Showing posts with label Ridgefield Press. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ridgefield Press. Show all posts

Friday, March 12, 2021


Kurt Waldheim: When the UN Chief
Had A Country Home in Ridgefield

One of the best-kept secrets — or not — in the late 20th Century Ridgefield was the presence in town of one of the world’s top leaders. From 1972 to 1981, United Nations Secretary-General Kurt Waldheim maintained a country home off Wilton Road East and Spectacle Lane.

While he had the residence here, his presence was kept secret, though just how secret might be debatable. However, The Ridgefield Press agreed to keep him out of the local limelight of its printed pages.

It happened this way:

On Aug. 1, 1972, Karl F. Landegger sent a letter to Karl S. Nash, editor and publisher of The Press, explaining the situation. Landegger was a multimillionaire pulp and paper mill owner whose office was 200 Park Avenue in New York City and whose estate, Flat Rock House, covered more than 100 acres between Wilton Road East and Nod Road. He was, like Waldheim, a native of Austria. 

It was a very diplomatically written message. 

“Dear Mr. Nash,” he wrote. “I have lived in Ridgefield for the past 25 years, and I believe that some twenty years ago we met at some party.

“I am writing to you at the request of Dr. Kurt WaIdheim, Secretary General of the United Nations, who for the past ten years or so has spent many weekends with his family at my home in Ridgefield while he was Austrian Ambassador to the United Nations and, later on, Foreign Secretary of Austria and visiting here. 

“Dr. Waldheim is about to conclude negotiations for a four to five year lease on the house owned by Mr. Henri Doll on Spectacle Road, adjacent to my property. Dr. Waldheim and his family plan to use the house as a summer and weekend home.

“Dr. WaIdheim and I are personal friends and ride horseback together regularly on my property and in its vicinity. He has asked me to write to you and submit his request that he would greatly appreciate it if no mention were made in the locaI papers of his renting a house or living in Ridgefield.

“In New York, he is a public figure and as such under great pressure all the time, but he would like to be a completely private person in Ridgefield. There is also the aspect of personal safety. Although due to the nature of his position, he and his family are protected by security guards, we all know that there are a lot of ‘nuts’ around who may wish to attack a public figure.

“Dr. Waldheim would greatly appreciate your collaboration in this matter, about which I write to you in an entirely unofficial manner, although with his knowledge and approval.

“During August the house will be redecorated, and Dr. Waldheim and his family expect to move in about mid-September.”

While Waldheim’s being in Ridgefield was not publicized, it was hard not to notice the very tall and stately Austrian when he was shopping or dining in town — which was not infrequent. “Many people knew Mr. Waldheim was here and saw him from time to time about the village, but The Press never mentioned it,” Nash wrote in a 1984 story.


Karl Landegger died in January 1976. Waldheim was planning to retire at the end of that year and in August, Karl Nash sat down at his Underwood and two-finger typed a letter, just as diplomatic as Landegger’s, addressed to the secretary general:

“When you came to Ridgefield four years ago, your friend, the late Karl F. Landegger, wrote me at your request, asking our paper to respect your privacy in our town. We have done this and gladly.

“Now, with indications that you are about to leave, we would like to let our readers, the people of Ridgefield, know that you have been here and what you have thought of their New England town and of them.

“Could you, therefore, arrange for a member of The Press staff to talk with you briefly when you are here again in Ridgefield? Or in lieu of an interview, could someone here talk with you by telephone? As a last resort, would you care to pen a message to Ridgefield upon your departure?

“Mr. Landegger spoke highly of you and your friendship with him as you can see from the copy of his letter to me, which I send you. I am sure you must miss him greatly.”

Waldheim agreed to be interviewed. He arranged for Dick Minnig, a Press reporter, to meet with him at UN headquarters. 

But then Waldheim somewhat unexpectedly was named to another term as secretary-general, and he cancelled the interview, again not wanting the publicity in Ridgefield.

In 1981, Waldheim ran for a third term but failed, largely thanks to China, which repeatedly vetoed his candidacy.

However, he did not immediately go home and spent two years as a professor of diplomacy at Georgetown University in Washington, D.C.

In 1984, news that Waldheim would be returning to Austria to run for president sparked Karl Nash into writing a brief article about the diplomat’s dealings with The Press in the 1970s. 

“Kurt Waldheim, former United Nations secretary-general, has had his picture in the papers this week, riding a horse in Rock Creek Park in Washington,” Nash wrote. “This never happened to him in this paper during the decade when he was ‘at the vortex of world conflict,’ as one headline writer put it. And with good reason. At least it seemed so at the time.”

He went on to explain the letter from Landegger and the decision to not mention the secretary-general’s presence in town. The story appeared under the small headline, 

Now It Can Be Told: 

Waldheim Lived Here

As many will recall Waldheim soon became involved in a “vortex” of a different sort of conflict back in Austria. As he ran for president of Austria in 1985-86, revelations began to appear that he had lied about his military service during World War II, and that he had been an officer in the German army who had been involved in the deportation of Greek and Yugoslav Jews and others to death camps. The charges have been extensively debated over the years, but a U.S. Justice Department investigation allegedly found evidence that he was, indeed, involved in the deportations. 

Consequently, the United States government banned Waldheim from entering this country — so did most countries of the world. Waldheim nonetheless served six years as president of Austria (1986-92). He died in 2007. 

His old Ridgefield friend, Karl Landegger,   incidentally, had fled Austria in 1938 when the Germans annexed the country as part of the Third Reich. He came to New York in 1940 and moved to Ridgefield in the early 1950s.

His family, who still live here, have been major philanthropic contributors to the community over the years.

