Deborah Manchester gave Wheeler Ball Field to the town for “the children of Adamsville” in honor of her nephew, Philip Manchester Wheeler, and great-nephew, Stafford Manchester Wheeler who was killed in World War II. Miss Debbie worked for many years in Manchester’s Store. She had no children of her own, but for six months of every year she and her sister Lizzie and her brother Abraham raised their orphaned niece and nephew. The field has been a gathering spot for local kids for decades, first for informal pick-up games and today for the local Little League. In the 1940s and 1950s, local organizations often held bake sales on its stone walls.

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Under the Laurentide (granite, water | 2014)

Renowned artist and architect Maya Lin is “constantly exploring and revealing aspects of the natural world [such as] places that are hidden beneath the surface of the water…”

Lin has always been fascinated by the movement of water. Best known for her underdog design for the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington D.C., much of her work is inspired by one’s connection and responsibility to landscapes and the environment. President Barack Obama awarded Lin the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 2016, the nation’s highest civilian award, for “bringing awareness to the planet’s loss of habitat and biodiversity.”

Chiseled from Chelmsford granite stone carved at Riverside Stone Company in Seekonk, MA just beyond the Rhode Island border, the surface is a 3D contour rendering of the topography of the Narragansett Bay, Rhode Island’s largest water source. Small openings gently pump water across the stone terrain and through glass dams that are placed at the edges of the table, where water naturally leaves the Bay.

The piece is named after the Laurentide Ice Sheet that covered most of North America over 20,000 years ago which shaped the Narragansett Bay and landscape of the present-day Northeast. Today, widespread pollution and rising sea levels threaten the Bay and its surrounding coastline. Thus, Under the Laurentide is a striking reminder of the reality of climate change and the importance of the work being done at the Institute at Brown for Environment and Society.

As its title suggests, Under the Laurentide seeks to uncover hidden terrain that lay beneath an ice sheet for thousands of years and to provoke viewers to think about their connection to the land they inhabit. Lin reflected, “I hope they walk away from it with a curiosity and an awareness of the landscape that is quite literally underfoot.” At Brown, portraits -- of people, of water and land, of loss, of learning and pride -- are hidden all around us, waiting to be discovered. Carve beneath the surface of what you know -- juxtapose objects, read into labels, question history. You will be surprised and empowered by what you will discover.

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New Bedford has long been conflicted about its historical identity. The city has been, at different times, a world leader in extracting energy from whales and in using energy to produce textiles. Despite a relative lack of physical reminders of whaling, and the abundance of “monuments” to manufacturing—in the form of mill buildings and worker housing—“going down to the sea in ships” is remembered and cherished, while the textile industry is largely overlooked. Very rarely are whaling and textiles remembered and memorialized equally. One exception is this monument, sculpted in 1914 by Hungarian immigrant artist George Julian Zolnay.  The sculpture is known as the Barnard Memorial, after the person who provided the funding, George D. Barnard, who was born in New Bedford but moved to St. Louis and formed a stationery company. At its dedication, Barnard described his idea for the monument: “Why not erect a statue that would show the whaler at home and among his neighbors or a representation of the early New Bedford as I knew it as well as of the present city to continue the story.” Zolnay, a St. Louis resident at the time, accepted the commission to memorialize “all that New Bedford was, all that it is and all it ever will be." At the base of the monument stand seafaring men and women. Standing above them is a blacksmith wearing a thick apron balancing a gear upon an anvil. The inscription reads, “Dedicated as a Tribute to the sturdy whalemen who early won fame for New Bedford and their successors who, inheriting ideals and resourcefulness gave to the city new prominence by creating a great manufacturing center.”

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Repurposing older structures is a tenet of historic preservation. Here the West Broadway Neighborhood Association practices what it preaches. Since 1983, the WBNA has been one of the strongest and most active neighborhood associations in the city. This 1930s Art Moderne Texaco station is a classic Walter Dorwin Teague prefab design, but instead of pumping gas, this service station has become a fueling place for community. Don’t miss the gas pump out front. Once a grand avenue of wealthy mansions to rival Broadway, Westminster Street became a part of the Route 6 transcontinental highway, running from Provincetown, Massachusetts across the country to Long Beach, California. When the Interstate network was built, traffic was rerouted, and gas stations like this one had to look for a new purpose. Kari Lang has led the WBNA for twenty years and made the organization a model of engagement and community. Neighbors come here to find out about solar panel installation, home composting, community, politics, safety, and neighborhood events.

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One acre of water in the four-acre park here today represents a vital part of early Providence history. The water is a reminder of the hundreds of acres of brackish water that covered the area that Roger Williams knew as the Great Salt Cove. Over time the water was drained, the land filled, and by 1898 all water had been drained to support laying railroad tracks for a booming transportation industry that supported the successful commercial businesses of Providence. Times changed; businesses declined; the downtown area languished. However, the River Relocation Project of the 1980s and 1990s brought life back to the Providence city center and with it a reimagining of the water that once ran through it. Today, Waterplace Park and the surrounding areas are home to walking paths, restaurants, concerts and WaterFire.

