Schenectady's Community Cookbooks

This post was written by library volunteer Diane Leone.

In recent years, historians have taken an interest in community cookbooks as valuable primary sources for understanding not only foods and cuisine over time, but also the larger life of the communities from which these texts originated.  Community cookbooks, also called charities, have a history stretching back to the Civil War, when Maria J. Moss assembled recipes for what became A Poetical Cook-Book (1864), which was sold to raise funds for wounded soldiers.  Her brainchild became so popular that, according to Feeding America, from 1864 to 1922 a variety of community groups produced over 3,000 charity cookbooks (Stoller-Conrad). Charitable causes included helping wounded veterans, widows and orphans.  Still others were motivated by social and political issues such as temperance, poverty, and suffrage.  Almost exclusively run by women, many, though not all, of these groups were religious in nature. The development of cheap printing techniques in the first half of the twentieth century led to greater popularity of the community cookbook, defined as follows in the McIntosh Cookery Collection at the University of Massachusetts Amherst: “The typical community cookbook was a profoundly local affair, produced by church or community groups, fraternal organizations, or charities using recipes submitted by members, and edited and published locally, aimed almost exclusively at a local audience” (“Community Cookbooks”).

The five texts under consideration (see insert above) are community cookbooks produced by local groups—four church-affiliated—in the city of Schenectady.  Of the group, the Tabernacle Housewives’Guide is the only title not in the Grems-Doolittle Library collection, although available online, as is the 1903 text.

These texts reveal considerable information about food, recipes, and cooking techniques over a period of eighty-nine years, from 1890 to 1979.  One of the most obvious features of the recipes is the manner in which they are presented.  In the earliest books, each recipe is laid out in paragraph form.  An example is a recipe in the Schenectady Cook Book (1903): “Muffins. — One pint sweet milk, two eggs, one tablespoonful of melted butter, three cups flour, pinch of salt, three teaspoonfuls baking powder. — 0. B.” Both the 1890 and 1903 texts (see photo above) follow this paragraph format, which sometimes omits instructions, and at other times includes them. The 1913 text, however, is transitional; while it features some recipes in paragraphs, it also includes those which list ingredients first, followed by preparation instructions.  This is the format used today. This change was influenced by the rise of cooking schools, and particularly by Fanny Farmer – author of the Boston Cooking-School Cook Book (1896) – whose scientific approach to teaching cooking had a major impact on its future direction.

A review of the books also reveals a change in the foods consumed over the years.  One of a number of notable differences is in the popularity of oysters in the early cookbooks.  Recipes for this popular shellfish abound in the 1890 and 1903 cookbooks.  Other recipes from 1890 include tripe (stomach lining, often of a cow) and sweetbreads (thymus and pancreas, usually of a calf or lamb), which are not popular today.   An assortment of puddings is found in the earlier texts.  The 1903 cookbook contains 69 puddings, many with ingredients such as suet and bread crumbs, which contemporary Americans do not associate with their conception of pudding as a sweet and creamy milk-based dessert  

Another major feature of the three early cookbooks is the prevalence of recipes for catsups (the term “ketchup” is more often used today) ; pickles; and jellies and preserves.  While most households around the turn of the twentieth century had access to a wide variety of store-bought comestibles, food preservation was still popular among housewives of means.  The recipes are varied, including plum catsup, cucumber catsup, mustard dressing, and other items not currently thought of as catsup.  The variety of pickles is also quite varied.  Although Americans are familiar primarily with pickled cucumbers, earlier cookbooks include recipes for items such as pickled string beans, oyster pickles, and mustard pickles.

The more recent cookbooks, from 1948 and 1979, reflect culinary changes resulting from new food technology.  One example is a 1979 chicken and rice recipe, which calls for “1 can celery soup, 1 envelope dry onion soup, 1.5 cups minute rice, 1 can mushroom soup.”  It was not until 1897 that Campbell introduced condensed soups, which were widely distributed by 1911. Kraft began marketing Minute Rice only in 1946.  A recipe for Spinach Torte required 3 packages of frozen spinach, available only in 1930, when Clarence Birdseye introduced frozen food to consumers.

Later cookbooks also include recipes that reflect changes in society.  World War II exposed American GIs to exotic foods overseas, which influenced post-war cuisine.  Furthermore, decades of immigration led to greater familiarity with ethnic foods. The GE cookbook offers recipes for Pizza Sauce, Chop Suey, and Italian Spaghetti.  Filling the “International Fare” chapter in the 1979 text are recipes such as Chicken Kiev, Tamale Pie, Flank Steak Teriyaki, and Chicken Orientale.  The chapter on “Meatless Main Dishes” reflects the rise of vegetarianism in the 1960s and 70s, given impetus by Frances Moore Lappe’s 1971 groundbreaking book, Diet for a Small Planet.  Another post-war change was the growing popularity of the cocktail party, made fashionable by renowned American chef James Beard, author of Hors D'Oeuvre and Canapes: With a Key to the Cocktail Party (1940). The 1979 book includes appropriate chapters titled “Appetizers” and “Cooking for Crowds.”

