NOW YOU KNOW - A Beverage Family History

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NOW YOU KNOW
By A. Francis Beverage
Camden, Maine
This is where I lived until about age 2-2 ½. This photo shows it under remodeling. When I lived there it
was white clapboard, rather dingy. Since it was a duplex I surmise it may have been a “mill house”.
The owner lived next door and had free ranging chickens.
My only real memory is of being chased by the neighbor’s
rooster.
Camden is renowned as “the prettiest spot in Maine” and in
the full bloom of summer it truly is, or was. When I was
there, in June of 1998, the main street traffic was
unbelievable.
(After about three years of age:)
We spent summers there with my grandparents: Mother and the girls with Grandma Durgin (Mabel) and
my brother Don and I with Grandma Cora and Grandpa Alfred Frye Beverage. My name was designed
to give me Grandpa’s initials (Arthur Francis for Alfred Frye) and brother Don was Donald Alfred.
Dad (who worked in Portland) came to Camden
weekends and we spent many happy hours with his lifelong friend, who had a weekend retreat on a small pond
10 miles or so from town. Grove Street ran from
Mechanic St. to Mountain St. Mountain St. extended
from Main St. to Lake Megunticook and hugged the base
of Mount Battie, a 1,500 foot high outcropping.
Camden Harbor
Grandma Durgin’s house sat at its base and faced the
entrance to the Camden Cemetery. The picture (right) was
taken from that entrance. I used to clamber up the
mountain from Grandma’s back yard. Today there is a
road to the top.
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Camden, besides its setting on Penobscot Bay and its ship building history, was a mill town. The
Megunticook River powered mills that wove cotton and wool before it emptied into Penobscot Bay at
the point where Main St. starts to become Mountain St. and then veers right to become High St. and
head to Lincolnville and Belfast. Grandma White (later Durgin), with her daughter, Iris, (my mother),
moved there from Pittsfield, Maine to be a mill worker. I have almost no history to confirm or sustain
the foregoing about Grandma Durgin or my Mother. For some reason or other, there is little or no
record. My sisters, Ruth, the oldest, and Joanne, the youngest, both who were closest to their mother,
and Grandma Durgin, tell me that Mother did not talk much about her background. I assume she
finished high school in Camden. She married Ken Blackington (Leander Kenniston Blackington) and
they had a son, Edward. Ken chauffeured for a Texas family that came to Camden every summer. The
town was alive with summer transplants. Edward inherited the job after Ken died. Anyway, Mother and
Ken were divorced, after which she married Henry, who was my dad. They were both an only child so
we had no cousins or aunts and uncles.
Nannie Durgin worked at the Mt. Battie mill, which was at the Mechanic St. end of Grove St. Just up
the street on the way to Mountain St. lived the Dunbar family. Helen Dunbar was Mother’s pal. Her
dad Walter was assistant fire chief and later chief when Allen Payson died. The Payson’s lived on
Atlantic St., which led from Main St. (“over-town” to Grandma Beverage) to Sea St. where the
Beverages lived. Sea St. ran from High St. to the eastern steamship wharf on the outer harbor. It
bordered the inner harbor, which was bound by Sea, Atlantic and Bayview Sts. Bayview was on the
“over-town” side.
The wharf at the end of Sea St. burned once, was rebuilt, and is now gone completely. But going to the
boat used to be the high point of the day. Two steamers, the “Camden” and the “Belfast”, plied daily
from Boston to Bangor. They docked at
Camden about 6 p.m. on the way to Bangor
and about 6 a.m. on the return trip. They
unloaded passengers and freight, much of
which was cotton and wool for the local
mills.
Both grandparents were in their early 60’s
when I was spending summers there.
Grandpa spent some years at the Camden
Herald as a typesetter and later as its
business manager. Somewhere along the
way he went to work for a man named
Montgomery who owned a mail order
business called the D. P. Ordway Plaster
Factory, which sold a medicinal salve of
some kind. Mr. Montgomery provided a
loan of $2,500 to my father, which bought
the house you see on the right. The picture doesn’t resemble my memories truly since the front porch as
been enclosed (so has the back) and the backyard is gone.
