscoggin begins. They make no mention of the fact that the Rangeley lakes feed into Umbagog. They did say, however, that the Umbagog acts as a sort-of regulator for the Androscoggin, when the Magalloway reaches flood stage.
The Magalloway flows through some of the most picturesque of the White Mountains. It is a virtual sportsman’s paradise. When spring freshets cause it to rise, the Magalloway floods into the Androscoggin on the western side of Umbagog.
For the most part, the Androscog-
gin at Umbagog is a placidly-flowing stream. When the Magalloway reaches flood stage, however, the Androscoggin backs up into Umbagog so that someone looking out onto the lake actually sees the Androscoggin running backward into the lake as a distinct stream as much as two miles long.
The other source for the Androscoggin which the early mapmakers identified was the Ellis River. Much of the Ellis is fed by streams rising in Andover North Surplus. These streams, which include Sawyer, Moody, and Burroughs, pass through some of the most glorious fall foliage to be found in Maine. Geological Reports does not mention foliage at all. However, it does give a brief reference to Frye Brook which Colonel Stone must have visited because it is described as only a geologist would, although, in this case, a geologist with a sense of poetry.
Frye Brook is one of the feeder (cont. on page 20)
(cont. from page 19)
streams of the West Branch of the Ellis River. It is actually in Andover Surplus West, which is one of those leftovers like a gore, from the days of surveying township lines. It lies to the west of Andover and to the south of Andover North Surplus. Today it is the site of one of Maine’s designated Scenic Waterfalls, The Cataracts. When Colonel Stone saw the falls, however, they were unnamed.
Colonel Stone described the falls of Frye Brook as follows: “This stream rushes over a precipitous mass of granite, gneiss, and mica slate rocks precipitating itself by a fall of twenty-five feet into a rocky basin below. The chasm is fifteen feet wide, and the basin is fifty-five feet broad. Here the waters form a beautiful pool and then leap again, by a second fall of twenty feet, into another larger and shallower reservoir, from which they descend gradually to Sawyers Brook, running into the Ellis River.”
Ironically, state guidebooks describe The Cataracts with the following terse comments: “Three scenic drops — nine yards, eight yards, and six yards. Appalachian Trail passes falls.”
That the first mapmakers to venture near or into the western mountains found something of their romance and beauty is clear from the few comments relating to non-technical matters. That they failed to see the total picture of the headwaters of the Androscoggin is also clear. The fact that the Rangeley lakes are a source of the Androscoggin escaped them. Even Colonel A.J. Stone, who was so taken by the falls on Frye Brook, made a mistake in his description. Frye Brook does not flow into “Sawyers Brook.” Sawyers Brook flows into the Ellis River from the east.
Rangeley Vacation Rentals
Skowhegan’s Pauline Eaton Oak
Director of the Georgia 1924 Peach Festival
by Brian Swartz
People converging on Fort Valley, Georgia for the Thursday, March 27, 1924, Peach Festival probably knew the pageant’s director was a Yankee. They didn’t care, because Pauline Eaton Oak of Skowhegan had already “wowed” the audiences at two previous pageants at Fort Valley, located near Macon.
The only child of Joseph Prescott and Kathleen Eaton Oak, Pauline, was born in Skowhegan on March 6, 1893. After graduating from Skowhegan High School, she attended Wellesley College for a year and then spent two years at the Leland Powers School of Expression in Boston. She then taught
expression at the Kentucky College for Women in 1916 and 1917 before ill health forced her to return home to Skowhegan. Pauline worked at several Washington State pageants and a Florida pageant before organizing the first Peach Festival, held at Fort Valley in
1921. The festival skipped a year; she returned in 1923 to organize and direct the second Peach Festival, themed “Georgia’s Crowning Glory.”
Festival backers convinced Pauline to return for the 1924 pageant, themed “The Peach of the World.” She focused on peach history while writing the script, designing the costumes, and arranging the music and dances. The pageant’s sheer scale was incredible.
Carpenters sawed, hammered, and nailed lumber into a 20,000-seat amphitheater set amidst blooming peach trees in a low valley. “There were acres of parade field, decked out in the gorgeousness of medieval tourney,” the
Atlanta Georgian noted.
On Tuesday evening, cooks loaded 6,000 pounds of beef and pork onto the “acres of barbecue pits, set to prepare a feast for the visitors, among whom are dignitaries of federal and state government,” the newspaper reported.
The 20,000-plus crowd tackled the barbecue before filling the amphitheater. Costumed by Pauline, who unobtrusively directed “the romantic story of the peach from its earliest known history,” 700 performers delivered “a triumph of artistic beauty,” opined the Macon News.
Pauline pulled out all stops in developing the play, which opened with the king and queen of Peach Land riding into the amphitheater on a float drawn by “six black horses.” Film cameras whirred as the royalty attended their coronation; the Macon News swooned upon learning the queen wore a robe that once adorned the actress Mary
Pickford.
Pauline closely monitored the performances spanning “the Past, the Present and the Future.” With the coronation completed, “Pomona, the Goddess of Fruit” appeared on stage, joined “by scores of charming little maidens” who danced as “Seeds, Blossoms and Fruit.”
The Past paid tribute to the peach being originally cultivated in China, and Pauline’s script followed the peach as it spread to India, Japan, and Persia. In one scene, Greek soldiers who with Alexander the Great had conquered Persia, literally pillaged a Persian peach orchard and carried its fruit home to Greece.
Audience members watched as performers took the peach westward to Italy and France and then on to Belgium, Holland, England, and Spain. Colonizers then took the peach to Mexico, and for the Mexican portion Pauline presented “a festival day” replete
with “Spanish ladies, Aztec Indians, basket-makers, pottery maids and water vendors.” She added a bull fight, which unfortunately the press did not describe. The Present opened with the Spanish bringing the peach to Florida from Mexico, with the American connection featuring a processional with “women gorgeously arrayed” in the colors of every state.
Then the pageant focused on Georgia, “the land where the peach reaches perfection as the luscious ‘Georgia Peach,’” proclaimed the Macon News. Then “the Peaches” danced, as did children dressed as butterflies, and Pauline watched as the 700 performers assembled “all dressed in pink” and, accompanied by local bands, sang “America, the Beautiful.”
