Dr. Lee Losee Davenport and the Development of Radar in World War II

CELEBRATING FIFTY YEARS OF THE ORAL HISTORY PROJECT

In November 1940 Lee Losee Davenport, a twenty-five-year-old PhD student in physics at the University of Pittsburgh, received a call from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology “about a secret project…he couldn’t tell me what it was, but he wanted me up there immediately.”

Dr. Lee Losee Davenport with
World War II identification and memorabilia.
Courtesy of Greenwich Library
Oral History Project.

The group at MIT consisted of thirty college professors, “heads of physics departments of important colleges here, as far west as Chicago.” They called themselves the “Radiation Lab,” a cover name to hide the real purpose of their study, to develop anti-aircraft radar. Davenport came to the conclusion that he was included in this elite group because he had worked with one of the professors from the University of Pittsburgh who knew that “I was responsible at Pitt for making some of the most complex equipment for my thesis.” Davenport continued, “My role in this project was to get this thing built…the think tank was the idea men, the Einstein-type people… How to reduce that thought into a piece of machinery, or a piece of radio equipment, was up to other people, and I think that is one of the reasons I was chosen…I built x-ray tubes and so on. And I think he viewed me as a scientist who knows how to build things.”

 

Dr. Davenport was interviewed by Oral History Project volunteer Janet T. Klion in 2008 at the age of 93. He described his experiences as a member of the Radiation Lab, and their invaluable contributions to the development of anti-aircraft radar, instrumental in the Allied victory in World War II.

 

As Davenport described it, the secret tasks of the Radiation Lab were twofold. Firstly, “to take a magnetron…and see if you could make a radar device small enough to fit in the nose of an airplane. In that way they hoped to be able to find the German fighter planes or bombers at night, that had been bombing London with serious damage.”

 

Davenport was assigned to Project Two, “to see if you could make a radar system that could operate in all weather, pick out airplanes – a single airplane – and follow it automatically so that it would be accurately possible to aim an anti-aircraft gun at the plane and shoot it down.”

 

RADAR, the acronym which stands for Radio Direction-finding and Range, “travels at the speed of light…and you have to measure time to that accuracy to be able to find out how far it is. You have about a hundred-millionths of a second to measure the time.” After three months of work on the project with radar, it was possible to find an airplane. “In May of 1941, seven months before Pearl Harbor, “we had a system that worked on the roof of MIT, which we could follow an airplane with, track it automatically, follow that plane without human help.”

 

The Signal Corps was impressed with this equipment and gave instructions for it to be transported to the Fort Hancock Proving Grounds in New Jersey. To do so, it was necessary to fit the apparatus into the body of a truck. “I drove it down myself, on the Merritt Parkway” with “an armed guard sitting alongside me.” It was tested on December 7, 1941 and “we had a working machine.” After a few changes, it was sent to the headquarters for the anti-aircraft command in Virginia. After additional tests, the military decided to buy it “right then and there.” The project was now named SCR 584 (Signal Corps Radio 584) and General Electric and Westinghouse were instructed to each build 1700 of them. The instructions to these companies were, “Don’t change a thing. You’re to reproduce exactly what the Radiation Lab people are showing to you, and we want them right away.”

 

Exterior view of SCR 584
(Signal Corps Radio 584).
Contributed photo.

The first practical use of this anti-aircraft device “occurred in England. One of them was shipped over. I was over there with it, and a German aircraft came over Scotland, and we knocked him out of the sky, right away.” Its first use in combat occurred “at the Anzio beachhead (in Italy in early 1944) when “the two 584-directed gun batteries shot down nine out of the twelve planes that the Germans had tried to use.”

 

The most significant use of SCR 584 occurred on D-Day, June 6, 1944 “when we invaded the Normandy coast.” The challenge was to get the equipment there to protect our troops. “Now that was a major effort. This is a semi-trailer loaded with equipment and they had to get them ashore at, or a day after, D-day.” Nineteen of them were waterproofed in Wales to be floated ashore. “I was there to design and work that out and they did get ashore very promptly, and helped to defend our troops. We knocked down a lot of planes.” By the time the war ended, “we were tracking our own airplanes...and I was working on beacons and other systems which we used to steer them, with maps inside the 584s.” Overall, Davenport concluded “that about a thousand German aircraft were knocked down by anti-aircraft fire, all of which was directed by SCR 584 radars…After that, they became used widely everywhere in the Pacific.”