The introduction of the gas stove around the turn of the 20^th century changed the way food was cooked.  The early cookbooks, probably written with coal-burning ovens in mind, do not include oven temperatures, which would have been very difficult to determine. Instead, instructions include statements such as the following, in The First Reformed Church Cook Book (1903): “Have a hot oven at first, then decrease the heat,”  “Bake 35 minutes or until rhubarb is done,” “Bake in slow oven,” and “Place in an oven of moderate heat.”  Some recipes omit oven instructions entirely.  The 1948 and 1979 cookbooks include cooking temperatures for gas and electric appliances.

Measurements changed over the years as well. Prior to the twentieth century, people often used everyday utensils to measure food quantities.  Thus, occasionally sprinkled among the recipes in the early books are quantities such as “one gill of melted butter,” “one teacup of molasses,” “one coffee cup of sour milk,” and “butter size of an egg.” With the publication of Fanny Farmer’s cookbook in 1896, exact measurements became the norm. The three early cookbooks reflect the growing importance of these new standards in their “Weights and Measures” sections, which convert commonly used utensils into the newly accepted measures.  Thus, we learn the following: 4 salt spoons equals 1 teaspoon, four gills equal 1 pint, and 12 tablespoons equal 1 teacupful.  The above photo shows both a gill and a ½ gill measure (Joshknauer at English Wikipedia).

Examples of the types of ads in our community cookbooks. From the 1890 Schenectady Cook Book.

Full-page advertisements pepper the three early texts.  The growth of packaged foods, combined with the expansion of the railroads toward the latter part of the nineteenth century, led to the widespread distribution of new products around the country.  Sales were bolstered by ads, which are often seen in community cookbooks, sometimes helping offset the books’ production costs. Royal Baking Powder was one of the largest advertisers.  The Schenectady Cookbook (1890) features a full page ad for this popular leavening agent.  Another favorite product was Knox Gelatine, created by Charles Knox, who revolutionized the time-consuming gelatin-making process.  This new packaged item made it easy for any cook to create molds and aspics.  The top of almost every page of the Tabernacle Housewives’ Guide features a catchy phrase, such as the following, acclaiming the value of this product: “For dainty delicious desserts use Knox Gelatine.”

Advertising also crept into the recipes.  The 1903 recipe for clear bouillon includes “Durkey's or Bell's mixed seasoning,” and the 1913 publication cites Quaker Oatmeal as an ingredient for oatmeal bread and Coleman’s Mustard for salad dressing.  The later books, which do not include advertising space, feature even more brand names in their recipes: Uncle Ben’s Wild Rice, Wesson Oil, Crisco, Miracle Whip Salad Dressing, Campbell’s Soup, La Choy Soy Sauce, and Velveeta Cheese.

While community cookbooks offer glimpses into culinary habits, they also provide insight into society. The three early texts are directed toward women of means, as many of the ads suggest.  Among those offering goods and services are jewelers, piano teachers, picture framers, hotels, photographers, homebuilders, and other providers of what would be considered luxuries for the average working class family at the time.  That many of these women employed hired help is indicated by two 1903 ads which feature cooks, one an African-American woman stereotyped in the most racist way. 

Unlike cookbooks today, their earlier counterparts include sections which contain “recipes” for a wide variety of domestic chores.  The 1890 Schenectady Cook Book offers in its “Miscellaneous” section instructions on how to blanch almonds, remove ink stains, make laundry detergent, and whiten one’s hands. 

Interestingly, these early books also advise the woman of the house—generally the caretaker—on coping with a variety of ailments.  This information would have been useful at a time when infant and childhood mortality rates were much higher than today, and people convalesced at home.  Included in the 1890 and 1903 books are recipes for the following: cough syrups; preventing cholera; curing felon (infection of the fingertip); and treating dizziness, scrofula (a tuberculosis infection of the neck’s lymph nodes), and erysipelas (a streptococcal skin infection).  The Tabernacle Housewives’ Guide features a section titled “Invalid Cookery,” with recipes for bran tea, beef tea, cornmeal gruel, and barley water.  The other two earlier books offer “Eggs for Invalids,” which the 1903 cookbook points out, “…will not distress even sensitive stomachs.”

Earlier cookbooks are often strewn with literary quotations.  As Janet Theofano writes of the cookbook authors in Eat My Words: Reading Women’s Lives through the Cookbooks They Wrote, “Primarily conscientious and busy housekeepers attending to the needs of their families, they displayed their education and their knowledge of elite culture even in cookery books” (142).  The 1890 and 1914 texts preface many chapters with quotations, often Classical or Shakespearian, generally related to the genre of food being introduced.  For example, the soup chapter in 1914 is begun with an excerpt from Cicero: “Hunger is the best seasoning,” and a Longfellow couplet adorns the chapter on pies.  The salad chapter in 1890 begins with a passage from Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra: “My salad days when I was green in judgment.”