This house, as all the others on this side of the street, backed up to Eaton’s field. Every summer it was
mowed for hay. Today it’s about as residential as you can get. Grandpa was a joiner. He belonged to
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the “Commandery” which I believe is (or was) a Knight’s Templar Affiliate. Anyway, it entails
uniforms, swords, plumes and parades now and then.
He was also a thespian of sorts and appeared in many local plays at the Camden Opera House. He died
of a heart attack at age 64 while attending a Sunday lodge excursion.
Grandma Durgin was up at 4 a.m., hair braided and bunned, and produced bran muffins and fresh
doughnuts; plain, chocolate and molasses. I can’t excuse or explain, except being a careless 11 year old,
why I didn’t express gratitude and appreciation. Maybe I did in one way or another, but it haunts me
now and then.
Cumberland Mills: #2 Newcomb Place/More room for a growing family
My dad located a two-story house with Victorian style turret that had a third story bedroom. We lived
on the first floor and the landlady occupied the second floor. The stairway was packed with National
Geographics from bottom to top. I was 2 ½ -3 years old when we moved there. The street in front of
this house was a circle and the end of the
trolley line that dad took to work.
Conveniently, the elementary school was
next door on the right (see note below).
My dad’s first job after high school and 2
years of Hearon Academy was with the
Gannet Publishing Company. Also his
last job until he retired.
(There is an old family story that will
disappear with the passing of his last two
sisters if it's not included here. So I'm
taking the liberty of passing it on in
perpetuity. DB) In 1924 Francis's older
brother Don turned six years of age and
entered the first grade - there was no
kindergarten in those days. The story
Front
Rear
goes that when brother Don began school,
Francis, who was just slightly more than a
year younger than his brother, would
follow him to school every day. If his
mother Iris collared him and made him stay home, as soon as she wasn't looking he would sneak off and
go to school with his brother. This was a daily occurrence for the first couple weeks of school, and the
teacher was so impressed with his ability to keep up with the other first graders that the school decided
to admit him. Thus he and his older brother were always in the same grade through high school.
Rosemont Years
Approximately 1925-26 we moved from Cumberland
Mills to Rosemont, a suburb of Portland. Still on the same
trolley route to downtown Portland where Dad’s job was,
our new home was a duplex at 35 Columbia Road, phone
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# Forest 472. We lived there through primary, elementary and junior high school years. There was a
skating rink within walking distance (on the school route). Sometimes home on skates with frozen toes.
Had other skating ponds above junior high school in cemetery with 5 ponds. Favorite recreation!
Along in the late 20’s Dad and his old school buddies got interested in outboard hydroplane racing. This
era was the beginning of the sport. Their first efforts were in Limited Class A boats and motors. The
outboard motor was a Lockwood Ace, 10 horse power. They cleaned them up by porting to squeeze all
they could out of them. The rest of the group bought factory made boats, among which were the
Flowers Falcon and the Humarock Baby. A guy named Charlie Harris held the championship the first
two seasons with a Humarock Baby. Charlie was through with it by then and Dad’s closest buddy
bought the boat. His brother had a Flowers Falcon.
But Dads first boat (the Limited Class A) was built in the basement at 35 Columbia Road. It had to go
up the basement stairway and across the kitchen range to get outside. It was painted black and named
“Shadow”, which it proved to be. By now they (we) were ready to move up to 12 horse power Johnsons
and be in class A, no longer limited. Dad took the lines off both the Flowers Falcon and the Humarock
Baby and married the best together. Not long after, Dad decided to build another boat. This time he had
the use of the other side of the garage because the new tenant next door had no car. It was a sleek little
craft and won a lot of trophies, but as the sport grew it soon priced these boys out of it. It was the early
years of the depression. So they built sailboats and ice boats for the winter.
Our first “family” car was bought to haul the hydroplanes around the state to the various regattas: one
every weekend through most of the summer for a couple of years. It was a 1922 seven passenger
Marmon – wire wheels yet. The back seat space afforded room for the five-gallon gas cans, tools, the
boat motor and me. I still have an aversion to the odor of mixed gasoline and oil. But all in all it was an
enjoyable couple of years for a 12-13 year old. There were other enjoyable experiences along the way.
