Chenango & Unadilla Valleys 50 Years Ago - 1872

The Chenango and Unadilla Valleys Fifty Years Ago

by S.S. Randall

Chenango Telegraph, Norwich, NY, January 31, 1872

 

In the evening of life as the shadows of long past years gradually, but perceptibly lengthen and stand out distinctly and clearly in the memory, it is pleasant to recall the impressions of our earlier and happier days, and fondly to linger over the cherished and ineradicable associations of that olden time.  And it seems not altogether unfitting, that after the lapse of more than half a century, some "Old Mortality" should lovingly and reverently essay to deepen those perishable and perishing inscriptions of the past, which the corroding finger of time has rendered wholly or partially indistinct and illegible.  In submitting, therefore, to kindly and friendly eyes, a few brief sketches of my earliest recollections and impressions of the beautiful valley of the Chenango--the home of my happy childhood--and its little less attractive sister, the Unadilla, with portions of which I was almost equally familiar, I enter upon a labor of love, no less than upon the fulfillment of what I cannot but deem a sacred duty to those of a new generation who now tread those familiar walks, and enjoy the beauties of that delightful scenery, every portion of which is indelibly imprinted on my own memory and heart.  I desire also to recall the living presence of those,--most of them now gathered to their fathers, and quietly reposing in the old burying ground I so well remember--who then moved among us as busy actors in the eventful drama of life. 

 

At the period to which I now refer, the principal villages in the Chenango valley were Hamilton, Sherburne, Norwich, Oxford, Greene and Binghamton, and in those of the Unadilla, New Berlin, Guilford, Bainbridge and Unadilla with an average population of about 500 each.  On the west some twenty towns were scattered with a sparse, rural population, each having its local business centre, and its prominent intellectual men.  Preston was represented by Dr. William Mason, Plymouth by Silas Holmes, Otselic by Nathaniel Waldron, Lincklaen and the present Pitcher by Ebenezer Wakely and Abel Chandler, McDonough by John F. Hill and Eliakim L. Corbin, and Pharsalia by "Mine Host of the Hook," Joel Crain and his stalwart sons, Hendrick and Luther.  Samuel A. Smith was the master spirit of Guilford, John C. Clark, Richard W. Juliand and Levi Bigelow formed the aristocracy of Bainbridge, Benjamin Butler, James Clapp, John Tracy, Austin Hyde, and William and Henry Mygatt that of Oxford, Robert Morrell, Charles Squire, Warren Gray and Joseph Julian reigned with undisputed sway over Greene; Tracy Robinson, Thomas G. Waterman, John A.  Coltier and Peter Robinson were the magnates of Binghamton, Tilly Lynde, Smith M. Purdy, Lyman S. Rexford, Joseph Benedict and William G. Fargo, of Sherburne; Sherman Page was king of Unadilla, Smyrna could only boast of  Demos Hubbard, Jr. and Dr. Mead, while New Berlin was aristocratically governed by Gen. Augustus C. Welch and Silas A. Conkey, and enumerated among her representative sons, Noah Ely, Charles Medbury, John Hyde, Royal Ross, Levi Blakeslee, Jeremy Goodrich, Nathan Hancox, Charles Knapp, Joseph Moss, Nathan Taylor and Caleb S. Butts.  Of Norwich I shall have occasion to speak more at large hereafter.  Of all these men, who, fifty years since, filled so large a span in the political social, industrial and influential circles of the Chenango and Unadilla Valleys, how few now survive--the honored, respected and revered relics of a past age.  I shall endeavor to recall them as they were half a century ago in their meridian of usefulness and vigor--"Giving laws to their little Senates," directing the course of policy, the administration of justice, the busy wants of commerce, and occupy the brightest regards of their fellow citizens, sociably, morally and intellectually.

My earliest introduction to this Society was in the early part of the year 1817, when, at the ripe age of eight, I was presented by my father, then recently returned from a session of the Legislature, of which, with Simeon G. Throop, of Oxford, and Tilley Lynde, of Sherburne, he was a member--to Thurlow Weed-- now a veteran and distinguished octogenarian residing in the city of New York, then a young, ambitious and enterprising aspirant to the editorial chair of a Republican, Christian newspaper, about to be established in Norwich.  This presentation took place in my father's little counting room adjoining his store, situated a few rods, north of what was then known as the old "Yellow House"--one of the earliest dwelling houses erected in the village, by my grandfather, Benjamin Edwards, a Revolutionary soldier,--now or lately owned and occupied by Judge Purdy.  This counting room was also then the post office of the village, and my father the postmaster.  In the course of the succeeding year, I frequently saw Mr. Weed, who was an intimate friend of the family, at one time canvassing for a "Commodity of good Names," wherewith to select an appropriate one for the projected journal--and at another laughingly escaping from the brandished hoe of my grandfather, who declared that he never tolerated Weeds of any description in his garden.

Political feeling at this time raged violently under the opposing banner of Clinton and Tompkins, between the Republicans and Democrats, then known as "Bucktails," and the "Republican Agriculturist" was established by Mr. Weed, in opposition to the "Bucktail" organ, the "Norwich Journal," conducted by John F. Hubbard--now also a venerable and highly esteemed octogenarian of that village--then a young man of brilliant talents and fine social culture.  A fierce personal controversy immediately sprung up, growing out of the alleged violation of some contract previously entered into between the rival editors, for the purchase of the Journal, in which James Birdsall, then or soon afterwards cashier of the Bank of Chenango, came to the rescue of Mr. Weed, and Lot Clark, a leading lawyer of the village, appeared as the Squire of Mr. Hubbard.  These two gentlemen were, during that political contest and for many years subsequently, the recognized leaders of the two great parties in the county.  Mr. Birdsall was a highly cultivated man, polished in his  manners, urbane in his deportment, and as a polished manager he was skillful, shrewd and acute.  He had represented the Chenango and Broome district in Congress, and was an able and stray writer.  Mr. Clark was one of "nature's nobleman," self-educated, but of great capacity; and though not wielding a vigorous pen, yet exciting a powerful influence as a political manager.

After the termination of the contest, by the re-election of Gov. Clinton, Mr. Weed transferred the "Agriculturist" to Mr. Samuel Curtis, Jr., and removed to Onondaga County.  The office of the paper was, at that time, in the second story of a building directly opposite what is now known as the "Noyes Hotel," and many pleasant hours did I, a boy of ten, spend in it watching Mr. Weed at work at the old fashioned Franklin press, and at his cases, aided only by his brother-in-law, D.D.T. Ostrander.  In fact, so fascinated was I by the establishment, that I not only contributed to its columns a vivid account of the remarks of Elisha, in closing the controversy between the sorely tried patriarch of Uz--chiefly plagiarized from the sacred records--but volunteered in consideration of the sum of six cents per week, safely to deliver the twenty-five or thirty copies of the paper regardless of weather, duly and truly each Thursday morning to its village subscribers.  Nay, more!  I boldly and recklessly established an opposition weekly journal, in the interest of the Republican party, the subscription price of which, was one cent per number, payable on delivery.  Coupled, however, with the condition of passing the only copy of the paper, printed as it was, throughout by the pen, to the next subscriber.  Mr. Weed not long since informed me that he yet retained in his possession one or two of these premature efforts of journalism.

These reminiscences bring me to the close of the year 1821, at which point of time--fifty years ago--I propose to take up the panorama of the Chenango valley, commencing with its capital, the quiet, rural and delightful little village of Norwich, endeared to me by so many ties of home, friendship, personal regard and affection, and by innumerable local associations connected with the morning of life, in its freshness and fragrance.