It's Been 25 Years Since I Moved to Lewes

Lewes Lighthouse Sign, a photo by mmahaffie on Flickr.

Walking downtown today, I realized that it has been 25 years since I moved into the City of Lewes, Delaware. I came here in the spring of 1987, after a winter in Rehoboth Beach.

I had a tiny bachelor apartment on Second Street before Karen and I married. We had a small apartment on West 3rd Street when we first married. We rented a small duplex on Market Street briefly before buying our first house, a Cape Cod on East 3rd. Eighteen years ago, we moved into a suburban-style house on Inlet Place. And here we've stayed.

I've lived in Lewes for half of my life now. In fact, this is the place I've lived longest in all of my life.

I'm proud to be a part of this town; glad that our daughters have grown up here. It's been my honor to serve for several years now on the Lewes Planning Commission.

I wonder if I'll still be here in 25 more years?

A Walk Through Historic Williamsburg

The second part of our Williamsburg visit was a day spent doing the historic part of Williamsburg. It's important to note that a single day isn't really enough, but it is a very nice way to spend a day and we had nearly perfect weather.

We saw the key things we wanted to see and returned in the evening for a lovely meal at the Kings Arms Tavern, where nearly a quarter century ago (!) I proposed to The Lovely Karen.

On the Street Where You Lived (Part 2)

I spent some time this weekend searching through the newly-released 1940 Census records for information about my parents' childhood households. I didn't find anything really new about my family, and there's nothing here that they couldn't easily tell me themselves, but I'm a data geek, a history buff, and a former Census Liaison for state government, so this was fun.

Part 2: The Farrars of Meadow Road
My next search of the 1940 Census was in Greenwich, Connecticut, where my mother grew up in the neighborhood of Riverside. Her family lived on Meadow Road, at the apex of the triangle it forms with Tower Road. They were part of Enumeration District 1-62.

My mother, Judith Farrar, was nine on Census Day in 1940; she would turn ten later in the spring. She was the youngest of three children of John and Roberta Farrar. Her sister Joan was 14 and her oldest brother, Robert, was 16 that spring. Their parents were both 41 years old.

The household included a nurse, 48-year old Edna Bullock from Massachusetts. She was there for Joan, who was unwell. There was also a maid, Geneva Lumpkins (I think), a 20-year old from Alabama. My mother tells me that Geneva was not there much longer. As she put it, "The war changed a lot of things." Robert and their father would both enlist; Robert became a navigator on B-17 bombers out of England.

Before the war, though, my Grandfather was making films. The Census form lists his occupation as Movie Director. My brother John found a listing for his company, Mercury Pictures, in a 1948 edition of the Journal of the Society of Motion Picture and Television Engineers. He also owned a hardware store and wrote jazz music.

Among the other occupations listed in their neighborhood in 1940 was an interesting mix of the wealthy and people who work for them. There were lawyers, publishers, and bank vice presidents, as well as maids, cooks, housemen, and a butler. That neighborhood is still very high rent; last time we visited we had to get special permission to go through the gates.

In Part 1, we looked at my father's household.

On the Street Where You Lived (Part 1)

I spent some time this weekend searching through the newly-released 1940 Census records for information about my parents' childhood households. I didn't find anything really new about my family, and there's nothing here that they couldn't easily tell me themselves, but I'm a data geek, a history buff, and a former Census Liaison for state government, so this was fun.

Part 1: The Mahaffies of O Street

First, I searched maps of the Georgetown district of Washington, DC, where my father grew up on O Street, between 30th and 31st Streets. I found that that block was part of Enumeration District 1-245 in 1940. A little scrolling through the scanned population schedules for that district led me to an enumeration  sheet that included my grandparent's household.

My grandfather, Charles D. Mahaffie, Sr., was 55 years old on Census Day in 1940. He served as a Commissioner on the Interstate Commerce Commission. My grandmother, Isabel Mahaffie, was 47 and listed as a homemaker, though undoubtedly she continued to work, if not full time, as an artist. My father was about to turn nine years old and is listed as having completed three years of school.