 

Interior view of the SCR 584 radar tracker
that guided pilots to their targets.
Contributed photo.

Before joining the Radiation Lab at MIT in 1940, Lee Losee Davenport had completed his course requirements for his doctorate at the University of Pittsburgh but had not written his thesis. In 1946, The University of Pittsburgh granted Davenport a PhD based on his classified work at MIT. “So, I got a PhD on a secret project, and it was a secret for twenty-five years after World War II ended.” Davenport mused: “I have been the luckiest guy in the world. It was luck that I got singled out to go to the Radiation Lab.”

 The interview “Radar Development in World War II” may be read in its entirety at the main library. It is also available for purchase by contacting the OHP office. The OHP is sponsored by the Friends of Greenwich Library. Visit the website at glohistory.org. Our narrator’s recollections are personal and have not been subjected to factual scrutiny. Mary Jacobson serves as blog editor.

Riding in Greenwich

CELEBRATING FIFTY YEARS OF THE ORAL HISTORY PROJECT

These days, often-heard complaints among Greenwich residents center on the town’s ever-increasing traffic congestion. Whether attempting to traverse the Boston Post Road or North Street or the Merritt Parkway, drivers are frequently beset with frustration over the amount of time it can take to get from one end of town to the other. 

Theodore F. Wahl
Courtesy of Greenwich Library
Oral History Project

Theodore F. Wahl, born in 1898, was interviewed by Oral History Project volunteer Marcia Coyle in 1974. His memories are of Greenwich one hundred years ago and will allow the reader to pivot from thoughts of cars and traffic to horses, hounds, and the hunt in Greenwich.

Ted Wahl was at the center of horses and riding in Greenwich throughout his life. His family moved here from Florida in 1902, when Ted was four years old. His uncle, John Wahl, had opened a stable in Greenwich “down on Bridge Street. He finished that in 1902 and that’s when my father brought us up from Florida…he taught riding there, and Dad was with him.” Ted dropped out of school at age fourteen and worked for his uncle. 

John Wahl's horse stable
Courtesy of Greenwich Library
Oral History Project

In time, people desired “a little bit more riding. They had the Field Club down there, and they wanted riding connected with the Field Club.” According to Wahl, the Field Club stable, “built by the Greenwich Riding Association, had held twenty-two horses.” The stable was enlarged to accommodate up to forty horses. “Then they got a few hounds and started a little drag hunting,” a form of equestrian sport in which mounted riders hunted the trail of an artificially laid scent with hounds. This pre-determined route would be laid to take advantage of the best jumping opportunities. The hounds purchased “were English hounds bought from different places. They even got some from Detroit to drag with.”

Ted Wahl moved from the Field Club to the management of Round Hill Stables in 1924, at that time part of the Round Hill Club, with fifty-five horses. Eventually, Wahl bought the stables, land, and buildings from the Round Hill Club in 1965. Wahl was proud to say that he was involved in teaching the third generation of riders. “I was talking to a lady the other day downtown and she said, ‘You know what year you taught me to ride?’ I said, ‘I haven’t the slightest idea.’ She said, ‘1912.’”

The “country” was wide open in the early days of the sport. “There was a lot of field and there was plenty of room to hunt. We weren’t tied in ’cause where the Round Hill Club is now, that was all Wilson’s meadow. That was all open and we could go out and jump straight on up to Round Hill.” Riders could hunt in both Fairfield and Westchester counties and were known as the Fairfield and Westchester Hounds. Their hunting grounds stretched “as far as the other side of Rye…north up almost to the other side of Bedford… Then we’d cut the other way, over to Stamford… We had a big country to hunt.” 

