Fixing A Fractured Fountain

The Cass Gilbert Fountain has often been damaged by errant autos, but the winter of 1975-76 was a particularly rough time for the venerable and vulnerable monument. During the five months from November 1975 until March 1976, it was struck by cars at least three times.

The most serious crash occurred in December when the fountain was hit by a car that then left the scene. The driver was later  arrested and his insurance company made to pay for repairs.

Here, in late March 1976, we see Primo Polverari of Stonecrest Road, left, with his son, Bill, working on fixing the fractured fountain. Hidden behind the fountain is another helper, Jimmy Vozzo. They had relaid the base, which holds water, and patched it with a special mixture of white cement and marble dust.

One of the region’s top stonemasons, Primo Polverari believed the marble from which the fountain was fashioned came from Italy. One large slab was split in two in an accident that occurred many years earlier, but otherwise the stonework was in pretty good shape, he said.

Poverari felt strongly that the fountain should be protected, either by some form of durable fencing, or by moving it to another site, as had been suggested often in the past — especially by the the State Highway Department, which hates that intersection.

Dave Hebert, then the superintendent of Parks and Recreation which takes care of the fountain, agreed that something needed to be done to protect the monument. “I don’t think it can take much more pounding,” he told The Ridgefield Press.

However, Hebert felt that if a fence were erected, it should be of a low and attractive design. “I don’t want anything to take away from the appearance of the fountain,” he said.

Hebert asked the Planning and Zoning Commission’s Architectural Advisory Committee to suggest a fence design, possibly a post-and chain arrangement. Most of the cars that manage to hit the structure aren’t traveling very fast, so a low fence should stop most vehicles, he felt.

Someone had suggested to Hebert that the fountain be raised up on a mound of earth so that cars would strike the mound and not the stone. The superintendent felt that would be too expensive, but in fact two decades later — after a drunken driver shattered the fountain in 2003 with a Hummer — it was indeed raised a bit.

However, what has probably helped more than anything is the additional placement of planters holding shrubs around the base of the fountain. Between the concrete walls of the planters and the dirt packed inside, a pretty effective set of bumpers has been created.  Several of the planters have been smashed in accidents, but each time, they managed to keep the cars — in one case, a truck — from hitting the fountain.

Primo Polverari retired a few years later from fountain work; he died in 1996. Much of the repair work in the 1980s and 90s and early 2000s was done or overseen by Dr. Robert Mead, a dentist who lived just north of the Keeler Tavern. He often used some dental techniques to fix the marble. 

The fountain was erected in 1915-16, a gift of noted architect Cass Gilbert who lived in what is now the Keeler Tavern Museum. 

Appropriately, in 2016, the museum bought Dr. Mead’s brick house to use as its administrative headquarters. That building had been erected in 1936-37 by Julia Gilbert, Cass’s widow,  as a monument and museum to her husband’s works.  It proved too small to handle the mass of papers and pictures that Gilbert left, so the museum was sold as a residence, eventually becoming the home and office of dentist Mead, who thus had more than a passing interest in the well-being of Gilbert’s great gift to the town.

“Grrrrrrrrrrr!!”

This rather arresting painting once spent a summer in Ridgefield and  now resides in a major museum. But almost as interesting as the picture itself is the man who took this photograph  used in publicizing it.

In the summer of 1983 (May 22 to Sept. 11), the Aldrich Museum of Contemporary Art, as it was then called, staged an exhibit called “Changes 1960-1982.” Among the works exhibited was “Grrrrrrrrrrr!!” this  oil-and-magna on canvas by the noted American artist, Roy Lichtenstein (1923-1997).

The Aldrich described the exhibit as “a survey of the development of 13 of America’s most important artists.” Indeed, it was a who’s who of contemporary artists that consisted of, besides Lichtenstein, three works each from Richard Diebenkorn, Helen Frankenthaler, Jasper Johns, Ellsworth Kelly, Agnes Martin, Louise Nevelson, Claes Oldenburg, Robert Rauschenberg, Larry Rivers, James Rosenquist, Frank Stella, and Andy Warhol.

