By Rob Wilson

One need not travel far in Hatfield to pass a location where some kind of alcoholic beverage was or is brewed, fermented, distilled, served, or sold.
 
I don’t have to walk a step. The Dickinson Inn, which opened in the early 19th century and burned to the ground in 1901, occupied the spot on Pantry Road where my house now sits. Hungry and thirsty stagecoach travelers would arrive here, perhaps raise a glass of good cheer with their dinner, stay the night, and continue on their journey the next morning.  

The history of Hatfield citizens producing, selling and consuming alcoholic beverages dates to well before the Dickinson Inn opened. In the process of examining life in Hatfield from its 1670 founding to the early 1900s, Daniel White Wells and Reuben Field Wells’ book, A History of Hatfield in Three Parts, documents the social customs of the townspeople, including drinking. Although the early settlers were a religious lot, they saw nothing immoral in raising a glass or mug of their favorite spirits. Many residents, Wells noted, made their own beer or liquor.

To continue reading, about unusual alcoholic drink customs in Hatfield -- some involving children and eggs -- and Hatfield's relationship with liquor until Prohibition, click HERE.

Guest Post by Rob Wilson
Hatfield Historical Society volunteer

Combat veterans will tell you there is nothing romantic about fighting in a war. But most would agree that wartime romances may begin when soldiers are away from the battlefield. And that romance in a time of war may blossom into marriage.
 
Take the cases of Jim Day and Peter Balise, whose WWI experiences were examined in Parts II and III of this series. Each of the Hatfield men met his bride-to-be while serving in the Army.

Guest Post by Rob Wilson
Hatfield Historical Society volunteer

By the fall of 1919, most of the 2.8 million U.S. servicemen stationed overseas had come back home and returned to civilian life or were soon to do so. Across the nation, main streets were bedecked with flags and buildings were strung with bunting, as towns and cities began staging elaborate events to welcome home their veterans. Hatfield staged its veterans’ homecoming program on Saturday, Oct. 11 and, from the Daily Hampshire Gazette’s coverage of the event, the town had spared neither the flags nor the bunting when it decorated its Main Street.

Residents gathered at 2 p.m. for the program, held at Memorial Grounds on Main Street. The Gazette’s reporter described the festivities as “a royal welcome home celebration at which the population turned out not only to the last man but also very nearly to the last woman and child, many of the latter in their mothers’ arms.” Fifty-three men and one woman among the 103 citizens who had answered the national call to serve were able to attend the ceremonies. Many of those unable to make it, some of whom were still serving in the military or had moved out of the area, sent regrets from far-away places.

To continue reading this post, click HERE.

Guest post by Rob Wilson
Hatfield Historical Society volunteer

When the officer leading the U.S. Army’s 9th Infantry Regiment’s Company L was killed in the Battle of Saint-Mihiel in mid-July, 1918, Lt. Jim Day was given a battlefield promotion to captain and put in command of the outfit. He now was responsible for leading men into combat. One of his best friends, promoted to the captain of another front-line company the same day, later was killed. Day reported that he wrote a condolence letter to the soldier’s family, not the last such letter he would compose during the war. 
 
The U.S. forces kept up pressure on the German lines that summer. The enemy was well entrenched and resolute. Battles were hard fought, casualties high and progress slow. In a Sept. 12 operation, Day wrote, the “whole horizon erupted in flames” when the U.S. artillery opened up on the enemy. When the barrage halted, at daybreak, he led Company L, as he put it, “over the top” of the trenches to attack German positions. The operation was a success and Day’s unit took many prisoners.

To continue reading this post, click HERE.

Guest post by Rob Wilson
Hatfield Historical Society volunteer

James H. Day and Peter L. Balise grew up in Hatfield, joined the Army in 1917 after the United States entered the war, and were wounded fighting on the Western Front. Both men also wrote about their experiences in France. But it is thanks to the cooperation of the soldier’s descendants, who shared documents, photographs and artifacts with the Hatfield Historical Society and the Hatfield Historical Museum, that we are able to tell their stories here.

Each account delivers valuable insights into the men, the war they fought, the emotions they experienced and the challenges they and other troops faced on the front lines of World War I. Of the two soldiers’ writings, Day’s narrative—in the form of an unpublished war memoir written decades after the war and saved by his family—is much longer and more detailed. Balise’s story, conveyed in three letters that he wrote to family from France, examines his first months in France and the last days of the war. Those letters were published over 1918 in the Daily Hampshire Gazette. Additional articles in the Gazette and the Springfield Union provided additional information about both men.

To continue reading post, click HERE.

Guest post by Rob Wilson
Hatfield Historical Society volunteer

​​The British called it “The Great War.” It started in Central Europe, in the early summer of 1914. The fighting grew in intensity and spread into Africa and Asia, with France, Britain, Russia and their assorted allies opposing Germany, Austria-Hungary and the Ottoman Empire. Under President Woodrow Wilson’s leadership, the United States remained neutral and Americans mostly went about their normal lives.
 
All that changed on April 6, 1917, when the United States entered the fray on the side of France and her allies. Here in Hatfield, routines were disrupted and lives changed as citizens braced for what newspapers now referred to as “The World War.” As town resident James H. Day, known to family and friends as "Jim," would observe in a memoir written years later, Americans suddenly realized that a war seeming “far away and little in our minds… was coming home to us.”

​Despite the fact that he had never considered military service, the 22-year-old senior at Massachusetts Agricultural College volunteered for the army six weeks later. Day trained over the summer in Plattsburg, NY, received a lieutenant’s commission and, in September, shipped out to France. The young officer served in the 9th Infantry Regiment, 2nd Infantry Division. By the time the war ended, 14 months later, he had been wounded in action, earned six combat decorations and climbed to the rank of major. 

To continue reading, click HERE.

Author
Meguey Baker studied early American textile history and material culture at Hampshire College. She is a member of the Mohawk Trail Quilt Guild, on the board of the Historical Society of Greenfield, and does textile repair and conservation for private clients.

Guest post by Rob Wilson
Hatfield Historical Society volunteer

This Dec. 23, at Hatfield’s Annual Luminarium celebration, thousands of flickering homemade candle lanterns will line sidewalks and driveways and shine from front door stoops. Once the wicks burn down and splutter out, however, it will be back to using electric-powered lights to push back the winter night. To truly appreciate that luxury, look back for a moment on the times before a click of an electric switch could turn darkness into light. The history of illuminating Hatfield—from Colonial-era candle and lamp light all the way to the electrical service we all enjoy today— offers some interesting examples of how evolving science and technology have significantly changed our lives.

From the time pioneers of European heritage settled in the area and eventually founded Hatfield, in 1670, and all the way into the 1850s, town residents lit up their homes with candles and lamps that burned oil. The various lamps made light from animal fats (oil derived from beef and sheep fat, when mixed together, burned best), beeswax, fish oil and whale oil. Candles were used less as lamps became more efficient and brighter. Whale oil, which burned brighter and cleaner than its counterparts, was the high-end lighting choice for much of that time period, but because of its cost was  mostly used in wealthier households.  
 
In the mid-1800s, scientists developed a process for making lamp oil from coal, and kerosene was born. As manufacturing processes were improved, kerosene became more affordable and its use for lighting became widespread. As they lit their lamps, however, Hatfield residents, wished for a brighter and easier means of lighting their homes. “The lampshade or chimney had to be washed daily and the kerosene filled when necessary,” observed Nellie Donnis Gutfinski in her memoir about Hatfield life, Times Remembered: Growing Up in the Donnis Household. “One could smell the kerosene when the lamp was in use.” That odor permeated her house until the early 1920s, Nellie remembered, until electric lines finally reached her neighborhood and her house was wired.
 
A brighter, cleaner and less odoriferous alternative to the kerosene lamp actually had been introduced to town residents in the late 1860s: gas lighting. Small gas-producing systems usually were utilized to light a single building. There was one catch, however. Only Hatfield’s well-off households and businesses could afford to upgrade.

The Lowell Mansion, built in 1868 on Elm Street, utilized one of the expensive home-based systems. The machinery used gravity-driven technology to pump air through a petroleum-based liquid, producing a burnable gas that it collected and pushed through pipes to wall fixtures and ornamental sconces. Gas flame was considerably brighter than the light of an oil lamp. Although the system was replaced by electric lights a century ago, the mansion’s gas fixtures remain as a reminder of a largely forgotten past. 
 
A much more affordable form of gas lighting became available to some Hatfield residents in the early 20th century. Coal gas had been produced in commercial gasworks, delivered to customers in underground pipes, and used to light large American cities and towns since 1816. Later in the century, the more flammable and brighter burning acetylene gas was introduced. As large-scale gas-making technology advanced, small towns began installing systems and laying pipes.
 
It’s unclear exactly when that type of gas lighting first was utilized in Hatfield. According to A History of Hatfield in Three Parts, by Daniel White Wells and Reuben Field Wells, published in 1910, the town’s first streetlights were erected in the 1890s, “at intervals along several of the streets in the center of the village and the lamps were lit and cared for by property owners on whose places they were located.” However, the author did not mention if they burned gas or some other fuel.
 
