The Hikers

Originally Published August 24, 2016 by Steve LeClaire

It was John MacLaren who suggested in about 1923 that the young ladies in his parish start a “Young Woman’s Club”. The first president was Maude ( Ray ) MacLaren, who had married Reverend John’s son Harold in 1913. Sutton was a small town, and everyone knew everyone.

Rev. John McFarlane MacLaren was pastor of the First Congregational Church of Sutton from 1916 to 1924. Born in Greenock, Scotland, he came to Thompsonville, Connecticut and married Ada Logan in 1886. All of their children; William, Alta, Harold, Grace, and James Eion, were born in Connecticut. The last, Edward, was born in Worcester. The family moved to Sutton and into the parsonage in Sutton Center when Rev. John became minister. The family quickly assimilated into Sutton and its culture.

One of Rev. MacLaren’s Deacons was Dexter Alonzo Brigham. Dexter Alonzo’s father, Dr. John Brigham had settled first on the old Whticomb place, which almost 100 years later would become Pleasant Valley Country Club. In 1873, the Brighams moved to the Royal Penniman estate on Leland Hill, naming it “Calmer Farm”. They would farm there for almost 80 years.

Fast forward to the 1920’s. Deacon Dexter A. Brigham’s son John Dexter –a big strapping farm boy freshly discharged from the Army in World War One, would eventually court and marry the minister’s daughter Grace, firmly cementing the MacLaren-Brigham relationship bridge in Sutton. Tradition says that young John Dexter Brigham would ride his motorcycle from the family farm on Leland Hill up to the Sutton Center parsonage to court the minister’s young daughter, Grace. There may have been some sideways glances or raised eyebrows, but in due time Miss MacLaren became Mrs. John Brigham and both became respected members of the church and Sutton community.

Grace Brigham became the dutiful farmer’s wife at Calmer Farm on Leland Hill. The farm operated a dairy and raised many chickens, but was mainly a produce and truck farm, as vegetable farms were known then. John Brigham and his International truck were a common sight on his vegetable route into Worcester. “Calmer Farm” was a progressive farm, and eventually boasted having the first rubber tired tractor in Sutton. Tractors had steel wheels then, but Brigham purchased his 1935 John Deere on rubber. Other farms scowled at first, doubting its prowess and usefulness, but soon there were rubber tired tractors all over Sutton. John Brigham knew. He’d been to Stockbridge Agricultural where he’d been a star athlete as well as a avid student of farming.

Reverened John MacLaren suggested to his congregation in the 1920’s that they start a young women’s group. Many of the women agreed it would be a good idea. Some were newlyweds, some had small children already, and some were raising teens. The first president was Maude ( Ray ) MacLaren, who had married Rev. MacLaren’s son Harold in 1913. The MacLarens lived on Uxbridge Road, just up the hill from the common and the church. Harold worked as a construction superintendent.

Eunice ( Perry ) King, and her husband Arthur lived just a bit further up Uxbridge Rd , right about where Bond Hollow Rd forks off to the right. Arthur was in the cattle business, having purchased his farm in 1921. Eunice was a 1914 graduate of the then relatively new ( 1908) Sutton High School building on Singletary Ave. In time, Eunice would become an active worker in town, interested in organizations of the church, school and Grange. She would go on to hold many important offices in these groups and serve on countless committees. She would become a register of voters for many years. She would be High School Librarian in my lifetime. A town scholarship still exists in her name. But as a young woman in the 1920’s, she quickly joined her neighbors in the newly formed young women’s club. Years later, John and Grace Brigham’s son Donald – a talented artist - would paint a beautiful mural depicting fields, trees and cattle on the two huge doors of King’s farm truck garage on Uxbridge Road.

A couple of the members of the Women’s Group lived up in the Eight Lots district. Nelson Gerber inherited his father’s share of the large brick house and estate ( now owned by Dan Moroney ) in 1927. He’d married Miss Dora Ann Rau of Rockville, Conn in 1911. Dora Gerber became an active member of the little group. The Gerbers were farmers. Before the elder Gerber had passed in 1925, the farm was divided and a tract of 276 acres across the road was sold to George Thompson and his wife, Miss Mamie Stratton of Grafton. The Thompsons were farmers as well. Mamie joined the Young Women’s Club at the urging of her neighbor, Dora Gerber.

Another member was Mrs. Milton Holbrook, or ‘Ruth’ as she was called. The Holbrooks lived next to the Sherman Blacksmith shop, in the house currently occupied by Mark and Audrey Brigham. (the great grandson of Rev. John MacLaren!)

Of course the minister’s daughters became members of the Young Women’s Club. Alta Irene MacLaren, who never married joined, as did her younger sister Grace (MacLaren) Brigham.

So, the group of young women continued to meet, assist in church affairs, and share lunches and ‘teas’ at each other’s homes. A sub section of the group – the aforementioned women - got together to share their enjoyment of quilting. They would gather at each other’s homes and work on beautiful quilts together. One day, gathered around the watering trough in front of the Brick Block in Sutton Center, Dora Gerber jokingly said that if they would “hike” to her home in Eight Lots District on the Oxford line she would serve a chicken dinner. The five others took her up on it. The second “hike” was to the Brigham Farm at the Northbridge line. From those two hikes the six “Hikers” met once a month at a member’s home and made bed quilts. Thus was born, ‘the Hikers’.

The Hikers had no official status or standing. The name was an unofficial moniker given them by townspeople who saw the little group walking about town to each other’s homes, merely for the exercise and comradery. The ladies were a sub-group within the larger Young Women’s Club, of which they were the backbone as it was. However, they continued to exist and meet throughout the 1930’s and the Second World War years of the 1940’s as ‘the Hikers’.

The War took John and Grace Brigham’s eldest son John Dexter Jr. off to service with the Navy in 1942. Dexter survived the kamikaze attack on board the Belleauwood in the pacific. Son Robert served in the Army of Occupation from 1946 through 1948. Later, youngest son Jim served with the Navy during the Korean War on board the USS Midway. Prior to the start of the war, John Brigham Sr. had scaled down his farm operations, leaving the work to his sons and hired hands. John joined the US Post Office as a mail carrier. Grace cared for her family while she continued her work with the church and meetings with The Hikers. She baked a mean apple pie, and homemade donuts.

Harold & Maude MacLaren’s son John likewise went off to war, serving with the US Army throughout Scotland, England, Africa and Sicily. Son George, known as ‘Midge’ entered the service in 1942 and flew fifty missions in combat with the 15th Air Force, and was awarded several medals. Arthur & Eunice King’s son David entered the service in 1946 and served with the 25th Infantry Division on Occupation duty in Japan.

The Hikers still got together once a month, hiked shorter distances, worked within the church group, and maintained close family friendships. World War Two and then the Korean War ended, and the heroes returned to the blue star mothers. The prosperous 1950’s began. Sutton was looking forward to its 250th anniversary in 1954. The town planned a large celebration, including a massive parade, spectacular fireworks, historical displays, religious services, and a festive ball.

This is when The Hikers made themselves heard. “Wouldn’t it be nice to include Purgatory Chasm and State Park in some way?” Maude MacLaren suggested. The Purgatory State Reservation had been established in 1919 through the efforts of Sutton’s own Herbert L. Ray, a former member of the State legislature, and father of Maude Ray MacLaren. A large portion of the park, including the chasm itself, was acquired from the Whitin Machine Works in neighboring Whitinsville. In 1950, John C. Dudley and Flora H. Dudley gave the 70 acre John H. Dudley Memorial Forest to the town, in memory of their son, who was killed in action over Sicily in 1943. Another Hiker quickly agreed that Purgatory should be utilized; “Yes, but how?” It was suggested by a Hiker that perhaps the church would sponsor a picnic breakfast at Purgatory. With the agreement of the church, the Hikers agreed to spearhead the planning of the breakfast, to be held on Monday, September 6th 1954 – Labor Day – as part of the big 250th celebration.

With the help of Park Superintendent Charlie Graveline, the breakfast was planned to be held in the parking lot near the pavilion at the entrance to the chasm. The church and its kitchen workers helped. Volunteers from the local farms offered their trucks and helped to gather all the wooden picnic tables from throughout the park, and bring cooking gear from the church.