Some of which I still carry with me. One last thing. When the Marmon was traded for the first
Franklin, it still bore the dent in the aluminum body above the spare tire where we tied the trailer tongue
(trailer to haul the boat) because we didn’t have a hitch yet. Reminds me of a bird which dented the
hood of our “47” Kaiser on the road from Sioux Falls to sunny southern California.
The duplex had third story bedrooms on both sides and one in the front, which was available by
consensus to whoever needed it. We suffered through 6 weeks of scarlet fever there, building paper
airplanes and whatever other mischief we could devise. The family lived in Rosemont until my brother
and I were high school age. Dad was less than enthusiastic about big city high schools. So....
Yarmouth: High School Days
We moved to Yarmouth, 12 miles east of Portland
(somewhere around 1932 or so). It was becoming a
bedroom community for commuters to Portland. This
house, at 44 West Elm Street, was huge. The barn (in
this picture converted to living quarters) was two
stories with a basement. Basement had pens for
chickens. We used them for dogs. Dad’s hobbies had
changed from boats to bird hunting. The area was
conducive to both field birds and, being on the coast,
ducks and geese. We had several dogs, including
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Springer and English spaniels, English setters and a pointer or two.
Side view shows size of house better. Summers I
slept in a tent under the two big trees (when I
wasn’t gallivanting around). Had a couple of
buddies who also had a tent on the riverbank and
sneaked down there often.
The owner of the house wanted to sell it, but his
price was out of dad’s reach. This was in the
thirties – the crux of the Depression.
Dad’s income was cut in two - $100 a week to
$50. But prices went the same route. We fed the dogs hamburger at 2 pounds for 25 cents; bought
gasoline for our $10.00 model “T’s” and later $25 model “A’s” at 12 gallons for a dollar. Dad’s job was
secure and we weathered the depression in reasonable comfort. And, I might add, a lot of fun on the
way.
The next move was 110 Main Street. This was an
old sea captain’s house built in the late 1700’s. I
think the barn (garage) was 2 stories and my
bedroom opened to it, which allowed a certain
amount of teenage freedom. I eventually built a
darkroom in it.
As the kids matured and left the nest it became too much house and was worth enough to build the next
one, 20 South Street, just steps away from 44 West Elm. By that time I was on the way to getting
married and not too far from WWII. We did build a nice big darkroom in its basement. The original
house had a one-car garage and no second story.
In the interim, Franklins’ were gone and we had
Buicks. First one was a Model 91, seven passenger.
That degenerated to a ’35 four door and by the time
of the house on South Street, became a ‘37 or ‘38
coupe. Long after this I think his last car was either
a Pinto or a Fairmont. His favorite grandson, my
favorite nephew, (That would be Parker Keith, sister
Ruth's son.) sold Fords, with a discount.
The Cape Cod bungalow was metamorphosed into a
2 ½ story house on West Elm Street, maybe a block
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and a half from 44. This was to give sister Ruth, now starting a family, a place to live.
Post High School
Some where along here I believe Henry strongly encouraged Francis to join the Civil Air Patrol, which
was patrolling a portion of the Maine coastline, and through which he obtained a radio operators
license. This service delayed his being drafted into WWII until late 1943. He actually remained a
member until well after the war, and was an active member of the Civil Air Patrol unit in Sioux Falls,
South Dakota for several years. In October or November of 1943 he received his draft notice and
elected to join the Army Air Corp (soon to become the US Air Force) instead of being put into the
regular Army. DB
Story continues: WWII is on the horizon. I went into the USAF on December 23, 1943. Went to Ft.
Devens, Mass., for a week or two, had a weekend pass to go home and then went to Miami Beach, FL.,
which had been taken over as an Air Force Basic Training Center. Spent some time at Miami Beach
doing Hup 2-3-4- bullpucky (not quite the term he used), then on to troop training. I think that was
about six weeks, during which time I had my teeth fixed, toured the retail center of Miami Beach,
hobnobbed with a female or two and then was put on a cattle train which ended up in Sioux Falls, S.D.,
which was a Technical Training Command for radio operators and mechanics. When I arrived the
classes were full and there would be a six-week wait for new classes.
To keep from going stir crazy, I went in search of something to do. Having some experience in
photography, I went to the base photo lab. They didn’t have any openings, but the officer in charge also
had responsibility for the training film library and he offered me a job with it. The library unit was
responsible for showing the newly arrived recruits the various “indoctrination” films like VD, Malaria
and other such overseas hazards.