“Grrrrrrrrrrr!!” was painted in 1965, inspired by a panel Lichtenstein saw in a 1962 comic book, “Our Fighting Forces,” published by what is now DC Comics. The artist apparently liked the painting enough that he never sold it and instead bequeathed it to the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in New York, where it remains today. The museum used it for promotional posters for its 1993 exhibition, “Roy Lichtenstein: A Retrospective.”

Lichtenstein had earlier done another work of a dog, inspired by “Our Fighting Forces,” called “Arrrrrff.” At a 1996 Christie’s auction, it sold for $420,500.

To promote its exhibit, the Aldrich sent to The Ridgefield Press this black-and-white photograph. (The painting itself is mostly black-and-white, except for the background of the  Grrrrrrrrrrr!!, which is yellow.)

The picture was taken by Rudolph Burckhardt (1914-1999), a noted Swiss-American photographer and filmmaker, who has been the subject of a number of major exhibits himself. Unlike most mass-produced publicity pictures, Burckhardt’s was printed on heavy stock and hand-labeled on the back, “Lichtenstein #160,” presumably by Burckhardt himself, above his stamped photo credit.

Burckhardt, who taught many years at the University of Pennsylvania, was known for his pictures of urban and country life, especially his scenes of New York City in the 1930s and 40s. 

He marked his 85th birthday on Aug. 1, 1999, by jumping into a lake on his property in Searsmont, Maine, and drowning. 

This photograph was in the archives of The Ridgefield Press and is being donated to the Ridgefield Historical Society, along with many hundreds of other Ridgefield-related pictures.

Patriots In Bell-bottoms

Notice anything odd about these Revolutionary-era soldiers? Yes, indeed, some are wearing bell-bottom slacks, all the rage in the mid-1970s, but not exactly what one would have expected from a Continental soldier in the 1770s. A few others are in chinos.

The date is April 27, 1975. Members of the Fifth Connecticut Regiment, a group  that had recently been founded to portray a regiment of local residents who fought in the Revolutionary War, are at the Titicus Cemetery off North Salem Road.

It’s the 198th anniversary of the Battle of Ridgefield on April 27, 1777, and the Fifth is saluting its long-dead commander.

The original Connecticut Fifth was established in 1775 but did not see local action until 1777, when it participated in the Battle of Ridgefield. It later fought at the Battles of Germantown and of Monmouth.

In 1975, the town, like the country, was preparing for the nation’s Bicentennial. A year earlier, several Ridgefielders decided it would be a fitting remembrance for the Bicentennial — as well as the Battle of Ridgefield’s 200th anniversary a year later — to have a local group to recreate a colonial regiment. They “resurrected” the Connecticut Fifth, raised money, obtained equipment and clothing, trained themselves, and began doing programs throughout the region, including appearing in many parades.

Among the founders of the Fifth were Dennis Ambruso, Eric Chandler, Otto DePeirne, Jim Freebairn, Rick Gillespie, Fred Glissman, John Passiglia, Tom Pearson, and James Purcell, Jr. 

In this picture, we see the “new” Connecticut Fifth at a ceremony honoring  Col. Philip Burr Bradley, a Ridgefielder who served as the regiment’s commander for many years. They are saluting his grave at the Titicus Cemetery.

At the extreme left are three people: The Rev. Clayton R. Lund of the First Congregational Church, who would participate in many Bicentennial events since many members of his congregation 200 years earlier had been among the revolutionaries.

Then there is Deborah Bradley Donnelly, a descendant of Philip Burr Bradley. Beyond her is Tom Pearson, who was commander of the “new” Fifth.

Fred Glissman, who is in this picture somewhere, reported later that Mrs. Donnelly been invited to the ceremony by Pearson. “Tom was very good on descendants,” Glissman said. “He could alway dig them up.”

However, at the time of this event, newly formed regiment couldn’t yet dig up the full and proper outfits for everyone. “The uniforms are incomplete,” Glissman noted as he examined the picture. Many of the members had gone to the store and bought bell-bottom slacks of a color that, as closely as was possible, matched the rest of their outfit. They later got the proper period breeches. Others had to settle for chinos.

