Reminiscences of a town's history and its people

CORNWALL — Denis Curtiss’ childhood was totally immersed in life in West Cornwall. He shared his recollections of the village in the 1950s on a history walk, sponsored by the Cornwall Historial Society, Saturday, July 25.

A small crowd enjoyed beautiful weather and a stroll from the Covered Bridge to the top of the hill and the edge of the business district. It was a busy day in the tiny village, with locals and tourists flocking to the farmers market and scenic photo opportunities. It made it possible to imagine Curtiss’ description of a village that was once self-sufficient, with its inhabitants walking to all their errands, from groceries to the doctor’s office.

Curtiss tells his story not just in terms of the buildings and businesses, but of the people and characters who populated them. The informal tour was as fascinating for tourists as it was for locals, many of whom chimed in with their own memories.

There were two general stores within sight of each other. One might go to both, looking for something the other didn’t have. But mostly people formed an alliance with one or the other.

“It was pretty much divided up by which side of the tracks you live on,� Curtiss said.

He meant it figuratively. It would seem silly today, with only a freight train or two a day passing through.

“Back then, a lot of men took the train into Torrington to work at the factories. Trains came through all day long on a regular schedule, including a mail train,� Curtiss said. “You could get on a train at the depot and go all the way to Grand Central Station. You stayed on the same car and in Danbury they changed over to an electric engine. Before the regional high school was built, the kids went to Canaan or New Milford High School on the train.�

As a child in that era, Curtiss had the freedom to wander. His explorations gave him unique views, such as the various ways of getting under the bridge. But one did not swim in the river. Mill Brook ran through the center of town and many a sewage line was poised over it.

For about six years, Curtiss delivered the Waterbury Republican. A subscription was about 42 cents per week.

“Ten cents more if I sold you life insurance. I started at 6 a.m., and peeked in everyone’s window while they were having breakfast,� Curtiss said, suggesting he knew much of what went on in town.

He, of course, remembers the great flood of 1955, which just missed his family’s home on Route 128, just above the former Yutzler’s store. It coursed down the path of Mill Brook and into the Housatonic River, sparing most of the buildings. He described the devastation of Bate’s Meat Market and efforts to save the cooler inventory.

“Things really didn’t change that much. It’s not like the whole village was wiped out,� he said. “It has mainly become a bookmark in our memories. Anyone who was here at the time can recall that something happened either before or after the flood.�

Curtiss’ smallest memories are perhaps the most fascinating. He told of all the buildings left unpainted, either because the wood siding didn’t need it for protection or people simply could not afford it.

Jeremy Brecher, who attended the tour, told about a Saturday Evening Post ad for a story about a depressed Appalachian town.

“They obviously bought a stock photo. It was actually West Cornwall with its unpainted buildings.�

At Bill Bierce’s general store, one could buy gasoline from a hand-cranked pump inside. The collection of buildings behind the depot were all originally built as part of a lumberyard.

Behind the depot, there was once a wooden shelf with three holes in it, placed up high.

“You could set your child on the shelf to do his business,� Curtiss said.

There was the mysterious woman — at least to the curious neighborhood children — who only walked the streets at night, and another who drove her 1932 Ford only to church on Sundays. The barber who, likely in violation of today’s health code, puckered up and blew the clippings off his clients’ necks.

There was Harry Root, who was found after the flood in the brook, blissfully gathering the cans and bottles of beer that washed downstream from the destroyed meat market.

“Harry used to steal clothes hung out to dry. He’d be sentenced to a day in jail, and ask for three. He eventually burned his own house down and died later from his injuries.�

The local plumber was Joe Berman, who also dropped whatever he was doing to collect the mail from the train, and who always connected the hot water taps on the right.

Oscar DeGreenia had a pride of cats that followed him everywhere.

“He would take them down to the bridge, swing them by the tail and throw them into the river so they could swim back clean.�

A new ladder truck  “famous for saving chimneys and foundations,â€� didn’t quite fit into the former firehouse, so a hole was punched in the back wall.

Brad Walker, the Yale-educated medical doctor, would treat his patients with a cigarette dangling from his lips. He also served as the pharmacist, keeping gallons of cough syrup and “millions of pills� on the premises. He dispensed pills in little envelopes he licked to seal, wrote the intended patient’s names on them and left them in the unlocked entryway to his office where folks could pick them up after hours. There was never a theft, to anyone’s knowledge.

“Bums would get off the train. They would come with coffee cans looking for water,� Curtiss said. “My grandmother told me not to give them any because they would mix it with this powdered wood alcohol they got somewhere so they could get drunk. Well, they managed to get drunk anyway. They’d sit under a tree, sleep it off, and get back on the train. They sometimes did chores for money or food, and they never really bothered anyone.�

Jerry Blakey, another Cornwall native, remembers there was always at least one liquor store, and heard back then that the population of Cornwall consumed more alcohol than any other Connecticut town.

One of the great things about living in a small town, Curtiss said, was the familiarity.

“Most everyone had a phone,� Curtiss recalled. “I’ll never forget our phone number. It was 41J. All calls were handled by a manual switchboard. My mom was the secretary to the lawyer in town, but she wasn’t always at the office. If I was looking for her, I picked up the phone and got the operator, Florence Benedict. I didn’t even have to say my name. I would ask her if she knew where my mom was, and she always did.�

The next walk, on Aug. 22, will focus on Cornwall Bridge.