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The Old Mill
by
Miss Mary Capron gave permission to publish her mother's account
of turn-of-the-century life in Naples, New York
HOW forlorn it appears with the family who now own it (and use it as
a residence) gone since summer began to wane. Its shades are drawn, no
smoke issues from its chimney and it gives forth no evidence of occupancy.
The one lovely weeping willow which shaded it was bent and broken by last
winter's ice storm.
What tales it could tell of the days when it was the scene of great activity,
both day and night, sawing stove-wood, lumber of all kinds, to be used
for making grape trays and baskets, shingles, lathe, molding and general
building. In spite of the fact that it was on fire more than twenty times,
it escaped destruction by the fire demons. In repairing after the last
fire, there was discovered between the walls, an accumulation of both
wool and cotton lint, dating back to the time when machinery for weaving
both of these materials into cloth was used in the building.
It is not known who built the mill. However, records show that Paul Grimes
(from whom Paul Grimes is named) was an early operator. His daughter,
Hester Ann Grimes, married Judson Holcomb, who had come as a young man
with his parents from Windsor, Conn. , to live at Cook's Point on Canandaigua
Lake, in the first cabin on the lake to be used for a home. This house
stood at the entrance to the north gully on the point. The cabin was made
of logs, two stories high, and had an outside staircase, and was, in its
day, quite pretentious. The huge fireplace was made of stones and clay
found on the point. The point (now 1936) is owned by Dr. Cook of Canandaigua.
Paul Grimes also had a son who laid claim to being an artist—at
least he had been abroad to study art, and upon his return home set-up
a studio in the upper front room of the Griff McNair store, which stood
on the corner of Main & Mechanic streets, (north side) now occupied by
the Market Basket Store. Perhaps he had the right idea, but his execution
was faulty to the degree one could not recognize in the finished product,
who had been the person that posed four or five hours daily for weeks,
and who had paid him fifty dollars or more, plus extra price for a suitable
frame, for his likeness done in oils on canvas. Many residences of this
village still preserve in the attic one or more of the atrocities. In
course of time, Hester Ann & Judson Holcomb joined their brothers and
sisters, who had migrated to Dry Prairie (Athens) Michigan. But in later
years returned, and spent their remaining years in Naples, and are buried
in the "old" cemetery at Kiandaga Square.
At the time of their migration to Michigan, the old mill was sold to
William Marks, whose wife Emily Catherine Holcomb was a sister of Judson
Holcomb. This couple lived at their newly-built home, near the corner
of Main and Mechanic Street, east side.
Mr. Marks had become a merchant and was also the undertaker of the village.
He probably wanted the mills for his sons-in-law, both of whom were home
from the Civil War. The Grimes home had been washed away in a flood of
Grimes Creek, and was carried downstream partly demolished. Purl Yaw now
owns the land (1936) on which stood the Grimes house. Stones from the
old wall were used later in building a cellar wall for the house now standing
just south of the bridge, on the west side (Loren Elwell).
Very soon after purchasing the mill and a considerable amount of land,
fronting on the east side of main street, from bridge to bridge, and on
west side of Main St. from bridge to Wine Cellar Hill Road, he began the
erection of a home for his daughter, Emily Catherine, wife of Dr. Charles
Johnson. This couple had eloped from a Methodist Sunday School picnic
at Woodville, and got married at Elmira, though they had previously known
each other but slightly. For fear of parental displeasure, the marriage
was kept secret for a long time.
Dr. Johnson also acquired the basket factory near the upper bridge, at
the corner of Cohocton St. and Main.
Their new home was then the only house on the east side of Main St. ,
south of the bridge. It had a new type of architecture with double parlors,
each of which contained a bay window, above which was a small balcony.
The latter soon became popular among young lovers about town.
In course of time, Dr. Johnson went to Buffalo and entered General Hospital,
under Conrad Diehl. Upon graduation, he was assigned to begin practice
at Barclay, Pa. (near Tonawanda)-a soft coal mining town, and served under
George Tidd, Mine Supt. Here they spent many years, and while there met
with the loss by death of their only son, Arthur Marks Johnson, from typhoid
fever, at the age of 17. He was buried near the east end of Rose Ridge
cemetery in Naples. Not long afterwards, his parents left Barclay.