Wednesday, September 02, 2020

David W. Workman: 
The Editor Who Became A Cop
David W. Workman was a small-town newspaperman with a large involvement in the community he covered for three decades. After he retired from newspapering, he turned to protecting the village, even packing a pistol as he patrolled village streets.
Workman spent 33 years at The Ridgefield Press, many of them as an editor,  changing the newspaper’s focus to solely local news. He also was unafraid to criticize powerful people, as a 1922 racial incident demonstrated.
“He was a staunch and loyal supporter of our town and lent his influence to its growth and progress through critical periods,” The Press said the day after his funeral.
David Whitney Workman was born in Norwalk in 1876, attended private and public schools there, and graduated from Brown Business College in Norwalk. He got his start in newspapers, working for the South Norwalk Sentinel, a weekly founded in 1870. 
In 1900, he joined the staff of The Press, then housed in the Masonic building just south of the Town Hall. He was in charge of what was called the mechanical department — the printing presses and typesetting. Back then the Press also did “job printing” and had both small and large presses to produce a variety of printed documents. 
It was also at a time when most of the type — the backward letters made of metal — were put together by hand, one letter at a time. Under Workman’s subsequent management, a Linotype machine, the company’s first “modern” piece of printing equipment, was installed. The giant, keyboard-controlled machine considerably speeded up the process of producing type.
Workman soon began taking on reporting and writing assignments and became assistant editor  in 1904 under S. Claude O’Connor. He wound up doing most of the writing. When O’Connor left in 1923, Workman took over full control. He ran the paper until it was sold in 1932, staying on for a while to help the new editor and publisher, John A. Thayer.
Under Workman’s reign, The Press became an entirely local newspaper. Before he took control, half of each issue was printed in New York City, filled with national stories, columns, pictures, and ads. The outside pages were written and printed in Ridgefield, then collated with the “boilerplate” pages. By the time he retired, the entire Press was printed in Ridgefield, and all its pages contained local news locally written.
Workman knew the town like few others. Besides covering Ridgefield for the newspaper he was for many years  the clerk of the Board of Finance, clerk of the Board of Education, and  a registrar of voters for the Republican Party. His wife, Edna Innes Workman, was secretary, treasurer at St. Stephen’s Church and superintendent of its Sunday school.
His special interest was Ridgefield’s woodlands and for 17 years, he was the district forest fire warden for the State Department of Forestry, issuing state-mandated burning permits and  overseeing fire prevention measures. Back when Ridgefield was much more rural, it was considered an important office.
“He devoted a great deal of time to the preservation of the beauty of the out-of-doors so often threatened by an expanding urban civilization,” The Press said in its tribute to Workman. “The blanket of pine and hemlock which covered his casket gave testimony that his efforts had not been in vain.”
 After leaving the Press in 1932, he became a town cop. Back in the 1930s, long before the town had its own “real” police department, Ridgefield’s policing was done by the Connecticut State Police, supplemented by town constables, local people who were chosen for that office at town elections — and had been since the early 1700s. Some of those constables were hired as paid employees of the town — one for daytime and one for night — to patrol the village, handle traffic, and deal with other minor offenses. The evening constable was often called the “night watchman.”
However, after the state enacted a new civil service law, the policing job conflicted with his fire prevention post. The state paid fire wardens a stipend of a mere $10 a year, but because it was a payment for an official position, he was considered a state employee; as such he fell under the  newly enacted civil service laws. Those laws forbade state employees from “political activities.” That meant Workman could not hold elective office — even constable.
So in 1937 he retired as forest fire warden (his son, Kenneth, took over) so he could continue as a “night watchman.” 
It turned out to matter little. Workman died the next year, 1938, after a lengthy illness. He was only 62 years old. 
The large crowd that attended his funeral at St. Stephen’s Church included “a squad of state policemen...in uniform,” The Press reported.
That might have been a little surprising to people 16 years earlier. Back in October 1922, The Press ran a fiery, front-page editorial criticizing the state police’s handling of the brutal beating of a black man on Bailey Avenue. 
The incident occurred in September when the inebriated brother of the commander of the Ridgefield state police barracks accosted the black man who was eating at Coleman’s Lunch behind town hall. After entering the diner, Thomas Kelly declared that he didn’t want to eat at the same counter with  “a nigger”  and ordered Robert Cooper to leave. When Cooper refused, Kelly punched him in the face. He then chased Cooper up Bailey Avenue, hit him, knocked him down, and kicked him  before several people finally rescued Cooper and called a doctor.
Several days later Kelly was arrested for assault and breach of the peace, but after a quick trial, was given a $15 fine.
The Press minced no words in expressing its outrage. “A brutal bully makes a most atrocious attack on an inoffensive peaceful man of good reputation, simply because he is a colored man, and he goes unpunished in this town,” an editorial said. “The state police take charge of the arrest and punishment of the bully and do not call Mr. Coleman [the lunch counter owner] or the doctor or any of the witnesses to testify to the assault or the seriousness of the crime so that the justice may know what punishment to inflict.” 
Then, it pointed out that “Thomas Kelly is a brother of John C. Kelly, head of the State Police in this town. Are relatives of the State Police exempt from punishment for crimes? Apparently an investigation should be made by those who appoint and control the State Police.”
Several wealthy townspeople wound up hiring a major New York City lawyer to demand that the Connecticut State Police headquarters in Hartford investigate the incident and its handling. The commissioner of state police said he’d look into it, but the outcome was handled quietly. 
Apparently Lt. John Kelly, the Troop A commander, was not found at fault, for he eventually rose to the position of commander of the entire Connecticut State Police.