Imagine the smoky smell of bonfire fire, the crisp sound of wood crackling, and the warmth of thousands of people gathered around the rivers to witness the city’s star attraction, WaterFire. The performance art piece first opened in 1994 with eleven braziers lit on the water. By 1998, 81 braziers were installed and thousands of people a night came to see the mesmerizing performance credited with bringing pedestrians back downtown.

Following decades of industrial decay in downtown Providence, few people made their way to the heart of the city. Artist Barnaby Evans wanted to create a space where people could gather and walk together along the newly engineered Rivers that flow through downtown. The newly unveiled River Project was a blank canvas for Evans to work, and as a city dweller he was dedicated to making the space a destination for pedestrians. "By design, there is no point where you can see the whole installation at once, so you mingle with other citizens as you walk," said Evans. "It is designed so people can interact with each other, with the artwork and with the urban environment.” Using public art to rethink urban space, Evans made Waterplace Park a destination for locals and tourists alike.  Over a million visitors have walked along the Riverwalk to see Providence’s star attraction.

Today, over eighty wood burning fires, a music program, and street performers lure visitors and residents alike to Waterplace Park and the Providence Riverwalk on WaterFire evenings. Former Mayor, Buddy Cianci, once said, “There is nothing like it anywhere in the world, even in Florence or Venice.”

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In 1847, a building without precedent in New Bedford began to rise north of the harbor in a grassy field along the banks of the Acushnet River.

The building was five stories tall, of rough-hewn local granite, and about as long as the distance between streets in the older whaling center of town. A steam engine designed and built by Providence’s George H. Corliss powered ten thousand spindles, which began producing cotton goods in 1849. As the city’s first successful large-scale textile mill, Wamsutta set the standard for those that followed.

Wamsutta Mills became known for its production of top quality cotton shirting and sheeting. Business thrived, and in 1853, Wamsutta built a second mill adjacent to the first, followed in 1862 by Wamsutta 3. Production declined during the Civil War due to labor and material shortages, but the company added a fourth mill in 1870. Wamsutta 4 was powered by another Corliss steam engine, the largest of its kind in the world. When the company added Wamsutta 5, the engine doubled in size, surpassing the famous steam engine that Corliss provided to power Machinery Hall during the 1876 Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia.

By 1892, Wamsutta owned seven mills and was the largest cotton-weaving factory in the world. Five years later, it operated more than four-thousand looms and employed more than two-thousand workers. By the mid-1920s, Wamsutta updated its facilities from steam power to electric and refurbished its machinery. When the Great Depression struck the nation in 1929, more than two-dozen textile mills closed in New Bedford. Wamsutta, however, managed to survive and thrive throughout World War II. The company adapted its product line to include items needed for the war effort: uniforms, hot air balloons, gas mask material, and canvas supplies.

Wamsutta closed in 1958 when the company’s owners relocated its operations and much of its equipment to South Carolina to take advantage of cheaper labor costs. In 2006, Wamsutta Mills 4 & 5 were redeveloped as loft-style apartments. Many other Wamsutta structures remain including Wamsutta 6, a weave shed, the mill pond that provided water for steam engines, and an historic ice house and weave shed.

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In 1892, the Reverend William J. Potter referred to the Wamsutta four tenements as a "pestiferous excresence." While the company built neat rows of brick double-houses for its skilled workers close to the mills, the company also constructed dwellings for its other workers—loom operators, floor sweepers, and laborers—several blocks away, across the tracks. Wamsutta began building wood “four tenements” (containing four rooms) for its workers in 1848 in the area bounded by Linden Street on the north, Hazard Street on the south, County Street to the west and Purchase Street to the east. By 1876, there were thirty-eight buildings, and by 1887, this number had increased to fifty-nine.

By 1892, Wamsutta had subdivided the individual units to accommodate a growing number of employees, who paid monthly rents that ranged from $5.25 to $7.50 while earning about $8 per week. In 1913, the U. S. Department of Labor counted eighty-one one-and-a-half and two-and-a-half story tenements owned by Wamsutta Mills in this area. One square block, bounded by Austin, Hazard, State, and Pleasants Streets, contained twenty buildings. Units rented for $2.50 per week. In addition, up to ten lodgers slept on cots in the attic for ten cents per night. The density of dwellings and occupants contributed to the poor living conditions noted by reformers by reformers like the Reverend Potter. However, most of these Wamsutta four tenements have survived. In 1978, the New Bedford Housing Authority rehabilitated them for subsidized housing, and they continue to provide dwellings for working people. Today, these buildings are included within the larger Acushnet Heights Historic District, designated by the National Park Service in 1990.