I stayed there for close to two years, until the final push came to finish off Japan. I went through the
school, which was deactivated before we finished, so I was sent to Madison, Wisconsin to finish. From
there we went to Vancouver, Washington, a staging area for overseas shipment. I was in route to Tinian
Island when the bomb was dropped. I was assigned to the 500th Bomb Group, which turned out to be on
Iwo Jima on a base of empty GI barracks and a barely operable Mess Hall.
Anyway, people were very soon being mustered out and we wound up spending six months of shipping
or burying equipment. I was still a buck private. One of the needs in our camp was a truck driver. By
now we were down to kids from the cities, New York, New Jersey and Chicago, so no one but me could
handle a 6x6, so I became a Corporal. That lasted a few weeks when along came a fresh Warrant
Officer in Personnel and he figured out that with enlistment credit for my year in the Civil Air Patrol I
had 45 points; enough to go home.
During my time at the “cushy” job at the Sioux Falls school I had all kinds of time to do as I pleased. I
lived in the barracks that housed the small theatre of the film library, with the chief projectionist. I had
no reveille formations to attend and the workday was eight to five. On a private’s pay with an allotment
going home I couldn’t follow the rogues to town and was, thus, tied to the Service Club or the snack bar.
In the snack bar I became interested in the young lady that ran the doughnut machine. To shorten a long
story, we were married after I got home from Iwo Jima. Her name was Margaret Cunningham, one of
thirteen children of Andrew and Bertha. They were farmers transplanted to Sioux Falls during the war,
after retiring from the farm.
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The children of Andrew and Bertha were Vincent, a surviving twin, Louis, Frances, Mary, Doris,
Michael, Earl, Katherine, Agnes, Margaret, John and Patricia Ann. John died as the result of a high
school football accident.
Margaret and I had two boys, Dennis and Mark. Margaret suffered
rheumatic fever when she was thirteen and was left with a leaky
heart valve. We were living on the second floor of an apartment
house and one day while hanging out the wash she heard a
commotion from upstairs and ran up the stairs to check it out. She
would end up in the hospital as a result of the run up the stairs and
she never recovered from it. She passed away January 3, 1948.
That was a traumatic time for me. Dennis was two and a half and
Mark was 6 months old. I was working for people who were
exemplary to say the least. They gave me some time off and I took
Dennis on a trip to visit my Dad and his wife to simmer down a bit.
I left Mark with a caretaker family and what I found when I
returned left me with the feeling that if you want your kids taken
care of, you need a home, not a hired hand. I was able to coerce my
mother to come to Sioux Falls and help me out, against her wishes.
But mothers are mothers. Dad was working for MidWest Beach
Co., a large stationary store that also sold cameras and
photographic supplies as well providing a film processing service.
Dad’s job in large part dealt with the photographic end of the
business. He had experience in film processing and he had
somewhat advanced camera knowledge and skills. He was also
largely responsible for window displays.
Margaret and Francis on
their wedding day April
19, 1946
My employers went to my bank and guaranteed a note that allowed me to take care of the expenses
involved (funeral, travel, child care, etc). It earned me a great respect for them, to say the least, but also
for the value of a credit rating that has carried me through the rest of my life.
My immediate superior became somewhat of a buddy and we saw eye to eye. (This gentleman’s name
was Robert “Bob” Clauson, a true and close family friend. For many years he would join us for dinner
most Sundays and Mark and I always looked forward to his visits. D.B.) One of the other office
employees was also in our circle (his name was Bob Bray). This third member of the circle was married
to a girl (Norma Peterson Bray) who, believe it or not, came from a family even bigger than the
Cunninghams....
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The Petersons:
Two Day boys had married two Peterson
girls. I wouldn’t even begin to try to list the
Day/Peterson clan. My boss and the wife of
the other part of our circle were in cahoots to
find me a candidate to help me raise my two
boys.
Walter Day had married Amy Peterson and
they had four girls. Norma Peterson, now
Norma Bray, introduced me to Verla Day, the
second eldest of the four girls. Amy, Verla’s
mother, died quite young and Verla became
the keeper of the house as eldest sister Elaine
had married. As father Walter Day had
remarried to Eva Broline, Verla had set out
to take care of herself. She found a job in
Sioux Falls at the Manchester Biscuit
Company and boarded with a local family.