Wednesday, December 25, 2019


Bob Gustafson: 
Ridgefield’s Cartoonist
Several nationally known cartoonists have lived here, but none has taken up Ridgefield as a subject for his art as Bob Gustafson did. The Ridgefield Press’s cartoonist for more than 40 years produced literally thousands of cartoons for the newspaper. Some teased town officials for their actions or inactions, others illustrated community problems,  many promoted good causes in a good-natured way, and a few were just good gags. 
 A native of Brookline, Mass., Robert D. Gustafson was born in 1920. He  was a paperboy as a youngster, served as a pilot in the U.S. Army, pitched semi-pro baseball in the Boston area, played drums in a band, and studied at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts School. 
Before he was 21, he was sending cartoon gag ideas to The New Yorker, and several were purchased and used. He later did cartoons for magazines like Good Housekeeping and Saturday
Evening Post.
“You have to come up with something you like and let everybody judge it,” Gustafson said in a 1991 interview about his work. “Sometimes it flops. It’s not like being a plumber — when you go in and fix a pipe and turn the faucet on and the water comes out, you know it’s OK.”
After working for a Boston magazine and a newspaper, he got a job with King Features, ghosting several comic strips and eventually taking over the nationally circulated strip, “Tilly the Toiler,” which had started in 1921 when he was only a year old.  He later worked for Mort Walker on both Beetle Bailey and Hi & Lois. And on the side, he did cartoons for The Press.
“Cartoonists never stop learning,” he said. “They’re always observing.” 
Although he lived in Ridgefield only from 1954 to 1960, Gustafson continued to “observe” town affairs at his Greenwich home through the pages of The Press, which he read thoroughly for ideas. He’d also chat by phone each week with the Press’s editor, looking for ideas on timely issues — and giving the editor hell if he had changed a word or two in a caption the previous week.
Gustafson had several favorite subjects, including the Cass Gilbert fountain. He was aghast at suggestions that the landmark be moved from its island at Main Street and West Lane, complaining repeatedly about that work of art’s being sacrificed to “the almighty automobile.” In cartoon after cartoon, he dealt with the issue. Saddened by cars all too often crashing into the monument, he’d offer entertaining suggestions for protecting it — one shows the fountain, raised on a mound and a
tunnel running under it to carry the traffic. But one week, seemingly giving up hope, he drew another showing the fountain, well-protected from cars by big railings, being hit by an airplane.
He also attacked vandalism, often portraying vandals as evil-looking thugs. Being a senior citizen himself, he encouraged help for Ridgefield’s elderly, and would offer suggestions on how to
improve their lot. He supported many town organizations, but especially the Community Center — he was active in the center in its early years and, as an accomplished photographer, used to take publicity pictures for them.
One of his favorite subjects in the 1950s and 60s was Leo F. Carroll, the colorful and charismatic first selectman and former state police leader. Carroll, who lived directly across Wilton Road West from Gustafson, was often teased for his pronouncements such as when he declared that
Ridgefield’s dump was “the most delightful dump in America.”
Though most of his Press cartoons were very local in nature, some captured wider attention. When controversy erupted over a new gas station’s need to cut down some large trees to make access to the highway safer, Gustafson drew a cartoon showing a couple of giant trees like the redwoods in California with a big opening so people could drive through them. Shell Oil Company offered to buy the cartoon. 
A gag, playing on the idea that we’ve all seen supermarket shopping carts in strange places,
showed an Arab on a camel in the middle of a desert coming upon a shopping cart. Grand Union later bought it.
Gustafson won many awards for his work including commendations from professional cartoonist organizations and from the New England Press Association. 
For relaxation, he enjoyed golf and following the Boston Red Sox. For many years he loved teasing Yankee fans, but by the late 1990s had come to enjoy watching the Sox’s arch enemy — he especially admired Derek Jeter.
Bob Gustafson died in 2001 at the age of 81. 




Friday, December 21, 2018


The Great Fire of 1895: 
Introduction 
December 1895 was not a season of cheer in Ridgefield: Much of the center of the village, including the Town Hall, had burned to the ground.
The fire broke out around 9 p.m. on Sunday, Dec. 8 on the second floor of the Bedient & Mead Building (where now Books on the Common is). Those people clustered in the distance at the left are apparently examining the Bedient site.
The fire jumped Bailey Avenue and spread southward, destroying the wooden Town Hall, the Masonic Hall (which held the Ridgefield Press offices and printing equipment), some houses and stores, and was finally stopped at the Scott Block, where Bissell’s new pharmacy was then and where today is the Village Tavern (that location would be off to the right of where the picture above ends). The fire also leveled McGlynn’s hardware and plumbing building on the north side of Bailey Avenue, behind Bedient & Mead.
To provide a bit more orientation in the picture above,  the town hall had stood where that last elm on the left is. The next three elms are about where the Masonic Hall was (and its replacement is today, housing Coldwell Banker real estate). 
To the right of the chimney stack in the center of the picture, in the background, there’s a large building with a tower in front: That was Hiram K. Scott Jr.’s livery stable that stood on the site occupied until last month by The Ridgefield Press. Thus, that tower was right on the edge of Bailey Avenue. A description of the “most heroic effort” to save that building will appear in a coming post about the fire. 
Across Bailey Avenue from the livery stable, you can see a one-story building with awnings — that may be the only structure in this picture that exists today. Then it was Fogarty’s hardware and plumbing, and today it houses shops across from the old Press building (now a gym). It was saved largely because it had a tin roof protecting it from dropping embers.
Just to the west of Fogarty’s Plumbing was McGlynn’s hardware, which burned down.
Visible just to the right of Scott’s livery stable is a portion of an apartment building, or tenement, where early in the 20th Century, many immigrants from Italy lived.
Damage from the fire was estimated at $100,000, the equivalent of nearly $3 million in today’s dollars. Much of the losses was covered by insurance.
The picture was probably taken by Joseph Hartmann, whose studio in the Bedient & Mead building was destroyed. Hartmann was almost killed in early attempts to fight the fire, as we will see in a coming posting. 
While the town hall was destroyed,  virtually all the town’s important records survived —
primarily because  many were kept in the offices of the people who maintained them, such as the town clerk and probate judge which were not in the town hall; the records were rescued before the fire reached them in the Scott block. (Ridgefield’s land records are complete back to the day of the town’s founding as are birth, marriage and death records — though not all births or marriages were recorded, usually because families failed to notify the town clerk of the events).
What follows is  the dramatic account of the fire that appeared in the Ridgefield Press the Thursday after the blaze. While The Press office and printing equipment were destroyed, Editor Edgar C. Bross was able to work with nearby newspapers to get out that week’s issue of The Press, on time and with complete coverage of the biggest story since the Redcoats came to town in 1777 