Fairfield-Westchester Hunt
Courtesy of Greenwich Library
Oral History Project

According to Wahl, the hunt was recognized by the National Steeplechase and Hunt Association in 1915. Wahl recounts the day “we were dragging up near the North Village Church and a deer jumped up…of course, the hounds followed him and the field went with them. And then they kind of thought, ‘Well, if we can hunt a deer around here, why can’t we hunt fox…? And that’s how they come to start the fox hunting in Greenwich, after the drag [in 1921]”

Wahl recounted the story of John McEntee Bowman, president of the Biltmore [now the Westchester Country Club], elected Joint Master in 1921. “He built a beautiful kennel [at the bottom of Pecksland Road]. The old kennel building is still standing there [at the time of the interview in 1974]… We hunted one day from there all the way down to the Westchester Biltmore. We laid a drag and hunted all the way down there… They put peat moss on the hard roads then, so the horses wouldn’t slip and could jump the fences.”

Theodore F. Wahl with his horses and buggy
Courtesy of Greenwich Library
Oral History Project

 

At other times a hunt might start at the Bedford Village green with as many as fifty to seventy-five people. A favorite meeting place, particularly on Thanksgiving Day, was the Round Hill Store. Another meeting spot was located on Clapboard Ridge Road, “There’s a red gate there. Goes in back of the Boys’ Club property.” The red gate was eventually replaced by an iron sign simply stating “The Red Gate.”  Beyond Riversville Road, “we used to meet at Riversville ford. That’s where we crossed the river…the ford’s right where Mayfair Lane comes down.” Other meeting places included Middle Patent Church, East Middle Patent Church, the reservoir on North Street, and a kennel above the Merritt Parkway on Stanwich Road.

Construction of the Merritt Parkway “made a tremendous difference. We lost several hounds on the Merritt Parkway when that got there. It made us hunt further north… It cut the country right in half.” As Wahl described it, “For a long time it was dirt and that was good because we could gallop right up alongside the road when the hounds were there.”

Greenwich map drawn
by Betty Fletcher
Courtesy of Greenwich Library
Oral History Project

In 1948, fox hunting stopped. “Our last Master of the Hunt was Mr. John Howland… The country began to get built up by that time. But he went and got these drag hounds, and he hunted the drag hounds for four years…until 1952. And that’s when the hunt stopped altogether.”

According to Wahl, in its day, “The hunt here was a big addition to Greenwich. It was a big drawing card with the people coming in here to live. But they got in here and they built us up, so we couldn’t hunt anymore.” The end of an era.

The interview “Riding in Greenwich” may be read in its entirety in the main library location. It is also available to purchase by contacting the OHP office. The OHP is sponsored by the Friends of Greenwich Library. Visit the website at glohistory.org. Our narrator’s recollections are personal and have not been subjected to factual scrutiny. Mary Jacobson serves as blog editor.

By Mary Jacobson, OHP Blog Editor

Firehouse Recollections

CELEBRATING FIFTY YEARS OF THE ORAL HISTORY PROJECT

Chester West (or “Westchester” backwards as he liked to say) served in the Greenwich Fire Department from 1970 to 1986. On six occasions in the years 1987 and 1988, he described many situations he encountered over those years to Oral History Project volunteer Penny Bott-Haughwout. Chet loved his job and had already compiled his experiences over the years into books totaling 2400 pages (“unedited”). “I enjoyed doing it. It was something I could look back at with pleasure.”

 

Chet West
Courtesy of Greenwich Library
Oral History Project

Until 1978, Chet was assigned firefighting duty in Byram. “At the time there was a residency requirement that the town police and fire departments live in Greenwich.”  Although Byram had “high potential” for fires because “we had lumberyards and gasoline and oil storage…they had the smallest area to cover.” In addition, “Byram is the only place that is very well hydrated. If you notice, you’ll see hydrants just about every place. You don’t have to lay too much hose in Byram.”  Of course, with its proximity to I-95, the fire house handled many situations from car fires to motorists asking directions. “One guy had his car burning up, the back seat on fire. He pulls it right into the ambulance bay. He thought that this was a drive-in fire department… Well, the ambulance bay is right next to the gasoline pump!”