Before she had worked long enough for it to
matter, she found herself with much more to
take care of than herself. We were married in
August of 1948 and, all of a sudden, besides
me, she had two toddlers to take care of. The
group I have been talking about remained
close friends for years.
On her 22nd birthday, 18 August 1948, Verla
Carolyn Day and A. Francis Beverage are
married in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Boss
and best friend Robert Clauson (left) is best
man and eldest sister Elaine Day Trandahl
(right) is maid of honor.
To start out with, we lived on what was
formerly the Sioux Falls Air Base, where
World War II military barracks were
converted into three two-bedroom apartment
rentals. Affordable, but not gaudy. After two
floods of the Sioux River we looked around
for something on higher ground and found a
retired builder who had 20 or so acres he was
selling parcels of for 20 dollars down and 20
dollars a month, with possession available
after the down payment. We bought an acre This building is at the intersection of E. 26th
at the corner of 26th Street and Cleveland Street and S. Cleveland Avenue. Nary a sign of
Avenue.
the old 1201 S. Cleveland homestead. This
intersection was not within the city limits in
The owner of this property was a nice old those days. The Sioux River, about 1/2 mile to
man named Jerome Deruytter. He lived in the West, was the city limit at that time.
what was the homestead of the property. Bahnsen's farm was across Cleveland Ave. and
to the south was nothing but cornfields for miles
except for a little community known as Orchard
Heights on some terrain too rocky for plowing.
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Close to his house was an out building (giant barn) that had been bought and converted into living
quarters by a Russell Pohl and his wife Irma (Peterson), possibly one of the Petersons of which Norma
Bray was a member. There were so many over so many years that Norma was Verla’s aunt. Not sure
where Irma ranks, but probably a cousin. (Although Irma’s maiden name was Peterson, her relationship
to Norma and Verla has not been confirmed. Norma’s parents were Carl Emil and Jennie Peterson, and
Norma was Amy Peterson’s (Verla’s mother) youngest sister. Peterson was a common name among
Swedish immigrants in the 1800’s. PD)
I believe my success in life has been the good fortune to have had several very good mentors. Mr.
Deruytter was one of them. He lent expertise and moral support for the eight or so years that we lived in
Sioux Falls.
On the first acre we built a “basement” house as a starter, planning to build on top of it. It had a flat
roof, slightly raised at the front to make drainage at the back. More about that later. We hired a block
layer to put up the walls and pour the floor and from then on it was up to me. Mr. Deruytter coached the
whole family through the entire building process.
Margaret’s sister Agnes was married to Joe Gallagher, and through Margaret’s short time with me, we
were closer to Joe and Agnes than any of the rest of the Cunningham family. When it came time to dig
a well for our “hole in the ground”, Joe helped me dig it. To hand dig a well you select your spot, buy
36-inch concrete tile, set it where you want to locate the well, and dig from inside the tile. As it lowers,
you slide another tile on top and dig some more. Pretty soon you need someone to haul the dirt up. Joe
did that, or we took turns. At 21 feet we struck water and that was that. (I believe the tile were 36
inches tall and 48 inches in diameter. DB)
Joe and Agnes had eleven (12) children; Dick and Judy –twins- Mary-Jean, Joseph, George, Thomas,
Colleen, Theresa, Susan, Cindy and Patrick-John. The only ones I remember are up to George. The rest
were born after we left South Dakota for California. (There was another twin that died at birth. I also
believe Mary-Jean and Joseph were twins. DB)
Joe and Agnes lived in a small house on North Dakota Avenue until it started to split at the seams. Joe
was able to buy a vacant lot two doors away and he built a new house on it. After several of the family
were gone, including Joe, Agnes lived there until she died in 1996. Dennis and Bettie visited there last
summer, 1998, and visited Judy, who would be the oldest of the children. Memories of them roll around
in my dreams from time to time.
The basement house we built we lived in until in the spring of either 1950 or 51 (actually I'm certain it
was 1952 because I was in the second grade. DB). Along came a surprise March snowstorm that lifted
the roof off the place and we were displaced until spring (for several months: The snow filled the house
and most everything in it was ruined.) Insurance replaced the roof and we started to build on top.