Soon after the completion of the home occupied by Charles and Emily Johnson,
a second residence was built on the lot adjoining to the north, for his
other daughter, Ida, whose husband, Edgar Griswold, had been wounded in
the Civil War, while serving as Captain of Co. G, 148th Volunteer regiment,
under General U. S. Grant, in the siege of Richmond. While passing through
the Wilderness on May 16th, 1863, he was shot in the upper left arm by
a sharpshooter. Robert Miles of Reids Corners shot and killed this sharpshooter
Confederate soldier, and left his body leaning against a tree, hoping
some of his comrades would bury it. For many years the wound in his arm
was troublesome, and the cause of terrible suffering.
But, as it happened, he had a useful trade to turn to in the need to
support a family. He had taken up the trade of architect and master builder
before enlisting in the army and had already become quite proficient.
His training was obtained in an interesting way:
About the time of the big boom on the Ohio River, and the founding of
the city of Cincinnati, many other river cities also began to spring up
along the water front, and enjoyed more or less of a boom, also. To one
of these places, Shawnee Town, this young apprentice, Edgar Griswold,
in company with several others, went, in charge of a master builder and
engaged in the erection of many buildings. He spent several months at
the place and there completed his training. He was very accurate in measuring,
in time acquired skill, and began to help draw up plans for other buildings.
He possessed rare skill in building stairways, which were easy to climb,
with steps of proper distance apart.
It so happened that a general of the recent Mexican war, was living in
this curious little river town, which possessed an open square or commons.
It was the delight of the young fellows around town to gather about the
old general in the evenings, and listen to his war tales of how "Uncle
Sam" licked Mexico. Secretly every fellow was envious of the old soldier's
military walk and distinguished appearance.
Already the shadow of the oncoming Civil War could be felt, if not seen,
and it was no idle jest when the old general offered to give these young
men a course of military drills which they gladly accepted. Accordingly,
each pleasant evening, they would assemble on the square and there the
old general would put them through their paces, using broomsticks for
guns with the whole population turned out to watch the show.
A few young men went back to their homes in various scattered parts of
our country knowing how to conduct and train raw recruits for war service.
After returning to Naples, Edgar Griswold continued to follow the building
trade, until one day he received a letter from Sec. of War, Edwin Stanton,
asking him to go to Geneva, N. Y. , there to recruit and drill volunteers,
a regiment of 100 soldiers. This he did, and went to the front as their
original captain of Co. G, 148th N. Y. Volunteers. When Lincoln issued
his second call for volunteers, and the famous song, "We are coming, Father
Abraham, a hundred thousand strong" was sung on this march, this same
co. was in its appointed place in that march through the city of Washington,
and added their voices to the volume of song, as they marched to the south.
While serving in the Union Army, he was wounded, and removed to a hospital
in Elmira. Later that autumn he was married to Ida Marks. Their first
child, a son, William Marks Griswold, was born the foll. year, and three
years later, a daughter, Mary, was born, while they resided on Mechanic
St. in the house now (1936) owned by William Cornish (later Irving Barber).
When Mary was one year old, the new home was ready & the Griswold family
moved into it. Ida was disappointed in the house, as she had always wanted
a colonial type, but it was then the fashion to erect tall houses, with
towers, and so the men folks built to suit themselves, not to be outdone
by its only neighbor with its two balconies and double parlors.
Main St. lots were rapidly filling with homes, and no longer did the
sawmill seem "way out in the country. " Fortunately, there was no other
saw mill nearer than Bath or Canandaigua, and so great was the demand
for its various products that it became necessary to import laborers and
to run day and night shifts.
This made it necessary to enlarge the house, and to build barns and sheds,
and provide storage rooms for supplies. One set of mill hands ate breakfast,
while the other set ate supper. It was quite a hustle to get the beds
aired and made ready for those who were going to sleep all day. Not a
loaf of bread, or anything baked (except crackers) could be purchased.
Crackers came once each week from the old Smith bakery in Canandaigua,
by way of an overland stage, going down one day, and back the next day,
the driver living in Naples. When a barrel of the fresh crackers was seen
on the rear of the stage, the word was quickly passed around and all hastened
to replenish their depleted stock. It was customary for the Griswolds
to buy a barrel at a time and a whole cheese was usually purchased. These
always stood handy, with a knife to cut off a hunk of cheese, and no one
ever thought of asking permission to cut a slice, or to reach in a row
of crocks standing on the lowest shelf in a long pantry, for a delicious
fried cake, or choice of molasses or sugar cookies. Indeed, I never remember
seeing these same crocks empty, until my turn to help keep them filled
arrived.
Thanks to having a natural bent for domestic arts, I learned at an early
age to use the rolling pin and kneading board. And what a grand hot oven
could be ready in a few minutes, with that finest of dry wood, the outside
slab of log with bark left on.
