White's Mill: Photo by Thomas White. At right, one of the ice houses

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Risk and Decline

Perhaps the fascination with the “romance” of rural life came from recognition of the strong ties people had to the land and to each other.  Theirs was a “social economy” linking one neighbor to the next rather than today’s monetary-based consumer economy in which we seem more linked to our possessions than anything else.  The hard work of agrarian life defined the rhythms and patterns of life in a small town and those interdependent relationships were vital to the town’s basic survival.  Without the saddler, the blacksmith, the shopkeeper, or the miller, life would not have been possible.  Today we often sentimentalize this picture of “community.”  The reality, rather than the romance, showed that daily life was challenging.

White's Mill: Photo by Thomas White

White’s Mill was notable as the last mill in Montgomery County to run on water power.[i]  A business card from the later period of White’s Mill’s existence shows that in addition to the “flour, feed, grain, seeds, crushed stone, ice,” and sawmill output, Thomas White added goldfish and aquarium plants to the list of businesses he pursued trying to make ends meet.  Journals and accounting books pay careful attention to every penny spent, orders delivered, services required.

Found among Paul White’s papers after his death in 2002 was an envelope marked “Careful:  Notes from my Father to my Mother.”  Inside the envelope were three letters, all variations on a theme, meant for Anna White in the event of a fatal accident.  One in particular is so worn it is nearly falling apart, especially along the crease lines.  The pencil writing is nearly rubbed away with wear.  Holding the ragged scrap in hand, one wonders if he kept this particular paper on his person each day, knowing it would be found immediately if something were to happen to him.

White Family of Tylersport, PA, from l to r, Paul White (my grandfather), Thomas White, Esther (in driver's seat), Anna Mergner White and daughter Ruth, and Anna's cousin, Violet Belz. The mill building is behind them.

The written words bring him to life in a way nothing else could and offer a heartbreaking glimpse into the White family’s life and times.  This is deepest heartfelt emotion; words from a man looking at his own demise and wanting to protect his family from beyond the grave.  Although the letters date from between 1900 and 1935, the year he died quickly and unexpectedly from a heart attack just days after his 64^th birthday, the feelings expressed are timeless.  Here is the first, and apparently earliest, of the letters.

Anna,

Am starting this wondering if it will ever reach your eyes, and if so, will it help you any.  I hope so.  Years & years & years I have hoped to get free of this place to an advantage, but so far those hopes have not been realized and the hope grows less at times, then again is revived.

Surely has me blue and discouraged trying to keep ahead of the bills.

If you do see this I will not be here to help.  And you will have to decide on what you want to do.  As you know, you will have the direction of things, and if the following advice is any good this writing will be justified and I am glad.

I do not think it well for you to try to keep the place going as a business. [Illegible] you may be able to rent it for a small amount that it may be kept in repair, tho [sic] we should help accomplish this [in later letters, he advises her to be sure the renter has responsibility for repairs.]

As soon as possible, please settle all bills [illegible] is always paid promptly.  [In a later letter he writes, “About the bills in the book, I would not lose much sleep over them.”]

Would suggest you arrange some of it to be paid monthly over a period of years.  But please first thing possible send check for all bills in the drawer not paid.

The easy way, I suppose, would be to make sale, but you understand you do not need to sell anything you do not want to, all is yours to do with as you please and can.

I suppose: ‘even as I have had hopes for a home elsewhere in the future,’ you have had the same, I trust the where-with for that same may be realized when you clean up.

I will not make an estimate of what it might be, the insurance alone will make a goodly sum.

Perhaps you might be justified in retaining the place for the kids, if they feel so about it, but I assure you, the cost of keeping it in repair, taxes, etc. will be considerable.

Sometimes I feel how I would like to fix it up (this place) but the money did not come my way to blow in.

So, so who knows what the future may bring forth;

Hurrah for the Whites.  And God bless you all.

In the journal volume Thomas White kept used to track weather, business and family and community doings in the years 1927 to 1935, the month of December 1935 seems typical with daily entries like the following:

December 5 Th – A cold windy day.  Jim [the hired man] brot [sic] feed from Moyer.  Killed & dressed 20 chickens 28¢

December  6 F – A nice day.  AM at Esther in Allentown.  Jim brot [sic] oats for Markley cash 47¢.December 7 S – Quite cold a.m.  Sold heifer $20.00

December 10 Tw­ – [Thomas White’s 64^th birthday] Clear.  Load feed from [illegible] and oats from Stover.

December 11 W – Cloudy not so cold.  Anna, Esther and myself at Sears, Phila.

December 16 M – Cloudy and some rain.  A few jobs of insignificant [?] nature.

December 19 Th – Not so cold.  Bank.  Put 4 loads of firewood in cellar.

December 20 F – Cold and windy.  Jim brot [sic] last of cob corn from Sellersville orders.