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With the new Wamsutta Mill rising on the banks of the Acushnet River, its proprietors tried to attract a new workforce. New Bedford’s workers hunted whales and made rope and candles, but Wamsutta needed skilled weavers, loom fixers, and managers. In addition, Wamsutta competed with established textile manufactories in places like Pawtucket and Lowell for a limited number of textile operatives.  To attract workers to New Bedford, the company constructed eight brick double-houses, in two rows of four, at the corner of North Front Street and Logan Street close to the mills and just north of a freshwater pond. Likely modeled after similar buildings in Lowell and Lawrence, Massachusetts, the new worker housing attempted to resemble stately rows of housing in English textile centers. Each building contained two units of two-and-a-half stories with separate entrances in the middle of the façade. Floor plans for similar buildings in Lawrence included a parlor, kitchen, living room, and bedroom on the first floor, and additional bedrooms on the upper floors. Behind each building was space for privies and laundry yards. The sixteen units, completed in 1848, were relatively spacious and modern compared to the overcrowded and ramshackle worker tenements in New Bedford later in the 19th century. Wamsutta rented them to overseers, machinists, carpenters, and skilled mill operatives and their families. As Wamsutta expanded its operations and its workforce, the company added additional housing units near the original brick double houses, but built of wood rather than brick. By 1895, twenty-seven tenement buildings stood in the area roughly bounded by Hicks Street to the north, Logan Street to the south, and North Front Street and Acushnet Avenue on the east and west respectively. Fulton Court and Hampton Court (both streets now gone) extended north from Logan Street into the cluster of buildings. By the 1890s, the original brick double houses had been divided into four units each, doubling their original capacity but halving the space of each unit. By 1945, all of the original brick housing units had been demolished, but a dozen of the later wood tenements survived until construction of John F. Kennedy Highway in the late 1960s. Today, automotive repair shops, light industry, and a church occupy the entire area. In 2023, the city of New Bedford announced plans to implement the Hicks-Logan Redevelopment Plan, an effort to redevop the distressed neighborhood.

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Vernal pools are temporary wetlands that annually fill with water in the winter and early spring and then become dry when the weather turns warmer, although some pools may not completely evaporate in a wet summer. When pools periodically dry, predatory fish cannot survive, and this results in a protected breeding environment for all sorts of critters. Vernal pools are excellent habitats for many amphibians and invertebrates to complete part of their life cycles.

Creatures found at the Pardon Gray pool include wood frogs, spotted salamanders, marble salamanders, and fairy shrimp. These species require the protected waters of a vernal pool to survive. Other local species may use the vernal pool but can survive in nearby wetland habitats. These include spring peepers, gray tree frogs, green frogs, leopard frogs, pickerel frogs, red-spotted salamanders, several species of turtles, dragonflies, and whirligig beetle larvae. Vernal pools also supply drinking water for other wildlife. When in proximity to other pools, vernal pools enable amphibians and reptiles to pass from one wetland to another.

Vernal pools are reproductive hatcheries for terrestrial amphibians. Though most of us do not encounter these creatures as we trek through the woods, several thousand wood frogs use a moderate-sized vernal pool to breed before returning to the forest. The nutrients and energy from decaying vegetation on the pool floor nourish the frogs and salamanders of the nearby woods. The complexity of these food webs within the pools maintains a balance that enables a sufficient number of individuals of each species to survive and maintain the population in future years.

Each fall as leaves drop into the pool, bacteria and fungi begin the decaying process at the base of the food chain. Zooplankton feed on the bacteria and fungi, and a variety of insect larvae feed on the leaves, a process continued by adult insect forms, snails, and small crustaceans. The leaves also provide food for hatching tadpoles. These creatures in turn become food for predaceous diving beetles, dragon and damsel flies, and water scorpions. Salamander larvae join the list of pool carnivores. Joining the food web nearer the top of the chains are turtles, snakes, wading birds, and raccoon.

The presence of vernal pools at Pardon Gray Preserve is important to maintaining the biodiversity on both a local and global scale.

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From “Kentucky Jeans” to “Fruit of the Loom” to the world’s most popular soaps and cosmetics, the “lower mill” at Riverpoint has seen a lot of fame! The Greene Manufacturing Company built a small spinning mill here on the South Branch just above its junction with the North Branch in 1812, but by 1816 the company had failed.  In 1834 the company constructed a dam and a stone mill on a newly acquired water “privilege” downstream from the original mill.  A third mill was built in 1844 and enlarged in 1855 to become one of the seven largest cotton mills in the state.  Before the Civil War the primary product of the mills was a cotton twill fabric known as “Kentucky Jeans.”  Following the Civil War the market collapsed and the company suffered financial losses. In 1884-1885, the property was purchased by the Knight Company, one of the world’s leading cotton manufacturers of the famous "Fruit of the Loom" brand. The Knights owned the mill until 1931 when it was bought by its present owners, the Original Bradford Soap Works. This firm, founded in Providence in 1876 by English immigrants James Rodgers and William Murgatroyd, produced soaps for the textile industry. With the collapse of the Rhode Island textile industry in the mid-2Oth century, Original Bradford diversified by producing chemical and cosmetic soaps.  Today they produce products for such global brands as Dove, Paul Mitchell, Clinique, Johnsons Baby, Olay, Palmers, Neutrogena, Cetaphil and others.