The first Hatfield gas-making facility that Wells mentions began making acetylene gas in 1901, to light the Congregational Church. Perhaps inspired by the success of the church’s system, Wells teamed with several wealthy peers, in 1903, to finance and build an acetylene gasworks on Prospect Street.

 Incorporated as the Hatfield Gas Works in 1904, the facility used a process that forced calcium carbide through water, captured the resulting gas, and then piped it to customers. Awarded a contract to provide gas for the town’s streetlamps, the company laid underground gas pipes and also began to service some homes and businesses.
 
Electric power arrived in Hatfield in 1907, delivered by lines spanned across the Connecticut River by the Amherst Gas Co., one of the many American gas utilities to expand into delivering electrical service. Streetlights burning incandescent light bulbs began to supplant the town’s gas lamps and, as Wells noted in his History of Hatfield, the new and ever-growing electric infrastructure soon extended beyond the reach of his company’s acetylene gas pipes.
 
The expansion of electric service in Hatfield was costly, however, and it proceeded slowly. Hatfield Gas Co., taken over by the larger Massachusetts Lighting Co. in 1909, was able to expand its customer base, as more households within reach of the plant’s delivery system adopted gas for cooking and some lighting. A statewide report on electric utilities revealed that the company jumped its 1912 sales by 36% from its 1909-1910 figure, to $46,550. Adjusted for inflation, today that amount would translate to about $1,244,000.
 
Yet the heyday of localized production of coal and acetylene gas for lighting purposes was over. Over the next three decades, more and more Hatfield households began lighting with electricity. Once electric power was delivered to a home, it was carried room-to-room by “knob and tube” (K&T) wiring (see illustration).

Electric current traveled to a light fixture or a wall outlet in one insulated copper wire and returned on a separate parallel wire. The wires were three or four inches apart and each was secured to walls and ceilings with a series of non-conducting porcelain knobs that were affixed with a nail. The wire ran through walls and wooden beams and joists in a porcelain tube.
 
Although K&T signaled a revolution in home lighting and living, the service it provided was Spartan compared with today’s electrical wiring. Pat (Labbee) Cady remembered visiting her grandparents’ house (now 60 School St.) as a child. It featured “one ungrounded outlet upstairs, and sconces in the living room that were originally for kerosene,” as well as “extension cords under carpets.” Hatfield resident Al Rejniak, in another interview, described the early electrical setup in his home: “All we had was one pull chain, hanging in the middle of each room, no outlets.” 
 
Many residents of outlying Hatfield neighborhoods had a decades-long wait for electric lines and service. Others waited until they could better afford it. North Hatfield’s Paul Vachula family wasn’t able to trade their kerosene lamps for electric lights until 1928. At least some homes on Dwight Street and the Marcinowski Farm on Valley Street didn’t get electric lights until the mid-1930s. But electricity had arrived and was here to stay. And as a result, life in Hatfield – in spite of all the pull chains and extension cords – got a whole lot easier.
 

Rob Wilson is the former executive director of the Veterans Education Project, a nonprofit based in Amherst, MA, and resides in Hatfield, MA.

Guest post by Rob Wilson
Hatfield Historical Society volunteer
 
In observance of the 77th anniversary of the Dec. 7, 1941, attack on Pearl Harbor and the entry of the United States into World War II, we highlight the important contributions women from Pioneer Valley communities — including Hatfield — made on the home front at the Springfield Armory. The author drew on his research as an educational consultant for the Springfield Armory National Historic Site, as well as interviews Hatfield Historical Museum volunteers conducted with WWII-era Hatfield residents in 2015, in conjunction with our 2015 WWII exhibit in the Historical Museum.

Marion Howes felt she needed to do something. Pearl Harbor had been bombed Dec. 7, 1941. The United States responded by declaring war upon Japan Dec. 8. War declarations on Germany and Italy followed Dec. 11. “I’ve got to do my part. Where can I do it?” Marion remembered asking herself as the nation mobilized for a long struggle on two fronts, across the Atlantic and in the Pacific. She wanted to do something significant yet stay close to home, and “the Springfield Armory was the only place around.”

A Greenfield resident at the time (she would later marry WWII veteran Walter Root and move to Hatfield with him in 1988), 20-year-old Marion traveled to Springfield and began training to become one of the Armory’s more than 5,000 Women Ordnance Workers (WOWs) making weapons parts and accessories. The federally-run Springfield Armory was the largest military weapons manufacturer in the region.  When the war ended, she continued to work for the Armory, on an off, for 20 years.
 
