REMINISCENCES AND FACTS ON MAYFLOWER GROVE, BRYANTVILLE
IN THE TOWN OF PEMBROKE, MASSACHUSETTS 1901-1940
BY CYRIL O. LITTLEFIELD
Trolley to Mayflower Grove
As there was traffic two ways with many cars enroute in both directions it became necessary to pass as convenience made this possible, and to do this "turn-outs” were installed at various locations at which points a car would stop and the conductor would ascertain if it could proceed to the next turn-out. To do this, the conductor had with him a telephone box which was hung on two hooks on a telephone pole and talked with the control man at Plymouth to find how far the car coming from the other direction had come. If time allowed, he was authorized to proceed to another turnout.
To stimulate business, it was considered a good idea if an amusement park existed between Plymouth and Whitman. The pages of the Old Colony Memorial, a Plymouth paper, gave notice by a small ad, but little larger than a want ad today, that the park was open for business in May 1901.
The run from Hotel Pilgrim to Whitman was I believe around sixteen miles operating on direct current and need was found for a booster station to enable the car to travel at a good rate of speed. This was built at Mayflower Grove, and with it a house for the attendant, and a car barn to house cars at night, snow plows and such. Within the booster station made of red brick was a jail.
The car barn was around twenty-four feet wide and one hundred feet long, about two stories in height, of frame construction and novelty siding with large swinging doors at the entrance. The summer trips in open cars was exhilarating to the passengers with the wind whipping about, and cooling on a hot summers day, but on cold nights it wasn't as much on the bright side despite cars being enclosed by heavy canvas draw shades pulled to the floor, and riding on the front seat was a real "chiller''.
To stimulate business, it was considered a good idea if an amusement park existed between Plymouth and Whitman. The pages of the Old Colony Memorial, a Plymouth paper, gave notice by a small ad, but little larger than a want ad today, that the park was open for business in May 1901.
The run from Hotel Pilgrim to Whitman was I believe around sixteen miles operating on direct current and need was found for a booster station to enable the car to travel at a good rate of speed. This was built at Mayflower Grove, and with it a house for the attendant, and a car barn to house cars at night, snow plows and such. Within the booster station made of red brick was a jail.
The car barn was around twenty-four feet wide and one hundred feet long, about two stories in height, of frame construction and novelty siding with large swinging doors at the entrance. The summer trips in open cars was exhilarating to the passengers with the wind whipping about, and cooling on a hot summers day, but on cold nights it wasn't as much on the bright side despite cars being enclosed by heavy canvas draw shades pulled to the floor, and riding on the front seat was a real "chiller''.
Dining Hall
In those days the highways were bordered with many trees, long since gone, including majestic pines and elms where the woods were thickest. The trip was scenic in every sense of the word.
The spot selected was on Little Sandy pond, about 14 acres, heavily wooded principally with pine, but some oak and with something more than one thousand trees. It was on School St. in the area known as Bryantville on land sloping toward the lake and occupied approximately one-half by buildings, the rest to the right, cleared of shrubs and open to wanderers. The pond is the highest above sea level of all lakes and ponds in the Pembroke area.
Visualize if you will the approach to the park.
The street cars left the main line over a track shaped as a half-moon, passing between the front of the park restaurant and a long waiting room about one hundred feet in length, open on all sides, with "T" shaped supports. Red settees were double rowed the entire length.
The restaurant had an elongated irregular frontage supporting a soda fountain, hot dog stand and candy counter, with the dining room to the rear and toward the street.
In general, all buildings in the park were painted green to blend with the pines and all of frame construction, mostly novelty siding exterior, except the theater fence of upright boarding scalloped every ten feet to a pointed cedar post.
At each end of the car entrance there was a pair of high swinging door gates made of split cedar and upright to prevent traffic from going in over the tracks. The traffic in those days initially did not consist of automobiles, but horses and carriages. And for their "storage" during a visit a long shed was built to the rear of the car barn, open on one side only and with railings to tie up the horses. Looking from the restaurant front it was to the extreme left. This building was later removed.
The spot selected was on Little Sandy pond, about 14 acres, heavily wooded principally with pine, but some oak and with something more than one thousand trees. It was on School St. in the area known as Bryantville on land sloping toward the lake and occupied approximately one-half by buildings, the rest to the right, cleared of shrubs and open to wanderers. The pond is the highest above sea level of all lakes and ponds in the Pembroke area.
Visualize if you will the approach to the park.
The street cars left the main line over a track shaped as a half-moon, passing between the front of the park restaurant and a long waiting room about one hundred feet in length, open on all sides, with "T" shaped supports. Red settees were double rowed the entire length.
The restaurant had an elongated irregular frontage supporting a soda fountain, hot dog stand and candy counter, with the dining room to the rear and toward the street.
In general, all buildings in the park were painted green to blend with the pines and all of frame construction, mostly novelty siding exterior, except the theater fence of upright boarding scalloped every ten feet to a pointed cedar post.
At each end of the car entrance there was a pair of high swinging door gates made of split cedar and upright to prevent traffic from going in over the tracks. The traffic in those days initially did not consist of automobiles, but horses and carriages. And for their "storage" during a visit a long shed was built to the rear of the car barn, open on one side only and with railings to tie up the horses. Looking from the restaurant front it was to the extreme left. This building was later removed.
Mayflower Grove Swingsets
At the left end of the waiting room was open-air dance hall one hundred feet by forty feet with a covered standing room area surrounding one end and one side. "Jitney" dancing was the style, around eight dances an hour, a nickel a dance, and on dance nights really crowded.
To the rear was a large parking lot to as accommodate automobiles that began to appear in the early part of the century.
On the far side of and parallel to the waiting room was a Japanese rolling ball and game building, built Japanese style with concave roof and opening in front by shutters. To the left of the rolling ball building was a small eight feet by eight-foot building with sides opening by shutters that sold popcorn and peanuts.
To the right of the waiting room was a small eight feet by eight-foot novelty booth which also opened on three sides by shutters to expose the novelties at counter height.
Further to the right was a merry-go-round building 100 feet by one hundred feet which also housed a penny arcade.
At the rear of the merry-go-round building was an open-air rifle gallery and to the left of the gallery on the highest portion of the park a four-table pool room and box ball alley. The box ball allies, two, were like a bowling alley but only about thirty feet long and in place of pins the score was tabulated by numbers on paddles. A score was kept like bowling alleys as we know them.
Between the merry-go-round and the novelty booth was a large boulder inscribed in white "1620." The story goes that a couple old ladies were pondering the inscription when Martin Whiting, who operated the pool room passed by. They inquired about the “1620" and he told them it was Plymouth Rock, moved up in the summer and returned in the fall to Plymouth. They responded "me! me! me!" and believed it.
To the rear was a large parking lot to as accommodate automobiles that began to appear in the early part of the century.
On the far side of and parallel to the waiting room was a Japanese rolling ball and game building, built Japanese style with concave roof and opening in front by shutters. To the left of the rolling ball building was a small eight feet by eight-foot building with sides opening by shutters that sold popcorn and peanuts.
To the right of the waiting room was a small eight feet by eight-foot novelty booth which also opened on three sides by shutters to expose the novelties at counter height.
Further to the right was a merry-go-round building 100 feet by one hundred feet which also housed a penny arcade.
At the rear of the merry-go-round building was an open-air rifle gallery and to the left of the gallery on the highest portion of the park a four-table pool room and box ball alley. The box ball allies, two, were like a bowling alley but only about thirty feet long and in place of pins the score was tabulated by numbers on paddles. A score was kept like bowling alleys as we know them.
Between the merry-go-round and the novelty booth was a large boulder inscribed in white "1620." The story goes that a couple old ladies were pondering the inscription when Martin Whiting, who operated the pool room passed by. They inquired about the “1620" and he told them it was Plymouth Rock, moved up in the summer and returned in the fall to Plymouth. They responded "me! me! me!" and believed it.
Weddings were held at Mayflower Grove
About one hundred feet to the rear of the novelty booth and a bit to the right was a Stan dared size open air band stand where most of the well-known bands gave concerts on Sundays or Holidays’ was originally a big attraction but as time went on the pulling power deteriorated to almost zero and discontinued.
Down the hill to the right, and next to the lake was a hotel running parallel to the shore. This was about one hundred feet long, had possibly twelve rooms upstairs separated by partitions only, with a corridor separating the rooms. One toilet was sufficient.
The main floor was all open for dinners, windows all around, but to what extent used I have no knowledge. A kitchen was at the right rear with an old-fashioned kitchen stove.
To the right end or rear of the hotel ox bar be cues were run, mostly on Sunday, but they petered out. As I recall, Levi Benson had a contract to run clam bakes every Sunday, but he told me he nearly lost his shirt since one season it rained every Sunday and he had to be ready with clams and fixings that he couldn’t hold over.
On the side away from the hotel and toward the pool room was a row of solid picnic tables, seesaws and a few high rope swings.
At the front end of the hotel and down at the water front was a boat landing on wooden horses, and storage house for equipment necessary to operate a canoe concession and boats.
Motor launch twenty-nine feet long provided entertainment for those interested, with bench seats on both sides. It was known as I recall as the “Namesakes". Originally it had a canvas canopy tops the entire length, but this led to problems when the wind came up and had to be removed. The fare ten cents for adults, five cents for children.
Canoeing was popular in those days and canoes were in big demand. Boats were rented for pleasure and fishing, and in good demand.
Down the hill to the right, and next to the lake was a hotel running parallel to the shore. This was about one hundred feet long, had possibly twelve rooms upstairs separated by partitions only, with a corridor separating the rooms. One toilet was sufficient.
The main floor was all open for dinners, windows all around, but to what extent used I have no knowledge. A kitchen was at the right rear with an old-fashioned kitchen stove.
To the right end or rear of the hotel ox bar be cues were run, mostly on Sunday, but they petered out. As I recall, Levi Benson had a contract to run clam bakes every Sunday, but he told me he nearly lost his shirt since one season it rained every Sunday and he had to be ready with clams and fixings that he couldn’t hold over.
On the side away from the hotel and toward the pool room was a row of solid picnic tables, seesaws and a few high rope swings.
At the front end of the hotel and down at the water front was a boat landing on wooden horses, and storage house for equipment necessary to operate a canoe concession and boats.
Motor launch twenty-nine feet long provided entertainment for those interested, with bench seats on both sides. It was known as I recall as the “Namesakes". Originally it had a canvas canopy tops the entire length, but this led to problems when the wind came up and had to be removed. The fare ten cents for adults, five cents for children.
Canoeing was popular in those days and canoes were in big demand. Boats were rented for pleasure and fishing, and in good demand.
Further over and to the left was an open-air theatre seating around sixteen hundred mostly on settees including a roofed over area covering around six hundred seats, two hundred of which were reserved with standard folding seats. The seating area was surrounded by an upright boarded fence eight feet high with cedar, pointed posts at ten-foot intervals. A piano was pulled out from beneath the stage for the summer and tuned up to provide music for vaudeville between acts. There were four dressing rooms, a long roll curtain and a store room. Regular foot lights were at the front of the stage.
Stock companies in those days toured the parks and moved up into Maine and the provinces in the fall. They would stay two or three weeks each, live at the hotel and dine at the restaurant. Shows changed three times a week and every company had to have a large repertoire. They also supplied vaudeville between acts. Admission in the twenties, twenty-five cents - reserved seats forty cents.