Below us was a small valley rimmed by a hill that faced south instead of north. (A much more
advantageous spot, weather wise.) We arranged to buy that from our old friend Jerome and set out to
build a new (larger) house. This would put us in easy walking distance of Russ and Irma Pohl and
Jerome Deruytter.
We sold the original place to a young family (the Webers) who became close friends and helpers. By
the time we had a 60-foot house started, winter set in and we repaired to the air base housing project for
the winter. I found a barracks building that had been removed from the airbase that was for sale. I
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bought it for the roof trusses and through the
winter, dismantled it and (piece by piece) loaded
it onto a one ton Model A truck that I bought
somewhere along the way (This was a load most
every weekend throughout the winter and spring
DB).
The following spring and summer I made a
livable house out of the foundation. It had a
natural spring, cased up, so no more well drilling
was necessary. (Not quite true as I recollect. I
remember it took Francis and Joe Gallager a
long weekend, maybe more, to clean the spring
out and remove enough mud so that the well had
some capacity and would allow for the eventual
installation of an electric pump. And, because
his is the front of the 1701 South
the well was cut into an embankment, it !T
Cleveland residence, just “spitting
required one or two more 36-inch tiles to be distance” from 1201 South Cleveland.
installed at the top to prevent dirt and debris When we left to move westward the tree
in the picture was just a sapling. The
from washing in. In the mean time, a large view from the front is now a park like
manual pump was installed on the well cover, setting.
and it became my daily job, at about eight years
of age, to haul five gallon buckets of water about 30 yards uphill for household water needs. This
continued into the following winter, and I hated it. Even ¾ full, a five gallon bucket weighs 30 lbs. or
so - pretty hefty for an eight year old. DB)
The area immediately in front of the new home site had been used as an ash dump at some time. The
couple that bought our first place had a small tractor that we traded for a big old Farmall with a scoop on
it so we were able to grade and use the ash fill to make a driveway to the street and smooth out the rest
of the ash heap. I later used the scoop to dig a basement for a new house for the Deruytters.
(At this point, Francis returned to writing about his high school years and experiences. I know he felt
he hadn’t finished that part of his story, and he never did, because this segment ends almost mid
sentence. Health as well as age prevented him from returning to it. In fact, much of what follows was
mostly dictated, so it seems out of sequence here, but his intent was to integrate it into the Yarmouth
section when completed. I left it at the end so as not to change the continuity of what he had already
done. But if you read his hand written notes at the end, you'll get a clearer picture of his plan. DB)
My high school years in Yarmouth started in the summer of 1932. My two closest buddies were Russ
Coffin and Bob Doherty (Bob eventually married Dad’s sister, Christine). They had constructed a leanto up on the Royal River and used it for weekend camping trips. We’d go to the local A&P, buy a
couple cans of beans, a piece of beef steak, some milk and Corn Flakes and hike up the river and spend a
day or two, two or three times a month. Not much fishing, but a dip in the river now and then.
Bob was a member of a large family, some of whom I never met. His dad was a commercial fisherman
(these were the Great Depression years). Russ’s Dad was a retired steamfitter who ran one of the local
garage and gas stations. Russ didn’t take much part in it but it attracted me and my nuts and bolts
interests. He had one full time mechanic and a helper now and then (who you will hear more of later)
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and a summer helper named Frankie Woods who was one of my classmates. I spent a lot of time there
because I was nuts about nuts and bolts. I eventually earned a couple bucks a day pumping gas and, in
those days, washing windshields, changing oil and the like. In my last years around there I was often
asked to man the place for the early evening hours when Carl and his wife, Russ’s Mom and Dad,
wanted to take in a movie. The garage had a small pick-up, which was Carl’s vehicle and was used to
chase parts as we call it today, and a 1-ton Chevrolet long bed for wintertime needs such as towing for
cold weather starts. It’s hard for me to imagine today but I used to revel in those kinds of winter
activities.
Behind the gas station was a series of buildings known as the creamery; long since defunct as a
creamery but used, in part, as a feed store, and vacant buildings, a couple of which we (the garage) used
as storage for spare parts. One of the part timers I mentioned was Earle Blake. I suppose it was through
the gas station that we became friends. Much older than I but we got along well together. He was on his
own as the result of divorced parents and lived with two aged aunts in what was the Blake family estate.
