Showing posts with label Aunt Gussie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Aunt Gussie. Show all posts

Saturday, October 5, 2019

Harry T. Halsey



Photo of Harry T. Halsey found in an old Bible belonging to his sister Abigail Fithian Halsey, labeled “H. J. Halsey, Southampton, May 6, 189-”
L to R: Charles Henry Halsey (1830-1906), Edna Halsey Ruland (1874-1948, seated in front), Lizbeth Halsey White (1869-1932), Joanna Augusta "Aunt Gus" Terry Halsey (1845-1929), Harry T. Halsey (1864-1903), Jesse Halsey (1882-1954), Thomas Terry (1808-1892), and Abigail Fithian Halsey (1873-1946) likely taken sometime around 1889 following the deaths of Melvina Terry Halsey (1842-1887) and Wilman N. Halsey (1838-1889).

Melvina Dunreath Terry Halsey's entry in Lizbeth's autograph book, 1883.
Harry’s entry in his sister Lizbeth Halsey White’s autograph book, 1884.






Thursday, December 11, 2014

Camp at Whalebone

Property owned by Jesse Halsey, Abigail Fithian Halsey, Lizbeth Halsey White at Whalebone Landing in 1903

Dec 1837 Jesse Halsey and wife Mary [Budd] give 2 acres at Whalebone to CH Halsey (b. 1830) 
The acreage is bordered by: N, Stephen Harris; E&S, David H. Rose (2 acres) [wife Mary Halsey is CHH’s sister]; W, Ed. W. Halsey [Jesse and Henry’s brother]. Charles's father, Henry Halsey, purchased 4 acres from his brother Edward W. Halsey's son (Ed. J Halsey) and this portion of approximately 6 acres was split between Lizbeth Halsey White and Abigail Fithian White.

In 1882, Elizabeth [Aunt Libby Halsey] Fowler gave her 6 acres to CHH (her three sons went to sea and never returned, Charles was her favorite nephew), and in 1903, CHH left the remaining 5 of those acres to Jesse Halsey. Nearby property is owned by the descendents of many of Henry Halsey's siblings, among others: E&S Wilmun Halsey (CHH's brother) heirs (Aunt Gus); Wm. S. Halsey; David Rose (wife, Mary was CHH's sister); W.S. Foster; J. Herrick; John J. Morgan; Theo. A. Halsey (related via Eliza Halsey, wife of Henry Halsey and daughter of Barzillai Halsey); Gladys Beckwith, and Elaine Beecham (Harris heirs).

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

W.W. Bishop and Alma Jagger Married

Brooklyn Eagle 26 June 1915

Bald Hill School | Descendants of First Pupils Recall Events

August 23, 1929
The Brooklyn Daily Eagle

"The only former pupil and teacher [present] was Mrs. Amanda Terry Ruland of Terryville. Among those present were . . . Mrs. W. G. Corwin, Mrs. Thomas Corwin, Miss Ethel Corwin, Miss Ethel Corwin, Mr. and Mrs. L.W. Ruland of Southampton . . .the Rev. Jesse Halsey and Miss Abigail Halsey of Cincinnati, Ohio; Mrs. Luella M. Terry of Patchogue."


"The Bald Hills Schoolhouse"

In eighteen hundred seventeen
When James Monroe was President and when
Long Island’s Middle Country road
Was but a footpath way,
The few settlers
In the shadow of Bald Hills
Built a schoolhouse for their children.

A good school makes a settlement,
And others came, and children grew
To womanhood and manhood
Making homes.
In eighteen fifty three the school out grown
Was sold to one James Clark,
And on this site
The present one was built:
‘Tis known today both far and wide as Farmingville.

My Mother went to school here,
I can see her now,
Little Melvina, trudging on between
Her brothers, Tom and Dan’l,
Holding by the hand
Her little sister, Lyd
Who grew to teach the school,
That is my story
Yours is just the same,
Each one of you who gather’s here today.
Your Mother went to school here or your Father –maybe both,
Their names are carved upon the trees and in the desks.

Their feet have worn the door sills, as with laugh and shout and lessons done they whooped their way to freedom through that door.
Their road, to knowledge, rough perchance, and steep
Grew many flowers of joy along its way
Whose odors sweet are wafted down the years.

Their fathers all were farmers,
Men who owned their land,
And every man a king in his own right.
And in this place they gathered on the Sabbath to acknowledge Him, the giver of all good—Almighty God.
They took their joys, their sorrows
And their planting and their harvests from His hand.