A longer entry on December 21 is in a different hand:

Tom passed away about 1:30 a.m. quite suddenly sick about one and a half hours.  Dr. Nace came in only a short time after I called him, and stayed with Esther and I until almost three o’ clock.  Esther sent for Jim, we could not get any one via telephone from Jeffersonville, so Jim went down, and Lydia came with him, stayed with us until Tuesday, day of funeral.

And then on Christmas Eve, December 24, 1935:

We layed Tom away today.  We miss him so, but The Lord knows what is best for us.  I feel that Tom is now at rest, will try my best not to worry.  Am more than thankful to have Paul and Ruth with me, they are such a comfort and help to Esther and I.

Anna Mergner White, second from left

The journal also has a list, in Anna White’s neat handwriting, of the family and friends who sent flowers, and next to their names she detailed the type of arrangement and flowers used.  One imagines her writing thank you notes after the funeral, as she wondered what she would do after the loss of her husband.

In the end, she sold off the mill fittings and most of the household goods.[ii]  The large broadside read

Public Sale of Personal Property!

There will be sold at Public Sale on Saturday, April 18^th, 1936 at the late residence of Thomas H. White, deceased About One and One-Half Miles North West of TYLERSPORT, known as WHITE’S MILL the following personal property, to wit:  25 chickens, 10 tons hay, 200 bundles cornfodder, Ford runabout, hay wagon, two-horse wagon and body, 2 good mowing machines, grain drill, reaper, one-horse cart, 2 hay rakes, land roller, springtooth harrow, 2 bob sleds, 2 blowers, hay ladders, double ladder, 2 plows, manure carrier, two brooder stoves, chick feeders, coops, 12 new water pumps, safe, desk, lot of harness, 2 bag trucks, 50 gal. roof paint, oil tanks, lot of good forks, rakes, shovels, stone hammers, crowbars, drills, hammer mill, pipe wrenches, thread cutter, all kinds of wire, belting, lot of boards, scantling, chain hoist, lot of bags, etc.

Household Goods:  Bureaus, 3 washstands, library table, bedstead, chiffonier, davenport, 2 extension tables, hall racks, lot of chairs, electric washer, waterless cooker, bread mixer, 3 rockers, 3 9×12 rugs, two Brussels and one Axminster, Eureka range, nearly new, parlor stove, lot of china and glassware, all kinds of cooking utensils, jars, etc. etc.

Sale commences at 12 o’clock noon, Conditions by Anna E. White, Executrix of Thomas H. White Estate., Raymond Hendricks, Auctioneer, Harvey J. Stoudt, Clerk.

Pages and pages of Mr. Stoudt’s tidy handwriting listed each item sold, the sum it sold for and to whom it was sold:  a set of sleigh bells for 55¢ to Fargo, the porch swing for $2.30 to Fred Schultz, the hay wagon for $24 to Wm. Grauer, the Ford Roadster for $120 to Skarp, and a fishbowl and stand for 80¢ to James Constance.  Jelly glasses, a buffalo robe, an oilcloth rug, a marbletop stand, two child-sized rocking chairs, a waffle iron and roller skates all came under the auctioneer’s hammer.  Paul White purchased a spindle rocker for 80¢ and one wonders what sentimental attachment led him to select it out of all the things from the house in which he’d been born.[iii]

And now….

White's Mill in 1994, Photo by Sabra Smith

Tylersport remains relatively rural to this day, saved from overdevelopment by its distance from Philadelphia, its isolation from highly traveled roads and rails, and its distinctive geology and topography, although it is certainly changed from the time when the mill wheel turned.

Without a purpose to earn its keep, White’s Mill was torn down in 2002 in favor of “open space.”  Surrounded by forested preserves, the township supervisors concluded that razing the building and clearing the land had more value than a historic site representing the milling heritage and the community history of the area.  The sole remaining building is the original residence, unoccupied and subject to vandalism.  Bullet holes let light into the attic.

An author writing in 1933, two years before Thomas White’s death silenced White’s Mill forever, bemoaned the passing of the old ways.  The passage below serves as a eulogy to the hundreds of the old mills of our countryside that have vanished from the landscape without a trace.

One by one the old millers locked their doors and opened the waste gates of their races.  Some, for lack of other occupation and because of advanced age, clung to their dwindling business until death released them.  Then the ‘Old Mill Wheel,’ for lack of a master, ceased forevermore its splashing and dripping rotations.  Time, the elements, decay, rust and fire have contributed their share toward obliterating the old mill structures….  ‘Tis with a feeling of emptiness and sadness that you return to the region of your childhood days and gaze upon the ruins of the ‘Old Mill,’ once the scene of bustling activity.  And, so the march of time goes on, casting aside the old and replacing it with the new, which, in turn, shall suffer the fate of its predecessor.[iv]

(For Bibliography, click below for Page 2)

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White’s Mill in context

1928 aerial view of Tylersport, PA, Courtesy the Free Library of Philadelphia

The area around Tylersport, Pennsylvania, was settled in the early 18^th century by southern Germans of mostly Reformed, Lutheran or Mennonite affiliation.  The land in Upper Salford was less fertile and rockier than that in Lower Salford, though among the area’s more interesting geologic features are large fields of boulders, such as “The Devil’s Potato Patch”  (a favorite place to take visitors from out of town).