Wrangles not worth going into in detail about but may show up from time to time in this diatribe.
Earle’s father’s second wife was Gertrude Lufkin and the household included Gertrude’s mother,
younger sister Lucy, and father, when he was home. He worked at Poland Springs and was not present
at home at all times. There was a strained relationship because Gertrude didn’t like Earle.
Lucy was in my class in high school and through the association with Earle and his Dad, Lucy and I
became boyfriend and girlfriend. She had a “buddy girlfriend,” Mae, and the atmosphere at the
girlfriend’s house was pretty loose and we spent a lot of Sunday afternoons there. One of Mae’s
boyfriends was good on the piano. Somewhere along the way there appeared an “older” railroad man
who was a lot of fun and he joined the Sunday afternoon group.
Some of this is rambling and of not much consequence, but Lucy and I started being serious. The family
accepted me and I became, more or less, a part of it. Now, we’re talking about teenage associations.
Sometimes they last and sometimes they don’t. I guess ours cooled down for a while. She became
interested in someone else, and I had all kinds of options to pursue, which I did, naturally.
The town is the home of one of the country’s oldest high schools; North Yarmouth Academy. The
town’s high school was condemned along in the early thirties and NYA accepted the local students,
which included those from the surrounding small communities, North Yarmouth, Pownal and New
Gloucester. The system included a ninth grade in the grammar school and replaced the freshman year at
NYA.
So we went to NYA for a Latin or French Class and the rest of the day, back at the grammar school.
Except for English, all classes were in one room under one instructor. While I was there he was
“Bucky” Merrill, also leader of the Boy Scout troop. Those things didn’t enter my head in those days
but it later turned out that he was fruitier than a nut cake. We, my brother and I, made it through the
ninth grade with him. I don’t know how many of my sisters had him, but he was there for several years
and they all went there and then to NYA. I think even some of my sister Ruth’s kids went there also.
Today, Yarmouth has its own high school and a new grammar school or two. Two little old red brick
school buildings that used to be the primary and elementary grades still stand but are no longer schools.
So these years (as I mentioned about Lucy and her friends) are the time boy and girl games begin and I
participated in my share. Which brings me to the story of Frances Hildreth. She was the oldest of a
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family of girls; Frances, Barbara and Polly (I think there were more but I did not know them) and Jack
and Jill, twins. Jack was not at home when I tried to visit in June of 1999 but his daughter was and gave
me the address of Jill, in, of all places, Camden. Me and my help-mate, Ruth Douglas, were able to visit
her and her husband. They have lived there for many years. He’s retired from the fish business in
nearby Rockland.
Now to get back on track, Frances was in the class a year ahead of me and I don’t remember what got us
connected but I used to pedal my bicycle down one long hill and immediately up another to spend the
evening (winter evening) with us both in the same chair with feet on the chrome rail of a hot wood
stove. Not sure where the heat was the greatest, from the stove or in the chair. That didn’t last a great
while, but enters the story for reasons that will show up later. This was a congenial family and a lot of
fun. Jack (Dad) was a peddler of tailor made clothing, when he wasn’t in George Soule’s Pool Room.
Mrs. Hildreth was a locally renowned singer and taught music at NYA. Barbara lives in Portland, ME.,
and we didn’t get to see her. Polly lives in Joshua Tree, CA, and I did visit her on the phone after I
returned from my 1999 trip to Maine.
Next was Catherine Young, an older sister no longer at home. That is all I remember in the family
except Mom and Dad. Dad worked in one of the local grocery stores owned by Manley Bishop. The
Bishop family consisted of Forrest, who I later bought my auto insurance from, Frances, Mildred and
Janice. Janice was in my high school class, and was the local belle to be enamored of. Catherine lived
close by and the two were friends. I guess that’s how I connected with Kitty, as she was known. At that
time Lucy and the Blakes lived a block away and Leon Lufkin lived a couple of houses down from the
Youngs. So I had a close neighborhood to visit girls in. Leon was an expert woodworker and carpenter.
