2023 Aroostook & Northern Penobscot Counties

Publisher Jim Burch

Editor Dennis Burch

Design

Liana Merdan

Field

Don Plante

Contributing

Charles

Ruth Knowles

Brian Swartz

Gladys G. Whittier

It Makes No Never Mind

by James Nalley

Maine in par ticular, and the country, in gen eral,

has become somewhat of a tradition to head to the countryside

pick through branches of apples or get lost in a corn maze before hand-se lecting that perfect pumpkin for the table. However, this raises the following

How did the pick-your-own (PYO)

idea

some sources state that PYO farms date back to the Victorian era, a definitive history comes from the Great Depression, when farmers man aged to harvest fortune from hardship. According to a National Geograph ic article (November 2021) by Dustin Renwick, “Classified advertisements in the 1920s newspapers beckoned read ers to drive out and pick their own food, such as grapes, green beans, plums, and potatoes, often within an hour or so of metropolitan hubs.” However, by the 1930s, the Great Depression had done its damage on the stock market, which spread into every aspect of so ciety, including farming. As stated by Renwick, “Door County (Wisconsin) had claimed the title of top cherry pro ducer in the country, yet silence reigned as the harvest readied. Local canneries guaranteed payments of only one cent per pound, which couldn’t cover costs. The math failed, since it was cheaper

to let the cherries decay on the branch es.” Under such circumstances, farmers flipped the equation. “Announcements suddenly appeared in newspapers and on the radio: ‘Cherries at a penny a pound. Pick them yourself.’” Then, as the season opened in early July, “peo ple playing farmer for a day plucked 100,000 pounds of pendulous fruit. In those frenzied weeks, a single orchard recorded 10,000 visitors from 130 towns within driving distance.”

Although there have since been many ups and downs regarding the public interest into PYO farms, more recent “green” issues, such as purchas ing locally grown foods, has renewed the growth in this market. As stated by PickYourOwn.org, “the crops that are especially suited for PYO marketing are those that require little expertise to harvest…These include: berries (straw berries, blueberries, blackberries, rasp berries), tomatoes, beans, pumpkins, and Christmas trees.” As for the latter two, pumpkin patches (including their popular corn mazes and hayrides) have seen incredible growth, while some choose-and-cut Christmas tree busi nesses currently include sleigh rides, warm cocoa/cider, live entertainment, etc., all for additional cost.

If you have the urge to “play farm

er” for a day, there are several choices, at least in the Aroostook County region. First, there is Goughan’s Berry Farm in Caribou, which includes PYO pump kins, choose-and-cut Christmas trees, a corn maze, hayrides, homemade ice cream and jam, snacks/refreshments, etc. Second, there is McElwain’s Straw berry Farm in Caribou, which offers PYO strawberries, varieties of apples, and pumpkins. Third, there is Staples Farm in Bancroft, which include PYO pumpkins. Finally, there is Treeland Farms in Hodgdon, which offers PYO peas, beans, squash, and pumpkins.

On this note, let me close with the following jest: One evening, an old farmer decided to head down to the pond. On his way, he grabbed a five-gallon bucket to bring back some fruit growing nearby. After reaching the pond, he heard voices shouting and laughing. He realized that it was a group of women skinny dipping in his pond. After they spotted him, they all swam to the deep end, after which one shouted, “We’re not getting out until you leave!” The old man frowned, “I didn’t come here to watch you ladies!” Holding the bucket up, he said, “I’m here to feed the alligator!” The moral of the story: Some old men can still think fast.

Sons,

Welcome To Aroostook County

you come from here too?”

by Ruth Knowles

travel north on the

Military Road and above Mattawamkeag, you read the

“Welcome to Aroostook County.”

was a college professor who stat ed to her class that she couldn’t believe there was such beautiful county on the other side of the woods, on the same road that our Raymond L. (Yodelin’ Slim) Clark from St. Albans wrote a song about. Both Slim and his wife Dr. Kathy were good friends of mine in St. Albans. Their home was on St. Albans Mountain.

are visiting Maine and decide this is the day to drive into the Coun ty. After all, it is the largest county east of the Mississippi River. It is bounded

by Washington, Piscataquis, and Som erset counties and by the provinces of Quebec and New Brunswick, Canada. The northern spurs of the Appalachian Range are all in Aroostook County.

The so-called Aroostook War was brought about over the boundary of Maine and New Brunswick, giving us the Military Road. History tells us the Military Road was completed to Houl ton in 1832. It was so fine a road that the party that left the town of Freedom in Franklin County on the 16th of De cember of that year drove to Houlton in four days. In 1834, two years after the troops marched out of Houlton, steps were taken to turn the Military Road over to the State of Maine.

You are on your vacation, and your doctor prescribed that you should get out into the country? You may want to go on and visit Houlton, the county seat, but for some unknown reason you take a right turn at Forest Lodge. You haven’t the slightest idea at this point where the road is going to lead. You have nothing to lose but yourself, so you come to a small town. Yes, you are entering Wytopitlock. What an inter esting name, if you could pronounce it. Then right before your eyes in the cen ter of the village is a large neon sign. You know it is only a vision, but the in terpretation becomes very clear as you observe the town:

“Welcome to Wytopitlock”

come upon a ghost town That brings memories from the past As

go back into the history The Town was much alive Laborers came from the Province

they could work to stay alive. You’ve all heard of

Lumber

were a few And even a business district Was in Wytopitlock too. You can almost hear an echo It’s an echo from the past, For the Main Street tries to whisper, “Don’t leave us, please come back.”

Now let’s ponder for a moment And I’m sure that you’ll agree That the ones that walked before us meant a lot to you and me.

It was here that people labored To build a little town, But a fire caused destruction And burned their Village down. I’m sure that from the graveyard

If these people could come back they’d tell us stories of a town

That put them on a map.

For no matter where you wander Or who you are talking to, Someone will say, “I knew someone there.

Did you come from there too?”

And at this precise moment some thing happens. You begin to feel a part of a community that was very much alive. You bow your head and thank God for many small towns which have become our American heritage, and for God-fearing ancestors who chose to cast their lots here. You decide to spend a few hours here to pay respects to generations that helped to mold our nation. You stop to talk with an old man leaning heavily on his cane, and you discover many things. The first settler who brought a family to this town and made a clearing in the wilderness for the purpose of farming was Capt. John S. Clifford. He came from Dover in

1832 and built a good set of buildings on the Military Road. He also kept a Public House for many years, and was a man well-known throughout the sec tion.

He was followed by Levi Prouty, who also came from Dover. He was a carpenter and millwright and a man with some education. A short time be fore Capt. Clifford made his settlement in the town, Mr. Gorham Rollins came from Belgrade and built a log house and stable for the purpose of putting up teamsters and travelers along the road. Another early settler was Abram Niles who came from Vermont about 1840. He built a house of hewn timber and framed a barn. He kept a hotel at Happy Corners for fifteen years.

Mr. Jonathan L. Plummer came from Wales in 1835 and took up a lot a mile west of the village. He was an early settler of Glenwood. He loved his home in the wilderness. His daughter, Judith Plummer was for years an Army nurse (cont. on page 6)

(cont. from page 5)

Dix. She worked both in the field and hospital. She was in the battle of Gettysburg. At the close of the war, she was appointed to a clerkship in the Treasury Department in which she served until she lost her eyesight in 1882.

Before the disastrous fire of Au gust 12, 1926, there were four grocery stores in the Village and three mills:

Springers, and Spragues. The very first mill in town was a small mill owned by Mr. Patchell. There was also a number of boundary line rum shops. These were located on the boundary so they could shuffle their illicit business back and forth across the boundary. At one time rum was brought over Green Mountain down Grand Lake to its destination in Ban croft and Wytopitlock.

After bidding farewell to friends at the station you decide to take a walk down the old Springer Road where you

are alone with the thoughts of yester years. Perhaps you’ll go to Fort Kent to pick up some of their famous buck wheat flour invented by the French

Acadian exiles, and along the way, take some

photos of Aroostook Coun ty’s

farms.

At War”

distance affected Acadian response to the Civil War

by Brian Swartz

Expelled

British troops from the future Canadian Maritimes

the French and Indian War, many Acadians settled along the interior St. John River in what would become New Brunswick. After the war ended, English colonists muscled the Acadians farther upriver to settle the upper St. John Valley.

Establishing farms and towns either side of the river, the Acadians became English subjects until the 1842 Webster-Ashburton Treaty ran the interna tional border between Maine and New Brunswick along the upper St. John’s mid-point. The treaty placed those Aca dians living on the south bank squarely

in Maine (and thus the United States) from St. Francis downriver to Hamlin, where the border turned 90 degrees south from the St. John River.

Despite their new status as American citizens, the Acadians retained their culture and language, a dialect known as Acadian French.

Meanwhile, English-speaking col onists penetrated the Aroostook wilds from the Penobscot Valley in Maine and from central New Brunswick via the St. John River. Primarily of En glish, Irish, and Scottish stock, those colonists settled in central and southern Aroostook County.

For 20 years politics in Augusta and

Washington, D.C. seldom affected the Acadians. Confederates fired on distant Fort Sumter in mid-April 1861, and Maine recruited more than 17,000 men that year into various state regiments and artillery batteries.

War in far-off Virginia had no bear ing on the Acadians, who did not trade with Southerners and who certainly owned no slaves. Forty-six Acadians enlisted in 1861, according to Maine Adjutant General John L. Hodsdon.

Then the 37th Congress passed the Militia Act on July 17, 1862, authoriz ing President Abraham Lincoln, when ever he “shall call forth the militia of the States” for “the service of the Unit

States,” to determine how long the militia would serve, “not exceeding nine months.”

Militia Act defined the militia “in all cases [to] include all able-bod ied male citizens” between ages 18 and 45, who must be enrolled in every loyal state. Enrollment information included a man’s name and residence. The law applied to all qualified Maine men, whether they spoke English, French, Gaelic, or any other language.

The Militia Act called for 100,000 volunteers to serve as infantrymen for nine months. On Monday, August 4, 1862, Secretary of War Edwin M. Stan ton informed Hodsdon and Governor Israel Washburn Jr. that Maine must re cruit 9,609 men to serve in nine-month regiments. The state was already re cruiting 5,000 men to join five infantry regiments (the 16th through the 20th).

What if Maine could not find an other 9,600 volunteers? The Militia

Act had the answer; if any loyal state failed to “furnish its quota” by August 15 — just 11 days away — “the defi ciency of volunteers in that State will also be made up by a special draft from the militia.”

To top it all off, the Lincoln Admin istration also determined how many men every Maine city, town, planta tion, and township must provide the army. In Aroostook County this preset “quota” stunned French and English speakers alike.

Houlton selectman Benjamin Sta ples notified Governor Washburn on August 25 that “citizens have noticed with surprise and regret … a draft has been made upon … Houlton” and cen tral and southern Aroostook County “for a considerable number of men.”

For Maine’s Acadians, the lan guage barrier alone hindered response to Stanton’s recruiting edict. In their French-dominant culture, few Acadi

ans spoke English; they had little rea son to do so.

At Grand Isle Plantation on the St. John River, assessors Francis Thibo deau, Berni Plourd, and Alexis Cyr met on Wednesday, September 10. With Thibodeau setting the English words to paper, they wrote Adjutant General Hodsdon and explained why Acadians were experiencing so much difficulty in joining the army.

After processing “all the materials” recently sent from Augusta, the asses sors had called the local militia to meet. Only two Grand Isle men appeared, and although “much disappointed,” the as sessors understood why, Thibodeau in dicated to Hodsdon.

“Very few among us here … speak a few words of English,” and no one “can read and understand … English,” Thibodeau explained how the language barrier prevented Acadians from un derstanding “what we are fighting for.” (cont. on page 10)

(cont. from page 9)

This confusion left many local men “terribly stricken of the thought of go ing to war.”

Physically isolated from the rest of Maine and living where “there is hard ly any commerce,” the Acadians need ed “very much the work of our young men on farms … to prevent the rest from starvation,” Thibodeau wisely reasoned.

And “the climate being excessively cold here … our men would not be able to make good soldiers in the burning hot of the slave states,” he pointed out.

even if the Acadians “should have filled our Quota … the place of rendezvous” was “some two hundred miles from here” in Bangor, and the Acadians lacked the funds and the means to get recruits to central Maine, the Grand Isle assessors agreed.

Houlton’s Natalie Kalmus

to the Rainbow”

by James Nalley

Ananya Khaitan’s

article for the Profession

Association of Design, when Dorothy “first stepped out of her sepia, tornado-ravaged home and into the multi-colored wonderland of Munchkin Country in The Wizard of Oz (1939), an audible gasp ran through movie the aters across the country.” At that mo ment, “audiences were transported to a Technicolor world, never to look back.” However, Hollywood would take an other 30 years to officially cross over from grayscale to color. Meanwhile, a Houlton-born woman was instrumen tal in perfecting and marketing the film process known as Technicolor. Interest ingly, she has more off-camera Internet Movie Database (IMDb) credits than

Steven Spielberg and Martin Scorsese put together. Yet, somehow Hollywood has forgotten her.

Natalie Kalmus (Natalie Dunfee) was born in Houlton on April 7, 1878. She eventually met Herbert Kalmus when they were studying color at the University of Zurich in Switzerland. After their marriage in 1902, Natalie studied art at various institutions across Europe and North America, while Herbert began experimenting in their basement with the then-new concept of color film. Naturally, Natalie joined Herbert’s endeavor.

In 1915, Herbert collaborated with Daniel Comstock and W.B. Westcott to develop an additive color motion-pic ture process, which was subsequently

Natalie Kalmus in 1930

process

Rouben Mamoulian’s Becky Sharp (1935). In the same year, the group founded the Technicolor Motion Picture Corpora

referred to as Techni color), in which Natalie served as the color consultant, developer, cutter, and camera lady. She even acted in their test films. Although Natalie and Her bert divorced in 1922, they continued

work together, and set up their first film studio in an abandoned train car.

stated by Khaitan, “Technicolor would go on to beat dozens of com peting corporations, including Kine macolor and Kodachrome, to become Hollywood’s reigning color company.”

it was Natalie’s hard work and determination that made the com pany successful. For example, in 1932, she created the first business package designed to “sell” color to the Holly wood studios. Specifically, for a flat

fee, Natalie would be on location and the producers would receive the cam eras designed to handle the color process, a trained camera operator, set and wardrobe designers, makeup artists, lighting designers, etc. In the end, this saved the studios significant money on pre-production planning and color test ing. According to Ally Aker in the book Reel Women: Pioneers of the Cinema 1896 to the Present (1991), “Her name was even required to appear as ‘Color Consultant’ on every motion picture made by the company.”

Meanwhile, Natalie (in her own words) “believed that cinema had been steadily tending toward more com plete realism” and after the addition of sound, “color was the final step towards perfection, if used correctly.” In this re gard, Natalie stated the following in her treatise Color Consciousness (1935): “If the color schemes of natural objects were used as guides, less flagrant mis takes in color would occur.” She also

suggested that colors should be sensi tively applied, “as the human nervous system experiences a shock when it is forced to adapt to any degree of unnat uralness in the reception of external stimuli.”

Natalie also developed several new techniques in order to make Techni color seem more realistic. As she ex plained, “Natural colors and lights do not tax the eye nearly as much as man-made colors and artificial lights.” In order to achieve this natural blend, she perfected the method of “color sep aration,” in which the differences in hues would be separated out from one another photographically. For instance, under the strong Technicolor lights, the color white tends to reflect the sur rounding colors and become muddy, while a neutral gray generally appears white on film.

In summarizing her duties as the company’s color art director at vari (cont. on page 14)

(cont. from page 13)

ous studios, Natalie described herself as the “ringmaster to the rainbow.” According to The New York Times (November 18, 1965), “Those duties also required her to work closely with principal cast during production to es tablish the best visual environment and emotional atmosphere to support and even enhance the actors’ performances. For instance, when Fay Wray was se lecting her Wardrobe for Dr. X (1932), an all-Technicolor production, Natalie suggested turquoise blue robe, which was “scientifically” the best color. As stated by Lois Shirley in the article “All Hollywood Has Now Gone Col or Conscious” (1932), “Although Fay looked ravishing, both to the naked eye and to the more delicate one of the col or camera, Fay didn’t like it. She felt uncomfortable in it. She chose, instead, a dark-blue robe. She couldn’t explain her reactions. She said, ‘I just feel bet ter in it.’ Natalie knew the robe would

Typical movie credits for Natalie Kalmus (courtesy of the Movie Stills Collection)

go green for the picture, but she didn’t tell Fay. In this case, Natalie knew no actress could do her best work with ‘wrong radiations’ emanating from the color she was wearing.”

Meanwhile, Natalie analyzed and documented her observations regard ing the psychological effects of color, especially how certain ones emanate particular “vibrations.” As a point of reference, she created color charts cat egorized and defined by their effects.

example, blacks/dark browns were definitely depressive; red was the stron gest vibration; blue represented peace and harmony; yellow was joy, power, and great love; and green symbolized life and springtime.

Over her career, Natalie supervised the Technicolor process of numer ous classic films such as Robin Hood (1938), The Wizard of Oz (1939), and Gone With the Wind (1939). At her peak, she commanded a salary of $65,000 a year, an almost unheard amount for a

woman at that time. However, as col or became a more standard procedure, Natalie’s presence on the set became increasingly unnecessary and, in some instances, it was somewhat intrusive.

According to Khaitan, “It was said that Herbert was the ‘Techni’ of Tech nicolor, with Natalie being the ‘color.’ While she was indeed a color expert, this exclusion from all things ‘Techni’ undermined the granular, involved role she actually performed. It also perpetu ated the notion that the more technical aspects of filmmaking were decidedly ‘masculine.’” In other situations, the male directors disliked having to deal with a woman of power. For example, Cecil DeMille fumed, “Well, it’s too bad the good Lord up in heaven didn’t have a Technicolor consultant when he made apples and oranges!’ Meanwhile, Arthur Laurents wrote, “Natalie Kal mus might have to be killed off-cam era!”

In 1948, Natalie named the com

pany as a co-defendant in her alimony suit against Herbert Kalmus. According to Khaitan, she claimed that “she was entitled to half his assets because their divorce in 1922 was invalid, based on the grounds that they had subsequent ly lived as man and wife. However, the court declared their divorce legal, and Natalie did not receive her share of the empire.” Following the bitter court case, she was forced out of her job at Technicolor.

Subsequently, Natalie remained busy, either traveling the world or con ducting courses on the color process. However, she never returned to the film industry. As stated by Khaitan, “A year before her death in 1965, Natalie’s birthday celebration was in a hospital near Boston. It was a sad affair, with no one on hand to share her birthday cake except the corps of nurses who present ed it to her. She wept when the cake was wheeled in. There were no cards, mes sages, or calls from her many friends (cont. on page 16)

at Roslindale General

in Boston on November 15, 1965. She was 87 years of age. She was buried at Beechwood Cemetery in Cen terville, Massachusetts, on Cape Cod.

for her legacy, Kalmus worked on more than 400 films, including the ma jor classics mentioned earlier. She also helped lead the motion picture industry in its transition from black-and-white to color, which was a major feat as a woman in a male-dominated industry. In this regard, when asked how she hand-held the film industry through one of its toughest transitions, despite the constant resistance and skepticism, Na talie simply replied, “If you are properly devoted toward a career of any sort, you won’t have to seek advice about it. No one is going to be able to stop you anyway.”

SERVING

Aroostook, Hancock, Penobscot, Piscataquis, and Washington counties

Discover Maine

Baker Of Madawaska

story of true Maine loyalty

by Charles Francis

in February of 1828

Baker received the follow ing brief statement from Amos Nichols, Maine Secretary of State:

...I am authorized... to in form you, that any supplies that may be necessary for the support of your family during the imprisonment of your husband... at Fredericton... will be paid out of the Treasury of this State.”

While there was a bit more to the note to Mrs. Baker from Amos Nichols regarding the fact she needed to keep records of her purchases, the brief mis sive must have come as something as a relief to the distraught wife and mother whose husband was being held in a for eign jail for simply standing up for his

rights as an American citizen.

John Baker was one of the earliest settlers from southern Maine to ven ture into the St. John Valley to build a life for himself and his family. Unfor tunately, the portion of the valley that he chose to settle in was not clearly accepted as a part of the United States at the time he went there. The British also laid claim to it. When Baker had run up the American flag to celebrate the 4th of July and claimed to be within his rights to do so because he was on American soil, he was arrested by offi cials from New Brunswick. And he was arrested not once but twice.

What is important about the letter Maine Secretary of State Amos Nich

ols wrote to Mrs. Baker is not that the Maine State government was prepared to help her family during her husband’s incarceration, but rather that the State had taken an official position regard ing its responsibilities to the Bakers. In short, Maine was treating the Bakers as if they were on American territory that was a part of the State of Maine. Pre viously when Baker had gone to Port land — which was then the capital of Maine — Governor Albion K. Parris had refused to see him and listen to his problems. Now, however, Maine had a new governor in the person of Enoch Lincoln, and he was more than willing to entertain Baker’s position favorably. In fact, he would eventually take a pub (cont. on page 20)

(cont. from page 19)

lic position that the area where Baker settled was Maine territory.

Governor Lincoln’s position would, in fact, make John Baker something of a hero. In fact, a poem entitled Baker of Madawaska would acquire more than a small degree of popularity in the State of Maine. The poem, which was written

a Mabel True of Foxcroft, was most decidedly of an inflammatory nature.

of its lines is the following, which purports to be Baker’s thoughts as he sits before his cabin door ponder ing the claims of George IV to his land.

IV of England,’ Baker thought, ‘His realm is fair and wide, But to our Madawaska he’s no claim, say what they may; and we, Americans, have a right that shall not be denied

To celebrate as we see fit, our Inde pendence Day!’”

From a quick reading it is easy to see why John Baker became something

of a Maine hero, even after the socalled Aroostook War ended with more fuss that actual confrontation. And it is quite possible that Baker deserves to be looked upon as a hero.

John Baker came to the disputed Madawaska Territory from Moscow, Maine in 1817. He and a group of other pioneers settled around Meriumticook Lake. Among other things, Baker built

a mill on the stream that still bears the Baker name. In 1825 Baker petitioned the State of Maine to legally recognize the settlement.

In the meantime Maine authorities began to become concerned over al leged depredations by New Brunswick loggers in Maine territory. By this time Enoch Lincoln was Governor of Maine. Lincoln wrote to the governor of New Brunswick as to whether there was any truth to the allegations. In response, New Brunswick sent a man named George Moorehouse to the disputed territory. Moorehouse, accompanied by several constables, proceeded to confiscate the American flag Baker had put up. Baker’s wife immediately made another to replace it. Then Moorehouse arrested Baker and took him to Freder icton.

When he learned of the arrest, Gov ernor Lincoln sent an angry protest to Fredericton. In addition, he dispatched

several companies of militia to Houlton. At this point Secretary of State Henry Clay, a War Hawk who had visions of annexing Canada, wrote Governor Lin coln expressing his full support.

There the whole matter simmered until the United States and Great Brit ain submitted it to the King of the Netherlands for arbitration. The deci sion, which was reached in 1831, was rejected by both sides. The issue would finally be settled by the Webster-Ash burton Treaty.

John Baker died in 1868. His re mains lie in Fort Fairfield.

Some years after Baker’s death the State of Maine erected a memorial at his grave. It reads “Erected by the au thority and resolve of the Legislature of Maine, A. D. 1895, to commemorate the Patriotism of John Baker, a loyal son of Maine in Maintaining the Honor of his Flag during the contentions on the disputed territory 1834-42.”

Ships Of The Aroostook

popular name for vessels

by Charles Francis

a maritime tra dition. I do not mean this in the sense of a non sequitur: a humor ous device used by writers or a logical fallacy. I am referring to the fact that a small number of vessels bear or have borne the name Aroostook. In particu lar, I am referring to U.S. Navy vessels named Aroostook and one notable fic tional vessel named Aroostook. I make the preceding qualifying statement to indicate that I am limiting the scope of this piece to vessels of which there is some significant written record.

The U.S. Navy named three ves sels Aroostook. In so naming them, the Navy was keeping with established tra

dition. A great number of Navy vessels have had or now have names of U.S. political divisions or geographic fea tures. The fictional Aroostook appears in the title of a best-selling book, The Lady of the Aroostook.

Given the progress of the discussion so far one might assume that the ves sels under consideration were named for Aroostook County, a political des ignation. I do not have this view. It is my contention that the naval ves sels bearing the name Aroostook were named for the Aroostook River. Specif ic U.S. Navy records pertaining to the naming of at least one Aroostook, the third, would seem to bear this out. As

to the fictional Aroostook, that is — as they say — a horse of different color. My mixing of metaphors with the latter statement is deliberate as I am speak ing of a literary creation. We will begin with a consideration of the naming of the third U.S. Navy vessel bearing the name Aroostook.

The third Aroostook (AOG-14) was built at Newport News, Virginia as the single-screw, steel-hulled, diesel-elec tric, tank barge Esso Delivery No. 11. It was built for Standard Oil. It was the first all-welded construction tank er owned by Standard Oil. The Navy acquired the Esso Delivery No. 11 in April of 1943. It was commissioned al

immediately as Aroostook. Naval records point to the Aroostook River as the source for the name. These records contain a brief commentary on the riv er as does the Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships, which describes the Aroostook River as meandering in a “generally northeasterly direction through much of the northern tip of [Maine] before entering the Canadian province of New Brunswick and join ing the Saint John River.” There is the additional statement that “Aroostook is an Algonquian word meaning a bounti ful and unobstructed river.”

For those who may be unfamiliar with the exact location of the Aroos took River, it rises in northeastern Maine where Millinocket Stream and Munsungan Stream join in Township 8, Range 8. This is northern Penobscot County. From its point of origin the riv er winds in an easterly and northeaster ly direction through Aroostook County. It passes through Ashland, north of Pr

esque Isle, and east of Caribou. It joins the Saint John River in Aroostook, New Brunswick. In the late 1830s, the ter ritory comprising the Aroostook Riv er’s drainage area was the scene of the Aroostook War, the boundary dispute between the United States and Great Britain. This latter point was made de liberately. It may relate to the naming of the first USS Aroostook

The Aroostook War takes its name from the river. The same is so for the Aroostook region, the designation of Aroostook County before it was a county. The U.S. Navy had a tradition of naming vessels for battles well be fore the Civil War.

The first Aroostook was a gunboat. It was built in 1862 in Kennebunk. The connections here are clear. The first Aroostook was built just over twenty years after the Aroostook War. It was built in Maine. Its name honors a re cent conflict, a conflict that takes its name from the Aroostook River. There

is a story of the first Aroostook that just may have made its way back to Aroos took County from Virginia.

Have you ever heard Aroostook County or an Aroostook County res ident referred to as “Rooster” or “Old Rooster?” Well, the first Aroostook was affectionately known as “Old Rooster.”

In the early summer of 1863 the Aroostook was stationed in the James River region. Lt. Samuel Franklin was the ship’s commander. One day the Aroostook was in the James when it came upon a group of runaway slaves. Lt. Franklin offered the refugees sanc tuary on the Aroostook. When Franklin asked one of the runaways if he and his companions had not been afraid of be ing shot for attempting to escape, the man confidently replied, “No, saah, when we seed de Old Rooster coming along, we knowed we was all right.” From this time on the crew of the Aroostook called their ship “Old Roost er.” Did this story somehow make it (cont. on page 24)

Gary McCluskey

(cont. from page 23)

first vessel bearing the name Aroostook and the county?

The second Aroostook was a World War I mine-planter. It was originally constructed as a passenger steamship, the Bunker Hill, in 1907. The Bunker Hill was owned by the Eastern Steam ship Lines. It was commissioned as the Aroostook in 1917.

The Navy has named a number of ships for geographic features in Maine. The most used geographical feature is the Piscataqua, the river forming part of the Maine-New Hampshire border. Piscataqua has been assigned to five vessels. Aroostook as a vessel name is not far behind. This leaves us with the fictional Aroostook

The Lady of the Aroostook was writ

ten by William Dean Howells in 1879.

The story involves an innocent nine teen-year-old girl who travels from Boston to stay with an aunt in Venice, Italy. The ship she travels on is named the Aroostook. The name Aroostook would seem to have little or no signif

icance to the tale. Why did Howells choose it? It is a name that only has significance in northern Maine, and to a much lesser extent New Brunswick, and in the naming of naval vessels.

William Dean Howells had no an cestral ties to Maine and most definite ly no ties to Aroostook County. He did, however, summer at Kittery Point. In 1902 Howells bought a summer home overlooking the Piscataqua River. He returned there every summer until his death twenty years later.

The use of the name Aroostook for the ship of The Lady of the Aroostook has intrigued general readers and liter ary scholars for generations. One story has it that when Howells was asked why he chose the name, he simply smiled. One might conclude that Aroostook as a name has intrigued countless people for generations, whether they be run away slaves or those who named naval vessels.

Caribou’s Florence Collins Porter

no fault with women in the mass

by James Nalley

late 1880s, the country ex perienced a surge of volunteerism

middle-class women, as ac tivists in progressive issues, members of women’s clubs and related societies, temperance advocates, and participants in various civic and charity organiza tions. The determination and drive to expand their sphere of activities outside the home provided new momentum for the women’s suffrage movement. In 1893, one woman from Caribou attended the World Congress of Rep resentative Women and gave a paper titled, “The Power of Womanliness in Dealing with Stern Problems.” To her, such “stern problems” included tem perance and suffrage. She would go on

to become one of the most well-known activists, suffragists, and political cam paigners in the movement.

Florence Collins Porter was born on August 14, 1853 in Caribou. She was the daughter of Samuel Collins and Dorcas Hardison Collins, both of whom ran the town’s general store. Over time, she helped run the store and manage the accounts. According to the paper titled, “Florence Collins Porter and the Concept of the Principled Par tisan Women” by Melanie Gustafson, “That work complemented the edu cation she received in public schools where she had dedicated teachers. The general store also put the family at the center of the town’s civic activities.”

James & Ellen Kavin

Florence Collins Porter in 1915

In 1873, after she married Rever end Charles William Porter, the new minister of the town’s Congregational Church, her participation in local ac tivities greatly increased. For example, she was a charter member of the Wom an’s Literary Club and the National Woman’s Temperance Union (WCTU), and she established the Children’s Aid Society and Girls’ Home in Belfast. As stated by Gustafson, “she also became a politician’s wife when Charles served as Caribou’s Republican representative to the state legislature. Meanwhile, a growing family further transformed their lives. Their three children were born at significant intervals, 1876, 1886, and 1891.”

Eventually, the family moved to Old Town and Winthrop, where Charles served at their respective Congrega tional Churches. Meanwhile, Florence continued her public work by orga nizing the Woman’s Literary Club in Winthrop and serving a two-year term

as President of the Maine Federation of Women’s Clubs. In 1888, Porter’s work with the WCTU and the National Wom an’s Republican Association expanded her political world. However, in the same year, Charles’s declining health led them back to Caribou. After his death in July 1894, Porter continued to move forward by entering the world of wage earning. According to Gustafson, “She became a schoolteacher. Her wid owhood status, especially her high sta tus as a clergyman’s widow, allowed Porter to transform the purpose of her work. She connected work and politics by advancing from schoolteacher to school trustee to the elected position of school superintendent.” In this regard, Porter was the first woman to serve on a Board of Education in Maine and was the Superintendent of Schools in Cari bou for four years.

In 1900, Porter became the owner and publisher of the Aroostook Register, and President of the Maine Federation

of Women’s Clubs. According to the book Maine Men and Women in South ern California by Helen Brown Trask, “In the same year, her uncle, oilman Wallace Hardison, invited her to Cali fornia to join the editorial staff at the Los Angeles Herald, which he owned.”

After moving to California, Porter not only served on the staff, but also wrote/ edited for California Outlook maga zine, along with various opinion piec es in other publications. Porter quickly became known for her writing skills, which earned her invitations to speak on a wide range of topics.

As for her temperance and suffrage activities, Porter presented the paper titled, The Power of Womanliness in Dealing with Stern Problems at the World Congress of Representative Women in 1893, and was a national officer in the Woman’s Christian Tem perance Union. With a seemingly un ending amount of energy and drive, by (cont. on page 28)

(207)769-2761

(207)764-4129

(cont. from page 27)

as President of the Los Angeles County Equal Suffrage

Vice-President of the Cali fornia Federation of Women’s Clubs, President of the California Business women’s Association of Los Angeles, and Secretary-Treasurer of the Norwalk State Hospital. Through all of her work, Porter never lost its sense of meaning. For instance, In 1923, she stated the following in a speech: “I am a woman’s woman…I find no fault with women in the mass. To me, organization women are always kind, beautiful, and achiev ing.”

This attitude also made Porter a nat ural campaigner in the political field, both locally and nationally. For exam ple, she served as Vice-President of the Roosevelt Progressive League in Los Angeles in 1912, and was one of only two women to serve as California del egates at the 1912 Republican National Convention. In 1918, she campaigned

for California gubernatorial candidate (an eventual governor) William Ste phens. She also helped found the Na tional Women’s Republican Associa tion, and seconded the nomination of Calvin Coolidge at the 1924 Republi can National Convention. According to Gustafson, in this regard, “Porter engaged in political dialogue with women and men to promote her vision (or version) of women’s politics.” Por ter also stated the following: “Women could be citizens and voters, and join in political alliances as non-partisans, not merely because they happen to be women, but because they enter the arena untrammeled with party ties or traditions. And, moreover, they come into the field…trained in the doing of civic work, which has for its sole ob ject the welfare of the community.” In other words, Porter truly believed that women’s political organizations should be non-partisan.

For her decades of work as an editor, political campaigner, and activist for temperance and women’s suffrage, a portrait of Porter, painted by renowned artist Kathryn Woodman Leighton, was unveiled at a luncheon at the San Pe dro Republican Women’s Club in 1930. Later that year, Porter died on Decem ber 31. She was 77 years of age.

Although the right to vote for women in the United States was a de cades-long effort, after the ratification of the 19th Amendment in 1920, it was women like Porter who continued to push forward the idea that women’s relationship to politics was no different than that of men. Interestingly, Porter’s great-great grandniece is U.S. Senator Susan Collins (1952-present), while her great-grand nephews were Maine politician and judge Samuel Collins (1923-2012) and Maine legislator Don ald Collins (1925-2018).

Howland’s 100th Birthday Party

1926 was a big year

by Brian Swartz

Sometimesthe birthday’s so im portant, not even a raging blizzard will stop Mainers from tossing a party.

When One hundred and forty-eight Howland residents and fans packed the Howland Town Hall on February 10, 1926, they celebrated Howland’s 100th birthday. Slightly more than one hun dred years earlier, the Maine Legislature authorized people living in Township 1, Range 7, to practice self-governance as an organized town. The exciting transi tion from state to local “home rule” oc curred on February 10, 1826, only eight years since such settlers as John Bryer, Jacob Doe, Jeremiah Fifield, Levi Lan caster, James Merrill, and the Ham metts (William and William C), started

felling the forests along the Piscataquis River to build homes and farms and ul timately a town named for Mayflower Compact signer John Howland. Spread across thirty-four square miles in central Penobscot County, Howland straddles the Piscataquis River, the winding waterway that drains southern Piscataquis River and a few towns, including Howland and Mayfield, in Penobscot County. Be fore merging with the Penobscot Riv er along Howland’s eastern shore, the Piscataquis bisects the town and, in the 1800s, dangled the lure that brought some settlers to the region. That lure involved waterpower, not the hydro power associated with Howland’s two current dams, but the waterpower de

veloped by the fast-flowing Piscataquis River.

To create an impoundment, early settlers like William Miller and John Haley and the Scammons (Tom and Tristian), built a dam across the river in 1825. Local residents constructed a double saw-equipped mill on the riv er’s north shore below the dam. This mill soon expanded to encompass a clapboard machine and a shingle ma chine that manufactured building prod ucts purchased by Howland residents.

In the early to mid-1800s, boats, steam or otherwise, transited the Pe nobscot River after spring “ice-out,” so the dam’s builders added locks along the south shore so relatively small boats could access the Piscataquis

River. These locks also let logs go downstream to the Howland sawmill. That sawmill thrived until 1870 when a fast-moving fire — always a danger where combustible sawdust and wood shavings mingle with spark-emitting machinery — leveled the complex. A flooding Piscataquis River claimed the Howland dam in 1872. The Searsport Co. purchased water rights to the de funct Howland impoundment in 1881 and started building a new dam on Sep tember 13, 1881, when Rodney Lan caster “threw out the first shovel full of dirt,” the local press excitedly reported.

While mingling in the Howland Town Hall on February 10, 1926, How land residents had education somewhat on their minds as the Howland High School orchestra performed. How land’s first school was located on Wil low Street, where an empty store served as a place of learning. Town residents built another school in 1902.

Howland, like other Maine small towns, had great pride in their high schools. In 1926 they couldn’t foresee the day when their hometown school would vanish when they and the towns of Edinburg, Enfield, Passadumkeag, and the other central Penobscot County communities formed School Adminis trative District 31.

The district constructed Hichborn Middle School and Penobscot Val ley High School on Cross Street in Howland in the early 1970s. A wing connects the schools, which feature

separate gymnasiums and entrances. Howland residents, as do their SAD 31 neighbors, view schools as central to their town’s existence. When the state government nixed a proposed new high school in the early 21st century, and Augusta bureaucrats even suggested that Howland teenagers attend school in Lincoln or Milo, SAD boosters re sponded with a magnificent fund-rais ing effort. Backed by Maine Depart ment of Education funding, Hichborn Middle School and Penobscot Valley High School were substantially reno vated with updated electric and heating systems. The “Howlers,” as Penobscot Valley High School designates its inter varsity sports teams, play basketball in the high school’s modernized gym, but wrestling remains the dominant sport here.

Wind-driven snow swirled and piled outside Howland’s Town Hall as the town’s 100th birthday bash contin ued on February 10, 1926. The local American Legion post provided “an appropriate picture,” according to the local press, and one hundred and for ty-seven people dutifully listened as Rev. George Currier, a local Baptist minister, lectured about the history of Howland.

That stormy night most people walked or snow-shoed to the centennial festivities, because little formal street plowing took place in Bangor, much less in rural Howland. To pack fresh snow, horse-drawn teams hauled mas

sive rollers that flattened snow, ice, and most objects caught in their paths. The rudimentary automobiles and trucks rumbling through Howland’s streets during the summer of 1925 experi enced hazardous travel conditions in the winter of 1926.

Today, diesel-powered plows push away snow falling across Interstate 95, which intersects the Lagrange Road — routes 6 and 155 — just west of “builtup” Howland at Exit 217. Routes 6 and 155 connect Howland with Lagrange to the west and Enfield to the east, across the Penobscot River. Until a large-scale construction project began in 2006, the Lagrange Road remained permanently potholed and frost-heaved year-round, no matter the ambient temperature. Howland residents complained at lo cal stores, in local papers and to any one who would listen, including local legislators. Lagrange residents, log gers, freight haulers, and school bus drivers added their voices to the “re build the road, will ya?” litany. That finally sparked state action and saw the highway completely overhauled with modern drainage systems and widened shoulders.

Routes 6 and 155 span the Penob scot River on a steel-framed bridge, similar to another bridge spanning the Piscataquis River to connect How land’s points north and south. The Maine State Highway Commission, the precursor to today’s Maine Department of Transportation, constructed similar (cont. on page 32)

Hour

Towing

Accepting All Major Motor Clubs

(cont. from page 31)

bridges across Maine in the 1930s and 1940s. Such bridges, typically painted a uniform light green, are gradually dis appearing as the Department of Trans portation replaces them with modern steel-and-concrete bridges. Howland’s two bridges will stand a while longer, but a similar bridge vaulting the East Branch of the Penobscot River at Med way was replaced several years ago.

As Howland’s centennial celebra tion continued on February 10, 1926, party-goers agreed that “we should do this again in the summer, when it’s warmer.” Howland residents did toss another self-congratulatory party in the summer of 1926. By then, however, the town was six months older, and How land’s bicentennial lay ninety-nine-plus years in the future. The official How land bicentennial falls on February 10, 2026. Expect a big party and expect Howland residents to invite friends, relatives, and anyone who loves a small Maine town to join in the fun.

Easton

by Gladys G. Whittier

of 1891 Mericos Hector

at age twenty-four

numerous

California. He was the second oldest son of Charles and Ruth Keech Whit tier. He was a young country boy who lived in a log home with his family.

he was growing up and old enough, he worked on his father’s farm helping with whatever tasks that need ed to be done. He loved horses and, in fact, he had a special horse he was very fond of and took care of. One day his horse died. This left Mericos with deep sorrow. Eventually he lost interest in the farm and decided to venture to a new part of the world in search of a new way of life. In his spare time he

read many western novels and listened to stories from young men about their experiences while traveling. This en ticed him to leave home and seek his fortune in California.

While working with his father on the farm, he was able to accumulate three years’ earnings, enough to buy a new suit of clothes, a ticket to California, and twenty-five dollars for traveling expenses. This was to become a new chapter in his life. He knew very little about traveling and what the outcome would be as he journeyed on his way. He also knew that he would never be satisfied until he went west to accom plish his lifelong dream.

It wasn’t long afterward that Meri (cont. on page 34)

Mericos Hector Whittier

(cont. from page 33)

cos made his preparations for the trip West. Accompanying him were his cousin Mary Powers (wife of Lucien Small), and her four children. Mericos’ plans were to go to Eureka where his uncle lived, located near the coast of Northern California. However, before leaving, he met a friend on the road by the name of Charles Hardison. He advised Mericos to go to Santa Paula instead. There were some men he knew, including Fred Fish, Chester and Fred Brown, and Wallace Hardison who were from the Caribou area and had found good jobs in the oil fields.

It wasn’t long before Mericos was on the train bound for California with his suitcase and lunch bag. The sleep er car he was traveling in had a stove for making coffee. It was overseen by a traveling agent of the railroad who watched the passengers to make sure they didn’t leave the train as it pulled into stopping places. He also assisted

passengers with getting off at the right stations. While traveling on the train, Mericos and his party met up with a nice young man that lived in Chicago. Since he knew the city, he offered to show them places of interest during a stopover. They went to the Stock Ex change, the Masonic Building, and the Auditorium Hotel that was supposed to have the finest barbershop in the Unit ed States during that time. Mericos al ways remembered the shock. It was so full of mirrors that every time he turned around he could see himself. It was so confusing that he had difficulty finding his way out of the building. Since they had several hours to wait for the next train, the sightseeing tour was great ly appreciated and was of interest to everyone. They had not realized how quickly the time had passed and the fact that they had to change from one rail road to another. The travel agent had to rush them across the city to catch the

other train.

On his trip, Mericos didn’t intend to miss anything. In one place he stuck his head too far out the window and lost his hat. One time he stayed up all night to see the Mississippi River as the train crossed it at four o’clock in the morn ing. As they approached the Rocky Mountains, he did not care too much for the west. It seemed so different from New England. At one train station along the way in a town called Saugus, his cousin Mary Powers and her small family departed on another train, leav ing Mericos alone and very lonely and homesick.

By the time he reached his destina tion in Santa Paula and stepped off the train, he was in high spirits. The first person to greet him was Allie Hardison, who had left Caribou for California the fall before. They were happy to see each other. Allie’s brother Lowell lived there in Santa Paula as well. They met

day after Mericos’ arrival, an inter esting incident occurred. While he was in a restaurant in Santa Paula, he no ticed a man looking at him. He wasn’t pleased at first, but finally the man came over to his table. The stranger was sociable enough and said he would like to talk. He asked Mericos how long he had been in the area and what state he came from. He also inquired about what country and town he lived in. Af ter Mericos gave him the information, the man introduced himself as George Bugsby and told him that he was from Washburn, Maine.

After settling in Santa Paula, Mer icos started working as a ranch hand. His pay was a dollar a day with board. The work was hard and he was a lit tle homesick, but he was determined to stay. He also was able to save a little for future use if needed. A while later, he became interested in oil drilling with

the help of Wallace and Ivory Hardi son. Mericos got his first oil job with the Union Oil Company. This job, how ever, didn’t last long. It was during the depression of 1893, and many workers were laid off, including Mericos. He became a ranch hand again near Santa Paula. He helped set out the first lemon trees in that part of California. The pay was twenty-five dollars a month with board.

His first real venture in the oil busi ness was with a friend, Chester Brown, an oil operator. They pooled their savings and interested some of Mr. Brown’s friends in advancing capital. They drilled one shallow well on some leased land in Ventura County, but the well proved disappointing. The compa ny was sold and the drill was moved to Los Angeles. This became the center of interest for the oil adventurers and Mericos. He didn’t have any trouble getting a job as a driller since he was

a hard and conscientious worker. They paid him five dollars a day while the prevailing wages were three dollars and fifty cents. Mericos worked for California Oil Resources as a driller for two years. While there he met a friend, Tom O’Donnell, who was a pioneer in the oil business. Soon after, they went into the oil business together. That was the turning point of Mericos’ life and career.

One of the contracts of O’Donnell and Whittier was a well for a Baptist minister named Mr. Croswell. The work was to get underway on a Sun day. He told Mericos that if they would attend the church service instead, he would preach a sermon for their ben efit, which they agreed to do. This was another significant turning point for Mericos. At the service he met a love ly young woman. Later she became his wife and the mother of his four children. Mericos found happiness in his lifelong (cont. on page 36)

in

from

named Burton E.

was

Mericos’ wife

sorrow. He continued in the

business with Green until his death in 1925 at the age of 58. One wonders

lived

sought

Whittier

successful in the

he became somewhat of a philanthropist. His contributions helped with the reconstruction of French cities after World War I. He also gave gener ous gifts to veterans’ organizations, the Salvation Army, the Red Cross, and the Boy Scouts of America. His contribu tions also provided aid in eye research.

Mericos never forgot his boyhood name. Early in his career, he bought a new home for his parents.