Since there’s so much history being celebrated, it’s the perfect time for yours truly and my partner in crime, (I swear that rhyme was unintended – ok, I did it again) Chris Edwards, to do some signings of our fun local history books “Windsor Then” and “500 Ways You Know You’re From Windsor”. To start, we’ll be at Indigo Books on Friday from 5 – 7, then at the Gourmet Emporium as part of Walkerville Rocks almost all day Saturday, and on Sunday we’ll be in Ford City (look for us at the old photos display at 1023 Drouillard) from 11 to 1, and then we be set up shop next to our buddy, Mark Bradac of Pawnathon fame, at the Home Show from 2-4. (You can bring your old treasures for him to check out and maybe even purchase.)

Have you ever had a look at the Gourmet Emporium in Olde Walkerville? It’s located in a stunningly beautiful old building on the corner of Wyandotte and Chilver. Originally a bank this building had an interesting past. I give you the following story, which we ran in a long ago issue of The Walkerville Times:

The Great Bank Robbery of ’59

by Currie Bednarick

Little do the patrons of a local hair salon know they are being pampered in a building that was once the site of a real-life cops-and-robbers drama.
June 9, 1959 was an unforgettable day to anyone in or near the Bank of Montreal at Chilver and Wyandotte in Olde Walkerville. Two men, Nicholas Hamilton (alias McCormick) of Vancouver and Kenneth Irwin of Toronto, wearing white jackets, hoods, and sunglasses, entered the bank that afternoon, armed and ready to get their black-gloved hands on some easy cash.
Adele Pare, a local housewife, was making a withdrawal when one of the men thrust a gun into her back and grabbed her, exclaiming, “This is a stickup. Do as we say or you’ll get it, and we mean it.” The men forced her and another customer into a corner of the vault along with the bank’s 15 employees. The chief clerk, Norman Wingrover, tripped the alarm along the way. The three female tellers were robbed of a total of $10,733 before the pair attempted to make their getaway.
The first officer to arrive at the scene was Const. Brian Pickup. He had spent eight years as a policeman in his native England before moving to Windsor and joining the force in 1957. Forty years later, Pickup can still recall the incident quite clearly. “A call came out over the radio saying there was a robbery at the bank. When I got there a large group of people had gathered around the building.”
He had only seconds to take in the scene. “As I got to that block, I saw a woman with her hands in the air, and then a man with a bag in one hand and a gun in the other. I didn’t draw my gun because a stray bullet could have gone into the crowd.”
Instead, Pickup lunged for the robber, Nicholas Hamilton, throwing him over his shoulder onto the sidewalk and kneeling on him to hold him down until the other officers arrived.

Unfortunately, he was unable to see inside the bank, and assumed that the man he was holding captive had been working alone. That mistake could have cost him his life.

To read the rest of this story click here walkervilletimes.com.

(I just had to add the poster some very talented person created for the Ford City Festival this weekend. )

From a Sentry Box, to Postmasters’ homes, from General Stores and Shoe Stores to the current Sandwich Post Office, Sandwich certainly has had its share of different post office locations.

As with most small towns, the post office in Sandwich was once the place to get all the gossip. You could pick up your mail and spread the news, in one convenient stop.

Back in those days, the Postmaster was held in high esteem. After all, he was responsible for the delivery of the town’s mail, bringing news from other parts of Canada — or the world — to the town folk, sort of like an 19th century version of Peter Mansbridge.

The first Postmaster of the town of Sandwich was William Hands, who held the title from 1800 to 1835. He also held the positions of Sheriff, District Treasurer, Customs Officer, Judge of Surrogate and Registrar Surrogate. Obviously a pretty hands on guy. (No pun intended, I swear.)

During Hands’ term as Postmaster, he ran it from his home, built in 1780. (Too bad it was torn down years ago.) This very first Sandwich Post Office was located on Main Street (now Sandwich Street) at the north end of town. Close to the street were a gate and a “Sentry box” type hut, where town folk picked up and dropped off their mail.

Hands died Feb. 20, 1836. (Some of you might remember, or even attended, William Hands High School on  California Avenue off of Tecumseh Road West. William Hands is now Century High.)