Today, though no longer based in Ridgefield, the Connecticut Fifth is alive and well, and still reenacting the Revolution. For more information, see their website, http://www.5cr.org/  .

Parade and Pageant Faces, 1958

These three photos are from the Children’s Parade and Pageant on Friday, May 23, 1958, a major part of Ridgefield’s 250th anniversary celebration that year. Three adults are identified, but does anyone recognize any of the young faces?

The upper two photos are children from Veterans Park School; at top, the picture includes. at left, Principal Isabel O’Shea (for whom O’Shea Auditorium at East Ridge Middle School is named), and teacher Lucile Nicholas. The middle shot shows kids, waiting to join the line of march, at the top of Prospect Street — that’s the library in the background. 

The bottom picture shows two St. Mary’s pupils dressed as Indians,  standing at a microphone as they announce the beginning of the big historical pageant at the East Ridge school baseball field. (That’s assistant RHS principal Charles D. “Chad” Crouchley, chairman of the day’s program, seated at left).

Back then, there were only two elementary schools in town: Veterans Park and St. Mary’s. All the rest of the public school grades were housed at the East Ridge school, a building later taken over entirely by Ridgefield High School and now the Richard E. Venus Municipal Municipal Building.

Parents — no doubt mostly moms — created colonial garb for their kids, following predetermined patterns.

Some of the St. Mary’s kids were outfitted as American Indians, leading a contingent of pupils dressed in their school’s blue uniforms.

At Veterans Park School, “little girls and their female teachers wore Colonial costumes of white crepe-paper mob caps, long skirts, and blue crepe-paper frilled aprons,” said a contemporary account in The Press. “The boys and their male teachers wore Colonial hats and jerkins over their other clothes, with buckles on their shoes.”

The older East Ridge school kids “were dressed in Colonial costume like that of Veterans Park children, but brown instead of blue. Several of the older boys were dressed in Revolutionary war outfits and other boys were attired in Victorian full dress, with tails and derby hats.”

The accounts says nothing of what the non-Colonial girls wore.

The students all marched along Main Street and up Governor Street to the East Ridge baseball field where they staged a historical pageant, complete with bands for music. More than 1,500 people crowded the field and its surroundings.

“Life of children in early Ridgefield was shown by Veterans Park children, with scenes in a Colonial home, a school, and a church,” the 1958 account said. “East Ridge children showed other scenes of Colonial life, including someone in the stocks, a house-raising, figures of the past such as Sam Keeler, Peter Parley, and the Rev. Thomas Hawley, concluding with Colonial square-sets, for which Elisha Keeler of South Salem was the caller.

“Junior high students depicted scenes of the town’s early government, paying a school teacher, binding over an orphan girl to a farmer, and the dispute over the ‘Oblong.’

“The final scene showed General David Wooster, mortally wounded, being carried on a litter.”

“Backdrops for the pageant all made by the students with the help of various teachers, included a church, school, whipping post, house and Indian wigwam.”

David Dann,

Newlyweds In The Tombs

The story of David Dann and his wife, Susan, reads like an episode from Upstairs Downstairs, Downton Abbey or some other Edwardian melodrama. Susan, a maid in the home of a rich New York City banker, was accused by her employer of thievery, and thanks to incompetent police, she and David were both thrown into Manhattan’s notorious “Tombs” prison, eventually rescued by a wealthy lawyer and future candidate for governor of Connecticut.

David Dann was born on a Ridgefield farm in 1873, a son of Levi Dann, who was a Civil War veteran and well-respected local citizen. In the summer of 1895, a young Irish woman named Susan Lyons was visiting in Ridgefield and met David, then working as a house painter. They fell in love and David followed Susie to New York City where she worked as a servant in the Broad Street home of Maurice B. Wormser, a prominent Manhattan banker. They were married soon after but kept their marriage secret, an arrangement that contributed to their arrest.

On the evening of Saturday, Jan. 18, 1896, Maurice Wormser played host to his brother and his brother’s wife. Around 10 p.m., as the couple was about to depart, the brother asked to see an evening newspaper, which was in the dining room. 

