Reminiscences of Norwich by Thurlow Reed

Reminiscences of Norwich by Thurlow Reed 

Chenango Telegraph, Norwich, NY, March 6, 1872

To the Editors of the Chenango Telegraph:

I am reading with much interest the valuable and fascinating letters in your Telegraph written by my old and cherished friend Samuel S. Randall.  These reminiscences bring back scenes, incidents and personages with which and with whom more than fifty years ago I was associated.  These localities and individuals return after an interval of more than half a century with a distinctness and freshness which did not seem possible.  The individuals, the dwelling houses, etc., etc., described in his last letter, are as familiar to my memory as they were to my eye and ear when I was walking and talking with those who now rest in the village cemetery; for of all the adult acquaintances then residing in that part of the village referred to, Benjamin Chapman, a much valued friend as far as I can learn, is the only survivor.  Mr. Randall himself, now in his sixty-fourth or sixty-fifth year, was then a bright boy of ten or eleven, furnishing unmistakable promise of a career of intellectual usefulness.  He was a precocious printer and editor.  I still retain a copy of the Journal which he printed (with his pen) and edited in 1819.  Mr. Randall's father (Perez Randall) was the village Postmaster and in 1818 a member of the Legislature.   Although a political opponent, Perez Randall was my warm personal friend.  Mr. Randall resided with his father-in-law, Mr. Edmunds, who charged himself especially with the guardianship of his youthful grandson, S.S. Randall.  I was amused in observing that growing up as he did under the immediate eye and care of his father and grandfather, the youth accepted the political teachings of the latter.  Party feeling between "tails" and ""Clintonians": was intense and exciting.  Mr. Randall was a "Bucktail" and Mr. Edmunds a "Clintonian."  I was then much attached to the boy Randall, who, some twenty years afterwards, it was my privilege and pleasure to suggest as State Superintendent of Common Schools, to which office he was elected with great unammity by the Legislature and in which he served usefully and honorably until he was superseded by Mr. Rich through a secret organization of "ChoctawKnow-Nothings."  The secret was so well kept that up to the hour that Mr. Rice received a Legislative caucus nomination it was not known that there would be any candidate opposed to Mr. Randall.  The same Mr. Rice, years afterwards, became the financial manager of the recently exploded "Guardian Savings Bank."

But I am wandering from the point which induced me to address a brief letter to you.  Mr. Randall among his admirable photographs of village celebrities introduced that of "Uncle Josh Aldrich," with a single omission, viz., the six foot staff, his invariable accompaniment.  Joshua Aldrich was a tavern, or rather a store oracle, for he was an habitual lounger in the stores of Benjamin chapman and John Noyes, Jr., where he held forth to village idlers as dogmatically as the Host of the "Maypole" in Barnaby Rudge discoursed to his village guests.  Aldrich, like other oracles, was impatient of contradiction, and if pushed into a corner, as he sometime was, by an opponent, he would, striking his long staff vehemently on the floor and all controversy by exclaiming.  "who steals my purse steals trash, as Robert Boyle says."  On one of these occasions, Mr. Chapman quietly observed that Mr. Aldrich had mistaken the authorship of the passage quoted, adding that it was written by Shakespeare.  "Uncle Josh" stoutly denied this, saying that he would furnish proof of the correctness of his assertion  On the following day at the usual hour, "Uncle Josh" appeared, and after waiting until his accustomed auditors arrived he produced the works of Robert Boyle in a small volume, and pointing to its title page asked Mr. Chapman and the lookers-on to read for themselves, himself exclaiming, in an ecstasy of pride, "who steals my purse steals trash;" the merchant adverted to the circumstance that Boyle had borrowed the line which adorned the title page of Boyle's volume from Shakespeare, giving that author credit was "labor lost," that was far beyond Uncle Josh's comprehension, for his literary reading began and ended with Robert Boyle.

Among the village idlers of that day was one by the name, if I remember right, of Jesse of Joseph Brown.  He was especially addicted to politics. When Daniel D Tompkins was running against DeWitt Clinton for Governor, animated, if not angry disputes, were frequent, and especially so in the stores before mentioned.  Brown, an ardent and loquacious Clintonian, engaged in high debate with an equally zealous Bucktail, who name, if my memory serves, was Snow.  Brown expatiated upon the talent and genius of Clinton.  Snow in reply extolled Tompkins for his patriotic services during the war, who he said after borrowing all the money the Banks would lend, spent his own fortune in furnishing clothes and food for the soldiers who were fighting the British.  "You," said Snow, "talk about Clinton's great talent, but I want to know what he has done for his country?"  "I am ready," responded Brown, "to meet you on that point; if you want to know what Governor Clinton has done for his country, I advise you to look at his future conduct."  This caused a laugh at the expense both of Mr. Clinton and his admirer.

If, as is said, "he that causes two blades of grass to grow where but one grew previously" has been regarded as a public benefactor, upon the same principle, he who causes a "blade of Asparagus" to grow where none grew before, may be held as doubly a benefactor.  Perhaps your readers may be amused to learn when and by whom, the first blade of Asparagus was raised in Norwich.  Emmons, a slight, pale, amiable, and almost briefless lawyer, whose office was situated midway between Garlics' and Gates' Tavern, came from Dutchess County.  the grief of his life during the vegetable season was that no Asparagus was grown in Norwich.  Indeed, but few of the villagers had ever heard of that delicacy.  Mr. Emmons determined to retrieve in this respect the character of the village by himself becoming grower.  A plot in Mr. Gates' garden was selected for an Asparagus bed which when the season arrived, was carefully prepared by Mr. Emmons, who weeded and watched it with diligent care and parental solicitude.  In the fullness of time the much talked of esculent was pronounced fit to cut.  This was done in the presence of several invited guests, who after it has been prepared for the table, under Mr. E's personal superintendence, shared the delicacy with its radiantly happy producer; thus, Asparagus was first introduced to your citizens.  Now I suppose every garden in the village rejoices in its bed of asparagus.

Truly Yours, Thurlos Reed