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The US Rubber Company Mill has a complex history of ownership and use that stretches over 80 years. From its inception as the Joseph Banigan Rubber Company (1896-1910), through its acquisition and expansion as a regional plant of the US Rubber Company (1910-1975), to its current use as the Waterfire Arts Center and other industrial, commercial, and residential uses, this complex is representative of the reinvention and reuse of industrial buildings throughout New England.

The story of the complex begins with Joseph Banigan, Rhode Island’s first Irish-Catholic millionaire. Born in Ireland in 1839, he fled the ravages of the Irish potato famine as a child and came to Providence, where he joined nearly 16,000 of his fellow Irish immigrants. As a young man Banigan apprenticed at the Providence Rubber Company where he learned the industry. In 1889, at the age of 50, Banigan established his own company in Woonsocket. The Alice Factory, named for his mother, was the largest rubber factory in the world.

After a few years, Banigan returned to Providence to find that the city’s industrial base had changed; machine tool manufacturing now surpassed textile production. With the rechanneling of the Woonasquatucket River, the introduction of rail service along the city’s expanding industrial corridor, and the availability of process water (water that is no longer clean enough to drink but can be used in a factory), a number of new manufacturing firms moved to the banks of the river. Banigan purchased a building owned by the Saxon Worsted Company and constructed a number of new buildings to house the production of rubber shoes and boots.

While building his rubber empire, Banigan did not forget his Irish heritage and humble beginnings. He donated generously to the city’s orphanages, the Lying In Hospital (now Women & Infants Hospital), the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children, the Home for the Aged, and St. Maria’s Home for Working Girls. After Banigan’s death, his business was sold to US Rubber Company, which shifted its production from footwear to rubber tires and rubber thread.

US Rubber doubled down on Providence in what the Providence Journal described as “one of the largest real estate transactions that has ever been recorded in this city.” The company expanded, purchasing the idle ALCO buildings in 1918 and began outfitting them for the manufacture of solid and pneumatic tires. In its adaptation of pre-existing buildings for new uses, the US Rubber Company was typical of expanding manufacturers of the period.

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Imagine this building as the central location for industry and modernity in 19th-century Providence. Picture a tangle of railroad tracks and constant motion, with engineers and manufacturers working hard to support (arguably) the most important place downtown––the railroad station. In the late 19th century Union Station was the hub of southeastern New England’s transportation network. Goods came and went through this terminal supporting the machinery, textile, and jewelry industries that fueled the growth and future of Providence.

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The urban landscape of southern New England displays an iconic form of domestic architecture seldom found elsewhere: stacked three-unit apartment house commonly called a “triple decker.” Thousands of such structures were built between 1880 and 1930, principally to house an ever-growing and largely immigrant working population. Although the social and economic forces that created the style have long since vanished, a surprising number of triple deckers have survived, thanks due to their basic livability and potential for adaptive re-use.   Although constructed by a myriad of small-time designer-builders, most triple-deckers share a common set of design characteristics, determined largely by maximizing practicality while minimizing less-desirable aspects of urban tenements. Three features in particular are predominate. First, generally there is one apartment per floor, with adequate roominess (1000-1200 square feet), numerous windows on all sides, and generous porches on the front and often on the rear. Second, the room arrangement is typical of middle-class single-family homes,  typically including a parlor, dining area, kitchen, bath and two bedrooms. Third, architectural integrity provided visual interest: while not professionally designed, most copied popular Queen Anne Style features such as strong vertical lines (stacked columned porches and window bays), visual interest (contrasting siding textures and colors), and decorative details such as art-glass windows. Triple deckers were marketed to a specific type of buyer: successful new home-owner. Within the building, one unit could be the homeowner’s residence, while the other units either provided rental income or could house members of an extended family. Thus, this sort of home ownership not only provided a taste of middle-class respectability, but also offered an entry to middle-class economic security. However, society at large did not share this vision in the long run, principally due to anti-immigrant bias.  Passage of strict building codes coupled with immigration restriction brought an end to new construction by the later 1920s. Oakland Avenue, the western edge of the Smith Hill neighborhood, features a fine display of surviving triple-deckers, a streetscape little changed for nearly a century. Most of these were built during the 1920s, when clearly this was a middle-class neighborhood.  Although urban decay previously left its mark, many of the structures have been rehabilitated, finding use as housing for students at nearby Providence College.  In most cases, original details have been lost, but the overall impression is intact.  Well-kept examples abound, an image of what much of Providence once was.