The motor launch was stored for the winter beneath the theatre stage.
Further to the left was the bath house, fronting the waterfront and around one hundred feet long, eighteen feet wide with a corridor down the center. Women had lockers at one end, men at the other, platform and steps at the front.
Between the dance hall and theater entrance and a bit to the left was a small movie house that prior to 1918 catered to patrons leaving the theater after the regular show. Admission as I recall ten cents. And to the left, but attached to the building was a tunnel slide for children made of bamboo with a winding slide perhaps forty feet long and covered. Stairs were used to attain the height for a slide which could be had for a penny. Cushions were provided to sit on and many adults enjoyed the fun.
To the left and rear of the dance hall and in line with the left and far boundary to the park were toilets, one for men, one for women. These were not two-hollers but eight hollers with no partitions. Every spring a near-by farmer cleaned them out and reports indicated he had wonderful corn crops.
Far to the rear of the hotel was the park ice house, necessary in those days to supply ice for the restaurant ice boxes and soda fountain, not to overlook the ice cream. The house would probably hold near two hundred ton had a six inch or more exterior double wall filled with sawdust, and when the ice was in, covered with more sawdust. The supply would just about last thru the summer, and was pulled in by a direct pulley from the lake and up the ice run thru a back window to a horse and driver. If lucky the house could be filled in a day but more likely it took longer.
After marking out the ice it had to be sawed by hand using five-foot-long saws, a task when the ice was over a foot thick.
In the general area between the band stand, hotel and theater were many wood type lawn swings that had much use.
Water was pumped thru a line of pipe from the lake to the hotel, restaurant and drinking fountain. The drinking fountain near the dance hall consisted of an upright barrel on a platform and roofed over, with two outlets for obtaining a drink. When in the mood, a chunk of ice was dropped inside the barrel containing the coiled pipes to cool the water, otherwise it was on the warm side, and mostly so, as putting in ice was a nuisance and almost thankless job as it melted rapidly with no insulation.
This concludes the period up to 1919 when my father and myself took over operation of the park. I was then twenty-four years old.
1919-1931
I was in the army of occupation in World War I at the end of the war and in Dalmatia when I received a letter from my father telling me he had a chance to rent Mayflower Grove and wanted to know if I would join him. I had to decide whether to do this or return to the Goodrich Rubber Company in Akron, Ohio, where a position was awaiting me at $50.00 a week which was a good wage in those days.
I decided to go with my father, which was a mistake, but once decided I returned in the spring of 1919 to join in getting ready. The park normally opened on Decoration Day and we had much to do.
All buildings looked shabby, all needed paint, the theatre fence was all but inviting and this I stained green to save money, knowing it wouldn't last long. We had to book in theatre personnel, orchestras, hire waitresses, cooks, and general help to get going, but we did this on a shoe string and three-year contract.
The first season wasn't exactly a success, but sufficiently good to warrant an expectancy that we could make some money. The theater was a disappointment. Whereas before a troupe changed shows three times a week to gain regular customers, we were talked into the theory by a Lynn winter stock company that a superior show could do better business if the same show played for a week. Receipts put us deeper and deeper in the hole and we finally and mutually agreed to break contracts and they
took off for other places.
Three or four weeks before the end of the season we were able to book in the Mae Edwards Stock Company, a company that had been there many times before and was popular. By changing shows three times weekly plus their vaudeville, we were able to recoup some of our losses and encouraged to go forward.
In the early part of 1920, in the winter came a disaster. (Feb. 24)
The dance hall collapsed from weight of ac cumulated snow that had absorbed a heavy rain and froze. The foundation couldn't take it and there was a collapse. In a sense we were fortunate for if it had not done so, the next summer on a Saturday night with the dance floor crowded, it would have collapsed anyway and there would have been a catastrophe.
The restaurant was in trouble and we had to shovel the snow off the roof. Merle Benson, who operated a restaurant across the road, came over to help and stood on the slanting roof cutting out sections of snow to slide to the ground. He loosened one section that was supporting him, and he too slid off the roof landing in a pile of snow, unhurt.
The covered area of the theatre had over a foot of frozen snow and showed a tendency to collapse. Merle Benson and myself undertook to clear the roof when the whole started to sway, an area of perhaps one hundred feet by fifty feet. That was enough, and we beat it. The six inch timbers under the hotel were bent six inches and the hotel was in jeopardy, likewise the restaurant and bath house.
The operator of the merry-go-round (on lease) was in trouble too and had to dig out and put new posts under the entire building.
What had caused the trouble was the age of the cedar posts on which all buildings were standing twenty years had rotted out beneath the surface and the weight pushed them into the ground. We were lucky to save all but the dance hall.
A friend worked with me in the next winter putting new posts under the hotel. We brought lunches and heated coffee in a can on the kitchen stove of the hotel, washing out the can in the pond. It was winter, and we had no thought of ptomaine poisoning from the can, but it got us. It was fortunate for us that we lived.
Reconstruction of the dance hall that spring was the main issue and we hired Henry Strafing to do the job with cement posts throughout, and a rush to have it ready by May 30th. A big gang was on the job, wages fifty cents an hour, and the building was finished but the floor did not get sanded and ready for use until the afternoon of the day of our first dance, following which it had to be shellacked and waxed, but we made it. This cost us $10,000.00.
Operation of an amusement park is no picnic. Operators in this form of amusement are looked upon as not entirely reliable and of a sort, and they probably are. This is not unexpected as this area of entertainment has seen many failures, fires, accidents and what not of which the public becomes aware.
But for the operator it is a problem. He must sense what the public is interested in, obtain or produce it if possible, maintain a good image and pay his bills. We were able to do this, but the margin of profit was so small we just "staggered” thru, having to spend profits in getting ready for the next season. Our biggest problem was weather, and money went down the drain if we booked attractions and it rained. This in addition to our competition.
To obtain business we issued a weekly bulletin of coming attractions with the theatre program. We circulated window placards by truck carrying an overhead sign thru all towns from Plymouth to Whitman, Hanover, Rockland and all shore communities. We finally went to radio, one of the first in the State.
During the latter twenties the depression was starting to take hold but neither we nor anyone else realized it. Business was falling, and something had to be done. We felt we could prevent this by more advertising and ran all kinds of minor attractions to draw business in clouding fireworks on rafts on the lake, installation of chute-chutes, a ride known as the "Flirt", and a circle swing.
One Saturday night we made record of all car licenses and checked these against lists published by the Auto List Pub. Co. and supplied to Chiefs of Police, to find where our patrons were coming from so we could plan advertising. We found on that night seventy-five different towns were represented, and many out of state cars.
Attendance ran from one hundred on off nights to several thousand on Saturday nights with good weather.
The police staff consisted of one regular throughout the week, day and night, at twenty-five dollars a week, room and board who also took tickets at the theatre, to six to eight on Saturday night including the chief. Wages three dollars a night, Chief four dollars.
The possibility of fires starting at night were always a problem and after the crowds left and there was a dry period, I searched cigarette starts in the pine needles with a search light and a bucket of water. One night I found over one hundred smoldering.
During the thirteen years we operated the park we repaired and painted all buildings several times, doubled the size of the restaurant, added town water, added a twenty-locker section for women at the bath house, a diving tower for bathers plus eight more rooms on the lower floor of the hotel, water front side and converted all wiring from D.C. to A.C. current.
Around 1927 we obtained approval from the Street Railway to salvage the car barn as street cars had been discontinued, and enclosed both sides of the covered seating section of the theatre with the material. This we did to good advantage as on rainy nights or cold, the wind or rain came in to the discomfort of patrons. Shutters swinging inward were open during good weather to provide a good air circulation.
A miniature golf course was installed around 1930, maybe 1929, that was originally an indoor attraction in Brockton. While it was a good course, it didn’t do business.
One of the big bands that played all over New England was the Bonville Band that originated in Pembroke. Frank MacDonald of the Brown Betty was the band leader and among those playing with him was Mel Shepard playing the flute and other instruments and his father on the bones. The attendance when they came was way up and it was real Bonville music. Surprising there isn't a band like it today.
We renewed our lease in 1928 for three years taking us thru 1931. During this period and prior many “episode” took place.
I recall the day when (I was living in Whitman) I was telephoned I better come down. A small whirlwind or what have you had occurred cutting a swath of trees down, breaking the theatre fence, electric wires down and creating a problem. I made the park in a little over ten minutes, - it had rained, and I turned around twice on the road in Hanson opposite Pleasant Street.
We had to clear the trees in a hurry, upright the theatre fence and get ready for the night business. The damage elsewhere delayed the orchestra for the dance, but we finally got out from under.
It was during the depression and we had a boot-legging problem. Some customers would come sober and soon become intoxicated, but we couldn't find the source. Never did, but were later informed it was being "dispensed” in the woods nearby.
We had many old tree stumps that caused problems walking around in the night. I decided to blast and hired Henry Strafing to do the job while I was with him. We had only one looker-on who was not blessed with normal mentality. He wore no shoes, was gangly, raw boned, tall, and made his living cleaning toilets.
On one blast there was a boulder in the stump, about the size of a man’s head, that went sailing up into the air over the trees and we watched it come down thru the roof of the merry-go-round building. Sitting on the steps a few feet away was our “friend" who exclaimed "What in -- are you trying to do, - kill me?"
We continued and upon having another blast ready looked around to see what became of our observer. He was swaying away in a swing near the water front presumably thinking, and reasonably so, that he was safe.
We had one employee who was as faithful as they came, but had light-finger-itis. He would go to Brockton and come back with his pockets loaded. He also liked to help us close the shutters of the restaurant at night, especially the end near the candy, and he kept his kid friends in stock. We overlooked his transgressions. He had charge of the toilets as well and cussed the ladies after every visit.
One day the caretaker for the Street Railway remarked he wished he had a hammer. Next day our accommodating employee brought him a hammer. The caretaker, Charlie Strafing, asked him where he got it and the reply was “Oh, never mind". Sometime later the father who was a carpenter made a visit, spotted the hammer and asked, "Where did you get that?" Reply, "?" gave it to me. Reply, - "Darn, I’ve been looking for that hammer for a week".
Another day the owner of the pool room, my uncle Martin Whiting, was sitting on the platform entrance remarked he wished he had a board. Our accommodating employee heard him and asked how big and after telling him Martin thought nothing further of it. But, a little later he heard a “r-I-p-p" in the direction of the far side of the theatre fence. A little later “our accommodating employee" was seen going along the water front, around the hotel, and back to the pool room and said "Here's your board".
As patrons we were blessed with the attendance of two rival groups that caused us problems, frequently winding up in the fight over a girl on the dance floor. One group came from Brockton, the other came from South Boston and they were constantly at each other. The Brockton Club headquartered in Monponsett, the South Boston group in a cottage across the pond. We had no gang fights, but there were frequent melees.
One Sunday there was a fracas at the canoe house. My father went down and there was a real fight on with the canoe attendant boxed in the small canoe house. My father jumped in. It just happened one of the members of the South Boston group happened along and saw what was going on, -enjoyed a good fight and joined in, on our side. Soon others appeared, and the fight was over. From then on, the South Boston group were present at the water front on Sundays waiting for something to happen, so they could get into it, but surprisingly nothing further happened.
We were contacted by representatives of a Chinese clan in Boston who wanted to close the theatre and play fan tan, but the privilege was denied by the chief of police.