Devil's Potato Patch

Tylersport was originally named “Cressmanville” [a name once seen on many of the cigar factories in the area] until a post office was established in 1842, at which time the postmaster renamed the village Tyler’s Port in honor of President John Tyler.[i]

An 1877 atlas of Montgomery County described the township of Upper Salford and indicated that Tylersport was the largest village in the township.  In 1880, the village had 50 houses, a “segar” factory, a Belgian block factory, and 224 inhabitants.

The Montgomery County directory for 1900-1902 listed everything a thriving rural town might need:  attorney, baker, blacksmith, brickmaker, carpenter, cigar makers (who worked at home or in the local factory[ii]), physician, farmer, foreman, hostler, hotel, laborer, machinist, merchant, organist, packer, painter, sawyer, stripper, saddler, shoemaker, surgeon, teacher, tinsmith, and wheelwright.  Thos. H. White was listed as miller.  Frank S. Shipe, from whom he bought the mill, was listed as farmer.

The number of farmers and laborers far outranked any of the other categories, underscoring the agrarian base of this economy and the importance of the miller.  In keeping with his position in the community, Thomas White was an elder in the Presbyterian Church and a director of the Green Lane National Bank.

Thomas White, Miller

Thomas H. White was born in Norristown in December 1871 and grew up on a busy farm on Marshall Street in Jeffersonville, the town adjacent to Norristown.  He attended the local schools and worked hard on the farm.  He found time to work in local mills to learn the trade and to attend classes at a Philadelphia business college.

A journal from his 23^rd year gives us an idea of the weather and general events of his life in 1894.  He sold subscriptions to the Farm Journal, and took part in church activities.   There were funerals to attend, lectures on the evils of drink, lambing season, dentist appointments, and a tunnel to be dug through the snow to get the cows out of the barn.

In a typical entry he wrote:  “A little snow in morning, moderating.  Sleighing still very good.  Took Alice to station this morning.  Norristown, Franklin Ave. 6:51 A.M.  Went to Providence and was successful in securing a promise from Mr. B. to lecture at our social.  Went to Norristown with 115 lbs hay for Neiman.”

In 1895 he began to look for a mill to buy.  Wednesday, October 13, 1895 he wrote:  “Went to Lansdale to look at mill, did not find it satisfactory.”  Later in the month:  “John Brooks offered me $18 per month and board as miller” — an offer he did not accept.  In November and December of 1895 he looked at an unnamed Norristown mill, a mill on “Pickern’s Creek” which he noted had “good power but poor buildings,” and Brook’s Mill in Norristown, which was for sale for $8,000.  Apparently frustrated by the lack of appropriate or affordable situations in the area, he wrote to offer himself as an apprentice to his uncle Harry M. Halloway in Larned, Kansas, who established the Keystone Mill there in 1884.

Thomas Halloway White

Thomas White departed Norristown for Larned on January 7, 1896 and returned home from his apprenticeship on December 17 of that same year.

Business owner

Shopping for a mill of his own, Thomas White visited Tylersport for the first time on February 17, 1897 to see a mill for sale for $3,500.  He made his offer in April and the paperwork was completed on May 17.

Thursday, May 20, 1897 his journal entry reads:  “clear and warm.  Went to Norristown for stuff from Phila.  Started for the mill Tylersport about 11:30 am with Duke and Dan [horses] in Haywagon and General in Dearborn.  Bertie [his sister], Geo, [his brother] and I arrived about 7:30 pm.  Lost lynchpin and box out of front wheel of wagon, so delayed.”

On Friday, May 21, he wrote:  “Cloudy and sunny a.m., heavy shower at 2 p.m.  Went to Sellersville for feed and shipment from Phila.  Drove in shed at Maceville to escape shower.  Took in first money at mill. .05”

The next day was a busy one:  “clear and sunny.  Worked in mill and hauled out manure a.m.  Plowed gardens and worked it p.m.  Sold first feed.  Started for home at 4:40 p.m.  Arrived home at 9:00 p.m.”

He worked long days getting things in order at his new place of business. It appears he moved in

Anna Mergner White

once and for all on May 24:  “Rainy early and late, sunny and hot noon.  Started for mill with big load of stuff.  Bertie, Geo., and myself, at 1:30 pm arrived 6:20 pm.”

Thomas married Anna Mergner, niece of Mr. and Mrs. George Belz of Camden, on Tuesday evening, September 20, 1904 in Jeffersonville.  They had three children:  Paul (born 1905), Ruth (born 1909) and Esther (born 1915).  Years later, Paul White would recount sitting outside the house while his mother was in labor in the bedroom upstairs.  At last, he was told it was time for him to get the doctor to help with his sister Esther’s birth.  He ran up the wooded hill behind the house, following an old Indian trail to reach the doctor’s home.  The doctor hitched up his buggy, while Paul ran back through the woods to home.