I was interested also to learn about the people of the neighborhood. This is a partial picture, since the folks on the other side of O Street are in a different enumeration district, but a quick review of the people in the area suggests a fascinating mix.

There were a number of salespeople, a few people employed in the dairy business, a photographer, and the assistant chief of the Library of Congress (Maud Brady) who lived in the same house as a secretary at the Library (Cornelia Brady). I think they were Mother-in-law and Daughter-in-law.

Up the street lived a young woman named Besley (first name illegible, at least so far) who was listed as a Secretary for the Interstate Commerce Commission.

Around the corner, on 30th Street, lived Paul L. Townsend, with his wife and kids. The census form notes that he was born in Delaware, and Townsend is a big name in Delaware; so I did a search. He turns out to have been the son of US Senator John G. Townsend, Jr., of Delaware.

I work across the street in Dover from a building named after the elder Townsend. Small world.

In Part 2, we visit the household of my Mother in Greenwich, Connecticut.

Odd: Family History For Sale, By a Stranger

I was doing some idle family-name searching this weekend and came across a person on Etsy selling illustrations by my grandmother from a book published in 1929.

This gorgeous double-sided plate features the work of the artist Isabel Cooper from specimens at the American Museum of Natural History. One side features seashells from tropical waters and the other American specimens.

Isabel Cooper was an artist and illustrator who provided paintings for a variety of publications, created murals for public buildings, and traveled to remote outposts with scientists where she fulfilled the role later filled by color photography.

As near as I can tell, these are plates cut from a book my grandmother did illustrations for in the years before her marriage to Charles Mahaffie. 

I'm not sure how I feel about this sort of thing appearing for sale. My grandmother was paid for her work back in the 1920s, so that's not an issue. But I hate to think of great old books being cut apart and mined like this. Also, I always thought of Etsy as a site for artists and artisans to sell things they created themselves.

Down Memory Lane: At The Air Mobility Command Museum

Six years ago today I visited the Air Mobility Command Museum, at Dover Air Force Base. With my camera. There's a large number of vintage aircraft there to wander among.



I was there for a planning meeting for the 2006 Delaware GIS Conference. It was my first visit to the museum. In later years, we started having GIS Day events there and I got to spend more time photographing the museum and all the airplanes.

The Small Warship Named for my Small City

I have learned, quite by accident, that there was a US Navy warship named City of Lewes in service during World War I.

USS Lewes off Lorient, France, circa 1918. From NavSource Online

The City of Lewes started life as a menhaden trawler (likely on the Delaware Bay). She had been built in 1912 at the shipyard of W.G. Abbott, in Milford. She was 150 feet in length, with a beam of 24 feet and a nine foot draft. She displaced 245 tons and could make 12 knots.

In May of 1917, she was purchased by the US Navy and Commissioned as the USS City of Lewes. In July, she was recommissioned as simply USS Lewes. In August and September the Lewes sailed across the Atlantic for the port city of Brest, in France, as part of a squadron described in On the coast of France: the story of the United States naval forces in French waters (Joseph Husband, A.C. McClurg & co., 1919):

The next squadron of the patrol force, Captain TP Magruder USN in command, reached Brest on the afternoon of September 18, and consisted of the yacht USS Wakiva, the supply ship USS Bath, and the trawlers USS Anderton, USS Lewes, USS Courtney, USS McNeal, USS Cahill, USS James, USS Rehoboth, USS Douglas, USS Hinton, and USS Bauman. With these also arrived six 110-foot patrol vessels under the French flag. Due to the construction of the trawlers, which was soon proved to be entirely unsuited for the hard sea service required, they were withdrawn after a few weeks from escort duty and fitted for mine-sweeping. 

The USS Rehoboth was a sister ship of the Lewes, having also been built in Milford and bought into the service. And I've found references to a USS Henlopen, built by W.G. Abbott, as well.

According to the US Naval Historical Center, the Lewes spent most of her time as a mine-sweeper, keeping the coast of France free from floating German mines, an effort that continued int 1919 after the end of the war. She was decommissioned in September of 1919 and sold.

We're Missing a Tourism Opportunity: Water Baseball

Water baseball [Men playing baseball in
surf.] 27 July 1914 (LOC)
Originally uploaded by
The Library of Congress

The Library of Commerce photo stream in the Flickr commons includes a few intriguing, if faded, images of men playing baseball in the surf sometime in 1914. We should investigate this as a tourist activity/draw for Delaware beaches. The Division of State Parks could organize leagues. But I imagine the outfielders would have to be fairly tall.

Fun With Culinary History

The New York Public Library has a neat crowd-sourcing project up in which volunteers are helping to transcribe the dishes offered on their collection of historic menus.

It's called What's on the Menu?

We're transcribing our historical restaurant menus, dish by dish, so that they can be searched by what people were actually eating. It's a big job so we need your help!

I spent some time with the menu at right this evening. It's from Friday, April 26, 1901. I found dishes like:

• Broiled squab on toast, with lettuce, for 50 cents
• Lobster a la Newburg, for 40 cents
• Barbecued oysters or soft clams in shell, for 35 cents

I think its fascinating to think that my great-grandfather John Redmond Farrar, a lawyer and justice of the municipal court in New York City, might have eaten here. Or maybe another great-grandfather, Augustus Charles Becker, described later by his son-in-law, my grandfather Redmond Farrar, as "a very imposing and good-looking man, over six feet tall, and very aristocratic in his bearing," might have eaten here.

They might have ordered a boiled young turkey, with oyster sauce.

Harsh. Based on Reality. But Ultimately Wrong

The excellent Letters of Note blog today has posted a late 1967 letter from a record company executive to one of the managers of the Grateful Dead, scolding the band for their unprofessional behavior in the studio during the making of the album Anthem of the Sun.

I think it is funny as hell to read this now. Here are some bits:

...the most unreasonable project with which we have ever involved ourselves.

It's apparent that nobody in your organization has enough influence over Phil Lesh to evoke anything resembling normal behavior. 

With their attitudes and their inability to take care of business when it's time to do so would lead us to believe that they never will be truly important.

The Dead were certainly weird in those days. Anthem of the Sun is one of their more out-there and experimental efforts. But it has some gems, including attempts to capture their astonishing jamming of that period on pieces such as The Other One (cf. 1968 version and 1989 version).

It's not surprising that music industry folks thought they would fade away. Looking back over the long history of the band (they continued until the death of Jerry Garcia in 1995), it's clear that the Grateful Dead were never going to fit comfortably in the music industry. They didn't make product, they created an atmosphere in which music could come into being. Sometimes it was pretty lame, but mostly is was fabulous.

Letters of Note adds that the producer referred to in the letter eventually quit the project; "apparently the final straw was a request by guitarist Bob Weir to create the illusion of 'thick air' in the recording studio." I remember reading or hearing about this -- I think in Phil Lesh's memoir Searching for the Sound  -- as an example of Bob Weir's inventiveness. Lesh says, if I remember who said this, that what Bobby was really going for was the sort of compression that is now a standard tool in all recording studios. It didn't exist in 1967. They hadn't invented it yet. But Weir knew it was needed.

From the Archives: Punkin' Chunkin'

punkin 3
Originally uploaded by mmahaffie

In the old days, Punkin' Chunkin' was a small, homey affair. We used to attend it back when when we were first married; back when they held the thing just north of Lewes at the Eagle Crest Aerodrome.

In those days, the "big guns" were rotary-arm hurlers and giant metal slingshots. None of the compressed-air canons that they use today.

In those days, there were some "special" chunkers. Here, for example, is the famous "illegal mortar" chunker which made a few appearances. And there was a pilot who flew over several times, heaving pumpkins out of the cockpit.

These are photos from an old desk drawer I've started sorting through. I've been scanning a few and adding them to an archives set.

New Branches in the Family Tree

I have discovered another ancestral home that now serves as part of an historic site: Huguenot Street in New Paltz, New York. This is the Freer-Low House where a ninth great-grandfather, Hugo Freer, once lived.

Regular visitors to this blog will have noticed my genealogy hobby and my pride in Mahaffie family history.  I have written a few times about The Mahaffie House, now a museum in Olathe, Kansas.  It was home to my great-great-grandparents JB Mahaffie and Lucinda Henderson who were among the first settlers of that town.

But that was in the mid-1800s. Hugo Freer came to the New York colony sometime before 1677 as part of a wave of religious refugees -- Huguenots -- who had fled France, stayed for a time in Germany, and eventually came to the colonies. Hugo Freer was one of a group of twelve men (the "Duzine") who purchased land from the local Esopus tribe and received a patent to settle the town of New Paltz in the 1670s.

At the very end of his life, Hugo Freer replaced his original wood home with the stone structure that stands today. He died in 1698. The house passed through various family members and served different functions before being purchased by the Huguenot Historical Society in 1955 and made part of the Huguenot Street Historic District of New Paltz.

"My great-grandmother, of French Huguenot ancestry"
I am related to Hugo Freer through my maternal grandmother, Isabel Cooper Mahaffie, another frequent subject of this blog. Towards the end of her life, she had inventoried her home (filled with a wonderful collection of treasures and art).  Reading through that inventory the other day, I found her reference to "an especially fine small colonial covered pitcher with the dragon finial, which belonged to Joanna Freer, my great-grandmother, of French Huguenot ancestry."

That led me to renew genealogical searching along that branch of the family tree, which had been stopped at Joanna Freer and her husband, Nathan Myers.  The renewed searching led me to a new treasure trove,  the Freer-Low Family Association, which provided six more generations of family, back to Hugo Freer (who appears in some records as "Hugo Freer Patentee").

So now, allowing for possible error over more than 300 years, the generations look like this:

1. Hugo Freer and Marie de la Haye
2. Hugo Freer, Sr., and Maria LeRoy
3. Simon Freer and Marytjen Vanbommell
4. Zimeon Freer and Catrina Vanbenschoten
5. Simeon Freer and Anna Maria DuBois
6. Elias Freer and Arreantje Veley (Viele?)
7. Joanna (Johanna?) Freer and Nathan Meyers
8. Isabella Meyers and Thomas Cooper
9. James Cooper and Honora Henry
10. Isabel Cooper and Charles D. Mahaffie, Sr.
11. Charles D. Mahaffie, Jr. and Judith Farrar (my parents)

And, because I keep all these records on geni.com, additional connections are made as data in other family trees is compared to data from my tree. The Freer-Low Family Association records start with Hugo the Patentee, but geni connections suggest at least another five generations back in time.

And so I am once again happily wandering among my ancestors in the near and distant past.

Echoes From the Past: The Season at New London, 1909

I go on occasional kicks of historical and genealogical searching. This is part of my hobby of maintaining an extensive family tree at geni.com that encompasses my Mahaffie, Farrar, Cooper, Becker, Kelly, Bartlett, Williams, Redmond, and Harrison heritage. (To name just a few generations)

This morning, while searching among the New York Times' archives, I came across a society-page article from 1909 that likely mentions my paternal grandmother. It doesn't add anything to my genealogical knowledge, and the Isabel Cooper mentioned may not be my grandmother, but the time and place are right and the subject matter is charming in any case.

The article, Midshipmen Give a Tea at New London (PDF), is from July 18, 1909. It details the summer social scene at the Hotel Griswold, on Eastern Point near New London, Connecticut, which lies across either Long Island Sound or Block Island Sound (depending on how you look at it) from the easternmost tip of Long Island.

New York City, in the days before air conditioning, could be a lousy place to be in the summers. Those who could adjourned to beaches and mountains for much of the summer. Resorts became centers of summer social activity and newspapers reported on the comings and goings and recreational doings of society. It was, I think, somewhat like our present fascination with the personal lives of television, movie and music stars -- except much more G-rated.

In July of 1909, the midshipmen of the warship Tonopah gave an afternoon tea for the guests of the Hotel Griswold "and to a large number of those who make up the summer colony at Eastern Point." It is described as "the red letter day of the season.

The afterdack (sic) of the warships (sic) had been polished until it was as smooth as a ballroom floor and under the gaily colored awnings and flags the young people danced the afternoon away to the music of the Hotel Griswold Orchestra, while the chaperons looked on, nodding approval at the pretty picture.

Along with tea with the Navy, there were tennis tournaments and amateur theatricals. The young woman who may have been my grandmother is listed among the doubles players, paired with a Miss Van Vleck.

Isabel Cooper is also listed as portraying Mrs. Muriel Crosby in a comic opera composed by an Arthur E. Cushman to be sung in the hotel on August 6.

It is called "The Tourists" and the songs are to include only the most popular airs of the day. The first act shows the lawn of the Griswold, with Summer girls flitting about. The second shifts the players to the Prada in Cuba, and this setting gives the actors a chance to wear picturesque costumes, and the men a chance to look mildly ferocious.

The article includes a lengthy listing of who has arrived, who has taken a cottage, and which yachts are in the harbor.

And, in a nod to the latest technology, there is a paragraph of "automobile arrivals" at the hotel. There were four Packards, and one each of Mathewson, Stevens-Duryea, Columbia, Chalmer's Detroit, Stearns, Buick, Hotchkiss, Palmer-Singer, and Winton. Of this random sampling of early automobile makes, I recognize only two.

I am not certain that the "Miss Isabel Cooper" mentioned here is in fact the Isabel Ruth Cooper who later married Charles Delahunt Mahaffie, Sr. and raised Charles Junior (my father). But I think it may be.

My grandmother would have been just a month shy of 17 years old in July of 1909. She was raised in New York and may have summered in Connecticut. She was, by all accounts, a beautiful young woman, and artist and later a model.

She briefly attended Bryn Mawr, near Philadelphia, before starting a professional career as an illustrator that found her, starting at age 25, painting tropical fish and fauna as part of a series of scientific expeditions.

I can see her taking part in the summer social scene of New London in 1909; a slim, athletic young woman dancing with midshipmen, playing tennis and performing for other guests. She would have taken it all in with a detached, amused, but friendly air, storing the experience among her catalog of people and places and ways of living that molded the fascinating and broadly interested older woman that I knew, all too briefly.

A Delaware Population History

I went all geeky for the Census. Not that that was really a change for me, of course. My default approach is geek-lite, as you well know.

In any case, in the run-up to Census Day (this past Thursday, in case you missed it), I ran a daily series of Census history tweets, reporting facts from each decennial Census and reporting on the counted populations of Delaware and the three Delaware counties.

I also created a Google spreadsheets table of those census counts, adding a decennial Census' results each day. The table above is from that spreadsheet.

A very cool by-product of all of this is a collection of links to scanned copies of the Delaware portions of historic Census publications back to 1790 (the first US Census).

These are fascinating glimpses into the official, and the bureaucratic, history of the nation. What was important? Who was counted, and how?

This exercise has helped me to better understand the joy that historians must feel in digging back into the past through documents and artifacts.

Know Your U.S.A.

I've been tweeting a Census history series lately, reporting on one decennial census each day through census day (April 1). I got to 1940 today and found three promotional films posted on YouTube. They encourage 1940s USians to be counted as a civic and patriotic duty.

Let me recommend the Census Bureau's Through the Decades web site, it makes fascinating reading. I particularly enjoy the scanned historic Census publications they offer.

And I've been posting a decade-by-decade record of state and county Census counts for Delaware. I'm including links to the scanned publications that cover Delaware.

"BBS" Means What, Now?

There's a note on CrunchGear today that takes me back to my earliest web work. Yesterday, apparently, was the birthday of the first-ever public "BBS," which stood for "Bulletin Board System."

A BBS was a dial-in, text-based computer bulletin board; not quite "the web" as we know it now, but a start. That first one started in 1978!

I was not involved in BBS work that far back, but I did run a BBS for Delaware's Department of Natural Resources and Environmental Control back in the early 1990s when I was a Community Relations Officer.

Our intent was simple -- we wanted to provide a place for the regulated community to access the latest versions of the state's environmental regulations. That meant translating all of the regulations into text files -- ascii text files with no formatting.

Of course, many of the regulations in those days dated back to before the widespread use of word-processing systems. In some cases, we were scanning and translating old, several-times copied typescript.

And we were struggling to create a usable system that the few very computerized engineering firms could use. I think we succeeded.

Later in the 1990s, I was working for the Economic Development Office and got to set up a series of World Wide Web pages to present census and other data to small business and other data users. I was using very rudimentary HTML coding and every section of the site was a new design challenge.

Things have changed a lot. Today, almost all state agency web sites use a "common look and feel" web page design put together by the government Information Center. We use twitter and RSS feeds and, in some cases blogging software and other tools.

But if you trace back from today's gov 2.0 web sites, you find simple, text-based BBS systems that were accessed over phone lines using modems that beeped, and booped, and transferred data via some strange wash of white noise.

Happy (Belated) Birthday, Dr. M.L. King

Unstable isotope has posted the full text of the speech at Delaware Liberal. So, naturally, I plugged that into wordle to create a word cloud of the speech.

Fun With History

From time to time I come across a bit of family history out on the great web. This evening, I found a page from Evangelical Magazine and Gospel Advocate of July 18, 1835, announcing a family wedding.


Here on page 232, the first entry under "Marriages," is the announcement of the marriage of one set of my great-great-great-grandparents.

Harrison Otis Henry and Phoebe Maria Gibson were wed on June 18 of 1835, in Rome, New York. Their son Harrison L. Henry married Susan Tucker and fathered Honora Henry, whose brief marriage to James Cooper produced, in 1892, my grandmother Isabel Ruth Cooper.

Scrapple Flame Wars of 1872

MetaFilter points to an entry from the New York Times of a few days back that reports on an incident of angry letter-writing in the Times in the late 1800s.

"The Way We Ate: The Great Scrapple Correspondence of 1872" recounts a discussion of scrapple, our regional "delicacy," in the Times' letters. It all started with a note from a transplanted Pennsylvanian, who wrote, in part:

In Pennsylvania there is an article in general use called "scrapple," or "scrappel," which is one of the best substitutes for meat that i know of. On coming to live in New-York I missed it very much, and, as a consequence, it cost us a large amount for mutton-chops, beef-steak, &c. , for breakfast, for which "scrapple" is excellent. My wife then brushed-up her house-keeping and cookery lore, and resolved to make the article herself, which she does to perfection. And the result is, we have a delicious article of diet at a very small cost, which takes the place of meat for the morning meal, and which is, I believe, quite as nutricious, as I know it is more toothsome.

This led to the eventual publication of a recipe for scrapple, which was discussed and debated at some length.

The MetaFilter post points to this as an early example of the sort of behavior that is now known as "flaming" on the internet. It's comforting to note that nastiness, cynicism and brutal satire are nothing new; they are, in fact, a part of our national character.

Urban Planning, Parks and Their Impacts on Planned and Un-Planned Pedestrian Peregrination

I try to walk, when I can, for exercise and as a way to get out and photograph things. I live in one of the most beautiful, historic, small towns on the east coast -- Lewes -- and work in one of the more picturesque, historic, state capitols -- Dover. Both are in Delaware, for those of you in other places.

A challenge I have, though, is familiarity. In nearly five years as a photo-hobbyist, I have walked and photographed almost all of Lewes (586 photos, so far) and Dover (737 photos). Those totals, by the way, are only those I deemed worthy of uploading to flickr.

So I am happy to report that a change in Lewes' layout has helped me change the way I look at, and photograph, the town. Lewes has recently completed and opened the Canalfront Park, the redevelopment of a rusty boatyard and adjacent state boat launching ramp into a very nice park.

This has given me new things to photograph. And it has changed the way I walk through town.

It used to be the case that when I walked into town I would walk down Second Street (our main commercial street) from Savannah Road towards the Historic Society Complex to the northwest. And so I came upon, and often photographed, St. Peter's church from its northeast corner, as at left.

Now, however, I find that I walk up to the Canal, first, wind my way through the park, and circle around to walk back up Second Street from Historic Society Complex. So I now approach, and photograph, the church from the northwest, as at right.

Of course, I could have, and probably should have, made the change on my own. But we are creatures of habit. It took a change in urban planning to nudge me just slightly off course.

It has given me a whole new perspective.