John Brigham was responsible for making coffee. He stoked the wood and charcoal fires in the stone fireplaces and boiled huge pots of water. His son “Dexter” cooked on one of the grills. Charcoal grills were made from metal barrels cut in half length-wise, and placed on metal stands. Thick, sheet metal rectangular, pans on top formed the grills. Grace Brigham handed out homemade donuts. Ruth Holbrook and her daughter June, as well as June’s friend Doris Jones passed out donuts and little boxes of cereal. The MacLarens all worked the grills, flipping thousands of pancakes and slices of ham. There were other members of the church that helped by preparing the batter, stocking the grills, and rolling plastic silverware into paper napkins. Alden Perry cracked and fried eggs, along with Bucky Smith. Alden’s father, Norman Perry and “The Maples” supplied the refrigerated milk truck to keep milk cold. My mother, Betty Benjamin – secretary for the 250th celebration itself – poured coffee. A few weeks later she’d meet and begin dating my future dad. The first breakfast was a huge success by all accounts.

The breakfast continued annually for over 50 years. With the demise of The Maples farm, Eaton’s Dairy eventually supplied milk. Over time, the children of the originators helped and then took things over completely. Dexter Brigham was chairman for several years. He and his brother Jim manned the grills. Dexter’s son Mark eventually helped, flipping his share of pancakes. Ed MacLaren’s son Ben joined in, grilling ham as I recall. Bucky Smith’s son Andy took over on the egg grill. Jack Perry assisted his father Alden in grilling ham. The grills became tightly controlled, and highly coveted spots in the assembly line breakfasts. It became a joke that in order to work one of the grills, you had to be bequeathed a spot in the cook’s will. It was a badge of honor to work at the Purgatory/Labor Day Breakfast. By the 1970’s it was an annual tradition to get a couple of Bucky’s eggs, Alden’s ham and Dexter’s pancakes, as well as Grace Brigham’s donuts and June Holbrook’s cereal. John Brigham still poured coffee. He’d work long hours through the night before, in the kitchen of the church – boiling coffee and pouring it into large 40 quart milk cans to be transported to the Chasm in the morning. My dad helped my mother pour coffee too, and when I was old enough in my high school years, I helped pour too. The annual breakfast became a “must attend” social event of the year. Soon, there were busloads of out of towners attending. Motorcycle groups planned fall rides around attending the Labor Day Breakfast in Sutton. Long lines formed, and sometimes people waited hours for tickets. It was no matter. People socialized and saw folks that they didn’t normally cross paths with. It became a town reunion of sorts. Politicians, local and state all came to shake hands and lightly solicit votes. The breakfast became profitable, and I remember my father writing ‘rain insurance’ for the organization in case the breakfast had to be cancelled due to inclement weather. For years, he had to meet the local meteorologist from Worcester Airport to measure and determine any precipitation. The policy rarely if ever paid off, the sun was often bright and clear over Sutton on many a crisp morning - and my dad and the weatherman would simply enjoy a hearty breakfast together.

By the late 1970’s and early 1980’s the next generation had taken over the heavy labor, but The Hikers remained at the center of it all. They obviously aged each year, and finally relegated themselves to sitting at the head of the line taking tickets and greeting the patrons. Many of the women retained their plaid 250th anniversary hats, and wore them proudly. They passed out token advertising items provided by local business sponsors such as yardsticks and rulers, bag clips and calendars, inflatable sponges and refrigerator magnets. Through the years, the efforts of the Hikers and their spouses have brought in a substantial amount of money, given to the First Congregational Church. Fire victims have been recipients of handmade quilts and money when disasters struck. The Hikers were the revered matrons of Sutton.

Alta MacLaren only saw the first three breakfasts, passing away in August of 1957 at age 67. And just a year before the first breakfast, the Tornado of 1953 had flattened Calmer Farm and the Brigham’s home on Leland Hill. Choosing not to rebuild, John and Grace built a small home on Boston Road and relocated. Grace passed away in 1983 at age 87, followed by John in 1990 at age 92. Nelson & Dora Gerber sold their farm on Eight Lots Road to Paul Libbey, and moved to a small house on Boston Road, at the base of Hovey Hill. I think Eunice King was the last living Hiker.

By the time fifty years had passed at Sutton’s 300th anniversary in 2004, the original Hikers were all long gone and the First Congregational Church had officially taken over the organization of the Labor Day Breakfast. The ‘breakfast’ had been moved to the Sutton Center Common, as it was becoming too difficult to set up a huge outdoor kitchen in Purgatory. Although a necessary and practical move, the atmosphere just wasn’t quite the same. However, the sensible Church workers wanted the option of being able to move inside quickly should it rain, which for whatever reason seemed to happen slightly more frequently than in the past. At least in my memory, I don’t think the breakfast has ever had to be cancelled outright. Different traditions are born each year as new members of the community mingle with the old timers and are welcomed into the culture that is Sutton.

The original women never forgot their trysting place either – the watering trough in the intersection in front of the Brick Block - and had kept it in bloom during the summer and green during the winter. That ‘trough’, the black and white striped iron pipe now sits in front of the Blacksmith Shop as a lasting tribute.

These were The Hikers:

Miss Alta MacLaren

Grace Brigham (Mrs. John D.)

Ruth Holbrook (Mrs. Milton L.)

Eunice King (Mrs. Arthur E.)

Maud MacLaren (Mrs. Harold L.)

Mamie Thompson (Mrs. George)

Dora Gerber (Mrs. Nelson, Sr.)

Monday, September 6, 1954 - “Picnic Style Breakfast” at Purgatory Chasm State Reservation

Home of Arthur E. King

The Blue Jay

Originally Published January 15, 2020 by Steve LeClaire

I’d love to know who held the first ‘Common Victualler’ license in the town of Sutton. I’d be willing to bet Lazarus Lebaron’s tavern in Wally Johnson’s former (ok, George Funari’s current) house would be a contender. Many an 18th century traveler, weary and dusty from rumbling over dirt road by horse and wagon probably quaffed a mug of ale or dined on a slice of meat, bread or cheese while enjoying Lazarus’ hospitality. Sutton’s hospitality roots run deep.

Besides various taverns, where did the locals go? From 1931 to 1941 my grandmother ran ‘Singletary Farm’, in the building that now houses St Mark’s Catholic Church Rectory. Sutton’s youth could sometimes be found at the barn dances in good weather, but you could hardly call what was offered there ‘fast food’ or even ‘informal dining’. Singletary Farm was a little more ‘upscale’ than that, at least in my grandmother’s mind. She called it a ‘tea-room’. You got a good meal, but you also got gracious hospitality.

Herbert L. Ray had a small store just south of their house in Sutton Center, next to Sutton’s first high school. Here they sold “ice cream and tonics, cigars and tobacco.” I also read in town reports of the day that Mrs. Ray served a hot lunch that the school kids could purchase for a dime in the 1920’s and 30’s. My Mom always noted that everybody referred to him as “Hog Ray”, for reasons that likely have been taken to the graves of his many customers.

As the automotive age dawned, and the ease of mobility increased, diners and roadside stops sprung up to meet the needs of travelers. Car hops like The Flying Saucer over on route 20 drew kids, as did Speedy’s on Shrewsbury Street in Worcester. I remember the crinkly cut fries served in red & white striped boxes at The Flying Saucer. What a special treat to go for those! Those were quintessential 1950’s roadside car hops, and Sutton had its share of informal eating joints as well. Doris & Nick VanTwyver’s “Doris & Nick’s” on Central Turnpike, Red and Jenny Labrie’s “Corey’s Hot Dogs”, as well as Henry & Bea Lavoie’s “Henry’s Lunch”, both on the Southbound side of Route 146, and John and Rose Mooskian’s “Pleasant Valley Restaurant” diner on the northbound side. You got good, quick meals, albeit served across a Formica counter.

There was Vern’s in Manchaug, which was known for steamers and fried chicken in a basket. But when I was a kid growing up in the 1960’s, the place that held eminent fascination – and was ‘the’ place to go in Sutton - was The Blue Jay.

Known over the years as The Blue Jay Club, Blue Jay Four Corners, Blue Jay Lobster Pond, The Blue Jay, and finally simply as The Jay, this famed Sutton eatery and bar served Sutton well. The Sutton town history does not address the venue’s heyday, but certainly traces its origins. It says: “On the southeast corner of the junction of the roads, S. Martin Shaw sold land to C.E. LaRochelle of Whitinsville in 1931. This was in the days of prohibition and Mr. Larochelle erected a gas station. He maintained that a bus line was to be opened through the town and this would be a stopping place. The gas station turned into a dime and dance hall, known as The Blue Jay Club. In a few years Mr. Larochelle sold to William Bellargeon, who later sold to Ulysses Paquin. The Paquins made an apartment over the club and lived there with sons Ronald and Warren.

Details of how the Blue Jay got started or got its name are sketchy at best. An article in the Millbury-Sutton Chronicle in 2010 stated that: “In the 1920’s, 25 men collaborated to purchase a schoolhouse on a spot known as Plummers Corner (in Whitinsville – currently Ocean State Job Lot) and moved the building to its present location around 1932.” Whether or not the town history implies that Larochelle or Paquin sold illicit booze during prohibition (which ended in 1933) is lost to facts and interpretation. But, for the next 20 years it was known as a bar with a 5 room apartment on the 2nd floor. The original building was encapsulated into The Blue Jay as renovations and expansions were made as the business grew.

In 1950, George & Helen Mosher, along with their two sons Richard and Ed purchased the business and molded the restaurant into the family friendly eatery that would become known throughout the region for seafood. Richard, who had been an accountant – and his wife Barbara would become the face of the business during its heyday, before turning it over to their sons.

Under the Mosher family ownership, The Blue Jay was one of very few full service – full menu restaurants in town. ‘The Jay’ was strategically located at the intersection of Putnam Hill Road and Central Turnpike – the true geographical center of Sutton. In the 1950’s, it became a destination place to go. There was always a good crowd and the booths, counter and dining room would be filled during the summer months with patrons from the various campgrounds around Manchaug Lake. It was not ‘fine, elegant dining’, but The Jay served good, wholesome homemade food. They claimed generous portions in the American tradition. Folks traveled from Rhode Island, Connecticut and beyond just for the live lobsters and fried clam dinners.

One of the earliest additions became one of the most enduring symbols. The Moshers had a custom built lobster pond installed – basically a series of fiberglass tanks that turned fresh water into salt water. The ‘pond’ was designed to hold as many as 2000 lobsters at once. Guests were welcome to walk up to the pond and choose their lobster to be immediately cooked. The lobster tanks were wonders to behold, full of live wriggling crustaceans, their massive claws pegged or rubber banded for safety. This writer stared into those tanks for what seemed like hours, fascinated by the lobsters. We wanted to poke at them and pick them up, but were always admonished by the grownups to ‘leave the lobsters alone’.

This writer remembers the Blue Jay dairy bar. The dairy bar room was on the north side of the building, facing Central Turnpike. A large paved parking lot sat between the building and the road, where cars could pull right up to the building. The parking lot surrounded the front three sides. A covered porch wrapped around the main entrance on the front northwest corner. Entering from the parking lot, one first encountered the sound of running water from the lobster tanks immediately to one’s right. A half- dozen booths lined the wall to the left, against the parking lot side. This wall was lined with large picture windows, looking out over the parking lot.

The Jay was the personification of a 1950’s roadside restaurant. A Jukebox held all the hits of the day on 45 rpm records. Control mechanisms were at each booth where for a quarter (a dime maybe?) you could select your song. The sounds of Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Patsy Cline, and Fats Domino were juxtapositioned with a homogeneous blending of white bread pop from Perry Como, Andy Williams, Pat Boone & Patti Page. The jukebox played softly in the background to the clink of glasses, and the sounds of silverware on plates – added to the gentle flow of water over the lobsters. A row of eight chrome and red vinyl stools were anchored to the floor in front of the counter. Behind the counter was a lengthy grill and service area, decked out in gleaming steel, looking similar to the slick and sleek Airstream travel trailers Dick Mosher began selling in the adjacent parking lot. Even well into the 1970’s, the dairy bar seemed just like on the TV show “Happy Days”. The work area against the wall contained a grill where the burgers and grilled cheese sandwiches were made, along with a milk shake machine and sink for washing dishes.

The Blue Jay was THE place to go for teens in the 1950’s and 60’s. I never saw it empty. Dick Mosher treated the high school basketball team to dinner when they won the Clark Tournament in 1958. It was a huge deal. Those kids said they felt like celebrities, in their letter jackets. George Lamothe, the captain and star of that team, later reflected, “We celebrated at the Blue Jay after that win [the Clark championship game, a 4-point victory over North Brookfield. That was like going to Las Vegas. We thought we were pretty slick when we could go to the Blue Jay. It didn’t matter that there wasn’t any place else to go.”Burgers, fries and milkshakes. Happy Days.

The connection of the Blue Jay and Sutton sports remained strong over the years. The Mosher boys all played baseball, with Andy captaining the Sammie baseball team in 1978. Dick Mosher sponsored one of the original and enduring teams in the Sutton Little League, who wore “Blue Jay Lobster Pond” proudly in blue across their uniforms and created strong teams in the late 60s and early 70s under coaches Bill Eklund and Nelson Towle. It was the tradition each year that the winning team (whether “Blue Jay” or another team) would drive from the Little League field by the old high school (actually they were driven by their parents as they were ages 10-12)_to celebrate at the Blue Jay with milk shakes from the dairy window. Never would a milk shake at any other point in a celebrating players’ life taste as good as on that night. The Moshers also sponsored Sutton’s sole Babe Ruth league team in those years, “Mosher Trailer”, and once again the Blue Jay was the venue for celebrations of championships won by that team, including the Worcester County Babe Ruth championship in 1972.

‘The Jay’ provided gainful employment for a host of Sutton kids as dishwashers and busboys, including future Sutton police chief John Hebert who learned to cook there. The Mosher’s kids Ricky, Gary, Andy and Beth all worked at the restaurant. A host of Sutton women waitressed there. It seemed Blanche Bottomly worked there forever. The waitresses had one table down by the door to the kitchen where they sat and smoked, clinching endless cigarette butts into an ash tray.

There was a dining room in what was probably the original part of the building. In my youth, I don’t recall seeing it used much; we only ate on the dairy bar side when we were fortunate enough to go to The Jay. Later on in perhaps the early 80’s, I do recall going to a wedding reception there, as well as Lion’s Club meetings and the like.

Dick & Barbara Mosher eventually employed all of their children including their three sons Richard Jr, Gary and Andrew, who spent years co-owning the restaurant with each other. A daughter Elizabeth, would be killed in an auto accident in Sutton in 1971 while a senior in high school. Richard and Barbara said the ability to give hundreds of local adolescents their first job was an additional bonus they enjoyed over the years.

The Moshers sold their business three times and purchased it back twice, all while managing the demands of an RV business in Texas. The Moshers estimated they invested $200,000 in the eatery when they reacquired it in 1986. Holiday weekends routinely grossed over $10,000 apiece – impressive considering lobster dinners sold for $2.50 each plus sides for a long time.

During the early 1980’s, the business was owned and operated by Genevieve and William H. “Duke” Carlo. A young Patricia Fanning, who lived up Putnam Hill Road within walking distance of the Jay, worked there as a waitress while in college. Pat and her family now live in Dudley and she shared some recollections for this article:

“For the duration of 25 years of growing up in Sutton, The Blue Jay Lobster Pond was a beacon for me. It was always there to signal that I was almost home. It also served as a prominent landmark when giving directions to our house over the years. As a young kid I remember walking the 1/4 mile down Putnam Hill Road with friends to enter the outer entrance to the Blue Jay to press our noses against the glass to peer into the gurgling dark pools holding the live lobsters. Occasionally, we’d go inside and get a milkshake at the counter and be able to see the lobsters without glass between us. Who knew that in the little old landlocked town of Sutton there would be a seafood specialty restaurant with live lobsters?!?! I waitressed at the Blue Jay while in college in the early 1980’s for a couple of years. By then the Mosher family had sold it to Duke and Jenny Carlo. I had a lot of fun while working there because I worked with Lisa Bailey (now Andrews) who I knew from high school and we became good friends during this time. I usually worked Thursday through Sunday nights. There was quite a cast of characters working there. Blanche Bottomly, was a very stern (with us young waitresses anyway) bartender and didn’t too often crack a smile with us, but she seemed well liked by the patrons. She’d been there a long time. The nighttime bartender was usually Paula Theodore (now Smith) who was closer in age to us and was very nice. Those are the two bartenders that I remember most. One of the highlights of the bar for me was when Gene Harmon brought in his pet skunk Waddles and let him walk right down the center of the bar. His fur was soft and thick and patrons seemed to get a kick out of him. He was tame and de-scented. There were a lot of regulars in the bar side. Edgar Leonard, who was a school bus driver. Paul “Captain Hook” Stanford, the welder who lived up on the top of Putnam Hill Rd. He had prosthetic hooks for arms. Sometimes for a joke, he would drop his fake ear into an unsuspecting patron’s glass of beer. Bill Harting spent a lot of time at the bar. And you could always find at least one of the Stevensons. The mainstays of the waitresses were the head waitress Rozy Paciorkowaki, who was an older (to me) stout woman with her brown hair coiled intricately on top of her head. I often wondered how long her hair really was. There was Penny Schroeder, who could walk faster than any human being I’ve ever met and was an extremely nice person. Penny’s husband Phil was a nice guy also and he used to come into the bar and he had a nickname for me; “ Peppermint Patty”. At the end of the night after closing, we’d all sit at the big round waitress table where Jenny would send Lisa and I over to the bar to get a round or two of drinks, as we balanced our checks and the cash drawer each night. Two tips stand out in my mind, the first tip was over $50 on just over a $100 bill. It was an extended family of about 6 people and I chased them out into the parking lot thinking they left too much in error, but they said no, they left it on purpose. This college student was very grateful. The other memorable tip was from a party of 2 young guys from Millbury. One left me a dime, in addition to a descent tip, and his phone number on a napkin. We ended up dating for a couple of months. 🙂 I learned things from the chefs too. Tony Wolochowicz, who was Jenny Carlo’s nephew, showed me how to put lobsters to sleep by standing them upright on their faces and rubbing the tops of their heads. He once had a lineup of about 6 or 7 lobsters “sleeping” on his workspace, about to be put into a boiling pot of water. It could have all been a joke, but they all stayed still as stone. From a very volatile and loud chef named David, I learned to pick up my order promptly or run the risk of a knife being tossed at you when you did show up to lick up an order. David didn’t last too long. Jenny was known for her salad bar, which was massive. It was the bane of my existence setting it up each day and worse, breaking it down at night and cleaning the containers. I think it was that darn salad bar that finally drove me to seek a different job and an ended up in a store in the Auburn Mall until I graduated from college and got a ‘real’ job.”

By the 80s and into the 90s and early 2000s, the Blue Jay became the central social center for people in town, a magnet like gathering place for town regulars and former residents returning for Christmas, Thanksgiving or the like, and a welcoming place where you know you would run into old friends and continue long running conversations, much like an old time town tavern. The bar where this occurred was not high end or flashy, but it had a friendly, familiar, warm, safe and townie vibe, in contrast, for example, to places like JJ’s on Route 146 where biker gangs tended to dominate the crowd during this same time period.

Andy Mosher was the last family member to run the business, undertaking major renovations in 1986. Sutton contractor Tom Judson did the work of remodeling the dairy bar, removing the long time dairy bar counter down the side, and changing it to a 3-sided counter at one end of the room. I remember having the first official breakfast there, at 6:00am on the morning Andy opened. I wanted to be his first customer to wish him luck, and he gladly cooked my ham, eggs and home fries himself.

The Blue Jay burned to the ground in December of 2005, while under the ownership and operation of Edward Kooyomjian Jr. It was believed that an electrical short circuit started a fire in a grease trap ventilation system. The fire quickly spread throughout the old building, which soon became totally engulfed. In googling some background for this story, I found a scant few reviews and mention of “The Jay” while under the Kooyomijian ownership. The bar remained a friendly watering hole for the locals, the old dairy bar side was moderately successful as a breakfast destination. But sadly, ‘The Jay’s’ time had come.

The remains of the building sat until May of 2009 when the burnt structure was finally removed. The fenced in cellar hole foundation remained until construction of the new Sutton Police Station began. The concrete foundation was knocked down, broken up and taken away. Out of the ashes, rose Sutton's new police station. I'd like to think that on a quiet night, if you listen just right, you can still hear the laughter from the bar. And maybe, if the breeze is just right, police chief Dennis Towle gets a whiff of french fries through his office air vent.

The 2010 Chronicle article featured the Mosher family and “The Jay”. Andrew Mosher was quoted as saying, “We used to have customers that would come into the Blue Jay, pour their own coffee, and even clear up a table every once in a while. I think it had the sort of local style that people miss today.” The Blue Jay and its long history are fondly remembered.

The Election

Originally Published January 6, 2016 by Steve LeClaire

As we’ve turned the page on 2015 and entered the craziness of the election year of 2016, my mind goes back to 1968 and when I first became aware of politics and what elections were all about.

1968 was one crazy year. I was only nine years old, but I became far more aware of the larger world around me during my tenure as a fourth grader that year. Certainly I was growing up, but world events were crowding in on us. A lot happened that year. In January, the Viet Cong launched the Tet offensive in Vietnam. Nixon entered the race for president in February. In March, Bobby Kennedy followed suit. In April, Martin Luther King was shot. In June, Andy Worhol was shot. Bobby Kennedy was assassinated. I’ll never forget those ghastly black and white images in Time magazine.

Good stuff happened too. 1968 was the “Summer of Love”. Apollo Seven was launched, followed by Eight in December. The Beatles released The White Album, on the heels of Sgt Pepper the year before. Girls went to San Fransisco with flowers in their hair. Heady times. In our insular world in Sutton, the presidential election was big news. Probably following their parent’s ideology, many kids were for Richard Nixon. Heated discussions broke out on the playground as to who we would vote for if we could.

The Sutton Elementary school decided to make the elections of 1968 a teaching event. The administration at school planned that they would give us a lesson in government, and hold student council elections modeled after the national election procedures. Each class would nominate candidates who would be allowed to campaign and run for office. Somehow, someone nominated me, and I hesitantly began my first campaign for office.

Each of the students running gathered all his or her friends into their own campaign headquarters and made posters. We were allowed to hang them up in the classrooms and hallways. The clutter spilled into the cafeteria. The political feeding frenzy and back stabbing began as each candidate attempted to sway their classmates to their camp. The school began to look like a department store/garage sale/carnival, with huge banners and flags stuck up everywhere. Balloons and streamers. The quest for power had us little candidates salivating. Friendships were divided as the political camps were set up by popularity. Bribery on the playground was rampant, as candidates traded lunch snacks for potential votes. The administration intervened in a feeble attempt at damage control, and told us that only two posters would be allowed per candidate, and that after recess that day we would all do our part in tidying up the school. We all ran through the halls at recess and gleefully ripped down each other’s best posters, destroying them. I watched, crushed as someone from the ‘enemy camp’ tore down my biggest poster within seconds. I’d worked on it all week at home with my grandmother. It was chaos, and we hadn’t even had ‘the primaries’.

Once the rules of campaign issues were straightened out, we had a big political rally in the cafeteria. Reporters from the Telegram and Gazette were there. The event was recorded for posterity on the school’s black and white Betamax TV camera. Each candidate was allowed to speak in front of the entire student body and state his platform and pledge his goals. I’m sure my grandmother coached me and probably “ghost wrote” my speech, because I spoke of honesty, integrity of office, and my pledge to do right, and try my best to get things done. It proved to be the wrong tack given my audience. Some of the other kids made some pretty amazing campaign “pledges”. Someone suggested a go cart track built around the school along with free hot dogs at a snack stand. One girl said she would build a beauty parlor in the Nurse’s office. The roar and applause that greeted these two candidates was deafening.

Third grader Donald Eaton spoke, “Fellow students: Every day when we come to school there is a strict rule of line up, silence, and order. If I’m elected, at least one day a week, we’ll have no line-up, no silence and no order! Second, I understand certain teachers inspect their classes for clean fingernails, clean ears and handkerchiefs. I say, lets inspect the teachers for the same! Third: I’ll tell the cooks to serve grinders every week, ice cream every dessert, and to carry our trays to our tables. Last, We can’t forget (Superintendent ) Mr. Spence. When we are sent to his office, it’s a rather long and frightful walk. I say, have escalators to take us there. If I’m elected for vice president, I promise to fulfill these duties!” T&G reporter and Sutton resident Alice Anderson wrote the following:

“Reid Kneeland, candidate for fourth grade president floored the delegation. Bespectacled, studious-looking and impressively dressed in his cub scout uniform, Reid addressed the crowd: “Ladies and gentlemen. . . Sure I’d love to see a swimming pool in the multi- purpose room and a gas cart track around the school building. Maybe even a beauty shop in the library for the girls. But are these reasonable requests? Oh no! You can bet our town fathers would think these requests to be ridiculous! But, I will repeat –and I will repeat again and again – I will work as hard as I possibly can to carry out your wishes for making our school a better place for all of us! Remember, Ask not what your school can do for you, but what you can do for your school.”

As I recall, Reid did win the election for class president. He was a popular kid and smart.

My ‘honesty and integrity’ speech fell pretty flat to a smattering of polite applause compared to some of the grand illusions of other students. I didn’t win, but waged a good campaign.

We heard through the parent grapevine that the whole process was deemed a fiasco by the administration, and they vowed not to try it again. I remember there were a few quiet student council meetings to appease the elected, but the teachers didn’t really let them do anything at all. The whole process was dropped. The administration saw itself losing control, and of course they couldn’t have that. It was the age of ‘Question authority’, and the beginnings of ‘tune in, turn on and drop out’. Our little elementary school election was nothing compared to the High School’s dress code protest and student walk out a few years later. That got little Sutton live television coverage!

Over at the high school, the students staged a walkout one afternoon, protesting the school dress code. Both boys and girls showed up in bell bottom blue jeans, flannel shirts, tie dyed T-shirts, work boots and the pre-requisite army fatigue jacket. None of this was allowable under the current dress code. Television news crews from Boston showed up, and the administration would not comment. Boy students wore their hair long over their collars, and girls decorated themselves with love beads and peace signs. They all sat outside and refused to go back to class, even under the threat of suspension. The administration finally relented, and agreed to an overhaul of the dress codes. We thought that the older kids were so cool for their defiance of the system. It was a really big deal in Sutton for quite a while, that we had made the news. The rains of national social unrest and protest were drizzling down to our level, and the waves had rippled out to little Sutton.

We became more and more conscious of the war in Vietnam. Dave Leno was in my church Sunday School fourth grade class and he told us about his older brother Barry who was “over there fighting the war”. Every Sunday morning before class started, we prayed for “David’s brother Barry who is fighting in Vietnam”. David explained to us that Barry drove a tank. He showed us a black and white photo of Barry aboard a tank, which was half hidden behind a huge pile of sandbags. He was shirtless, and his barrel chest and muscles rippled. He was deep in the jungle, but smiled and mugged for the camera. We watched the television announcer standing in front of the big map pointing to Phnom Pen ant the Ia Drang Valley. Names of faraway places like Cambodia and the Mekong Delta were heard frequently. Suddenly, the elections and politics seemed very small and unimportant. David Leno just wanted his big brother home. It didn’t matter if the Republicans or the Democrats could do that for the Leno’s. Nixon or Humphrey. It didn’t matter. Mom and Dad never discussed the war in Vietnam that I recall. They never told us anything about it. Maybe they thought that we were too young, but the images from the surrounding world left lasting impressions. I can still hear the thump-thump-thump of helicopter blades in the background of the live news reports on TV every night. That and the screaming electric guitars of Jimmi Hendrix and the Jefferson Airplane became the soundtrack of the times.

We all know how the election of 1968 turned out and what happened after. But in our little world, the Beatles earliest recordings now seemed tame in comparison to what they – and the rest of the world were releasing.

The Paper Route

Originally Published December 23, 2015 by Steve LeClaire

Back in the days of the early 1960’s kids had paper routes. The Worcester Telegram, and the Evening Gazette were the daily papers. One in the morning, and the other in the afternoon. Kids delivered on their bicycles, or on foot with a canvas bag full of papers slung over their shoulders. You could get one of these coveted routes only if the current delivery boy gave it up. Kids were able to start routes when they were as young as ten or eleven years old.

My brother John and I took over the route sometime about 1967. Either Charlie Havener or Danny Kaminski had it before us - those years I don’t recall. Andy Smith had it before that, giving up the route when he was a junior in high school in 1962. My mom told me that when I was a toddler in the outdoor playpen we had, I’d scream and cry whenever Andy Smith came into the yard to deliver a paper. I’ve no idea why, Andy was a nice kid. Andy had taken over the route in the late 1950’s from Andy and Gary Rivers. All of kids with bikes, dreaming of what we’d spend our tip money on.

When Andy had the route, it stretched the length of Boston Road from the easterly point of Hovey Hill on Boston Rd to the westerly point of Freeland Triangle. By the time we got it, the route had been pared down to about half its original size. I think when we started our deliveries, the paper cost 50 cents per week. We didn’t deliver the heavy Sunday paper. We had to keep a ledger book, and a careful accounting of who paid and who owed. Every Friday, we had to knock on our customer’s doors and announce, “I’m collecting”. Some customers left an envelope out between their screen door and main door. We had to reconcile with Pete Gonya’s distribution center in Millbury. We learned good math skills.

I can remember each and every stop on the route, clear as day. I remember who tipped and who didn’t.

Heading towards Sutton center on Boston Road from our house, we started with John & Grace Brigham’s house. John was retired from the Postal Service as a letter carrier. He’d been a farmer before that, before the 1953 Tornado flattened his house and barn on Leland Hill. Grace was always home, and made wonderful apple pies. She was a good friend and neighbor of my grandmother. Old John had a walk-behind Gavely snow plow that I found fascinating. He cleared his driveway with this rig, wearing his long wool mailman’s coat and fur ear muffs. He looked like the mailman in Norman Rockwell’s painting. He often used his plow machine to clear snow from the ice on the little mud hole across from our house so we kids could skate.

Pendleton & Laura Havener lived next door to Brigham’s. The Haveners had kids our age, and some older. ‘Penny’ coached little league, most often the Pleasant Valley franchise. Penny was fairly handy and helped his oldest boy Charlie build a go-cart out of an old lawn mower and some plywood. That go-cart was so cool. The Haveners moved to South Carolina shortly after we got the route, and I lost my best friend Henry, the middle son.

Next on that side of the street were the Kallio’s. They got a paper. They were a retired couple whos son Eric had grown up and moved out but left behind his beagle “Wimpy”. We inherited Wimpy. Wimpy used to jump in Lynnwood Eaton’s milk truck every morning and ride around town with him, before being dropped off back at our house an hour or so later.

On the other side of the street were St. Mark’s Rectory, and Lewis Sherman/Dudley Perry’s farm house. I don’t recall leaving a paper at either place.

Up the street from Kallio’s were Henry & Helen Kaminski, and their son Danny, who was a few years older than John and I were. They got a paper. I remember Henry Kaminski drove a giant green Chrysler, and worked at a factory down on Howe Ave in Millbury. Helen Kaminski was usually at home. She’d been a Klewiec, and grew up in town on their family farm. Danny had altered his banana bike into a sort of circus bike about eight feet tall. He changed the handle bars to accommodate a real steering wheel from a car. We thought that was the coolest thing we’d ever seen.

Next up the street was a hay pasture owned by Eddy Lacross. We hayed that field with Morrice Perry. Years later the field became where Harry & Angela Baily built their home.

Next to “Eddy’s field” was Kelton & Beverly Johnson. I don’t remember them getting a paper. The Johnson’s may have actually moved in their after we had the paper route, but I don’t remember who lived there before them.

Next up from Kelton Johnson’s was Ellery “Bucky” Smith and his wife Faith. She had been a Freeland. Both of them born and raised in Sutton. Bucky was our fire chief after his brother Tighe retired. They got a paper. That’s where paper boy Andy Smith had grown up. Bucky’s son Raymond was head of the highway department. His daughter Hope taught gym at the school and had been a star athlete.

Across the street from Bucky was the two family home owned by Morrice Perry and rented out. It’s gone now, but sat directly in front of Donald Perry’s current barn. “Mr & Mrs West” lived on the 2nd floor – we had to go up the stairs on the east end of the house, and leave the paper at the top of the stairs, and collect the money for the paper there too. The West’s daughter Mary married “Bunk” King, who drove the school busses for the town. Morrice Perry’s mother-in-law, Edna Hughes lived on the first floor. She got a paper, and was usually at the door to collect it as well as pay on Fridays, collection day.

Next door to the two-family was John & “Beth” Gifford’s place. I remember Mr. Gifford as being a custodian at the schools. Mrs. Gifford was usually home to get the paper in person. Nice elderly lady. She drove a little tiny Ford Falcon.

Next to Giffords was Bill Orne ( Ohrn?) I think he got a paper but was never home, and always left the payment out in a little envelope. John Perry had lived there. That’s Keith Downer’s house now.

Next to Orne’s was George & Dorothy Graham. I think George worked in Worcester. The Telephone Company? Not sure. Dot Graham was usually home. They got a paper.

Next to Grahams was Harlan “ Lanny” Goodwin, his wife Barbara and all their kids. I don’t remember them getting a paper, but was in school with the oldest daughter Becki. They were pretty girls. Barbara had been queen of the 1954 250th anniversary parade, and rode in a brand new Corvette convertible.

Across from Goodwin’s was Wilmont Hastings. I don’t think he got a paper. I don’t recall if he lived there during our paper route years either. It seems he would have been earlier. That was the old farm house owned by Thomas & John Hancock and stood next to the stone walls of the little “Town Pound”, and the ‘Hearse House” for the cemetery in Sutton Center.

Across from Hastings was Jim & Belle Smith’s small cottage, one of my favorites on the route. Jim was Bucky’s younger brother. Both he and Belle were retired, although Jim worked part time for the cemetery commission mowing lawns. Bell was usually home, keeping the white picket fence and yard tidy. Their daughter Joyce’s old basset hound Sophie could always be found basking in the sun on the sidewalk. Joyce would be our biology teacher at Sutton High School later on.

Next up from Smiths on the North side of Boston Rd was the little red cape house owned by Ben MacLaren. Ben was born in town and was one of the last to graduate from the old Sutton High School next to the gas station. His family got a paper. Ben worked at a variety of odd jobs and wasn’t home too often when the paper got delivered.

Next up the hill from MacLaren’s, was “The Beehive”, the apartment building on the corner of Boston Rd & Singletary Ave owned by Al Beaton. We delivered newspapers throughout those apartments. Amongst the customers were Howard Bottomly on the first floor, and Benny Oles on the very top floor. To reach Mr Oles was a climb up a couple flights of stairs. He rarely came to the door. We left the paper in front of his door, and collected the pay envelope from the same place. Benny was one of the original ‘collectors’ when St Marks Church was built. The Michelsons lived on the middle floor, along with others. Over time, so many couples starting out rented appartments at the Beehive. Andy Smith lived their when he first got married. Nicky & Penny Nunnemacher. Penny’s brother Ken & his new bride. Mark & Audrey Brigham.

Our route didn’t go down Singletary Avenue. I don’t recall going up Uxbridge Road at all either, or around Church circuit.

On the other side of the Common, and heading east on Boston Rd, across from the Church was the Brick Block/Polly’s Antiques. We didn’t deliver papers to any of the tenants there. We didn’t deliver to the Congo Church parsonage next door either. Nobody at either place subscribed.

Continuing up Boston Rd on the north side, next was Alvin & Emily Swindell’s house. Al Swindell was retired, but worked as the head of the cemetery commission. He used his own red Ford pickup and Snapper riding lawn mower to mow the common and the cemeteries. Emily was old Lewis Sherman’s daughter. Their daughter Janice was a schoolteacher. Emily was generally home to get the paper and pay on Fridays.

Next door to Swindell’s lived Morrice & Florence Perry, and their boys Donald & Jeff. Morrice grew up in town on The Maples dairy farm, and was a truck driver for the town of Sutton highway department. Every summer, he came to cut the hay in our fields for his herd of Hereford cattle. Florence ran the local chapter of the 4H. Morrice always left his pay envelope on the front porch, with exact change counted to the penny. Never a tip. But, he was still our hero and a man held in awe because of all his tractors, farm machinery and old trucks. Morrice chewed tobacco and spit. He smoked a pipe too.

Next from Perry’s was Frank & Beatrice Paine’s house. Mrs. Paine was our piano teacher. Frank Paine had run the grocery store in the Brick Block. Both were retired.

Across from the Paine’s house was Arthur & Helen Ordung. Mrs Ordung was always home. She was a retired seamstress in the men’s department at Ware Pratt in Worcester. She was often home sewing or braiding rugs from scraps of wool. She had a loud personality, and we were a little afraid of her. Later, we learned what a sweetheart she really was. Born in Sutton, she was a Silun. She got a paper, and was a decent tipper. She always had good treats at Halloween.

Wally & Shirley Johnson’s big farm was next to Ordung’s. Wally was a carpenter/farmer, World War Two veteran. He was sometimes home during the day, most often in his fields or on a roof in town someplace working with Bill Crosby’s framing crew . Shirley and her sister Doris Humes were most always home. Shirley often gave me milk and cookies or something good when I came by with the paper. The Johnsons & Doris Humes were good tippers too.

Across from Wally’s was Nick & Peg (McGovern) Johnson’s Farm, the former “Charlie Putnam” farm. The McGoverns had package stores in Worcester, and every Christmas Nick Johnson brought a gallon of hard brown liquor to our house as a gift. My parents didn’t drink hard brown liquor, but accepted the gift none the less. In the summer he brought us huge plump tomatoes from his garden. Nick grew the best tomatoes.

Starting down “Hovey Hill” after Nick Johnsons, was Victor & Lois Karacius house. Vic was another World War Two vet. Lois was the head librarian when the library was in the General Rufus Putnam Building. Vic & Lois were instrumental in the Sutton Players group, putting on plays in the old town hall. Their son Dave was one of the best drummers to come out of SHS in the class of 1968. Dave played in the rock band “The Untouched”, and my brother John idolized him. John used his paper route money to buy his first set of drums in 1968. Vic had been a saxophone player.

After Karacius’ house was Charles & Martha Graveline’s house. Charlie Graveline worked as a caretaker down at Purgatory Chasm State Park. He had a nifty 1925 Ford AA truck all restored in running condition. The truck had reportedly hauled lumber out of Purgatory after the Hurricane of 1938. His son in law Jim Brigham still has it. Martha Graveline worked as a cafeteria cook at the school. They were decent tippers. Their daughter Nancy married Jim Brigham who grew up across the street from our house. Jim & Nancy still live there. Charlie & Martha were regular tippers. That’s as far as our route went down Boston Road.

Once that end of Boston Road was complete we headed back down toward our house and the schools, to do the little bit of Putnam Hill Rd. Starting at the intersection of Boston & Putnam Hill Rd, on the left was Professor Rudolph Nunnemacher and his wife Sylvia’s house, “the Blue Blinds”. They didn’t get a paper on our route. Their son Robert, called “Nicky” would often come skate with us on the little mud hole across the street from our house. It’s my understanding that Dr. Nunnemacher had created that small pond for biology experiments. He was a professor of biology at Clark University.

The next four houses were all on the same side, and all got papers. Stanley & Millie Bostwick lived in the one story ranch rouse across from the little league field. They got a paper. Next was Albert & Nancy Johnson. They had several daughters that were in school with us. Albert worked around town as a carpenter. He was another World War Two veteran.

After Johnsons was Stanley & Marjorie Knapp’s home. Stanley had been in the Air Force in World War II, with the 532mf bomber squadron. He worked in Worcester before retiring and working on the Cemetery Commission with Al Swindell and crew. Stanley was a quiet man, always smoking a cigarette with a 2 inch-ash on it. How he kept that long ash intact I’ll never know. Stanley and Marj tipped modestly.

The Kortekamps lived next to The Knapps, and were the end of that spur of our route.

Back on Boston Road at the high school, heading west, we delivered papers to Harry & Agnes Davagian. They had built a newer home across the street from their farm on the corner of Merriam Lane. Harry’s dairy farm stood across the street. We helped Harry cut corn in his fields, which are now the Simonian Learning Center and elementary school. His large barn and silo stood right about where the tennis courts are now. Agnes was the Sutton High School home economics teacher for years. Harry’s cows looked back over the stone wall of right field of the high school baseball field. Sometimes they got loose onto the school grounds, to much excitement.

Next to Davagian’s was John & Evelyn Newton’s home. Mrs. Newton was an art teacher in the high school. She directed wonderful plays, and was universally loved by all the students.

We pedaled our bikes down Merriam Lane for the last spur of the route. First, on the left was old Marie Sieberth. She lived alone, but got a paper. I never knew too much about her, her family or where she came from, but she was nice. She tipped.

Next to Sieberth was George & Marie Chabot’s luxurious home. George owned Chabot Motors in Millbury. Marie stayed at home with her little white poodle dog that yapped incessantly when we peddled into the yard. Mrs Chabot was one of the best tippers. When the paper was 50 cents, she’d be good for a whole quarter. Sometimes a dollar on holidays. In times when most of the tips ranged from 10 to 15 cents, that was pretty generous.

Down the road a piece and on the other side lived Rod & Florence Lavallee. Florence was one of my favorites on the route. She was a good friend of my grandmother. She was the best tipper of all. When the paper was 60 cents, she tipped an extra 40 cents, paying a full dollar a week. That was big money! Florence was art teacher Evelyn Newton’s sister. Her three sons Rod, David & Kenny were grown and gone when we were paperboys, but Florence talked about them all the time. David was in the marines. Kenny was an artist. She was very proud of her boys.

The last house at the end of Merriam Lane was owned by Orrin “Randy” Robbins. His son Randy was a bit older than us. I remember when he was badly burned from a flashback with a can of lighter fluid while lighting a charcoal grill.

My brother John and I eventually outgrew our paper route and moved on to other jobs. John worked on the grounds crew at Pleasant Valley, and I went to work for Joe Pelis at Colonial Orchards. The paper route had taught us responsibility and reliability. We also got to know our neighbors. I doubt 10 year olds could get a route now, with child labor laws as they are. But it was a great experience I wouldn’t trade for anything!

Singletary Lake

Originally Published December 2, 2015 by Steve LeClaire

Betty LeClaire, Singletary Lake shore

Steve LeClaire, swimming, 1963

Singletary Lake, 1935

“Taking the Boston Rd west at Sutton center and continuing to our new and present schoolhouse, directly across you will find a cart road somewhat improved, which leads for about three quarters of a mile through what has been known throughout my lifetime as the Thompson Farm to Lake Singletary. As you finally arrive at the lake, you will be pleasantly surprised to find about an acre of hemlocks and white birches and some cleared land which it has been said was used as an old Indian burial ground. I have found nothing to substantiate this fact but it is a beautiful spot with a lovely view of the lake. The shore line is packed wide and deep with rocks brought there by oxcart to clear the farm land.

On the right of this acre of land, bordering Stephen Benjamin’s wall, is a rustic cabin built in 1939 by F. Hazen Bordeaux and still owned by him. This cabin is lined with knotty pine and has large beams supporting the ceiling and has a stone fireplace. Sidney Hutchinson was responsible for its construction. The lumber came from S. Martin Shaw. I can picture in my mind’s eye, as in boyhood days, Alton & Lewis Thompson walking alongside their oxcart . . . “

This description by F.H. Bordeaux in The Sutton Town History volume II was written in the 1950’s, and could easily be talking about any of the various cart paths surrounding Lake Singletary at the turn of the century or before that led to its shores. Many roads to the lake are still just like that.

Singletary Pond. Lake Singletary. Crooked Pond. It has been called by many names.

The native Nipmucs were probably the first to enjoy the shores of the lake. According to tradition, the hillside land currently owned by Rudy Pearson on Dewitt Road was once an observation post for the Indians and early settlers because of the elevation and proximity to good water.

In the 1800’s, mills and industry were built on the flowing streams leading to and from the lake, but surrounding the lake itself were virgin stands of timber and farms. Farmers harnessed the natural resources of owning stretches of land along the water’s edge. On the West Sutton Road side, the farms of Jonathan and Eddy Stockwell ( later Joseph Piatczyc and the Novak’s ) stretched to the water’s edge, making watering livestock an easier task.

At the West end of the lake, the large farm of Edwin Hutchinson spilled from what is now Hutchinson Rd to the shores of the lake. Ed’s oldest son William was born on the farm in 1846. He left from there to fight for the Union in the Civil War, only to be killed at age 18 at Cold Harbor in June of 1864. Ed’s diary entry read something like “mowed an acre of rye this morning, Went to pick up Willie’s body at the train.” I like to think of young Willie as a boy splashing in the cool clear water of the lake after completing his farm chores.

There have been many drownings in the lake.

Sutton’s re-known furniture maker Nathan Lombard’s oldest daughter drowned in the lake on May 29,1822, along with three other girls and is one of the earliest drownings recorded. Adeline Miranda Lombard was almost eighteen. Four boys and four girls were in a rowboat that capsized. There is no record of who the boys were but they all made it to shore. Adeline died with Nancy Tenney and Hanna and Mary Marble and they are all buried together in one grave behind the Town Hall. Their stone is the largest there.

Luther Little was Captain of a whaling vessel that went around the world every three years - for many years - before he retired and came to live on land in Sutton. He lived in the home on Singletary Avenue in Sutton Center next to where the first Sutton High School would be built. Captain Little was an expert rigger and his talents were put to use in raising the 1500 lb bell to the belfry of the First Congregational Church using schoolchildren and teams of oxen. Ironically, Captain Little was drowned in the lake while fishing in September of 1893. It was thought he had a heart attack and fell from his boat.

Joseph Moore drowned while fishing in Singletary in 1887. He lived in the house at Freeland triangle, almost across from where the Rufus Putnam Monument would be erected 17 years later.

There have been further tragedies and accidents on the lake right up to modern times. Too many. But there has also been much joy.

Modern recreation, leisure time and ‘camping’ as we know it today really wasn’t commonplace until just after the turn of the century. The cottage on the lake from the Putnam-Currier Farm at 416 Boston Road was built by Arthur B. Putnam in 1908 and was used by him while on vacation from the Rural Free Delivery Service ( post office ) It was rented annually to Carl E. Peterson of Worcester and he is believed to be the veteran camper on the southwest side of the lake.

This area of the lake, commonly referred to as the “West Cove” saw the beginning of the Swedish immigration to the lake. Swedes had come to Worcester, and particularly Quinsigamond Village to work in the steel mills. They brought their cultural traditions of ‘camping’ with them to the new country. In Sutton, Merriam Lane “on the Freeman Farm” eventually lead to 12 summer camps. The 1st settlement on the shore of this farm was made in 1924 by Miss Edith Lanpher, who bought three acres. The remaining shore was surveyed into lots fifty feet by 100 feet. As early as 1925, summer camps of John Bjorkman, John Skogsberg, Carl Lindgren, George & Axel Jacobson, Carl & Bertha Anderson, Arthur Johnson, Edward Ludvingson, and William Sundstrom dotted the shoreline. However, the Great Depression set in and no further construction ensued until after the hurricane of 1938. Electric lights were extended to this shore in 1931. The Swedish campers formed the first “association” on the lake, calling themselves “The Singletary Lake South Shore Association.”

After the Hurricane of 1938, the Swedish Migration seemingly continued over to the West Sutton Rd/ Millbury town line area. The first permanent home on the West Sutton Road side- from the Augustus Orn farm - was built by John Sandburg, who sold it to Fred Jarvis in 1937. Clifford Bjork came in 1940. His son Paul still resides there. In 1941, Mr & Mrs Yngve Norlin arrived. There are still Norlins on the lake. After World War Two, Arvo Latti made his home there in 1946, and rented boats. In 1950 alone, small cottages turned into the year round homes of Stanley Anderson, Ralph Jernberg, Alton Werme and John Peterson.

Our family owns a tract of land on the southern shores of the lake which my grandparents bought in 1929. Our property extended some fifty acres from our house on Boston Road all the way to the lake, in one huge rectangle bordered by stone walls. There were fields on the hill overlooking the lake, but there was nothing but thick trees covering the rocky shoreline until the Hurricane of 1938.

The look of the land and woods changed drastically after the Hurricane. My grandmother once told me years later, how right after the hurricane how her husband Stephen Benjamin, Lewis Sherman, Norman Perry and some of the other local farmers walked down to the shore to survey the damage. Nan said how these big burley men sat and openly wept, not saying a word to each other, over the loss of so many beautiful trees. Almost every tree was uprooted and lay shattered into a pile of wooden matchsticks. I’ve seen pictures of the shore after the hurricane. I’m sure they don’t do the real scene justice. Our ‘camp’ was built from hurricane lumber, hauled off to local sawmills in a deal struck between my grandfather and Arthur King. Three camps were built on our shores that provided rental income to my grandparents. I’m told that many Sutton newlyweds spent inexpensive honeymoons in these rudimentary cabins during the depression and during the war. One cabin was sold to Arthur Gillman to finance a hip replacement for my grandfather – no health insurance in those days – and the other was sold to Gus Carlson, but one still remains in our family.

Our small camp itself changed very little over the years, and was typical of what dotted the lake in the late 1950’s and 1960’s. When I was little, there was still barely a road down from the house. Just a rocky cart path, really. The camp building originally was a one room shell with no plumbing. In the 1930’s when Nan and Ben bought the property, there were no buildings at all down there. They said it used to be like walking into nighttime on the back side of the hill, the pines were so thick. The temperature dropped a few degrees as they walked into the cool dampness of the woods, under the cathedral canopy of the pines. . Huge pine trees grew right at the waters edge, and their lower branches hung out over the water. I treasured the familiar permanence of it all like that of an old friendship renewed every year. I liked to lie in the hammock by the shore as the sun and breeze washed over me. I would lightly tug on a lilac branch on a nearby bush, letting the swaying motion of the hammock and the gentle lapping of the waves.

The original building we had was a primitive one room cabin with a bedroom area and kitchen partitioned off. I always thought it was kind of neat that I could jump up and hang on to the top of the wall and peek into the next room, because the walls didn’t go all the way up to the top of the peaked roof. The walls inside were left as unfinished knotty pine.

A single door under the gable end let us into the camp from back and led into the small kitchen area. There was no plumbing then, just an old galvanized dry sink. In the front of the building towards the lake was a big screened in porch. A screen door in the middle of the front of the building led down the steps to a path to the water. The narrow path was surrounded by lilac bushes and tall pines. I remember the ‘whack’ of that screen door as it used to slam too quickly against its frame as we ran out and down the steps. The whole camp was painted a dull shade of flat battleship gray. The rich smell of moss and ferns and pine wafted through the air. It was peaceful.

Because there was no plumbing, we had an outhouse in the woods out behind the camp. Most camps on the lake had them. It was kind of a fun novelty, but perhaps a little rustic. A narrow, winding footpath led through the woods, over exposed roots and through ferns and lady slippers to the old two holer The outhouse was painted gray like the camp. One summer I lost my little read sneakers down the hole of the outhouse. I was perhaps three or four years old. I think I threw them in on purpose. I probably wanted to test where the bottom was, as it was quite dark down there. My little shoes stayed down there for years until they probably dissolved on their own. For quite a while afterwards though, everyone would traipse off to the outhouse saying, “I’m going to visit Stephen’s little red sneakers!”

The shoreline at the lake hadn’t been developed yet when I was real little. It was only a pile of rocks where the water stopped and the land started. I liked to splash around in the water, and had a special flat rock that I particularly liked to sit on. Those were the days when camp was really rustic. It seemed like we just drove down for a short swim and drove back home, not staying for the entire day like we do now. There wasn’t room to really spread out, although we did stay overnight a few times.. My two brothers and I, Mom and dad and a couple of cousins piled in set up folding cots on the porch and slept in sleeping bags. We didn’t actually sleep too much. We spent most of the night giggling and fooling around. Mom and Dad had to keep yelling at us to “Pipe down!” In my early years, ‘staying over’ at camp was a rare treat.

Within a few years Dad decided to build a stone wall and pier down at the shore. He hired an old Italian stone mason from Worcester named Mr. Pellegrini to come do the work. We helped Mr. Pellegrini by finding little small “chink” stones for whim to fill in the cracks in the wall I recall when Dad decided to redo the camp. He hired local carpenter Ray Hutchinson to add a deck ad a spare bedroom. My brothers and I were still real young, and I remember my Dad handing me out through the open window frames onto the deck to “Mr. Hutchida” to watch and get in the way. That’s what we called him, because we couldn’t pronounce Hutchinson. Mr. Huchida made window where the old rear entrance door used to be and made the old kitchen into the spare bedroom with twin beds. He added a good sized master bedroom and deck on the west side. Mr. Pellegrini came back and built a beautiful stone fireplace. The camp got all new wiring. The old outhouse was knocked down and plowed under into the hole, as new plumbing was installed in the camp. A septic tank was put in under the new gravel parking area. Water was still pumped up through a hose from the lake, so we really were not supposed to drink it. The Carlson’s camp next door had an artesian well with an outdoor faucet, and we used to go over there and fill up pitchers of water to make iced tea for Nan, Mom and Dad. Good neighbors!

Dad eventually paved the worst part of the camp road. The backside of the hill washed out every year, and almost every year Morris Perry came with his bulldozer and pushed the gravel back up the hill. There used to be a spot in the road right about at the crest of the hill that cars had to slow to a mere crawl to get over a big exposed rock. The bottom of cars used to lightly scrape over it. Dad had that one big rock dug out and moved when they paved the road. I remember Nan was upset that the pretty little lane wouldn’t be quite so pretty anymore, but common sense won out. The camp inherited our house’s old stove and refrigerator, and the whole place moved into the present century. Mom said how her father, Ben, probably would not have liked the changes, as he never even wanted electricity at the camp. The best part of the renovation was that the camp was painted a deep brown that blended more with the woods, and we finally got rid of that ugly battleship gray color. The lady slippers remained in the woods, and the woods grew thicker, thanks to Dad’s careful maintenance. He gave the trees room to grow. The camp gave our family room to grow.

The lake has evolved into a collection of stately year round homes and manicured properties and year round recreation. Large power boats and pontoon boats dot the waters in summer, while snowmobiles and ATV’s race across the ice in the winter. I doubt the ‘campers’ or farmers from the early days would recognize it, but that’s OK.

We’ve spent many summers at camp. We watched the annual fourth of July bonfires on the tiny island next to “gull rock” go from leaping flame to glowing embers as we fell asleep to the sound of fireworks shooting over the lake. Mom told me that island was once bigger and had a tree. She and high school friends used to row out and have picnics. The island is eroded into a pile of rocks now. We’ve cheered and booed the Redsox in the spring, and the Patriots in the fall. We learned to swim, sail and water ski. Dad has raked countless tons of leaves and cut endless cords of firewood. He’s also gotten deeply tanned while recharging his batteries snoozing in the sun.

Camp has been the site of numerous family gatherings, holidays, birthdays, celebrations, milestones, rites of passage and rituals. None of us ever really own the land we’re on. We are merely the caretakers and witnesses. I hope whoever is the caretaker of the lake long after we are gone treasures it as much as we did.