“I went into the room to get it and found the silverware drawer open,” Wormser later testified in court. “I thought nothing in particular of this, but then at 10:45 two servants saw Susan Dann, who was known as Lyons, a waitress in our employ, in the dining room with a big tray of silver, which she was sorting over. The house was then locked up and the burglar alarm set.” The two servants were named Amelia and Minnie.

At 8:30 the next morning, Susan Dann reported to Wormser that the silver had been stolen. “She said she discovered this when she had returned from mass,” Wormser testified.

However, the cook, a Mrs. Ebert, had told Wormser that Susan was seen admitting the baker at 7:45 a.m. and had also been seen at 7:15 in her nightclothes when Mrs. Ebert had dealt with the milkman. That prompted Wormser to question Susan about how she could have had time to go to mass.

“She admitted that she had not been to mass, but said that she had an appointment to meet a man. After some further questions, she said the man was her husband, although we thought until then that she was a single woman. She stated that she was married a week ago last Sunday in the Dominican Church.”

Since Susan Dann was the last one reported seen with the silverware, and the doors were locked overnight, suspicion pointed to her. However, she denied having taken anything. “I put the silver away, as I always did, on Saturday night,” she told a newspaper reporter. “And when I missed it on Sunday morning, I reported it at once to Mr. Wormser.”

She admitted lying about going to mass, however, and had instead gone for a walk with her husband. She said lied because she did not want Wormser to know she was married until her husband had found work in the city, in case she might lose her job.

“I know they say the house was locked, and that the basement gate was fastened,” she said. But when she returned from her early morning meeting with her husband, she found the gate open. “And that was not the first time I have found it open,” she said.

She also told a New York Herald reporter that Amelia’s and Minnie’s statements that she was handling the silver late Saturday evening were false.

Adding to the suspicion surrounding the Danns was the fact that Nellie Lyons, Susan’s sister, visited the Wormser house Saturday evening. Nellie at first denied she had been there, but later admitted she had indeed paid a visit to her sister.

A police captain named Casey of the East Sixty Seventh Street station house headed the investigation. He told a reporter for the Herald on Jan. 23 he was “confident he had arrested the persons concerned in the robbery.”

The police suspected the Danns in part because of the lies Susan and Nellie told. Detectives used Amelia, the servant, to identify Nellie Lyons as the woman who visited the house Saturday and, Amelia maintained, several times in recent months. 

Both Susan and David were taken to the precinct station house where they were questioned and eventually arrested, and sent to the city prison, known as The Tombs (today’s city prison, the fourth edition of the facility, is still nicknamed The Tombs). Because Nellie had lied about being at Wormser’s Saturday, police arrested her on a charge of complicity in the theft. However, police also suspected her because the house in which she worked as a cook had been robbed by a masked man several weeks earlier after the owner had been put to sleep with chloroform.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Ebert, the Wormser cook, identified David Dann as a man who had come to the house about 10 days earlier. Posing as a plumber, she said, he went through various rooms in the place. Though nothing was taken, it was just one more alleged event that was suspicious.

Captain Casey told a Herald reporter that “he had been looking up Dann’s record, and it was anything but satisfactory in Ridgefield. He has been shifting about from place to place in this city, apparently trying to get work.” He maintained that the silver had not been pawned and that “his men would discover it in the possession of the confederates.”

Alas for Casey, that never happened.

Word of the arrests quickly reached David’s hometown. “It is said in Ridgefield by a good many people that David Dann, who has been under arrest in New York with his wife on a grave criminal charge, has always appeared to be a quiet, inoffensive young man, and people here cannot believe that he would go wrong,” the Ridgefield Press reported.

Levi Dann, David’s father, quickly began seeking support for his son and daughter in law. A Catholic, he approached Father Richard Shortell, popular pastor of St. Mary’s Parish, who helped gather statements about David’s character. 

Levi also knew Melbert B. Cary Sr., a prominent New York City attorney who had palatial

residence in Ridgefield. Levi approached Cary about helping his son. Cary immediately wired Father Shortell, saying the imprisonment was “an outrage,” and maintaining he would procure David’s release as soon as possible.