Ridgefield In Ashes 
By Edgar C. Bross
The Ridgefield Press, Thursday, Dec. 12, 1895 — All night long, Sunday December 8, 1895, the citizens of this town watched with feelings of consternation the spread of the biggest conflagration that ever swept through the village, and no adequate means were at hand to check the awful destruction which was the result of it.
A smouldering ruin, with thirteen business firms and several families without shelter, and nearly $100,000 worth of property destroyed, was the condition of things as the gray winter light dawned Monday morning. The entire community was saddened by the awful calamity which a night had brought forth; and, added to the general gloom, every able-bodied citizen had become so weary and sore and blistered, in the almost futile endeavor to check the spread of the fire, that the village was practically prostrate.
The business firms which suffered so seriously were with but few exceptions, composed of enterprising young men, who had engaged in business only a short time, older men having given way with the weight of years, and for this reason the burden is especially discouraging.¶
Notwithstanding, as will be seen later on, nearly all of the business firms have recovered from general paralysis, steps have been taken to at once resume in temporary quarters, and efforts will soon be made to build the burnt district.
There have been all sorts of stories as to the origin and discovery of the fire, and we have
carefully sifted them, believing that the account given below is as accurate as can be gathered from any source, inasmuch as the parties interviewed were reliable eyewitnesses of the conflagration from 9 o’clock Sunday evening till nearly daybreak Monday morning.
Louis Joffee, Joseph Hartmann, and some other pedestrians in the vicinity, discovered smoke issuing from Bedient & Mead’s undertaking and furniture store at the hour mentioned above. They ran to Catoonah Street shouting fire, and were joined by Dr. W. E. Weed, who heard the alarm. Dr. Weed rushed upon the piazza of D. Francis Bedient’s residence and rang the bell vigorously, which brought Mr. Bedient to the door.
“You’re needed over to your store,” quietly announced the doctor. “'There’s something wrong.”
Mr. Bedient took in the situation, hastily put on his shoes — for he was just preparing to retire — and hurried to the scene of the fire. He opened the front double doors of the store with his keys, and endeavored to enter the burning building, but was immediately driven back by clouds of smoke and the intense heat. He immediately closed the door, remarking to a few people who had gathered that it was practically impossible to enter, and followed by Joseph Hartmann and others he went to the rear of the store, finally gaining entrance through a cellar door, at great peril, as a dense cloud of smoke rendered it almost impossible to grope his way about the dingy place.  
Joseph Hartmann followed carrying a lantern. By aid of this light, Mr. Bedient found a hitching post with which he forced open a door to the stairs leading to the main store. On the stairway the draught had carried the smoke above, thus giving Mr. Bedient a brief respite from the suffocating heat and smoke and enabling him to reach the upper floor. 
There he saw the fire burning naturally in the stove, and no flames near it, proving that the source of the fire was not the stove. Glancing hastily about, he discovered the stairway directly above the northeast corner of the store, adjacent to the wing of the building occupied by the Western Union Telegraph office. He gathered together a couple dozen pails and handed them outside to others, and ordered them to be filled. He secured enough water to quench the flames on the railing of the upper stairway, but the fire was gaining headway so rapidly beyond, he realized that such slight efforts to save the building would prove futile. 
Almost exhausted, he managed to get outside the cellar door. By this time a large number of people had been attracted to the scene, and efforts  were made to secure a number of ladders stored in the front of the cellar.
Mr. Bedient, Mr. Joseph Hartmann, and another man, whose name we failed to learn, crawled under the front porch. and succeeded in getting about a dozen ladders. Mr. Hartmann lost his way, groping blindly about, when Mr. Bedient went to his rescue, leading him to the door and into the open air, nearly exhausted from inhaling the hot air and thick smoke. 
No further attempts were made to get into the building, with the exception of saving some oil  barrels, tools, and a few other things near the door in the rear of the cellar.
By this time flames were issuing from the building, and in a few moments the whole block was enveloped in a mass of seething flames. It was less than half an hour later that the Western Union Telegraph office and Barhite & Valden’s big general store adjoining were burning fiercely. 
Efforts were then directed toward saving the dwelling house occupied by Robert Wilson,
adjoining Barhite & Valden’s, and the wind favoring,  this was accomplished, but not without strenuous labor and remarkable courage on the part of several impromptu fire fighters.
Never before had Ridgefield experienced a bonfire so enormous or so destructive of property. The flames now wildly swept the entire row of frame structures, including Barhite & Valden’s, the telegraph office,  and Bedient & Mead’s store, and onlookers held their breath as they saw that the loss of the Town Hall was inevitable. 
The large frame block on the north side of Bailey Street occupied by Peter McGlynn, the hardware dealer, and Mrs. Susan Canfield, and George  Rich above as a dwelling, was now in imminent danger. Almost simultaneously this building and the Town Hall caught fire, and the people were too dumbfounded to realize the awful ending of it all. 