Religion played an important role in women’s lives in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. They were expected to be models of correct behavior for their husbands and children.  Although the early cookbooks in this survey do not contain many overt references to religion, the 1890 and 1903 texts feature a recipe for Scripture Cake, a common item at the time, mixing ingredients with specific biblical passages, so that the lady of the house can study scripture while cooking.   The recipe, as presented in 1903, begins as follows: “One cup butter, Is. 7:15; three cups sugar, Jer. 6:20; three and one-half cups flour, I. Kings, 4:22.” Although written much later in the century, The Episcopal Church Women’s Cook Book of 1979 was also compiled by a church-affiliated group, and states at the outset that “Hospitality is one form of worship.” It lovingly incorporates religion into the text, with a section on a history of foods from Bible lands (see photo above), including recipes, and a story of wheat and grapes, commemorating the Eucharist.

Women of a century ago were expected to behave as good wives and mothers. Typical of period cookbooks are life recipes, which advise women on upholding one’s role as the moral center of the household.  The 1914 text includes the recipe, “How to Grow Meek and Patient: Take two small, irrepressible boys to your heart, and home. After ten years, if you are not meek as Moses and as patient as Job, it will be because you have not improved your opportunities.” One of the more common “recipes” often featured in early community cookbooks is titled “How to Preserve a Husband.”  Interestingly, this appears only in the 1948 text, placed before the table of contents, perhaps as a quaint reminder of earlier times. It reads:

"Be careful in your selection.  Do not choose too young and take only such varieties as have been reared in a good moral atmosphere.  When once decided upon and selected, let that part remain forever settled and give your entire thought to preparation for domestic use.  Poor varieties may be made sweet and tender by garnishing them with patience well sweetened with smiles and flavored with kisses to taste; then wrap them well in a mantle of charity, keep warm with a steady fire of devotion and serve with peaches and cream.  When thus prepared they will keep for years."

These women were also expected to manage a household efficiently.  Many ads promoted this belief.  The Van De Carr Spice Company’s 1890 ad tells potential customers that “Economy is wealth.”  According to a 1903 ad for The Schenectady Trust Company, “Modern women of intelligence and standing find a bank account absolutely necessary for their personal and household affairs.” A knowledge of cooking was essential for any lady of the house.  Gracing the inside cover of the same cookbook is a bookstore ad, featuring a poem, “She Could not Cook.”  The bride in the poem “…went to a book-store and bought a cook-book as every wife ought.”  Another company, Barhyte & Devenpeck, purveyors of baking flour, will “Guarantee light bread/And pastry, and light-/hearted women.” Another important aspect of running a home is the subject of an ad in the 1914 cookbook by Guarantee Polishing & Plating: “Look over your silver. – Would you feel ashamed of it if you were entertaining?”

Community cookbooks also reveal information on local society.  In the five texts under consideration, the names of the recipe contributors and in some cases, the cookbook committee members, are indicated; this can be an aid in examining the activities of Schenectady citizens.  In the earlier books, the numerous ads provide insight into the variety and locations of businesses operating in Schenectady and other localities over a specific time period.  The most interesting source for local history is the Episcopal Church Women’s Cook Book of 1979, which offers a brief overview of inns, taverns, breweries and bakeries operated by parishioners throughout the history of the church.  It also traces the role of the St George’s Ladies Industrious Society in raising funds, since 1833, for a variety of projects, including a church, Sunday School, a new church tower, a parish house, and church restoration. 

Community cookbooks are a wonderful resource for tracing the evolution of food trends, as well as the life of society at both national and regional levels.  Today, online kits have made self-publishing easier than ever.  Perhaps future readers will comb them for historical gems, as we do today.

Works Cited

"Community Cookbooks." Special Collections and University Archives UMass Amherst
Libraries, 2017, http://scua.library.umass.edu/cookbooks/?page_id=202.

Stoller-Conrad, Jessica. "Long Before Social Networking, Community Cookbooks Ruled The   

Stove." Northeast Public Radio, 20 July 2012, http://www.npr.org/sections/thesalt/ 

2012/07/18/156983942/long-before-social-networking-community-cookbooks-ruled-the-stove.

Theofano, Janet. Eat My Words: Reading Women’s Lives Through the Cookbooks They
Wrote. Palgrave, 2002.

Mayor Ellis' Excellent Adventures

Schenectady native Malcom Ellis was mayor of Schenectady throughout the 1960s and into the early 1970s. Judging by a collection of Ellis' publicity photos in our library, he sure seemed to have a good time during his run as mayor. Prior to his political career, Ellis had management experience at several Grand Union Company locations. He was also a partner at the Jewell and Ellis Funeral Home which he bought in 1950s, changing the name to Ellis Funeral Home. Ellis was first elected mayor in 1960, 5 years after a short stint on the Schenectady County Board of Representatives.