Thus ended “the most elaborate outdoor spectacle ever staged” in Georgia, claimed the Macon News, which praised Pauline for “the genius of the (cont. on page 28)
(cont. from page 27)
mind that conceived” such an event. But there must have been a second performance, because backers reported that 40,000 attended the pageant. Its executive committee voted to make the pageant an annual event. Film crews and still photographers vanished, and pageant news reels quickly appeared on Southern movie screens.
Pauline lingered a while in Fort Valley, then gradually worked her way north. The Skowhegan Opera House apparently ran news reels of her pageant before she got home. She later moved to Washington, D.C. After she died in 1984. Pauline was buried in her parents’ lot in Skowhegan’s Southside Cemetery.
View in Coburn Park in Skowhegan. Item
Illustrating
Waterville’s Jane Frances Muskie
by James Nalley
DMaine’s First Lady to the end
uring the 1972 New Hampshire presidential primary, Edmund Muskie (then a senator) emotionally denounced a conservative newspaper in Manchester for reprinting an editorial that stated that his wife enjoyed telling dirty jokes, cursing, and smoking cigarettes. After he defended her honor with what appeared to be tears in his eyes, his presidential campaign never recovered, and Senator George McGovern went on to win the nomination and lose the general election to President Richard Nixon. From the beginnings of his political career at both the state and national levels, his Waterville-born wife was an active campaigner, a civic leader, and writer who supported him every step of the way.
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Jane Frances Gray was born in Waterville on February 12, 1927. Her fa-
ther died when she was 10 years of age, after which her mother primarily supported the family. For example, during the summers, she would travel with her mother around Maine as she worked for various resorts. Eventually, Jane’s first job was a dishwasher at one of the resorts. When she turned 15, she began working in a local dress shop. According to a Los Angeles Times article (December 2004) about Jane, “She was voted ‘Prettiest in School’ as a student at Waterville High School.” After graduating high school, Jane was hired as a bookkeeper and saleswoman at an exclusive boutique in Waterville. Meanwhile, as she modeled a dress in the boutique window, “A local lawyer and
(cont. on page 32)
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Jane Frances Muskie in 1968
(cont. from page 31) military officer, Lieutenant Edmund Muskie, came into the shop and invited her to attend a gala event with him. She and Muskie began dating, despite their difference in age stirring controversy (she was 19 and he was 32).” However, after dating for 18 months, the couple were married in a private ceremony in 1948. She also converted to Catholicism and switched from the Republican Party to the Democratic Party. At that time, her husband was serving in the Maine House of Representatives.
In 1955, Jane became the First Lady of Maine after her husband’s inauguration as Governor of Maine. As stated in her biographical Washington Post article (December 2004), “Dressed in the latest fashions, from free-swinging trapeze dresses to formless chemises, she campaigned relentlessly for his successful bid for governor of Maine in 1954 and the U.S. Senate four years later. Mrs. Muskie cheerfully shook hands
at rallies, attended civic club luncheons (with up to 400 attendees), and visited various plants and factories throughout the state.”
In general, she was known as an energetic and open person willing to dis-
cuss any of the latest policy issues and hot topics. Apparently, her persona annoyed some in New Hampshire, which resulted in the Manchester Union Leader newspaper reprinting the uncomplimentary Canuck Letter falsely
Jane and Edmund Muskie with Terry and Margaret Sanford in 1980.
claiming that Edmund was prejudiced against Americans of French-Canadian descent and referring to Jane as a “drunkard” and someone who was “racially intolerant.” As stated in the Washington Post, “Standing in a snowstorm outside the newspaper’s office, then-Sen. Edmund Muskie (who at the time was competing in the 1972 New Hampshire presidential primary) called publisher William Loeb a ‘gutless coward’ for involving his wife in the campaign. Edmund choked up several times during the speech, and several news organizations reported that he cried, However, a dispute has persisted for years over whether he had tears or melted snowflakes on his face.” Meanwhile, Republicans used the incident to claim that Edmund was emotionally unstable and unfit to serve as president. As stated earlier, due to his seemingly unmasculine show of emotion, his campaign never recovered.
After his retirement from the senate
in 1980, Edmund went on to serve as the 58th U.S. Secretary of State (19801981) under President Jimmy Carter. Despite his short tenure, his department successful negotiated the release of 52 Americans in the Iran hostage crisis. He has also been honored with a public holiday in Maine since 1987.
As for Jane, she stated the following in an interview with the Los Angeles Times in 1986, “Most of my married life has been political.” Regarding her husband’s public outcry during the New Hampshire presidential primary, she mentioned, “Now, it’s quite acceptable for a man to show emotions…President Reagan did it all of the time.” Moreover, “I know those remarks were taken out of context…They should never have been reported. But since they were, I don’t feel apologetic about them…It is something that will live with us until we die, and we accept that. I’m not happy driving through Manchester, N.H., even today.” Re-
garding the constant stress of the being in the public eye, she said that she learned to cope by practicing yoga and deep-breathing exercises.
Jane died at her home in Bethesda, Maryland, on December 25, 2004, due to complications related to Alzheimer’s disease. She was 77 years of age. She was buried next to her husband in Section 25 of Arlington National Cemetery in Virginia.
As for her legacy, she will always be known as the relentless campaigner and defender of her husband. However, it was her arrival in Washington D.C., when she joined the exclusive group of senator’s wives, that she learned more about political power struggles. This influenced her to co-write a political thriller novel with Abigail McCarthy (wife of politician and presidential contender Eugene McCarthy), based on the behind-the-scenes games in American politics. Published in 1986, this book is titled, One Woman Lost
Farmington’s Chester Greenwood
by John Murray
When the winter cold air blows in from the arctic, western Maine really feels the chill. It was during a very cold winter in Farmington in which the frigid air would prompt an ingenious idea for a local teenager. The winter of 1873 in Farmington was brutally cold, and cold enough for fifteen-year-old Chester Greenwood to wonder if his ears would freeze and fall off. Born in Farmington on December 8, 1858, Chester was one of six children that lived on a family farm. Chester Greenwood liked to ice skate during the winter, and like many of his friends, he grudgingly understood that cold ears were part of the equation. To temporarily warm his ears, this teenager did the same thing all his ice
Inventor of earmuffs
skating friends were doing – he put his mittens up against his ears to generate some degree of warmth. This helped a little, but it was only temporary relief from the cold, because it was pretty awkward to attempt skating when you had your hands covering your ears.