[Author's note:  I despise it when women's bios consist of "she married him and had children; thus began the daily drudgery of housework" with no flavor of the spirit of the woman.  Unfortunately, I don't have a lot to go on, though there's a tale to be told.  You'll see.  We'll see a little more of Anna, my great grandmother, later on.]

White’s Mill

The mill site consisted of a house for the family and another house for the hired man and his family.  There was a wagon house, a barn, a chicken coop, a pig shed, and two ice houses[iii].  At the center of it all stood the mill.

The mill became a major social gathering place as soon as the winter grain crops were harvested.  Children were released from school in time to help with the harvest.  They would arrive at the mill riding on the wagonloads of grain. As an adult, Paul White told his son about those times, and how, when he was done loading bags of grain into the chutes feeding the stones, he dashed off to play with the other children in the woods behind the house, land too steep and rocky to cultivate.

Sometimes the farmers’ wives came along with food.  Everyone would picnic on the front porch of the house and Anna, Thomas’s wife, would provide drinks and fresh vegetables from her kitchen garden on the other side of the road.

The gathering must have been a welcome change of pace and an event both adults and children anticipated.  One better understands author Henry Engart’s attempt to convey the wonder of a mill seen through the eyes of a young boy.

White's Mill, Image courtesy of Phil Ruth

When you drew up to the mill it was not unusual to be fourth or fifth in line, so great was the volume of business done by the local mills in the years gone by.  While awaiting your turn you watched the unloading of the teams ahead, particularly the bags of grain as they were hoisted aloft and skillfully swung in through the open door by the miller, all white and dusty.  How the gurgling and rushing of the water along the mill race tempted you to get down from your wagon and try your luck at sailing boats or fishing….  Another sore temptation, both hazardous and fascinating, was the desire to unlatch the lower half of the first floor mill door and go exploring into the very midst of all that rumbling and grinding machinery.  The hand-hewn posts and timbers, the easy stairways, the flapping belts and grinding cog-wheels, the miller’s bag truck and the piles of filled sacks – a most interesting place to go and a temptation the average child could not resist.[iv]

Engart goes on to empathize with the adults who discovered a child missing and imagined the horrors of a mill-related accident.  “These were not idle delusions either, for there was hardly a mill that did not have its tale of horror relating to some one having been killed, or of arms, legs, fingers or toes that were torn off.”

In fact, at White’s Mill, Maggie Hartley, wife of Theodore Hartley who worked at the mill in the early part of the century[v], had an accident that was recounted in the local Pennsburg Town & Country newspaper of 1901.

A peculiar incident occurred at White’s Mill one evening last week.  While the family of Theodore Hartley was seated at supper, Mrs. Hartley walked over into the mill on some errand, while the machinery was running at full speed.  A draught caused by an open door blew her clothing so that it was caught by an upright shaft, which was revolving rapidly.  Before she had time to realize her position, it had torn every stitch of clothing from her body, which fact alone saved her life.  Her cries brought her husband to the scene.

Drs. Acker, of Tylersport, and Blanck, of Green Lane, were hurriedly summoned.  Her injuries were considered very slight, consisting of abrasions upon the left side of her body.  That she escaped with her life is remarkable, as the clothing was wound around the shaft so tightly that it was necessary to cut it loose.  It was later learned that Mrs. Hartley’s injuries were of a more serious nature and the unfortunate lady is now in a dangerous condition.

Interior view of White's Mill, Image courtesy Phil Ruth

It is assumed that she recovered her full health, since later photos show her posing outdoors with an addition to the family.[vi]

Milling the grain was a long and laborious process, particularly if the stones had to be adjusted from feed to flour grinding.  Paul White remembers a great part of the expertise of a master miller was the skill it took to dress the stones that did the grinding.

“Hitting that stone and cutting it was very trying stuff.  Jees, you’d be there all day and on into the night and he’d eat and say ‘I got to get back.’  Working away getting those damn stones sharpened.  And his fingers all were blue with pieces of steel from hitting there on the rock and the steel would kind of… he wore gloves but they’d go right through the gloves.  He always had this streak on his hands from that work on polishing the stone, cutting the stone.  Really something.”[vii]

Many of the farmers would store the raw grain or corn cobs at their farms so there would be milling right up to the arrival of cold weather with a final rush just before water froze.  Thomas White would then go down to the dam and close off the mill race gates so the water would build up behind the dam and provide more ice.