Accomplishments that were made during Ellis' run as mayor included computerizing assessments, taxes, payroll, and parking tickets, completing the 22-block urban renewal project, upgrading housing code enforcement, and developing downtown Schenectady. He also had a pretty good publicity department. It wasn't all positives for Ellis, but as Art Isabel and Larry Hart wrote in their April 9th, 1971 column The Art and Hart of Politics "Ellis is a good campaigner; he photographs well both for newspapers and the tube; he shows up at as many social events as possible and has probably cut more ribbons, issued more proclamations and named more patroons than any mayor in Schenectady's history." Our photo collection of Ellis prove this statement to be true.

Ellis was mayor during the time when there was both a city manager and a mayor, which he felt gave the mayor responsibility for fixing things, but little authority. Unfortunately, this wouldn't change until the late 1970s when Schenectady city government changed from a City Manager and Mayor to a Strong Mayor.

Despite his problems with the city manager/mayor system in Schenectady, Ellis seemed to have a good sense of humor with his job. As shown in the photos below, Mayor Ellis was rarely seen without a smile. This collection takes us around Schenectady to see ribbon cuttings, Patroonships, declarations, proclamations, and even inside City Hall to visit Ellis and his staff. Unfortunately, many of the photos are unlabeled. So besides Mayor Ellis, we don't know who is in the photos, or in some cases, where they were taken. Still they're a fun tour through early 1970s Schenectady and show the lighter side of what must have been a stressful job.

Mayor Ellis (in full suit) trying out his skills at a local dojo.

The back of this photo reads "It's that time again." Our detective skills indicate that "that time" refers to Christmas time. Ellis is second from the right.

Ellis at the ribbon cutting of the Golden Dragon Restaurant and Cocktail Lounge.

Shucking corn at the Glenville Sesquicentennital with Scotia Mayor John Ryan (second from right)

Hey! That building looks familiar and I think we can name everyone in the photo. From left to right: Gertrude Naylon, Ann George, Mary De Julio (Former Executive Director of SCHS), Wayne Harvey (Former President of SCHS), Larry Hart (Schenectady City and County Historian), and Mayor Malcom Ellis.

Mayor Ellis hanging out with Schenectady's youth and attempting to hold a reluctant looking baby.

Probably the best photo in the whole collection. Did Mayor Ellis eat this sandwich himself, or did he bring it back to staff? We'll never know!

A nice shot of Ellis and his staff.

This photo ran in the April 28, 1971 edition of the Schenectady Gazette. It was captioned "12 Years is Enough" In the accompanying article, Ellis stated that after his last meeting as mayor, he would like to "devote more time to my business (Ellis Funeral Home, golf, bowl and some curling."

It's Not Easy Being Green's

This post is written by library volunteer Ann Eignor

There have been several songs written about Schenectady - "I Can't Spell Schenectady," It's Forty Miles From Schenectady to Troy," "Our Schenectady," and a few others. One of the most unusual is "Joe Green's Clothes Shop."

Credit for the music is given to Charles E. Benham, a local printer. The words are based on the text of the advertisement below which appeared in the May 22, 1924 issue of the Schenectady Gazette. Notice the ads for the two different Green's.

Green's Clothing Store was tricky in it's advertising, stating that it was a new location rather than a whole new store. It also looks like Joe had a bigger advertising budget. Joe Green's ad included a photo of Joe, just in case you wanted to put a face to the song.

Joe Green's Clothes Shop first appears in the 1918 City Directory at 412 State Street. At that time George Green (possibly a brother or cousin to Joe) is listed as a tailor at that establishment. Since Joe and George were both listed as living on Summit Ave. so it seems likely that they were related. By 1921 it seems that George had his fill of being a tailor at Joe's shop and struck out on his own. In the 1921 Schenectady City Directory, George Green is listed as the President of Green's Clothing Store Inc. located at 306 State Street while Joe Green's Clothes Shop remained at 412 State Street.

Lyrics to "Joe Green's Clothes Shop!"
Notice; statement to the public
Don't be fooled, there is only one Joe Green
One Store, No branch,
Look for the name Joe at the old established place
Look for the big number Four Hundred Twelve
State Street before you enter
Joe Green's Clothes Shop,
Joe Green's Clothes Shop,
Joe Green's Clothes Shop,
Over the Worthy Lunch,
Opposite the Wallace Company
Same block as Carl Company,
over the Worthy Lunch
Jooooeeeee Greeeeeennnn (editorial note)

It would seem that Joe Green was not pleased with this new competition who used a similar name, sold similar items, and was located just a block away. The words of the 1924 advertisement make Joe Green's dissatisfaction quite clear. Once the words became song lyrics in 1924, no one should have confused the two stores. The sheet music was probably given out as a "Souvenir of Schenectady" to Joe Green's customers, State Street pedestrians, and was available "at all music dealers." It was not a best seller.

In the battle of the Green's, Joe outlasted George. George Green's Clothing Store was no longer listed in the 1933 City Directory, but Joe's was still going strong. Was the song a deciding factor for Joe's success? We may never know. Joe remained in business until selling to his employee Jerome Oppenheimer in 1938. The store was renamed The Rochester Pants Company which continued in business for several years 

"Don't be fooled - There is only one Joe Green!"

James Cuff Swits – Herbalist and Gentle Giant

This blog post was written by library volunteer Gail Denisoff.

In April of 1946, a group of “old-timers” gathered at the Schenectady County Historical Society to swap yarns of days gone by. The 12 well known Schenectadians shared their recollections with a packed house in the Historical Society library. According to the Schenectady Gazette, the average age of the group was “more than 75 years”. They began by reminiscing about State Street in the 1880’s – the many stores and groceries, hotels, trolleys, gas lamps and barber shops as well as sharing memories of the Blizzard of 1888. Conversation soon turned to Jim Cuff, a well-known character from the 1800’s.

Jim Cuff was a familiar figure on the streets of Schenectady. His lanky 6’7” frame and odd shuffling gait made him instantly recognizable. He looked even taller than he was because of his unusual clothing. He wore cast offs that were too short leaving his wrists and ankles exposed and an old “plug” hat that added to his height. He always wore a neckerchief fastened with a piece of carved bone and rubbers or galoshes year-round. He carried himself proudly and one of the presenters said of him “how pathetic a figure – such fierce pride coupled with such superb dignity”.

Jim’s heritage is a bit sketchy. He was born sometime after 1800 on the farm of Henry Swits located where Proctors now stands and the area beyond. By most accounts, his father was James Hartley, a black man, and his mother, according to Jim, was the last of the Schoharie (probably Oneida) Indians. Both of his parents worked on the farm as sharecroppers and one or both may have been a slave of Henry Swits. He was named James Hartley Swits but was referred to as Jim Cuff, Cuff being a "Negro name of significance" at the time.

This portrait of Jim Cuff was taken by professional photographer Joseph A. O’Neill in his Jay Street studio, without payment, for the posterity of the city. Courtesy of the Grems-Doolittle Library Photo Collection.

Jim made his meager living as an herb peddler, often called an "herb doctor or "medicine man" around town. Most mornings from early spring to late fall he roamed the Rotterdam Hills, now Coldbrook, as well as the river flats along the old Campbell Road collecting herbs, roots and bark. He peddled the "yarbs", as he called them, door to door to housewives who bought them to make their own remedies. His gaunt figure was a fixture standing in front of the Ellis Building on State Street selling watercress, wild mushrooms, spearmint, fox glove, sunflower and poppy seeds, milkweed and berries out of his huge basket. 

A one room shanty in Cotton Hollow was what Jim called home. He built the shack himself from found materials and reportedly had just one piece of furniture, a cast off chair. Jim slept on the dirt floor near his only source of heat, a fire built in a hollow dug into the floor. The shanty is believed to have been located in the vicinity of the current Lincoln School, between State and Albany Streets.

Jim was a gruff but kind and gentle man who was welcomed into the homes of his customers. If

Jim Cuff standing in front of what is believed to be his shanty. 

Courtesy of fultonhistory.com

children sometimes taunted him, he would loudly shuffle his feet to shoo them away. Several people looked out for him. Dr. Harlan Swits, a descendent of Henry Swits, had Jim deliver a standing order of herbs to his State Street office and kept an eye on his well-being. He stopped by Colonel A.W. Toll's home most mornings and was given breakfast that he ate in the woodshed. The tollgate keepers on the old Scotia bridge let him pass without cost. He was an avid fisherman and spent many hours fishing at Sanders Lake and along the Mohawk. Jim regularly visited the Wallace Stonecutters where he would shoot the breeze with his friend Tom Wallace. His kindness was exemplified in a story told by Dr. Swits. Once, when a circus came to town, there was a parade on State Street. Horses and buggies were lined up along the curb and people were told to rein in their horses. The parade spooked the horse of one buggy with a young girl at the reins. The horse crashed into the canal bridge and ran off along the bridge as the girl fell to the floor. Jim Cuff rushed from the crowd and grabbed the bridle, calming the horse then carrying the girl out of the damaged buggy. Called a hero by many onlookers, Jim cared only about the well-being of the girl.

He didn't attend church, saying his clothes weren’t fine enough but Jim had his own kind of spirituality. He believed that there was a better place after death, often saying "Someday we shall all be in equal skies". In his declining years, he was destitute and relied on help from some of his friends and customers. When one of his customers didn't see him out with his herbs for several days he checked on Jim and found him in his shack, quite ill. An item in the Schenectady Gazette, dated February 26, 1893, stated “Schenectady’s big Indian, Jim Cuff, who has been ill of consumption and lung hemorrhages, was today removed from his hut to the county almshouse on Steuben Street”. He died there a few days later on March 4, 1893. Dr. William Clute signed the death certificate for "James Cuff Swits" noting the cause of death as pneumonia and giving an estimated age of 72 although many thought he could have been closer to 90. Jim was buried in the Potters Field section of Vale Cemetery in Schenectady. 

James Cuff Swits grave as it now appears in Vale Cemetery. Courtesy of Gail Denisoff.

Jim's story doesn't end with his death. His friend Tom Wallace carved Jim's likeness in bas relief on his headstone, the only such stone in Potters Field. Under his name and date of death, Wallace carved the words "Admitted to that Equal Sky". Forty years after Jim's death, a local physician, to alleviate his guilt, anonymously gave an account to the Schenectady Gazette regarding the placement of that headstone. The physician, a medical student in Albany at the time, decided that Jim's skeleton would be an exceptional specimen for study since Jim claimed to be the last of the Mohawks and was close to seven feet tall. When he got wind that other medical students had the same idea, the physician went to Potters Field at night and switched Jim's headstone with that of a woman who had died about the same time. A few nights later, he returned to dig up the grave. According to his account, the sight of the dead Cuff so unnerved him that he quickly refilled the grave and left the cemetery without the body or switching back the headstones. He claimed not to remember which was the other headstone he switched. Other accounts have Union College students removing Jim's body for autopsy. Whether either of these stories are true is the subject of speculation. Jim may not be lying beneath his headstone but he is not forgotten.

Photos and information for this blog from the Schenectady County Historical Society holdings and the Fulton History collection.

The Ghost Train of Mont Pleasant

We can't wait for Halloween over at the Schenectady County Historical Society, so when one of our volunteers found this letter about the "Ghost of the 9:15", we were thrilled and wanted to post it right away. There is not much backstory to it, so we've transcribed the letter below.

December 28, 1992

To: Larry Hart

Larry, here is the real story of the "Ghost" Train.

As a teenager living in Mt. Pleasant in the early 1950s, entertainment for young teenagers was non-existent. The "flockey" as it was called was our playground, the wooded area between Mt. Pleasant and Bellevue. We explored and knew every inch of that land from Altamont Ave. to Lower Broadway Hill.

The "Ghost of the 9:15" was the actual name of the event.

The Ghost was a bed sheet attached to a fishing pole and dangled from a tree branch which was along side the railroad tracks. The white sheet was painted black on one side so as not to be seen when transporting our ghost to and from the tree. The sheet was reversed and the black side covered the fishing pole.

The original story that we had heard was that a hobo was killed in that location years before and that his ghost haunted the 9:15 train. We helped the story to be true. 

You could probably see the ghost train pretty well from this vantage point of the Congress Street bridge. Courtesy of the Grems-Doolittle Library Photo Collection.

We could travel the Mont Pleasant area from yard to yard, alleyway to alleyway in the dark as well as in the daytime. Our schedule was to pick up the "Ghost" bed sheet attached to the fishing pole around 8:30. Wait until it was dark enough, then walk or run from the alleyways between Cutler and Davis Terrace, down to Park St. into the woods and down to 3rd Ave. We then would climb the tree, wait for the train, flip the bed sheet over to the white side, dangle it as the train passed, flip it to the black side, down the tree, through the woods, alleyways, and home. When the news about a ghost got out of control and crowds would gather to try to see him, we would not appear that night and eventually retired him for good. 

That's the story of the "Ghost of the 9:15"

Yours truly,

One time member of the "Cutler St. Gang"

A Brief History of the Abruzzese Society and Italian-American Fraternal Organizations in Schenectady

This post was written by Archives Assistant Angela Matyi. Angela processed our collection of Abruzzese Society records through a Documentary Heritage Program Grant provided by the New York State Archives.

Officers of the Abruzzese Society, undated. Courtesy of the Abruzzese Society Collection.

In the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries, the city of Schenectady saw a massive influx of Italian immigrants.  Like many immigrants to America, they came seeking work and opportunities for economic and social advancement, things that were not altogether difficult to find thanks to the dynamic presence of the General Electric and American Locomotive companies which pulled in laborers by the thousands.  However, opportunity alone does not an easy life make. 

America was an unfamiliar country, with unfamiliar customs and an unfamiliar language.  Adaptation to it all was difficult at the best of times.  It was not long before the Italian immigrants felt keenly the need to establish some kind of organization that would provide immigrants and their descendants a place to engage with fellow Italians, creating and reaffirming bonds of fellowship and, later, providing financial assistance in the event of illness or injury.  The first of these fraternal communities to be founded was the Societa’ Unione Fratellanza, in 1892.  By 1900 it boasted forty members, though these were mainly comprised of the “prominenti,” those men who had already achieved some level of economic success, particularly in business. 

The turn of the century also saw the founding of Schenectady’s second Italian-American fraternal society, the Societa’ Giuseppe Garibaldi.  Though this organization was a combination of a political (GOP) club and a mutual benefit society, there was frequent crossover between it and the simpler Fratellanza, perhaps most noticeably when the Fratellanza’s first president, Stephen Abba, went on to become in the first president of the Garibaldi Society as well.  He was not long for the post.  The position of president in these societies had become one of prestige within the Italian-American community, as well as a vehicle for exercising a degree of true political influence; the result being three leaders of the Garibaldi Society in as many years.

Contributing to this sudden prominence was the spike of Italian immigration to Schenectady in the early twentieth century, which both allowed for and necessitated a sudden motley assortment of region-specific fraternal organizations.  This was as much a consequence of the geographical and social makeup of pre-1900 Italy itself as the desire for community felt by the new Italian-Americans and their children.  For centuries, “Italy” was a more abstract concept than a geopolitical reality; a vaguely understood umbrella title used for the collection of the various kingdoms and city-states that happened to call the Italian peninsula home.  Though the “Kingdom of Italy” was officially declared in 1861, it was not until 1870 that full political unification within the borders of a geographically recognizable modern-day Italy was technically complete.  Even then, a few hundred years of social habit was hard to break.  For decades afterwards, many people still identified themselves socially and politically with a specific region rather than with the nation-state.  With regional customs and, especially, dialects slow to give way to pushes for standardization, cultural fragmentation was still the Italian norm into and past 1900.

It was this mindset that the Italian immigrants brought with them to Schenectady, preferring to refer to themselves as Calabresi (Calabrians); Siciliani (Sicilians); or Napoletani (Campanians, or “Neopolitans”).  Although the Fratellanza and Societa Garibaldi were open to all Italians regardless of origin, this wave resulted in the founding of multiple regional fraternal societies.  Curiously, none dedicated solely to peoples coming from Campania were ever founded, despite their soon accounting for about 60% of Schenectady Italians; though a society for immigrants from the Campanian town of Alvignano, confusingly located in the province of Caserta, was formed, the Society of the Laboring Men of Alvignano.  In any case, regional societies founded after 1900 included the Benevolent Brotherhood of the Sons of Northern Italy (popularly referred to as the “Alta Italia Society) in 1902, several organizations for Calabrians and Sicilians in the 1920s, and the Societa Laziale for Roman Italians in 1930.

Members of the Abruzzese Society during an annual meeting, undated. Courtesy of the Abruzzese Society Collection.

Into this mix was added the Abruzzese Society (Societa Abruzzese) in 1912, established for immigrants from the (then combined, now separate) regions of Abruzzi and Molise in southern Italy.  This was the first regional mutual benefit society formed for any part of the Italian-American community, and not a moment too soon.  Perhaps unsurprisingly, the greatest employers of the immigrants’ unskilled labor, the General Electric Company and the American Locomotive Company, were also the greatest source of injury to their (overworked and underpaid) employees.  To address this issue, the Abruzzese Society followed the typical model of mutual benefit societies. 

 In this model, members would pay a small monthly due so that, in the case of illness or injury, they would be entitled to a certain amount of money per week for up to twelve weeks, and a larger amount of money in the event of a death.  During the Society’s earliest days, the due was one of $0.50, the weekly payout of $6.  If a member of the Society did indeed die, a sum of $50 would be given to the deceased’s family to cover the funeral costs.  Furthermore, all other members would be required to attend the funeral service, with a fine of $5 imposed for failure to attend.  Since the first members of the Society were relatively young and in good health, this mortuary fund was little used in the early years.  Poignantly, though, one does see small expenses for things such as wreaths ($10) and a carriage to carry Society representatives ($15), usually for the funeral of a member’s child.  

Handbook for the Abruzzese
Society. Courtesy of the
Abruzzese Society Collection.

Admission to the Abruzzese Society was restricted to males between the ages of fourteen and forty-five, with initiation fees increasing with the age of the initiate; the idea being that young children and those verging into seniority would be more likely to fall ill, and thus constitute a drain on the Society’s finances.  For this reason, admission was further contingent upon good physical health and “spotless reputation” (though exceptions, decided by an assembly, could be made in the case of minor misdemeanors), and members were not entitled to benefits for injuries or illnesses brought about by brawling, venereal disease, or drunkenness.  Within a few years of its founding, the Abruzzese Society could boast seventy-two members, and its example was being followed by other regional groups.

Many of Schenectady’s Italian-American fraternal and mutual benefit societies continued well into the mid-twentieth century.  However, after this point they started gradually to decline and disappear.  The Abruzzese Society was the only one, along with the national Sons of Italy organization, to remain in operation into the twenty-first century, celebrating its Centennial in 2012.  Nevertheless, its membership continued to dwindle, and in early 2016 the last ten members of the Abruzzese Society decided to disband the organization.

Boxes of the Society’s records were donated to the Schenectady County Historical Society, and now offer a unique look into a defining part of Schenectady’s history and culture.

Ambrose Ham – Survivor of the USS Maine

This post was written by SCHS Library Volunteer Gail Denisoff.

Stylized image of the USS Maine explosion. Only 94 of the ship's 355 crew members survived the explosion. Courtesy of the Nautical History Gallery and Museum

Schenectady resident Ambrose Ham was a 20 year old Apprentice First Class aboard the USS Maine when it exploded in Havana Harbor on the night of February 15, 1898.  An article in the Schenectady Evening Star dated February 17, 1898 questioned his survival.  According to the article, an Ambrose Hall was listed as a survivor and hope was that he was really Ambrose Ham.

Born January 10, 1878, in Indian Fields, New York, Ambrose moved to Schenectady as a boy with his mother and brothers where he lived on Catherine Street and attended school until the 6^th grade.  Following the death of his mother in about 1894, he came under the guardianship of Mr. B.L. Conde of Schenectady who enlisted him in the US Navy on July 31, 1894 at the age of 16.  He was placed on a school ship in Newport RI where he apprenticed for approximately 18 months.  On his enlistment card he was described as being 5’4 ¼” tall with grey eyes, light brown hair and a light freckled complexion. At the time of the explosion, Ambrose had been part of the crew of the Maine for about a year and a half.

The USS Maine is best known for the explosion in Havana Harbor on the night of February 15, 1898

Image of Ambrose Ham from
the Feb. 6, 1906 edition
of the Binghamton Press
and Leader. Courtesy of
fultonhistory.com

which killed 261 of its crew of 355. Sent to protect American citizens who were then in Cuba, the Maine exploded without warning and sank quickly. The cause of the explosion is still unclear but the incident was one of the factors leading to the Spanish-American War. The phrase, "Remember the Maine! To hell with Spain!”, became a call for action. In 1898, an investigation of the explosion was carried out by a naval board appointed under the McKinley Administration. The consensus of the board was that Maine was destroyed by an external explosion from a mine. However, the validity of this investigation is still a subject of speculation.

Ambrose did indeed survive the sinking of the Maine.  In response to a letter sent to him from the Schenectady Sunday News, Ambrose gave this account of the incident sent from the US Army Hospital in Key West, Florida dated February 26^th, 1898 (original letter in the Grems-Doolittle Library):

Dear Sir,

I received your letter with picture last night.  I thank you very much for taking such an interest in my escape from the Maine. 

On Tuesday, Feb 15^th I went on watch at 8:00 o’clock, aft on the poop deck.  I was standing signal watch and my watch would be up that night at 12:00 o’clock.  Everything went well till twenty minutes of ten.

It was a beautiful night, the water in the harbor was as still as a lake.  The ship was swinging to flood tide.  As I was about to turn around to walk aft, I saw a volcano of fire which seem to envelope the whole ship then followed a terrible roar and another which lifted the big ship out of the water.  I was hit by a piece iron which was coming down like hail.  The whole forward part of the ship was torned to pieces, steele was twisted like wire. Men were thrown high in the air and what few escaped were burned so badly we could hardly tell who they were.

As soon as the explosion was over I ran to the Captain boat which was not injured and helped to lower it into the water.  Several men who were not hurt got into the boat with Cadet Holden in charge and picked up the men in the water.  By that time boats from shore and some from the Spanish man of war came up, picked up a lot of injured men and took them ashore to the Hospital.  Well our boat stayed around the wreck which was burning.  The after part of the ship was not injured and on the poop deck was the Captain, leut comd. Wainwright and a couple of junior officers.  Then the captain gave orders to see if everyone was off the ship.  Next order was to abandon ship.  The captain was the last man to leave the ship, he seem as cool as a piece of ice.  He was taken over to the City of Washington where some of the survivors were and such a night – men with broken limbs, burned faces.  The Maine surgeon, the Captain and Lieut. Blow were working hard dressing the mens wounds.

Two of the men were taken to Havana Hospital that night but they died afterwards.  Next day we were taken to the Steamer Olvette which runs between Key West and Havana and left that afternoon and arrived in Key West at night.  Went to the Hospital some to Marine some to Army Hospital.  Last week eight men came from Havana, four are expected today.  The men were treated kindly on the Steamers and in the Hospital.  On the City of Washington some of the passengers stayed up all night to watch the wounded. 

Whether it was an accident or not I will not say.  The court of inquiry will know tomorrow.  My injuries were slight and are all well now.  The men in this Hospital are improving quickly and will be able to get discharge from Hospital in two weeks with the exception of two men who have broken legs.  It was said last night that two men died in Havana Hospital.  I don’t know how true it is.

I am sorry I could not send this account before for I only received your letter last night.  Would you mind sending me one of the papers with my picture in it.  I would like to read the account of the disaster in your paper and oblidge.

Ambrose Ham

The USS Marblehead courtesy of Wikipedia.

Following his release from the hospital, Ambrose served aboard the USS Marblehead in Cuba during the Spanish-American War. He was honorably discharged from the Navy on January 9, 1899, a day before his 21^st birthday.  After returning to Schenectady, Ambrose lived on Paige Street and worked as a grocer. His guardian, Mr. Conde had pursued a lawsuit that his mother, Mrs. Hannah Wiltsie Ham had initiated before her death for an inheritance from an uncle of hers.  He was successful and when Ambrose returned, there was $1300 in the Schenectady Savings Bank waiting for him.   Shortly thereafter, on March 12, 1899, Ambrose was baptized in the 2^nd Dutch Reformed Church .

By the early 1900’s, Ambrose (whose name in later years was sometimes spelled Hamm) and his wife, Edna, were living in Binghamton, NY where he was employed for many years as a Postal Clerk.  He died on November 23, 1961 at the age of 83.