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During the 1910s, entertainment venues were in a state of flux. They were originally created as spaces for live performances. With the advent of early film, many venue owners tried to switch entirely from live shows to movies – but found that they weren’t particularly lucrative. To increase profits, venues showcased highly popular vaudeville acts and supplemented them with film, often at the very end of the night. Despite contracting desirable shows, these venues were often overcrowded, inelegant, and uncomfortable. The Emery brothers saw an opportunity to build an opulent, spacious theatre space dedicated specifically to vaudeville performances. This venue was called Emery’s Majestic, and it was just that — majestic.

The stunning exterior features a white terra cotta facade with light green and gold grapevine detailing. The large arched window at the center of the building’s front allows in light to both the upper and lower lobbies. Walking in the main entrance and looking up, one would see an elliptical opening to the second floor and above to a leaded glass dome — all of which is still intact. The original auditorium space, done in an opulent, art nouveau style, could seat 3,000 people. When it opened, Emery’s Majestic was the pinnacle of elegance in performing arts venues in Providence.

The theatre opened in April 1917. The owners ran another, smaller Providence venue called The Emery. They relocated shows from that space to the Majestic upon the Majestic’s opening. Their zeal for a bigger, grander space didn’t necessarily take into account whether they could actually steadily fill the seats at the massive new venue, and they slowly ran out of resources. By early 1918, the Emery Brothers leased out the Majestic to another local theatre manager who had ample connections and could pull in bigger and better names. Emery’s Majestic became the Shubert Majestic.

From the late 1910s through the 1920s, the Shubert Majestic hosted touring companies of ever-expanding vaudeville, burlesque, and revue shows. Like the Providence Opera House, Shubert’s Majestic contracted performance troupes that included bevies of performers and whole chorus lines of female dancers, a collective group who would roll in on the local train line with a train car’s load of staging, equipment, and costuming. They would unload, perform for a week, and pack up to head to the next city. In the early 1920s, the Majestic hosted Al Jolson in both Sinbad and Bombo; acclaimed Russian ballet dancer Anna Pavlova, who toured the world internationally several times over; and the touring production of Chu Chin Chow, a musical comedy based on the story of Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves. The latter went so far as to include live elephants into the show!

By the mid-1920s, the Majestic became a first-run movie theatre as the medium evolved and became more and more popular. An organ was installed to accompany the silent films. The Majestic stayed a movie theatre through the 1940s and early 1950s, before falling on hard times. Enter Trinity Repertory Company.

Trinity Rep was originally founded in the early 1960s by local theatre lovers who wanted to see outstanding theatre without having to travel to Boston or New York. They founded the company and opened their first production at Trinity Union Methodist Church, located on Broad Street. Support grew throughout the Company’s first decade, which eventually resulted in grants to acquire the Majestic. In 1973, Trinity acquired the building and renovated the interior extensively, including splitting the 3,000 seat auditorium into two smaller theatres: the Dowling Theatre, which seats 250 people, and the Chace Theatre, with seating for over 500. The building conversion also included adding on administrative offices, rehearsal spaces, and production shops, the latter of which are situated on the theatre’s original stage boards.

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Few theaters can say they’ve housed the evolution of American entertainment like this one. Now home to the Tony Award-winning Trinity Repertory Company, this space has vaudeville roots, showed blockbuster hits, and now wows audiences with live theatrical productions. The former Emery Majestic Theater was opened by local vaudevillians, the Emery Brothers, in 1917. Seating around 3,000 people, it was the largest theater in Providence at the time. When vaudeville was replaced by movies as America's favorite form of entertainment, the Majestic became downtown Providence’s premiere movie theater, showing first runs of Warner Brothers and 21st Century Fox films. However, the growth of movie theaters in the suburbs with ample parking slowed business for the Majestic, and it closed its doors in the mid-20th century.

Fortunately, the doors were not closed for long. The Majestic’s history of live performance meant the building was a natural fit to house Providence’s newly formed Trinity Repertory Company. Founded in 1963 in Upper South Providence, Trinity Rep was, and remains, a major part of Providence’s flourishing art scene. Considered “one of the most respected regional theatres in the country,” Trinity Rep is notable for having one of the last resident acting companies in the United States. The Company produces a variety of contemporary and classical plays and musicals, including an annual production of A Christmas Carol, a Rhode Island holiday tradition.

When you visit, be sure to examine the building's facade! With the exception of the iconic “Majestic” marquee, the facade retains its original elegance.

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In June 1830, the residents of Tiverton gathered for the annual town meeting, an opportunity for the freemen of the town to participate in local government. Included on the day’s agenda was a proposal to create a town farm as a refuge for the destitute and mentally ill. The creation of this “asylum for the poor” made Tiverton one of the first towns in Rhode Island to adopt a new approach to caring for local paupers.

