Category Archives: Architecture

Salem 250: Revolutionary Residences

So many towns around us have had house and walking tours featuring houses connected to prominent patriots for this big anniversary year, but not Salem. It’s not surprising. The Witch Trials are an eclipse that darkens so much of our city’s history, and Salem’s myriad roles in the Revolution have been relatively ignored for the last century or so, not only by locals but also by academic historians. For overviews, there are some great journal articles, and now a book, by Richard J. Morris, and we made our author, Hans Schwartz, compress the entire Revolution (as well as Salem’s role as pre-revolutionary provincial capital) into a 5,000-word chapter in Salem’s Centuries. There are references to Salem’s pre-revolutionary resistance in several general texts on the Revolution, and an entire volume on Leslie’s Retreat by Peter Hoffer. Scholars cannot ignore the fact that Salem was a major, if not the major privateering port, so there’s some good coverage there. But that’s about it, and very little of this scholarship has impacted Salem’s public history, with the notable exception of the annual reenactments of Leslie’s Retreat. My deep dive into Salem history over the past few years has convinced me that the Revolution is the era of opportunity for Salem historians and I hope they step up! There are many stories which have yet to be told. In the meantime, however, I put together my own Revolutionary house tour, designed to highlight both prominent and not-so-prominent Salem patriots—and architecture, of course. This is by no means exhaustive, just a start really.

Several successful privateers became even more successful merchants after the Revolution, and their houses have always been notable, so I’ll start with the Derby Street houses of Captains Simon Forrester and Edward Allen. Forrester is a storied privateer/merchant, and not only because he emigrated from Ireland on Daniel Hawthorne’s ship, married the captain’s daughter, and thus was connected to Nathaniel Hawthorne as “Old Simon Forrester.” The wealth that he attained both during and after the Revolution add to the story, as does his drinking, about which some of his memorialists get a bit defensive. But he commanded or had interests in 7 privateers during the Revolution, beginning with the very successful Rover. I’ve always thought that his house, at 188 Derby Street, is in the perfect location overlooking Salem Harbor. Further down the street and on the other side at #125 is the Capt. Edward Allen house, built by the commander of the South Carolina naval brigantine Comet: presumably he was rewarded with that command after bringing Charleston news of the Battles of Lexington and Concord in his Salem ship Industry. Both the Continental Congress and individual states commissioned naval ships during the Revolution, and Massachusetts was a center of recruitment for both. While I was in the Derby Street neighborhood, I searched for the house of the Lt. Colonel Samuel Carlton, my candidate for Salem’s most illustrious Revolutionary warrior. Carlton created his own company right after Bunker Hill, and was with Washington at Valley Forge. There, he wrote letters documenting the suffering of the troops; indeed he offers the most poignant characterizations of the suffering shoeless soldiers of Valley Forge. There, he suffered himself, so much so that he had to leave service and was paralyzed from the waist down for the rest of his life. Nevertheless, the Reverend William Bentley wrote that no man endured so much with greater patience upon his death. Carlton has a lovely gravestone in Howard Street Cemetery, but he deserves more: he definitely deserves his own post, an article, a book, a memorial. I couldn’t even find his house: Bentley refers to it as located on Union Street, and a genealogical account describes it as “three stories with narrow eaves,” so #s 8 1/2 and 22 are my best candidates, but it may be gone.

When “revolutionary remembrance” started in the 1820s and 1830s, the most famous Salem veterans were Timothy Pickering, Stephen Abbot and Jesse Smith. Pickering was successively a Colonel, Adjutant General and Quartermaster General during the Revolution, and Secretary of War and State afterwards, so his prominence made his family’s first-period house Salem’s key revolutionary touchstone and I think it remains so. Abbot served as a captain in several companies of the Massachusetts 15th Regiment from the beginning of the revolution through 1780, and founded Salem’s 2nd Corps of Cadets after the war, and was also appointed a major general in the Second Division of the Massachusetts Militia. President Washington visited both the Pickering and Abbot houses when he came to Salem in 1789, but Abbot’s house is long gone, from at least 1912, when its remains were incorporated into a Chestnut Street carriage house. Jesse Smith (1756-1844) was not a Salem native or soldier, but he moved to this town of opportunity in the later years of the Revolution, and really became famous for being a veteran decades later. He was at Lexington and Concord, and Bunker Hill, Brandywine, Germantown and Monmouth, after which he became a member of General Washington’s prestigious Life Guards. He became a shipmaster in Salem after the war, and because of both his service and  longevity, lived to see and represent Salem in a series of Revolutionary commemorations. He was not a wealthy man, but a prominent one, and while he lived out his last days boarding at 14 Beckford Street (third image below), his fellow citizens saw fit to erect an elaborate monument to him upon his death, with inscriptions of his service and a pillar topped by George Washington’s bust (which has since disappeared) in Salem’s newest and most fashionable cemetery, Harmony Grove.

Funerary monument of Jesse Smith, Harmony Grove Cemetery, c. 1890s, Frank Cousins Collection of Glass Plate Negatives, Phillips Library of the Peabody Essex Museum, via Digital Commonwealth.