 

Chet remembered well the horrific fire at Gulliver’s discotheque in 1974, and the shocking Mianus River Bridge collapse in 1983. He was on duty at the dispatch desk the night the bridge fell into the Mianus River. However, most of his recollections for the OHP interview were of the everyday experiences he encountered in the department. Chet described Byram as “the friendly neighborhood fire department. We knew everybody… We did have the relationship, the compassion, and the respect from the public. It was a very good, secure feeling… I lived right next door, so it was easy… You’d have a lot of the neighborhood people stop in and say hello… Some referred to Byram as “going to the country club.”

 

Chet did quite a bit of cooking at the fire house and it was not unusual for the cop on the beat or people in the neighborhood to stop by and say, “’What’s that smell?’ … Well, you knew their motive. They wanted to stay for lunch… We always gave them something.’’ Chet and his cooking partner Hank were not above experimenting with rabbit, venison, or other game Hank had hunted. One dish he described was raccoon, “And it was very good. It had a white sauce on it… We all ate it.” Chet did have to admit to someone who asked for the recipe, that it really wasn’t turkey a la king.

 

Preparing firehouse food
Courtesy of Greenwich Library
Oral History Project

An event that was popular in the community was the annual turkey roll with chances for prizes along with the ever-popular free chowder. “I think it was a seventy-quart pot… Everybody was willing to help… It was very nice.” After seven years on the job, Chet noticed himself getting weaker.  “…then my fingers were getting an atrophy situation, and I was just getting tired quicker… That was May, 1978.” Chet described his diagnosis as a “spinal muscular atrophy type.” However, as he wanted to continue to serve the fire department in a useful capacity, he was transferred to “Central” in Greenwich as a dispatcher, a position he held until his retirement in 1986.

 

Studying a Greenwich map in the Watch Room
Courtesy of Greenwich Library
Oral History Project

Going to “Central” (the main headquarters on Havemeyer Place) was like “a rural country boy going to the big city for the first time… Being in the main business section of town, there was very little of the neighborhood atmosphere that I was so used to in Byram. I was assigned mainly to the watch room.”  The term “watchman” has a long history. “In the old days, firemen used to patrol the streets, watching out for fires, and the name just carried over.” While that role was normally rotated within the department, for Chet, “my assignment was permanent watch. It’s called the ‘hot seat.’ You have to make decisions. If you’re right, you’re praised. If you’re wrong, well, you’re really condemned.” Some of these crucial decisions included determining how to respond to a call -- two pumpers and a ladder truck? two ladder trucks? assistance from neighboring district stations? Chet became acutely aware of the size and complexity of Greenwich and its 265 miles of roads with approximately 1,034 names. 

 

From his viewpoint as a watchman, Chet developed a unique perspective on people from the many calls he had to field. “Sometimes people call us for the most menial things… We’ve become the main information service for the town when the Town Hall closes.” Some of these requests fell into the category of “full moon callers.”  As Chet described the phenomenon, “The full moon brings out a lot of callers… Whether it’s coincidence or fact, I really couldn’t tell you. But from my point of view, on a full moon, I’m usually ready for it… You get them (calls) both day and night, but the night is more frequent because people can’t sleep, or something’s been bothering them. They want to talk to somebody. Well, who can you talk to at midnight? … I don’t expect to get any sleep that night.”

 

Answering calls at "Central"
Courtesy of Greenwich Library
Oral History Project

Chet recounted calls ranging from complaints about landlords, to requests for child care on snow days, to inquiries about zip code numbers. Perhaps that is why Chet stated that “a lot of times, GFD is not only Greenwich Fire Department, it’s ‘Gifted For Diplomacy’… Unfortunately, our productivity is only measured in the number of fire calls. It’s not measured in the number of calls we answer.”

 

In this blog we must limit our reciting of the myriad memories that Chet West described in his one-hundred-and-twenty-seven-page interview with the Oral History Project. His reminisces are vivid and colorful, and full of fondness for his days in the Greenwich Fire Department. “I liked that job. As I say, I was a hometown boy… I looked forward to going to work.”