Later a small group from the Chinese Y.M.C.A. in Boston with numerous white wives held a picnic at the park and some of the younger became interested in the canoes. Some of the youths had never been in canoes, but wanted to hire, so they did. Out they went and in not over forty feet from shore they tipped over - came in, reorganized, and hiring bathing suits took off without further mishap.
They brought with them a band and asked to use the band stand, which was granted. To us it sounded like a collection of tin pans. A bystander whom I passed asked me when they were going to start playing. I replied, "They are".
We were warned of a coming battle between the two groups that were causing the only troubles we had been having, on a following Saturday night. I hired six Plymouth police, all over six feet and with the Chief of Police located them in the woods nearby. Although we found flour bags of stones behind many trees, ready for action, nothing took place. Cost of police six dollars a man for the night.
One police officer we hired regularly came from Monponsett, and had worked at a dance hall where there had been trouble. A crowd from that area who didn’t like him way laid him one Saturday night in the park and split his scalp open about six inches with a bottle.
An employee took a shine to the wife of the leading man in one of our shows. She was in bathing one day beside the raft and he was with her. Her husband spotted them, took a canoe, and laid his scalp open with a paddle, - a real gash. That romance, if it was one, was broken up.
We were fortunate in having but one drowning during our thirteen years of operation. This occurred when two men wanted to hire a canoe. The one asking was drunk and it being against the law to make a rental to a man intoxicated, his request was denied. The other man said he would hire it and off they went.
At some distance beyond the point of land that jutted into the lake they tipped over in deep water. The attendant, Charlie Mein hold, was watching them. One man came up and swam to shore. We never saw him again.
We notified the police and with all our boats and some grappling irons started to drag for the body in the direction of the cove at the left end of the pond. I was in a boat with the regular police officer, Jim Keirin, and we took turns rowing. No one was having any luck and it was getting late in the day.
I observed to Jim, -he was holding the drag, -we would make one more trip and call it quits for the day, when he said, “I've got something". He pulled up and it was the man.
Our stage hand, Everett Raymond, was in a bathing suit in another boat nearby. We tried to get him into the boat but lost him. Soon, however, we had him again and towed him all the way back to our shore. Would you believe it, - his position when being taken from the water was the same as that he would assume in paddling.
Another day I was in Whitman, I believe, it was a Sunday morning, got a telephone call, I better come down. I did.
Looking from the boat landing there appeared to be possibly hundreds of five-gallon cans bobbing about. The theatrical group and all present took canoes and boats and started for the
roundup. The cans were brought in and stacked on the motor boat landing. Many cans sank. We called the State Police who came and asked them what about the cans. They said that’s your problem, so down to the dump they went.
The jist of the subject was that bootleggers had received a haul of Canadian alcohol, and after emptying the cans concluded the easiest way to get rid of the cans without noise was to dump them in the lake, which they did from the School Street end, -and they probably got a good laugh out of it as well.
Our bath house provided a set of steps for bathers to go into the lake. A youth from Brockton, not using good judgement, dived into the water from the bath house floor into possibly a foot of water, -and not diving properly, broke his neck.
Our novelty booth had standard games, but business was not going too good, so we invented one. It was so good the players caught on and were cleaning us out. The law prohibits stopping a game that is winning so we took it on the chin until they quit playing.
We stocked and sold stink bombs until they were dropped on the crowded dance hall floor and chased many of the crowd away. Same thing happened when we sold itching powder and the girls didn't like it.
One of the police officers was a good sport with the boys, so good that one night they doubled him up like a jack knife and dropped him into a rubbish barrel with only his head, arms and legs sticking out. We had to rescue him.
While removing dead trees near the restaurant we misjudged the direction of fall and one came down across the trolley wire. This put the line out of action until a repair car arrived from Plymouth.
Several clubs occupied cottages across the lake and between midnight and morning kept many cottagers awake with complaints almost every Saturday night. The police at the park would wait in anticipation, and when calls came in they went over on a raid. Frequently they made large numbers of arrests and to carry them away used a large open-end coach into which some had to be tossed on the floor.
On an afternoon when I was working on construction of an addition to the bath house to provide lockers for women, I glanced up the hill on the far side of the theatre and noticed a man coming down the hill with two canes and barely able to walk. He introduced himself and said he was looking for work.
To provide work for a man in his condition was a problem, although I was sympathetic. He couldn't climb, walk freely, or do any manual labor apparently. I told him I couldn't think of a thing he could do at that time, but he told his story.
He had been an electrician on a battleship on target practice, WW I, and he with others were working in an enclosed turret trying to locate the trouble with a gun that wouldn't fire. The ship, or this gun, at least, had ceased firing during the repair job, but in some manner wires were disturbed and a signal device activated that resulted in the gun being discharged while they were in the confined area, -all being thrown out by the concussion.
All went to the ships hospital, and while there were given shots. Of the several men only, he lived.
As he stated, a new medic had been assigned to the staff and finding two containers of a fluid to be used for inoculations combined the two on the conclusion why have two bottles when one would suffice. This caused the deaths.
He had been discharged in the condition he was in when I saw him, but made frequent trips to the Chelsea Naval Hospital. He had periods of blacking out completely and even becoming rigid, but at intervals was able to get about and was anxious to do something at little wages.
As best I can recall it was not until winter of the following year when I was preparing to sandpaper the nearly thirty canoes to repaint for the spring that we again contacted. He said he could stand, if he couldn't walk about, so we tried it out. He would stand against a canoe with canes at each side, and in a straddling position went to work. It was then that Jim Sullivan and I, although an employer, struck up a period of years in joint effort at various jobs, and that I learned of his versatility. I have never met a man that has been his equal since. We became close friends.
It developed that he was an amateur artist and had paintings at his home to prove it and a cabinet maker as well. He, with myself, that year painted the canoes and he introduced new techniques in painting, mixing colors, even removing all the canvas from one canoe, reversing it and repainting. One of his best was a canoe painted in battleship camouflage colors that almost disappeared at a distance, and another like a rainbow. Both canoes were extremely popular.
His physical condition improved, and he was able to do carpenter work in repairs and construction. He knew electricity and motors, rewinding them as necessary, -he maintained the motor boat motor and worked on all types of problems.
One season he operated our motor launch, canoe and boat rentals, also the bath house. He conceded there was one thing he couldn't do and that was to get along with the public. Despite this and with encouragement we got by except for one gang fight previously referred to.
One season he was stage manager at the theatre, in charge of procuring all props, moving scenery, and operating the large drop curtain.
Amplified music appeared in the twenties and I obtained amplifying equipment and records. He strung wires thru the trees and about the park and ran band and other music on Sundays. The first time it was played and broadcasted the sound travelled a quarter mile up School Street and the kids really thought something big had arrived at the park, coming from all directions.
Later we held a wedding on stage which I will refer to later, and he played the wedding march and other appropriate music for the ceremony.
Our theatre curtain had not been repainted since originally installed and really looked worn. He removed it and transported to the dance hall floor where his artistry produced anew and attractive scene, - and painted all the advertisements that completely encircled the picture.
Only one trouble, - when he removed the curtain from the floor we found the paints had gone thru the canvas and we had the vague duplication of the scene on the dance hall floor.
In repainting the ads on the curtain, he misspelled one word in an advertiser’s space. The advertiser came to the show one night and immediately searched me out to complain. I had previously noticed the error, but too late to correct it. I suggested to him it was the best ad on the curtain as everyone would notice and talk about it. He agreed and was satisfied.
One day when we were sanding canoes the fire alarm rang, and we could see smoke billowing up in Marshfield. He belonged to the Hanson fire department. We had done about enough painting anyway, so I suggested we take off and go to help fight the fire which we did. After about an hour
we decided to take a rest and sat down against a stone wall near a road. Two elderly ladies drove up and stopped near us to watch the fire. We heard one remark to the other, "See those bums over there getting paid for fighting the fire and doing nothing".
Late in the twenties and with theatre business falling off, we decided to put in talking pictures on Sunday nights. A large booth, twelve feet by eight feet was erected on cedar posts eight feet in the air to house two moving picture machines, one a Simplex, the other a Powers 6A. A state license to build was necessary and we received the plans for the first open air booth in the state.
It happened our stage hand at that time had an operator's license and ran the show, but we had problems.
With the origination of talking pictures two theories of operation were competing, - one with the film carrying both the sound and the picture, the second a film of the picture alone, and synchronized with a record. We bought the latter as it was cheaper. The synchronizing of the film with the record usually worked out, but sometimes the picture ran ahead of the sound and vice versa. Also, a previous user of the film sometimes had trouble with the film and made cuts. Both conditions caused what we called "Gold fish" pictures. In other words, lips would move but nothing would be heard, and vice versa, causing many laughs from the audience, but they put up with it.
Then we had a threat of picketing by the union as we did not have a union operator. My man left. By personally operating my pictures the union could not complain so I went to Boston to learn how to operate, - going to a school.
On completion of the course I had to go to the State House for an exam and my instructor told me that if I had a certain inspector to look out as he was tricky, and relating to the Union, he was only passing a limited few a year, so the market wouldn’t be overloaded with operators. So, my luck, - I got him.
While I was not looking he turned over a section of the film and upon starting it broke. I repaired and continued. If I had been a good operator I might not have got caught, but I gave him the dickens. In conclusion he gave me a license since I was operating my own show, but only to hand operate. I was able to complete the season. Subsequently I hired an operator at Nine dollars a night.
There was no Catholic church in the area during the period 1920 to 1931. I was contacted by a priest, and with the understanding he would take care of the stage man for clearing up early Sunday morning at the theatre, they conducted services for the summer.
My son, Evan, then but a few years old, was accustomed to go in and out of the theatre watching shows. Shortly after the church started using on Sunday he “drifted" in, but didn’t stay long. We asked him why not, and he said he couldn't understand it.
About the theatre and shows, the stock companies that came in were made up for the occasion as road shows were disappearing, and members of the troupe had to learn three different shows a week, and this meant real work. We loaned them canoes and they could be seen drifting about learning their lines, or you would meet them in the paths of the woods nearby or see them in swings.
To provide a change for patrons, we brought in musical comedy. The actors called it a treat to get away from the cities, the Old Howard and such and we had difficulty in controlling their comedy to meet the approval of women and children, but sometimes it would get out of hand.
A troupe of twenty was not unusual, they came by train and unloaded their trunks at South Hanson, requiring two trucks to carry their equipment. Business ran strong during their stay with an almost complete change in type of patrons. All shows were on a guarantee and percentage basis. AI Sanuci was one favorite and he was an exceptional tap dancer.
About three times a season, we would run children’s' days with bargain rates all the way from Whitman to Plymouth on the street cars and there were days when we had as many as a thousand present. A special theatre matinee was run for them.
One day, remembering that when I was a kid and visited the park, I sat at a picnic table with my lunch. Almost immediately I was surrounded by hornets. I vowed I’d never have this trouble in the park especially since we had discovered the day before a hornet’s nest around sixteen inches long hanging from the overhang of the power house, so I announced to the kids I would give fifty cents to every child finding a hornet’s nest, anticipating a few would be found.
We had five exits and they piled out in a rush. It wasn't perhaps three minutes before the first appeared and it was a mud wasps nest that I hadn't calculated on, but I paid fifty cents. Then another, then another, and they kept coming. I reduced the reward to twenty-five cents, then ten cents, then a nickel, then a penny, before it was over. I didn't pull that one again.
