Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Union Springs Advertiser Union Springs, New York Thursday, November 13, 1884 Died "Full of Years." The oft repeated, familiar psalm of the Good Book says: "The days of our years are three-score years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be four-score years, yet is their strength labor and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away." In the death of Mrs. Phoebe Brockway, Wednesday of present week, our community has an instance where human life was prolonged a year more than five-score and ten. This woman, remarkable by reason of the accumulation of years, was laid at rest in Chestnut Hill cemetery this afternoon, all the local pastors being invited to take part in the burial services - held at the house of her daughter Abigail Menzie (in "Hamburg") at 2 o'clock and in the cemetery at 3 o'clock. Had it not been for the unfavorable weather the attendance would undoubtedly have proven very large. Much has been said and written of this wonderfully aged woman, familiarly known as "Granny Merritt." Her age is a matter of some doubt, but we have chosen the minimum calculation, which is regarded by the family as correct. Mrs. Brockway's maiden name was Collier and her birthplace the town of Galway, Saratoga county. She came to Cayuga county with her parents when fourteen years old, and settled in Scipio, about twelve miles from Springport. The Indians were in complete possession of the then wilderness. Gideon Brockway was her first and only husband, by whom she had four children, one died in his seventh year, the rest are living, namely: Mrs. Marshall Whipple, Mrs. Abigail Menzie, and William Brockway, all past the allotted years of mankind. Numerous descendants, covering five generations reside mostly in this vicinity. For the past three or four years, Mrs. Brockway has not ventured out much, but previously she was often seen in village, returning, at times carrying a sack of flour or other equally weighty burdens a mile to her home. The town has contributed to her support for many years. A sister, ninety-one years of age, died in the County house about two years ago. The funeral was under the direction of J. B. Pierson who conducted the affair with dignity and solemnity.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
SABATIS, Me., Nov. 11 (Special) – When car 18 slid up the main street of Sabatis and finally anchored in the driving rain and slush by the co-operative steps at 6.20, Thursday night, a good number of passengers for Lewiston furled their umbrellas and boarded the car with a rush. Two people bent on seeing Old Kentucky in Music Hall; a number of day laborers 8 miles from home and supper; some Germans who intended to meet their brethren in the Shillerverein in Central Block; and two students were among the party, to say nothing of the dog – a black and white purp with solemn mein and melancholy eyes, whose cognomen “Sport” was as belying as the name Lillian when tacked on a plump brunette. Everyone settled himself for an immediate start, when the motorman grabbed the lever and started for a lunch room, and the conductor, with the remark that he “shouldn't start for fifteen minutes sure,” slumped after him. The student slammed his Latin grammar shut. “Ain't yergoin'?” said somebody. “Goin' home and go ter bed,” growled the student.
The man with the dinner pail started out to do a forgotten errand and the car door stuck. He struggled silently till he felt something violent was expected of him, when he remarked without a show of enthusiasm, “Damn the door.” And with that the jeers of the passengers proved the open sesame.
The man in the soft black felt passed his pocket piece across to the man in the brown felt, who carried off a hunk, and both ignored the City Hall motto that gentleman will not, others must not --. The purp rose and humped himself against the seat with a conscious air when any one moved. A kid on the platform suggestively shouted “all aboard” and another swung the go-ahead signal with a white lantern. The man with the burr of the Teutonic race under his tongue remarked on the apparent appetite of the motorman, while the quiet man broke his silence to move an adjournment. The car finally rolled out of the village at 7.15. The trolley buzzed and whined on the wire. The flames danced overhead in glints of diabolical fire and flashed peppermint greens and goblin blues on the snow. The power came in jerks that made the teeth of the purp rattle like castanets. Four and five lunges were made at every grade, and six and seven times did the car go back to gain impetus at the foot of Thorn Hill, which retreating, the man with the burr in his speech said was like the Spaniards. In an interval of inky blackness while the power was off, a cheery orchestra man piped up on the “Georgia Campmeeting.” The car finally reached Lewiston at 8.35. The theatre-goers looked blue, the vereiners had missed their meeting, the purp gingerly picked his way through the icy mud on Lisbon street, and sighed for a warm Sabatis fireside – and the slush on the rails was at the bottom of it all.
Lewiston Evening Journal, Lewiston, Maine, Friday, November 11, 1898
Thursday, December 20, 2012
“...I learned a new sound--a more horrible sound than description can picture. It was the thud of a speeding, living body on a stone sidewalk.
Thud-dead, thud-dead, thud-dead, thud-dead. Sixty-two thud-deads. I call them that, because the sound and the thought of death came to me each time, at the same instant. There was plenty of chance to watch them as they came down. The height was eighty feet.The first ten thud-deads shocked me. I looked up-saw that there were scores of girls at the windows. The flames from the floor below were beating in their faces. Somehow I knew that they, too, must come down, and something within me-something that I didn't know was there-steeled me...
I looked upon the heap of dead bodies and I remembered these girls were the shirtwaist makers. I remembered their great strike of last year in which these same girls had demanded more sanitary conditions and more safety precautions in the shops. These dead bodies were the answer.”
Article written by eye-witness - William Shepherd. Published in Milwaukee Journal, Wisconsin, March 27, 1911.
In November of 1909, 20,000 women garment industry workers went on strike to protest poor working conditions. These women worked long hours in horrible conditions. In some cases, their employers even locked the emergency exits to keep out the labor unions. In March 25, 1911, their nightmare came true. Workers, mostly in their teens, were trapped inside the burning building in which they were employed, the Triangle Waist Company in New York City. With emergency doors locked from the outside and a failing elevator, they had two choices: burn in the fire or jump out the window. Unfortunately, they were on the 8th floor. 141 people perished that day.
“Hello, what's this!” exclaimed a Lewiston sewing-machine agent, as he picked a pill-box out of the drawer of a sewing-machine, Thursday morning, and unscrewing the lid disclosed a very pretty gold locket. “She didn't happen to open the the box, now did she.” continued he, musing. Finally, when he got ready, this was the story that he told. The sewing machine was rented to a Lewiston woman who shortly after receiving it, died and was buried. The household was broken up and the house girl claiming the machine, was allowed to have it removed. The family scattered, the sewing-machine man lost trace of the machine and so far as any income to him it might as well have been interred with the woman who hired it. The other day, however, he got a clue of it. It was still in the possession of the house girl, and one day recently the sewing-machine agent stopped before her door, told her of his discovery of the little game, and like a sensible girl she made plain and satisfactory the explanation and delivered over the machine. Preliminary to doing this, however, she ransacked the drawers of the machine. Everything of value was hers. Of all the many things in them, only a few did she leave. Among them was the pill-box which she tossed over with a remark, “I don't take pills. That ain't mine.” The pill-box when opened, revealed the gold locket.
Lewiston Evening Journal, Lewiston, Maine, May 6, 1886
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
1887 - MCARTHY’S FATAL NAP. While Intoxicated He Falls Asleep on the Railroad at Derby and is Run Over.
John McCarthy a moulder employed at DeForest’s iron works at Shelton, while asleep on the track of the Naugatuck railroad at Derby last night was struck by the south bound train which passes that point about 11 o’clock. He was so terribly bruised that it is though impossible for him to live the day out. He had been drinking liquor freely during the night and while in an intoxicated condition wandered on the track and fell asleep near Stilling’s saloon. He resided in Brooklyn but has friends in Naugatuck and his acquaintances speak well of him. He was a young unmarried man.
New Haven Register
New Haven, Connecticut
16 Jun 1887
New Haven Register
New Haven, Connecticut
16 Jun 1887