Monthly Archives: March 2015

Riding the Rails to Prosperity

On an April day in 1852, an Erie Railroad locomotive chug-chugged its way from Corning up through Coopers, then Campbell, then Savona, and on to Bath. After which it reversed course and returned to Corning, making, I imagine, the fastest round trip that had ever been done between those points since the first human hunters found their way here. It could, I suppose, have been accomplished using relays of horses, but I never heard of anyone trying it. Besides, the roads were terrible.
In the previous year the Erie had opened a direct line between Lake Erie and New York City, passing through Hornellsville, Addison, and Corning on the way. Now a major branch line was making its way from Corning and Bath through Kanona, Cohocton, Wayland, and Dansville on up to Rochester. Where once it would have taken the weary traveler days just to get to Rochester, now he or she could ride up, do business (or make visits) and return, all on the same day.
Along with that, of course, freight and mail could be carried quickly and cheaply either into or out of our area.
When Charles Williamson came out to develop this region in 1793, he had 1.2 million acres to choose from – all the way from the state line to Lake Ontario, and from Pre-Emption Road to the Genesee River. Yet he set his seat and his land office inconveniently on the edge, where he cut a clearing from the forest and named it Bath.
This he figured would become the great metropolis of western New York, thriving because the Conhocton, Chemung, and Susquehanna Rivers would be the great artery of commerce, trade, and travel.
He was right, too – until some busybody went and put in the Erie Canal. Once that opened in 1825, little no-account shanty towns like Buffalo, Syracuse, and Rochester started to boom, and our region was economically bypassed.
But in the legislative horse-trading to create his canal, DeWitt Clinton had promised a follow-up transportation project for the Southern Tier. Probably they were all thinking in terms of another canal, or maybe an improved highway. But they soon seized on a brand-new technology, and the Erie Railroad was born. And that, as Robert Frost would say, has made all the difference.
The railroad sited its main repair shops in the unincorporated hamlet of Hornellsville, provoking growth that created the City of Hornell. Addition of a parallel electric trolley line stimulated growth in the “suburb” Village of Canisteo.
A one-track short line running up to Prattsburgh (the K&P) didn’t seem like any great shakes, but it created a junction significant enough to keep five hotels in business in the hamlet of Kanona.
Another short line, running up from Pennsylvania, clinched the deal when Brooklyn executives were looking for a new home for their business. The Erie main line could ship product out to east and west. The short line could bring up charcoal, wood, and sand. The junction at Corning, they decided, would make a fine location for a Glass Works.
Railroad stops at Watkins and Penn Yan brought families from the big cities for extended summer visits. With a little help from steamboats taking visitors out to their lakeside resorts, Keuka and Seneca became travel destinations, and our tourism business was born.
With thousands of undergrads making the trip for decades, Cornell University and the Lehigh Valley Railroad grew up together.
Without the eight-mile one-track Bath and Hammondsport Railroad, the grape and wine business around Hammondsport might have become a curio, rather than a major enterprise. And Glenn Curtiss could never have developed the industries he did without that railroad. Minimally he’d have had to move to Bath. If he hadn’t, he’d have spent his days in the bike shop, and maybe one day opened an auto dealership.
We don’t notice the train so much any more, unless we have to wait at a crossing, but an incredible amount of our economy still runs on rails. On Friday April 3 at 4 PM we’re having Mike Connor give a Steuben County Historical Society presentation on our area railroads. Mike has spent his career as a railroad executive, and he’s also president of the Erie-Lackawanna Historical Society. His talk is free and open to the public, at the Bath Fire Hall. We hope you’ll join us.