 

The interview “Firehouse Recollections” may be read in its entirety or checked out at Greenwich Library and is available for purchase at the OHP office. The OHP is sponsored by Friends of Greenwich Library. Visit the website at glohistory.org. Our narrator’s recollections are personal and have not been subjected to factual scrutiny. Mary Jacobson serves as blog editor. 

Eugene J. Moye, Sr.: Soldier, Policeman, Teacher

“Undaunted. Relentless. Determined” — words to describe Eugene Moye’s life from 1933 to 1994

Eugene James Moye, Sr. arrived in Greenwich in 1933, at the age of eleven, to join his mother, who was a domestic in the household of Augustus Richards. Moye’s mother had discovered that he was not attending school while living with his cousin in New York City and proceeded to enroll him in Hamilton Avenue School.

Eugene Moye and his wife Jeanette standing between their four children
Photo courtesy of Greenwich Library Oral History Project

There, Moye met Esther Lauridsen, “a very wonderful teacher, everything a good teacher should be… If I’m anything at all, I owe it at least partly to her. I guess I became a teacher because of her… I’ve never forgotten her. I did get back to thank her for what she did for me before she passed on.”

Thus began Eugene Moye’s life in Greenwich and led to his productive careers of soldier, educator, and as the first black policeman in the town. Annette B. Fox of the Oral History Project interviewed him in 1994 as he chronicled his life in Greenwich.

According to Moye, “Very few blacks attended Hamilton Avenue School” in those days. From his Italian friends he learned “the wrong kind of Italian” as one of them told Moye the meaning of the words some other boys were saying to him. Then, “…as soon as someone said something to me, I knew what they were talking about, and I would reply with my fists… After that, we shook hands and that was the end of it.”

A searing memory for Moye occurred at graduation from Hamilton Avenue in 1937, when parents of a white student objected to him being paired with their daughter during the graduation march. Instead, Moye was paired with another girl “who did not mind… I’ll never forget her. She was a perfect lady… Maybe she doesn’t remember that graduation, but I do.”

Moye graduated from Greenwich High School in January 1941. He was not encouraged to apply to college. “Nowadays, guidance is an entirely different thing and I know it quite intimately as to the efforts and lengths they go to encourage students and get them to develop their potential.” However, in his day, “…I do not remember ever having an appointment with the guidance person at all.”

In the fall of 1941, Moye enrolled in a National Youth Administration program in Maine, where he studied sheet metal. Moye went to Port Chester “and got a job tacking floats for anti-submarine nets.” Shortly after, with war being declared, Moye decided to join the army. It was “on a segregated basis… We found ourselves doing the less ‘heroic’ jobs like quartermaster, bread baking, laundry, fixing trucks. I mean, not that it didn’t help – don’t get me wrong – but it was a put-down as far as I was concerned.” Later, “They were allowing them (blacks) to go into combat, which they did, and I have some friends who survived to tell about it.”

Eugene Moye, U.S. Army
Photo courtesy of Greenwich Library Oral History Project

When Moye returned to Greenwich, his mother was still working “and she wanted me to go to college.” Moye enrolled in Teachers College of Connecticut in New Britain, now Central Connecticut State University, graduating in 1950. “…it was pretty rough-going because I had been away from the books. But I was determined to do it.” There, he met a fellow student, Jeanette, who became his wife in 1951. His marriage to a white woman occurred at a time when such unions were prohibited in many other states. Eugene and Jeanette were married for sixty years until Moye’s death in 2011.

Having graduated with honors from college with a degree in history and education, Moye returned to Greenwich in 1951 to apply for a teaching position. At the conclusion of his interview, it was politely suggested that he “go to an Indian reservation and teach.” So, Moye paused his professional teaching direction and took a job in construction where “all they wanted was muscle and a willingness to work” before deciding to apply for a position with the Greenwich Police Department. He was accepted there and “of course, the big question was, what was a man with a college education doing on the Greenwich Police Department? Economics, that’s what it was.” While Moye explained that “most police departments now recommend that you have a college degree…in the thirties they had people that hadn’t even finished grade school.” Most notably, however, was the fact that Moye was “the first black man there.”