Next up, we have more humble “soldiers of the Massachusetts line”: you can find a concentration of their houses along Federal and River streets–in perfect proximity for a walking tour!

First up is this wonderful house at 114 Federal Street built in the last year of the Revolution by Colonel John Page. Page was a Marblehead native who signed up for John Glover’s regiment right after Lexington and Concord. He served for a year, then came back to Massachusetts and moved to Salem, where he become Colonel of the Militia. In that role, he volunteered for service in Samuel Flagg’s Company at the Battle of Rhode Island, the first joint military operation between American and French forces, in August of 1778. The next house is the rare double back-to-back Federal built by the famous Sanderson brothers, among Salem’s most famous and productive cabinent makers. Neither Elijah or Jacob were soldiers, but they were Lexington natives who were very much there during the Battles of Lexington and Concord, both in terms of engagment and testimony, so their house needs to be on a Revolutionary residence tour. Across the way, I’d love to include another post-revolutionary house (Salem experienced a major building boom in the 1780s and 1790s, largely because of privateering—compare to Marblehead!) built by Joseph Felt, but I can’t quite confirm that the builder/dweller was the same Joseph Felt who served in Capts. Benjamin Ward Jr.’s and Miles Greenwood’s Companies in 1776-1777.  Pinning down soldiers is difficult: we have digitized service, pension, and service records, but they contain ommissions and contradictions (and there are a lot of Felts.) The last house in the group below, at 175 Federal Street, was most definitely the dwelling of Joshua Cross, who served in Major-General Charles Lee’s Life Guard under the command of the heroic Benjamin Gould from Topsfield.

Circling back to adjacent River Street, there are the houses of Stephen Driver at #18 and John Chandler at #7. According to their pension applications, Driver was a corporal in two companies, Capt. Addison Richard’s and Capt. Joseph Swasey’s, from 1775-1777, and Chandler served as 2nd Lieutenant in John Crane’s and Capt. Drury’s companies in Henry Knox’s Regiment over a slightly shorter period. I thought Chandler might have been part of the Knox Artillery Train, but Crane (another super hero) stayed near Boston. All of these guys (including Knox) were in their twenties, and I am grateful for their service as well as these material reminders.


Preservation by the People

I always like to have a preservation post for preservation month so here it is: a little populist spin on Salem’s experience of urban renewal in the 1960s and 1970s. This is a long and rather complicated story that I’ve written about here before, several times, and in Salem’s Centuries, so I’m going to streamline it considerably, I promise. I’ve been wanting to do a post like this for a while, because I’m a bit troubled by a trend I see in Salem today, one which has been emerged for several years, maybe even over a decade. It’s the tendency for anyone who is opposed to any policy coming out of City Hall to be denigrated and dismissed, in words spoken at public meetings by officials, and on social media. There’s no question in my mind that the latter is the culprit: social media has enabled us all to be so dismissive, and so unaccountable, I think. Nevertheless, I don’t like the trend, because sometimes you have to fight City Hall, and when City Hall doubled down on a very agressive, one might say radically so, policy of urban renewal in the 1960s, the people of Salem resisted it—and ultimately won a battle (this is a word used by contemporaries again and again) for preservation.

The story you generally hear today in Salem is that Ada Louise Huxtable, the notable architectural critic for the New York Times, set her sights on Salem and transformed the process of renewal through demolition into one of rehabilitation almost single-handedly, or how Samuel Zoll, elected Mayor of Salem in 1969, brought about the same transformation with a resolute will. Huxtable and Zoll were indeed very important players in saving Salem from near-annihilation, and their efforts should not be under-estimated but neither should those of many more anonymous Salem people who really showed up, setting the scene for Zoll’s election and everything that followed. I certainly don’t have all their names but I have some of them, but first let’s look at some headlines from the 1960s.

“Bulldozer job”: this is not an accusation by Salem preservationists but rather the term that the head of the agency charged with implementing urban renewal, the Salem Redevelopment Authory (SRA), used to describe what was coming in 1965! The Executive Director of the SRA, John W. Barrett (who was appointed by Salem’s mayor Francis X. Collins), responded to an “overflow throng” of Salem residents in the summer of 1965 with the admission that in the beginning we did say we would not use the bulldozer approach to Salem in our planning. However, we no longer say that and went on to admit that “from 80% to 90% of structures in the central business district” would be demolished under the present plan. This meeting was sponsored by Historic Salem, Inc., (HSI) which would go on to lead a feisty opposition to the bulldozers over the next eight years. Elizabeth Reardon, President of HSI, moderated regular meetings like this at the same time she was serving on the city’s Historic District committee following the passage of the National Historic Preservation Act in 1966. Her successor, Donald Koleman, sued the SRA for not complying with Salem’s original urban renewal plan, which stressed rehabilitation as well as demolition. Prominent architect James Ballou gave an impassioned speech before the Salem Chamber of Commerce urging business leaders to advocate for preservation over demolition. Elizabeth Hunt, Bill Burns, Bob Murray, Deirdre Henderson, and others pressed for preservation consistently in myriad ways, ultimately winning several concessions, first the creation of a consulting blue ribbon panel of professionals chosen by the brand new National Trust for Historic Preservation, and later the formation of the Design Review Board for the SRA, consisting of architectural and preservation professionals appointed by local organizations like Historic Salem, the Peabody Museum and the Essex Institute.

Lynn Daily Item, 4.12.1966

This GREAT poster is among the Salem Redevelopment Authority records at the Phillips Library of the Peabody Essex Museum, in Rowley, Massachusetts. We used some of these records for our chapter on the 20th century development of Salem, but not all—they could form the foundation of a great thesis, dissertation, or book!

I’d really like to say that all these efforts, including the very personal protest of Bessie Munroe, the elderly resident of an elegant Ash Street home who refused to vacate her home when the bulldozers were really busy in 1969, turned the tide, but the fact is I think it was the destruction itself, especially when no developers popped up to rebuild. Over 60 buildings swept away, but not 147, Barrett’s greatest goal. After Samuel Zoll became mayor in 1970, he made new appointments to the Salem Redevelopment Authority, and new ideas like facade easements for the rehabilitation of buildings rather than their automatic demolition came with these new appointees. The end result was a “workable urban renewal” in Zoll’s words, facilitated in collaboration with Salem’s residences rather than in opposition to them.

“Old Salem” and “restored”:  this phrase and this word were not goals in the 1960s, but a decade later, they were! A big victory for Salem preservationists.

Blog notes: I’m off to Ireland for the rest of May so no blog posts until June. I’m thinking about some changes to the blog after so many (15!) years, some serious Salem fatigue, and several new projects. Would love to hear your thoughts, so please comment below or feel free to email me if you have any about topics and directions at dseger@salemstate.edu. Enjoy the month–it’s my favorite.


So much WOOD!

The Historic New England season is closing this Columbus/Indigenous People’s Day weekend and as I am up in York Harbor, I went to visit one of HNE’s oldest houses (both in terms of sheer vintage and time under its stewardship): the Jackson House in Portsmouth, built circa 1664. This is an extraordinary house: I’m sorry to be posting at this time when you won’t be able to visit it until next June, because I’d really like to urge everyone reading to go. I had been in it before, but when I was much younger and couldn’t appreciate it properly. But now, wow. I always thought it was a saltbox: it is not. It’s a seventeenth-century two-story small square house which had an elaborate lean-to added a bit later, along with two additions on each side. It is also a lavish display of wood: certainly not from an American perspective, but from an English one, which would have been its builder, Richard Jackson’s perspective. When I was writing my first book, The Practical Renaissance, I was reading treatises written for carpenters and shipbuilders, as well as some more general agricultural pamphlets, all of which made me aware of the increasing concern about the shortage of wood in seventeenth-century England. All the first-growth forests had long been chopped down, so to come to North America and see all this wood must have been something. So for me, the Jackson House was just a great illustration of that abundance. Our guide emphasized this theme adroitly as she described the house’s framing, exterior and interior, and she also illustrated the construction impact of less-abundant woodland in New Hampshire by showing us the attic over the eighteenth-century addition, with its decidedly less-robust timbers. The Jackson House is one of Historic New England’s unfurnished study houses (like the Gedney House in Salem), so the emphasis is decidedly on construction, but we got to learn a fair amount about the family as well, who possessed the house until 1924, when William Sumner Appleton, the founder of the Society for the Preservation of New England Antiquities (now Historic New England) purchased it.

Perfect 17th century parlor and east and west wings, with a patch of preserved wallpaper.

Appleton had apparently been obsessed with the Jackson House since his freshman year at Harvard, when he came up from Cambridge and knocked on the door. A pioneering preservationist and critic of “one property museums,” he began acquiring choice properties after the founding of SPNEA/HNE in 1910. Rather than stripping off the east and west additions of the house, he removed stucco and plaster to reveal its construction. The original property was extensive, fifty acres or so just across the North Mill Pond from downtown Portsmouth, in a neighborhood named Christian Shore. When I was growing up across the Piscataqua River in southern Maine in the 1970s and 1980s, Christian Shore seemed to me a drive-through area with delapidated old houses, but then suddenly appeared The Inn at Christian Shore and I started noticing all the beautiful old houses and now they really are all beautifully restored. Portsmouth is actually growing in this direction, with several hotels built in what were once vacant lots which divided Christian Shore from downtown. But when you look out the windows (replaced by Appleton, but in their original openings) of the house on its slightly elevated lot, you can imagine, and even sort of feel, the aura of its first century.

The replacement windows and upstairs, including some wood-carvings. I knew all about the counter-magical daisy wheel from the M.A. thesis on apotropaic marks by Alyssa Conary at Salem State, so it was fun to see it (a perfect example of how I didn’t “see” on my first visit as I have no memory of it). A watercolor and Detroit Publishing Co. (Library of Congress) photograph of the house before it became a museum.