To stimulate business at the theatre we tried blueberry pie eating contests, greased pole contests, - every idea we could think of in clouding country store nights with give-away prizes, many joke prizes at the end of the show. Even ran Peck’s Bad Boy with Cliffy Everson as the bad boy and he was good.
One troupe brought in an act by a youth who may have been ten years old, - a mind reading act. We tried him out one or two weeks and then advertised him with business really piling in until on a Wednesday night a representative of the Department of Labor appeared and advised it was against the law because of his age so we had to quit.
Jim Kieran, our regular police officer, suggested why don 't I have a marriage on the stage? This presented a problem of ethics, also who would I get. He suggested a clerk on our soda fountain who was soon to be married. I contacted him with a proposition and he said "sure." I asked how about his intended wife, would she do it? He said "sure", and no more questions were asked.
While having misgivings, I went on a hunt for a minister obtaining one in Halifax.
The affair was set up with the theatrical staff to form the background in appropriate wardrobe, I to pay the couple fifty dollars, the minister ten dollars, and with our amplified music and appropriate records operated by Jim Sullivan the show was set, - after the regular show.
But it rained Pitchforks.
Despite this, we had perhaps five hundred in attendance and if it had not rained presumably we would have had a full house up to sixteen hundred. The affair went off like clockwork, when we received a tip the bridegroom was to be shanghaied. We told him, - ran his car to the offside of the theatre next to the woods, ran Mr. & Mrs. out and by the rear of the theatre to his car and they were off and running.
He never returned to work but the fact that they were last heard from out living near Bridgewater with additions to the family proved the whole affair was a success.
Martin Whiting, the uncle, operated the pool room and rifle gallery when we took over the park. For reasons of his own he decided to go south, so we bought the building and his gallery rights, also the novelty booth, -the latter being doubled in size a year or two later.
In the late twenties we had friction with the operator of the merry-go-round and popcorn stand and terminated our contract, - bought a merry-go-round and from then on operated the popcorn and peanut concession, selling salted popcorn at the theatre which made the audience thirsty and resulted in a rush to the restaurant for sodas and tonic at the end of the show.
Fireworks were run on the lake on rafts after the show and for several years being something of a novelty, we had crowds that made it necessary to hire additional parking space next to the park and across the street.
We had a man walking on water, -all lights out and after the show, so it could not be seen how it was done, - tub races, procuring many wooden wash tubs and ran a feature contest between my father and the railway manager, Mr. Gifford. They each weighed over two hundred pounds and sank. No contest.
Lighting for the orchestra was supplied by a series of lights back and above. One Saturday night the players constantly smelled cloth burning but thought nothing of it except to remark. When leaving and putting on coats the collar and neck of one player’s coat was completely scorched off. He had hung his coat on a light bulb.
We ran a balloon ascension from the ball field we had built across the street and expected a large crowd on a Sunday, but it turned out to be a flop. He landed in Halifax. Cost One Hundred Dollars.
Our business on the nights before the Fourth for years when you could assume it would be heavy, was not very largely attended. With three of my employees on a Fourth of July eve, we toured Marshfield, big crowd; Bourne Hurst, - big crowd; Rocky Nook, - big crowd. These were our three largest competitors plus a dance hall in Hanover.
Decided we would have to do something when I was approached to obtain Miss America. This appeared to be possibly too large for us to handle, but as her appearance was not needed as an attraction where she would normally be booked on Holidays it amounted to an open night of no booking unless placed.
In anticipation of possible paid admissions to the park, we had installed a chain link fence on the street side of the park for perhaps half its length and this night had police at all entrances and scattered thru the woods. Additional parking crews were hired, but many “sneaked" in around the fence, thru the woods, and by boats and canoes from across the pond. Anyway, we perhaps had five thousand present, paid admissions twenty-five cents.
Miss America was to appear on the theatre stage after the show and make one appearance at the dance hall. The theatre was nearly filled, all parking spaces full, overflowing throughout the park and all concessions doing well. It goes without saying the booking agent made out well, his pockets being jammed with bills when he left. We made out well too.
A week or two later we again had the same Miss America promenade at the bathing beach on a Sunday, but while well-advertised, it drew but few.
A year later, we tried a second Miss America but didn't make out so well, -in fact, I felt the girl that appeared was a “ringer".
We offered special facilities to organizations planning picnics and had as many as fifty-one seasons. Small churches, large churches, one consisting of all black churches out of Boston on a Thursday and that was perhaps the largest daytime crowd we ever had.
For the outings, we supplied tug of war ropes, bags for potato races, three-legged races and ball fields.
June 17th was our biggest holiday for picnics and one season we had nine including some real large ones necessitating use of our own ball field, one hired in Monponsett and one hired in Hanson.
One picnic, Swift and Company, came from Boston on a special train, unloaded at Whitman and came the rest of the way by trolley. A dinner was served in the dance hall.
On one June 17th we had five banquets, one after another. The first at the restaurant, second at the hotel, a third at the dance hall, a fourth at the restaurant and a fifth at the hotel. That was a real day and all dinners went off well.
Dances were held three times a week Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday-until a promoter of old fashioned dancing appeared and rented Wednesday and Friday, making it five dances a week, plus matinee dancing on holidays.
We had popular bands from Brockton and Plymouth with some imported for special occasions. One night we gave away watermelons, - we had a ton- but this was a poor idea. The melons were broken up and scattered all over the park.
Normally we had very little trouble at the dance hall, but one night several girls got into a hair pulling contest and three were arrested.
We had our own jail in the power house and they were locked in with an officer in charge. It was a four-wall affair made of iron rods with visibility throughout. Some little time later the Chief went in to see how they were doing and lo and behold, the officer was in the jail and the girls missing.
To be remembered during the period 1918 to 1931 were police officers Ed Churchill in charge of parking, “Bill” Howard, Chief of Police, Former Chief of Police Charles Bates, "Beaney" Colmore, Jim Melancon, Bill Tewksbury, Ernie Johnson, Roscoe Rickard and Ed Ford was a ticket man at the dance hall.
With pleasant weather we experienced no trouble with the floor of the dance hall but when it rained the dancers tracked in sand by the bucket full. The dance couldn't be stopped as it didn't seem to bother the dancers too much, but we managed to reduce the problem by sweeping while they were dancing. The floor, however, was sandpapered for free.
Our restaurant was quite busy feeding all the help plus the theatre group and some outsiders. One waitress was caught knocking down. Theft was a secondary thought until we caught up with our soda fountain clerk who was dropping dimes into the cuffs of his pants and other change into a gallon can we had for tonic caps. He would make trips to the toilet and “might just as well dump the caps" at the dump that was nearby. We caught him sorting out the money from the caps in the men’s toilet.
One night when counting my father wondered where all the half dollars were coming from. On inquiring of the cashier, next day he found the “hot dog" man was taking cash over the counter rather than tickets purchased of the cashier. After an accumulation, he would turn the halves in for bills. That finished him.
Those were the days when tonic sold for five cents, sodas ten cents, frankfurters two for twenty five cents and we sold a barrel full every week throughout the season.
At the theatre a woman pianist played between acts and reached the pit from the stage, coming down steps in the dark. As she stepped over the end of the roller that took the curtain up, the operator raised the curtain too soon and her skirt was caught, throwing her against a weak railing that collapsed, and she had a broken collar bone. This cost us Fifteen Hundred dollars.
The Chutes the Chutes entered the water near the bathing area, and a special officer was there on Sundays to keep the bathers away. One didn’t stay away although warned and he was hit amidships by a sled. He stated he was not hurt, but an attorney, apparently you might say waiting for an accident, stepped up, claimed he was hurt and sued. No collection as we went out of business and the claim dropped. I had his address and parked near his home during the interval he claimed he could not work, and saw him leave, followed him to his place of employment and knew it was a lie.
I was operating the circle swing one day and had two girl riders. The swings were not going high as the belt was slipping. I applied belt dressing, but from no experience, held the stick by a grip rather than by my fingers. The stick was met by the belt going in two directions and I had a dislocated wrist. I hollered to my brother who was sitting on the piazza of the hotel and asked him to take me to a hospital. We got to Hanson and I could feel myself going into a faint. We drove to the Plymouth County Hospital where he obtained for me a drink of water, then to the Goddard hospital.
The doctor saw the condition of my wrist and assumed that was all the trouble, put the arm in a cast and asked that I return for an X-Ray on Thursday, which I did, whereupon the nurse discovered I had two bones broken in the fore arm. The surgeon operated at once, but I never regained full use of the forearm.
On one occasion we had a steamed clam menu as part of a banquet. My father obtained much of his help from Boston for kitchen work and told one man in this instance to wash the clams. A short time later he went to see how he was going and found he was washing the clams with soap and water.
Clam bakes then as now were popular but the problem of putting them on was that you had to constantly obtain new boulders as in reuse they would not hold the heat and-or crack up.
We had the idea to simplify this and had constructed an oven of brick about eight feet long, four feet wide and two and one-half feet high in which sat a long iron tray with a two-inch rim. Underneath the oak logs would do the heating and the whole problem was solved.
We interested one large group in a clam bake and they were seated to occupy the entire dance hall, several hundred.
Rockweed was obtained, the clams put in place, corn, fish, frankfurters, and tripe, in other words the works, the fire had been started, the bake covered with canvas, and the cooking began.
We were running a bit late when father checked the clams and concluded they were done, so was the corn, potatoes, white and sweet, etc. so we declared the bake ready and the visitors sat down for a feast.
All the food was transported by truck to the dance hall where the waiters went to work. All was fine until the waiters started reporting the clams were raw. That caused consternation as it was too late to do anything about it, but everything else was all right and the partly, cooked clams were not everywhere.
It developed the clams in the main part of the bake were done but those around the side hadn't started. We settled for fifty cents on a dollar and had no more bakes.
It was not my custom to take a pleasure trip in a canoe or boat during the season. I came down on a Sunday afternoon and for no known reason went to the water front, took a canoe and paddled to the near center of the lake, arriving just as two youths who could not swim tipped over. I pulled them. Why did I go out?
Near the end of the season around 1929 or 1930 I was approached by a man having equipment to take movies. We were not flush with money, but I agreed with him to take a small footage for One Hundred dollars. Wished I had obtained more.
It was a holiday, and he took pictures of the dancers, police and water front, also persons lining up for the matinee. The film I still have, but converted several copies to 16 millimeters giving one to the historical society.
Near the dance hall we had a hoop-la stand operated by Calvin Hamilton, who among other novelties ran turtle races on which you could place a bet on the side. For a period, he ran a girl dunking game-balls thrown at a paddle and if successful, down she went.
Something interesting happened one winter when we were getting in ice. Henry Wagner of Whitman had charge of the job and we had taken in a lot of ice the day before. He drove onto the ice near the canoe landing, drove over toward the open water with his Ford, put on the brakes but the tires wouldn’t hold. He jumped just in time to avoid a ducking, the car went into the lake and a channel had to be cut to drag it in.
One afternoon coming up from the waterfront to a point nearly to the end of the waiting room, I noticed something on the move and looked down. What was moving was a column of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of red ants in battle formation, with perfect precision marching in ranks of four, five or six, I don’t remember which. These were red ants and they were marching to a stump about ten feet distant where they entered and attacked a nest of black ants, killing them and stealing the eggs. I did not stay for the finish.