Their children growing here in this good land,
(Inhaling freedom in the air they breathed),
Grew up together making their own homes and teaching to their children
As their fathers taught to them,
Lessons of uprightness and thrift.
Some went away, some wandered far,
But once a year we all come home.
Here in the schoolhouse in the wood
We meet to pay homage due those noble souls
Our fathers and our mothers, true Americans
This is America
This spot of ground
Where freeborn men and women
Made their homes and reared their children
In the fear of God,
Afraid of none
And bound to none
And envying non:--
God save America

By Abigail Fithian Halsey
For the Fiftieth anniversary
Of the Farmingville Reunion Association, 1935

Wednesday, December 3, 2014

A Bit of Local History Written by the Late W.S. Pelletreau

Record of the Ownership of the Triangle between Main Street and North Sea Road Southampton Press

The recent burning of the Dawson dwelling and barns recalls an article written by our esteemed historian, the late William S. Pelletreau
--> [1840-1918], and published in the PRESS in May, 1917. The article has much value and interest to all living in that section of the village and is reprinted by request.

In old times, long before the Revolution, the entire triangle between the Main street and the North Sea road was owned by Abner Howell. He was the son of Col. Josiah Howell, and was a man of importance in his day and time. A small, brown tombstone tells us that Mr. Abner Howell died Sept. 16, 1775 in the 76th year of his age. About 1750 he gave his son, Phineas Howell, the lot where John Cavanagh now lives, and he built a house upon it which was standing in our boyhood days. At the same time there was another house exactly like it and this was owned by Mr. Peter Fournier and was where the Commercial House now stands. They were not only exactly alike in other respects but there was a peculiar style to the chimneys which attracted our attention. Both of these houses were torn down about 1849. Abner Howell seems to have divided the entire triangle between his two sons, Phineas and David, and Phineas had the north part and David Howell had the south portion. In 1788 Phineas Howell sold east part to Annanias Halsey and went to what was the “Western Country” and settled in the town of Tully, in what is now Onondaga County, New York, and he died there at a very advanced age. Annanias Halsey was the father of a family that had been prominent in Southampton. His son, Uriah Halsey, lived on the place now owned by Mrs. Wilmun Halsey and had two daughters. One married John Sherry of Sag Harbor and the other married Capt. Crowell of the same place.

Another son of Annanias was Eli P. Halsey, who was the father Edwin P. Halsey, who lived in the old house, next north of Herrick’s store.

Another daughter married Col. Samuel hunting, whose wealth has been of benefit to many families. Another daughter, Mary (or Polly, as she was generally called) married Mr. Daniel Fordham, whose descendants are numerous and well known. Another daughter, Susan (commonly known in our boyhood days as Aunt Susan Halsey) lived and died unmarried in a little old house that stood just north of Capt. Daniel Jagger’s house, now Mr. Donnelly’s. After her death the house was sold by Capt. Jagger to David Terry, who moved it to Tuckahoe where it still remains.

The part of the lot sold to Annanias Halsey was in later years sold to Capt. Harry Halsey, who is well remembered. The part where the little house stood is now owned by Miss Abigail Halsey, and the homestead by the Rev. Jesse Halsey. The old house and lot of Phineas Howell was sold by him to Ebenezr Jagger in 1772. He had a tan yard on the premises, and was the great-grandfather of Mr. Hubert Jagger. In later years the house and lot belonged to Mr. Aja Halsey, who tore down the old house and built a new one and which, after passing through several hands now belongs to John Cavanagh.

We may add that Abner Howell did not live on that tract. His home lot, which was that of his father’s before him, was where Mr. Livingston Bowden now lives. He was the village blacksmith and the relics of his shop were plainly visible some years ago, when the road was ploughed up on Bowden Square.