A Colonial Revival Dining Room

I wrote the chapter on Salem’s Colonial Revival movement in our forthcoming book Salem’s Centuries, an effort that I think was pretty ballsy given that I am neither an American historican or an art/architectural historian. You can be sure that I had both types of experts read it before submission and it has been peer-reviewed several times before publication! I felt confident because I took a biographical and cultural history approach, utilizing the work and lives of Salem exemplars Frank Cousins, Mary Harrod Northend, George Francis Dow, and Caroline Emmerton. They were all so respectful of Salem’s material heritage and more than a bit fearful of change. What we now label the Colonial Revival does seem to have been a movement in Salem, fueled as much (I think!) by nostalgia as by a desire to preserve, and its connections to the fledgling preservation movement in the early twentieth century are what interest me particularly. So while I have a sense of the Colonial Revival as a cultural movement, I am far from any aesthetic understanding, although I think I have made some strides in that direction by working at Historic New England’s Phillips House over these past two summers. The house’s dining room, in particular, a great example of the assertive effort of Salem and Boston architect William Rantoul to “marry” its later-19th century back to its Samuel McIntire front, has become my ideal Colonial Revival room. It all started with the alcove for me. I had seen Rantoul’s colleague and contemporary Arthur Little’s alcove in Caroline Emmerton’s house on Essex Street in person and in renderings (the cyanotype below is from a Little & Browne album in the collections of Historic New England), and it just seemed so Colonial-esque to me, so when I saw some semblance of an alcove in the Phillips’ dining room, it all made sense.

As you can see, Rantoul’s alcove is not nearly as enclosed as that of Little, but the former still carved out that space, removing a staircase for the symmetrical china cabinets and fireplace, delineated from the rest of the room by that strident ceiling moulding. He had modernized the systems for the Phillips after their purchase of the house in 1911: there was no need for that fireplace other than to enhance the “colonial” ambiance, which is also provided by the great Joseph Badger portrait of Phillips relative Thomas Mason (c. 1770-75) with his pet squirrel. I’m not even sure you would call this space an alcove, much less a nook, but it’s the semblence that creates the aura of the past in this large light-filled room.

Frankly this chair annoys me but I understand why it’s there.

Of course, the furnishings set the scene as well, and authors of decorating books from the teens and twenties always advised their readers that they should avoid placing items “of a set” if they were to attain that authentic Colonial look. It was relatively easy for the Phillips’, with their multi-generational wealth and trove of possessions from different places and times, to achieve the desired layered look. Their dining room seems to have attained the general “Colonial feeling” recommended by Helen Koues in her popular manual On Decorating the House (1928), in which the walls and woodwork are light in value, the furniture is mahogany or brown mahogany, silver is shown, and side lights or chandeliers may be in silver with glass prisms, or some fixture Colonial in feeling. Andirons and fireirons are of brass or brass and iron, and the china displayed is of Wedgwood in patterns of the eighteenth century. Of course, Stephen and Anna Phillips were both from old Salem maritime families, so their Wedgwood (and Limoges) is supplemented by a dazzling display of East Asian ceramics.


I’m Confused by Pineapples

This is one of those “writing it out” posts. It starts out with confusion in the hope that I can work it out, but I may not so it might end in confusion as well. I’m confused about the symbolism of pineapples. Of course everyone knows that pineapples represent “hospitality,” but do they really? What else might they represent? I started out with the question as to whether pineapples are Colonial or Colonial Revival, and it seems that that they are both. I’m also wondering if there are differences in what they represent in the northern US as opposed to the south, and between the US and the UK. My wonder is prompted by recent road trips down south, where I saw a lot of pineapples, as well as an interest in symbolism in general prompted by the recent discussions here in Salem over our official city seal, which some see as stereotypical and rascist and others see as evocative of a proud global maritime heritage. I always find that a historical perspective helps with understanding both images and events; apparently the members of the Task Force charged with examing the seal do not. In any case, there’s always a personal and arbitrary angle: it’s so interesting that different people see very different things in the same image. And that is true of pineapples too: while for the most part they seem to convey a sense of decorative hospitality, they also have associations with exoticism and exclusivity and excess, colonization, plantations (both in the West Indies and Hawaii), coerced labor and ultimately slavery. I am always interested in Salem’s famed “Pineapple House,” a Georgian structure first located on Brown Street and then removed to Brown Street Court which was demolished by 1911 with only its pineapple-pedimented door preserved, first in the Essex Institute and now in the American galleries at the Peabody Essex Museum. I’ve written about it before, but I know more now: its pineapple was not a local creation but rather a British import and its importer, Captain Thomas Poynton, became one of Salem first Loyalistist refugees, leaving his house (and his wife!) for England in 1775. That conspicuous (always gilded by all accounts) pineapple might have had Tory associations in Revolutionary Salem, but nevertheless it became the inspiration for one of Salem’s most important Tercentenary expressions, the band stand on Salem Common erected in 1926.