Moye went on to obtain a graduate degree in police administration at City College in 1959. “After I got the degree, I said, ‘Oh, boy, I’m on my way now.’ No. In the very next examination, I still got knocked down in the service rating, the subjective evaluation.” Moye concluded that he would not receive a promotion in the department. “So, after that I began to think in terms of something else to do, and I started substitute teaching, and that was a lot of fun.” He continued to sub and do police work for about eight years. During that time, in 1967, he became a member of the first Youth Division of the Greenwich Police Department. “I liked that kind of work. . .. I was inspired with it, I really was.”

 

Eugene Moye, Greenwich Police ID
Photo courtesy of Greenwich Library Oral History Project

Eventually, Ed Holden, principal of Western Junior High, met Moye “on the field in June 1971 and said that he needed somebody to teach social studies. I said, ‘I am your man.’” Moye resigned from the Police Department and began his career in teaching. “When I walked in for the first teachers’ meeting, it was no great surprise. That’s okay. That’s the way I liked it… It was very professional, very friendly, and the only question was whether you were competent and could do the job… I loved every minute of it.”

 The interview “Soldier, Policeman, Teacher: Overcoming Discrimination” may be read in its entirety or checked out at Greenwich Library and is available for purchase at the OHP office. The OHP is sponsored by Friends of Greenwich Library. Visit the website at glohistory.org. Our narrator’s recollections are personal and have not been subjected to factual scrutiny. Mary Jacobson serves as blog editor.

Ernest Thompson Seton

In 1902, a few rambunctious, somewhat unruly, children painted the iron gates of a private estate in Cos Cob with “all kinds of things that never should have been put on a gate with paint.” This singular incident may be viewed as the beginning of the formation of the Boy Scouts of America in 1910. 

Ernest Thompson Seton, from "By a Thousand Fires," by Julia Seton.
Copyright 1967 by Julia Seton.
Reproduced by permission of Doubleday & Co., Inc.

The gates were located at the entrance to a 100-acre estate on Orchard Street, known as Wyndygoul, that belonged to Ernest Thompson Seton, who had purchased it two years earlier.  Instead of calling for severe consequences for the young perpetrators, Ernest Thompson Seton must have decided instead that these children didn’t have enough productive ways in which to spend their idle hours. He visited Cos Cob School and spoke to some boys, inviting them to his property for an overnight stay during Easter vacation. One of them was Leonard S. Clark, ten years old at the time, who was interviewed by Oral History Project volunteer Penny Bott in 1975. He proclaimed at the time of his interview, “ . . . honestly and truthfully, I didn’t do it (paint the gates!).” 

Boys by their tepee at Wyndygoul.
Courtesy of Charles A. Clark

 

Leonard had clear memories of that first overnight at Wyndygoul (a Scottish name meaning Windy Gulch). “I remember distinctly that we were told to bring along a blanket, so that we could sleep in a tent that night.”  Mr. Seton’s “tent” was, in reality, “an original Indian teepee that Mr. Seton had bought somewhere from Indians and brought with him to Wyndygoul.” That night, by the light of an open fire, “Mr. Seton told us stories. . . . When he told us stories about the Indians . . . everybody paid attention. Not only paid attention, but we were just entranced with his talking. . . . Nobody ran around, nobody left, nobody turned their heads, nobody spoke. . . . He spoke of the Indians as outstanding individuals.” In addition, the boys were given advice about values, “about fair play, about never lying. He looked down on an individual if you told a falsehood. . . . We were taught always to tell the truth.”

 

Ernest Thompson Seton teaching archery, from "By a Thousand Fires," by Julia Seton.
Copyright 1967 by Julia Seton.
Reproduced by permission of Doubleday & Co., Inc.

At the close of that first night’s camp experience, Mr. Seton invited the boys to come back in the summer for a longer stay. The boys were to be called Woodcraft Indians and given Indian names. Clark’s name was “Broken Arm.” Their activities were chosen primarily to enhance their knowledge and skills of life in the woods. One involved swimming across the lake, which was about a hundred yards. “We ran races for which we got what he called a ‘coup.’ A coup was a feather that we could put in our hair . . . and, if you did particularly good, on the upper part of the feather was a little white thread that he had put on, and that was a grand coup.” They also raced around the lake “for the hundred yards and then we had the two-twenty races.” 

Ernest Thompson Seton teaching fire-making, from "By a Thousand Fires," by Julia Seton.
Copyright 1967 by Julia Seton.
Reproduced by permission of Doubleday & Co., Inc.

 A favorite game was the “deer hunt” in which one boy was elected to be the deer and given a head start. He would wear shoes onto which iron hoof forms, resembling deer hoofs and made by a blacksmith, were fastened. Off he would go over hills and rocks, trying to elude the “hunters” who followed the tracks until the “deer” was found to great elation. “It was an honor to be the deer, and we all wanted to be the deer, and Mr. Seton would change around so we would all have a chance.”

 The next year, Mr. Seton invited the boys to return “and then it grew, and all the Cos Cob boys came,” eventually including other boys from Greenwich. Ernest Seton taught the boys lessons which resonated with them throughout their lives. “Everything Mr. Seton taught us had something to do with . . . the development of fine young men, in every sense of the word. . . . He was teaching us honesty. . . . He was teaching us to be a team, to play together. He was teaching us of manhood that was to come, and he was teaching us the worth of outdoor life. . . . Everything that you can think of that’s good.” In addition, “There were no harsh words, no swear words. Swearing was one of the things that you just didn’t do. . . . While we were having a good time, in reality he was teaching us the proper things in life.”

 Ernest Thompson Seton was a member of the Camp Fire Club of America and invited that group to come to Wyndygoul to observe the Woodcraft Indians. He also wrote a book entitled “The Birch Bark Roll of the Woodcraft Indians,” which delineated in great detail the rules, goals, games, and activities of the program he created. Sir Robert Baden-Powell of England, who authored “Scouting for Boys” and organized the Boy Scouts in England, was impressed and influenced by Seton. “But where we were called Seton Indians . . . he called them Boy Scouts.”

Leonard S. Clark
Courtesy of Maryanne Gjersvik

 Leonard proudly stated, “So the Boy Scout movement that’s over the world today . . . came from England back to us. . . . And so the first Boy Scouts in the United States were the group in Cos Cob under the leadership of Mr. Seton. . . . I attribute the good health, the fine characters we had . . . to the outstanding training Mr. Seton gave us boys in Cos Cob.” 

 The interview “Seton’s Indians” may be read in its entirety or checked out at Greenwich Library and is available for purchase at the OHP office. The OHP is sponsored by Friends of Greenwich Library. Visit the website at glohistory.org. Our narrator’s recollections are personal and have not been subjected to factual scrutiny. Mary Jacobson serves as blog editor.

YEARS AGO IN GLENVILLE

“The whole town was like a big
family. We shared each other’s joys and sorrows.” Frances Chmielowiec Geraghty, on three separate occasions in 1975/76,  was interviewed by Katherine Scanlon of the Greenwich Library Oral History Project to capture memories of a lifetime in Glenville. She had much to tell about a life that had its share of hardships and setbacks, but was remembered by the joy and comfort of a loving and large family.

Frances Chmielowiec Geraghty photo by Karl Gleeson
Courtesy of Oral History Project.

Frances was the third of ten children born in 1907 to Polish immigrants.  “They had such large families. Everybody had. I don’t think there was any with less than five.” According to Frances, “We were all Polish-speaking people. . . . There was a great crowd (of immigrants) that came at once; we were all growing up together.”

Glenville was largely a company town. “Almost every house in Glenville was owned by the American Felt Company.” Rent of a dollar a room was paid to the AFC. Families who managed to snare a house with multiple bedrooms would rent them out to boarders for extra cash. “I don’t know anyone in Glenville that started with my mother’s crowd that didn’t end up owning their own home . . . without asking anyone’s help.”