Before the creation of poorhouses, town farms, or asylums, many communities auctioned off the poor, encouraging affluent residents to place bids for their labor as indentured servants. By the mid-1800s, the shift from farm to factory work created a new group of landless, jobless, and itinerant poor—too many to be absorbed into the traditional system. Towns viewed poor farms as a modern, humane way to combat poverty, drunkenness, and deviation from social norms, while allowing people to earn their own keep. Town leaders hoped to reform the poor through labor, while decreasing the burden on taxpayers. Spending on poor relief was often the single largest item in town budgets.

Although the freemen of Tiverton favored establishing a town farm, locating funds and deciding on suitable property was a complicated task. More than a year passed before the appointed committee purchased sixty acres of farmland from the Gray family for $4,300. The town purchased livestock for the farm and gave the committee authorization “to finish the house standing on said farm, in a good and plain manner.” By 1832, the town farm was ready for occupants.

Life was not easy for inmates. Burdened with endless chores, they raised pigs and cattle, and cultivated corn and other “grain, roots and vegetables and provisions.” Inmates lived under the strict supervision of the farm’s caretaker who lived onsite to discipline and reform the poor. Annual inspections by town officials and written accounts submitted by the Overseers of the Poor ensured that the caretaker and inmates managed resources for the benefit of the town. The overseers expected the farm to be self-sufficient, with inmates raising enough food to feed themselves.

In 1886, the Overseers of the Poor ceased keeping records for the farm, marking the beginning of a slow transition from a strictly regulated poor farm to a refuge for the elderly and disabled. A 1910 Department of Commerce report indicated that town farm housed only eight inmates, mostly single men and women, who lived in the house that the Overseers of the Poor acquired nearly a century earlier.

Ruth Manchester, a lifelong resident of Tiverton, recalled playing with the caretaker’s children and visiting the farm’s kitchen for cookies and other baked treats as a child in the 1920s. Although the town farm still ran a small dairy—selling milk to Ruth’s family and other Tiverton residents—it was no longer the agricultural venture of earlier decades. With the establishment of the Social Security Act in 1935, other options became available to those, particularly the elderly and indigent, who had once found themselves at the mercy of the Overseers of the Poor. Tiverton’s Town Farm continued to operate until 1955, when it became a private rest home, which operated until 1982.

Although a small cemetery with the unmarked graves of inmates is nearby, the house is gone and only the names of the Overseers of the Poor are preserved in Tiverton’s town records. The names and identities of those who lived and worked on the farm are lost to history.

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Jews can have religious services any place, but you need hallowed ground for a burial. Although the Newport cemetery was established in 1677, Touro Synagogue was consecrated in 1763.

Touro is the oldest Jewish cemetery in Rhode Island, established by the Sephardic Jewish immigrants originally from Spain and Portugal, who, fleeing the Inquisition, had next gone to Amsterdam and London, then to Brazil and finally Barbados. Arriving in Newport, they set up businesses dealing with shipping and commerce. Finally settled, they needed to buy land for a cemetery. While their congregation, Nephuse Israel (Scattered of Israel), did not have a building, they are considered the second oldest Jewish congregation in the United States. Land was bought by Mordechai Campanal and Moses Pacheco at the corner of what is now Kay and Touro Streets.

Who is buried in the cemetery? Almost all of those early settlers had Hispanic names: Alvares, Levy, Lopez, Rivera, Rodriguez, Seixas, Touro, and, interestingly enough, Hayes (see Longfellow’s poem below). Some of them died at a young age: Jacob Lopez (1755 - 1764), while others far exceeded the life expectancy of their era: Mrs. Judith Levy (1700 - 1788). In total, there are 44 burials, with the most recent being Edwin Rosenstein (1866). As a specifically Jewish cemetery, only Jews were buried there.

A fence was put around the plot, for which Judah Touro, Abraham’s brother, donated $11,000 in 1842. However, by 1850 the cemetery was rarely being used, as the Jewish population of Newport had fallen. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow visited the site and wrote a melancholy poem, The Jewish Cemetery at Newport, about how deserted it was;

The very names recorded here are strange,

Of foreign accent, and of different climes;

Alvares and Rivera interchange

With Abraham and Jacob of old times.

But ah! what once has been shall be no more!

The groaning earth in travail and in pain

Brings forth its races, but does not restore,

And the dead nations never rise again.

In contrast to this view, Emma Lazarus, the famous Jewish poet who wrote the words inscribed on the Statue of Liberty, wrote a rebuttal of Longfellow, In the Jewish Cemetery at Newport, with a feeling of hope at the end:

For youth and happiness have followed age,

And green grass lieth gently over all.

Nathless the sacred shrine is holy yet,

With its lone floors where reverent feet once trod.

Take off your shoes as by the burning bush,

Before the mystery of death and God.