Melbert Brinckerhoff Cary was a good man to have on your side. A Princeton graduate who practiced law with a leading Manhattan firm, Cary was also a writer, whose books included The Connecticut Constitution (1900) and The Woman Without A Country. In 1902, Cary ran for Connecticut governor on the Democratic ticket—he had been chairman of the Democratic State Central Committee for several years. He lost to a Meriden Republican, but remained a power in Connecticut politics as well as influential in Ridgefield goings on. He died in 1946 at the age of 93; at the time he was the oldest living Princeton alumnus.

Levi collected a large number of testimonials from Ridgefielders, endorsing his son’s good character, and turned them over to Cary. “Mr. Cary was zealous in his endeavor to free these innocent persons,” the Press said.

Cary told the Times on Jan. 31, “I have gone through the evidence … and the only way it connects Susie Dann with the silver is through the fact that she had charge of it. The only way her husband is connected with it is through the fact that the morning after the robbery, he walked with her in public for an hour. The only connection made between Miss Lyons and the Wormser house is through her visit there the night the theft was committed. Yet our clients were kept in jail ten days. It was simply an outrage.”

After those 10 days under arrest, the three suspects were “liberated from the Tombs,” as the Press put it. A grand jury found no evidence to support the arrest of the three.

“The prisoners report the most abusive treatment from the detectives, and say they were placed in the same cells with the foulest criminals,” the Press said. “Every conceivable effort was made to extort a confession, and the unfortunate victims were subjected to all sorts of indignities.”

After their release, Susie Dann discussed her treatment with a reporter from the New York Times, who described her as “a tall, comely young woman, with a slight Irish accent.” 

The Sunday she reported the missing silver, she said, she went to the police station where “Capt. Casey asked me all kinds of questions. He asked me why I had not said anything about being married, and I said it was because my husband was out of work, and I did not want to lose my place until he got work. Then he asked me if I was really married. He also asked me a great many other insulting questions.”

That night she went to her husband’s boarding house room, where “detectives kept coming around and asking me to tell them where the silver was.”

Then, on Tuesday night, “Detective Herlihy came up and told me my sister was drunk down in the police court, and that she had said I stole the silver and had told where half of it was. They took my husband and me down to the station that night, and said we wouldn’t be detained, and when they got us there, they locked us up. Detectives and the matron came to me about every fifteen minutes and kept asking me insulting questions and telling me I was lying and try to make me confess that I was a thief.

“After our arrest Detective Herlihy went up to my husband’s boarding house and told Mrs. Knott [the landlady] that Mr. Wormser would give her $20,000 if she would tell where the silver was.”

Susie also described her and her sister’s experience in the Tombs. “They put us in with the lowest kind of women. We heard things that were terrible to us, and were compelled to associate with women who were awful. They said things that men would not say.”

Melbert Cary not only got the Danns freed from prison, but also sued Susie’s employer. Cary blamed Wormser for convincing the police that she should be arrested. He sought $20,000 damages (around $575,000 today) for each of the three people imprisoned. 

It seems unlikely, however, that much if any money was awarded; perhaps there was an out-of-court settlement for a small amount. Four years later, David Dann was working as a janitor. By 1910, he was painting houses in Rye, a town in lower Westchester County, New York, where he and Susan rented a house. They had four children by then. 

In 1916, the Danns were back in Manhattan, where David was still painting houses. But in 1918, when he filled out his military draft information, he was in a New York City hospital, suffering from tuberculosis. A month later, David Dann was dead, only 45 years old. — From "Wicked Ridgefield" by Jack Sanders, © 2016, The History Press

Charles Coles, He Loved The Bank

Charlie Coles had many interests, but his two favorites were banking and local history. A man who rose from teller to  president of the Ridgefield Savings Bank (now the Fairfield County Bank), he had a love of and faith in banking that was demonstrated in many ways, but few quite as intensely as when he chewed out a Ridgefield Press editor for a half hour after the newspaper ran a humorous quotation over the front page flag, saying: “A penny saved is a penny getting smaller.”

