Transportation Early in this region’s history, the only reliable form of transportation was walking. Horses had long since vanished from North America from the time of the great extinction approximately 10,000 years ago. Horses were not present in The New World until reintroduced by the Spanish in the 16th Century, though this was in Central America and the American Southwest. Obviously walking had been embraced by the archaic Clovis People, so named after Clovis, New Mexico where their fluted spear points had been found. They had traveled to this region on foot, following wild game from Asia. The game had been plentiful, and those stalking it had led a nomadic existence. The Abenaki people, of which the Penacook were the local chapter, may have lacked horses, but they had mastered water transportation via canoes made of wooden frames covered with birch bark and pitch. They had used these canoes to navigate the length and breadth of the Merrimack River from its source in the Lakes Region to what today is Newburyport, MA, as well as plying the expanse of Lake Winnipesaukee They also passed through the Merrimack’s tributaries, the Soucook, Suncook, Piscatasquog, and Contoocook Rivers, as well as the Pemmigewasset and its associated tributaries. It was via canoe that Hannah Dustin was kidnaped by the Penacooks from Haverhill, MA, taken to points north and, after her children had been murdered, exacted vengeance, killing and scalping her captors with their own tomahawks as they slept. In the present day there exists a memorial to her on a small island on the Merrimack River in Penacook, NH, the site where Hannah’s vengeance took place. Surprising to me is that Hannah Dustin has not been immortalized as a patron saint of the Feminist Movement, promoted as having struck a blow for the sisterhood in the killing of those evil, male savages. Not surprisingly, the radical feminists with whom I have spoken haven’t a clue as to who Hannah Dustin was, much less what she had done. During the Colonial period, horsepower, oxen, and sails were the only means of viable transportation. For land travel there were a variety of wagons and carriages, though by the 19th Century, railroads had come into their own, hauling freight and passengers to virtually any location in the Granite State. As an item of interest, the stage coaches which we saw in the televised Westerns of our childhood, had been manufactured in Concord, NH. In many ways, Concord Coaches had played a major role in opening the West to people born here. Helping to communicate the opportunity presented to Easterners was newspaper publisher Horace Greeley, who lived in Amherst, NH, a paltry 15 miles from Manchester. “Go West, young man,” was his advice to the adventurous Easterner of the 19th Century. Much of the improvement in transportation is attributable to development of the steam engine, used to power both trains and ships. Locally, Manchester had its own connection to the railroads in the Baldwin Locomotive Works assembly plant situated in the Amoskeag Millyard and from which many steam locomotives were built and sent on their way to the rest of the country. This was at a time when there were rail connections to just about any place one wanted to go. Looking at 19th Century Manchester, for example, there was the original train station located on the northwest side of Granite and Canal Streets. This served the community well, until the new station was built later in the Century and constructed across the street at the intersections of Canal and Depot Streets. Christened “Union Station”, it was an imposing structure made of yellow brick and sporting a four sided clock tower. The interior had marble floors and columns with cathedral ceiling. Scattered about were high back wooden benches for waiting passengers. In its day, Union Station was an elaborate facility, necessary to serve the rail transport needs of the community. Just to the North of Amoskeag Bridge was a smaller train station for Manchester’s elite, not wanting to rub elbows with the commoners frequenting Union Station. Today that rich guys’ train station is a private home. In the same area which today is Delta Dental Stadium were the freight yards and roundhouse, used to enable locomotives to switch directions. The primary line of the Boston & Maine Railroad followed a North / South route, comprised of two sets of tracks for much of this distance. Those heading South could get to Boston’s North Station. The line going North went all the way to White River Junction, Vermont. Eastbound trains followed a spur beneath the Elm Street Overpass (I’ll bet none of you knew this structure still exists.) and out through Manchester’s East Side and on past Lake Massabesic to Candia, Raymond, and the Seacoast. To the South, there were trains going to Derry, Nashua, and a number of Massachusetts depots. There were also rail lines going to a variety of areas within the city limits, primarily for the delivery of freight to area business’s loading docks. The line going to Derry cut clear through what is now Manchester-Boston Regional Airport, but not before crossing over Cohas Brook via a trestle forty feet above the water, its granite block abutments giving the casual observer a keyhole view into another time and place. Anyone heading West would take the North Weare Branch of the B&M across the river via the trestle to Keene and Vermont. Today that trestle has become the “Hands Across The River” pedestrian bridge and bike path following the old abandoned rail line all the way to Goffstown. To obtain some idea of the scope of railroads in and around Manchester, you can drive down Brown Ave. and take a left in Goff’s Falls onto Depot Street. If you drive all the way to the end you’ll be able to see a massive railroad trestle spanning a remarkable expanse of Merrimack River. Designed for double tracks, there’s only one set of rails currently in use. This bridge’s