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In June of 1776, on the highest point of ground in Newport, the Americans erected a signal beacon and a small fortification. This high point is known as Tonomi Hill, a shortening of Miantonomi, the name of the sachem of the Narragansetts when Newport was settled in 1639. According to local tradition, the Narragansetts used the hill in much the same way as the European settlers, as a lookout and signaling location.

When the British occupied Newport in December of 1776, they made Tonomi Hill a focus of their efforts to defend the city, according to Frederick Mackenzie, a British soldier who kept a detailed diary of his time spent in America. For instance, on August 10, 1777, Mackenzie reported, “A Detachment of a Captain, 2 Subs. and 100 men of the 22d Regiment, marched this day and encamped near Tonomi-hill near Newport, where they are to be employed in carrying on some works.”

On May 2, 1778, Mackenzie wrote, “The troops are employed in construction of a Redoubt on Tonomi hill, which, from the nature of the situation, is capable of being made a place of great strength, and will cover the left of our position.” On May 5, he reported, “Three of the Redoubts near the town are finished, and that on Tonomi hill nearly so. When the works intended to be made from Green-end to the shore on the left of Tonomi are finished, the town will be rendered very secure, as it is by much the best position for the purpose.”

There were actually two earthwork fortifications at this location. The first and larger is on Tonomi Hill; the second earthwork (sometimes called a “fleche”) is located on an outcrop to the north called Sunset Hill or Little Tonomi, and was connected to the main earthwork by a high ridge. After the French sent their fleet into Narragansett Bay on July 29, 1778, Mackenzie noted, “The troops were informed last night, that on three Guns being fired from the North Battery in Newport, (which is the Signal that the Enemy is landing) they are immediately to get under arms. On this Signal, Ditfourth's Regiment is to throw 200 men into Tonomi hill; 30 into the Fleche on the left of it.”

In August of 1778, when the Americans began massing troops on the north end of Aquidneck Island in preparation for an attempt to retake Newport, the British created a new front line, with Tonomi as the westernmost position. During the American siege, Mackenzie noted the role Tonomi played in defending the British position: “About 6 this afternoon about 40 Rebels took post at Potter's chimnies on our left, but some shots being fired at them from Little Tonomi & Irish's they went off. We lost no men this day by the fire of the Enemy. Our troops at work on the Line, which is now extended within 200 yards of Great Tomini.”

After the Revolution, the earthworks at Tonomi Hill remained intact due to their difficult terrain and inaccessibility. Francisco de Miranda, a Venezuelan who traveled within the former thirteen colonies after the Revolution, described the “two hills close to each other and very dominating called Tonomi hills, where there is a sufficiently capable and well constructed...redoubt.” The property surrounding the fortifications soon reverted to farmland. On October 15, 1795, William Ellery (a signer of the Declaration of Independence) was paid $10 for “levelling the earth round the Citidel on Tonomi hill,” possibly to remove the remains of the barracks or an encampment.

On his 1848 visit to Newport, the American historian Benson Lossing provided a detailed description of Tonomi Hill: “About a mile and a half northward of Newport rises a bold, rocky eminence, called ‘Tonomi Hill’, celebrated as the seat of the Narragansett sachem of that name, and the commanding site of a small fort or redoubt during the war of the Revolution. …Tonomi Hill is said to be the highest land upon the island, except Quaker Hill, toward the northern end. On its southern slope is the mansion of Mr. Hazzard. …On the top of the hill Mr. Hazzard has erected an observatory, seventy feet high, over a cellar which was dug by the Indians, and in which is a living spring of water. The hill is two hundred and seventy feet above the bay and the top of the observatory commands one of the most beautiful panoramic views in the world.”

According to a 1921 description of the area, “A dense growth of cedars now covers these hills. In the center of Tonomi Hill fort there is an observation tower, which replaced an old one blown down many years ago, from which an extensive view of Newport and its harbor and surroundings could be enjoyed.” In 1922, Newport created a city park on Tonomi Hill, which included a 90-foot tall stone memorial, supposedly on the foundation of the Tonomi Hill powder magazine.

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Eleanor Dove’s recipe for Raccoon Pot Pie was so beloved, so well-known, that it is now preserved in the Congressional Book of Records, according to her great-granddaughter. Eleanor and her husband Ferris Dove, both members of the Narragansett tribe, opened the Dovecrest Restaurant on this site in 1963 as a steakhouse. They soon began serving more traditional Narragansett foods based on recipes from Eleanor’s father. People came from all over the country to try the Dovecrest’s buffalo steak, rabbit stew, succotash, venison, and especially johnnycakes--the best in the world, as a 1981 New York Times article concluded. After several decades of culinary success, the Dovecrest Restaurant closed and the Tomaquag Museum took over its space. Today, museum visitors learn about Indigenous ways of fishing, hunting, and agricultural practices on the same spot where they used to eat johnnycakes. Many of the foods Rhode Islanders consider unique to the Ocean State’s heritage date from before the arrival of Roger Williams and other European colonists. Indigenous peoples, like the Narragansett, Wampanoag, and Nipmuc, had complex foodways that continue to influence Rhode Island cuisine. Although the Dovecrest Restaurant no longer exists, curious cooks can recreate Eleanor’s Quahog Chowder from the recipe below. Clam chowder can be a contentious topic around these parts. While the so-called New England version is creamy and thick, the Manhattan version is tomato-based. Rhode Island clam chowder, on the other hand, more closely resembles the Dovecrest’s--a clear broth, rich with salt pork, potatoes, and local quahog clams. Since dairy and tomatoes did not exist in New England prior to contact with European settlers, one might say that the Dovecrest Quahog Chowder is indeed the most Rhode Island of them all.