He was fascinated by Ridgefield history and memorabilia, collecting and studying items ranging from candlesticks made here in the 1800s to hundreds of antique Ridgefield postcards. He was also a collector of and expert on antique clocks, many of which he had exhibited at the bank's several offices. 

Though many people thought of him as a native, Charles H. Coles Jr. was born in Oakville, Toronto, Ontario, in 1922. His parents, Charles Sr. and Elizabeth Evans Coles, were natives of England who immigrated to Canada and in 1925, moved to the United States. By 1928, they were in Ridgefield, where Charles Sr. became a gardener on the Maynard estate on High Ridge. Charles Jr. attended Ridgefield schools and graduated from Ridgefield High School in 1941. 

During his high school years, he was active in athletics, especially baseball, and earned the nickname of “Slugger Coles” because of his hitting abilities. He was a member of an RHS team that nearly won the state championship for little Ridgefield in 1940. 

Coles was a student at Danbury State Teachers College in 1943 when he joined the U.S. Army and was assigned to the 193rd tank battalion. Sent to New Hebrides in the Pacific, he took part in the invasion of Okinawa in April 1945. He was a tank machine gunner and driver.

On April 19, his unit lost 22 of its 30 tanks in the assault on Kakazu Ridge, the greatest tank loss of the campaign. Only an hour after Private Coles was transferred from a tank that morning, its entire five-member crew was killed. 

After the war Sgt. Coles served in the Army Reserves and was on active reserve status during the Korean War. 

Back home in 1946, he joined the Ridgefield Savings Bank as a teller and bookkeeper. He became assistant treasurer in 1956, an incorporator in 1958, a director in 1970, and president in 1971. He served as president, chairman of the board, and chief operating officer at various times through the 1970s until his retirement in 1987. He remained a director until 1993. 

Ridgefield Savings Bank became “the fastest-growing savings bank in the state” in the 1980s, Coles reported at the 1984 annual meeting. Under his leadership, the bank acquired land at the corner of Danbury and Farmingville Roads to build its new headquarters, now the main office of Fairfield County Bank. 

Over the years he completed the Graduate School of Banking at Rutgers University, and graduating from the American Institute of Banking (of which he was later a board member) and from various schools sponsored by the national Association of Mutual Savings Banks. He served as

president of the Fairfield County Bankers Association, was on the Conference of State Bank Supervisors in 1985, and had been a member of the Legislative Committee of the Savings Bank Association of Connecticut. 

“His whole life was the bank,” said Paul S. McNamara, longtime chairman of the Fairfield County Bank board of directors. “He loved the bank — he loved going to work. 

“Charlie really believed very strongly in the value of the customer,”  Mr. McNamara added. “His focus was always on the customer.” 

Coles had a way with not only money, but also words.  For a while in the 1950s, he was the part-time sports editor for The Ridgefield Press. 

In 1971, on the occasion of the bank’s 100th anniversary,  Coles teamed up with Karl Nash, editor and publisher of The Press, on a history of the Ridgefield Savings Bank.  Coles did the bulk of the research for the publication, which appeared as a special supplement to The Press and chronicled the history of the bank, its leaders, and the community they served. The 36-page section was based on many hours of interviews with longtime residents and from research into old documents, and included dozens of old photos of the town, many from  Coles’s postcard collection. 

Twenty years later,  Coles was one of the lead writers on another history section in The Press, describing the town’s participation in World War II. He spent months researching the 49 members of the Ridgefield High School Class of 1941 and their contributions to the war effort. His long article was entitled “Class of ’41: First to Go.” (Two classmates, George Vetter and Charles Cogswell, never returned.) 

Coles had a great interest in antiques and especially antique clocks, a subject on which he became known as a local expert. He was especially interested in Ridgefield antiques and ephemera and had dealers all over the country helping him locate Ridgefield-related items. In 1983, for the town's 275th anniversary celebration, he put together a large display of old postcards, which he exhibited at the bank’s Main Street office. 

He loved athletics. In the late 1940s and 1950s, Coles played softball in leagues in Westchester and Ridgefield. In his first game in the newly formed Townies Softball League in Ridgefield in 1953, he hit a home run and pitched Hyde’s Liquors to a 10-6 win over Martin’s Jewelry Store. 