After Hands’ death, the position was given to George Gentle in 1834. (Great name.) He operated a General Store and post office, across the street from the Courthouse (now Mackenzie Hall Cultural Centre).

A view of Sandwich Street looking South. The current post office is on the far left. (circa 1910)

Edward Holland was the Postmaster from 1838 until his death Feb.7, 1843. This post office was at his residence on the corner of Mill and Peter.

Next was Pierre Hector Morin who kept the post office in the William G. Hall building, at Lot 5, East Bedford Street.

Calixte St. Louis took charge of the post office in 1865 and retired in 1881 when Victor Ouellette became Postmaster and ran it from several locations, including the McKee building, Clarke Bros Shoe Store and the Girardot building at the northwest corner of Mill and Sandwich (replaced by a modern government building). The words POST OFFICE could be seen in the step on the south side of the building at the doorway.

On August 8, 1885, John Spiers received the appointment of postmaster, held until June 1, 1907. He kept the post office in his general store, which was on the northeast corner of Sandiwch and Mill, and is now The Mill tavern.

The Dominion Government secured a permanent home for the Sandwich Post Office in 1907 on the southeast corner of Mill and Sandwich. This brick and stone three-story building was erected at a cost of $15,000. Mr. Spiers and Miss Jessie Spiers were postmaster and postmistress, respectively. The Honourable R.F. Sutherland K.C. M.P. was chiefly responsible for securing the monies needed to build the post office.

The second-floor apartments were for Inland Revenue & Customs House. John McLean was the Customs Inspector; John Mcleod was appointed janitor and lived with his family on the third floor.

During the Sandwich Old Boys’ Reunion, held in August 1909, a former town resident, William Leech, donated that large fountain in the front of the post office. Despite attempts to close the post office in recent years, it still continues to operate out of this beautiful old building.

The Olde Sandwich Towne Festival starts tonight, Friday, Sept. 7, 2012 and continues through the weekend (starting at 10 am Sat. and 11 Sunday) in the Mill and Sandwich area. There will be live entertainment, 1812 historical displays, fireworks, cricket, drum and bugle shows, buskers, clowns and local vendors selling jewelry, arts and crafts. At 10:30, Saturday morning, the Freeing of the City by the Essex & Kent Scottish will take place at the Olde Sandwich Town Hall between Mackenzie Hall and the Post Office on Sandwich. (For more info check out their facebook group.)

Look for History Babe and Chris Edwards too. We will be having a sale and signing of our latest history books, “Windsor Then” and “500 Ways You Know You’re From Windsor” in the vendor area on Saturday and Sunday. Check our books out at walkerville.com.

(all photos are from the archives of Walkerville Publishing)

Apparently, there’s a hamlet by this name about forty minutes south of Windsor near the shore of Lake Erie. Maybe I had passed through once upon a time with my parents, but I’d blinked.

I nervously follow Chris’s directions through the flatlands of Essex County in what seems like the middle of nowhere (so many fields of corn! It was as if the scenery was a film loop) convinced I would never find it and I would be forever scorned by Chris (who I have only just met) and his family as a city girl. Luckily, I succeed and while I am slightly disappointed by the lack of oxen, I appreciate how Oxley’s rural charms quickly melted away all my stress.

So maybe I had never heard of the place, but lots of people had. Oxley used to be crawling with sun-seeking tourists. In fact, on August 11, 1905, as reported by the Amherstburg Echo, “one of the largest crowds ever accommodated at the Oxley summer resort spent Sunday there. The Pere Marquette train [to Harrow] was so crowded that people had to stand on the steps. Seven (horsedrawn) busloads left Harrow on the arrival of the train, and a second trip had to be made.

And just what was the attraction? Originally known as “Oxford” the name was changed to Oxley due to people confusing it with other Oxfords in Ontario. (Gee, who knew there were so many?) Agriculture had been the mainstay of the community since the first settlement in 1792, but from 1890 until nearly 1950 the village attracted throngs of weekend visitors and ‘summer people’, many coming all the way from the Detroit area. Oxley was then one of the most beautiful spots on the shore of Lake Erie with, as the Echo noted, its “thickly wooded bank and excellent beach being unsurpassed.” Sounds nice, doesn’t it?

Catering to the crowds were local boarding houses and two hotels: the Ravine and the Erie View. The Ravine Hotel was developed strictly for Detroiters.