White’s Mill was a factory of sorts, which not only ground grain but provided ice from the mill pond for use in the summer months, cut lumber for building and firewood, and made gravel for many of the roads in the county.[viii]

Ice was the cash “crop”

Thomas White began a new journal on his December 10^th birthday in 1921:  “The finish of my half century and feeling good.  Carrying on; tho lazy at times, especially Sunday mornings.  Best year ‘financially’ I have ever experienced.  Presume ‘ice” gets the credit for most of it.”  The mill pond that powered the mill wheel also had value when frozen.   Thomas White would sample the ice regularly to determine when to start filling the ice houses.  The journals contain numerous entries about clearing off snow, lest it spoil the ice.  Local laborers waited eagerly, as this was an important source of income in the off-season, since it “paid their taxes and so forth.”[ix]  Cutting the ice was done with an ice plow, which held a five foot saw.  Some expertise was required to determine the best places to cut in terms of thickness, and whether or not there was any plant matter that would ruin the ice.

“So once you decided on the area you ran a strike line.  Put a nail in the ice and ran a line to where you wanted to stop the thing.  Then you took the ice plow and the horse – this is all handwork – one man led the horse and the other one held the plow and they cut along this line to make this starting ridge.  After you got the starting ridge you started really making the cut because you now moved the plow over and it had a guide on it and you swing the guide over into that line.”[x]

Plowing ice was not without its potential for harrowing accidents as Thomas White’s journal notes on Thursday, February 10, 1921:  “Cloudy & warm.  Hauled four loads of ice to Musselman’s Creamery with truck and five with teams.  Geo. Horse broke in dam while plowing ice.  Out O.K. but with considerable effort.  Roads in very bad condition especially below the Branch Creek.”  As Paul White recalled:

That was a very noteworthy thing because we weren’t sure whether we lost a horse for awhile.  We finally got a board underneath so at least he could get a foot up.  And after we got his shoulder up on the ice and with harness you had something to get on and get ahold of and we hitched another horse to him and he had to keep pulling while we kept pushing with boards, different areas that were kind of stuck and the, of all things, the ice started sinking with this weight on it!  That would have been terrible because we’d have been right back where we started except that at that point we were getting closer to the edge.

For awhile, I think, Father was considering breaking all the ice away and just leading him out if we had to but he was thinking about the horse being in the water too long to do that.

We got him out and then we walked him around for a couple hours to get him back in to circulation.  He didn’t have any ill affects at all.  But boy, that was exciting!  Because while the process was going on we had, I suppose, five people working in the ice house and then Father and I got the hired man and the guy running the engine plus a couple of other workers pushing ice around.  And we were all there, you know?  We could have all gotten ourselves a bath![xi]

The ice business provided employment in both winter, when it was cut and stowed, and in summer, when it needed to be delivered.  Loading the ice house in the winter was cold, back-breaking work (and risky, as noted above).  The summer work took place in the pre-dawn hours to beat the sweltering heat of summer that would reduce the valuable “crop” to nothing.  Decades later, Paul White could still recall the experience in detail.

“We’d get in there at like two o’clock in the morning and get a load of ice ready and our man would come at four o’clock with the first truck backed up to the door and we’d load him in nothing flat with the ice and he’d drive around front and pull the covers over it and away he’d go.  And then we’d go in and lay down for a few minutes in front of the front door of the house.  We’d open that door and usually a draft would come in there and if we were lucky we’d get a little sleep until it was time to get the next load out because the truck was due back….  Saturday was a big push.  Everybody wanted ice over the weekend and the beginning of the week and it was pressure time for the people in Perkasie that delivered the ice.”[xii]

Sawdust was used as insulation around the ice.  White’s journal contains regular entries about hauling sawdust and enlisting even his youngest daughter’s help to fill up holes and protect the ice from the flow of warm air.  Melted ice was lost income.

We didn’t tell him that they tore the mill down.  His old home was still standing, but the tall mill building was gone forever — a place he remembered as a busy, wheezing site of industry, dusted with flour, the air filled with the buzz from the sawmill and rock crusher.  There, in his mind’s eye, he could still see his family working and playing.

I wrote an article for the Bulletin of the Historical Society of Montgomery County, and now I’ve chopped it up to share here.  Maybe those driving by that now-empty site will gain an appreciation for the phantom of what once was there.

“Experience once more that feeling of elation which seized you as you approached the rumbling old [mill] structure on a drowsy midsummer’s afternoon.  How your childish curiosity was aroused by the vertical row of doorways, one for each floor and often numbering as high as five.”[i]

Prologue

Figure 1. White's Mill, painted by Walter Baum

Throughout the first half of the 20^th century, Impressionist painter Walter E. Baum used both brush and pen to capture the landscape around his birthplace, Sellersville, Pennsylvania.  In newspaper articles and a slim volume impressively titled Two Hundred Years he evoked an image of the mill setting:

…I never failed to visit a mill whenever I had an opportunity to do so.  Naturally, also, I was attracted by the picturesque setting.  The old structures were wooden.  Later they were of stone, hardy and enduring.

When a miller chose a site, he took into consideration its accessibility for the neighboring farm people.  But more often he was concerned about the power which a stream could generate.  Quite naturally a place with a definite grade in the landscape was selected because it lent itself to the building of a dam.  Often, therefore, the mill structure was erected at odd places.

Today one drives along some out-of-the-way rural road and, among curves along the hillsides, suddenly there looms up a quaint structure.  Across the street or nearby is the miller’s house.  In the ensemble are a barn, a wagon shed and other buildings, added as the mill business expanded.

The spot seems deserted except, perhaps for a dog seeking the shade of the inevitable buttonwoods of the millstream.  The silence, as one approaches, is deceiving.  The miller is a busy person.  To see him one must go inside and, maybe, shout lustily.  Otherwise ‘twould be hard to attract him from the numerous chores that call him here, there and elsewhere in the building.  The tune of crunching mill stones, whirring, exciting shafting and pulleys with slap-slapping belts, the almost imperceptible drip-drip of a white or golden flow of flour or meal streaming from troughs to bins, the sonorous swish and groan of the mill wheel, the symbol of unfailing power, the click of cogs, the creak of timbers, protesting against the daily strain – these mystify the ear as if some strange symphony were heard for the first time.

As a figure in the ancient rural community the miller was a sage indeed. He was more than that; he was a man of influence and respect. The community depended upon him and, being of a type that required stability and character, he was one of the factors to promote its well being

To the alert miller these syncopations hold profound meanings.  The undue stress of some note here or the absence of another there, are becks and calls.  Perhaps some obstruction, escaping the screen in the mill stream, retards the wheel.  Maybe a lace or rivet has given way in some ancient belt.  Or, again, the stones, bolting their stock like some hurried child gulps its food in playtime, chokes and splutters.  These are an open book to him and, peering thru the dust, that whitens his face, hand, hair and clothing, he hastens to rectify or put in order the project, for such it truly is.

When all is well he can stop to chat with a visitor.  Indeed he is an interesting man – informed on what is new in his home community and eager to hear of what is going on outside.  Thus he becomes at once a sage alike to stranger or patron from the neighboring acres.

As a figure in the ancient rural community the miller was a sage indeed.  He was more than that; he was a man of influence and respect.  The community depended upon him and, being of a type that required stability and character, he was one of the factors to promote its well being.[ii]

White’s Mill in Ridge Valley

Figure 2. White's Mill, saw mill and rock crusher

Baum might easily have been describing a particular mill not far from his home in Sellersville.  He spent days in the area, eventually setting down a view of a cluster of buildings on a large canvas, eliminating the smokestack from the scene because it detracted from his desired sense of the pastoral.  [Figure 1. White’s Mill, Tylersport, by Walter E. Baum, and period photograph of White’s Mill by Thomas White, Figure 2., taken from the opposite side of the property, showing the grist mill, the saw mill, the rock crusher and the offending smokestack.]

The mill was White’s Mill, owned by Thomas Halloway White, master miller.  Located in Tylersport, Pennsylvania, approximately forty miles from Philadelphia, the mill exemplified the kind of rural institution and regional icon that vainly attempted to bridge the shift from past to future, from rural to industrial.

the origin and history of only a very few spaces, very few structures are on record. Those for which we have plans and maps and legal documentation and official descriptions are being studied and written about. But an infinitely greater number of structures and spaces have no documentation at all….

John Brinckerhoff Jackson wrote, “[M]ost of landscape history deals with an infinitely small fraction of the landscape….  The reason for this is simple:  the origin and history of only a very few spaces, very few structures are on record.  Those for which we have plans and maps and legal documentation and official descriptions are being studied and written about.  But an infinitely greater number of structures and spaces have no documentation at all.” [iii]

White’s Mill has been poorly documented over the decades.  Now that all but the original homestead has been demolished it could easily slip into the oblivion of the ages, joining many other of our undocumented, early vernacular sites.  Just as Brinkerhoff notes, this is one of those sites for which there is little or no public record.  The property’s deeds were held by my family for decades, kept in a file box in the back of a closet. The earliest among them dated to 1747 and indicated the land was part of an original thousand-acre parcel sold by William Penn’s grandson.

White’s Mill was located in an area of Pennsylvania that remains rural to this day, and the nearby town of Tylersport has the air of a town that time passed by.  This article is an effort to establish a record for White’s Mill that is more than some professional nostalgist’s vision.

To read Part 2, click here.

Below is a photograph of the White family of Tylersport, Pennsylvania, with Cousin Violet in 1913.

White Family of Tylersport, PA, from l to r, Paul White (my grandfather), Thomas White, Esther (in driver's seat), Anna White and daughter Ruth, Violet Belz

Philadelphia Mint coin/medal, architect Vincent Kling

Mmmm. Minty. But not fresh — this is a commemorative medal/coin dating from 1969. (Buy it now: click here.)