The south part of the triangle was given by Abner Howell to his son, David Howell, who built a house upon it about 1750. In 1770, the main street of Southampton was surveyed from the beach to the road at Long Springs and David Howell’s house is there mentioned. Like most houses of that time it was built on the line of the street. The present door yard has been taken in from the highway but no one is any the worse for it. David Howell was a silversmith and learned his trade from Capt. Elias Pelletreau. We have seen spoons made by him and stamped with his name. On May 10th, 1782, David Howell sold his house and lot to Col. Josiah Smith of Moriches for £400, or $2,00. As the lot included what is now Mr. Donnelly’s property, it is worth as much today. What became of David Howell we do not know but he may have gone West like his brother. Colonel Josiah Smith bought this place for his daughter Hannah, who married Elias Pelletreau, and they lived there many years keeping a store, which did a large business for those days. Flax was a staple article and was raised in large quantities and taken in trade but times have changed and there has not been an ounce of flax raised in Southampton for nearly 100 years. We may as well mention that another article of extensive sales was West India rum. In the latter part of his life Elias Pelletreau purchased a large farm at the south end of the village, with a house still standing and well known as the Hollyhocks.

After the death of Elias Pelletreau, the David Howell, house and lot was sold to Benjamin Howell and after passing through one or two hands it came into possession of Capt. Austin Herrick and is now owned by his descendents who are well known to us all. The house which still remains, was built originally after the standard style of those times, with a long sloping roof on one side, but at some later period it was changed, and by making gambrel roof with dormer windows, it was made practically a two-story house. In old times, when land was cheap, houses were built large on the ground, the upper part was a necessary evil, and it was not necessary to put one house on another. It has stood the storms of more than 160 years and will outlast many of the flashy houses of the present time.

The person who sees Mr. Dawson’s place would hardly believe that it is a hundred years old. So much has been added that it looks like a new house, but the original house has passed its 100th mark long years ago, and hereby hangs a tale.

In the early part of the last century, the farm at the north end, now owned by Mr. James E. Foster, was the homestead of John Bishop and his wife Jerusha, both models of short-sighted penuriousness. The story goes, and we have heard it repeated by those who evidently believed it, that they were left this farm and much other land, with the condition that they were to support two maiden sisters until their death or marriage. They seem to have been well convinced that the former would happen first and they might have to wait a long time for that, and they worried about certain sharp individuals, and there were sharp people even in those virtuous days, and they were Squire William Herrick, Rufus Sayre, and Joel Jacobs, made them the offer to take the girls off their hands and support them until they were dead or married, in exchange for their farm and some other lands, among which we believe was a lot at Halsey’s neck, now owned by Edward. H. Foster, Esq. They accepted the offer and congratulated themselves on their grand stroke of luck. One of the characters in “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” says, “Gals is mighty on certain things. If you think they have gone one way they are sure to be gone the other.” With that perversity, so peculiar to the female sex, these girls, who were expected never to marry, were both married within a year. The Bishops then repented in sackcloth and ashes, that they had parted with their land so easily. The house on the farm was sold to Paul Sayre, the grandfather of our well-known townsman, Mr. Rufus Sayre, and he moved it to its present site where he purchased a small piece of land of the proprietors. This is the 100th anniversary of its moving and it is certain that it was of some age at the time. Here Paul Sayre lived and died, and his daughter, Miss Nancy Sayre, with a sister lived there within our recollection.

As for the Bishops’ story we hardly know what to say. There are some things which make us doubt it, but as the Italian saying is, “If it is not true, it is well made up.”

The Jesse Halsey Manuscript Collection. Special Collections, Princeton Theological Seminary Library. 

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

from "Grape Hyacinths"

49 No. Main | oil on canvas | Jesse Halsey
By Reverend Jesse Halsey | c1932 | unfinished frament

They come up every year in the same spot under the snowball bush, though planted eighty years ago.

Grape hyacinths are like that; “naturalizing,” the botanists call it; perpetuating themselves year after year, if the environment is favorable.

It is a sunny exposure in the southeast corner of the old garden. Boxwood no longer in trim border lines, but grown rampant with the years, shuts off the bite of the east wind that comes swirling viciously in shore all through the early springtime.

By May Day they come out, almost invariably, just before the apple blossoms. As a boy I used to look for them—after I heard their story. That is fifty years ago. Seldom have I been there in the springtime, these intervening years, but my sister used to write; “Auntie’s hyacinths are blooming in their corner.”

The other day, by chance, I was in that seaside village and the old garden came to mind. Untying the sagging gate, I went in.

There they were, pushing through the leaves, little sturdy spikes of blue, vertical slender bunches of “grapes”—well named.

Strangers live there now. The brick paths are uneven and grass-grown. The old peony clumps are all gone; likely some remnant of the tiger lily bed will assert itself before [summer].

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

49 No. Main | 1891

The Old Halsey House
April 23, 1891
"Grandfather, with his two brothers, had been apprenticed to a mason in New York City, where they built many of the buildings in Greenwich Village and on Canal Street. Some of these are still standing; one on Grove Street has the identical trim and fireplace and mantle as that in our Southampton house which grandfather acquired when business reverses in 1832 drove him back to the country. He bought a farm, with the help of an unpopular brother-in-law, and rebuilt an old house Cape Cod style. I am told (or was told) that my mother used to say that if she ever built a house, even though it was no bigger than a pepper box, it would have two stories. The ceilings were (and are) low, the doorways more so, and upstairs in only half of a room can one stand upright. Dormer windows have corrected this to some extent but added little to the exterior appearance of the house. Forty years ago I raised up the old lean-to kitchen and superimposed another storey with a gambrel roof so that the house is now half Dutch and half English—like historical-geographic Long Island itself." --Jesse Halsey

In 1891, the residents of 49 N. would have been: Charles, son Harry, daughter Abigail, and son Jesse Halsey--as Charles's wife, Melvina, had died about five years earlier. His eldest daughter, Lizbeth Halsey Post, was already married. In addition, Melvina's sister, Augusta Terry Halsey, and her daughter, Edna, became a de facto part of the household in 1889 after Wilman Halsey (Charles's brother and 'Aunt Gussie's' husband) died, although they continued to live across the street in the Halsey/Ruland/Honnet home. In addition, Harry married Ida Pettet at some point during these years. My best guess on this photos is that the child on the fence post is Jesse (age 10), the two men leaning on the fence on either side of him are his father Charles and his brother Harry, the woman in the center is likely Aunt Augusta, and the two younger women in the back, Lizbeth and Abigail (though one or the other might also be Edna or Ida).

Photo courtesy collection of Con Crowley.

Friday, September 14, 2012

Hatchment


by Jesse Halsey

“They heard not the voice of Him that spake to me.”

{Jack Gardner [is a] soldier who joins church on return because of sunset experience; boy at the wood-pile.}

Hog—swine
Pig—Pork
Cow—beef
Hash—Popui; Webster in one of his definitions of hash, frankly says “A mess.”

Not to tarry over definition—a best this is, but popui—with sauce or without, a hash of experience. No horse meat, we trust—though we can testify it’s not so bad when you don’t know it. We had a sausage factory improvised in Siberia during the War, supposedly and actually we used reindeer meat, but I have a suspicion that ex cavalry equines go in at times, rabbits (arctic hares that is), and when one is skun a mongrel Eskimo dog looks just the same and if you don’t know it—tastes the same or similar. (I have eaten snakes in Japan, didn’t know the difference, thinking they were eels—which I catch thru the ice on Long Island, skin and fry—a delectable morsel.)

Why this dietetic metaphor—I can’t say; we started with hash. And this is just a sample here and there out of an oldster’s reminiscences of things grave and gay; res sacra and res secularia, unrelated likely to any logic, but tied into the stream of life for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, till death doth part soul and body and memory fades out of fructifies into heavenly harvest—or hellish (most hells of any gripping reality to men since Dante are constructed of memories).

But to get on; or rather to go back. Some one asked Duncan Spaeth, coach of the Princeton Crew why it was that rowing was his favorite sport—“Only thing I know where by looking back you can get ahead.” (Parenthesis, no two. The very time that Henry Ford called all history “bunk” he, nonetheless, was putting little concave mirrors on the front of the drivers [side] so he could see the road behind; that’s the only way to drive safely to at least glance on the road behind.)

With this recurring justification or alibi or reminiscence, we start again. A new England kitchen, big fireplace, brick oven, Saturday night and baked beans and brown bread. A red damask spic and span table cloth on a square walnut table; four persons seated. Kerosene lamp, flickers from the smoldering fireplace; the lazy hum of the tea kettle, now that the tea is brewed. A boy maybe twelve, and his older sister back to the wall, facing the fire; bewildered father at one end of the table, elderly aunt at the other.

Melvina Terry Halsey, 1842-1887
Father seemed old to the boy whose mother was dead, he himself as one born out of due time; father seemed old, he was old, looked old, felt old (rheumatism; its antidote a jug of hard cider with whittlings of barberry in it; the boy often went a mile down the lane to Uncle Harvey's barberry for twigs and bark for the decoction). Mother had died, quite young, when boy was five or less; father lived ever under its shadow; older sisters always thought that if father had been less stubborn (loyal) and had the new doctor who had come fresh from Ann Arbor and never lost a case of pneumonia, likely mother would have lived--who knows.