Marion spoke with Hatfield Historical Museum interviewer Marta Bilodeau in 2015 about her post-Pearl Harbor decision to work at the Armory.  She was 96 years old when she passed away earlier this year.

Founded in 1794 as the nation’s first armory, the Springfield Armory already had a storied legacy by 1941 (various models of the Springfield rifle had been a staple of U.S. Army infantry gear since 1855). During WWII, more than 3.5 million M1 Model Springfield Rifles were designed and manufactured there, surpassing the facility’s rifle production total since its founding. Closed in 1968 as weapons manufacturing transferred entirely to the private sector, the Armory became a National Historic Site (NHS) and a museum managed by the National Park Service in 1978.
 
Breaking gender barriers
There never had been so many women on the Armory payroll.  During World War I, for example, only 15% of the employees were women, many of them assigned to office positions. At the peak of World War II, they comprised 42% of the 12,000-employee workforce and most were helping to manufacture weapons.  On the factory floor, many WOWs wore red bandanas with the distinctive markings of a flaming bomb, one of the insignias for the U.S. Army’s Ordnance Corps. The bandanas were both a safety precaution and a symbol to help instill camaraderie, pride and achievement in their contributions to the war effort.

And proud of their work they were. Talking about her job to Marta Bilodeau in an interview on Sept. 11, 2015, Marion recalled “it wasn’t that enjoyable, but knowing you were doing [a war-related] job, that was the whole thing.” She worked making ammunition clips for the M1 semi-automatic rifle. Each clip held eight rounds of ammunition. Describing the manufacturing process, she explained how she and the other WOWs in her department would run flat metal stock “through a big press where it’s formed into clips, then goes through various stages,” dipped in rust preventative then inspected, packed and shipped out. She and the other women in her department “did the whole thing, beginning to end.”
 
By working in skilled manufacturing jobs, Marion and other WOWs were breaking gender barriers that, until the late 1930s, had always existed in American industry. Traditionally, the machine shop and the factory floor were the exclusive province of white men. As America geared up for war in 1941 and faced a labor shortage, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt issued an Executive Order that barred job discrimination on the basis of gender or race in federal workplaces.  It was an exciting time, remembered Harriet Atwood, a former WOW who spoke to me in an interview for a Springfield Armory NHS oral history project.  “Women learned to do things they didn't know they could do," the Springfield native said, adding that some men remained critical of women taking industrial jobs. As the war progressed, however, and WOWs often excelled at their jobs, many of the skeptics began to accept the women as the skilled workers they were. 
 
The female presence in manufacturing shops, the Armory February 1942 newsletter noted, rapidly triggered noticeable changes in workplace culture. In the prewar all-male manufacturing departments “the air was often dark blue, shot with flashes of lightening,” the reporter wrote, with a touch of tongue-in-cheek humor. “But now that the ladies are here conversation is kept low and business in the jobbing shop office is conducted in peaceful, churchly quiet.”

Margaret Barrett was about 18 years old when the war started. She went to work in the metal finishing department at the Armory in 1943. I had read about the department’s supervisor, Wilbur Ancrum, one of the few black machinists at the Armory prior to the war. During a visit with Margaret’s sister Ruth Barrett Drury in Hatfield (who was very active with the Hatfield Historical Society in the 1970s and ’80s and who passed away in 2017), I learned about the young WOW’s experience working in the shop. Ruth was donating her deceased sister’s most treasured memento to the Springfield Armory museum: a set of heavy candlesticks, milled out of the brass used for shell casings and weapons parts.  Wilbur Ancrum, her boss, had custom made them for her when she left her job at war’s end. A gesture of comradeship and thanks for a job well done, the candlesticks also seemed to be symbols of the barriers of de facto gender and racial segregation that began to come down within the Armory workplace. 

While interviewing former WOWs for the Springfield Armory NHS, I heard more stories of the working relationships and friendships between whites and African Americans, as well as between male and female Armory workers. As WWII wound down, and armaments demand decreased, many women left voluntarily or were laid off. Some went on to skilled positions in domestic industries or, others— like Marion (Howes) Root— went back to work at the Armory during the Korean War. She also worked there one more stint after that. Significant color and gender barriers had been breached by home front workers, and local women were part of this big step toward workplace diversity.

Rob Wilson is the former executive director of the Veterans Education Project, a nonprofit based in Amherst, MA, and he resides in Hatfield, MA.