massive iron girders are rusted and spray-painted with graffiti, giving mute testimony to its history. One can only imagine the number of steam locomotives, smoke stacks belching plumes of soot, shaking the neighborhood, and whistling off into the darkness, passing others along the way, and bringing nearby communities together with those farther away. During hard times, such as the Great Depression, scores of unemployed men could be found holed up trackside either passing through searching for work here, or following the rails to the possibility of jobs throughout the ends of the country and Canada. These men eventually became known as The Knights Of the Road. Passenger rail service around Manchester took the form of trolleys operated by Manchester Traction & Light Co. serving the city as well as some of the outlying areas. Manchester’s streets at this time were cobblestone, which made for some very bumpy rides around town, though those riding the trolley did not have to tolerate that. By the 1940s, the trolleys were replaced by buses, and Manchester Traction & Light Company was known as Public Service Company, today known better as PSNH. Some of you may recall that Manchester’s original buses had an emblem of a flaming torch emblazoned on their sides. Red and off white was the color scheme. Eventually Public Service got out of the transportation business, passing the torch literally to Manchester Transit Company, offering bus service throughout Manchester in the present day.. Bus travel between cities and out of state had been going on for quite some time. Manchester’s original bus depot was a small structure on Stark Street just off Elm. There was no need for a larger one, seeing as how most people needing to get somewhere would typically take the train. If my memory serves me correctly, the transcontinental buses were diesel powered, giving off similarly smelling exhaust as the Boston & Maine Diesel locomotives. Public Service’s buses ran on gasoline. Air travel soared into Manchester not long after the Wright Brothers first flight at Kitty Hawk. The Queen City’s first brush with the aeroplane phenomenon took place at what is now Lincoln Street Plaza in July of 1917. Seventeen year old Walter Bullock put on an aerial display in an 80 horsepower Curtiss biplane before crowds gathered there for a carnival. Though he nearly crashed, for some time after this there were plans in the works to make that part of town the Manchester Airport. This would include the area bounded by Lincoln, Hayward, Valley, and Maple Streets. Others were pulling to have the airport located in Bedford, though the site eventually selected was to the south of the city proper, straddling the towns of Londonderry and Manchester. Initially airplanes were used for carrying the mail, but by the 1930s passenger airline service became available to Manchester Area residents via Boston- Maine and Central Vermont Airways flying Stinson Trimotors. Much of the expanding airport was the product of WPA (Works Progress Administration) programs erecting hangars and an art deco style terminal in 1937 which in the present day serves as the NH Aeronautical Museum. But just as civil aviation was taking off around here in a very big way, the Second World War intervened, setting it back for the better part of a decade. The Army Air Corps was in need of a base for the training of flight crews on their way to the European Theater, though this had been in the planning stage for at least two years prior to the start of hostilities. The selection of Manchester as this major base can thank the lobbying efforts of US Senator Styles Bridges. While this did much for the local economy, it was a roadblock for civil aviation in the Queen City. To circumvent the military’s restriction of the airport, a group of private pilots pooled their efforts to develop Bayview Airport in Hooksett. Though far from an ostentatious facility, Bayview offered a small hangar and wind sock as well as a mowed grass runway not much longer than 1,000 feet. While nowhere near the 7,000 ft. macadam runway at Grenier Field, it did provide an opportunity for many to pursue their unencumbered flight dreams. After the war the marketplace was flooded with a variety of small, government surplus aircraft, and many of these could be found at Bayview. Most were single engine “tail draggers”, but also in the mix were an occasional Twin Beechcraft or Cessna Bobcat. In 1949 the military began to allow limited access to civil aviation. This is because the 82nd Fighter Wing was in the process of being transferred to another state, thus freeing up much space at the base. Northeast Airlines resumed using the 1937 terminal for DC-3 service to places like Worcester, Boston, Providence, Lebanon, and New York’s LaGuardia Airport. Local aviation continued to grow. A new terminal was built and dedicated to Bedford businessman Roscoe Ammon in 1962. Now serving Manchester via Northeast Airlines were DC-6B Sunliners and Vicker’s Viscounts. Both were four engine aircraft, but the Viscount utilized turboprops and had an odd, whistling sound and hum to its engines. Northeast eventually took them out of service, the explanation being that they had a higher than acceptable rate of crashing. Not good for business. The military continued its presence here flying C-119 Troop Carriers and F-86L jet interceptors, though by 1960 the military’s hold on the base was slipping, mainly because the runways were not long enough for the newer, high performance jets making their way into government inventory. Those F-86Ls needed a drogue chute to slow them down enough when landing to prevent runway over runs. Many of us were attracted to cars at this time. Some of us built models and fantasized about what it would be like to customize the family sedan. We read all of the hot rod magazines and viewed in awe the works of car customizers, George Barris, Gene Cushenberry, and Ed Roth. In