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Nancy Brown’s “Experience”

February 23, 2010 in Books, History | 1 comment

In the fall I wrote about the Peace Carillon on Belle Isle, an 85-foot limestone tower dedicated to Detroit News advice columnist Nancy Brown. It’s gorgeous, even though it’s starting to fall apart a little.

brown bell tower

So. Over the holidays, my fiancé’s uncle gave us a big box of antique books, figuring (uh, correctly) that we were into that sort of thing. We packed them up, brought them home and then forgot about them for a few months.

We’re moving at the end of the week, and I’ve never really unpacked since I moved here from Wisconsin, so we’ve spent some time purging our hoard of clothes we might wear sometime, disassembled bikes we might put back together and ride sometime, CDs from the mid-90s that we might enjoy hearing again some (far distant) time, and, in particular, long neglected books that we might read sometime. This included the box full of antique books from Christmas, water-spotted and redolent of mildew.

Scott was the one who noticed Experience.

Published in 1932 at the Lakeside Press in Chicago by the News, the book — edited by Nancy Brown herself — shares twelve years of her favorite letters, from run-of-the-mill domestic quandaries (”What to do about my husband? Mom doesn’t bake the cookies we like anymore!”) to pining letters from homesick expatriates and too-long notes just to say hello and share an idle opinion. A girl from London who went to University of Michigan and fell in love with the city, then felt lonely for it when she went home to England, and had her husband write back to Nancy when she went blind. A Japanese houseboy who loved Belle Isle, but thought that the city’s pace was the “speedometer of a bee hive” and struggled to adjust.

I haven’t read a lot of these letters yet, but for the most part I love how rambling and earnest they are. They’re not Dear Abby-style, boiled down to the barest inquiry about in-law etiquette or what to do about a disloyal friend. Maybe they weren’t published in their entirety like they are in the book, but some of these letters are three or four pages long, full of asides, scene-setting and narrative development. Sometimes Nancy only responded with a sentence or two of thanks for sharing and a cheery “Write us again.”

The best one I’ve read so far is from “A Pioneer” (1928), who left his home in the city, doctor’s orders, when he contracted tuberculosis. He found a patch of woods he liked at the end of a rail line in Canada, started sleeping in a tent under a rock ledge, then he taught himself to trap furs, made a little extra money, built a log cabin by the lake, tried a little gardening and just sort of figured out how to live year-round in the wild.

I have kept buying a little at a time, till now I own over 2,000 acres, including the lake and the falls, all timber, except for my clearing. This is, in a sense, money wasted, for the land has no market value, and so long as I live I shall never cut a tree that is not necessary.

… There are neighbors two days trip to the South by canoe, while to the North, in two weeks I have found no sign that anything human had been there before me. I now have two horses, two cows and several chickens, a tractor and all the machinery I can use on the farm … I must get the work done in the least time possible for it is in the summer and early fall I study the game trails and plan my winter trap line.

So what’s the problem? The wife at home liked the farm and the up-north country folk, but one morning while they were eating breakfast, a bear (a friend of the pioneer’s since it crawled up in the tent with him one winter as a cub) wandered into the kitchen and asked for a biscuit or something. The wife freaked out, hit the bear, left town, then demanded her husband sell his land and come home! WHAT IS A PIONEER TO DO?

As ridiculous as this story is, Nancy recommends that the pioneer explain to his wife exactly how much money he’d managed to save as a trapper (seems he’d kept it kinda DL) and let her know that she could enjoy an occasional nice party and visitors at the farmstead in the summer and some alone cash-incentive’d alone time in the winter.

Not bad advice. I wish I knew what happened.

There’s so much more I want to share about this book, and I’ll try to post more terrific stories from Experience as I come across them. This book has made every stress of our move seem totally unimportant — a Christmas present I didn’t even know I had.

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Fridays with General Friend Palmer: “Convenience itself”

February 5, 2010 in Books, History | 5 comments

IN the earlier days the streets of Detroit in the absence pavements were very bad in the fall and spring seemed to predominate Cabs and public hacks were in a very lim ted number Peter Cooper colored Jackson a colored barber and George lierron an English barber were about the only persons owning and operating public conveyances and t heir services as may be supposed were taxed to the limit Men wore their heavy boots pants tucked inside and in the outskirts of the city a few boards and planks were laid down lengthwise so that people could manage with difficulty to get along In such a state of things the single two wheeled horsecart was very much in evidence and was a most important institution It was an invention of the old French habitants of the country They were used by all classes and were convenience itself A buffalo robe or blanket was spread on the bottom of the cart two or three ottomans or stools were put in in the absence of other covering for the bottom or floor of the cart hay or straw was used and the horse understanding his business as well as his master off he plodded ofttimes half leg deep in mud to church shopping or to make fashionable calls The carts were mighty enjoyable as I can testify having time and again been the driver on many many occasions sitting perched up in front and the ladies enjoying the bottom of the vehicle protected from the rough boards by soft buffalo robes or other means occasionally the lynch pin that apparently held the cart together would get out of place and the occupants be dumped in the mud!
When General Macomb visited Detroit Mrs Hester Scott took him around the city in one of these French horse carts borrowed for the purpose from Mr HD Harrison the Jefferson Avenue dry goods merchant and it was said that the general enjoyed it hugely Mrs Scott and her three daughters are no doubt well 646
These French carts were very enjoyable also in fine weather on short excursions with the girls into the surrounding woods particularly in October when they had put on their gay autumn attire and the hickory nuts and hazel nuts were plentiful How full of pleasure those trips were The distance to the woods was not great they came down to Elizabeth Street on the west side of Woodward Avenue and down to about Hancock Avenue on the east side and out on Grand River Avenue on the Jones farm not far from Perkins’s tavern and out on Michigan Avenue they came down to where is the hay market once Woodbridge grove and just in the rear of this grove was an immense field of hazelnut bushes which in the season were loaded down with nuts Out Woodward Avenue about where is Farnsworth Street were many acres of blackberry bushes loaded with their delicious fruit in the season And then the excursions in these carts down to that lovely driveway Lovers Lane in the vicinity of what is now Fort Wayne The lane came into the River road about where Winterhalter’s beer garden was and extended out quite a distance toward the Dix settlement My friend Ross in one of his articles in relation to early Detroit says of this lane and as the incident he relates to it is true I copy it

horse drawn cart

[Source]

Welcome back to Fridays with General Friend Palmer! So far it hasn’t been a complete disaster, so let’s continue! This week, General Palmer wistfully recalls Detroit’s bygone horse cart days. Maybe the Streets of Old Detroit exhibit at Detroit Historical Museum should explore incorporating an unpaved thoroughfare or two. It will be immersive! Wear boots!

I like when he casually mentions that sometimes the carts just fell apart.

In the earlier days the streets of Detroit, in the absence of pavements, were very bad in the fall and spring; mud seemed to predominate … Men wore their heavy boots, pants tucked inside, and in the outskirts of the city, a few boards and planks were laid down lengthwise so that people could manage, with difficulty, to get along.

In such a state of things, the single two wheeled horsecart was very much in evidence and was a most important institution. It was an invention of the old French habitants of the country. They were used by all classes and were convenience itself. A buffalo robe or blanket was spread on the bottom of the cart, two or three ottomans or stools were put in (in the absence of other covering for the bottom or floor of the cart, hay or straw was used), and the horse … off he plodded, ofttimes half leg deep in mud, to church, shopping, or to make fashionable calls. The carts were mighty enjoyable, as I can testify, having time and again been the driver on many, many occasions, sitting perched up in front and the ladies enjoying the bottom of the vehicle, protected from the rough boards by soft buffalo robes or other means; occasionally the lynch pin that apparently held the cart together would get out of place and the occupants be dumped in the mud.

Even famous people thought they were kinda fun!

… When General Macomb visited Detroit, Mrs. Hester Scott took him around the city in one of these French horse carts, borrowed for the purpose from Mr H.D. Harrison, the Jefferson Avenue dry goods merchant, and it was said that the general enjoyed it hugely.

And they were even a little flirty in the fairer seasons:

These French carts were very enjoyable also in fine weather on short excursions with the girls into the surrounding woods, particularly in October when they had put on their gay autumn attire and the hickory nuts and hazel nuts were plentiful. How full of pleasure those trips were! The distance to the woods was not great … out on Michigan Avenue, they came down to where is the hay market (once Woodbridge grove) and just in the rear of this grove was an immense field of hazelnut bushes which in the season were loaded down with nuts. Out Woodward Avenue, about where is Farnsworth Street, were many acres of blackberry bushes loaded with their delicious fruit in the season. And then the excursions in these carts down to that lovely driveway, “Lovers Lane,” in the vicinity of what is now Fort Wayne. The lane came into the River road, about where Winterhalter’s beer garden was, and extended out quite a distance toward the Dix settlement.

Sigh. The good old days!

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Legends of Le Detroit

February 4, 2010 in Books, History | 2 comments

If you like flowery Victorian prose, phantasms, grieving widows, pining French girls, French in general, haunted inanimate objects, werewolves,  lyrical two-page long set-ups about a grandfather telling his kid a scary story, or — especially — Indian curses, you are going to love the shit out of this book.

la chase gallerie

I loved this indulgent account of Rene LaSalle’s Griffin. As this totally made-up story tells it, the Indians were jealous of LaSalle’s magnificent brigantine, and he was cocky about it, so they cursed him by the light of the moon and made it sink.

Sensible.

“The shadows of the summer of 1679 had deepened before the little brigantine of forty-five tons approached completion. The commander had decided to name her Griffin, in allusion to the arms of the Comte de Frontenac, whose supporters were “Griffins.”
An expert wood carver from Rouen had carved for the ship’s bows a wonderful image of the fabled monster, half lion and half eagle, with ears erect, emblematic of strength, swiftness and watchfulness. But among the more pious of the band the name was deemed an evil one, and their superstitious natures conjured up disasters to come.
… “At last all was ready for the launch — the crew were assembled and the notes of the Te Deum floated on the air. A bottle of brandy was broken over the bows of the vessel, and liberal potations distributed among the Indians. A salute was fired from the seven guns ranged along the decks, and amidst the enthusiastic shouts of “vive le Roi,” the vessel glided from her ways, and floated on the waters of the Niagara River.

The shadows of the summer of 1679 had deepened before the little brigantine of forty-five tons approached completion. The commander had decided to name her Griffin, in allusion to the arms of the Comte de Frontenac, whose supporters were “Griffins.”

An expert wood carver from Rouen had carved for the ship’s bows a wonderful image of the fabled monster, half lion and half eagle, with ears erect, emblematic of strength, swiftness and watchfulness. But among the more pious of the band the name was deemed an evil one, and their superstitious natures conjured up disasters to come.

… At last all was ready for the launch — the crew were assembled and the notes of the Te Deum floated on the air. A bottle of brandy was broken over the bows of the vessel, and liberal potations distributed among the Indians. A salute was fired from the seven guns ranged along the decks, and amidst the enthusiastic shouts of “vive le Roi,” the vessel glided from her ways, and floated on the waters of the Niagara River.

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Fridays with General Friend Palmer: A most exciting fire

January 28, 2010 in Art, Books, Culture, History | 3 comments

I have always approached weekly themed blog posts, especially those involving alliteration, with trepidation. But then I found Early Days in Detroit, the memoirs of historical Detroit old guy General Friend Palmer (1820 – 1906), and I can’t think of any better way to dig through its 1000+ pages, each of them host to at least one illuminating, endearing, hilarious or otherwise just great anecdote, than to share some of the General’s memories of 19th-century Detroit every week.

So, we’ll see if this sticks. But for this Friday, at least, welcome to Fridays with General Friend Palmer. If you hate this I’ll stop it, but I don’t think you’ll hate this.

This week: The General has a whole chapter on Detroit fires that he remembers, specifically fires that destroyed famous buildings. When a wool mill on Randolph street caught fire in the summer of 1832, Friend writes, it “lit up the whole county of Wayne and parts of Canada, apparently … Out where we lived, on Woodward at John R., the illumination was so great one could see to read by it.”

I was really taken with his account of the fire on the steamer Great Western, which went up in flames while it was docked in Detroit sometime around 1838 (his memory was bad when he wrote his book and he died before his editors could help him do rewrites):

One important fire, and so considered at the time … and that was the partial burning of the then finest and most magnificent steamer on the lakes, the Great Western, while lying at her dock, Gillett & Desnoyer’s, near foot of Shelby Street. It happened about 1838 on a summer Sunday afternoon, about 5 o’clock. I have forgotten the exact date. She had arrived that forenoon on her down trip from Chicago to Buffalo. I was present at the fire with engine company No. 4 (that far off time, it seems but yesterday). She was the pride of the lakes, and of her owner and commander, Captain Augustus Walker. She was the first steamer to have her cabins on the upper deck, passengers heretofore having had to dive down between decks if they had any idea of sleeping or eating, and most of them had.

The news that this steamer was ablaze spread like wildfire and hurried everyone to the scene; indeed, all Detroit was on hand. The engines hustling down Wayne and Shelby Streets came near running over the men and boys who had hold of the drag ropes, so wild was the excitement. No. 4 engine company came first in this encounter. It had its station on the dock between the warehouse and the burning steamer, and three of its members had the post of honor during the fire. William Green, the foreman who had the pipe, was assisted by Barney Campau and Kin Dygert. They held the fort, so to speak. They were stationed on the upper deck of the steamer abaft the wheelhouse.

The scene lives in an oil painting by Thomas Burnham, a well known local artist of that day. This painting is now the property of some citizen of this city who should, it seems to me, donate it to the Art Museum or to the present fire department. The upper cabins of the Great Western abaft the wheelhouses and the ladies cabin below were badly wrecked; otherwise the steamer did not sustain much damage. But it was a most exciting fire while it lasted as any one now living who was present at the time will I am sure bear witness.

Okay. I love a sleuth. Where’s this Thomas Burnham painting? Did “some citizen of the city” give it to the now-DIA as General Friend Palmer thought he or she should? Not sure, although an online collection search turns up another Thomas Mickell Burnham painting, First State Election in Detroit, Michigan, 1837 (timely, right?):

And the man was apparently known for his marine and maritime paintings as well, like this one, An English Cutter Gives Chase to a Smuggler, 1836:

So where’s the burning Great Western? Does it indeed belong to the fire department? Is it in some art historian’s special collection of boat paintings or a museum’s American Art gallery?

I’ll put out some feelers. I haven’t really looked yet, having just learned about this painting about a half-hour ago, so if it’s somewhere obvious, tell me now.

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WHO WAS SILAS FARMER?

January 20, 2010 in Books, Local History, metro Detroit | No comments

UPDATE: Silas Farmer’s death certificate is in the Michigan state archives. He died suddenly on December 28, 1902, apparently of a heart attack. He was living in present-day midtown, at 52 Selden, and is buried in Elmwood Cemetery. Next stop, as my mom sassily pointed out to me on Twitter (MOMS ON TWITTER!!), is a real-life library.

**

I wish I knew! The man was apparently one of the most important Michigan historians in history (which seems like a strange thing to say) and wrote dozens of books including the seminal, oft-referenced 1884 tome History of Detroit and Michigan, 1890’s History of Detroit and Wayne County and Early Michigan, as well as lesser known classics like All About Cleveland; The Young Men’s Christian Associations Hymn Book; Guide to the Streets, Street Pavements, street car routes and house numbers of Detroit and The Drinker’s Dictionary (which I would really like to read).

All I know about Silas Farmer at this point is from a foreward to Silas Farmer’s book, Souvenir of The Pointe: Grosse Pointe on Lake Saint Claire, graciously reprinted from a 1974 edition of the book by the Grosse Pointe Historical Society:

Son of John Farmer, Detroit’s earliest map publisher, Silas Farmer began his career by following in his father’s footsteps.  While working on maps, he conceived the idea of writing the history of Detroit and was soon launched on a literary career.

john farmer_district surveyor

John Farmer: Map of the City of Detroit in the State of Michigan, 1835. Library of Congress.

John Farmer, born in New York in 1798, moved to Detroit in 1821 at the invitation of Governor Lewis Cass. He was an admired and eccentric character in the city, as General Friend Palmer recalls in his memoir Early Days in Detroit. Palmer remembers Farmer’s sawed-in-half schoolhouse — with a bell! — and his cartographic fire:  

I think John Farmer lived on the opposite corner of the same streets, in a frame dwelling on the rear of his lot, and I also think he carried on his map-engraving and printing in the same house. This building was once a part of the old wooden building that stood on the corner of Griswold and Larned, where is now the Campau block. When Griswold was widened, it was found that this building was in the way.

… The common council ordered it sawed in two, and John farmer bought the part that was in the street and moved it to his lot on Monroe.

Farmer was a wonderful man in his way, a most competent surveyor and a finished engraver, as the work on his maps show. Endowed with surprising energy, it always seemed to me that the steam engine within him, so to speak, must sooner or later wear him out, and it did. I knew him intimately and when I was in business sold thousands of dollars’ worth of his maps.

All Palmer writes about Silas is that he helped convince the city to rename part of Grand River East “Wilcox Street.”

Silas was born in June 1839; in 1882 he was chosen as City Historiographer of Detroit. And sometime around 1878, Silas Farmer wrote an Illustrated Guide and Souvenir of Detroit, one of a series of guides and souvenirs Farmer published under his own imprint at the end of the 19th century.

I found several endearing passages and illustrations from the 1878 edition, although there are a few updated versions available on the Internet Archive. The whole thing is basically a TOUR ITINERARY, which as you may know is my favorite thing, although on this occasion I feel no reason to actually take the tour, as I’m confident that mostly nothing of it exists anymore.

The guide begins:

The most comprehensive view of the City can be obtained by ascending the tower of the City Hall. Go as early as 9 a.m. Take a field glass with you, and from the window of the tower you will see sights and scenery that will well repay for the rather tiresome climbing of the 200 steps. The whole City, river and islands, and even Lake St. clair, will lie before you like a panorama. Each window of the tower will reveal beautis of its own.

The most comprehensive view of the City can be obtained by ascending the tower of the City Hall. Go as early as 9 a.m.

Take a field glass with you, and from the window of the tower you will see sights and scenery that will well repay for the rather tiresome climbing of the 200 steps. The whole City, river and islands, and even Lake St. clair, will lie before you like a panorama. Each window of the tower will reveal beauties of its own.

Here’s an illustration of the view from the City Hall tower — down Woodward, toward the river — in 1878:

silas farmer_woodward view

And Silas Farmer, as I do, recommends a wandering hour in Elmwood Cemetery:

silas farmer_elmwood cemetery

[From McDougall], A walk of some five blocks on Elmwood Avenue will bring you to Elmwood cemetery, where an hour or more can be spent very pleasantly among the many beautiful walks and drives and monuments.

Again taking Jeffereson Avenue to the eastward, within the distance of a block from Elmwood, you pass on the right the immense stove factory and warerooms of the Michigan Stove Company; and immediately afterwards, the Old Pontiac Tree, like some Rip Van winkle of the forest, stands before you.

Did you know that in the 1880s, Detroit was the stove-making capital of the world? Neither did I, but it seems that the fates of the Stove Company and the Pontiac Tree were intertwined, or at least of mutual interest.

As usual, half of what’s so interesting about these old pamphlets are the incredible advertisements:

silas farmer_shoe ad

silas farmer_turkish bath

Turkish baths? Why don’t we still have those?

And who was Silas Farmer? Where did he live?  Did he write a diary? Or letters? Where is Silas Farmer hiding?

Help me out, America!

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