I bought this souvenir while on a church youth group trip from York Beach, Maine, to Pennsylvania. We toured from mining country in the western part of the state, to the minister’s family home in Lancaster County (his parents’ house nestled among Amish farms), to Philadelphia. There we toured the University of Pennsylvania’s museum, saw Independence Hall (with the Liberty Bell on display in the hallway), and toured the new Philadelphia Mint. I bought this coin/medal, encased in its snazzy plastic display stand with faux bois detailing.

The first mint was built in Philadelphia in 1792. The building pictured on this coin was the fourth Philadelphia mint, opened on August 14, 1969 and designed by architect Vincent G. Kling. It was the largest mint in the world until 2009, covering a full block, from North 4th to North 5th Streets, from Race to Arch Streets. You can still tour the building today, though I’ll bet you can’t get a nifty souvenir coin like this one anymore!

From Philadelphia Architects & Buildings database at the Athenaeum of Philadelphia

Born: 5/9/1916

Vincent Kling, who would head the largest architectural practice in the Philadelphia region in the 1960s and 1970s and shape much of downtown Philadelphia in the post-World War II era, was born and raised in East Orange, NJ. The son of a builder, Kling worked for his father’s construction firm in the summer during high school. He began his architectural training at Columbia University and earned his tuition through a variety of jobs during the lean years of the Depression when his father had little work. Kling was an outstanding student at Columbia, winning numerous prizes and completing a B.Arch. in 1940. This degree was followed by an M.Arch. from M.I.T. in 1941. Kling enlisted in the U.S. Navy after the attack at Pearl Harbor, and served as a pilot in the Atlantic fleet naval air force until the close of the war. Flying has remained one of Kling’s life-long interests: he was a licensed commercial pilot into the 1980s.

After the war, Kling returned to New York, where he entered the office of Skidmore, Owings & Merrill as a designer. The corporate organization of the growing firm undoubtedly served as the model for the practice Kling would later build in Philadelphia. He left Skidmore, Owings & Merrill in 1946 to establish his own office.

As SOM also did, Kling grew his firm into a group of studios, each headed by an architect supervising a team of designers and draftsmen. In the 1970s, this process was further refined by the corporate subdividing of the firm into architecture and related specialties (including engineering and landscape design). This highly organized and efficient system was a key element in the successful completion of a prodigious number of projects, many on a large scale, in the Philadelphia region and beyond. One of the earliest of these was the creation of Penn Center in Philadelphia in the 1950s, for which Kling was the principal architect and planner. By the late 1960s, Kling’s firm had become the largest in Philadelphia, and by 1973, Kling was at the head of the largest architectural practice in Pennsylvania, with an office of nearly 400 employees.

Kling became a member of the national AIA in 1948, and was named a fellow in 1960. He served on many AIA committees between the 1960s and 1980s. Kling was a director of the Philadelphia Chapter between 1959 and 1961, and its president in 1965. The projects accomplished under his direction have been recognized many times by the profession: he received national AIA honor awards in 1954, 1966, 1967, and 1969; the Philadelphia Chapter bestowed 11 awards on the work of the office between 1949 and 1980. In addition to these honors, he was awarded the Samuel F. B. Morse Medal by the National Academy of Design in 1968 and 1972. He served on the Philadelphia Art Commission between 1968 and 1972, and was a trustee of Columbia University in 1965-1971, among other involvements.

Kling retired from practice in 1987.

Written by Emily T. Cooperman.

More about Kling and his “architecture for the people” was posted by my historic preservation classmates at the University of Pennsylvania, David Artigas and Fon Wang: “Vincent Kling and the Penn Center”

This bronze coin was valued at $8 — selling for less.

Are there a few people on your Xmas list that just have you stumped?

Historic preservation offers lots of unique gifting opportunities.

Support your local historic site by shopping at their gift shop or Christmas Fair.  Some even offer online stores so you can hit a button in the middle of the night and cross a name off your personal naughty-or-nice list.

Mill at Anselma, Pennsylvania (Photo by Sabra Smith)

I’ve previously noted gift ideas from the National Historic Landmarks the Mill at Anselma (“The Gingerbread Man Gives This Gift Idea Five Stars) and Historic Harrisville [New Hampshire] Historic District (“Knit One – Gift Two”).

There are obvious classics like membership in the National Trust for Historic Preservation or Historic New England, which have the double benefit of giving the beneficiary free admissions and discounts while at the same time supporting important preservation, advocacy, and education work.  Each of these organizations offers special interest possibilities, for instance….

Know a garden enthusiast?  Historic New England‘s “Garden & Landscape” membership category includes discounts at the Lyman Estate Greenhouses [a National Historic Landmark site], Logee’s Greenhouses, exclusive horticultural programs and special preview plant sales.

Old house owner?  What could be better than ‘Historic Homeowner” membership, which grants expert consultation on historically appropriate paint colors, evaluation of construction or design proposals, special events, topical e-newsletter, and members-only online resource center.

Engine room of the USS Olympia, like a giant jewelbox (Photo by Sabra Smith)

Know someone in the Navy?  Or a fan of Steampunk?  Consider making a donation in their name to the National Trust’s fund for the USS Olympia, the one-of-a-kind battleship, historically notable because it straddles the technological leap from the days of sail to the age of steam.  This National Historic Landmark vessel is also noted as a National Mechanical Engineering Landmark for its state-of-the-art engines — a jaw-dropping, room-filling array of shining brass, dark wood, and powerful shafts that are a steampunk dream come true.  Deferred maintenance has left this marvel in danger of sinking at its moorings in Philadelphia unless substantial sums are raised so new owners can get her into drydock for an overhaul.  A donation to the National Trust for Historic Preservation’s USS Olympia Fund is a wonderful way to pay tribute to the history of the United States Navy and help preserve a beautiful old ship.

Check out the National Historic Landmark program Facebook page for other historic site information and marvelous gifting ideas and event inspiration.

And what suggestions do you have for preservation-minded gifting?

Don’t miss the 3rd Annual Benefit Cocktail party for the Wagner Free Institute of Science

(If world-famous actor Hugh Laurie ever visited, he’d love it.)

WHEN:  Friday, November 11, 2011,  5:30PM to 8:00 PM

(Scintillating Remarks at 6:45 PM)

Mingle among the specimens!

Dine on delectable hors d’oeuvres!

Enjoy Live Music!

Sip their Signature cocktail:  “William’s Red Hound” punch made with Rhuby from Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction!

Get your picture taken with William Wagner!  (And that’s really something, cuz he died in 1885, leaving as his legacy free science education for the citizens of Philadelphia; help keep it free!)

Win special Prizes!

Help celebrate a 156-year legacy of providing free science education.

LIMITED TICKETS STILL AVAILABLE — ORDER IMMEDIATELY!  (Click the button, dial the phone!)

Visit the website or call 215-763-6529 x 13

Where is the party, you ask?  It’s a mystery no more.  Map below!

Wagner Free Institute of Science, 1700 W. Montgomery Avenue, Philadelphia, PA 19121

 

View Larger Map
 

The Maycomb County courthouse was faintly reminiscent of Arlington in one respect:  the concrete pillars supporting its south roof were too heavy for their light burden.  The pillars were all that remained standing when the original courthouse burned in 1856.  Another courthouse was built around them.  It is better to say, built in spite of them.  But for the south porch, the Maycomb County courthouse was early Victorian, presenting an unoffensive vista when seen from the north.  From the other side, however, Greek revival columns clashed with a big nineteenth-century clock tower housing a rusty unreliable instrument, a view indicating a people determined to preserve every physical scrap of the past.

– To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee

This card was mailed in 1908.  I find the couple in a clinch a bit surprising as I don’t think of Halloween as a time for romance, but perhaps the blonde was so startled by a lurking shadow that she simply leapt into the fellow’s arms — and a kiss ensued.  (Or perhaps she cleverly lured the fellow to the pumpkin patch and then invented a lurking shadow.)

The card traveled from Camden, New Jersey, to Tylersport, Pennsylvania.  It was mailed by his Cousin Violet Belz (click here to see the family, including my young grandfather on the far left, and that’s Violet on the far right, in the snazzy hat).  Turning the card over, one will find the following inscription:

Tell Papa to cut you a pumpkin into a Halloween head like this.

If you were here to-night you would see a fine lot of masqueraders.

Lovingly, Cousin Violet

Seeing Cousin Violet’s name there reminds me of a graveyard story.

It was a bright and sunny day….  I was riding on a University of Pennsylvania bus with other students on a  very fine tour of Camden with Camilo Jose Vergara, whose brilliant work documenting urban neighborhoods for more than 30 years can be seen at Invincible Cities.  Our tour began at Walt Whitman’s house in downtown Camden to evoke the bustling, industrial Camden of his era.  Throughout the day, we experienced many places that are no doubt haunted by ghosts of the past — abandoned, derelict places that were sad, atmospheric, and inspiring because you knew there were stories those sites could tell.

Camilo ended the tour at the Harleigh cemetery where Walt Whitman is buried in a rustic-inspired tomb of his own design, cut into a hillside.  The bus pulled through the gated entryway and wound among the curving rural cemetery style roadways.  I was talking to the friend sitting next to me and occasionally glancing idly out the window at the vast expanse of gravestones scattered across the green acres.  Something drew my eye — we were passing a tall granite monument topped by a funerary urn — I glanced at the name on it.  “Belz”  I couldn’t quite make out the other words.  But after I paid homage to Mr. Whitman, I raced back up the road and discovered that out of all the stones, in all of this cemetery, I happened to notice my cousins’ above all.  There were Violet and the rest of her family — and in fact, I discovered someone we did not know existed — a boy who must have died at a young age and faded from family memory.  I said hello to the ghosts, and returned to the bus, having had a nice family visit as a bonus to an excellent day.

Boo!  Have a fun, and safe, Halloween!