The original house contained a front entrance hall, with parlor toward
the south, back of these a living room and small bedroom and stairway,
back of these were a dining room opening into living room, and onto the
north porch, and a kitchen with a cellar stairway and an unfinished back
room.
There were, besides, a very large hall and clothespress on the second
floor, three large chambers, and a smaller room known as the "tower" room,
over the front hall. In course of time, a bay window to the north was
added to the living room, and the bedroom to the south was extended to
21 feet, and included a fireplace, a clothespress, and an outside door,
and built-in woodbox, with cupboard above. The back room was made into
a regular kitchen, and the old kitchen became a dining room. The original
small dining room was made into a bedroom for Edgar Griswold, who suffered
at times untold anguish from his wounded arm, and needed to have a separate
bed.
In the meantime a third child (Josephine Augusta) had been born, and
several years later a little sister, Ida Sophia, came to the home, but
lived only 8 months. She passed away after a prolonged attack of whooping
cough, and was buried the day before Christmas in Rose Ridge Cemetery.
The tower was removed from the house in the autumn of 1932 by Lucien
Stone, and Arthur Warner, after the place passed into the ownership of
myself, Josephine Griswold Capron, in 1925.
None of the Capron children was born in the "old home."
The house was heated by stoves, but in the year 1892, a coal-burning
furnace was installed, and in 1931, natural gas was piped into the kitchen.
Also, the room used as Capt. Griswold's bedroom was made into a dining
room, and the former dining room became a kitchen. Two casement windows
were built by Arthur Warner, one in the living room and the other in the
kitchen, over the sink. A new main chimney was built by Elmer Lafler in
1930. The roof was reshingled, at the time the tower was removed.
As for the barn, it still serves a purpose, as all three Capron girls
have cars, and there they are housed when the girls are home. Other buildings
have been removed or torn down. A bathroom has been installed over the
present kitchen, and electricity supplies lights and power.
Edgar Griswold and Ida Marks Griswold lived out their whole married life
in the home they had built. Also their son, William died in the old home
just one month following his mother's death.
William Lewis Capron, son-in-law, lived in the other old home on Elizabeth
Street at the time of his death on Jan. 22, 1913, and his son, Robert
William Capron, died in the house first south of the bridge on Main Street,
on the west side of Main St. , opposite the Griswold homestead.
Blanche Mitchel Capron was born in the house on Clark Street, now owned
by Jacob Schwingle. Mary, Alice and Robert Capron were born in the house
on Main Street, first north of the iron bridge on the east side of highway
(now owned by Leon Cornish) and opposite the house now owned by Dr. O.
R. Charles, next to Kendrick Shedd's.
Needing an office at the Griswold house, an extension was made to the
east, and a suitable room was added, also a woodshed was provided to the
southeast, and by attaching the wing of the house to Paul Grimes's (which
had been washed away in the flood, recovered and brought back. ) This
also provided a good-sized room on the second floor, originally used as
sleeping quarters by men employed in the mill, but later used as a shop
for his printing press, etc. by Wm. Griswold, who with a partner named
Fred Pollock living next door to the south, published for a considerble
time, a small paper which had quite a circulation among the pupils of
the school, because of the jokes and items of especial interest to the
younger people of the village.
An addition to the barn to the east was made, in which were usually kept
a cow and many chickens, and farther to the east, along the creek, was
a pig-pen, usually having 3 or more inmates. Great was the time of butchering,
and a commodious smoke house was brought into service, but it was soon
eaten up, along with the many crates and trays of all kinds of fresh vegetables,
and hanging shelves of jellies and canned fruit were a pleasant sight
Pits made of a barrel sunk in the ground provided a good place for cabbage
and rutabaga turnips. At the first spring thaw, vegetable oysters and
parsnips were dug, and were a great treat, for no trucks came along selling
those things. An arrangement of a plank, standing on edge, running parallel
to the cellar wall and about one foot from it, with the space filled with
rich black muck, was used for bleaching celery.
The plants were carefully taken up from the garden, and transplanted
to the cellar, where they went on growing, losing their green color gradually,
remaining fresh and tender and always ready.
There were many fruit trees on the place, and a large orchard of delicious
apples, peaches and plums provided the larder the year round with delicacies.
A white wooden picket fence with gates entirely surrounded the yard and
garden. In one corner of the front dooryard was a big flag pole, from
which the Stars and Stripes floated, for my parents were very patriotic.