Near the end of one season we lost our man attending the water front. Another was substituted but receipts fell off seriously although observation told me we were still doing business. It was obvious he was knocking down. I said to him, "for the love of mike, at least turn in half." Guess he did, as receipts picked up. It was too late to obtain another man.
It appeared almost traditional that at the end of the season, the Sunday after Labor Day late afternoon was the real windup of the season. Camps and summer cottages were closed, and many of those leaving left with Mayflower Grove the point of embarkation. Several hundred would appear, bag and baggage, extra open cars would be provided, and to celebrate there was a crashing of straw hats, popular in those years. Attempts to run the park on weekends after that were a failure.
Near the end of 1930 our lease was coming up for renewal. The Street Railway-that owned the park-did not want to renew, but to sell. We were interested but had no reserve funds and could not hire the amount necessary to purchase but before giving up was concerned with what could be done with the land if the park was closed. I counted the trees and found about one thousand still standing of various width. John Foster Lumber Company would buy and pay two dollars on the stump for each tree.
During the latter part of our 1931 season, the last year of our operation we were notified the park had been sold to our former merry-go round owner and an associate. This was a disquieting event since one of the purchasers was always around to see how the business was operated and to get ideas.
We sold to them the bath house addition and restaurant equipment, i.e. tables and furniture.
We contracted for another park in Maryland and moved out the Merry-go-round, chute the chutes, canoes, dishes, bathing, rides equipment in the spring. The pool room building was cut in half and moved to Center Street by my father who converted it to a residence. Cutting in half
was necessary to avoid cutting down trees.
The novelty booth was cut in half and moved to the other side of the road on our land, used temporarily for storage and later converted to a refreshment stand. The novelty booth, eight feet by eight feet was moved across the street, doubled in size later and used as a toilet. All hotel equipment was stored in the novelty booth, rides stacked outside. The diving tower was dissembled and stored to the rear of the refreshment stand. The projection booth was also moved across the street.
Next year the new owners built a new movie projection booth and ran nothing but pictures as an attraction. They converted the dance floor to roller skating which ruined the floor for dancing.
Our removal of buildings, rides, chute the chutes and such reduced their attractions to a roller skating rink and movies necessitating the procurement of an entirely new clientele which they found impossible, profitably. Introduction of beer at the restaurant contributed to the non-interest of church picnics, and with no ball field their failure was inevitable but not determined entirely by their own changes.
The first hurricane in New England came in 1938 and this did a job on many of the trees, also hitting some buildings. The park was crippled, lost some of its beauty, but did not put them out of business at once.
Our family had moved to Bryantville the winter of 1931 and occupied the house directly opposite the park. Obviously, there was no love lost between ourselves and the new owners.
When the hurricane was sweeping thru, my wife Catherine stood at the front door window and watched their trees come down while they stood at the window of the restaurant door facing the street and watched the trees go down in the area we owned. We lost seventy-seven. They must have lost many more.
The park was discontinued somewhere around 1940 and remained idle for a period to a second hurricane that demolished the band stand, knocked in a section of the roof over the theater seating section, the fence, with trees on the restaurant and hotel. With these losses and many of the shade trees gone, the property became a poor asset.
The owner of the mortgage who apparently took possession sold the park area for a land development to Vernon Hayward and Alfred Freeman. They salvaged much of the lumber which was salable since new lumber was not available during WW II and converted to a land and house development.
So ended Mayflower Grove, gone but not forgotten.
The following are recollections and information picked up since the original pages were written and or supplied in part by individuals after reading the “memoirs."
The movie house next to the theatre was known as “The Old Ship." In later years it became a photograph studio run by David and Esther Rice.
The Bonville Band had as members other than Melvin Shepherd and his father, Joseph, Harry Litchfield, James Bonney, Billy Boyden, Heinne Eisenhauer, Chauncy Davis, Adolph Anderson, Hazel Thomas, Bert Thomas, Walter Kilbrith, "Pop" Bedel and Frank MacDonald, conductor.
Walter Crowell sold popcorn at the theater about 1913.
Persons familiar to patrons 1919-1931 and omitted: "Bill” Farley, Bath House, Harold Brown, Electrician, "E d” Benson, police, Dominic DeAngeles, Merry-go-round, Evan Griffiths, Golf Course, Charles Straffin, tickets, theater, Mrs. Straffin, tickets, dance hall, Agnes DeRusha, cashier nights at restaurant, George Basler, water front, Everet Raymond, Stage manager, Whit Crossman, Ground keeper.
INCIDENTS AND EVENTS
An orange drink was dispensed from a 5-gal. glass container inverted. The clerk making the conversion lost his hold, the 5-gal. bottle broke on the marble counter and a prospective woman customer "got it." Not very often an orangeade bath is provided, but it cost us.
Red painted all settees every spring, but one spring too late to fully dry out. An early arrival, a woman in white, sat down and walked off with red stripes top to bottom, of the dress, that is.
Plymouth Chamber of Commerce contracted the park exclusive for one day and ran a wire across the parking entrance to prevent others coming in. It didn't work, the first car came in, sailed around the corner, the wire caught the cap of the radiator, became taunt like a bow to fire an arrow, broke off the radiator cap and smashed it thru the windshield. Not our problem.
Pickled limes were loved by many in those days, but only a few stores carried them. Some customers came for miles just for a lime.
A local decided to become a pole sitter which we allowed and publicized, next to the restaurant at the top of a sawed-off pine tree. Was up a few weeks, and had enough, so quit.
On a children’s' day ran a greased pig contest. There were so many kids after and on him that the pig didn't have a chance. Besides it was against the law. One “thriller" only
Stock companies in those days toured the parks and moved up into Maine and the provinces in the fall. They would stay two or three weeks each, live at the hotel and dine at the restaurant. Shows changed three times a week and every company had to have a large repertoire. They also supplied vaudeville between acts. Admission in the twenties, twenty-five cents - reserved seats forty cents.
The motor launch was stored for the winter beneath the theatre stage.
Further to the left was the bath house, fronting the waterfront and around one hundred feet long, eighteen feet wide with a corridor down the center. Women had lockers at one end, men at the other, platform and steps at the front.
Between the dance hall and theater entrance and a bit to the left was a small movie house that prior to 1918 catered to patrons leaving the theater after the regular show. Admission as I recall ten cents. And to the left, but attached to the building was a tunnel slide for children made of bamboo with a winding slide perhaps forty feet long and covered. Stairs were used to attain the height for a slide which could be had for a penny. Cushions were provided to sit on and many adults enjoyed the fun.
To the left and rear of the dance hall and in line with the left and far boundary to the park were toilets, one for men, one for women. These were not two-hollers but eight hollers with no partitions. Every spring a near-by farmer cleaned them out and reports indicated he had wonderful corn crops.
Far to the rear of the hotel was the park ice house, necessary in those days to supply ice for the restaurant ice boxes and soda fountain, not to overlook the ice cream. The house would probably hold near two hundred ton had a six inch or more exterior double wall filled with sawdust, and when the ice was in, covered with more sawdust. The supply would just about last thru the summer, and was pulled in by a direct pulley from the lake and up the ice run thru a back window to a horse and driver. If lucky the house could be filled in a day but more likely it took longer.
After marking out the ice it had to be sawed by hand using five-foot-long saws, a task when the ice was over a foot thick.
In the general area between the band stand, hotel and theater were many wood type lawn swings that had much use.
Water was pumped thru a line of pipe from the lake to the hotel, restaurant and drinking fountain. The drinking fountain near the dance hall consisted of an upright barrel on a platform and roofed over, with two outlets for obtaining a drink. When in the mood, a chunk of ice was dropped inside the barrel containing the coiled pipes to cool the water, otherwise it was on the warm side, and mostly so, as putting in ice was a nuisance and almost thankless job as it melted rapidly with no insulation.
This concludes the period up to 1919 when my father and myself took over operation of the park. I was then twenty-four years old.
1919-1931
I was in the army of occupation in World War I at the end of the war and in Dalmatia when I received a letter from my father telling me he had a chance to rent Mayflower Grove and wanted to know if I would join him. I had to decide whether to do this or return to the Goodrich Rubber Company in Akron, Ohio, where a position was awaiting me at $50.00 a week which was a good wage in those days.
I decided to go with my father, which was a mistake, but once decided I returned in the spring of 1919 to join in getting ready. The park normally opened on Decoration Day and we had much to do.
All buildings looked shabby, all needed paint, the theatre fence was all but inviting and this I stained green to save money, knowing it wouldn't last long. We had to book in theatre personnel, orchestras, hire waitresses, cooks, and general help to get going, but we did this on a shoe string and three-year contract.
The first season wasn't exactly a success, but sufficiently good to warrant an expectancy that we could make some money. The theater was a disappointment. Whereas before a troupe changed shows three times a week to gain regular customers, we were talked into the theory by a Lynn winter stock company that a superior show could do better business if the same show played for a week. Receipts put us deeper and deeper in the hole and we finally and mutually agreed to break contracts and they
took off for other places.
Three or four weeks before the end of the season we were able to book in the Mae Edwards Stock Company, a company that had been there many times before and was popular. By changing shows three times weekly plus their vaudeville, we were able to recoup some of our losses and encouraged to go forward.
In the early part of 1920, in the winter came a disaster. (Feb. 24)
The dance hall collapsed from weight of ac cumulated snow that had absorbed a heavy rain and froze. The foundation couldn't take it and there was a collapse. In a sense we were fortunate for if it had not done so, the next summer on a Saturday night with the dance floor crowded, it would have collapsed anyway and there would have been a catastrophe.
The restaurant was in trouble and we had to shovel the snow off the roof. Merle Benson, who operated a restaurant across the road, came over to help and stood on the slanting roof cutting out sections of snow to slide to the ground. He loosened one section that was supporting him, and he too slid off the roof landing in a pile of snow, unhurt.
The covered area of the theatre had over a foot of frozen snow and showed a tendency to collapse. Merle Benson and myself undertook to clear the roof when the whole started to sway, an area of perhaps one hundred feet by fifty feet. That was enough, and we beat it. The six inch timbers under the hotel were bent six inches and the hotel was in jeopardy, likewise the restaurant and bath house.
The operator of the merry-go-round (on lease) was in trouble too and had to dig out and put new posts under the entire building.
What had caused the trouble was the age of the cedar posts on which all buildings were standing twenty years had rotted out beneath the surface and the weight pushed them into the ground. We were lucky to save all but the dance hall.
A friend worked with me in the next winter putting new posts under the hotel. We brought lunches and heated coffee in a can on the kitchen stove of the hotel, washing out the can in the pond. It was winter, and we had no thought of ptomaine poisoning from the can, but it got us. It was fortunate for us that we lived.
Reconstruction of the dance hall that spring was the main issue and we hired Henry Strafing to do the job with cement posts throughout, and a rush to have it ready by May 30th. A big gang was on the job, wages fifty cents an hour, and the building was finished but the floor did not get sanded and ready for use until the afternoon of the day of our first dance, following which it had to be shellacked and waxed, but we made it. This cost us $10,000.00.
Operation of an amusement park is no picnic. Operators in this form of amusement are looked upon as not entirely reliable and of a sort, and they probably are. This is not unexpected as this area of entertainment has seen many failures, fires, accidents and what not of which the public becomes aware.