Chester longed for the beaver fur mittens that his grandfather used during the winter, because these would be so much warmer over his cold ears. It was at this moment that Chester suddenly had a revelation.
When Chester returned home, his first stop was the work shop area at the corner of the barn. Taking a roll of stiff wire, he cut off a piece of wire and bent it so the wire would fit over his head. The next step was bending a loop at each end of the wire. The day before, his grandmother was making mittens from tanned beaver fur, and knowing that there was always excess scrap pieces of leftover beaver fur, he asked his grandmother if she would attach some of this tanned fur hide to each
wire loop. Chester’s grandmother was more than happy to sew a couple strips of furred beaver hide on the loops, and when she completed the task, Chester put his new ear warming invention on. The result was a perfect fit, and his ears were quite warm with the covering of soft beaver fur.
Sleep did not come easy for Chester that evening, because of his brewing excitement for morning to arrive when he could wear his ear warmers while ice skating. The next day on the ice, Chester proudly wore his homemade ear warmers while skating. As young teenagers often do, a good laugh and teasing from childhood friends was generated toward Chester when they witnessed him wearing his fur ear warmers. Chester took it all in stride, because he indeed had warm ears that day while skating, and he realized that it was truly a great invention.
Chester Greenwood knew that his
ear warmers were a great concept, and kept making improvements to the original design as they were distributed to local residents in the area. The connecting wire would be replaced with a steel band that connected the ear section, and black velvet was added to the ear protectors to make them more comfortable and visually stylish. As it often happens with good ideas, many other people in the Farmington began to copy Greenwood’s design and made their own ear protectors. It was time for Greenwood to protect his invention and begin a serious manufacturing enterprise.
In the spring of 1877, four years after the original pair of ear protectors were made, nineteen year old Chester petitioned the U.S. Patent Office with precise drawings of his invention. Knowing that a great idea needed a great name, Chester attached the name — Greenwood’s Champion Ear Protec-
tors — to his patent. As described in the U.S. Patent # 188,292, March 13, 1877, one of the unique highlights of the ear protectors was their ability for the ear covering portion to swivel by having a V shaped swiveling hinge. Instead of being stiffly applied to the ears in one fixed position, this important innovation allowed the ear protectors to fit snugly, yet comfortably.
Shortly thereafter, Chester Greenwood would open a production factory in his hometown of Farmington. This enterprise would be called Chester Greenwood and Company Factory. The beginnings of the factory were initially modest with a small staff, but as word of the ear protectors spread, sales and production increased. Within a few years, the ear protectors were being sold worldwide, and the manufacturing factory was producing 30,000 pairs of ear protectors every year. It soon became evident that a bigger building (cont. on page 36)
(cont. from page 35)
would be required to handle increased production.
In 1900, Chester Greenwood’s newly constructed building — Greenwood Ear Protector Factory — opened for manufacturing at 2 Front Street in Farmington. In spite of the simple concept of the product, the business was an astonishing success. No doubt the success of the factory was attributed to the work ethic of Chester Greenwood. He arrived at the factory daily at 4am to get the factory set up, and often stayed well into the evening hours. In addition to a good work ethic, Greenwood also took good care of himself. He shunned alcohol and tobacco, and would run a mile each day for exercise.
When World War One began, American soldiers would be subjected to cold weather, and Greenwood’s factory was awarded a lucrative government contract to supply ear protectors to the United States military. A name change for the popular ear protectors would gradually occur during this time. His-
tory does not document the exact time, but it is suspected that during the era of World War One, the ear protectors earned the slang name earmuffs, and that endearing phase would ultimately catch on. After the war ended, the government contract for ear protectors would cease as well, but the factory continued to grow and prosper. By 1936, 400,000 pairs of ear protectors would be produced, and fifty workers worked at the factory. Along with the staff at the factory, additional workers would work from their homes preforming stitching.
After a prosperous work career at the ear protector factory, Chester Greenwood would pass away at the age of 78 during July 1937. Not long thereafter, the factory in Farmington that employed people for nearly 60 years would close its doors forever. With such an incredible history about the ear warming industry, the state of Maine would officially designate a day to commemorate Chester Greenwood
and his unique contribution to winter weather. On the first Saturday in December, nearly every resident in Farmington will wear a pair of earmuffs, in honor of the man who helped keep many ears warm and provided the inspiration for Farmington to be known as the earmuff capital of the world.
Adelphia “Del” Bissonette
by Kenneth Smith
Who is the best ballplayer Maine has sent to the major leagues? There have been some great ones: Louis Sockalexis –Old Town, George Magoon – St. Albans, Fred Parent – Biddeford, Clyde Sukeforth – Washington, Bob Stanley –Portland, Carleton Wiley - Cherryfield, Mike Bordick – Hampden; the list goes on.
Arguments of this nature generate more heat than light. These men and more were all superb athletes. If you apply a specific criterion like versatility, you have to give serious consideration to Adelphia “Del” Bissonette. Del was born in Winthrop June 6,
1899. His love of baseball, talent, and the fact that Del was big for this age made him a quick pick by older kids when they chose up their sandlot teams. Batting and throwing left made him a bit of an oddity, but Del threw and hit so hard, fielded so well and had such a good disposition and personality, he fit right in with the ‘big guys.’
At Winthrop Grammar and High School Del pitched, caught, and played first base. Bissonette’s talents attracted the attention of a New York Yankee scout, who wanted to sign Del right out of high school. Del declined, deciding instead to complete his education, which became quite a task in it-
self. From Winthrop High School, he went to prep school at Kents Hills for two years, then to Westbrook College. He spent a year at UNH, then enrolled at Georgetown University. Del was playing ball all along the way, pitching, catching, and playing first base. At UNH a scout for the Cleveland Indians gave him a ‘look,’ and told manager Tris Speaker that the 5’11”, 180-pound Bissonette could fire a baseball harder than anyone he had ever scouted. Speaker never followed up.