There are pineapple motifs on New England furniture and wallpapers from the 18th century through the mid-twentieth, but in terms of conspicuous architectural detail I think the best examples are the Hunter House in Newport, RI and the Wentworth-Gardner House in Portsmouth, NH (after Salem’s Pineapple House, of course). The Hunter House was also owned by a prominent Loyalist, and a recent article on its new Orientation Gallery describes its current interpretation as a  “paradigm shift”: Here visitors can examine a historic photograph of the house’s pineapple pediment alongside a silver coffee pot and a pair of covered baskets adorned with pineapple finials. The display discusses the tropical fruit as a product of colonization and slavery as well as a symbol of wealth and hospitality in colonial Newport. For the Preservation Society, which long ago adopted the pineapple as part of its logo, this analysis represents a paradigm shift. It’s been a few years since I’ve been on a tour, but I don’t think this kind of deep dive is offered up at the Wentworth Gardner House in Portsmouth, which was restored by none other than Colonial Revival evangelist and entrepreneur Wallace Nutting in 1916-18. And there’s no need, as Nutting added the pedimented pineapple, and the entire entrance surround to the house. This very Colonial Revival pineapple anticipated the ever-present fruit emblems at another prominent Colonial-esque institution: Colonial Williamsburg.

And down south, it’s the same thing: there are eighteenth-century pineapples and then there is a twentieth-century pineapple revival. Virginia’s oldest plantation, Shirley, has a very prominent three-foot-tall pineapple right at the apex of the roof of its main house, which was built around the same time as the Poynton House in Salem and the Hunter House in Newport.  Installing a pineapple on the pinnacle of one’s roof must have been a James River Plantation thing, as Brandon Plantation has one as well. Another interesting transatlantic pineapple connection relates to the last Colonial Governor of Virginia, John Murray, the fourth Earl of Dunmore, who commissioned a stone-carved pineapple summerhouse for his Scottish estate in 1761, likely the most famous pineapple construction in the world. The pineapple is very prominent in Charleston, of course, with the pineapple gateposts (which I think were supposed to be pinecones?) of the Simmons-Edwards House dating from around 1816 and the famous pineapple fountain dating from 1990.

Shirley and Brandon Plantations in Virginia; The Dunmore Pineapple, Stirlingshire, Scotland via the National Trust for Scotland; Gate at the Simmons-Edwards House at 14 Legare Street, Charleston, built 1816, from the lovely site Glimpses of Charleston; some pineapple images from one of my favorite books, Charleston Style, by Susan Sully with photographs by John Blais.

Pineapples on the gatepost (and I suppose by extension the very popular pineapple doorknocker) are said to be visual “traditions” based on the practice of ship captains returning from exotic realms displaying pineapples on their properties to indicate that they were home, and ready to receive visitors. This story is repeated again and again and again, but I don’t seem to find any references to it before the early twentieth century. I think it’s more Colonial Revival romance. Pineapple stories just keep getting repeated with very little insight, analysis or research, at least over here. With the exception of the Newport Preservation and a Smithsonian blog post about the “prickly” history of the pineapple, these storied fruits (and their visualizations) don’t have much cultural depth over here in the US: and if they are in fact emblems I think they should have more. But in the UK, wow! Here’s a great History Workshop piece with all sorts of associations, and very recently, a “sinister history of the pineapple” student project at the University of Southampton in collaboration with Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew was featured in DezeenMy research for this post exposed me to yet another pineapple association: apparently an upside-down pineapple sign on a door means means there are swingers within! That’s a long way from friendly sea captains, and obviously there’s much more to pineapples than meets the eye (but I’m still confused).

Dezeen Magazine, July 26, 2025: A “Sign of Status” by Jas Jones, who concludes “the pineapple is no innocent fruit.”


Two Visions for Salem

I’m in the history business, so I rarely dwell on visions, unless they are in the rear-view mirror. But last week I happened to take two photographs while running around in downtown Salem, and when I looked at them later on my phone I realized that they represented two visions for Salem, at least to me. Here they are and then I’ll explain.

The first (top) one is a photograph of recent changes to Washington Street, the key north-south corridor in downtown Salem forever. Vehicle traffic has been limited to just one lane now, with parking alongside and an expanded sidewalk and hot-top bikelane. The present administration LOVES bike lanes and wants to install as many as possible anywhere and everywhere, even in this case at the expense of safety (how can an ambulance or fire truck possibly get through with one lane, especially during peak tourist time?), aesthetics, and congestion (look at all that parallel parking—that takes time–even for those who know how to do it!)

The second (bottom) photograph shows Salem’s 157th t-shirt shop, now installed in a very prominent building on the corner of Essex and North Streets, just across from the Witch/Corwin House. Just rows and rows and rows of t-shirts.

For me, the first photograph represents the City’s attempt to take back territory ceded to cars over the past century or so, in terms of both parking and driving. This is certainly a laudable goal with which I have no problem (except with the implementation—there’s just too much ugly concrete going in downtown in my opinion) but I think a corollary of that vision is one of a “15-minute city” in which residents can obtain all essential goods and services within a 15-minute walk or bike ride in any direction.The 15-minute city concept has been popular among planning professionals for the last decade after being introduced by Carlos Moreno, an urban studies and business professor at IAE Paris – Panthéon Sorbonne University. I actually think that Salem could be a 15-minute city, BECAUSE IT WAS, but not now—as that goal is completely incompatible with its current status as mecca for witchcraft tourism. I’m sorry, but I don’t think droopy or pointy witch hats are an essential good, nor palm readings an essential service. I live in downtown Salem, or right on the edge of it, and I know that I must drive to purchase shoes or go to the dry cleaner or the doctor. I’m not sure the concept of the 15-minute city is compatible with any city centered on tourism, unless it’s a big city, like Paris. But smaller cities have to make a choice, and to me, it seems like Salem has chosen tourists over residents. As evidence of that choice let me offer up another photograph that I took this past week, of the bump-out and bollards in front of the Ropes Mansion. Because of Hocus Pocus rather than history, this historic house is a popular walking tour and selfie destination, and unfortunately a car-on-pedestrian accident happened a few years ago. To accomodate and protect the crowds, the city expanded the sidewalk and installed many shiny black bollards, just another example of how Salem’s streetscape is being shaped not by the rhythms of daily life for its residents, but the demands of larger and larger crowds of tourists.

