By Susan Martin, Collections Services

That word Southwick brings a lot of happy memories to my mind. Can almost see the place now. The old mountain is just beginning to turn color. Chestnut burrs are about half formed and [I] can plainly see the tobacco field with the seed plants standing out like guards. 

This passage is from a letter written by Private Emerson Phelps Dibble on 25 August 1918, about one month after his enlistment in the U.S. Marine Corps. The MHS recently acquired a fascinating collection of Emerson’s papers, primarily letters written during his service in World War I.

Emerson Dibble was born on 24 March 1898, the son of Albert C. and Winifred E. (Phelps) Dibble. As far as I can determine, he was their only child. Emerson’s mother died when he was just three years old, and his father remarried a woman named Millie Holcomb. The Dibbles lived on a farm in Southwick, Mass., where they grew tobacco.

Emerson enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps on 23 July 1918. Most of the letters in the collection were written to his stepmother Millie, his father Albert, and his girlfriend (later wife) Olive Madeline Jordan. Emerson’s letters are detailed, affectionate, funny, and often very moving. For example, when he wrote the words above, he was in training at Parris Island, S.C., and the pangs of homesickness had set in. Being away made him appreciate his home and family more. Millie wrote that she cared for him as if her were her own son, and he replied, “You can never know how my heart jumped when I read that.” He wrote to his father in the same vein:

When I saw and recognised your hand writing Gee, there was that same big lump came up in my throat and then when I read on and saw your feelings [I] couldn’t keep the tears from my eyes. They were tears of gladness tho’ and [I] can tell you this dad that when this big fight is over and I come back up in a decent country and back to Home there is going to be a closer, dearer feeling between us. I’ve made mistakes in the past that [I] never realized until now. You told me hundreds of times that [I] would see them some day but I in a foolish, boyish passion and anger could not see things the way you did. But [I] can assure you that I see them now, and, oh, so plainly, Dad. When I get back you and I are going to be father and son and not strangers as we have almost been.

Emerson seemed to flourish under the rigorous military discipline. He grew fitter and stronger every day, and even qualified as a sharpshooter. He was proud of the toughness of the Marines: “I wouldn’t want to be a Common Soldier. The U.S. Marine is the only real soldier of [the] United States and is good as any other in the world.” Emerson was also full of interesting anecdotes. He described meeting, in South Carolina, “one old fellow who said he was 92. Don’t know whether he was or not. He looked it tho’. He was a slave when the Civil War broke out and he told us he had seen the battle of Cold Springs and also the evacuation and capture of Richmond by the Yankees.”

In September 1918, the Spanish flu epidemic hit Parris Island, and the camp was temporarily quarantined. Emerson had “a slight attack” and recovered, but he was worried about the folks back home. The following month, he shipped out to Europe.

Letters took longer to reach him across the Atlantic, and when he didn’t hear from Millie, Albert, or Olive for three months, he worried even more. He wanted “to have everyone all O.K. when I come home.” But it was Emerson who would get the worst of it. After another bout with the flu and a fever of 103, he was hospitalized with sub-acute bronchitis. He complained of headaches, weakness in his legs, and a cough, but didn’t feel that bad, he said. It was the monotony he hated.

On 1 May 1919, an ecstatic Emerson wrote to Olive and Millie from the U.S. Naval Hospital in Brooklyn, N.Y. He’d been transferred back to the states and still hoped for a full recovery before leaving the service. One letter revealed a new detail: it was tuberculosis that had killed his mother Winifred eighteen years before, and the family was afraid Emerson would contract it, too. He reassured them that he’d had four sputum tests, and all four had come back negative.

Olive and Emerson were now engaged to be married. Olive was a schoolteacher in Springfield, Mass., and Emerson wrote to tell her how much he missed her:

Oh, Olive dear, if you had only known how I longed for you. Just to see you, to kiss you, to feel you cuddle up close to me as you used to. Gee, dearest girl, I lived over a hundred of those fine times we used to have to-gether. […] You understand, don’t you? Guess I have changed some since a year ago. Maybe in some ways for the worse but principally for the good. […] Oh, dearest girl, if you could only feel my feelings now, Olive, I love you, love you – God help me if I ever stop loving you. […] Hoping and praying to be with you and kiss you (again & again) sometime in the near future.

Emerson was honorably discharged from the U.S. Marine Corps on 29 July 1919 with marks of “excellent” for character, obedience, and sobriety. His service was described as “honest and faithful.” In the fall of 1919, before their marriage, Emerson worked at the General Electric plant in Pittsfield, Mass., and wrote often to Olive in Springfield. They were probably married in 1920.

The next letter, the final letter by Emerson in the collection, is heartbreaking. It’s dated 3 February 1921 and was written on stationery from a ladies’ clothing shop in Holyoke, Mass.—Emerson was apparently boarding there after receiving treatment at a sanatorium. His despair is palpable. At the same time, we learn that Emerson and Olive had become parents.