Wildlife Rehabilitators — Unpaid, Unsung, Unsleeping Heroes

Finger Lakes S.P.C.A. is getting a new home, on Cameron Road in Bath, next to the Conhocton River. And Steuben county has a new wildlife rehabilitator, Terri Terwilliger, who lives in the Prattsburgh area.
These new resources came together recently, as Ms. Terwilliger put on a public presentation at “River’s Edge Farm.”
As a general rule, it’s illegal to have wildlife in your possession, or to make pets of them. Even veterinarians are not supposed to do it, and very often are not equipped to anyway. Rehabilitators are trained and licensed (by our New York State Department of Conservation) to render aid. Again as a general rule, there are three levels of licensing, all based on training and testing. One allows the rehabilitator to handle most wildlife. Another covers raptors and migratory birds, which are protected not just by U.S. law but by international treaty.
Curiously, only a few birds, such as starlings and pigeons, are classed as non-raptor, non-migratory. So the basic licensing allows you to handle most mammals, plus a few birds, while an additional license permits the handling of all other birds.
There’s a third license for rabies-vector species… bats, skunks, and raccoons. Any animal CAN get rabies, but these are considered special risk.
Which brings up the point that rehabilitators need to be vaccinated beforehand against rabies – at their own expense. Nobody pays them to do this work, and nobody covers their expenses. They’re entirely on their own as they provide this public service.
One situation rehabilitators often come across is abandoned babies, although people THINK that happens more often than it actually does. Fawns and baby rabbits are often found alone, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re abandoned or motherless. In both cases mothers watch and protect their babies from a distance, and from concealment. This limits predators’ opportunities to spot the babies by observing the far-larger mother.
So while fawns and baby rabbits certainly can be abandoned, there’s a very good chance that that’s not the case. A period of watchful waiting might be the best bet, before sweeping the baby off to the rehabilitator. By the way, animals WILL accept their babies back, even after they’ve been handled by humans, though it’s still best not to handle them at all.
Injuries often bring animals in, too. They may be shot, hit by a car, attacked by a predator, hurt in a fight… all the same kinds of shocks to which our own flesh is heir. Animals fall sick, too, and suffer the infirmities of age. Sometimes the greatest goodness is also the saddest, to end its sufferings and put the creature to sleep.
The goal and the hope, though – and the most common outcome – is to restore the patient to health and return it to the wild. (Sometimes an otherwise-healthy animal may be permanently disabled, such as when a bird loses a wing. Then a home needs to be found.)
Terwilliger says that some species, like squirrels, are affectionate and companionable while being rehabilitated, but off like a shot, without looking back, once placed in a tree. For others the rehabilitator needs to harden the heart, place the animal to be released, and run away as the poor creature wails at being abandoned.
The good news is, even most of these adapt very quickly back to the wild.
As we mentioned, nobody makes any money at this. Unless they can coax or dragoon some help, rehabilitators are on their own. So if you have a baby squirrel – which requires feeding every 30 minutes – you will never get more than 20 minutes of sleep at a shot.
Check out www.nys.dec.gov, click on Wildlife Rehabilitator License in the A-Z search, and you’ll find a short guide to licensing, plus links for where to find a rehabilitator, and how to handle young wildlife if necessary.
Remember that these are wild animals, not pets. They don’t get the concept of being helped, and very sensibly view humans as a major threat. Bear that in mind should you ever approach a distressed animal, and also think about the poor rehabilitator who’s handling the animal constantly.
Some of the creatures are pretty shrewd, we must admit. I’ve always had an admiration for the intelligence of raccoons, who crowd our “brand” with their binocular vision and something approaching opposable thumbs. Twenty years ago a Livingston County rehabber told me that she had cared for an injured raccoon, then successfully released it back to the wild a few miles away. That ‘coon was later hit by a car. With its hind legs useless, it used its front paws to drag itself back to her house. When we’re gone, raccoons will rule the earth!