Aunt Gussie’s (her husband father's brother, she was mother's sister) husband, Uncle Will, our favorite out of a baker's dozen, at least, of uncles, had taken the boy, od six, his adult brother (and a neighbor's boy of fiveLewis Hildrethon a clamming expedition. One horse box wagon, two wash tubs with ropes attached and down to Sebonac "gut" where the tide cuts in and out between the big bay and the cold spring, scallop bondRam Island and other ramifying creeks. (They say cricks down east, our way.) . . .

The men go out on the flats and beyond, the crop is plentiful and the tubs soon filled—a long hour or so—the boys play on the shore, shells and stones in many shapes and colors collected and arranged, and houses built and paddling in the lapping wash of the tiny waves; swimming lessons will come later when the men get back. Uncle Will is nearing the shore, crossing the channel, when he throws up his hands and flounders in the tide rip. The boys think he is playing a trick to amuse them. (He was always up to making them laugh—our favorite uncle.) He goes down “for the third time” as the saying goes and Lewis says (I can hear his lisp now), “I guess he’s gone down to look for his hat.” Alarmed, they begin to run up and down the beach wafting their coats like the old folks do when they sight a whale, shouting till finally Harry comes slowly thru the teeming water but fast he can, reaching the flat he kicks off the tub handle half of it, thus free from the rope and tub he plunges in the deep water of the gut and though the tide has carried tub and body far into the inlet he reaches the tub, now empty, tied to uncle Will and brings the body to the shore; the boys following the shoreline come to the place and stand helpless by while Harry rolls the body on the tub trying to extract the water from the lungs. (No Red Cross training in those days; only sailor’s methods.) Some furtive clam diggers from another township across the bay whose sloop is hidden behind Ram Island, hearing the boys’ shouts finally come and they and Harry work on half an hour without avail. The boy hears his brother now, across the intervening half century plus, as Harry lifts our uncle’s lifeless body into the one horse farm wagon, carefully bedded with dry seaweed from the shore—a fitting coach for an old whaler, but still (brothers sob) it seems inappropriate for a man just entering middle life. The long slow drive home, Harry and the boys on the seat, the body in the wagon shrouded in the horse blanket. The boys eat the lunch—wondering why Harry doesn’t. (They were six and five.) We stop at the first house from the shore and tell Cap’n ‘Lias (White), he saddles his horse and rides to the village to find Father, who like the elder brother of the parable only in this one regard was “in the field,” after going to tell his sister-in-law and her daughter, joins us at the foot of the lane as we come up to the house.

No professional morticians in those days—not there at least—and old Aunt Libbie who had ushered us all into the world and our parents before us—Aunt Libbie takes over. The boy at her direction goes across the street to Father’s barn to show the men where to find the rough pine plank 48’’ x 6’ on which his mother had been “laid out” some months before; stored up there in the hay mow (the east end where a great round shiny ships spar tied the hand hewn oak rafters together. What a job for a boy—or boys, for “Little Lewis” went along, too. (He died the next year.) But that’s another story; we wander too far; let’s get back to the kitchen table. There are shadows in the room you see; not of westerning sun’s making for the flicker of the fireplace logs—Father at one end of the table, Aunt Gussie at the other, going their best for the others’ sake to be cheerful.

. . . No levity; but much wisdom in the meagre conversation. Meagre is the gossip ("Gossip" says father, who studies the dictionary and knew his Latin from Academy days, "'Gossip' was once a good word akin to Gospel"--let's make it that and when some really unpleasant sure enough bit of unsavory morsel of truth filtered in, Father would say, "As Biney (his wife, my mother) used to say, 'Maye, for we all have a crook in the elbow.'" Then he would add as was his Scriptural custom, "Charity covereth a multitude of sins."

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Helen Augusta Halsey Haroutunian

Helen Augusta Halsey Haroutunian, 1914-2003

On November 16, 2003, Helen Augusta Halsey Haroutunian, resident of Milbridge, Maine, and former resident of Cincinnati, Chicago, and Iowa City, died peacefully at the age of 89. Helen was born to Jesse Halsey and Helen Isham Halsey (Quass) in Cincinnati in February 1914.

In 1942, she married Joseph Haroutunian, a well-known theologian who taught at McCormick Theological Seminary, and the University of Chicago. Joining the McCormick faculty in 1940, Dr. Hartoutunian taught Systematic Theology and for the next 20 years was among North America’s leading theologians. He died almost 35 years to the day before Helen on November 15, 1968.

Helen Haroutunian was an artist, writer, and teacher who enjoyed the benefits of a fine education. She was a 1932 graduate of Miss Doherty’s School in Cincinnati.


The third child and first daughter of Jesse and Helen Halsey, she was named for her mother and for the Great Aunt who raised her father. Helen earned a bachelor’s of arts degree from Western College for Women (Miami University), Oxford, Ohio, in 1936, where she performed in The Peabody Players' “Gammer Gurton's Needle,” January 27, 28, among other productions. [Program Letter to Miss Helen Halsey from Rosamond Gilder, March 15, 1939 & April 11, 1939. The New York Times noted that Rosamond Gilder, as founder and former president of the International Theater Institute, a worldwide organization with 65 national centers, was an influential theater figure in New York and overseas.]
In 1940, she received a master’s of arts degree in general studies from the Yale Drama School, and in 1980, a second master’s degree in art history from the University of Iowa.
She was an early scholar of Joseph Cornell’s work, writing her masters thesis on Cornell's Medici Slot-Machine at the University of Iowa in 1978.

Helen lived in Chicago from 1940 until 1970, where she studied at the Art Institute with George Breur.

Helen Halsey Haroutunian
Chicago Lake Front, 1955

Her works of art in oil, watercolor, pastel, charcoal, and collage covered subject matter from urban scenes to rural landscapes. She showed her work at the Art Institute of Chicago and the Milbridge Historical Society. In 1998, Helen and her son, artist Joseph Haroutunian, had a joint retrospective show at the University of Maine-Machias that revealed influences of mother upon son and vice versa. Her published works include, “Incident on the Bark Columbia: Being Letters Received and Sent by Captain McCorkle and the Crew of his Whaler, 1860-1862” (Cummington, MA), 1941, a true story conveyed through letters, which she compiled and edited, and “Joseph Cornell in ‘View,’”Arts Magazine, 1983.
Teaching was another life-long interest. Helen taught both visual and language arts in middle and high schools, at the Cummington School, Cummington, MA, and at the Francis W. Parker School in Chicago.

While at Cummington, Helen dated the poet Sameul French Morse. Although
she'd broken up with Morse, having found him and his friends "too snobby and only interested in their own opinions," Morse attended the funeral of her older brother Frederick in 1940.

Above all, Helen was a loving and devoted wife, mother, aunt, grandmother, great-grandmother, great-aunt, and friend. Her paintings, writings, and teaching, indeed all her endeavors, were characterized by remarkable care and attention to detail. She was an exemplary cook and gardener, and a committed member of her church. Her sweetness, style, intelligence and command of the English language inspired all who knew her.


Helen Halsey Haroutunian
Still Life, 1960

[Ed note: HAHH's obituary from which much of this text is drawn appeared in the Bangor Daily News on November 22, 2003; http://www.bangordailynews.com/detail/84582.html. Additional information comes from sources noted above and in conversations between the author and HAHH between 1996-2003. Images of paintings come from the artist's gallery at http://www.yessy.com/helenharoutunian/index.html?s=keagwae245hvyo45yn4v5pfh]

Thursday, January 14, 2010

A note on the progression of Jesses

Sarah Fithian and Henry Halsey had a son Jesse in 1739, who married Charity White and signed the Articles of Association in Southampton in 1775. That first Jesse Halsey was a captain in the Revolutionary War and suffered injuries at the Battle of Monmouth. Captain Jesse and Charity had seven children: Charity, Jesse, Charles Fithian, Keturah, Sarah, Hannah, and Abigail. Their son Jesse died in infancy. Jesse died in 1818. His son, Charles Fithian, and Phebe Rogers had Henry (my Great-Great-Great Grandfather, known also as Captain Harry), along with Elizabeth, Captain Jesse, Captain Edward (both of whom were whalers), Mary, and Hannah.

Captain Jesse married Mary Budd and went to sea, they had no children. Captain Jesse's older brother, Henry, builder of 49 North Main (in 1832 or 1842?) and 88 Grove Street, however, named his third son Jesse in 1845, tho that Jesse would die in 1861, a month short of his 16th birthday.

Henry's eldest son, the first Charles Henry, married Melvina Terry in 1863. (Complicating things further, Charles Henry's brother Wilmun married Melvina's sister Augusta--aka the famous Aunt Gus--and they had, in 1874, the first in a series of Aunt Ednas). Charles and Melvina had Harry in 1864, Lizbeth in 1869, Abigail Fithian in 1873, and Jesse (later Rev. Dr. Jesse and my Great Grandfather) in 1882. Melvina, known as Binn, died in 1887, when Jesse was 5. A year later, Jesse witnessed the accidental drowning of his father's brother, his beloved Uncle Wilmun, while the two were clamming together. Following those tragedies, Aunt Gus and her fourteen-year-old daughter Edna became de facto members of Great Grandfather Jesse's household; in a biographical sketch Jesse writes that he was raised by his eldest sister--18 at the time of her mother's death--and his Aunt Gussie.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Herrick's Camp - Whalebone Landing, circa 1927

Photo courtesy of Con Crowley, from a collection belonging to his grandfather, Captain Ed White, Jr., a copy of which is also available in the archives of the Southampton Historical Museum and Research Center.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

"we all have a crook in the elbow"

Melvina Dunreath* Terry Halsey |
B: Jun. 5, 1840,
D: Jun. 2, 1887
(*I just discovered the D. stands for Dunreath & she had 9 siblings)

from "
Hatchment" by Jesse Halsey
With this recurring justification or alibi or reminiscence, we start again. A new England kitchen, big fireplace, brick oven, Saturday night and baked beans and brown bread. A red damask spic and span table cloth on a square walnut table; four persons seated. Kerosene lamp, flickers from the smoldering fireplace; the lazy hum of the tea kettle, now that the tea is brewed. A boy maybe twelve, and his older sister back to the wall, facing the fire; bewildered father at one end of the table, elderly aunt at the other.

Father seemed old to the boy whose mother was dead, he himself as one born out of due time; father seemed old, he was old, looked old, felt old (rheumatism; its antidote a jug of hard cider with whittlings of barberry in it; the boy often went a mile down the lane to Uncle Harvey's barberry for twigs and bark for the decoction). Mother had died, quite young, when boy was five or less; father lived ever under its shadow; older sisters always thought that if father had been less stubborn (loyal) and had the new doctor who had come fresh from Ann Arbor and never lost a case of pneumonia, likely mother would have lived--who knows.

Aunt Gussie's (her husband father's brother, she was mother's sister) husband, Uncle Will, our favorite out of a baker's dozen, at least, of uncles, had taken the boy, od six, his adult brother (and a neighbor's boy of five--Lewis Hildreth--on a clamming expedition. One horse box wagon, two wash tubs with ropes attached and down to Sebonac "gut" where the tide cuts in and out between the big bay and the cold spring, scallop bond--Ram Island and other ramifying creeks. (They say cricks down east, our way.) . . .

. . . No levity; but much wisdom in the meagre conversation. Meagre is the gossip ("Gossip" says father, who studies the dictionary and knew his Latin from Academy days, "'Gossip' was once a good word akin to Gospel"--let's make it that and when some really unpleasant sure enough bit of unsavory morsel of truth filtered in, Father would say, "As Biney (his wife, my mother) used to say, 'Maye, for we all have a crook in the elbow.'" Then he would add as was his Scriptural custom, "Charity covereth a multitude of sins."

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

The Memory of the Just is Blessed

Charles Henry Halsey
B: Oct. 10, 1830
D: Aug. 9, 1906

Melvina D. Terry
B: Jun. 5, 1840
D: Jun. 2, 1887
His Wife



Joanna Augusta Halsey
B: Dec. 25, 1845
D: May 27, 1929
Widow of Wilmun Halsey

Wilmun Halsey
B: Jan. 12, 1836
D: Aug. 2, 1889

Harry T. Halsey
B: Nov. 12, 1864
D: Sept. 30, 1903








Abigail Fithian Halsey
B: Oct. 2, 1878
D: Oct. 14, 1946








Rev. Jesse Halsey D.D.
B: 1882
D: 1954
A Servant of the Lord Jesus Christ







Frederick Isham Halsey
B: 1912
D: 1239
Be Thou Faithful







Wilmun H. Halsey
B: 1920
D: 1928
The Child Ministered unto the Lord