Today I started to “streak” again so I suppose may expect a hemorrhage any time. Hope this one finishes the bell for [I] am sick and tired of this separation and this recurrence of the trouble. Am afraid that I am going to be a misfit and a dependent for life and thats too much for me. […] Have thought of you often and pray for you and the little girl every night. Can’t go to sleep for hours sometimes just thinking of you dear. […] Maybe I am cowardly and all that but am ready to die tonight and would go happy knowing that [I] had taken a load from the world in general.

Emerson died in July 1922 and is buried at Pine Grove Cemetery in Lynn, Mass. According to his application for a driver’s license, filled out earlier that year, he had contracted pulmonary tuberculosis after all.

I’d love to know what happened to his daughter, Peggy Dibble. She was still alive in 1924, but I can’t find any record of her after that. The collection came to us with a small photograph album, but unfortunately the people in the photographs are unidentified. Another unsolved mystery is the  location of Emerson’s diary, which ended up in the hands of his friend Mike Cronin and was probably returned to Olive after Emerson’s death.

Amazingly, Olive lived to the age of 94 and died in October 1990. She never re-married and is buried in the Lynn cemetery plot with Emerson.

By Anna Clutterbuck-Cook, Reader Services

Today we return to the 1917 diary of Gertrude Codman Carter. You may read the previous entries here:

Introduction | January | February | March | April | May

June

Only two pages of Gertrude’s diary from June 1917 remain in her diary for that year, the rest having been sliced out at some point before the volume was donated to the Massachusetts Historical Society. Only July 26-31 remain. Still, in even these half-dozen entries we see Gertrude’s life contain everything from a party at the beach to a visit to a former cook who had served the family, now on a pension, to design commissions, to tea with a woman whose son has just enlisted and will soon ship out to war in Europe.

I turn it over Gertrude.

* * *

26 July.

To Lodge school to tea.

27 July.

Mrs South had a bathing party at the [illegible]. Rather fly [illegible] but amusing. Being a Friday & [illegible] day, a number of people [illegible]. So I planted my red sunshade in the sand & Clarence Hayden & I made ourselves into a “Vogue” cover for the amusement of the others. The children had a good time. John frisked about.

28 July.

Went in to see Mrs Plumer the old cook. Her cooking days are over. I am paying for [illegible] & [illegible] has a pension.

To Barton’s after tea

29 July.

John’s [illegible] lesson. “But Mummy, which were the nice people?”

Jacob & Esau

Took John to drive. Lovely sunset at C. Hayden’s.

30 July.

To Ilaro & town.
Called on the Majors.

31 July.

Savannah about green plots.
Inspection of auctions.

11. Dr Gooding dentist. He has invented [illegible] oval playing cards and has asked me to design a cover for them.

Tea at Mrs [illegible]. Her son has gone to enlist and she is very sad at his departure.

* * *

As always, if you are interested in viewing the diary or letters yourself, in our library, or have other questions about the collection please visit the library or contact a member of the library staff for further assistance.

By Brendan Kieran, Reader Services

The Lynn Woods Reservation is a fun place to spend some time among trees and even take in views of the Boston skyline. It is also notable for various features and structures, such as Stone Tower, Dungeon Rock, and the Wolf Pits, as well as the stories behind them. My dad grew up in Lynn, and I’ve been to the woods myself, so I have some familiarity with these stories. However, I recently had an opportunity to “explore” the woods with two new guides.

“Breed’s Pond,” photograph by Edward P. Nostrand; “At the Bend of the Road,” poem by Nellie F. Rogers.

The MHS is home to a Lynn Woods photograph album, ca. 1910, consisting of various photographs of Lynn Woods along with explanatory text. The text by Edward P. Nostrand, which includes descriptions of various locations as well as short stories associated with the woods, reads like the transcript of a guided tour. The text interacts nicely with his photographs and Nellie F. Rogers’s poetry to provide an engaging sweep through the Lynn Woods of the early 20^th century based on the perspectives of two people who experienced it.

Nostrand prefaces his narrative with a warning that “the legends have been handed down from generation to generation, and as to their truth, the reader must accept them as such.” He starts by briefly describing the early settlement of the Lynn area by Europeans in the seventeenth century. He writes about a supposed pirate encounter in 1656, in which a ship owned by Captain Kid [sic] came up the Saugus River and men from the ship got out and went into the woods. In response to a letter, the townspeople provided shackles and handcuffs to the pirates. According to the story, the men placed treasure in the woods, under Dungeon Rock.

Nostrand also tells the story of Hiram Marble, a man who spent years blasting through the rock in the hopes of finding the treasure; while he never did find what Nostrand calls “treasure which never existed,” the effort has left behind a path in the rock, which is still open for exploration today. 