“Crossing the Rockies” to Oregon – AND to the Comic Books

I enjoy comic books, and I collect comic books. A few years ago I reported in this space about a Classics Illustrated Special Edition, To The Stars! This is because that issue has a major feature on the 200-inch telescope at Mount Palomar, including creation of the glass disc in Corning in 1935.
There’s also an issue called Crossing the Rockies, which I’d never seen, but which I figured HAD to mention Marcus and Narcissa (Prentiss) Whitman. I finally took the plunge a few weeks ago and ordered a used copy available on Amazon.
And just about the whole first chapter, nineteen pages, is dedicated to the Whitmans.
So to tell the tale as the comic tells it… [with editorial comments from me in square brackets]…
The chapter’s entitled “The Oregon Trail,” and it opens with several Oregon Indians asking for missionaries. “The greatest of these missionaries was Doctor Marcus Whitman,” and he’s introduced in the third panel.
Whitman accompanies Reverend Samuel Parker to the far west, at first sneered at by mountain men when he falls sick. Before long, though, he’s nursing them through cholera and performing surgery on Jim Bridger, compelling the scoffers and scorners to change their tune.
Sent back east to recruit more settlers, he startles the folks in his home town of Rushville (who weren’t expecting him) by stalking into church in mountain-man mode, accompanied by two Indians. [This is the only area community actually named in the story. Rushville’s Marcus Whitman High School honors this native son.]
Whitman persuades four others to join him in Oregon, including Henry and Eliza Spalding and Narcissa Prentiss, whom he marries. [Marcus lived and doctored for a while in Wheeler, where a stone marker commemorates his stay. Narcissa and Bath-born Henry were from Prattsburgh, where they knew each other from town, church, and school. In fact, Narcissa had declined a marriage proposal from Henry – no clue how it affected the close-knit party knowing that Eliza was Henry’s second choice and Henry was Narcissa’s second choice. Franklin Academy has a monument to its famed alumni, and a plaque in Ithaca commemorates their commissioning service. The Narcissa Prentiss home is now a museum in Prattsburgh.]
Against all advice they take the women into the Great Prairie and up the Rocky Mountains; indeed, the women insist upon it, and carry on gamely with the men through snowstorms and raging rivers. After a 96-day trip they reach Walla Walla on September 1, 1836, hailed as the first white women to cross the continent. [Well, maybe. Seems to me it depends on how you slice it. Certainly Spanish-American and Mexican-American women had crossed in the Texas-New Mexico-Arizona-California region.]
Whitman returns to the east on business. When hard times combine with reports of a wonderful setting in Oregon, nearly a thousand emigrants itch to leave Missouri in 1843, and they hire the returning Marcus Whitman as their guide. No other wagon train has ever made the trip, but he wins them through, and within two years 4000 more have joined them.
This of course puts extreme pressure on the local Indians, who start to push back. Two panels straightforwardly tell how Cayuse Indians killed Marcus, Narcissa, and a dozen more on November 19, 1847. [All of which is factual. The story sticks to the facts, doesn’t make it too bloody, and does not portray the attacking Cayuse as savages.] Following this two Oregon men cross the continent to Washington and demand that the government provide for protection and organization in the territory, which soon comes to pass.
While the 1958 comic never questions the white “westward expansion,” it also does not demean the Indians. They all speak in full grammatical sentences, and they are not portrayed as bloodthirsty or unreasonable.
The Whitmans and the Spaldings were remarkable people – Marcus crossed the five times, under grave dangers and mostly on foot or horseback, in a day when most people never went twenty miles from their homes. He was a missionary, a doctor, a pioneer, and a developer… mixing up those roles may have contributed to his death. One thing he never dreamed of being was a comic book hero.

The Best in Our Wildife — the Tory Awards Part Two!

Two weeks ago in this space I amused myself by making up a new set of awards – the Tories, named in honor of Roger Tory Peterson, the Field Guide man, whom I once had the pleasure of meeting, on the fiftieth anniversary of Hawk Mountain Sanctuary.
The premise is simple – an award for my most memorable encounter with any given type of wildlife. It had to be a good encounter (no bear attacks), and it had to be an encounter in which I was not stressing, pursuing, or threatening the wildlife, not that I ever do. Given the focus of this blog, the encounters had to be in the Finger Lakes and Southern Tier, and they had to be true wild encounters – no releases, captive animals, or the like.
In that first blog we awarded Tories for woodchucks, deer, bear, skunk, mink, and short-tailed weasels. So for our second installment we start with one of my all-time favorites, the

BEAVER: and the Tory goes to… a beaver I discovered just after dark at Boughton Park near Bloomfield. It was standing in the branches of a tree that had fallen (or been dropped?) into the pond, hanging on with one foreleg and using the other paw to strip greenery from the shoots, then stuff it into its mouth. Lovely sighting, even if it was increasingly in silhouette as the night darkened.
Honorable mention A family of beavers I used to visit at a farm on Mount Washington Road, near the Bath-Urbana line. I used to stop of an evening and just watch them for a while. Nothing’s more restful than paddling beavers going about their business.
RED FOX: and the Tory goes to… a fox I spotted in a field along a country road between Victor and Bloomfield, hard by an obscure monument to the creation of the Northern Spy. This fox trotted from the woods out into the field this summer afternoon, intent on its own business and minding the same. But there were in that same field a herd of deer, who took exception and disputed the passage. Because of the size differential this fox posed no threat to the deer, but one or more of them kept charging him, heads lowered. They never actually got close enough to butt, but they sure got close enough to threaten. The fox kept trying to circle around, but the deer were having none of it. Finally the fox gave up and stamped off back where it came from, at the least minute throwing its head over its shoulder and making a few parting comments. Since I was watching through binoculars I couldn’t hear what the fox said, but it was probably unprintable anyway.
Honorable mention The inattentive and very startled fox that almost walked into me on the Bristol Hills Trail in High Tor, above Naples.
COYOTE: and the Tory goes to… a coyote that took me completely by surprise. I was a step-on bus guide for a New England group riding from their hotel in Elmira to Sonnenberg Gardens, telling them local stories along the way. We’d been discussing wildlife when someone asked, “do you have any coyotes?” I assured them “yes, but you won’t see any this trip.” So there I was standing and talking, facing backward at the bus passengers as we rolled up Main Street in Canandaigua. I glanced to my left as we passed over the old railroad way and there’s a coyote, at ten o’clock on a sunny morning, just standing there and looking things over like he’s planning to buy the place.

Don’t we live in a delightful region for wildlife? Anyhow – how about you? What are YOUR most memorable wildlife encounters? (Good ones… not counting gorings and such.) Chime in on the comments, or just think about it yourself. Ask the kids for their memories. Make a specific list when you take long trips. Have fun!

An Ugly History — the Ku Klux Klan in Our Area

In 1925, the Ku Klux Klan held a two-day regional rally at Yates County fairgrounds, and a four-day regional rally at Chemung County Fairgrounds, culminating in a fourth of July fireworks spectacular by 250 Klavaliers from Altoona, Pa. The Klan openly held meetings and rallies in dozens of our communities, and burned crosses in dozens of our communities. They held parades in the streets of our communities, and motor cavalcades along our country roads. Members in dozens of churches applauded when Ku Klux Klan members paraded in wearing their robes. Very often the ministers were members. So were police chiefs, county treasurers, presidents of common councils. In several counties they controlled the Republican Party for years.

How did this happen?

In 1915 there appeared a silent spectacular of the silver screen, Birth of a Nation, which glorified the Ku Klux Klan, depicting blacks as monsters and their white sympathizers as dupes. Canny organizers (who made fortunes on memberships and sales) took advantage of this free advertising, adding in whispered warnings about “the foreign:” Jews, Catholics, immigrants, and city dwellers, in addition to African Americans. Rural whites were already being pressured economically – SOME ONE must be responsible, and the Klan had ready answers, PLUS a program to do something about it! AND all the usual benefits of joining a lodge.

These people were also angry (or frightened) at modernization. Votes for women; independent, educated African Americans; movies and radio making people long for something more; new technologies changing the economy; strong unions; religious ideas different from what they’d been used to; modern art; new advances in science; the fact that more Americans now lived in the city than in the country. AND Al Smith was our governor! Catholic! Urban! Progressive! Child of immigrants! He didn’t even believe in prohibition! “Take back our state!”

It’s hard for us to fathom today, but people were fiercely proud of their membership. There was a K.K.K. filling station in Bath, and another in Painted Post. There are K.K.K. gravestones in Canisteo. Members painted K.K.K. on a cliff in Cameron Mills, and maintained it for decades. The Klan had its own meeting house in Cameron Mills into the 1950s. Newspapers reported K.K.K. funerals, and K.K.K. weddings.

Yates County Historical Society has a minute book from the ladies’ auxiliary, the Keuka Klub. They had meetings with 20 to 40 members present, gathering at Milo Second Baptist Church, Penn Yan Methodist Church, and a Grange hall, then rented the Moose Hall for $125 a year.

They had lectures, singing, quilting bee, relief for the sick, etc. In June 1925 they minuted “stores in Penn Yan who are Prodident.” The spelling was not even phonetic, making us wonder whether they even understood what Protestantism was historically.

On one occasion Klan members marched in a circle in front of St. Michael’s church in Penn Yan. Father Hugh A. Crowley (pastor 1922-1930) came out and told them that if they didn’t leave he’d kick their asses. He was a big man, and they left. At a rally in Bath the speaker demanded that any Catholics in the audience leave, insisting that he only wanted to spare their feelings.

The N.A.A.C.P. fought the Klan, and so did the Grand Army of the Republic, though those Union veterans were growing few and frail by then. A mob chased Klan speakers off in Elmira in 1923. When 6000 people in Buffalo joined up the mayor had a policeman infiltrate the group and steal the membership list, which the mayor then published. African Americans from Bath crisscrossed the region jawboning mayors, who generally said they couldn’t stop peaceful parades. But anti-mask laws sprang up, and statewide the 1923 Walker Law, with some exceptions, required organizations to report annually on their memberships, oaths, and bylaws.

The Klan reportedly was still burning crosses on people’s lawns – in Prattsburgh, for instance – into the 1970s, and they still exist in small numbers today, but the big fever died out by the end of the 1920s. Scandals involving the national leadership disillusioned many. Al Smith left the scene. The N.A.A.C.P. conducted a vigorous campaign educating American about lynchings, and finally the Depression got everybody’s minds onto other things.

It’s a very ugly part of our history, but sad to say it’s also a significant part. I’ll be reporting on these chilling days in Steuben County Historical Society’s next Winter Lecture, 4 PM Friday March 6 in Bath Fire Hall – free and open to the public.