But for the operator it is a problem. He must sense what the public is interested in, obtain or produce it if possible, maintain a good image and pay his bills. We were able to do this, but the margin of profit was so small we just "staggered” thru, having to spend profits in getting ready for the next season. Our biggest problem was weather, and money went down the drain if we booked attractions and it rained. This in addition to our competition.
To obtain business we issued a weekly bulletin of coming attractions with the theatre program. We circulated window placards by truck carrying an overhead sign thru all towns from Plymouth to Whitman, Hanover, Rockland and all shore communities. We finally went to radio, one of the first in the State.
During the latter twenties the depression was starting to take hold but neither we nor anyone else realized it. Business was falling, and something had to be done. We felt we could prevent this by more advertising and ran all kinds of minor attractions to draw business in clouding fireworks on rafts on the lake, installation of chute-chutes, a ride known as the "Flirt", and a circle swing.
One Saturday night we made record of all car licenses and checked these against lists published by the Auto List Pub. Co. and supplied to Chiefs of Police, to find where our patrons were coming from so we could plan advertising. We found on that night seventy-five different towns were represented, and many out of state cars.
Attendance ran from one hundred on off nights to several thousand on Saturday nights with good weather.
The police staff consisted of one regular throughout the week, day and night, at twenty-five dollars a week, room and board who also took tickets at the theatre, to six to eight on Saturday night including the chief. Wages three dollars a night, Chief four dollars.
The possibility of fires starting at night were always a problem and after the crowds left and there was a dry period, I searched cigarette starts in the pine needles with a search light and a bucket of water. One night I found over one hundred smoldering.
During the thirteen years we operated the park we repaired and painted all buildings several times, doubled the size of the restaurant, added town water, added a twenty-locker section for women at the bath house, a diving tower for bathers plus eight more rooms on the lower floor of the hotel, water front side and converted all wiring from D.C. to A.C. current.
Around 1927 we obtained approval from the Street Railway to salvage the car barn as street cars had been discontinued, and enclosed both sides of the covered seating section of the theatre with the material. This we did to good advantage as on rainy nights or cold, the wind or rain came in to the discomfort of patrons. Shutters swinging inward were open during good weather to provide a good air circulation.
A miniature golf course was installed around 1930, maybe 1929, that was originally an indoor attraction in Brockton. While it was a good course, it didn’t do business.
One of the big bands that played all over New England was the Bonville Band that originated in Pembroke. Frank MacDonald of the Brown Betty was the band leader and among those playing with him was Mel Shepard playing the flute and other instruments and his father on the bones. The attendance when they came was way up and it was real Bonville music. Surprising there isn't a band like it today.
We renewed our lease in 1928 for three years taking us thru 1931. During this period and prior many “episode” took place.
I recall the day when (I was living in Whitman) I was telephoned I better come down. A small whirlwind or what have you had occurred cutting a swath of trees down, breaking the theatre fence, electric wires down and creating a problem. I made the park in a little over ten minutes, - it had rained, and I turned around twice on the road in Hanson opposite Pleasant Street.
We had to clear the trees in a hurry, upright the theatre fence and get ready for the night business. The damage elsewhere delayed the orchestra for the dance, but we finally got out from under.
It was during the depression and we had a boot-legging problem. Some customers would come sober and soon become intoxicated, but we couldn't find the source. Never did, but were later informed it was being "dispensed” in the woods nearby.
We had many old tree stumps that caused problems walking around in the night. I decided to blast and hired Henry Strafing to do the job while I was with him. We had only one looker-on who was not blessed with normal mentality. He wore no shoes, was gangly, raw boned, tall, and made his living cleaning toilets.
On one blast there was a boulder in the stump, about the size of a man’s head, that went sailing up into the air over the trees and we watched it come down thru the roof of the merry-go-round building. Sitting on the steps a few feet away was our “friend" who exclaimed "What in -- are you trying to do, - kill me?"
We continued and upon having another blast ready looked around to see what became of our observer. He was swaying away in a swing near the water front presumably thinking, and reasonably so, that he was safe.
We had one employee who was as faithful as they came, but had light-finger-itis. He would go to Brockton and come back with his pockets loaded. He also liked to help us close the shutters of the restaurant at night, especially the end near the candy, and he kept his kid friends in stock. We overlooked his transgressions. He had charge of the toilets as well and cussed the ladies after every visit.
One day the caretaker for the Street Railway remarked he wished he had a hammer. Next day our accommodating employee brought him a hammer. The caretaker, Charlie Strafing, asked him where he got it and the reply was “Oh, never mind". Sometime later the father who was a carpenter made a visit, spotted the hammer and asked, "Where did you get that?" Reply, "?" gave it to me. Reply, - "Darn, I’ve been looking for that hammer for a week".
Another day the owner of the pool room, my uncle Martin Whiting, was sitting on the platform entrance remarked he wished he had a board. Our accommodating employee heard him and asked how big and after telling him Martin thought nothing further of it. But, a little later he heard a “r-I-p-p" in the direction of the far side of the theatre fence. A little later “our accommodating employee" was seen going along the water front, around the hotel, and back to the pool room and said "Here's your board".
As patrons we were blessed with the attendance of two rival groups that caused us problems, frequently winding up in the fight over a girl on the dance floor. One group came from Brockton, the other came from South Boston and they were constantly at each other. The Brockton Club headquartered in Monponsett, the South Boston group in a cottage across the pond. We had no gang fights, but there were frequent melees.
One Sunday there was a fracas at the canoe house. My father went down and there was a real fight on with the canoe attendant boxed in the small canoe house. My father jumped in. It just happened one of the members of the South Boston group happened along and saw what was going on, -enjoyed a good fight and joined in, on our side. Soon others appeared, and the fight was over. From then on, the South Boston group were present at the water front on Sundays waiting for something to happen, so they could get into it, but surprisingly nothing further happened.
We were contacted by representatives of a Chinese clan in Boston who wanted to close the theatre and play fan tan, but the privilege was denied by the chief of police.
Later a small group from the Chinese Y.M.C.A. in Boston with numerous white wives held a picnic at the park and some of the younger became interested in the canoes. Some of the youths had never been in canoes, but wanted to hire, so they did. Out they went and in not over forty feet from shore they tipped over - came in, reorganized, and hiring bathing suits took off without further mishap.
They brought with them a band and asked to use the band stand, which was granted. To us it sounded like a collection of tin pans. A bystander whom I passed asked me when they were going to start playing. I replied, "They are".
We were warned of a coming battle between the two groups that were causing the only troubles we had been having, on a following Saturday night. I hired six Plymouth police, all over six feet and with the Chief of Police located them in the woods nearby. Although we found flour bags of stones behind many trees, ready for action, nothing took place. Cost of police six dollars a man for the night.
One police officer we hired regularly came from Monponsett, and had worked at a dance hall where there had been trouble. A crowd from that area who didn’t like him way laid him one Saturday night in the park and split his scalp open about six inches with a bottle.
An employee took a shine to the wife of the leading man in one of our shows. She was in bathing one day beside the raft and he was with her. Her husband spotted them, took a canoe, and laid his scalp open with a paddle, - a real gash. That romance, if it was one, was broken up.
We were fortunate in having but one drowning during our thirteen years of operation. This occurred when two men wanted to hire a canoe. The one asking was drunk and it being against the law to make a rental to a man intoxicated, his request was denied. The other man said he would hire it and off they went.
At some distance beyond the point of land that jutted into the lake they tipped over in deep water. The attendant, Charlie Mein hold, was watching them. One man came up and swam to shore. We never saw him again.
We notified the police and with all our boats and some grappling irons started to drag for the body in the direction of the cove at the left end of the pond. I was in a boat with the regular police officer, Jim Keirin, and we took turns rowing. No one was having any luck and it was getting late in the day.
I observed to Jim, -he was holding the drag, -we would make one more trip and call it quits for the day, when he said, “I've got something". He pulled up and it was the man.
Our stage hand, Everett Raymond, was in a bathing suit in another boat nearby. We tried to get him into the boat but lost him. Soon, however, we had him again and towed him all the way back to our shore. Would you believe it, - his position when being taken from the water was the same as that he would assume in paddling.
Another day I was in Whitman, I believe, it was a Sunday morning, got a telephone call, I better come down. I did.
Looking from the boat landing there appeared to be possibly hundreds of five-gallon cans bobbing about. The theatrical group and all present took canoes and boats and started for the
roundup. The cans were brought in and stacked on the motor boat landing. Many cans sank. We called the State Police who came and asked them what about the cans. They said that’s your problem, so down to the dump they went.
The jist of the subject was that bootleggers had received a haul of Canadian alcohol, and after emptying the cans concluded the easiest way to get rid of the cans without noise was to dump them in the lake, which they did from the School Street end, -and they probably got a good laugh out of it as well.
Our bath house provided a set of steps for bathers to go into the lake. A youth from Brockton, not using good judgement, dived into the water from the bath house floor into possibly a foot of water, -and not diving properly, broke his neck.
Our novelty booth had standard games, but business was not going too good, so we invented one. It was so good the players caught on and were cleaning us out. The law prohibits stopping a game that is winning so we took it on the chin until they quit playing.
We stocked and sold stink bombs until they were dropped on the crowded dance hall floor and chased many of the crowd away. Same thing happened when we sold itching powder and the girls didn't like it.
One of the police officers was a good sport with the boys, so good that one night they doubled him up like a jack knife and dropped him into a rubbish barrel with only his head, arms and legs sticking out. We had to rescue him.
While removing dead trees near the restaurant we misjudged the direction of fall and one came down across the trolley wire. This put the line out of action until a repair car arrived from Plymouth.
Several clubs occupied cottages across the lake and between midnight and morning kept many cottagers awake with complaints almost every Saturday night. The police at the park would wait in anticipation, and when calls came in they went over on a raid. Frequently they made large numbers of arrests and to carry them away used a large open-end coach into which some had to be tossed on the floor.
On an afternoon when I was working on construction of an addition to the bath house to provide lockers for women, I glanced up the hill on the far side of the theatre and noticed a man coming down the hill with two canes and barely able to walk. He introduced himself and said he was looking for work.
To provide work for a man in his condition was a problem, although I was sympathetic. He couldn't climb, walk freely, or do any manual labor apparently. I told him I couldn't think of a thing he could do at that time, but he told his story.
He had been an electrician on a battleship on target practice, WW I, and he with others were working in an enclosed turret trying to locate the trouble with a gun that wouldn't fire. The ship, or this gun, at least, had ceased firing during the repair job, but in some manner wires were disturbed and a signal device activated that resulted in the gun being discharged while they were in the confined area, -all being thrown out by the concussion.
All went to the ships hospital, and while there were given shots. Of the several men only, he lived.
As he stated, a new medic had been assigned to the staff and finding two containers of a fluid to be used for inoculations combined the two on the conclusion why have two bottles when one would suffice. This caused the deaths.
He had been discharged in the condition he was in when I saw him, but made frequent trips to the Chelsea Naval Hospital. He had periods of blacking out completely and even becoming rigid, but at intervals was able to get about and was anxious to do something at little wages.
As best I can recall it was not until winter of the following year when I was preparing to sandpaper the nearly thirty canoes to repaint for the spring that we again contacted. He said he could stand, if he couldn't walk about, so we tried it out. He would stand against a canoe with canes at each side, and in a straddling position went to work. It was then that Jim Sullivan and I, although an employer, struck up a period of years in joint effort at various jobs, and that I learned of his versatility. I have never met a man that has been his equal since. We became close friends.
It developed that he was an amateur artist and had paintings at his home to prove it and a cabinet maker as well. He, with myself, that year painted the canoes and he introduced new techniques in painting, mixing colors, even removing all the canvas from one canoe, reversing it and repainting. One of his best was a canoe painted in battleship camouflage colors that almost disappeared at a distance, and another like a rainbow. Both canoes were extremely popular.
His physical condition improved, and he was able to do carpenter work in repairs and construction. He knew electricity and motors, rewinding them as necessary, -he maintained the motor boat motor and worked on all types of problems.
One season he operated our motor launch, canoe and boat rentals, also the bath house. He conceded there was one thing he couldn't do and that was to get along with the public. Despite this and with encouragement we got by except for one gang fight previously referred to.
One season he was stage manager at the theatre, in charge of procuring all props, moving scenery, and operating the large drop curtain.
Amplified music appeared in the twenties and I obtained amplifying equipment and records. He strung wires thru the trees and about the park and ran band and other music on Sundays. The first time it was played and broadcasted the sound travelled a quarter mile up School Street and the kids really thought something big had arrived at the park, coming from all directions.
Later we held a wedding on stage which I will refer to later, and he played the wedding march and other appropriate music for the ceremony.
Our theatre curtain had not been repainted since originally installed and really looked worn. He removed it and transported to the dance hall floor where his artistry produced anew and attractive scene, - and painted all the advertisements that completely encircled the picture.
Only one trouble, - when he removed the curtain from the floor we found the paints had gone thru the canvas and we had the vague duplication of the scene on the dance hall floor.
In repainting the ads on the curtain, he misspelled one word in an advertiser’s space. The advertiser came to the show one night and immediately searched me out to complain. I had previously noticed the error, but too late to correct it. I suggested to him it was the best ad on the curtain as everyone would notice and talk about it. He agreed and was satisfied.
One day when we were sanding canoes the fire alarm rang, and we could see smoke billowing up in Marshfield. He belonged to the Hanson fire department. We had done about enough painting anyway, so I suggested we take off and go to help fight the fire which we did. After about an hour
we decided to take a rest and sat down against a stone wall near a road. Two elderly ladies drove up and stopped near us to watch the fire. We heard one remark to the other, "See those bums over there getting paid for fighting the fire and doing nothing".
Late in the twenties and with theatre business falling off, we decided to put in talking pictures on Sunday nights. A large booth, twelve feet by eight feet was erected on cedar posts eight feet in the air to house two moving picture machines, one a Simplex, the other a Powers 6A. A state license to build was necessary and we received the plans for the first open air booth in the state.
It happened our stage hand at that time had an operator's license and ran the show, but we had problems.
With the origination of talking pictures two theories of operation were competing, - one with the film carrying both the sound and the picture, the second a film of the picture alone, and synchronized with a record. We bought the latter as it was cheaper. The synchronizing of the film with the record usually worked out, but sometimes the picture ran ahead of the sound and vice versa. Also, a previous user of the film sometimes had trouble with the film and made cuts. Both conditions caused what we called "Gold fish" pictures. In other words, lips would move but nothing would be heard, and vice versa, causing many laughs from the audience, but they put up with it.
Then we had a threat of picketing by the union as we did not have a union operator. My man left. By personally operating my pictures the union could not complain so I went to Boston to learn how to operate, - going to a school.
On completion of the course I had to go to the State House for an exam and my instructor told me that if I had a certain inspector to look out as he was tricky, and relating to the Union, he was only passing a limited few a year, so the market wouldn’t be overloaded with operators. So, my luck, - I got him.
While I was not looking he turned over a section of the film and upon starting it broke. I repaired and continued. If I had been a good operator I might not have got caught, but I gave him the dickens. In conclusion he gave me a license since I was operating my own show, but only to hand operate. I was able to complete the season. Subsequently I hired an operator at Nine dollars a night.
There was no Catholic church in the area during the period 1920 to 1931. I was contacted by a priest, and with the understanding he would take care of the stage man for clearing up early Sunday morning at the theatre, they conducted services for the summer.
My son, Evan, then but a few years old, was accustomed to go in and out of the theatre watching shows. Shortly after the church started using on Sunday he “drifted" in, but didn’t stay long. We asked him why not, and he said he couldn't understand it.
About the theatre and shows, the stock companies that came in were made up for the occasion as road shows were disappearing, and members of the troupe had to learn three different shows a week, and this meant real work. We loaned them canoes and they could be seen drifting about learning their lines, or you would meet them in the paths of the woods nearby or see them in swings.
To provide a change for patrons, we brought in musical comedy. The actors called it a treat to get away from the cities, the Old Howard and such and we had difficulty in controlling their comedy to meet the approval of women and children, but sometimes it would get out of hand.
A troupe of twenty was not unusual, they came by train and unloaded their trunks at South Hanson, requiring two trucks to carry their equipment. Business ran strong during their stay with an almost complete change in type of patrons. All shows were on a guarantee and percentage basis. AI Sanuci was one favorite and he was an exceptional tap dancer.
About three times a season, we would run children’s' days with bargain rates all the way from Whitman to Plymouth on the street cars and there were days when we had as many as a thousand present. A special theatre matinee was run for them.
One day, remembering that when I was a kid and visited the park, I sat at a picnic table with my lunch. Almost immediately I was surrounded by hornets. I vowed I’d never have this trouble in the park especially since we had discovered the day before a hornet’s nest around sixteen inches long hanging from the overhang of the power house, so I announced to the kids I would give fifty cents to every child finding a hornet’s nest, anticipating a few would be found.
We had five exits and they piled out in a rush. It wasn't perhaps three minutes before the first appeared and it was a mud wasps nest that I hadn't calculated on, but I paid fifty cents. Then another, then another, and they kept coming. I reduced the reward to twenty-five cents, then ten cents, then a nickel, then a penny, before it was over. I didn't pull that one again.
To stimulate business at the theatre we tried blueberry pie eating contests, greased pole contests, - every idea we could think of in clouding country store nights with give-away prizes, many joke prizes at the end of the show. Even ran Peck’s Bad Boy with Cliffy Everson as the bad boy and he was good.
One troupe brought in an act by a youth who may have been ten years old, - a mind reading act. We tried him out one or two weeks and then advertised him with business really piling in until on a Wednesday night a representative of the Department of Labor appeared and advised it was against the law because of his age so we had to quit.
Jim Kieran, our regular police officer, suggested why don 't I have a marriage on the stage? This presented a problem of ethics, also who would I get. He suggested a clerk on our soda fountain who was soon to be married. I contacted him with a proposition and he said "sure." I asked how about his intended wife, would she do it? He said "sure", and no more questions were asked.
While having misgivings, I went on a hunt for a minister obtaining one in Halifax.
The affair was set up with the theatrical staff to form the background in appropriate wardrobe, I to pay the couple fifty dollars, the minister ten dollars, and with our amplified music and appropriate records operated by Jim Sullivan the show was set, - after the regular show.
But it rained Pitchforks.
Despite this, we had perhaps five hundred in attendance and if it had not rained presumably we would have had a full house up to sixteen hundred. The affair went off like clockwork, when we received a tip the bridegroom was to be shanghaied. We told him, - ran his car to the offside of the theatre next to the woods, ran Mr. & Mrs. out and by the rear of the theatre to his car and they were off and running.
He never returned to work but the fact that they were last heard from out living near Bridgewater with additions to the family proved the whole affair was a success.
Martin Whiting, the uncle, operated the pool room and rifle gallery when we took over the park. For reasons of his own he decided to go south, so we bought the building and his gallery rights, also the novelty booth, -the latter being doubled in size a year or two later.
In the late twenties we had friction with the operator of the merry-go-round and popcorn stand and terminated our contract, - bought a merry-go-round and from then on operated the popcorn and peanut concession, selling salted popcorn at the theatre which made the audience thirsty and resulted in a rush to the restaurant for sodas and tonic at the end of the show.
Fireworks were run on the lake on rafts after the show and for several years being something of a novelty, we had crowds that made it necessary to hire additional parking space next to the park and across the street.
We had a man walking on water, -all lights out and after the show, so it could not be seen how it was done, - tub races, procuring many wooden wash tubs and ran a feature contest between my father and the railway manager, Mr. Gifford. They each weighed over two hundred pounds and sank. No contest.
Lighting for the orchestra was supplied by a series of lights back and above. One Saturday night the players constantly smelled cloth burning but thought nothing of it except to remark. When leaving and putting on coats the collar and neck of one player’s coat was completely scorched off. He had hung his coat on a light bulb.
We ran a balloon ascension from the ball field we had built across the street and expected a large crowd on a Sunday, but it turned out to be a flop. He landed in Halifax. Cost One Hundred Dollars.
Our business on the nights before the Fourth for years when you could assume it would be heavy, was not very largely attended. With three of my employees on a Fourth of July eve, we toured Marshfield, big crowd; Bourne Hurst, - big crowd; Rocky Nook, - big crowd. These were our three largest competitors plus a dance hall in Hanover.
Decided we would have to do something when I was approached to obtain Miss America. This appeared to be possibly too large for us to handle, but as her appearance was not needed as an attraction where she would normally be booked on Holidays it amounted to an open night of no booking unless placed.
In anticipation of possible paid admissions to the park, we had installed a chain link fence on the street side of the park for perhaps half its length and this night had police at all entrances and scattered thru the woods. Additional parking crews were hired, but many “sneaked" in around the fence, thru the woods, and by boats and canoes from across the pond. Anyway, we perhaps had five thousand present, paid admissions twenty-five cents.
Miss America was to appear on the theatre stage after the show and make one appearance at the dance hall. The theatre was nearly filled, all parking spaces full, overflowing throughout the park and all concessions doing well. It goes without saying the booking agent made out well, his pockets being jammed with bills when he left. We made out well too.
A week or two later we again had the same Miss America promenade at the bathing beach on a Sunday, but while well-advertised, it drew but few.
A year later, we tried a second Miss America but didn't make out so well, -in fact, I felt the girl that appeared was a “ringer".
We offered special facilities to organizations planning picnics and had as many as fifty-one seasons. Small churches, large churches, one consisting of all black churches out of Boston on a Thursday and that was perhaps the largest daytime crowd we ever had.
For the outings, we supplied tug of war ropes, bags for potato races, three-legged races and ball fields.
June 17th was our biggest holiday for picnics and one season we had nine including some real large ones necessitating use of our own ball field, one hired in Monponsett and one hired in Hanson.
One picnic, Swift and Company, came from Boston on a special train, unloaded at Whitman and came the rest of the way by trolley. A dinner was served in the dance hall.
On one June 17th we had five banquets, one after another. The first at the restaurant, second at the hotel, a third at the dance hall, a fourth at the restaurant and a fifth at the hotel. That was a real day and all dinners went off well.
Dances were held three times a week Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday-until a promoter of old fashioned dancing appeared and rented Wednesday and Friday, making it five dances a week, plus matinee dancing on holidays.
We had popular bands from Brockton and Plymouth with some imported for special occasions. One night we gave away watermelons, - we had a ton- but this was a poor idea. The melons were broken up and scattered all over the park.
Normally we had very little trouble at the dance hall, but one night several girls got into a hair pulling contest and three were arrested.
We had our own jail in the power house and they were locked in with an officer in charge. It was a four-wall affair made of iron rods with visibility throughout. Some little time later the Chief went in to see how they were doing and lo and behold, the officer was in the jail and the girls missing.
To be remembered during the period 1918 to 1931 were police officers Ed Churchill in charge of parking, “Bill” Howard, Chief of Police, Former Chief of Police Charles Bates, "Beaney" Colmore, Jim Melancon, Bill Tewksbury, Ernie Johnson, Roscoe Rickard and Ed Ford was a ticket man at the dance hall.
With pleasant weather we experienced no trouble with the floor of the dance hall but when it rained the dancers tracked in sand by the bucket full. The dance couldn't be stopped as it didn't seem to bother the dancers too much, but we managed to reduce the problem by sweeping while they were dancing. The floor, however, was sandpapered for free.
Our restaurant was quite busy feeding all the help plus the theatre group and some outsiders. One waitress was caught knocking down. Theft was a secondary thought until we caught up with our soda fountain clerk who was dropping dimes into the cuffs of his pants and other change into a gallon can we had for tonic caps. He would make trips to the toilet and “might just as well dump the caps" at the dump that was nearby. We caught him sorting out the money from the caps in the men’s toilet.
One night when counting my father wondered where all the half dollars were coming from. On inquiring of the cashier, next day he found the “hot dog" man was taking cash over the counter rather than tickets purchased of the cashier. After an accumulation, he would turn the halves in for bills. That finished him.
Those were the days when tonic sold for five cents, sodas ten cents, frankfurters two for twenty five cents and we sold a barrel full every week throughout the season.
At the theatre a woman pianist played between acts and reached the pit from the stage, coming down steps in the dark. As she stepped over the end of the roller that took the curtain up, the operator raised the curtain too soon and her skirt was caught, throwing her against a weak railing that collapsed, and she had a broken collar bone. This cost us Fifteen Hundred dollars.
The Chutes the Chutes entered the water near the bathing area, and a special officer was there on Sundays to keep the bathers away. One didn’t stay away although warned and he was hit amidships by a sled. He stated he was not hurt, but an attorney, apparently you might say waiting for an accident, stepped up, claimed he was hurt and sued. No collection as we went out of business and the claim dropped. I had his address and parked near his home during the interval he claimed he could not work, and saw him leave, followed him to his place of employment and knew it was a lie.
I was operating the circle swing one day and had two girl riders. The swings were not going high as the belt was slipping. I applied belt dressing, but from no experience, held the stick by a grip rather than by my fingers. The stick was met by the belt going in two directions and I had a dislocated wrist. I hollered to my brother who was sitting on the piazza of the hotel and asked him to take me to a hospital. We got to Hanson and I could feel myself going into a faint. We drove to the Plymouth County Hospital where he obtained for me a drink of water, then to the Goddard hospital.
The doctor saw the condition of my wrist and assumed that was all the trouble, put the arm in a cast and asked that I return for an X-Ray on Thursday, which I did, whereupon the nurse discovered I had two bones broken in the fore arm. The surgeon operated at once, but I never regained full use of the forearm.
On one occasion we had a steamed clam menu as part of a banquet. My father obtained much of his help from Boston for kitchen work and told one man in this instance to wash the clams. A short time later he went to see how he was going and found he was washing the clams with soap and water.
Clam bakes then as now were popular but the problem of putting them on was that you had to constantly obtain new boulders as in reuse they would not hold the heat and-or crack up.
We had the idea to simplify this and had constructed an oven of brick about eight feet long, four feet wide and two and one-half feet high in which sat a long iron tray with a two-inch rim. Underneath the oak logs would do the heating and the whole problem was solved.
We interested one large group in a clam bake and they were seated to occupy the entire dance hall, several hundred.
Rockweed was obtained, the clams put in place, corn, fish, frankfurters, and tripe, in other words the works, the fire had been started, the bake covered with canvas, and the cooking began.
We were running a bit late when father checked the clams and concluded they were done, so was the corn, potatoes, white and sweet, etc. so we declared the bake ready and the visitors sat down for a feast.
All the food was transported by truck to the dance hall where the waiters went to work. All was fine until the waiters started reporting the clams were raw. That caused consternation as it was too late to do anything about it, but everything else was all right and the partly, cooked clams were not everywhere.
It developed the clams in the main part of the bake were done but those around the side hadn't started. We settled for fifty cents on a dollar and had no more bakes.
It was not my custom to take a pleasure trip in a canoe or boat during the season. I came down on a Sunday afternoon and for no known reason went to the water front, took a canoe and paddled to the near center of the lake, arriving just as two youths who could not swim tipped over. I pulled them. Why did I go out?
Near the end of the season around 1929 or 1930 I was approached by a man having equipment to take movies. We were not flush with money, but I agreed with him to take a small footage for One Hundred dollars. Wished I had obtained more.
It was a holiday, and he took pictures of the dancers, police and water front, also persons lining up for the matinee. The film I still have, but converted several copies to 16 millimeters giving one to the historical society.
Near the dance hall we had a hoop-la stand operated by Calvin Hamilton, who among other novelties ran turtle races on which you could place a bet on the side. For a period, he ran a girl dunking game-balls thrown at a paddle and if successful, down she went.
Something interesting happened one winter when we were getting in ice. Henry Wagner of Whitman had charge of the job and we had taken in a lot of ice the day before. He drove onto the ice near the canoe landing, drove over toward the open water with his Ford, put on the brakes but the tires wouldn’t hold. He jumped just in time to avoid a ducking, the car went into the lake and a channel had to be cut to drag it in.
One afternoon coming up from the waterfront to a point nearly to the end of the waiting room, I noticed something on the move and looked down. What was moving was a column of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of red ants in battle formation, with perfect precision marching in ranks of four, five or six, I don’t remember which. These were red ants and they were marching to a stump about ten feet distant where they entered and attacked a nest of black ants, killing them and stealing the eggs. I did not stay for the finish.
Near the end of one season we lost our man attending the water front. Another was substituted but receipts fell off seriously although observation told me we were still doing business. It was obvious he was knocking down. I said to him, "for the love of mike, at least turn in half." Guess he did, as receipts picked up. It was too late to obtain another man.
It appeared almost traditional that at the end of the season, the Sunday after Labor Day late afternoon was the real windup of the season. Camps and summer cottages were closed, and many of those leaving left with Mayflower Grove the point of embarkation. Several hundred would appear, bag and baggage, extra open cars would be provided, and to celebrate there was a crashing of straw hats, popular in those years. Attempts to run the park on weekends after that were a failure.
Near the end of 1930 our lease was coming up for renewal. The Street Railway-that owned the park-did not want to renew, but to sell. We were interested but had no reserve funds and could not hire the amount necessary to purchase but before giving up was concerned with what could be done with the land if the park was closed. I counted the trees and found about one thousand still standing of various width. John Foster Lumber Company would buy and pay two dollars on the stump for each tree.
During the latter part of our 1931 season, the last year of our operation we were notified the park had been sold to our former merry-go round owner and an associate. This was a disquieting event since one of the purchasers was always around to see how the business was operated and to get ideas.
We sold to them the bath house addition and restaurant equipment, i.e. tables and furniture.
We contracted for another park in Maryland and moved out the Merry-go-round, chute the chutes, canoes, dishes, bathing, rides equipment in the spring. The pool room building was cut in half and moved to Center Street by my father who converted it to a residence. Cutting in half
was necessary to avoid cutting down trees.
The novelty booth was cut in half and moved to the other side of the road on our land, used temporarily for storage and later converted to a refreshment stand. The novelty booth, eight feet by eight feet was moved across the street, doubled in size later and used as a toilet. All hotel equipment was stored in the novelty booth, rides stacked outside. The diving tower was dissembled and stored to the rear of the refreshment stand. The projection booth was also moved across the street.
Next year the new owners built a new movie projection booth and ran nothing but pictures as an attraction. They converted the dance floor to roller skating which ruined the floor for dancing.
Our removal of buildings, rides, chute the chutes and such reduced their attractions to a roller skating rink and movies necessitating the procurement of an entirely new clientele which they found impossible, profitably. Introduction of beer at the restaurant contributed to the non-interest of church picnics, and with no ball field their failure was inevitable but not determined entirely by their own changes.
The first hurricane in New England came in 1938 and this did a job on many of the trees, also hitting some buildings. The park was crippled, lost some of its beauty, but did not put them out of business at once.
Our family had moved to Bryantville the winter of 1931 and occupied the house directly opposite the park. Obviously, there was no love lost between ourselves and the new owners.
When the hurricane was sweeping thru, my wife Catherine stood at the front door window and watched their trees come down while they stood at the window of the restaurant door facing the street and watched the trees go down in the area we owned. We lost seventy-seven. They must have lost many more.
The park was discontinued somewhere around 1940 and remained idle for a period to a second hurricane that demolished the band stand, knocked in a section of the roof over the theater seating section, the fence, with trees on the restaurant and hotel. With these losses and many of the shade trees gone, the property became a poor asset.
The owner of the mortgage who apparently took possession sold the park area for a land development to Vernon Hayward and Alfred Freeman. They salvaged much of the lumber which was salable since new lumber was not available during WW II and converted to a land and house development.
So ended Mayflower Grove, gone but not forgotten.
The following are recollections and information picked up since the original pages were written and or supplied in part by individuals after reading the “memoirs."
The movie house next to the theatre was known as “The Old Ship." In later years it became a photograph studio run by David and Esther Rice.
The Bonville Band had as members other than Melvin Shepherd and his father, Joseph, Harry Litchfield, James Bonney, Billy Boyden, Heinne Eisenhauer, Chauncy Davis, Adolph Anderson, Hazel Thomas, Bert Thomas, Walter Kilbrith, "Pop" Bedel and Frank MacDonald, conductor.
Walter Crowell sold popcorn at the theater about 1913.
Persons familiar to patrons 1919-1931 and omitted: "Bill” Farley, Bath House, Harold Brown, Electrician, "E d” Benson, police, Dominic DeAngeles, Merry-go-round, Evan Griffiths, Golf Course, Charles Straffin, tickets, theater, Mrs. Straffin, tickets, dance hall, Agnes DeRusha, cashier nights at restaurant, George Basler, water front, Everet Raymond, Stage manager, Whit Crossman, Ground keeper.
INCIDENTS AND EVENTS
An orange drink was dispensed from a 5-gal. glass container inverted. The clerk making the conversion lost his hold, the 5-gal. bottle broke on the marble counter and a prospective woman customer "got it." Not very often an orangeade bath is provided, but it cost us.
Red painted all settees every spring, but one spring too late to fully dry out. An early arrival, a woman in white, sat down and walked off with red stripes top to bottom, of the dress, that is.
Plymouth Chamber of Commerce contracted the park exclusive for one day and ran a wire across the parking entrance to prevent others coming in. It didn't work, the first car came in, sailed around the corner, the wire caught the cap of the radiator, became taunt like a bow to fire an arrow, broke off the radiator cap and smashed it thru the windshield. Not our problem.
Pickled limes were loved by many in those days, but only a few stores carried them. Some customers came for miles just for a lime.
A local decided to become a pole sitter which we allowed and publicized, next to the restaurant at the top of a sawed-off pine tree. Was up a few weeks, and had enough, so quit.
On a children’s' day ran a greased pig contest. There were so many kids after and on him that the pig didn't have a chance. Besides it was against the law. One “thriller" only