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The failure of the Howland Mill Village experiment may have been the final straw for New Bedford mill owners. By the end of the 19th century, they had decided to get out of the landlord business. Along with the financial and management burden of rental properties, by the 1890s housing reformers began to note the “squalid” and “pestiferous” conditions of the city’s mill-owned tenements, mounting pressure to improve workers’ living conditions. At the same time, advances in loom technology reduced the number of skilled workers, and the need for mill owners to provide incentives to attract them. By the beginning of the twentieth century, contractors built most tenements on speculation, selling them to landlord-investors who rented units to peripatetic working-class tenants. The building form they chose was the iconic New England three-decker tenement. Three-deckers first appeared in the 1850s in New England mill cities like Worcester, Providence, and Fall River. Potomska Mills built what were probably New Bedford’s first three-deckers (now demolished) in the 1870s at the intersections of Rivet and First and Second Streets. In its most basic form, a three-decker consists of three floors with a separate residence on each level, connected by a common entrance and staircase. By 1876, at least one three-decker in New Bedford included stacked front porches, a feature that characterized this form of housing by the beginning of the 20th century. Mill construction peaked in New Bedford in the first decade of the 20th century, along with a pressing need to house French Canadian workers flooding into the city. Between 1908 and 1913, 1,079 three-deckers sprung up throughout New Bedford, mostly in the North and South Ends where the majority of the mills were located. The early flat-roof and gable end forms gave way to the pyramidal hip-roofed version, which is now ubiquitous throughout the city. The typical three-decker utilizes an elongated floor plan, with the kitchen and bathroom in the rear, a multi-purpose work and eating space in the middle, and a sitting room—and sometimes a parlor—in the front.  Bedrooms were on one side or the other. Outside, a narrow side yard led to the back stairs, punctuated at intervals by small laundry porches on each floor. The back stairs served as the main entrance for most three-decker occupants. The three-deckers’ most identifiable feature—the stacked front porches, or piazzas, tucked against a protruding three-story bay—may have been the space least utilized by the tenements’ occupants. Seemingly useless embellishments on houses meant for the working poor, developers and reformers envisioned the piazzas as symbols of respectability. Their architectural detail evoked middle class housing, and their visibility would allow residents to monitor the behavior of their children, and of each other. Impractical for a class of people that had little leisure time, these porches may have proved most useful for storage. The age of the three-decker was brief. By the mid-teens, they had been singled out by reformers as a form of immoral cohabitation and inferior to single-family housing, and by xenophobes who deplored three-deckers as storehouses of immigrants. A 1916 city ordinance restricted wood frame housing to two stories, ostensibly for fire safety, but in reality, to limit the stigma of overcrowded immigrant worker housing. Today, about 1,200 three-deckers survive in New Bedford. Many of them no longer have their front porches, a result of the expense of repair and replacement and the reluctance of insurers to indemnify recent owners from the supposed hazard of three floors of open-air piazzas. In addition, the succeeding waves of Polish, Portuguese, and Central American immigrants may have prioritized other elements of these buildings—vegetable gardens and basement kitchens, for example—as a means to retain elements of their own cultures.

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Thomas Wilson Dorr has been called an unlikely people’s hero in the Rebellion that bears his name. A well-educated lawyer, Dorr hailed from an upper-crust Rhode Island family. His father, Sullivan Dorr, amassed great wealth through his dealings in the China Trade, and Dorr’s mother, Lydia (Allen) Dorr, was the sister of the prominent textile manufacturer Zachariah Allen.  

Thomas Wilson Dorr’s family aligned themselves with Samuel Ward King and the Charterites during the conflict of 1841-2. His parents even wrote to plead with him against running for governor under the People’s Constitution, but he was not dissuaded. When Dorr and his followers attempted to seize the Providence arsenal, Dorr’s father and uncle, Crawford Allen, were among the men on site to defend it. Ultimately Dorr was estranged from all in his family, apart from his mother.

Despite pressures from disapproving family members, verbal abuse from his opponents, and the disappointment of former allies changing sides, Dorr remained convinced of the righteousness of his cause. In August 1842, two months after the debacle at Chepachet, Dorr wrote a lengthy letter to his friend Williams Simons, editor of the Providence paper The Republican Herald: