If you were kind enough to read my post “They Said It Would Never Last” in the last 48 hours you probably noticed that it seemed to start in the middle. That’s because it did. I somehow managed to leave out some critical portions of the text when I transferred the story into the blog. I have corrected it and would be delighted if you would all take another look.
Sorry,
Judy
They said it would never last. They really did say that forty years ago when Norman and I were married and they had good reason. We are very different people, different interests, different religions, and raised in very different circumstances by very different people. It hasn’t always been an easy marriage and never a simple one, but it has never, not even for a single day, been boring. We were both heavily influenced by our mothers; I’m sure we were also influenced by our fathers, but it is our mothers’ ways that we remember most.
We lost both of these women in the last few months and I’d like to tell you a little bit about them and about us.
Both of our moms left their jobs to care for their families. In this these two rather different women were quite similar. They were devoted to their children and to their children’s future. Norman and I both remember knowing we would attend college for all of our lives. We probably knew this in the womb. The only allowable question was which college we would attend. Our mothers worked tirelessly for our schools. They were presidents of the Parent Teacher Organizations; always available to help in the classroom or with any extracurricular activities we might be involved with.
I remember a basement full of Girl Scout cookies when my mother was cookie chairman. Norman remembers hutches full of rabbits for his brother’s Boy Scout merit badge project and chickens for his sister’s 4H project. His mother dispatched them as necessary. We both remember the many hours they listened to us read or helped us learn to write.
How did the children of such different backgrounds meet? We met at college in Ohio. It was the farthest west I had ever been. It was the farthest east he had ever been. We both yearned for the experiences that were second nature for the other. He took me camping, fishing, and boating. I took him to New York and showed him how to master the subway. We met each other’s families. He took me to the northwest where I thought he would kill us both when he stopped to eat wild berries. My people knew that things that grew in the woods were dangerous. Norman knew what wild blackberries looked like. I found out what delicious means. I took him to Philadelphia and taught him about lox and bagels. He learned the proper protocol for ordering in a Jewish deli. When we moved to New Haven years later he went to the local Jewish deli for the first time with our two young children in tow. He was obviously a stranger. Half an hour later, having ordered properly, one thing at a time, and having schmoozed about our history with the owners, he belonged. The children each left with a cookie in hand. He says with pleasure that he can pass. He can, his black Irish looks fit in and his manners are impeccable. I have learned to fit with his family. I do my best not to interrupt the speaker with varying degrees of success. They seem to love me anyway.
We are grown now, both sixty, but all this recent loss has made us feel slightly adrift. I think we will eventually be fine. We have each other and we were raised right.
Wounded on Morris Island, South Carolina, 1863
For this story, I decided to first present the story that Grandpa Lyle remembered being told as a young boy and then to copy what Grandpa Minor had said in his diary. The copy of his diary that I have was typed/transcribed/abstracted by, I think, his granddaughter Alberta Minor Flint. I only have the typed version and have never seen the original, so I don’t know whether this is a true transcription or how much it might have been condensed or abstracted. I wish I knew where the original is.
Background: my great great grandfather, Charles E. Minor served from 1861-1865 mostly in Company G of the 67th Ohio Volunteer Infantry. In June 1863 he returned to the Regiment, having been detached since August 1862 on a recruiting tour.
Story as told by Grandpa Lyle:
At one time he was stationed on Folly Island, which was a sand dune. It was nothing more or less than a sand spit within firing distance of Fort Wagner. And they had to go in at night. In the day time, they were within firing range of Fort Wagner. And they had to go in by raft and by boat at night to land and take all their provisions and everything they needed in, to this island. And they built a sand bag fortification, filled sand bags up and built it and then they got some field, what they called field pieces — artillery — that would fire on Fort Wagner and for a period he was in command of a group. And at night they would watch for the flash of a gun over there and he would — firing with his pistol — he had a hand gun — and they would fire at the flash, hoping that it would hit somebody. Well somebody at the fort saw his flash and, first thing he knew, a rifle ball came to him. It went through the calf of one leg and the knee cap of the other. He made his way back to the field dispensary, the tent where they took care of them and he said, “My knee cap’s in terrible pain here.” And the man said, “Well, you’re loosing a lot of blood in the other leg.” The calf of the one leg had been completely pierced, but the pain in the knee cap was so intense that he was not aware that he had been pierced by the bullet in his other leg. Following that he was removed from the island and sent to the hospital there. I don’t know where that was.
But anyway, he had been in the hospital. His leg had, was infected, and they had given him what treatment they could. Doctor looked at him and says, “No way. Can’t save that leg.” Said, “We’ll have to take it off tomorrow.” So the next day, in comes the doctor with two assistants and a board. They were going to strap him down to the board and saw the leg off. And there was a bucket of water on a three legged stool right by the side of the head of the bed. My grandfather raised up and he grabbed that stool, tipped the water over toward the doctor, and he raised the stool up over his head, and he said, “You touch me and somebody’s going to get hurt.” And the doctor told his men to walk away and leave him alone. The result was that eventually the leg healed and never had to have his leg amputated. But in those days they did what was the quickest thing. So many men ended up with a peg leg following the Civil War. Amputation was a thing that could save the life.
Charles E. Minor
From Grandpa Minor’s Diary:
Thursday 11th [June 11, 1863] – Took a boat about 4 p.m. yesterday but didn’t get under way till 1 o’clock this morning, and reached Folly Island about 6 a.m. Found the regt. encamped about 5 miles from the landing.
Folly Island is about 7 miles long and its greatest width 1 mile. The only vegetation is Pine and Palmetto with a little coarse grass – almost a barren waste. The 67th has a fine camp on the south side of the Island facing the ocean. Warm weather but a fine sea breeze. Sharks, alligators, and serpents we found in considerable numbers.
Met with a warm reception by both officers and men. Am glad to once more be with the regt. Am agreeably surprised to find things so pleasant. The regt. is small but has gained in skill and appearance since I last saw them.
<snip>between then and July 4th the federal soldiers were building batteries on the end of Folly Island in preparation for attacking Morris Island.
July 4 – batteries almost ready on the point. The intention was to attack today but we are not quite ready.
July 10, 1863 – This morning at 5 o’clock the ball was opened by our batteries and in less than one hour we had all of the east part of Morris Island, guns, tents, and some prisoners.
July 11 – Saturday – More troops crossed over today and preparations are on foot to dislodge the rebs from Fort Wagner, the only point they now hold on the island. The loss so far has been slight.
July 18 – Saturday – During the past week strong batteries have been erected facing Wagner and at 10 a.m. today they opened fire on the Fort. At 2 p.m. the fleet moved up and joined their fire with the Batteries on shore. They kept up a terrific fire until dark, when the infantry were ordered to charge on teh works. During the day our Co. and Co. C were on picket within 600 yards of the Fort.
July 18 – Saturday – Under this terrible fire from both sides. As we advanced to the charge we were raked by grape and cannister, cutting us up dreadfully, but the greatest slaughter was at the ditch and ascending the Parapet. We reached the Fort and help most of it for an hour and a half, but not being reinforced. were obliged to fall back.
Our regiment lost over half their men. Co.G. lost 13 wounded and 3 killed.
I received four scratches all slight, left hand, left shoulder, right arm, and a ball through my right ear. All doing well.
July 24, 1863 – At daylight our fleet and shore batteries opened a heavy fire on the forts. There was a detachment of two Capt. and four Sergts. sent home for drafts to fill up the regiment. Hope they may succeed.
Aug. 26 – Brigade on picket at the front. About 7 a.m. I was wounded by a sharp-shooter through both legs, no bones broken.
Sept. 7, 1863 – Our troops took possession of Fort Wagner and Gregg this morning after nearly two months siege.
Sept. 20 – Dressed for the first time since wounded. Can walk a little.