I’ve been thinking about the 15-minute city concept for quite a while, after discovering (actually being shown) an amazing map of downtown Salem in 1946 at the Salem State Archives and Special Collections. It’s a real estate map with a focus on businesses, incredibly detailed and revealing very clearly a 15-minute city in which everyone could buy or do anything within that radius. The variety of shops was just amazing: just place little witch hats on one part of one street on the sites of buildings  that were formerly shoe shops, druggists, stores selling fruit, paint, rubber, hats, and draperies, dry cleaners, and “Topsy’s Chicken Coop,” and you have the visual history in a nutshell. The SSU Archives has tons of busy street scenes on their Flickr page but I thought I would feature some more focused street scenes from a newish and loose collection of “Salem Streets” images from the Phillips Library as I have become enraptured by them! So yes, even though I started and titled this post with “visions,” I have reverted to form and am looking back. I just can’t help it: the future is a bit scary.

The incredibly detailed Nirenstein Realty Map of the “Business Section of Salem,” 1946, Salem State Archives and Special Collections and Dockham’s Salem Business Chart, n.d., Phillips Library Broadsides, above.

Views of Central Street, 1880s-1932, from the Phillips Library Salem Streets collection:

Brown Street, c. 1910, Phillips Library Salem Streets Collection.

A very old shop on Mill Hill (Washington Street) before the Great Salem Fire of 1914, Phillips Library Salem Streets collection.

And the cutest cobbler shop ever on Broad Street (of course there was no comprehensive zoning before the 1930s either—so the home/work/shopping radius could be very small indeed). Phillips Library Digital Collections.


Patriot Properties

An eventful weekend—one of several coming up this summer! I’m going to focus on one event out of several I participated in—a house tour of Patriots’ homes in Marblehead—simply because it yielded the best pictures. Having done this a couple of times myself, I am always grateful to homeowners who open up their houses to the public. As I am focusing on Marblehead, right next door to Salem, today, I have to admit that I’m feeling a bit envious of our neighbor for three essential reasons these days. First of all, it seems to have a very engaged electorate which has much more power than we do in Salem. I had an appointment there last week which happened to fall on local election day, and saw tons of people and signs out and about. Marblehead residents elect their board and commission members and city clerk, while in Salem we only elect a Mayor and city councillors, and the former appoints all the commissioners with the rubber stamp of the latter. There are often uncontested elections in Salem and the voter turnout is very low: 28% in the last mayoral election I believe. Marblehead is a town so they have town meetings! I feel quite disenfranchised by comparison. The second reason I envy Marblehead is its Revolutionary fort, Fort Sewall, which is perfectly preserved and well-maintained in contrast to Fort Pickering, Salem’s major historic fort, which has been left to rot and ruin by the City of Salem. This is, I believe, another example of civic engagement or the lack thereof. The third reason I envy Marblehead, pretty much every single day, is that it has a professional historical society, unlike Salem. The Marblehead Museum was established as the Marblehead Historical Society in 1898, and it continues its mission “to preserve, protect, and promote Marblehead’s past as a means of enriching the present” today. Salem has no such institution; it failed to develop one as the Essex Institute served that role for much of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, before its assimilation into the Peabody Essex Museum. The Marblehead Museum combines its stewardship roles (of both Marblehead’s historic record and its three properties) in conjuction with a very active calendar of interpretive events, including this weekend’s house tour, which couldn’t have been more timely.

The tour of five houses was self-guided, and so the first house for myself and my friend Liz was the Robert Hooper House on Washington Street, a 1769 reconstruction of an earlier home which I always thought was a Federal house. It has recently been restored so we were both eager to get in, and once inside you could immediately tell it was pre-Revolutionary even with its vibrant decoration. The carriage house was open too, and the views down to its terraced garden were spectacular, even on a rainy day. At first, I was a bit confused as to why this house was on a tour of homes associated with Patriots as I had my Marblehead Robert Hoopers mixed up: the owner of this house was NOT the famouse Loyalist Robert “King” Hooper, whose house is located just across the way, but rather another Robert Hooper. It was also confusing to read that George Washington visited this house during his 1789 visit to Marblehead: I don’t think this is the case as he is recorded as having been greeted at the Lee Mansion just down the street. But Robert “NO KING” Hooper’s son, also named Robert Hooper, was married to a daughter of Marblehead’s most illustrious Revolutionary general, John Glover, and as they inherited the house after his father’s death in 1814 that’s quite enough of a patriot connection for me.