He also became active in youth sports. He was one of the organizers of Ridgefield Little League, and later served as its president. He managed Babe Ruth League baseball teams, had been a coach in the Red Raider football league, and managed boys teams in the Townies Basketball League. 

In 1999, the Ridgefield Old Timers honored him with its Civic Award, citing his “dedication and hard work  in the various youth programs... Charlie spent many hours helping young athletes improve their skills.”

Coles was also fond of golf and invariably had a set of clubs in his car trunk, along with some of his latest antiques acquisitions. 

He was active in Boy Scouts, serving as committee chairman of Troop 47. He had been a member of the Rotary Club for many years, an incorporator of the Ridgefield Boys’ Club, a treasurer of the Community Center, and treasurer for the local Red Cross. In 1967, he was given the Ridgefield Jaycees Distinguished Service Award. 

When he retired after 42 years with the bank, he received testimonials for his service to  community from many leaders, including President Ronald Reagan.

Coles died in 2003 at the age of 80.

“Something about Charlie that a lot of people are not aware of,”  Paul McNamara said after Coles had died. “He was very helpful to people in town in a very quiet way. If someone came to Charlie with a financial problem, he found a way to solve it. And he did that over and over again.”

Bedient Block, ca. 1900

Remarkably, all four Main Street buildings visible in this picture from around the turn of the 20th Century are still standing today, though one of them has moved a mile away.

Dominating the photograph at the corner of Main Street and Bailey Avenue is the Bedient building and its D.F. Bedient general store (and funeral parlor) on the ground floor (now Books on the Common). 

Barely visible on the store’s porch are a variety of wares including a rake, a hoe, sundry baskets, an American flag, and pails or cast-iron pots. 

A sign on the porch, partially obscured by a bicycle leaning against it, advertises “Oliver Chilled Plows.” Oliver plows were made in Indiana with a “chilling” technique invented by James Oliver that made the iron more durable and its surface stayed smooth despite rough use. They were very popular with farmers in the late 19th and early 20th Century.

On the side of the building, a sign advertises American Fencing. Not Gilbert and Bennett Fencing from Georgetown, alas.

A rather enigmatic sign is mounted on a pillar holding up the porch at the left (next to a barber pole). The only words visible are “Detroit Free Press CIGARS.” The Detroit Free Press was — and is — a newspaper. What it had to do with cigars is unknown and why a Michigan newspaper would be advertised on a sign in little Ridgefield, Connecticut, is equally mysterious. Perhaps it has something to do with the barber shop that’s not visible down the alley — smoke a cigar and learn the Detroit news while getting a haircut and a shave? 

The Barhite Block, the next building to the left, was owned by William C. Barhite, who had his dry goods, grocery and feed store there. From 1901 until 1922, the building also housed the main Ridgefield Post Office. 

Barhite’s building later belonged to Samuel S. Denton, who replaced that prominent “Barhite Block” sign at the top of the facade with one that said “Denton Block.”  Today the spot where those signs were advertises not the building’s owner, but a second floor occupant, Robert J. Creamer, attorney at law.

There seems to be a gap between the Barhite building and the next one to the left. However, there is actually another building in that space, but it’s set farther back from the road and is just barely visible here. 

The next structure that is clearly visible is the venerable 426 Main Street building that has held many stores since the 1890s. At this time it may have been Gottlieb’s shoe and clothing shop. In recent years it’s been home to such businesses as Finch real estate and 50 Coins restaurant. Today, the front of the building is occupied by Baja Cocina, which describes itself as an “intimate eatery” with “authentic and modern Mexican food.”

Just beyond that, at the left edge of the picture, there’s the front porch and roof of a building that looks like a small house — and it was, in fact, the small home of the Lannon family. In 1947 this house was moved a mile south to the west side of Main Street where it was named Tuppence and today is the home of Mr. and Mrs. Gary Singer.

Where the Lannon house stood in this picture is now 440 Main Street, mostly  occupied by the Ridgefield Conservatory of Dance, but once home of The Gap and, earlier, Allan’s Men’s Store.