Oct. 1 – Left hospital.
Disclaimer: I know very little about the Civil War beyond what I remember from my early schooling, but I’m starting to do some reading to find out about it. I believe that this description by Grandpa Minor is of the assault on Fort Wagner in Charleston harbor that was the basis of the story in the film Glory. If I am right, Grandpa Minor’s regiment, the 67th Ohio Volunteer Infantry was in the charge that was led by the 54th Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry, one of the first formal units of the U.S. Army to be made up entirely of African-American men (aside from the officers).
This is the beginning of a long story. It involves the history of a house, several families, a culinary school and a university and it has become the obsession of this genealogist. This story has it all, a family flush with new wealth created in the age of the Industrial Revolution, servants just arrived from Ireland or the southern states, labor history, illness, family lawsuits, religious strife, conflict between town and gown, fact, fiction, rumor and innuendo. I begin where it all began for me.
The House
393 Prospect Street. When I arrived in New Haven in the late 70′s Prospect Street was a lovely neighborhood with a few big old houses and some university buildings. The remaining old buildings were being purchased by Yale University as they became available. And there on the top of Prospect Hill surrounded by a large expanse of weedy empty space was a big, beautiful old house, 393 Prospect Street. When I asked about it, everyone knew it was the Davies Mansion; no one knew anything about it. It will come as no shock to anyone who knows me or anyone who reads my pieces in this blog that I had to find out. First, the facts about the early years.
In 1867 John M Davies, a wealthy industrialist, a manufacturer of men’s furnishings, commissioned Henry Austin, a well-known Victorian architect, to build a grand house for himself and his family in the finest part of town. Austin was responsible for many of New Haven’s finest buildings and when this one was completed it would be the city’s largest home with an interior of 19,000 square feet, 23 rooms, and seven acres of lawns and gardens. Once it was surrounded by the mansions of Eli Whitney, Oliver Winchester, and other wealthy manufacturers, today it is the only one of the grand mansions still standing. John Davies lived in the house for a few brief years before he died in 1871. His widow Alice lived on in the house until her death in 1898. I’m not sure who lived in the house between 1898 and 1911, but in 1911 the house was sold to Thomas Wallace. Wallace was the owner of Wallace and Sons, a prosperous wire manufacturing company in nearby Ansonia. He lived in the house on Prospect Street with his family until his death in 1946. In 1947 the house was sold to the Culinary Institute of America.
photos courtesy of the Culinary institute of America
The Culinary Institute of America is now located in Hyde Park, NY and is the premier culinary institution of this country. In 1947 it was known as the Restaurant Institute of Connecticut. Although common place now, this was the first culinary school in America. I love food. I love to cook; I love to eat ; I love to look at food. I can’t resist a brief aside here.
The Restaurant Institute
The 1950′s was an interesting time for American cuisine; one of its admirable goals was to free American housewives from their daily grind, with labor saving devices and quick to prepare foods. This was the time when the idea was floated that one day we could just swallow a pill for dinner and have all our nutritional needs satisfied. Foodies like myself consider the 50′s to be the long, dark night of the soul for American cooking. The Culinary Institute was one of a few places that kept the idea of American cuisine alive until we came to our senses.
At any rate the house was converted to a school. Yes, the interior changed, but the basic structure was well maintained. From the outside the house looked as it had since 1868. The Restaurant Institute became the Culinary Institute of America causing a few double takes as students walked around New have in sweatshirts with CIA emblazoned on the front. And so it went until the Culinary Institute of America outgrew its New Haven home and moved to Hyde Park. Yale University bought the property in 1972.
Restaurant Institute--courtesy of the CIA
And here the story of neglect and claims and counterclaims, movie offers and refusals and ultimately redemption begins. Yale purchased the house and the land surrounding it with the intention of making use of empty land in an area that was rapidly being built up with university properties. What is fact is that Yale did little maintenance on the house after its purchase, using it as a storage building. Yale moved to demolish the house in 1980 and preservationists fought against the move. Local rumor says there are firefighters from that time who say they were told to simply let the building go if there was a fire.