1908 photo of the Chmielowiec family with sisters Mary and Eleanor and adopted son, John. Frances is seated on a cushion on the floor.
Courtesy of Frances Geraghty.

There was a strong sense of community among these young immigrants. Families grew their own vegetables and many owned chickens and pigs. “There was always an exchange. If you didn’t have a good crop of one thing and the other did . . . you just didn’t refuse anyone. . . . People were closely knit in those days.” Frances remembered that her father would be asked by “the people from the country, upper King Street” to help fulfill their needs of a seamstress, a cook, or a milkmaid.   He would then investigate which ships were coming into the Port of New York, hitch up the horse and wagon, and ride down to the docks. As the passengers stepped off the ship, her father would shout, “Who can cook? Who can sew? Who can take care of horses?” Soon he would have a wagon-load of young people who stayed with them until they procured jobs. 

In those early days of her life, Frances remembered that there was no electricity. “Don’t forget there was no water in Glenville either . . . no water till after I was married (in 1930). . . . Every bit of water had to be brought into the house, pumped in. My mother with ten children on wash day was really something.” In addition, “Everybody had an outdoor privy; and you weren’t embarrassed about it because everyone else had one, too.” Proudly, she stated, “Well, we had the best one in town. We had a five-seater.”

The house, owned by the American Felt Company, in which Frances Geraghty was born in 1907. Her father’s general store occupied space in front of the building (not visible). Courtesy of Frances Geraghty.

News traveled in a different way in those days when people did not have telephones. “There was a very unusual way of gathering people.” Someone with “a very fancy bugle with tassels hanging” would stand in the center of town and blow it. “ . . . everybody came running from the hills or they sent the children out. ‘What’s the matter? What’s the matter?’” The bugle was blown when the First World War ended. It also announced when someone had died or if an important meeting was to take place.

As Frances reminisced, she said wistfully, “I don’t think anyone today can visualize or comprehend a life like this. . . . You have to remember the quietness of the town. . . . You heard nothing except the humming of the felt mill, and that would be down toward the river. There were no airplanes, no traffic, no cars. . . . You could hear crickets, locusts, maybe a cow mooing or a rooster crowing. Those were the only sounds we heard. The smells were beautiful. You could smell sweet hay and strawberries.”

Frances remembered making deliveries by horse and wagon with her father from his general store to customers on Porchuck Road, Round Hill Road, and Banksville. In the summer, they would leave at 4:30 in the morning. “I remember coming back home at dark, at night. Sometimes my father would fall asleep and the horse would bring us home.” In the 1930s, the A&P came to Glenville; her dad could not compete with their prices and eventually closed his store.

The onset of the Depression led to difficult and challenging times for Frances and her family. “Bill and I got married at the height of the Depression (1930). There were no jobs. There was nothing; no money. . . . My mother had seventeen people in the home. My father was making a dollar a day for the WPA (Works Progress Administration) building the Glenville School playground. . . . There was nothing to do but go and do domestic work. . . . I had dresses that were somebody else’s and coats that didn’t fit.” Frances and Bill, who was recovering from tuberculosis, lived with her parents for a time. Eventually, Bill got a job as a plumbing apprentice for eleven dollars a week and they were able to rent a tiny house near her parents. “It had no water, no lights, and, of course, no heat.” They preferred to call it their “honeymoon house.” “Yet, somehow,” Frances said, “through all that, you had your garden and you had a few chickens.  You survived. And we had each other which was the main thing.”

Economic circumstances improved for them with the onset of the Second World War when she and Bill obtained jobs with Electrolux in Old Greenwich. At the time of her interview, Frances worked at Town Hall. As she looked back on her life and times, Frances stated, “. . . they were rough times, but they were happy days. . . . Those were the good old days.”

The interview “Years Ago in Glenville – Frances Chmielowiec Geraghty” may be read in its entirety at Greenwich Library and is available for purchase at the OHP office. The OHP is sponsored by Friends of Greenwich Library. Visit the website at glohistory.org. Our narrator’s recollections are personal and have not been subject to factual scrutiny. Mary Jacobson serves as blog editor.