It was not later than ten o’clock when it was clear to everybody that the conflagration would last all night. Nothing could be done to save the buildings already on fire, and efforts were at once directed towards saving property of a portable nature in other buildings in imminent danger. 
The Masonic Hall, occupied on the first floor by the office and plant of The Ridgefield Press and by the barber shop of E. S. Reynolds, and on the upper floor by the Masonic and Odd Fellows’ lodges, was only a few feet south of the Town Hall, and everything was carried from this structure possible to secure until the rescuers were driven away by the fierce heart. 
The weight of the printing machinery, engine, and boiler, as well as the type was so great that it was impossible to save more than the desk, books, some of the newspaper files, the mailing list, and a few cases of type from the printing office, and as has already been mentioned elsewhere, we decided that it would be very disappointing to our readers did we fail to issue a paper this week with the full particulars. So all day Monday we telephoned, telegraphed, and planned to meet the emergency. Later in the day we were flooded with letters and telegrams of sympathy from our generous newspaper brethren, with offers of substantial aid, the result being a full account of the fire and on the day of publication. A history of our personal woes, with acknowledgments of kindness. appears elsewhere. 
But to go on with the story proper. E.S. Reynolds, the barber succeeded in saving some of his stock, and number of lodge men carried valuables from the lodge rooms above to places of safety.
When the flames shot up over the Masonic Hall, someone thought of using dynamite to blow up this large building, hoping thus to collapse the structure and check the conflagration southward.
In the meantime the fire was making serious headway down the north side of Bailey Street, the blaze furiously consuming the McGlynn building and leaping across the street to the livery stable occupied by Hiram K. Scott, Jr., besides imperiling the low building in which is located the hardware store of J. W. Fogarty. The latter building was its own protection, inasmuch as the roof was tin and but one story high, consequently the flames rose high above, and the main danger was from sparks which constantly kept falling. Mr. Fogarty and his men watched carefully these flying pieces of fire, and with dippers of water were able to subdue them before great damage was done.
To save the Scott stable was not a task so easy. There were two high towers on either end to the front, and the building was so high throughout that it required the most heroic effort of all concerned to save the building from general ruin. It caught fire several times, and once it seemed almost impossible to check the blaze, but it was finally out of danger.
To return to the progress of the fire on Main Street. When the use of dynamite was suggested, persons were dispatched for the dangerous explosive, about a mile away from the disaster. On  their return, the dynamite was found to be frozen, and before this could be thawed out the Masonic Hall was nearly in ruins. 
Nevertheless, under the management of Ebenezer W. Keeler, the fuses were laid and the explosive sounded with a tremendous noise and effect, what remained of the burning building being blown into kindling wood. Visitors from 20 miles around, the following day, said they could hear this and the subsequent reports like a rumbling earthquake. 
Notwithstanding this plan, the fire continued to rage and it was finally decided to blow up the residence of E.W. Hibbart’s next door to the south. Had this been done before the structure was in flames, it is generally believed that the buildings below could have been saved. But, of course, it was a serious question to settle, and no one would think of attaching the blame to those who had the matter in charge. 
Mr. Hibbart’s house caught about 11 o'clock and then it was realized that nothing could save the adjoining market building, occupied by Hibbart & Sherwood, fish and vegetable dealers, Willis S. Gilbert, cigars and confectionery, and the central office of the Southern New England Telephone Company on the first floor, and Louis Joffee, the tailor, and Conrad Rockelein, the barber, on the second floor.
Everyone was breathlessly awaiting the arrival of the steam fire engine from Danbury at this
time, but it failed to put in an appearance, though a message had been sent by telephone between 9 and 10 o’clock for assistance from the Danbury fire department. It was afterwards learned that the firemen would have started immediately for Ridgefield, but before the engine and hose could be taken from the city, it was necessary to receive permission from Mayor Rundle, and other preliminaries were imperative, besides the ordering of a special train through Superintendent Payne. This action consumed so much time that it was nearly 3 o’clock Monday morning before the special train carrying the firemen steamed into Ridgefield station, too late, of course, to be of service.
When the Hibbert & Sherwood block caught fire, the anxiety of the people lining the streets reached its highest tension, many gazing with tears glistening in their eyes, and wringing their hands in despair. 
During the progress of the conflagration, sparks were flying across the street so thickly that it required constant vigilance to shield the hundreds of pieces of furniture and other goods which had been removed to the lawn of St. Stephen’s rectory, besides endangering many buildings on the west side of the street. 
At this point in the disastrous progress of the fire, someone suggested that the little south wing, one story high, of Col. Hiram K. Scott’s block, used as the office of the town clerk, judge and clerk of probate, be torn down before the Scott building caught, thus securing if possible the limit of the conflagration southward with Col. Scott’s block. Willing hands were soon at work at this destruction, which was done in time to accomplish the desired object, but not until the main structure was enveloped in a mad blaze. 