In 1980 the university announced plans to tear the house down and the building became something of a cause celebre among Yale students. The Yale Ad Hoc Committee to save the Davies House printed bumper stickers that changed Yale’s motto from “For God, for country, and for Yale” to ” For God, for country, and for the Davies Mansion”. 200 people rallied in front of the secretary’s office just before Yale’s announced demolition date of March 31, 1980. The group included representatives of the Connecticut Trust for Historical Preservation, the State Historical Commission and the New Haven Preservation Trust. Just about everyone who cared about preservation was represented. At the last moment the deadline was extended, and in July of 1980 a development proposal was accepted.
The headline in the New Haven Register reads “Historic Davies house to be reborn as an inn”. Arthur Fisher, head of Fisher Associates put forth a proposal to open a lovely Victorian Inn, preserving the old house and recreating some of its former glory. The university accepted. Another headline in the Register reads, “Hunt on for treasures stripped from Davies”. Many things had gone missing, the fine mantel pieces, all kinds of wonderful architectural details, the hand carved banisters were all among the missing. Everyone accused everyone else, but no matter, things would be found or recreated and the inn would open its doors in 1981.
S
ix more years would pass. Again, the stories of what happened in those six years vary, but, finally, a lease was signed, the boards came off, and work began. Then Fisher ran out of money. But all was not lost, another development firm offered to take over the building with Yale’s approval. Yale refused. Apparently, to quote Marsha Ryan of the Yale real Estate Office, “Yale had a chance to reflect on how we wanted to use the building and decided to use it for academic purposes.” Work would begin shortly to prepare the building for academic use.
More years passed. Then in 1990 two things happened. There was a fire that caused considerable damage to the house and in the next bizarre twist in the saga the old place was apparently creepy and kooky enough that the producers of the Addams Family movie thought it was the perfect house for Gomez and Morticia. An offer was made to use the property and restore it, which the university refused. This was taken as proof positive by some that the university had no intention of saving the mansion. University spokesmen said the university was concerned about all the disruption involved in a Hollywood production. Whatever the truth of all this, eight more years passed. Finally in 1998 an agreement was reached between Yale and the preservationists to preserve four historic buildings including the Davies Mansion. The exterior of the mansion was restored by 2000. In 2001 Yale alumni Roland Betts donated five million dollars toward the renovation of the Davies Mansion. The renovation cost about fourteen million dollars before its completion in 2002.
The good news, really great news, is that once the university decided to restore the place they decided to do it right. The first floor has been returned to its nineteenth century glory. The fourteen-foot high ceilings and spacious rooms have been preserved; original moldings, window frames and mantels have been preserved or replaced. The beautiful grand staircase greets visitors once again. Colors and flooring are true to the original house. The second and third floors are more modern in their design. The building now renamed the Betts House serves as the Center for Globalization, providing a home and meeting space for visiting scholars from all over the world.
In 2009 the Maurice Greenberg Conference Center was added to the grounds and attached to the house. Of course, there are a variety of opinions on this. It would be lovely if the old place still stood alone, preserved as a museum of days past, but that was never a possibility. Personally, I think it is a good compromise both meeting the needs of the university and preserving the house for future generations.
This is the end of the story of the physical structure, at least for the moment, but families lived and died and loved and fought in that house. Their stories will follow in a few weeks or months and they are even more interesting than the story of the house.
And thanks to TennLady over at Gene Notes. 
Since this blog is a joint effort, I am assuming that TennLady’s award was to the site and therefore to both of us. I found, on Family Curator‘s site, the origins of this award and the responsibilities that go with it. We will try to meet these responsibilities, although this type of thing is not my [Pat's] strong suit. We’re supposed to report on 10 things learned about our ancestors that have surprised, humbled, or enlightened us, and then pass along the award to ten more genealogy bloggers who are doing their ancestors proud.