He worked at the Bath Iron Works for many years. He built one of the early designs of the house trailer
that became so popular soon after that. After the depression began to subside, I spent a lot of time
watching and helping what he did. He had married a widow with a teenage son named Lester Wile.
Lester grew up to marry Florence Cleaves. Lester died quite young. This connects in the story later.
Kitty and I misbehaved a time or two, but somehow or other that was as far as it went. She eventually
married Frank Woods, one of my high school buddies who I mentioned earlier in relating the time at the
local garage.
This where Dad stopped writing, and we are not exactly sure why. At any rate, he would write in spurts
and had spread this project out for a considerable period of time. Occasionally, Bettie or I would say
something to him or ask how it was coming along. Usually that would get him thinking and writing
again, although in early 2000 he had the first of a series of mini strokes, which left him less able to
concentrate and organize his thoughts.
I can only speculate as to where he was going with this discussion. But I have an idea he was getting to
his first marriage to Lucy Lufkin in 1939. Out of that union, Roger was born in 1943. But the
relationship appears to have been an on again, off again, thing, and I think it likely he was leading up to
his explanation of that. During this same period he had also become subject to the WWII draft. Family
connections and service with the Civil Air Patrol had kept him low on the draft board priority list, but by
December 1943, (age 24) it was apparent that he would soon be drafted. So, he elected to enlist in the
Army Air Corp where he was promised training as a radio operator, a field in which he had developed
an interest while with the Civil Air Patrol. Thus on December 27, 1943, he was off to Florida for basic
training and then directly on to radio school in South Dakota; away from family and friends, away from
his community and away from an apparently rocky relationship with his wife. In 1945 Lucy Lufkin filed
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for divorce and received a final decree on October 12th, 1945. Why his relationship with Lucy had not
worked out, Dad never chose to discuss with me or anyone else as far as I know.
The two pages immediately following this conclusion are photocopies of Dad’s hand written outline for
this memoir so you can see he had considerably more he wanted to include. Sadly for us all, his health
over the last three years or so made it difficult for him to concentrate and to write, so it was never
completed.
For those not familiar with his family and life beyond what is written here, in the mid to late 1950s, the
mid-west in general was in an economic struggle and employment was difficult. About 1956, Francis
took a job with BB Press, a small printing company in Sioux Falls, where he worked day and night to
keep the company afloat. By late 1957 the income was shrinking and the end for BB Press was
obviously near. Francis and Verla made the life changing decision to leave Sioux Falls and start anew
in Southern California, where he soon obtained employment with a sizeable printing firm. From there
he quickly moved on to bigger and bigger presses, was involved in the construction and press
installation for a new web offset plant, and eventually became plant foreman. His skills and work ethic
reputation led him to employment as back shop manager for one or two other sizeable newsprint plants,
eventually winding up with the nations largest print advertising distributer. They entrusted him with
responsibility for the construction and press installation of their largest plant in Griffin, Georgia, where
he worked until retirement. He had much more he wanted to relate about the friends and relationships
made during that career as well as the trials and tribulations of a growing family over those years. If I
get real ambitious some day I might try to at least outline the people and events I believe he would have
written about since most of them are in the back of my memory somewhere. That said, I have enough
trouble remembering my own family history these days.
On a couple of pages beyond the hand-written outline I have included a number of photographs that
may be of interest to some of you. I'm sure Paula will want to use some of them in other ways in the
BeverageFamilyHistory.com web site, but it may be awhile before she gets to it. This web site she has
built for all of us is a huge undertaking that requires a lot of time just to maintain. Thank you Sis. DB
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The object above was Francis' war time Radio Operators License. It is reproduced here
in its actual size, as a two sided 3X5 card. If you want to read the fine print, blow it up to
150% or larger. Francis was 24 years old in this photo.
Francis in kiddie car. This may be in front of the Cumberland Mills residence.
He looks to be 5 or 6 years old.
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Margaret Cunningham and son
Dennis on his 2nd birthday,
August 25, 1947.
Margaret Cunningham and
infant son Mark, August 25,
1947. Mark was just 25 days
old.
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On the left is the original black & white photograph from which I created
the photograph on the right. Colors are strictly from my imagination. The
house color is unchanged but retouched in some places. Everything else,
including the grass, bushes and the tree branches have been colorized.
Dennis Beverage