 “Dungeon Rock & Guide,” photograph by Edward P. Nostrand

In addition to telling these fascinating stories, Nostrand describes various locations within the woods, as well as some of the flora and fauna there. Among the spots he mentions, and includes photographs of, are “Breed’s Pond,” “Fern Dell,” “Lovers Lane,” and “Forest Castle.” One particular feature that seems to be of particular significance to Nostrand is a group of white birch trees, about which he writes “Oh ye Gods what a sight! There they stand – are they not beautiful?” The previous page includes both a photograph of white birch trees and a poem by Rogers, titled “The White Birch,” which reads as follows:

The beautiful white birch grew tall and straight,

‘Till it seemed to reach the “Golden Gate.”

And the story it told to its sister pines

Was filled with melody and wondrous chimes.

It told of the sky’s each varying hue;

It told of the beauties of nature too;

And the tale was wafted to you and me,

While borne by the wind from tree to tree.

 “The White Birch,” photograph by Edward P. Nostrand; “The White Birch,” poem by Nellie F. Rogers

This Lynn Woods photograph album offers an exciting glimpse into the Lynn Woods of the 1910 period, as seen and documented by Nostrand and Rogers. Nostrand’s narrative should not serve as a transcript for a 2017 walking tour – he uses some language that is offensive today, and, based on my knowledge of the woods and my viewing of his photographs, the area does not look exactly the same now as did over a century ago. However, if you would like to engage with the woods as Nostrand and Rogers would have in the early 20^th century, feel free to view the album here in the MHS library.

Additionally, if you are interested in the stories around Dungeon Rock, N. S. Emerson’s The History of Dungeon Rock: Completed Sept. 17^th, 1856 (Boston: Adams, 1856) and Dungeon Rock; or The Pirate’s Cave at Lynn (Boston: C.M.A. Twitchell, 1885) are print items held by the MHS that may be of interest. Copies of an 1859 edition of The History of Dungeon Rock (Bela Marsh), which the MHS also holds, as well as the 1885 Dungeon Rock book are available electronically through Internet Archive.

“The Tower,” photograph by Edward P. Nostrand

By Susan Martin, Collections Services

Having spent the last few weeks immersed in a very interesting collection of 19th- and early 20th-century photographs (more on that in a later post), I thought I’d take this opportunity to write about processing photographs here at the MHS and what goes into making these terrific collections available to researchers. 

The MHS is primarily a manuscript repository, but most of our manuscript collections come to us with at least a few photographs mixed in. Because of their special storage and preservation needs, the photographs are removed and stored separately. Unfortunately we don’t have the resources to process all of our photograph collections, but we have cataloged many of them in our catalog ABIGAIL, and over fifty are described in more detailed online guides.

Describing a photograph collection is challenging, and not just because of the technical knowledge required. For one thing, unlike manuscript collections, which are arranged into groups of related material (correspondence, diaries, financial papers, etc.), photographs are described at the item level. Every photograph is listed individually, and each listing includes most of the following information: subject, date, photographer, location, type, size, and condition, as well as any label or caption.

Just the subject and date can be tricky! The collection I’m currently processing, for example, contains hundreds of photographs and came to us completely unorganized. Many of the photographs include no identifying information at all. Since the collection encompasses five generations of a very large family, as well as families related by marriage, I had to do a lot of genealogical research. As I sorted through the photographs, I started to recognize familiar faces (“Hey, it’s Frank!”). My colleague Sabina Beauchard described the fun of making these connections in an earlier Beehive post.

Dates of photographs can be determined—or at least estimated—based on various factors. Here it helps to know something about the history of photography, and fortunately for me (not even close to an expert) our library has some great resources on the subject. If I know when a particular photographic process was invented and when it was most popular, I can make an educated guess about a photograph’s date, even if I can’t identify the subject. I often use “circa” dates and date ranges to hedge my bets.

The earliest photographic processes were metal- or glass-based, and the types I’ve seen most are daguerreotypes, ambrotypes, and tintypes. Each has distinctive characteristics. Daguerreotypes and ambrotypes both come in cases or enclosures, but a daguerreotype has a mirrored surface, and you have to hold it at a slight angle to see the image. This isn’t true for ambrotypes. And the tintype is the only one of the three that’s magnetic.

Starting in the 1860s, these types of photographs were gradually replaced by paper-based cartes de visite and, later, cabinet cards. These come in standard sizes: cartes de visite are about the size of baseball cards (2.5” x 4”), and cabinet cards are larger (4.25” x 6.5”).

I may be able to use contextual clues to determine the date of a photograph—clothes, hairstyle, etc. If I have multiple photographs of the same person, I can try to guess their age, but this is more of an art than a science! Biographical details are useful: when did they take that trip to Philadelphia? When did they get married? If a photographer printed his or her name and address on a photograph, I can research when the studio was located there. There may even be something in the manuscript collection to help, like a letter the photograph was enclosed in.

Our digital team sometimes comes along behind us and digitizes part or all of a photograph collection, and we link to that content from the guide. Several of our Civil War photograph collections are accessible this way, as are our Portraits of American Abolitionists. Or to find photographs related to a particular person or subject, you can always just search our website. If you can identify anybody we missed, don’t hesitate to let us know!