Seventy Years Ago
Reminiscences of Early Days in Norwich Related by
George W. Denslow, Who was Ninety Years Old on Sept. 19, 1906
Compiled for the Union by Leonard W. Cogswell
Chenango Union, October 4, 1906
In studying the growth of a town and the changes that come with the flight of years, the student is brought to a more realizing sense if he can hear the tale of its early history from the lips of a living witness to the events. It links us with the past by a living chain, and so makes a much more lasting impression upon our memory. Some writer has said that "history is but the biography of individuals," and these stories of the early days impress upon us the great changes that have come with the passing years within the memory of living men, and show that what are now considered but every day necessities, would have been looked upon as the height of extravagance 80 years ago.
Proud as she is of her handsome women, Norwich is still prouder of her active old men. There are a number of men here the average of whose years is 80, and who are still vigorous. This shows that Norwich is not only a good place in which to be born and grow up, but is healthful and a good place to grow old gracefully and enjoy life all the way down the declining years. If the fountain of eternal youth of Pounce de Leon does not exist in this beautiful Chenango Valley, certainly there is in its air that which is conducive to long and happy years.
Mr. George W. Denslow is one of those persons who are inseparably connected with the early life of Norwich, having lived here nearly 70 years. His life has been a part of the history of Norwich for nearly three-quarter of a century. Mr. Denslow is still hale and hearty, eating and sleeping well, and with good physical and mental strength. The words of the wise old Psalmist concerning the labor and sorrow of four score years does not apply to this well preserved citizen. But of him it may be said as O.W. Holmes says in his poem "The Last Leaf,"
But now he walks the streets
And looks at all he meets,
Sad and wan;
And he shakes his feeble head
That it seems as if he said,
They are gone.
The mossy marbles rest
On the lips that he pressed
In their bloom;
And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many a year,
On the tomb.
Mr. Denslow comes down town nearly every day, frequently drops into the Union office and is delighted to chat about his experiences, and tell of people he has known in New Haven, Connecticut, and Norwich, N.Y. many years ago, while the county was yet young. Mr. Denslow was born in new Haven, Connecticut, September 19, 1816, when Washington had been dead only 17 years; when the country had hardly settled down from the struggle of the war of 1812. He possesses a retentive memory for events, and delights to tell how, in New Haven in 1824, he stood on the street corner with his father, and saw the Marquis Lafayette of France, the intimate friend of Washington, on his triumphal tour, in his old age, of this country by invitation of Congress; and in June 1833, of seeing Andrew Jackson, "Old Hickory," then president of the United States, and Martin VanBuren, pass through New Haven on their trip through New England; of hearing Lorenzo Dow, the eccentric but eloquent Methodist circuit exhorter, preach from the steps of the old state house; of his acquaintance with Noah Webster of dictionary and spelling book fame, to whom he used to carry milk; of seeing almost daily in new Haven old Deacon Beers who was one of the prison guards over Major john Andre who conspired with Arnold. Andre made a pen-and-ink sketch of himself which he presented to Dea. Beers which is now in the possession of Yale College. In fact, to talk with him, is to bring before us, as in a panorama, many of the famous history makers of those days. Mr. Denslow's story follows, in nearly his own words.
I was born in new Haven on September 19, 1816, and lived there until I was 21. In 1832, when I was 16, I was apprenticed out, as was the custom in those days, to learn the trade of carriage making, which then required a six-year service. In March, 1837, a financial panic swept the country, and 12 out of the 17 carriage makers of New Haven were forced to suspend, and, as a result, several of us were out of work.
While I was looking around, I happened to meet Joseph Scoville, a Norwich butcher, who was then conducting a meat market in a little wooden building just of south T.D. Miller's residence, and back of the old Baptist church which was burned in 1845. Mr. Scoville, who was a New Haven boy and a friend of the family, advised me to try Norwich, which, as he said, was a thriving, growing town, and a good place for a man to grow up in. So I followed what some 25 years later proved to be Horace Greely's advice, and "went west." In those days it was quite well west, too, and traveling was a serious undertaking. Before I came out here my father was making trunks. As I had nothing to carry my clothes in, I went into my father's shop and made a pretty good sized trunk for my own use out of horsehide tacked with brass nails, put on the end the letters, "G.W.D." and started for Norwich.
To reach here I left New Haven for Bridgeport at 4 a.m., Nov. 1, 1837 (a beautiful warm day) by stage coach, then from Bridgeport to New York by boat, and to Albany by boat up the beautiful Hudson. New York in 1837 was very little like the New York of 1906. North of 35th street was mostly farming country, interspersed with country roads and lanes where there was much driving on pleasant days. Central Park was then but a rough piece of land, and north, east and west of it was a vast wilderness of rocks and forest.
We got into Albany early in the morning, and then we took the railroad cars for Utica at 8 o'clock, reaching Utica about 4 o'clock. That was the first time I had ever seen or ridden on a railroad train, and I was as excited as a boy on his first trip to a circus. The engine was the famous "DeWitt Clinton" since exhibited at Chicago and Buffalo, a small affair with a long smoke stack. It burned wood and puffed along very slowly, although it seemed fast to me. For some distance this side of Albany the hills around were covered with dense forests of pine which was used for fuel for the engine, immense piles of it being stacked at every station and we frequently had to wait while the tender was piled high with wood.
From Albany to Utica is 95 miles and it took us 8 hours to go over what is now but a two-hours ride for the fast trains of N.Y. Central R.R. It was a single track road, having been completed in 1831. The cars looked very much like the old-fashioned stage coaches, with long seats across ways, and you entered from the side, instead of the end. The rails are long pieces of strap iron perhaps 2-1/2 inches wide by three-quarters of an inch thick, laid on long timbers perhaps 4x6. They are not very safe to ride on, for the ends of the iron straps were liable to become loose, curl up and come up through the floor of the car with great violence, and often times great injury was done.
I remember that after Franklin Pierce was elected president of the United States, and before his inauguration, his wife died, and Pierce and his son started to go to Washington. While they were travelling on this kind of a railroad, one of those iron "snake heads" as they were called came up through the car floor and instantly killed his boy who was sitting beside him.
On Nov. 3rd we left Utica for Norwich by stage coach at 8 a.m., arriving in Norwich about 7 p.m., thus taking 12 hours to travel 42 miles which is now done in an hour and a half by rail. You can see it took me three whole days from 4 a.m. of the first day to 7 p.m. of the third to come here from New Haven. Now you can leave New Haven at 7 a.m. and reach Norwich at 5 p.m. of the same day, taking only 10 hours, instead of 72. What changes Time does bring in travel and communication.
To be Continued
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