Here goes (some by Pat and some by Judy and some we both share):
1. Humbled by the migration of my Snow family from eastern Massachusetts to Connecticut, from there to western Massachusetts, and finally to northeastern Ohio, all before 18[00 check date] Hard to imagine what it took to pick up and move yourself and family for those distances in that era.
2. Humbled by the story of my Salt ancestor taking flatboats down the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers to New Orleans to sell animals etc., and then selling the wood from the boats and walking back home to southwestern Ohio. And he did it more than once. Something for me to remember when I’m thinking that what I have to do is too hard.
3. I am truly humbled and astonished by the hard work and deprivation our ancestors endured to enable us to live our comfortable lives. Pat and I visited the Tenement Museum in New York together and saw the conditions that some of our ancestors endured. This was urban poverty at its worst, locked in tiny, dark, virtually airless rooms, lacking of any of the comforts so many of us take for granted now. They did it, they survived and we thrived. Thanks, to my great grandparents and my grandparents.
4. I was surprised to find that after the Presbyterian, Scots-Irish branch of the Cole family landed in Nebraska they all became Seventh Day Adventists. Every single one of the children except for my husband’s grandfather became a minister or a missionary or both. Some of them traveled around the globe to Fiji, New Zealand, Australia and even Pitcairn to spread the word. Their immigration to the U.S. clearly brought changes they never dreamed of before.
5. I am eternally grateful to the record keepers in our families especially my mother and my mother-in-law. All of the precious documents and photographs I possess were preserved by these women. We lost them both this year; I know I will write about them in the future, but for now thank you, thank you, thank you. I have to chime in here with vigorous headbobbing: yes. My mother in particular was an inspiration in finding, finding out about, and then preserving family stories and things. (Pat)
6. I am truly astonished that after 20 years of doing genealogy I have not discovered a single relative in any branch of my family who is sufficiently grateful for my work that he or she is prepared to reveal a hidden source of wealth and provide me a with a generous endowment to allow me to continue to work on my family history in the style to which I would like to become accustomed. That private jet would surely help me visit all those ancestral homelands.
7. I was delighted to find that one of my ancestors, William Leaf, helped found one of the first Yiddish daily newspaers in America, the Forward. Maybe, that’s where the writing gene comes from.
8. I was surprised that my husband’s family supplemented their income from farming with stints working on the railroads. I wondered why there were so many firemen listed in the census for his family until my mother-in-law explained it to me. They shoveled coal to keep the engine going. Now there’s am occupation that won’t appear in this year’s census. Of course, no occupations will appear in this year’s census.
9. I was surprised and actually pleased to discover that I have a black sheep ancestor, at least sort of. He was sued for support of a child and its mother, just about the time he was marrying another woman. Later the obligation was retracted in court (and I still want to know the whole story!).
10. And the last one isn’t about ancestors really, it’s about what “doing genealogy” has brought us. It is a constant delight to have Pat as my genealogy buddy and now my blog buddy. Our friendship of more than 40 years is as good as it gets; we are real family even if we don’t share any blood. Let it be noted here that Pat does all the bloggy stuff for this joint venture. She got it up and running and knows how to drive it far better than I do. She always helps me get things straight, “No Judy, the button to the left, no, the other left” You know what I mean. I just write. I like to tell stories and philosophize a bit here and there and Pat makes that possible for me. Judy is is right about being family; we may have to add something about that in our description of the blog. Together we manage to get something written and posted, pretty regularly. If left up to me, a blog would still be a good idea waiting to happen – Judy was so enthusiastic that I had to make it happen. Doing it together is a real pleasure.
And we hereby pass the award along to (in no particular order):
1 Roots’n'Leaves
2. Genealogy Traces
3. The Photo Detective
4. Tangled Trees
5. Granny’s Genealogy
6. Tracing the Tribe
7. Geneabloggers
8. Jasia at Creative Gene
9. Craig at GeneaBlogie
10. AnceStories
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