Then we walked over to Franklin Street and the Devereux House, a very classical Georgian house built in 1764 by Marblehead merchant Joseph Homan. Persons enslaved by him likely lived here before Homan sold the property to Eldridge Gerry of “Gerrymandering” fame. Gerry gifted the house to his sister Elizabeth, the wife of Selectman Burrill Devereux who welcomed President Washington to town in 1789. A lovely house, well-maintained over the years and now the home of another Patriot, with whom we discussed the Army’s (rather than the President’s) big birthday.

The most famous Marblehead Patriot (who was born in Salem) is undoubtedly General John Glover, who ferried General Washington and his troops across the Delaware on Christmas night 1776 in advance of their big victory at Trenton. There is a Glover Square named after him, and in the midst of this square is the house most closely associated with him. Like the Devereux House, it’s on the National Register, and features yet another impressive Georgian entrance hall.

On our way back to our final stop, the Jeremiah Lee Mansion, we realized we had missed a house, which is of course a capital crime on any house tour. So we made a little detour to see the Martin-Hulen-Lemaster House on Washington Street. Its generous owner allowed us to see the entire 1755 house, and you could really appreciate the space created by its gambrel roof on the third floor. Marblehead ship captain Elias Hulen, Jr., whose father served on the Seacoast Guards and as a privateer during the Revolution, owned and occupied this house after its orginal owners departed for Maine in the 1770s.

We finished up the tour at the 1768 Jeremiah Lee Mansion, a museum property which I’ve toured before and posted about here. It’s an amazing edifice, with interiors impressive in both detail and scale. Only the first floor was open for the tour so I took some photos of decorative details that I didn’t think I captured in my earlier post, and looked out the tall windows at the archeaological and structural evidence of the Marblehead Museum’s ambitious ongoing project, a $1.4 million renovation of Lee’s Brick Kitchen & Slave Quarters next door. When completed, this project will expand the Museum’s archival, office, and exhibition space in addition to revealing and interpreting spaces of enslavement and labor, a logical extension of the Museum’s continuous efforts to identify and document the lives of African American and Indigenous peoples in Marblehead’s history.

A few photos of the Jeremiah Lee Mansion interiors and the Brick Kitchen/Slave Quarters project behind and adjacent to the Mansion. The only king I was interested in this past weekend was the King of Prussia, as I was just fascinated by this plate! 

One more object of Marblehead envy popped up while I was looking at the Marblehead Museum’s website: the town retains reference to the original Pawtucket Tribe of our region in its land acknowledgement statement, while Salem’s excludes any reference to these native peoples in favor of the Massachusetts Tribe. I wish we could acknowledge the Pawtucket.


White Houses of Thomaston

We’re up in midcoast Maine for a long Memorial Day weekend and I spent an afternoon walking around Thomaston, which was the site of a very early English arrival in 1605: I’m not sure why this is not more heralded, or at least discussed. It became a very important shipbuilding town over the nineteenth century but for me, growing up in southern Maine, Thomaston had two associations: the prison and large white houses. The Maine State Prison at Thomaston was in operation from 1824 to 2002, and because of my adolescent preoccupation with the Isles of Shoals and the 1873 Smuttynose Murders I knew that the murderer, Louis Wagner, was held and executed at there. My other Thomaston association is far more pleasant: an impression of a succession of large white houses as we drove through on Route One. So I went back to look for the great white houses: there are indeed so many, and not just on the highway.

The most majestic white house of Thomaston (likely very prominent among my childhood impressions) is actually a recreation: of General Henry Knox’s Montpelier. The Revolutionary War hero was married to an heir of the Waldo Patent, which had allocated a large chunk of midcoast Maine to Boston merchant Samuel Waldo in the early 18th century. Waldo’s grandaughter Lucy Knox became his sole heir as her family, the Fluckers, were notable Loyalists who left the country at the onset of the Revolution. After Knox had finished his military and government service, he and Lucy retired to Thomaston and built Montpelier in 1794. They lived there until his death in 1806, after which the house was occupied by members of the Knox family until 1854, when it was sold. Several decades later it was demolished to my way for the Knox and Lincoln Railroad, and recreated in 1930 as a perfect Colonial Revival monument: now it houses the Henry Knox Museum. Was Montpelier the inspiration for all the stately white houses of Thomaston or was it James Overlock (1813-1906), who designed and built scores of solid structures in vernacular and revival styles with all the new building technologies of his day? Likely both, with a healthy measure of New England traditionalism, but all these white houses are certainly a testament to Thomaston’s shipbuilding wealth in the nineteenth century, and to the preservation efforts of their successive owners.

Just one sample of Thomaston’s white houses.