It was generally conceded that the fire raged more furiously on the Scott building than previously, but the wind had commenced to blow steadily from the northeast, and the impression became general that the  probate office being razed, the end of the dreadful night’s havoc was in sight at last.
It was now nearly midnight, and the Scott building was a mass of flames, and men were fighting furiously to save the barns of E.W. Hibbart and Col. Scott, keeping the fire as far away as possible from the group of buildings to the southeast on Governor Street, including the Loder House, while other men were working vigorously in the attempt to save the Gage block adjacent to the Scott property, which constantly caught fire on the roof and under the eaves, great lurid flames shooting far over the endangered building.
This courageous action checked the destruction of property southward, but it was morning before the flames from the Hibbart & Sherwood and Scott buildings began to smoulder. 
On the north side of the lower floor of the latter structure was located the pharmacy of Harvey P. Bissell, who also dwelt in the apartments above. He succeeded in saving a greater portion of his household effects, but lost his stock of goods. 
As has been mentioned, in the south wing was the office of Town Clerk Scott. This having been demolished, the huge safe of the town was saved, and the furnishings, valuable papers, etc., were taken out. Col. Scott’s dwelling house adjoined his store directly in the rear. Besides himself and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Hiram K. Scott, Jr. occupied the house, but all were successful in saving the main portion of their furniture and other goods. 
It was not till 3 o'clock that the people realized it was safe to depart to their homes to gain a few hours’ sleep, and indeed, many stayed about the dying fire during the entire night, watching the goods that had been rescued from the flames, in order not only to save them from the sparks, but also from the hands of the petty thieves who were discovered pilfering small articles of value, and even large pieces of house furnishings. It will certainly go hard with these despicable creatures if caught by indignant citizens. 
From two reliable sources we glean valuable information which would indicate that the origin of the fire may have been incendiary. 
Among the first to discover smoke issuing from the Gage Block were James Halpin, John Quinlan, George Lane, Charles G. Fairchild, and Eli Burr. These were at the scene in time to notice the fire breaking out of the new bay window on the south, which Mr. Gage, had just had built in the room upstairs, used so long as a hall. James Halpin and Eli Burr broke in the side door leading upstairs to this hall, and discovered great volumes of smoke and flames burning in the room above, far away from any chimney stove, leading them to believe that the blaze was started either by a match thrown carelessly into some papers or shavings, or else it had been wilfully set afire. In conformation of the latter theory, a window was open on the north side of the building, near the rear of the telegraph office, which easily could have given admission to anyone villainously inclined, and diligent detective work will be done to ferret the the criminal — if such there be. 
These young men did all they could to check the first flames but they found it impossible to check the rapid spread of the fire. 
For a distance of nearly 1,000 feet in the heart of Main Street, and many feet east of Bailey and Catoonah Streets, the frame structures were constantly threatened with destruction. Among these were the Methodist parsonage and church, Henry Mead’s store, which caught fire at once; his barns; St. Mary's Church and sheds, the latter blazing at one time; M. B. Whitlock’s livery stable, which was on fire twice; the rectory, church, and barns of St. Stephen’s parish, all of which caught but were discovered in time; and it might be remarked here that possibly the entire west side of Main Street might also have been in ashes now, had it not been for the timely discovery of the venerable Mr. Brown, the father of Mrs. Ely. He found some inflammable articles blazing away in that outbuilding at a great rate and succeeded in extinguishing the flames. 
Other houses and buildings menaced were the dwelling on the northeast corner of Main and Governor Street, occupied  by Leonard L. Beckwith; the house next door to the east, in which lives Samuel Nicholas with his family; the Ridgefield library, the Loder house, already mentioned; the house owned by L. Beckwith and occupied by Nathan L. Rockwell and family; and the residence adjoining owned by William H. Beers. 
There was little danger to the wooden store occupied by Frank S. Hurlbutt as a shoe store, and J. W. Benedict as a bakery. Neither of these thought it worth while to move out their stock of goods, though E. S. Reynolds, William Wilkinson, and J. W. Benedict, who lived with their families in the building, prepared for an emergency by packing up their household effects to be moved at short notice. 
Monday morning dawned raw and cold, but this did not deter hundreds of people living in surrounding places from visiting the scene of the disaster, and relic hunters were anxious to secure mementoes of the fire. There were visitors present from Norwalk, Danbury, Bridgeport, and as far away as Stamford and New York to gaze on the ruins. 
Besides these curious people, the town has been filled since Monday with drummers [salesmen], insurance adjusters, and all sorts of travelling men, called here in connection with the resumption of business. 
In the meantime, the stores which are still in-tact are doing a rushing business, and everyone who was burned out has been eagerly looking for a suitable temporary shelter. For some time this has been a very difficult matter, but last night nearly every business concern was temporarily housed, or, had plans for continuing their business once more. 

Saturday, November 17, 2018


Karl S. Nash, 
The Country Editor
While most people thought of him as a newspaperman,  Karl Nash was really a teacher. His subject was Ridgefield and his students were its residents. As a country newspaper editor and publisher for more than 60 years, he spent his life telling townspeople about themselves, their neighbors and their institutions.
Nash not only taught Ridgefield, he also served it in many official capacities – including  20 years on the Board of Education. 
 Karl Seymour Nash was born in 1908, descended from several of the founding families of the town including not only the Nashes, but the Seymours, Smiths, Olmsteds, and Keelers. His homestead on Main Street had been in his family since the town’s first settlement.
His father, Howard Patterson Nash, died when Karl was 13, and his mother, Christie Law Jones Nash, was left with little money and five children to support. She worked as a librarian at the Ridgefield Library almost next door to their home  — now an apartment building at 486 Main Street — and hooked rugs to sell. 
As the oldest child, Karl became a head of the household, helping care for the children and doing many of the chores. As he grew older, he also worked at his grandfather’s Walnut Grove Farm in Farmingville, including delivering the dairy’s milk in the village.
He was a top student at Hamilton High School (later called Ridgefield High School) on Bailey Avenue, where he graduated in 1926. He went off to Harvard, planning to become a minister.
However, after getting a Harvard degree in government in 1930, he turned to journalism instead. 
As a teenager he had already developed a nose for news, covering local events for The Ridgefield Press and area dailies, and even starting his own, short-lived “Ridgefield Record.” Back home from college, he became a Danbury Evening News reporter and in 1935, married Dorothy C. Baxter, granddaughter of D. Crosby Baxter who had founded The Ridgefield Press in 1875. (While the Baxter family was no longer associated with the newspaper, they were prominent in the community.) Karl and Dorothy later divorced; however, Dorothy’s brother Frank was married to Karl’s sister, Elizabeth, who became the longtime treasurer of the Acorn Press, parent company of the Ridgefield Press.
In 1937, Karl and his brother, John, bought The Press for just under $2,500. It was a struggle. “I had been married in 1935 and had an eight-month-old daughter, so I didn’t have any money to invest,” Nash recalled years later. “John had $92 and he and I borrowed $250 from my mother. With this and $2,000 we borrowed from the town’s jeweler, now the town’s banker  (Francis D. Martin), we bought the Press.”
The business included a small print shop that produced stationery products for local customers. 
“How John and I thought we could both ever make a living from this run-down $12,000-a-year-gross business, I don’t know,” he said. “But we went to work at it and worked hard. We put ourselves on the payroll at $25 a week and for months on end didn’t collect it.”
A year later, they established The Wilton Bulletin and moved  their operations from the Masonic Hall, just south of town hall, into an old garage on Bailey Avenue. Over the years the parent company, Acorn Press, grew into a multi-million dollar group of eight weekly newspapers, which merged in 1997 with the Hersam family’s weeklies based in New Canaan to become Hersam Acorn Newspapers. In the early 2000s, Hersam Acorn was publishing nearly 20 newspapers in southern Connecticut, Westchester, N.Y., and Vermont. The papers remained in the hands of the Nash and Hersam families until October 2018 when they were purchased by Hearst.
John left the business in 1948 to own and operate other weekly and daily newspapers in Connecticut and Massachusetts. He died in 2013 at the age of 101.
In 1951 Karl married Elizabeth Grace Boyd, daughter of novelists Thomas Boyd and Margaret Woodward Smith. She had been hired as an intern on a 75th anniversary issue project, and the two co-edited the newspaper for many years. Under their leadership in the last half of the 20th Century, the Press’s paid circulation reached nearly 90% of the homes in Ridgefield.
Always active in town, Nash was chairman of the school board for 17 years and a member from 1942 until 1962, “devoting my efforts to raising the standard of a somewhat backward school system,” he said years later.
He served on several school building committees, belonged to the Parks and Recreation Commission, and moderated countless Town Meetings. 
A Republican much of his life, he was kicked out of the party in 1963 when he helped people
who were forming the Good Government Party in reaction to what they saw as anti-education efforts by both established parties. The GGP ran candidates for the school board in 1963 and 1965, and though none was elected, one collected nearly 1,300 votes. The GGP itself never had more than 75 members and was disbanded in 1981 after many years of inactivity.
Always curious about the town’s past, Nash wrote many pieces about Ridgefield history and as chairman of the town’s huge 250th anniversary celebration in 1958, arranged to have Silvio Bedini write the town history, “Ridgefield in Review.” 
He also organized, wrote for, and led substantial projects to compile histories of all aspects of Ridgefield life for special 75th and 100th anniversary editions of The Press in 1950 and 1975. The result was hundred of thousands of words of history of the community, illustrated with scores of pictures.
In 1983, the year he turned 75, Nash was named the Rotary Club Citizen of the Year.
He was 84 when he died at his retirement home in Cocoa Beach, Fla. in 1992.
Many who knew him considered Karl Nash the epitome of the country journalist. “He was a gifted and tough editor who taught dozens of young men and women how to write — and appreciate the beauty of — a simple, declarative sentence,” said his son Thomas B. Nash in his father’s obituary. “He was a serious newsman who sought to treat people fairly and in a consistent manner.”
“Karl had a love and sensitivity for his home town that came from being not only a  native son, but also a descendant of the founders and earliest settlers of the community,” said an editor who worked under him for many years. “Generations of Ridgefield were in his blood.”
Karl Nash himself was less effusive about his contributions. “Our papers might be called progressively independent,” he wrote in 1960. “They are said by some to be a force for good in their communities, by others a menace to the inhabitants.”
 “They continue to grow and prosper, however,” he added, perhaps with a twinkle in his eye.

Sunday, June 17, 2018


Octavius ‘Tabby’ Carboni:
A Caesar as Spry as A Cat
Tabby Carboni came to this country as a child and grew up to become a contributor Ridgefield’s civic, business and recreational life for most of the 20th Century. He was an insurance agent, a banker, a school board member, the town’s treasurer, and a lot more — including an accurate source of what life was like a century ago.
Octavius Joseph Carboni was born in Monterado, Italy, in 1899, a son of Benvenuto and Assunta Casagrande Carboni. His father came here in 1901 and worked as a mason on the town’s new water supply system. In 1903, Tabby, his older brother, Adrian, and their mother sailed to the United States to join Benvenuto in Ridgefield. (The family would later grow to include Olinto “Lynce” Carboni, Mary Carboni Mitchell, and Reno “Renz” Carboni.)
“My mother was the first Italian woman in town,” Carboni said in a 1971 interview with his sons Stephen and Robert (which will be posted here in the coming days). “My brother and I were the first two Italians who went to the public schools.”
In 1908 his parents opened a grocery story at the corner of Prospect Street and Bailey Avenue, living in an apartment on the second floor. As a boy, Caboni worked at the store, doing various chores to help his parents.
Also as a boy, he had to deal the discrimination aimed at the immigrant population. “I always felt a little inferior,” he said. “I regarded myself as a foreigner. I just felt myself lower, especially when they called you names that you don’t hear too much today. Kids would do that.”
But he quickly decided to become a part of his new nation and community. “I paid more attention to school work and Adrian and I did pretty well. We both graduated at the top of the class in the school we went to through the eighth grade.”
This, after attending kindergarten for two years, “just to learn the language.”
He in fact learned the language so well that, from his childhood through his teen years, he served as a translator. He was often called upon to accompany Italian-speaking mothers when they took sick children to English-speaking doctors, and was also a translator at weddings and other ceremonies. Even adults studying English in night school would seek the boy’s help with their homework.
Besides helping his father at the store, Carboni got his first official job when he was 13: he was a “printer’s devil” at The Ridgefield Press, assisting in the paper’s production in the basement of the Masonic Building, just south of the town hall. However, he also wrote up local sports events for The Press — setting his words in lead type, letter by letter, with his own hands. He eventually earned $7.50 a week — about $190 in 2018.
Carboni later worked for the Gilbert and Bennett Manufacturing Company in Georgetown, and the U.S. Post Office. He then spent 28 years as an agent for the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company, retiring in 1957. Two years later, he joined the State National Bank — among the first employees of the office here when it opened in 1959 as the first new “commercial bank” in town since 1900. He retired in 1967.
During World War I he served in the Connecticut Home Guard. In World War II, he was a member of the Ridgefield Ration Board, in charge of tire distribution, which was very restricted in the war years. Sometimes, he recalled, people without a real need for a tire would come up to him and ask for one, half in jest. 
“Walk!” Carboni would reply. “It’ll do you good.” 
He believed in exercise. In 1989, on the occasion of his 90th birthday, more than 100 family and friends attended a party at the Italian American Club where he joked to the audience: “I’ve had to cut my jogging down to two miles a day from five.”
Active in sports from his youth onward, Carboni played  for Ridgefield baseball, basketball and football teams. He was also an accomplished golfer and bowler.
In 1992 interview, he described the source his nickname “Tabby,”  bestowed by schoolmates. “I was spry and somewhat athletic,” he said with a grin. “The kids called me ‘Tabby Cat.’ Finally, they left off the ‘cat.’”
He was honored for his sports achievements by the Danbury Old Timers in 1973 and the Ridgefield Old Timers in 1992 — the first year the then-new organization handed out awards.
Carboni was also active in the Italian-American Mutual Aid Society — the “Italian Club” — and served as its president during World War II. (Years later, his son Steve was elected president, the only father and son to have both served as president.)
Carboni was a member of the Board of Education for 20 years during the 1930s and 40s, and was the town’s treasurer from 1957 to 1959 — between his retirement from Met Life and his job at State National. 
His concern for the older population in town was demonstrated by his service on the Housing Authority, which oversees apartments for the elderly, from the 1970s until his death in 1992 at the age of 93.
Carboni was esteemed for his memory of the long-ago people, places and events in Ridgefield. Over the years he was often consulted for information about life in the early 20th Century, and his recollections of the people and events of long ago remained clear, even when he was in his 90s.  (He and another oldtimer, Francis D. Martin, sometimes publicly disagreed about  various historical events. In the end, however, Carboni was usually proven to have the more accurate information.) 
For many of his last years, Carboni met regularly with other older Ridgefielders at the Keeler Tavern Museum to help identify scenes and individuals from the historic collection of photographs taken by Joseph Hartmann from the 1890s into the 1930s. 
Many were snapshots of the details of life long ago. Recalling in 1971 what the Ridgefield Station — across Prospect Street from his father’s store — was like, Carboni said, “The 5:15 was a very popular train, coming in at night with people who commuted to New York City. The area where the Ridgefield Supply Company is now was full of horses and carriages waiting for the trains…. Some of the horses were high spirited. When the train came in, it made a lot of noise and the people had to hold on to them with all their might.” 
While everyone knew him as Tabby, Carboni had a somewhat unusual given name, Octavius. It wasn’t until well into adulthood that his father explained where that name came from and that one of his middle names was Caesar. 
Asked whether he was impressed to learn he’d be named for Octavius, who became Caesar Augustus, the first Roman emperor, Tabby Carboni replied with a chuckle, “No. I didn’t know him — or Julius either!” 

Monday, June 11, 2018


Duncan Smith: 
75 Years in Journalism
For three decades Ridgefield Press readers were treated to the usually light-hearted columns of Duncan Smith, a journalist who spent 75 years turning out news and opinion, much of it for the    Chicago Daily News.
Duncan MacMillan Smith was born in Illinois in 1863, one of 10 children of farming immigrants from Scotland. He began his newspaper career while still a teenager, writing a column called “The Cornfield Philosopher” for a local weekly paper. He was eventually hired as editor of  a nearby weekly, and soon started his own in Seward, Ill., called The Blue Valley Blade.
He moved on to work for a paper in Nebraska where he met and married school teacher Grace Woodward, and then bought a weekly in Indiana. Offered a job at the Chicago Daily News, he grabbed the opportunity and wrote for that paper for 20 years, including penning a well-known column called “Hit or Miss,” which eventually became syndicated. Many columns employed verse, not surprising since among his circle of friends were poets Carl Sandburg and Edgar Guest. 
He left the newspaper business in 1912 to become a press representative for the new Populist movement in Minnesota and the Dakotas, but was soon back at the typewriter, buying the Rockford, Ill., Republican, a daily in the town in which he was born. When his wife died in 1929, he moved to Ridgefield to live with his daughter, Margaret, a novelist who wrote under the name of Peggy Shane and who was married to humorist and writer Ted Shane.
Here, he turned out a column called “A Birdseye View” almost every week for 30 years for The Press and eventually its sister publication, The Wilton Bulletin. 
Smith loved words and loved playing with them in verse. One time a group of Ridgefield Press staffers was talking about words that had no rhymes — like orange. Someone mentioned Titicus, the name of the river and neighborhood in Ridgefield, and Smith  took up the challenge, offering the following in "A Birdseye View":
I live upon the Titicus,
a river rough and raging,
where fishes to a city cuss,
will come for a simple paging.
I used to read Leviticus,
or some such ancient volume,
before I saw the Titicus
or started on this column.
And now, my dears, you might agree 
it really takes a witty cuss,
a crossword puzzler (that's me)
to rhyme with Titicus.
(It really should have said 'that's l'
to show for words I have nice sense, 
but for such slips, I alibi
with my poetic license.)
Duncan Smith died in 1956 at the age of 91.

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