A deep curb well, near which was a round hedge enclosing a flower bed,
and a big mulberry tree, were also in the north side of the dooryard.
A lane leading down to the mill, ran along the south side, separating
it from its neighbor. At various times, driven pipe wells were used, the
last one being in the barn, but after the town put in a system of water
works from a reservoir, the driven wells were abandoned. A white moss
rose bush, planted many years ago by Ida Marks Griswold, now occupies
the flower bed once enclosed by hedge.
Old chandeliers that once hung from the ceilings now rest in the attic,
but the fireplace is still often used, a few minor changes and repairs
have been made, but it has been left largely as originally built.
Under the mill was a huge water wheel, which ran the machinery, and growing
on the banks of the stream were lovely wild flowers, but the presence
of long black snakes made it a scary adventure to gather them in midsummer,
when the snakes came out to sun themselves on the bank. Many a reptile
has helped to keep the boiler hot, along with shavings and sawdust, which
slid down an incline from both floors, above, and some venturesome boys
occasionally slid down also. Enjoyable features of the mill were riding
on the long car on which the logs were carried to be sawed, and the sluice
water race.
Quite a number of accidents occurred to workers, but none more serious
than the loss of fingers, which got too near a saw. Harvey Burke, foreman,
suffered that loss, while employed in the mill. In later years, after
he finished his education, the mill was run by Wm. Griswold, son of Edgar
Griswold.
After the son's marriage to Angeline Arnold, in June, 1904, the newly-weds
resided with his parents for a time in the old home, removing to the house
opposite, next south of the Main St. iron bridge, on west side. This house
was moved to the Main St. location from across Brooklyn Bridge, and repaired
for further use. While Will & Angie lived there, a daughter, Orlena Emily
Griswold, was born to them, but died of diphtheria, while on a visit to
Cleveland with her grandmother, Dell Arnold. After her husband's death,
many years later, Angie married Ross Eschrich of Dansville, made her home
in Wayland, and kept a beauty parlor.
During the summer, children had great fun in the wooden trough of the
race, which became slimy and green, with a most delectable slip on your
feet, holding onto the sides, and tumbling off the lower end into a deep,
cool pool, just about deep enough to cover you. And oh, the lovely slimy,
oozy mud in the pond above, where the water ran into the wheel. And was
it ever fun to put on an old long-sleeved apron, which buttoned down the
back and tied with strings (and what girl didn't have a half dozen such
aprons) and wade in the pond, and cover yourself with the lovely mud,
sun yourself on the bank, and pretend you were "rich guys," taking mud
baths at some famous foreign "spa," but not for one moment forgetting
to watch out for the water snakes, which also inhabited the pool! And
that same quiet pond was the scene of many near tragedies to the unwary.
Sometimes sawdust from the slab-wood cutter would come out the open mill
windows, and float on the surface of the pool. That did no harm, except
to the unsuspecting person who attempted to cross on a certain plank of
wood to the opposite bank, and, failing to properly locate the plank because
of the sawdust, walked off into about a 4 foot depth of water, greatly
to the amusement of onlookers.
Every time a new "hand" was hired someone found a reason to send him
across the plank, and but few escaped a bath by walking off the plank.
There was also an Ice House, where sawdust was used to keep the ice,
which was cut in winter from the pond. In times of being empty, it furnished
great fun for youngsters who would climb up on a beam, and jump off into
the soft sawdust. Back of the mill was a huge pile of slab wood, cut from
the outside of a log. This was sold to homes in Naples village for fuel
for cook-stoves. Nearly all the children in town rode on that wagon load
of wood, each one hoping to be on hand when the team was unhitched at
the woodpile, to be allowed to ride one of the team of horses, Kit or
Fred, big bay work horses, around to their barn, a considerable distance.
It was supposed to be a brave adventure but the team were steady, and
weary from a hard day's work, and never behaved unseemly.
Sometimes, on Sundays, after a good clean down with the brush and curry
comb in the hands of Marcus Fisher, the hired man, or when we went to
Cohocton to see the fireworks on July 4th, and they were hitched to the
square-fringed-canopy-top two-seated wagon, this same pair of horses kicked
up their heels and pricked up their ears, and pretended to be much afraid
of crackers, or of the grotesque fusileers roaming about the streets,
usually on horseback or on a rude float. I doubt if they were frightened
by the music of the band, for as I recall it seems to stand out in my
memory as the most wonderful and heavenly music ever played. I have heard
many famous bands in later years, but none roused in me such thrills as
that old Naples band. To this same band music these two horses solemnly
walked each Decoration Day, in the parade to both cemeteries, and carried
the veterans and the flowers, doing their part to keep in remembrance
this sacred day.
The Griswold family owned many horses at one time or another, and one
was a pony named Billy, which had been trained by a former owner, to be
driven without reins, and to stop or go, upon signal by the whip. During
a cloud burst, the small barn in which the pony was stabled, was washed
nearly to Hatch Hill.
It was returned, and placed on the south side of the mill. In the upper
part was a workshop for carpenters and one time, when a large room in
a new part of the mill was not in use, the young people used the room
for a skating rink. Each person would bring a lantern, and his own skates;
A high place in the old part of the mill made sort of a gallery for spectators.
Also in another upper room of a new shed were held some theatrical performances,
mostly for the benefit of the neighbors, and those taking part in the
plays.
At one time, soon after the mill came into possession of our family,
an unusual thing happened. There moved to our town a man who had worked
at the printer's trade elsewhere, and he decided to print a newspaper,
so persuaded Dr. Charles Johnson to help him, and to do the work in the
old mill. There was no newspaper in the village at this time. He possessed
some type and forms, also a press, and got all in readiness to be run
off, when someone by accident upset the whole thing on the sawdust-covered
floor.
Every piece of the type had to be picked out, put back into the proper
compartment, but the courageous printer tried again, and was more fortunate.
It is claimed that this was the first paper ever printed in this village.
Surrounding Naples mill were huge logs, piled up, waiting to be sawed,
drawn from the surrounding hills, while sleighing was possible. When the
empty sleds returned, they had sleds tied on behind, and a crowd of youngsters
catching a ride to the top of the hill. The Wine Cellar hill and old "Bob
Nick" will long be remembered by an earlier generation, many of whom bear
permanent scars, as a result of sliding there. A curb well, standing near
the foot of "Bob Nick," was sometimes struck by the bob, and the coaster
fell into the icy water of the well, or, failing that, the bob went over
the bank in Duane Lyon's garden, a drop of some thirty feet or more. A
jounce was sometimes constructed half-way down, to give added zest and
risk. It came to be the fashion to ride "belly gut" style, when alone
on a sled, to insure greater safety.
There is still, in possession of the family a sled made to ride down
Bob Nick, "Old January," by Edgar Griswold, when he was too young to go
to war.
When spring came, there was soap to be made in a big black iron kettle,
over an outdoor fire, from grease and lye made from an ash barrel, which
was a big job that took all day.
The resultant soap was about like molasses and very slippery, strong
and "smelly. " It was kept in the cellar in a barrel. Once, the barrel
hoops broke, and let it all run out on the cellar floor, and great was
the labor to shovel it up.
Another spring task was the making of gum from the pitch which ran out
at the ends of the pine logs at the mill pond. Children scraped the pitch
off in cans, then it was boiled down to the proper consistency, but-it
easily caught fire. While making spruce gum one day. Ida Griswold narrowly
escaped serious injury, for the pitch caught fire, and caught onto her
sleeve. Luckily, a barrel of flour stood near, into which she thrust her
arms, and smothered out the blaze. But she never made anymore spruce gum.
It was great fun to be allowed to blow the mill whistle at 12 noon, and
at 6 o'clock-provided the man in the engine room proved agreeable. It
was a pleasant whistle, not high and shrill, nor foggy and muffled, as
so many are today. The mill whistle was blown for fires and all kinds
of celebrations. The afternoon of July 3rd, steam was kept up and at midnight,
the wire was tied down. This caused the whistle to blow continuously,
until it used up all the steam.
At one time, the older boys built a raft on the mill pond, and played
pirates, but would not let the girls out on it. So the latter decided
to have a raft of their own, and acquired an old wooden box, light and
shallow, but big enough for two to get inside (at the same time). It was
tied to the shore, and at a signal, both girls stepped over inside, and
the box immediately scooted out from under them, floating off downstream,
leaving the girls floundering about, fully dressed, in about four feet
of water. Their mothers decided they had been punished enough, so postponed
a whipping, to a later date.
Farther over, near the big creek, in the rear of the mill, lying to the
east along the bank of the creek, was a lovely, grass-covered spot which
became the camping ground of frequent bands of gypsies, and often their
presence was tolerated unless they became too bold. Their presence caused
great excitement, and some anxiety, as a gypsy woman once attempted to
get a young child into their camp, so that band were threatened with arrest,
and were driven out of town.
There were piles of lumber seasoning in the sunshine, and materials for
making grape baskets were often spread out to dry, and scattered about
the mill yard were piles of boards so arranged that they formed triangular
shapes, which were large enough for a child to climb over, and in which
to play Hide and Seek. Once, while playing the game another girl and I
tipped over some heavy material onto my legs, and came nearly breaking
them. This injury necessitated a few days absence from school. How badly
I regretted that absence I doubt, as our hired man, Marcus Fisher, brought
me home a gray squirrel in a cage, but it gnawed its way to Freedom, from
its wooden prison, and disappeared.
I always had a good friend in Marcus, to whom I confided all my sorrows,
and he did much to alleviate my sufferings. I remember many times appealing
to his tender sympathy. One method of punishment in our family was to
send, or keep away from the table, a child whose behavior was unsatisfactory.
This method didn't work well with me, because Marcus wouldn't eat, unless
I could eat with him. He was quite given to plaguing the hired girl; at
one time he painted spectacles on the faces of her two pet kittens. My
only brother was an able assistant, in these pranks, doubtless.
Marcus aspired to be a musician, due to the influence of Martin Lyon,
a member of the Naples band. Mark purchased a violin and started to learn
under Lyon's instruction. He practiced largely at the barn, but occasionally
on an early Sunday morning, in warm weather, he would climb to the upper
"tower" room, open the little door leading to the roof, and there the
plaintive wails of his violin would come forth, much to the exasperation
of the neighbors, none of whom could see the culprit. It is quite certain
a few rocks would have been hurled in that direction, had they known who
and where he was.
We had many hired girls, but the other men did not board in the home
much after I was old enough to remember.
Marcus Fisher came in the spring of 1873, and remained for 12 years,
going to work in Jackson, Michigan, for his cousin, Norris Branch, who
owned a bakery, and he never returned to our town to reside.
In late years, an extension was built on the front of the mill, in which
was an elevator which carried materials up to the second floor, to be
used in the making of grape baskets. Here were built various sizes of
baskets holding 5, 10, 15 or 20 lbs. of ripe grapes, on frames on which
about a dozen girls and women worked. A good worker sometimes earned from
$8 to $12 a week. Another person nailed the handles on just before they
were to be filled with the fruit, otherwise they required too much space
to store.
Sometimes the big piles of stove wood in the rear of the mill seemed
somewhat smaller in the morning when the mill closed down, and often the
track of a wheelbarrow was visible, and could easily have been followed.
But who wants to apprehend a neighbor in the act of purloining wood, when
the thermometer stands below zero? Wood was plentiful and cheap, so little
or no effort was made to apprehend the thief. Coal was, however, quite
expensive and much of it had to be drawn from Bloods railroad station
(now Atlanta) by teams, a distance of six miles, and no coal dealer was
then in business here.
Until the Lehigh Valley railroad entered our village, practically all
freight and express came by wagon, and all shipments of grapes and other
produce made it necessary to draw heavy loads to Bloods station, or to
Woodville, to put on board a steamboat, which unloaded at the foot of
the lake into cars usually going over the Northern Central line to Baltimore.
Great was the rejoicing when Naples had its own railroad, but the L. V.
R. R. had its terminal here. It enjoyed a thriving passenger business
also, until modern highways and automobiles stole its profits. At this
writing (1936) we have one train, a combination of freight and passenger,
using a gasoline engine making one trip each day, coming into the local
station at 10 o'clock P. M. and returning at about 3 P. M. to Geneva.
If you insist, they will allow you to ride by paying your fare.
After the death of Edgar Griswold, his wife, Ida Marks Griswold, and
their son, William Griswold, two sisters survived: Mary Griswold Smith,
and Josephine Griswold Capron. The latter was a widow, and a teacher in
the local High School. So it was decided that, Mrs. Capron should buy
the "Old Home."
Accordingly, in the spring of 1925, the Capron family moved from the
house opposite, which was sold to Rhinehart Meyers, to the Old Home, where
they planned to live. In June, 1936, Josephine Capron retired on a small
teacher's pension, after 25 years of teaching.
None of the grandchildren of Ida and Edgar Griswold were born in the
Old Homestead. The marriages of Mary to Charles Smith, and of Josephine
to William Lewis Capron, both took place in the bay window in the living
room, and were both performed by Rev. C. G. Roop, pastor of the Methodist
Episcopal Church. He also married Angeline Arnold to William Griswold
[June 1904] at the Arnold home on Weld St. All three marriages, and the
death of Grandma Emily Holcomb Marks, all took place within one year at
Naples, Ontario County, New York.
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