At Georgetown, the first of a series of career-damaging accidents occurred. While playing basketball, Del rammed his shoulder into a cement wall. It was
two full years before he recovered partial use of his throwing arm. All hopes of making it in the majors as a pitcher, catcher, or outfielder evaporated.
Del could still swing a bat and play first base, and at age 24 began his pro career. For the next 25 years Bissonette’s life was all baseball. He ate in diners and restaurants, slept on trains and buses, and lived out of a suitcase. Del’s career reads like a travelogue.
1921-24 Bissonette played first base and outfield for semi-pro teams in Maine and Canada.
1924-25 Again at first base for Binghamton, then York, both Eastern League squads. At York he hit .381 –good for second in the league.
19226 Brooklyn Dodgers (then called Robins) gave him a tryout and signed him. Del impressed the Dodger staff during spring training and might have earned a starting berth, but he came down with influenza. He was
shipped back down to the minors, first to Jersey City then Rochester.
1927 Now playing for Buffalo, Del shifted his batting stance to adjust for the shoulder injury. He ripped the cover off the ball, leading the league in most every category and hitting .365. At age 29, well beyond the age when most enter the big leagues, Del would no longer be denied a major league opportunity.
1928 Del spent his major league playing career with Brooklyn. It would span the next four and one-half seasons. His rookie year was sensational – 26 home runs (only three other national leaguers have matched it), with 106 runs batted in.
1929 The very first week of the regular second season, Bissonette was beaned. The pitch struck him behind the ear, resulting in serious mastoid and sinus infections, hearing loss, and ear operations. He played hurt all during
the 1929 season, missed 40 games but still managed a respectable .280 batting average.
1930 Del exploded, batting .336, driving in 113 runs with 192 hits. He drew 56 base on balls, indicating opposing pitchers weren’t happy to see Del at the plate.
1931 Playing excellent first base and batting cleanup, Bissonette did not have quite the season he had in 1930. Still it was a major league performance – a .290 batting average, 87 RBI’s batted in with 170 hits.
1932 Del, now 32, went into spring training with high hopes. A respected and well-liked veteran, Bissonette was comfortable with his job and looked forward to what he told reporters would be his best season ever. Then it happened again. Two hundred-pound Dizzy Vance, Brooklyn’s ace fireballer, fell on Del’s ankle during a pick-up volleyball game. It was a month before it (cont. on page 40)
(cont. from page 39)
was discovered that Del had a severed Achilles’ tendon. Successful surgery was performed, but blood poisoning developed. There were no antibiotics available at the time, and Del nearly died.
1933 After losing the 1932 season and nearly his life, Del recovered enough to play. Just a shadow of his former self, Brooklyn’s management bought veteran 1st sacker Joe Judge to replace him. When Judge was himself injured, Del got the nod. His health never fully restored, plagued by his previous injuries, Del’s hitting suffered and he was sent down to Baltimore of the international league. Later he was traded to Albany and then Montreal.
1937 After four years of bouncing around in the minors Del put his bat away, hung up his glove and spikes, and embarked on the second phase of his baseball career – management. He began by coaching at Des Moines,
Iowa, and Glace Bay, Cape Breton.
1939 Bissonette was hired to skipper Bradford, Pennsylvania of the PONY League (Pennsylvania, Ontario and New York).
1942-44 Del managed Hartford of the Eastern league, capturing the pennant in 1944.
1945 The National League Boston Braves hired him as third base coach, and in mid-season made him manager.
1946 The Braves chose not to rehire Del. He then moved to the Pittsburgh Pirates as infield coach.
1947-48 Del finally came home to Maine as manager of the Portland Pilots of the N.E. League.
1949-50 Del crossed the border again, to take the helm of the Toronto Maple Leafs.
1951 Bissonette managed the Three Rivers Club in Quebec. At the season’s end, he packed his luggage for the last time and headed home for Winthrop.
Del was finished with baseball for good.
Bissonette became a poultry farmer and when, in 1954, the Boston Braves again offered him the job of manager, he declined.
Shoulder, arm, ear, sinus, and ankle surgeries had robbed him of the chance for Hall of Fame greatness. Friends described Del as “one of the nicest guys in the world.” In a time when bats weighed as much as a stick of pulpwood, and baseballs had the resiliency of rocks, Del Bissonette could hit with the best of the best.
In the summer of 1972, suffering from severe emphysema and mental depression, Del took his own life. Let’s remember Del as one of the greatest baseball players Maine has produced.
The 1930 Dry Spell Fires destroyed a Minot farmhouse
by Brian Swartz
Aretired Minot farmer did not open his front door when fire came knocking on Sunday, April 27, 1930.
But a problem developed when 91-year-old Elbridge O. Butler figuratively refused to open the door for rescuers, either.
Relentless sun and wind and a lack of rain was drying out Maine that spring, and fires sparked here, there, and everywhere in the Pine Tree State. “Brush and Grass Fires Tax Limit of Local Crews,” the Lewiston Evening Journal headlined on page 1 in its April 29 issue. In southern Maine, fire had just swept over 2,000 acres near Ken-
nebunk, another forest fire had wiped out two summer homes and a Revolutionary War-era barn in Bremen before reaching the Atlantic Ocean, and at least 700,000 board feet of sawed lumber had gone up in flames.
Over in Gardiner, an 8-year-old came home from school on Tuesday, April 29 to find the kitchen on fire; an electric flat iron left plugged onto an outlet had overheated and ignited nearby clothing. The fire severely damaged the Colonial-era house owned by the girl’s father, a municipal judge. The same day, Portland firefighters successfully put out a fire that did about $10,000 worth of damage to a large
storage shed owned by the A and P Fuel Company.
So, Maine was literally dry at this period in Prohibition, and the conditions at the Butler farm were as conducive for a fire as any place else in Androscoggin County.
Elbridge Butler and his wife, Arabelle, lived at Minot Corner, in a farmhouse with a large, attached barn. In the house were such antiques as a grandfather clock; the barn was filled with old hay carried inside and stored there years earlier. Piled lumber and firewood filled those parts of the barn not containing hay, and firewood stood stacked outside the buildings. Even the ell connecting the house and barn was filled with cord wood.
Supposedly worth somewhere between $75,000 and $100,000, Elbridge Butler lived quietly and unostentatiously, usually avoided contact with neighbors (and especially strangers) and pre-
ferred to stay at home with Arabelle. Neighbors who offered to help care for the Butlers were rebuffed.
Around April 25, Elbridge fell and cracked a rib; the painful injury confined him to his bed and, in a strange way, likely helped save his life after his barn suddenly exploded in flames about 9:45 p.m., Sunday.
Spotting the fire, neighbors called for help. Minot firefighters responded immediately; rolling from Central Station shortly after 10 p.m., Auburn firefighters raced into Minot with a pumper and a lot of fire hose.
Fire illuminated the night sky as firefighters approached the Butler farm, perched atop a hill amidst terrain lacking substantial woods. The steady wind that had continued drying out the ground all day blew stronger that night; wind currents caught embers rising from the burning fire and sent them into the adjacent fields.
Firefighters quickly had more than a house fire on their hands.
Word of the blaze spread, well, like wildfire around Minot and Auburn and Lewiston, and people piled into cars and trucks of all types and drove toward the fire. Fortunately, the firefighters had a head start, because gawkers jammed the local roads and effectively shut them down.
As some firefighters spread hundreds of feet of fire hose from the scene to the Little Androscoggin River, other firefighters and some neighbors raced into the farmhouse to save the Butlers; they had slept through the initial excitement, so firefighters quickly located them in their bedroom.
They quickly escorted the frightened Arabelle from the house.
Seeing the helmet-wearing firefighters emerging into the dimly lit bedroom, Elbridge promptly slid his feet over the edge of the bed, stood up, and (cont. on page 44)
(cont. from page 43)
rushed into the closet.
Flames ate into the farmhouse as firefighters pleaded with Elbridge to come out. Likely confused as smoke tinged the air around him, Elbridge refused to leave his haven; the frustrated rescuers finally seized him by his arms, wrapped him tightly in blankets, and carried him through the house and out the door.
The Butlers survived, as did “most of the furniture and household goods … including many bundles of Butler’s private papers,” a newspaper reported.
The farmhouse and barn died in the fire, however.
“Two hot air explosions rocked the house after firemen commenced playing water on the flames,” the newspaper reported. The explosions might have been caused by gas building up inside the merrily churning flames; the Butlers heated their home with wood, and there were no flammable liquids or
gases inside the barn.
Fed by the dried-out firewood and hay, the flames leveled the barn. Sparks attacked the firewood stacked outdoors; wherever the firefighters turned, flames were breaking out — including across the nearby fields, where dry spring grass billowed orange flames and white smoke into the night sky. Assisted by neighbors who slapped at the flames with wet blankets and towels, firefighters chased the fires through the fields and into surrounding brush.
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The barn was only a memory by midnight. Only the front section of the house, that portion watered hard by Auburn firefighters, still stood, but it was uninhabitable.
Rescuers transported the Butlers to the house owned by Clyde Smith, apparently someone whom the Butlers trusted. Smith put them up for the night. Arabelle cried frequently; Elbridge comforted her as best he could.
Fire continued breaking out across central and southern Maine as April 1930 passed into history. Not until Tuesday, May 13, did a powerful east-moving cold front encounter the humid air and stir up heavy thunderstorms that dropped almost an inch of rain on Androscoggin County. Lighting and wind caused some damage, but for the time being, the drought was broken.
The defendant’s age led the judge overseeing a murder trial in Paris to choke up with emotion as the proceedings concluded.
The state had charged Abner D. Thorne (described as a “boy”) with murdering Harrison A. Whitman at Paris Hill early on Saturday, November 18, 1893. Spectators packed the courtroom inside the Oxford County Courthouse as the trial started on Monday, February 26, 1894.
Judge Foster took his seat at 11 a.m. Bailiffs brought Thorne into the courtroom. Standing when the clerk called his name, he listened as the indictment was read. Asked as to how he would plead, Thorne replied, “Not guilty.” Sitting with his attorneys, Thorne
watched as they and the state prosecutors sifted through 37 potential jurors. Judge Foster swore in Foreman George W. Gray and 11 other men. The Oxford County sheriff assigned two deputies to guard the jury throughout the trial.
Maine Attorney General Frederick A. Powers opened the trial by addressing the jury for approximately 30 minutes. The trial ran through Thursday, March 1, and witnesses detailed what had happened at Paris Hill almost four months earlier.
A burglar was haunting the area when Paris jailer Chandler Garland was hired overnight on Friday, November 17, 1893 “to see who was entering the post office and Democrat office” on Paris Hill. Along with Harrison Whit-
man, he watched from “the upper room of the Democrat office. Seeing “a flash of light in a window of Hutchinson & Newell’s store” shortly before 2 a.m. Saturday, the two men went there, saw another “flash of light and heard a sound in the store.” Garland sent Whitman to summon Sumner E. Newell, who with Stephen D. Hutchinson owned the store.
Leaving Garland and Whitman to watch opposite ends of the store, Newell “opened the door and struck a match.” A man waiting “just inside the door” blew out the match and tried to escape past Newell, who “grabbed him by the back, and we went out through the door.” A light flashed again. Garland “heard something drop and heard
two shots.” As Newell wrestled with the burglar, the first shot “flashed up in my eyes, bright.” The burglar broke away and fled. A bullet had creased Newell’s head.
“I’m shot,” Whitman said. Garland, who was armed with a .38-caliber Smith & Wesson, claimed he “fired two or three shots at the door” and then saw Newell “alone … and groaning.” Seeing a man running away, Garland fired twice while chasing him “nearly to Lincoln Street.”
Later Saturday morning, Dr. Isaac Rounds of Paris was summoned “to attend someone” on Paris Hill. Accompanied by Dr. Horatio Woodbury, Rounds found Whitman lying dead on a lounge inside the Union Hall office. After authorities transferred the body elsewhere, the two doctors performed an autopsy later that day.
They discovered that someone had shot Whitman in his chest. The shooter had pointed at a 30-to-33-degree downward angle. Piercing the victim’s heart,
the bullet killed Whitman instantly and lodged in his spine. The doctors gave the .32 caliber bullet to coroner Isaac Andrews, who held an inquest. Authorities also recovered a few .38-caliber bullets from the store. Andrews got those bullets, too.
Abner Thorne was a suspect from the start. Accompanied by George Atwood, Garland found Thorne in his rented Paris room later Saturday and noticed two revolvers there. One was a .32 caliber. Deputy Sheriff A. P. Bassett arrested Thorne Saturday afternoon “on another matter.” Searching Thorne’s room again on November 24, Garland “discovered a secret closet” in which Thorne had concealed “a wallet containing $211 in bills, a box containing $119.83 in silver, and a large number of other articles” the state claimed connected Thorne with the November 18 burglary. Store owner Hutchinson identified various items that had not been sold to Thorne.
A key witness testified hearing
Thorne say he fired only once while wrestling with Newell, whom Dr. Rounds had treated for a head wound on November 18. Newell identified Thorne as the burglar bursting through the store’s open door. The state provided evidence that the .32-caliber bullet recovered from the murder victim matched “an exploded shell” casing found in Thorne’s room. The defense attorneys suggested that Whitman “might have been shot by someone standing just where Garland stood.” Wright gave the closing argument for the defense, Powers the close argument for the state. The jury found Thorne guilty of second-degree murder. On Saturday, March 3, he was sentenced to life at the Maine State Prison in Thomaston. Thorne “showed no sign of emotion.” Judge Foster was in tears through most of the sentencing session.
(cont. from page 51)
lyn Cain. Cain, who was born in Fairfield, had studied at the New England Conservatory of Music before going to Germany to study with the great choral conductors there. In 1912, when he conceived of the idea of the Saco Valley Music Festival, he was teaching music in Portland. Prior to that he had taught in Kentucky, New York, and Boston. He would eventually join the faculty of the music department of the University of California.
Llewellyn Cain’s idea was to provide individuals living in the small towns of western Maine with the opportunity to develop their musical talent. To this end, in the fall of 1912 he organized and conducted choral groups in Bridgton, Kezar Falls, Steep Falls, Standish, Limington, Fryeburg, and North Conway, New Hampshire. That first season Cain personally conducted one hundred and twenty-seven rehears-
als. Then, during the first week of August 1913, the first Saco Valley Music Festival was held in the Bridgton town hall.
The first festival was an extravaganza and a stunning success. The combined chorus consisted of over three hundred singers. Musical accompaniment was provided by the Portland Symphony Orchestra. Cain also brought in one of Europe’s reigning prima donnas, the beautiful Marie Sandelius from Sweden. However, it was a young Maine girl with waifish looks by the name of Helen Yorke that the Bridgton News reported stole the show.
Helen Yorke was from Bethel. At the time of the first Saco Valley Music Festival, she was studying with Llewellyn Cain in Portland. She would go on to study in Italy and become an operatic prima donna, touring the world with the De Feo Grand Opera Company. At
the time of the first festival she was a virtual unknown whose fresh beauty and startling clear voice stole the show from the established Swedish star.
The first festival was such a success that Bridgton townspeople decided to make it a permanent summer feature. In succeeding years, music lovers from all over the country planned their summer vacations around the festival. Midsummer found hundreds of people arriving in Bridgton on the Bridgton and Saco Valley Railroad, on busses that traveled the Roosevelt National Highway, or in automobiles that followed Longfellow’s Sebago Lake Route.
By 1920, Maine’s centenary year, Llewellyn Cain had increased the number of local choral groups almost twofold. There were now groups in such places as South Windham, White Rock, and Mount Kearsarge.
The festival of 1920 attracted more (cont. on page 54)
(cont. from page 53)
to Bridgton than any other. In doing so, it was a great success. Unfortunately, it was also the last Saco Valley Music Festival. Llewellyn Cain left after the festival to take his position with the University of California and no one else could be found to take over as conductor.
The end of the festivals did not mean the end to music in Bridgton, however. Because of the success of the festivals in bringing visitors to the region, smaller musical presentations continued to be held in the town hall. Nor did the number of summer visitors decline. In fact, more and more people traveled to Bridgton by the Sebago Lake route and other byways. Eva Shorey was undoubtedly right in using Longfellow’s poetry to extol the uniqueness of the Bridgton region, for today it attracts more visitors than the Saco Valley Music Festivals and Maine’s 100th birthday celebration did.
Water District
Fryeburg Fair, established in 1851, expands to nine-days this year!
The 175th annual Fryeburg Fair runs Saturday, September 27 thru Sunday, October 6th, 2025.
Tickets are $15/day. Night Shows are included in that price. Children under 12 are always free. Tuesday, September 30th is Senior Citizen’s Day and fairgoers 65 & over are free. Daily tickets can be pre-purchased online or at the gate. Weekly passes (all 9 days) are $115 and must be purchased in person at the Fair. Gates are open daily at 7 am and close at 10 pm (later with large crowds).
Our full program is on our website www.fryeburgfair.org and our Face-
book & Instagram pages.
Opening day 2025 - Saturday, September 27 highlights include Sheep Dog Trials, Flower Shows, Duck Herding Demos, Kids Pedal Tractor Pull, Lawn Mower Races, a Men’s Keg Throw, Ox & Draft Horse Pulls, our Night Show with Breakin’ Strings & Fireworks!
Livestock Shows run every day with multiple breeds of cows, horses, oxen, sheep, goats, swine, rabbits and poultry. Refer to our program for times & locations. Our show draft horse competitions are a must-see experience. Hope Ricker, Superintendent of Show Draft Horses says, “Fryeburg Fair is host to the largest draft horse and pony shows in Maine. Exhibitors from five (cont. on page 56)
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(cont. from page 55)
states and New Brunswick, Canada, exhibit their equine starting at 8:30 am on Tuesday, Wednesday & Thursday at the Grandstand in hitch competitions from single cart to the eight horse hitch. Also, we have the halter show in the pulling ring on Tuesday afternoon and all hitches participate in Saturday’s Grand.
for kids again this year!”
New this year is our Agricultural Discovery Center. Located in the former Horse Drawn Wagon Building, Superintendent Katherine Kugelman reports, “The Agricultural Discovery Center will have several different display areas focusing on Maine agricultural commodities, as well as farming, gardening, and the importance of agriculture in our lives today. Fairgoers will have hands-on opportunities at some of our exhibits. And they can watch demonstrations, and listen to presentations from several different experts on their specific agricultural commodity throughout the week. Our Agricultural Explorer Scavenger Hunt is happening
Another great addition for 2025 is our new Garden Center which will feature display areas, a greenhouse and raised beds built from old horse stall boards! This is a great building for garden enthusiasts and according to David Andrews, General Superintendent at Fryeburg Fair, “This is quite an upgrade from the former garden center, has a lot more light and is a bit bigger.” Jen Coen, owner of Heart & Hand, Inc. in Brownfield and Superintendent of the Garden Center says, “We’re going to have a few different groups doing educational displays featuring the observation hive of honey bees, worms and my business, Heart & Hand. We have 12 raised beds and will feature growing lavender, edible flowers that add color to salads and are good for you! As well culinary herb gardens with coordinating recipes available. The glass is just being installed in the building and I can’t wait to get in and start planting!” Woodsmen’s Field Day is on Mon-
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day, September 29th starts at 9 am and runs all day. This 57th annual event is one of the largest spectator woodsmen’s event in North America. Contestants compete in 30 woods skills events such as crosscut, axe throwing, standing block chop, bow sawing, chainsawing events and tree felling.
Let’s talk about tossing & throwing things! New this year is the premiere of our Men’s Keg Throw! It’s on the first Saturday at 2 pm. The keg weighs 23 pounds. All strongmen, sign up at the Livestock Office by noon. The Women’s Skillet Throw, open to all gals with good throwing arms, starts at noon on Monday (9/29) followed directly by the Men’s Anvil Toss. Sign up on Monday by 10:30 am at the Livestock Office. Annette Bennett Metcalf, owner of The Country Skillet Restaurant in Naples, Maine, is in charge of these toss events. “Really looking forward to our first annual keg throw and setting some new Fair records! We have about 125 wom-
en that participate in our skillet toss every year. The skillet weighs around 5 lbs and the record is 64.9 feet is held by Maggie Schofield. The anvil weighs 14.75 lbs and the record throw is 43.1 feet and held by Joe Goodwin. We have throwers from as far away as Alaska!”
We welcome everyone to be an integral part of Fryeburg Fair by entering your best garden vegetables, baked goods, quilts, canned/jarred/preserved foods, photographs, artwork, oil paintings, plants, floral arrangements, crocheting, sewing (and so much more!) for judging at our Agricultural Exhibition Center. Easy online entry by August 15th at www.fryeburgfair.org. Five competitive Baking Contests take place during the Fair – enter by 12:45 day of event. Find Baking Contest categories and rules at www.fryeburgfair.org.
Our Farm Museum is the best place to experience our Maine history of agriculture and farming. Curator Erlon Jones says, “This year we will be
featuring several new exhibits as well as continuing our most interesting and popular old-time demonstrations. The museum will be opening its new addition on our big barn which will feature period craft demonstrators that will be showing loom weaving, treadle sewing machines, sock darning, and spinning. Our machinery area will show live machinery and antique tractor exhibits, including our blacksmith shop, and Loretta’s Kitchen which is a must see for any fairgoer. The museum looks forward to welcoming families and fairgoers of all ages to our area of the fairgrounds, where everyone makes new friends and meets up with old ones.”
Let’s talk food options at Fryeburg Fair. So much to try and love! According to our online Survey 2024, everyone’s a Foodie at Fryeburg Fair. The options are amazing - making final eating decisions a competition in itself! The key to no weight gain – keep walking! When you want to rest, we have (cont. on page 58)
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seating everywhere.
Harness Racing so fun to watch & bet! The horses, jockeys, trainers & owners put their heart into their sport. Come out and cheer them on! We run at the track Tuesday thru Saturday at 1:30 pm and Sunday at noon.
Our Mechanical Pulls start on Sunday, September 28 at 4 pm with the Tractor & Big Rig Pull. On Tuesday tractor pulls at the Swine & Goat Grandstand start at 9 am and include lawn and garden size up to full-size tractors. Tuesday is also Antique Tractor Show Day and they are displayed on the north side of the Swine & Goat Grandstand. The 4x4 Truck Pull is on the last Sunday, October 5th starting at 3:30 pm.
Dreamland Amusements, back for their 4th year at Fryeburg Fair, promises incredible rides as always! There’s a big bargain happening on the first Saturday (9/27)! Ride bracelets are $17.50
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– that means unlimited rides for a single rider! Purchase 10 Tickets for $17.50 (1 Ticket per ride) for multiple users. Unlimited ride wristbands are $35 on the Sundays (9/28 and 10/5), Friday (10/3), and the last Saturday (10/4). $30 Monday (9/29), Tuesday (9/30), Wednesday (10/1) and Thursday (10/2). Dreamland tickets can be purchased online and credit cards are always accepted on site. Go to their website www.dreamlandamusements.com for ride & ticket info. Follow our Facebook page for pre-Fair ride bracelet sales.
Our 2025 Night Show roster brings you Breakin’ Strings (Bluegrass-Sat, Sept 27), Rek’-lis (Classics-Mon, Sept 29), Face 2 Face - Tribute to Elton John & Billy Joel (Rock-Tue, Sept 30), Chase Matthew (Country-Wed, Oct 1), The Outlaws (Southern Rock-Thu, Oct 2), Julia Cole (Country-Fri, Oct 3) and Paulino & The Great Escape (Tribute to Journey-Sat, Oct 4). All Night Shows
start at 8 pm at the Grandstand and are included in our daily ticket price of $15.
The Grand Parade on Saturday, October 4th begins at 10 am. Grab your coffee and breakfast and don’t miss this narrated showcase of the Fair’s best livestock, floats, bands, businesses and antique cars.
Camping at Fryeburg, Maine’s largest fair, provides the shortest commute! We have 3,000 campsites and one with your name on it. For reservations, call 207-935-2912 or email camping@fryeburgfair.org.
Getting here & traffic – Our rural roads require everyone’s compliant participation. Traffic leaving from the Swan’s Falls Gate (south of the Main Gate) must turn South when exiting. North of the Main Gate must turn North when leaving. Our employees will direct you. Always best to arrive early and stay late. Plenty of seating and resting spots at the Fair. Weekends
and perfect fall weather days are busiest. Adjust your plans accordingly. The good news – our ticket lines move fast and even faster if you buy them online!
A couple of important safety notes for fairgoers. As always, no weapons are allowed on Fryeburg Fairgrounds. Metal detectors are in use at entrance gates. And. No dogs or pets are allowed at Fryeburg Fair.
Our full program is available on our social pages, at www.fryeburgfair.org, and printed copies are on site.
Fryeburg Fair. A family tradition. Love it as a child and come back with your own children and grandchildren. We’ll be waiting for you.
there was a veritable pharmacopeia of remedies. Patent medicines like Lydia Pinkham’s, Macarthur’s Tonic, Evans Elixir, and numerous brands of paregoric graced the family medicine cabinet. Coca Cola, which originally contained cocaine, was marketed in part for its curative powers. Sears sold a patent medicine consisting chiefly of opium as a cure for alcoholism. For the most seriously afflicted of the period who had the money there were sanatoriums. Typical of these was the sanatorium of Dr. John Henry Kellogg which was recreated in the 1994 movie, The Road to Wellville. Mineral water was another of the offerings in this age of patent medicines and illnesses.
Pure water, consisting of two atoms of hydrogen and one atom of oxygen, is almost impossible to find. Water from wells, lakes, and streams is imbued with minerals from its surroundings. The purest water is found in springs, but even this is infused with various
solutions. When the solution becomes so strong it can be tasted, it is called mineral water.
Maine has a wealth of mineral springs. There are over a hundred in the state. The greatest number are found in Androscoggin County.
There are three types of mineral springs in Androscoggin County, chalybeate, sulfurous, and saline. Chalybeate springs, of which Highland Mineral Spring is an example, are rich in iron. The iron comes from iron pyrites. Sulfurous spring water is marked by its odor, which is a little like rotten eggs. Saline springs are rich in sodium chloride, table salt. All of the springs of Androscoggin County are cold, although a few are called boiling springs as they have a current of air passing through them.
At the turn of the century Auburn had five mineral springs producing water for commercial purposes. Crystal Spring was owned by the Crystal
Spring Bottling Company, Mount Hozee Spring by the Mount Hozee Mineral Spring Company, Pejepscot Spring by Simon Merrill, Lake Auburn Spring by the Lake Auburn Mineral Spring Company, and Field Spring by George Field. The water from these springs as well as the water from Hillside and Windsor springs in Lewiston, and Diamond, Glenrock and Purity springs in Greene was primarily sold as table water in Auburn and Lewiston.
Of course, the most famous mineral spring in Androscoggin County was Poland Spring, owned by the Ricker family who also operated the famous Poland Spring House. The land where Poland Spring is located was purchased by Jabez Ricker in 1793.
As the story goes, Wentworth Ricker, son of Jabez, was clearing land near the spring. Wentworth suffered from gravel, a sandlike accumulation in the urinary tract. Wentworth worked in the area of the spring for several weeks, (cont. on page 62)
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drinking regularly from the spring, and over that time he ceased to be bothered by the gravel, and best of all, it never returned. Jabez’s grandson Hiram Ricker had a similar experience in 1854. Hiram suffered from dyspepsia, a stomach problem caused by acid indigestion. Hiram began drinking from the spring and in a short time was relieved of his dyspepsia.
Sensing the commercial value of the spring Hiram Ricker persuaded Dr. Eliphalet Clark of Portland to prescribe Poland Spring water to his patients. In 1859 Ricker began marketing Poland Water for its curative powers. By 1900 sales had reached five thousand barrels a year, and marketing offices had been opened in Boston, New York, and other major American cities. By 1890 Poland Springs was shipping more mineral water than Saratoga Springs. Poland Water went to Europe, South Ameri-
ca, Africa, India, and Australia. Poland Water was advertised as never coming into contact with the air until the bottle was opened on the table. To accomplish this the spring was covered with a glass plate. From the spring, the water was piped directly to the bottling shed and discharged into bottles.
Poland Spring Water has received various awards and has been analyzed numerous times. At the Chicago World’s Fair in 1893 it was the only spring water to be awarded a certificate for purity and medicinal purposes. One Boston physician testified it had absolutely no sediment even after being exposed to sunlight in a stoppered vial for two weeks. A Columbia College chemist found a gallon to consist of .1562 grains of potassium sulfur, .2636 grains of sodium chloride, .1333 grains of carbonate of soda, 1.2287 grains of silica, .2332 grains of organic matter
and traces of iron. He found the water to be tasteless, colorless and slightly alkaline.
Hiram Ricker also built the Poland Spring House as a summer resort. It had a golf course, riding stables, and was known for its healthy environment that centered on the curative powers of Poland Spring. Thousands of people traveled to Poland Spring and the other springs of Androscoggin County every year to seek relief for illnesses and complaints both real and imagined.
The mineral springs of Androscoggin County were a flourishing business at the turn of the century. Not only did people visit the springs, but they bought the water. Poland Spring Water’s office in New York City did a business of two hundred thousand dollars in 1913. The total sales of Maine mineral water that year was almost four hundred thousand dollars, and most of that water came
Photo from the 2024 Fryeburg Fair, courtesy of Rachel Andrews Damon.