the Fall of 1962 my father was driving a white, 6 cylinder, 1963 Ford Fairlane, rather unimpressive in my 13 year old opinion. When I asked if he had ever thought of having it customized, I got no response. It may have been that he hadn’t heard me. Most likely he had, but instead chose to ignore my annoying, adolescent prattle. The evolution of the automobile is interesting, intermingled as it is with our culture. The first cars were little more than motorized carts, at the time known as “horseless carriages”, a novelty at the time, its purpose strictly utilitarian. As the decades rolled along, the merging of engineering with art began to produce what could be termed “classic” cars, works of both beauty and function, and spawning a pecking order among those who owned them, none more so than adolescent males. The dictum was, and still is, that the guy with the hottest car got to date the hottest women. There was an activity known as cruising where several of us would pile into a friend’s car and drive the same route around town over and over until it was time to go home. The circuit ran from McDonald’s on So. Willow Street to The Puritan on Daniel Webster Highway. Gasoline was selling for around 30 cents a gallon, so fuel costs were never an issue. Somebody had calculated that if we took off when the light turned green at the intersection of Hanover and Elm that by accelerating to 77 mph we could hit every green light on Elm. So far as I know, none of us ever pulled this off without getting ticketed. The big thing was meeting girls. Again I was told that an impressive car would go a long way toward attracting women. This was nothing new to me. I had no car in college, and no dates. My eyes were opened to this for the first time in the Fall of 1956 when my older brother Tom pulled up next to the curb with a brand new car. I was tossing a football around in my back yard with two friends when one of them dropped the ball and stared. ‘Look at that!” he shouted, my gaze drawing a bead on the gray and white 1957 Buick Special convertible parked there in front of my house. Later that afternoon Tom took me for a cruise around town, and wherever we went heads would turn, tongues would wag, and people, especially the women, would stare. I made up my mind right there on the spot that I too would one day own a hot car. I thought my moment in the sun had arrived in the Fall of 1969. In my junior year at St. A’s, I had saved over $3,000 in a bank account, and because I had received a generous financial aid package to cover my college tuition, my account would be available to buy a car. But nothing, especially a big ticket item like a car, is ever that simple. My savings account had been placed in trust under my father’s name, so that he would need to sign off on it for me to gain access. He insisted that he pick out the car for me, though I countered that it was my money and I should be able to choose my own set of wheels. The very next day he told me he had been heard of a ‘61 Chevy Biscayne being sold for $1,500. I was unmoved in my resolve to pick one of my own and promptly sought the advice of college classmate Dick Boisvert. Dick had been a technical sergeant in the Air Force, working on B-52 engines at Loring AFB in Maine. He was also a sports car enthusiast who competed regularly in road rallies. Dick would know far more about cars than my father, and he quickly put me in touch with an acquaintance of his with a sports car for sale. Things appeared to have been panning out well for me. Dick’s contact man was a local mechanic named Big Louie, so we made a trip to Louie’s garage on West bridge Street and saw the car. I was blown away by it, a mint condition, 1962 MGA Mk ll Roadster . Big Louie told us he wanted $1,800 for it, so money would be no problem, or so I thought, broaching the subject to my father that night, and telling him I would be stopping by with the car mid afternoon for him to inspect. My thought was that things would go better for me if I kept him involved with the decision making. Not even close! Next day at 3 p.m. Dick and I pulled up in front of the house. Dad was on a ladder changing the storm windows. I exited the MGA and walked up to the ladder, asking my father to take a look. It got weird here. “NOOP,“ he said in a clipped tone, still fumbling with the storm window and not even turning to face me, nor looking at the car I wanted to buy. So with my head hung low and completely embarrassed by having been written off like that in front of a friend, I walked back to the MGA and drove away, Dick couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed, telling me he didn’t understand my father’s actions, or lack of them. Neither did I. That night over dinner I was told that for me it would be that Chevy Biscayne, or no car at all. “GOOD!” came my surly retort, “I’d rather have no car at all than have to drive around in a piece of junk like a Chevy Biscayne!” I’ve often thought that one of life’s ironies is that we have to live our lives in a forward mode, but it only makes sense when viewed in reverse from a distance of several decades. Looking at these events rationally, I would have been in over my head with that 62 MGA. The engines need constant attention and tinkering to keep them running well. And if parts are needed they are often difficult to procure, as well as being expensive. On the other hand, a ‘61 Chevy Biscayne, while far from being a chick magnet, would have been a more reliable means of transportation. I was eventually able to buy a car, a used, 1971 Chevy Concours Station Wagon, but I was 28 when it happened. And while I never got my hands on a sports car, for the last 27 years I’ve been driving a pick up truck, not very good for attracting longing gazes from the women, but it gets me where I want to go, safely and on time.
Posted on: Tue, 05 Aug 2014 00:51:25 +0000
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