John Arthur Ridsdale, who came to Canada from New York as a United Empire Loyalist, once owned the site of Oxley. During his ownership of the 400-acre site, he dammed a stream to provide waterpower to run a grist and saw mill. Years later, the ravine property was owned by Philip Ferriss who ran a lumbering business there and lived in the Ridsdale house. Logs were skidded down the ravine to the lake. That must have made quite a racket.

Logging in Comber, Ontario not far from Oxley (from the book Gateway to Canada by Neil F. Morrison)

A large brick home built by Stephen Julien became the basis for the Ravine Hotel when R. Arthur Bailey of Detroit purchased it in 1902. The name derived from the ravine running down from what is now County Road 50 to Lake Erie. He built a 3-storey addition to the Julien house for a dining room and bedrooms, rebuilt the dock erected by Risdale and lobbied unsuccessfully for a trolley line from Harrow to Oxley. (Maybe because he pissed the locals off by running his fences across the beach and out into the lake to restrict access to his stretch of waterfront.)

Bailey brought the first automobile to the Ravine Hotel that year and his wife was the first woman to drive in the area. The roads leading away from Oxley were virtually impassable in those days but as the popularity of the auto grew, the roads improved. On the July 4^th holiday weekend in 1916, despite it being the middle of World War 1, the hotel accommodated “one of the largest crowds in the history of the resort. By noon the place was thronged. Hundreds of motors were parked along the lake road in every available spot…”

It’s thought that during WWII, Oxley’s popularity with Detroiters was enhanced even more because gas rationing meant that they could only drive short distances (and it sure was a lot easier to cross the border back then!). When rationing ended, the popularity of Oxley dwindled and the crowds stopped coming.

now the Holy Retreat House

In 1947, the Roman Catholic Diocese of London bought the Erie View Hotel and established a religious retreat the next year. The Ravine Hotel closed and is now lived in by the Cantarutti family who run the Ravine Cottages and Seasonal RV Park (established in 1969).

There is no longer a post office at Oxley, (once considered the most important in Essex County), and the cricket club, tennis club and baseball team have faded into the dim recesses of the past. But the area is still beautiful and while Chris’s cottage is no longer in the family, over 30 years later (yes, I married him) we continue to make the journey south each summer to visit friends lucky enough to spend their summers in a funky old air stream trailer in one of the prettiest spots on the Ravine Cottages property.

A photo I took of the beach at Oxley

If your travels have never taken you to Oxley, this is the perfect weekend. It’s the 3^rd annual Explore the Shore event when shops, farms, restaurants, B&Bs and wineries along historic County Road 50 welcome you from 11 am to 5 pm on Saturday and Sunday (July 28 & 29, 2012).

There’s even an 1812 scavenger hunt and if you get your passport (which you can pick up at participating businesses) stamped by five businesses you could win a grand prize.

Details and a map are on the Explore the Shore website.

The Ravine Cottages are located at 445 County Road 50 East. There will be lots to see and do here as they are having their annual huge yard sale, food and refreshments will be available, as well as a display of vintage trailers (ever heard of Tin Can Tourists?) open for tours on Saturday only.

And that’s where you’ll find Chris and I this Saturday from 11 – 5. We’ll be having a sale and signing of our latest local history books: “500 Ways You Know You’re From Windsor” and “Windsor Then – a pictorial essay of Windsor, Ontario’s glorious past”. Check them out on our website: walkerville.com.

Sources for this story include “Harrow and Colchester South: 1792-1992, Harrow Early Immigrant Research Society (HEIRS), 1993.

Ouellette Avenue, looking north towards Detroit near Park Street, early 1960s. (courtesy Tim Baxter)

* Just listen to the music of the traffic in the city
Linger on the sidewalk where the neon signs are pretty

So go downtown, things’ll be great when you’re
Downtown…

Are you pining for the good ole days when the streets of downtown Windsor were alive with people bustling between all those wonderful department stores, jewelry shops, fur boutiques and movie houses? Well, you can still go back to those heady days by rifling through the pages of our latest book, “500 Ways You Know You’re From Windsor”.

In the featured photo above, you can see once familiar landmarks including Birks Jewellers, the George Wilkinson ad and a billboard welcoming U.S. travellers to our city as they exited from the Detroit/Windsor tunnel.

“I recall going downtown on the Eire bus for seven cents and hanging around in Smith’s and the Metropolitan Store,” said local radio personality Wayne Stevens. “It was a maturing thing to go by yourself those Saturdays to the Palace or Vanity to see a movie, a cartoon and then another movie – all for a quarter!”

In 1954, Windsor celebrated its 100th anniversary. This giant cake stood on Ouellette Avenue south of Park Street above the Tourist Information Centre. (courtesy Andrew Foot)

Above is another photo featured in the book. I wonder what happened to that cake? (Hey, I just noticed that the guy in the foreground looks like my dad!)

If you’d like to get a signed copy of “500 Ways…” come to Juniper Books (Ottawa Street between Kildare and Argyle) or From the Heart Gifts (Ottawa Street just west of Hall) today (July 4) from 4 – 6 pm. Books are $30. The author, Chris Edwards, will be signing at Juniper and History Babe will be signing at From the Heart. (We’re having a friendly competition.)

Hope to see you soon!

p.s. If you can’t make it, you can order online. All retail locations can be found on our website: walkerville.com.

* words from “Downtown” by Petula Clark

Here is a bit of our facebook chatter:

Adele: here’s a mystery for you. Perhaps someone might recognize this family. My mum always said these children were no relation to us, just friends of her family. This old photo has always fascinated me. You will see info on the back: Freeman or Truman?? 489 Caron Ave.

Me: What a great photo! it looks like the boy is named Truman and the two girls are Hazel and Marjory and their last name is Randall. Definitely an intriguing mystery!

Adele: Thanks Elaine! You could be right about the boy’s name being Truman. It would be wonderful if someone recognized it.

Me: I think that the pic may have been taken a few years earlier than 1925 based on what the children are wearing, and especially as the girls have long hair. The short “Bob” and “Shingle” cuts were in style for girls and women in the 20s. Therefore, whoever dated the card, might have done it years later and was estimating the year. And one more thing: as there is currently no 489 Caron Ave., perhaps they meant to write “487″, which does exist.

And now, gentle reader, do these children look familiar? Perhaps they are long ago relatives of yours? Or, are you are in fact looking at your own portrait?

If so, please let me know. Adele will be most grateful.

Local history lovers – especially those born post WWII – will adore our latest book: “500 Ways You Know You’re From Windsor”. Even if you weren’t born here, there’s so much to behold and enjoy: over 680 color and black & white photos of what made Windsor such a special place to grow up in from between 1945 and 2000. Available at Indigo Books, Coles Books, Juniper Books, From the Heart Gifts, The University of Windsor Bookstore, Ellis  Graphics, The Windsor Community Museum, Unique Gifts (Essex) and online through walkerville.com.

Yep, Hiram Walker was a failure for many years and it just goes to show you that the old adage: “NEVER GIVE UP” is true. (You can read more about good ‘ole Hiram here.)

Anyway, while rummaging through the archives of “The Walkerville Times”, (that local history publication my partner in life and business – Chris Edwards – and I produced from 1999 to 2006), the following article about one of Hiram’s granddaughters jumped out at me. I do hope you like it.

The Life & Times of Ella Walker – Granddaughter of Hiram Walker

by Jennifer Widner

Ella Walker (drawn at the time of her marriage to Count Matuschka). Detroit Tribune, June 16, 1897. In 1897, Detroit and Walkerville celebrated one of the biggest social events of the time. “The Canadian Club Girl,” Ella Walker, the only child of Franklin Hiram (a son of Hiram Walker) and Mary Holbrook Walker, announced her intention to marry Count Manfred von Matuschka, a Hungarian nobleman. The wedding was a gala affair. Over 500 guests assembled at the Franklin Walker mansion after church ceremonies. Surrounded by roses and palms, they sampled hors d’oeuvres catered by Sherry’s of New York and sipped “red lemonade” spiked with Walker’s Canadian Club. Reports of the wedding filled many newspaper’s society pages.

Ella’s extraordinary life provides a glimpse of Detroit and Walkerville in the Gilded Age (1890-WWI), as well as a compelling personal tale. Both are the subject of a book project launched by University of Michigan professor Jennifer Widner and several colleagues around the world. Widner spent a month at the Rockefeller Foundation’s research centre in Bellagio, Italy. Each day she passed a photograph of an older woman who had a special sparkle in her eye. Upon learning that the woman was the original owner of the estate and that she had come from the Detroit area, Widner wanted to know more. So did her fellow scholars.

The outline of Ella’s story has taken form over the past several weeks. Widner and her colleagues are looking for descendants of relatives or friends who might have recollections or correspondence. “I would like to know what Ella thought of the events she lived through, what she enjoyed or found fun, and the choices she made.”

Ella was born in 1876. She entered wealthy Detroit-Walkerville society whose members were beginning to turn their attention to art and philanthropy. As a teenager she watched her uncle, Edward Chandler Walker, help launch the Detroit Museum of Art (now the DIA). She may also have encountered Charles L. Freer, the local business magnate who later endowed the Smithsonian Institution with his extensive collection. And she would have known James McNeil Whistler’s aunt and sister, both of whom lived nearby.

Married life was not always easy. Ella settled with the Count in Upper Silesia after their marriage. He was a naturalized German citizen and when World War I broke out, the Count fought on the side of the Kaiser. The U.S. Government confiscated Ella’s property, including businesses in which she had a joint interest. Ella also lost her U.S. citizenship. She lived a humble existence behind the lines in Berlin, to the distress of her parents.

Ella’s home, Villa Serbelloni, overlooking two branches of Lake Como, with the village of Bellagio, Italy below.

The interwar years were turbulent. In 1926, Count Manfred died. Four years later, Ella re-married, but the union lasted less than two years. In 1932, Ella regained her U.S. citizenship and married for a third time. Her new husband, Prince Alessandro von Thurn und Taxis, the Duke of Duino and Prince of Torre e Tasso, was a naturalized Italian citizen. The two settled in Italy but appear to have lived much of the time apart, while he sought to re-build the Castel Duino near Trieste, his seat, and she sought to renovate the Villa Serbelloni on Lake Como. The Prince died five years after the marriage.

In the last quarter of her life, Ella’s project was the restoration of the Villa Serbelloni and its grounds. A site of considerable historical significance, the Villa itself had fallen into use as a hotel, and Ella set herself to the task of its rescue. When German occupation forces moved in, she escaped over the Alps to Switzerland, returning at the end of the war to continue her mission.

Ella’s grandfather, Hiram Walker, had seven children

Franklin Walker – Ella was his only child

On her death in 1959, Ella left the Villa to the Rockefeller Foundation to promote international understanding. She gave much of her remaining fortune to her adopted daughter. And she remembered the local tie too! Franklin H. Walker, Ella’s father, was the first member of the Hiram Walker family to attend college, the University of Michigan. Ella left the University of Michigan a gift in her parents’ names to help extend educational loans to needy students.

Jennifer’s note: I would be delighted to exchange notes with relatives or friends who can help me piece together the story, including a portrait of the many cousins. I would also like to locate descendants of May Swift, Edith Walton, and Clara Carter, all part of the wedding party in 1897. My email address is jwidner@umich.edu.

Jennifer Widner, Department of Political Science, Fifth Floor, Haven Hall University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Michigan 48109 

History Babe’s note: many photos from Walkerville and environs are featured in two of our latest books: “Windsor Then – a pictorial essay of Windsor, Ontario’s glorious past” and our soon-to-be-released: “500 Ways You Know You’re From Windsor”. You can order them online or pick them up at Juniper Books, From the Heart Gifts (both on Ottawa Street), and other locations yet to be determined.

"Get out of my damn race!"

Every time a female runner enters a marathon, a small offering should be made to Kathrine Switzer.

No, she isn’t from around here, but since I’m a runner (and female – insert smiley face here) I thought I’d veer off a bit and bring you this story of an amazing and brave athlete. In 1967 Kathrine became the first woman to officially enter and run the Boston Marathon. Her entry (as K. Switzer) created an uproar and worldwide notoriety when a race official was photographed trying to forcibly remove her from the competition.

Fortunately, her football player boyfriend sideswiped the official and Kathrine was able to keep running. Knowing she had so much to prove (the typical thinking then was that running long distances was harmful to women – their uteruses might drop out!) she was determined to finish the race, and said she would crawl on her hands and knees if necessary.

Kathrine Switzer's football player boyfriend pushed aside race official so she could keep running

Kathrine did finish that day and went on to run 34 marathons; in 1974, she won the New York Marathon. Through her tenacity and belief that women too can run 26.2 miles, Kathrine scaled the male bastion of the Boston Marathon that barred women from its race and helped to open its doors to females, which it finally did in 1972. This April 16th will be the 116 edition of this classic marathon.

Kathrine today (from her website kathrineswitzer.com)

Despite the great “strides” that women like Kathrine Switzer made, today in 2012, they are still barriers that face women in sport and athletics. To learn more about them and how you can help change the status quo go to leadingwomeninsport.com, the website for LAWS: Leadership Advancement for Women in Sport, an initiative founded by Dr. Marge Holman of the University of Women’s Human Kinetics Dept.

To learn more about Kathrine Switzer’s amazing story and her important legacy go to kathrineswitzer.com.

A rare wintry scene: our backyard morning of Jan. 15th. The snow melted within a couple of days. (photo by me)

At our house here in wonderful Walkerville, there’s been some debate as to whether we actually used the snow shovel so far this winter of 2011/12. I can recall the comforting drone of a snowblower steered by a thoughtful neighbour passing by our house a couple of early mornings but otherwise, a good sweeping was all it took to free our front steps and sidewalk from the occasional paltry inch or so of snow accumulation.

How different from the “good old days” (notice my eyes rolling?) of a snowpack from December through March – like waaaaay back last year. (Remember the Groundhog Day Blizzard of 2011 when Windsor got over 20 cm of snow? Me neither. I am happy to report that my brain chooses not to remember such dreadful things. If you must you can check out the storm details here.)

On this fourth day of March 2012, I heaved a tentative sigh of relief; we might just emerge into spring relatively unscathed, although one can never be too sure in these here parts until at least half way through April. I decided to do a little “real winter” reminiscing and unearthed from our archives this charming story about anticipating a Windsor spring back in the “dirty thirties”.

Waiting for Spring on the Detroit River

by Al Roach, written during a 1980s Windsor winter.

Raised in Walkerville, Al was an English teacher at Windsor’s Lowe Technical School and wrote for The Windsor Star for 43 years. He authored two books, All Our Memories and All Our Memories 2.

As I sit here gazing across the 40 centimetres of snow, still ensconced truculently on my front lawn, and contemplate the frozen wastes of the Detroit River and Belle Isle, I am only too well aware that winter lingers on.

But Wordsworth’s melodic lines remind me of other days, other years when boisterous boys along the entire length of the mighty Detroit walked to its banks and endeavoured to will the ice away. Tired of winter street games, they used their battered hockey sticks to poke at the ice clinging to the shore and hurry it on its way downstream.

On the coal docks of old Sandwich, on the sloping shores below Bridge Avenue, on the rotting piers at the foot of Bruce, on the rat-infested wharves behind the British-American Hotel, on the ramps of the twin yellow and brown boathouses at the end of Hall Avenue, on the Walkerville Ferry dock, on Pillette Dock, they stood, hands in slash pockets of melton cloth jackets, and longed for spring.

Even as you and I do today.

Sniffing the still wintry atmosphere for the first “blessing in the air” which the poet promised them in their memorized lines. They looked across the icy river at the sweetwater fleet moored along the downtown Detroit waterfront and awaited the first sign of the vernal equinox.

There, all along Atwater Street, from the Grand Trunk Railway depot to the foot of Third Boulevard, each bow nosed in behind the stern of the next vessel upstream, huddled the mighty night boats of yesteryear and the saucy little pleasure boats of our youth.

Wrapped in canvas, paint peeling, awaiting the clarion call of spring, were the famous lake boats, so familiar to boyhood in the 1930s.

The Eastern States, Western States, City of Detroit III, City of Cleveland III, Greater Detroit, Greater Buffalo, the great four-stacker SeeandBee, South American, North American, Tashmoo, Put-in-Bay.

And, of course, the two Bob-Lo boats, Columbia and Ste. Claire – today’s sole survivors of that magnificent fleet whose lights are fled, whose garlands dead and all but they departed.

There was not a boy on the waterfront who could not reel off for you the vital statistics of each of those impressive lake steamers (when launched, what shipyard, length, beam, draught, tonnage, number of passengers and crew) just as boys of today can recite the facts of every make and model of automobile.

And the first sign of spring? Not the first robin. Not for the boys along the Detroit River. Rather it was the day when the work crews began to ready the Great Lakes fleet for its summer activity.

One day the boys would saunter down to the river’s edge and see the canvas being peeled from round the decks of the sleeping giants. Work crews scampering about. Painters slinging hanging scaffolds over the sides.

The great leviathans were shaking off their winter lethargy and blinking in the bright March sunshine.

The river was coming to life.

And suddenly the boys realized that the last of the ice floes had disappeared. The long winter was gone.

Time to begin planning the first dip in the numbing spring waters. (It was a matter of pride to be the first in your neighbourhood to take the plunge. “Heck, ain’t you been in yet? What’re ya waitin’ for?”)

Time to declare unilaterally a school holiday and lie shivering in the cool river breezes back of the coal piles or along the cinders of the railway tracks so as to get the first tan in your area.

Time to start construction of the annual raft (usually built of deliciously creosote-scented used railway ties “donated” by the Canadian National Railways.)

Time to go down and ask Mr. Beard when he would be putting his rowboats in the water. Time to start saving for the rental fee.

Time to start the annual competition to see the first freighter come up the river. (“I saw the Lemoyne come up yesterday.” “You did not. You’re full of hog wash!” “I did too. So there!”)

Time to begin listening in the night for the roar of the “rum-runners,” stabbing across the river in their powerful mahogany inboards, toward Wyandotte or Ecorse, without benefit of lights or law.

But in those early days of March we looked at the river as I do today, and thought that winter would never end.

Be of good cheer, Gentle Reader; we knew then what we know today: paraphrasing Shelley, when mad March days come, spring cannot be far behind. 

And when that first mild day of March finally does arrive, we will take Wordsworth’s advice

And bring no book: for this one day 
We’ll give to idleness.

To read more of Al Roach’s stories, check out our archive website, walkervilletimes.com. If you are looking for a splendid book with lots of old photos of Windsor “then”, get a copy of “Windsor Then” by Chris Edwards and yours truly. Available at Juniper Books on Ottawa Street between Kildare and Argyle, From the Heart Gifts on Ottawa Street just west of Hall, the University of Windsor Bookstore, or online here.

On either May 2, 1843 or 1844 (depending on the source) a new baby boy was born free in Colchester, Ontario to George McCoy and Mildred Goins. The McCoys were runaway slaves from Kentucky who had arrived in this hamlet about 30 miles south of Windsor via the underground railway.

George McCoy had served honorably in the 1837 Rebel War so the Canadian government had given him 160 acres of farmland near Colchester upon discharge. When Elijah was three, his growing family moved back to the U.S., settling in Detroit, Michigan. He was the third child in a family of twelve children.

As a boy, Elijah showed exceptional mechanical abilities. He attended public school until the age of 15 when his parents, (even though his God-fearing father may not have understood his interest) saved the money to send him to Edinburgh, Scotland to pursue a Mechanical Engineering apprenticeship. This was at a time when it was difficult for blacks to obtain the same kind of training in the United States of America.

Elijah returned just after the Civil War  and the beginning of the “Emancipation Proclamation.” He applied for an engineering position with Michigan Central Railroad but management could not imagine that a “Negro” could be an engineer.

He was offered the position of locomotive fireman. Elijah’s job was to shovel coal into the fires that heated the water in the boilers that ran the engine. He shoveled over two tons of coal into the firebox every hour! His job was hot, difficult, and dangerous. He also did the job of train oilman.

One of the problems of hot, high pressure steam is that it is murderously corrosive of most metals, and a thin film of lubrication is required to protect and seal the steam cylinders and pistons. At that time, trains needed to periodically stop and be lubricated, to prevent overheating, which Elijah noticed was expensive and wasted a lot of time.

Elijah was also alarmed by the injuries and deaths caused when workers attempted to lubricate moving machinery. Many of these workers were young black boys employed in the position because they were small and agile.

In a home-based machine shop in Ypsilanti, Michigan, McCoy carried out his own higher skilled work, developing improvements and inventions. His tinkering led to an invention that would not only change his life, it would save lives and serve to advance the industrial age significantly: a lubricator for steam engines that did not require the machinery to stop. His lubricator used steam pressure to pump oil wherever it was needed, even while the machine was working. It was soon used on engines and train locomotives, on Great Lakes steamships, on ocean liners, and on machinery in factories.

Elijah’s Improvements on Lubricators for Steam Engines was patented in 1872 in the United States  US patent #129,843 and in 1874 in Canada.

The drip cup device was so effective and so highly regarded that other manufacturers copied it. However, none worked as well as McCoy’s invention. No engine or machine was considered complete until it had a McCoy Lubricator. One theory as to where the expression “The Real McCoy” originated is that railroad engineers looking to avoid inferior copies would request it by name,^[4] and inquire if a locomotive was fitted with “the real McCoy system”. The phrase “real McCoy” soon caught on as a way of saying that people were getting the very best equipment available.

The Michigan Central Railroad promoted McCoy to an instructor in the use of his new inventions. Later, he became a consultant to the railroad industry on patent matters. By 1923 Elijah was known throughout the world. His inventions were also patented in Great Britain, France, Germany, Austria, and Russia.

In all, he was issued more than 57 patents for his inventions during his lifetime including a folding ironing board and a lawn sprinkler.

In 1868, Elijah McCoy married Ann Elizabeth Stewart who unfortunately, died four years later. In 1873 he married his second wife, Mary Eleanora Delaney. (Click on her name to learn more about this fascinating woman. I wish I could find a photo of her, but I can’t.) They moved to Detroit when he found work there. Mary McCoy was one of the founders of the Phillis Wheatley Home for Aged Colored Men in 1898. The couple did not have children.

In 1920, McCoy opened his own company, the Elijah McCoy Manufacturing Company. Like so many other inventors of this era, Elijah used up his money trying to perfect his inventions. Unfortunately, he suffered in his later years, enduring a financial, mental, and physical breakdown.

Elijah died in Detroit on October 10, 1929 at the age of 86 from senile dementia caused by hypertension after spending a year in the Eloise Infirmary (also known as the Michigan State Asylum) in Michigan. He had continued to suffer from injuries from a car accident in 1922 in which his wife Mary died.

He was buried at Detroit Memorial Park East in Warren, Michigan.^[14]

Today, Elijah’s lubrication processes are still used in machinery such as cars, locomotives, ships, rockets and many other machines. He is credited with having helped modernize the industrial world with his inventions.

So next time you say, “Yup, it’s the real McCoy” you’ll know why.

sources

http://blackhistorycanada.ca/profiles.php?themeid=20&id=9

http://www.blackhistorysociety.ca/index.php?id=227&inner=true

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elijah_McCoy 

http://www.railfame.ca/sec_nom/en_nomineesDetail.asp?id=286&ssec=

http://edhelper.com/ReadingComprehension_54_841.html

A play based on Elijah’s life, “The Real McCoy”, written and directed by Andrew Moodie, ran in St. Louis, Missouri in 2011.

Read more: http://www.stltoday.com/entertainment/arts-and-theatre/huggy-bear-returns-to-the-stage-in-real-mccoy/article_1bb87418-c190-5a1d-b630-bb886c061eb8.html#ixzz1mCB8KX00

cold enough for ya?

So, we finally got some snow that is actually staying on the ground more than a couple of hours. Since winter appears to have officially arrived, I thought I would post some photos I’ve been saving for a snowy day. Sent to me by Charlie Fox they provide a fascinating peek at how the women of Walkerville faced the long cold winters in the early 1900s. Charlie’s mom stands in the centre in the bottom photo.

These ladies either lived on Monmouth Road (bottom photo was taken in the backyard of one of the row houses that still stand today, thank goodness) or nearby.

Having lived in one of those old Monmouth row houses before it was renovated, I know all too well that the only source of heat was in the dining room. Every morning there would be ice in the bath tub. (Seriously.) I carried a Kero-Sun heater around the house to try to make up for the lack of central heating (and electric light).

I can’t help but wonder whether these women wore their furs indoors as well as outdoors.

Stay warm everyone!