My Top Ten Books on Salem’s Architectural History

I thought I would combine my traditional spring book list with the Preservation Month of May and put together a list of my top ten books on Salem architecture in historical context. I’m a rank amateur admirer of New England architecture up to about 1840 or 1850 but a bit more focused on the later eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries when it comes to Salem structures. While I am offended by every new Salem building which is erected there’s enough inventory from this golden era to keep me enthralled—for now: I’m not at all convinced that our city’s self-professed preservation ethic still holds. These are the books about Salem houses from which I have learned the most and to which I return the most often: some are just picture books but I find myself going back to them again and again for some reason. But this first book, Fiske Kimball’s study of Samuel McIntire, defined architectural history for me. I love Dean Lahikainen’s more recent Samuel McIntire: Woodcarver of Salem too, but Kimball is always near. I’m a big fan of Frank Cousins, of course, but I share the view of his contemporaries at the Essex Institute that his McIntire book was a bit slight—and so they commissioned Kimball. I do rely on Cousins’ (and Phil M. Riley’s) Colonial Architecture in Salem quite a bit though, so it’s number two. I’ll read anything by Frank Chouteau Brown, and the compilation Colonial architecture in Massachusetts : from material originally published as the White pine series of architectural monographs, edited by Russell F. Whitehead and Frank Chouteau Brown (1977) includes one of his classic Salem articles. Likewise, I will read anything by his fellow architect Frank E. Wallis, who came up from Boston to measure and draw Salem exteriors and interiors often in his early career. Wallis was a big contributor to a succession of portfolios of measured drawings published as The Georgian Period and edited by William Rotch Ware which were first published in The American Architect and Building News. These portfolios are GORGEOUS—my former neighbors had one and let me peruse it for a bit: I have no idea why I don’t have at least one myself!

I carry Edwin Whitefield’s books with me in the car everywhere, just because they are so charming. You never know when I will find myself in a town with one of his houses!  Albert MacDonald’s Old Colonial Brick Houses of New England, which has the long subtitle edited and published with the purpose of furthering a wider knowledge of the beautiful forms of domestic architecture developed during the time of the colonies and the early days of the republic is pretty much a picture book too, as is Halliday’s Collection of Photographs of Colonial and Provincial Houses 1628-1775. Early American Architecture by Hugh Morrison is rather old-fashioned but also very practical—it’s the only book on this list that has anything to say about construction. And finally, this is BORING I know, but if you’re interested in Salem architecture you must realize that it was written about quite a bit in early architectural periodicals, so I felt that I should include this classic bibliography.


Greetings from the Eastern Shore

I’m at the beginning of my traditional spring break trip down south, and currently on Maryland’s Eastern Shore headed for Virginia tomorrow. I don’t know why, but usually when I’m headed south I go the “western” way, and this year I wanted to spend some time on the other side of the Chesapeake Bay. It’s really nice; I’ve missed it! I have my husband with me so I’m a bit constrained: generally I would drive like a mad woman to see every 17th century house in the entire region but husbands need care and feeding so I have to stop at more taverns and coffee shops than I would on my own. Everything slows down with him, which can be a good thing. We stayed in Easton for two nights, after stops in New Castle, Delaware and Chestertown, Maryland on our way down Saturday. Yesterday we were in Oxford and Cambridge and St. Michaels, where we spent a LONG time at the amazing Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum. I feel like I’ve been in the midst of Frederick Douglass/Harriet Tubman territory, because I HAVE: somehow I never realized how important the Chesapeake Bay was to the Underground Railroad before, but everywhere I went emphasized that importance. And in addition to that life lesson, there was just so much beautiful mid-Atlantic architecture! Here’s a brief tour:

Brief stop in New Castle, DE. Such a great town.

Chestertown, MD. So gorgeous!

Further south, Easton has several connections to Frederick Douglass as its the closest larger town to the site of his birth on Tuckahoe Creek and the county seat of Talbot County. One of the reasons I wanted to visit the Eastern Shore was to see the Harriet Tubman “Take my Hand” mural further down in Cambridge, but its artist Michael Rosato had more recently completed a Douglass mural in Easton, so that was our first stop on Sunday morning. Harriet’s mural is personal and compelling, Frederick’s more sweeping, both extremely effective. There’s another Douglass mural in Easton, much more controversial and appearing much more ephemeral, about which people in town seem to have mixed opinions. There’s also a very lively downtown and a bit further out, the oldest Quaker meeting house in the United States, the Third Haven Meeting House.

So much to see in Easton.

On to Oxford and Cambridge, in that order.Very different towns: Oxford is a picture-perfect town of pristine historic houses; Cambridge is a much larger town with obvious economic and preservation challenges but also a lot of pride and energy. Oxford is just so pretty; Cambridge seems very much a center of an Underground Railroad perspective on the Eastern Shore.

a big transition down to Cambridge, but there was Harriet!

The “Take my Hand” mural really has presence! It’s not just her figure—it’s the background. When you’re darting around all these towns bordered by rivers, creeks, or the Bay, you can feel the challenges and the opportunities that all this water represented. Next time, I’m just going to follow the Byway–you can download the app. But this time, we had other places to go: my husband was really looking forward to visiting the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum in St. Michaels, so off we went. I’m pretty familiar with St. Michaels, but had never been to the museum before: it did not disappoint! We had to split up though as he’s a real waterman (A GREAT WORD WHICH THEY USE DOWN HERE WHICH WE SHOULD ADOPT IN NEW ENGLAND) himself, and I just can’t spend hours exploring the minutiae of oystering and crabbing. But there was also an entire exhibit on the Bay and the Underground Railroad (as well as the rescued and relocated house of Frederick Douglass’s sister) which was a perfect capstone to our day.

St. Michaels: cute houses and the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum.