Source:Fleming-little-girl-1
George T. Fleming. "A little girl in Alleghenytown: Recollections of a dear old lady—a few tales of her girlhood related—the Wightman home on Lacock street—Blackstock's cotton factory and surroundings—the old-time pump and the paved yard with hydrants: The flood menace—how two little girls got the doctor when father was stricken—a thoughtful little lassie—busy Federal street recalled—an adventure of a locomotive—an insecure bumper bumped away." Pittsburgh Gazette Times, Oct. 29, 1922, sec. 5, [p. 2]. Newspapers.com 86270097.
ALLEGHENYTOWN is a memory now with old people; few under three score can remember that appellation. In 1840 the borough of Allegheny, now part of the North Side section of Pittsburgh was created a city. That year the little girl who contributes some reminiscences of her early life was born in the new city, the daughter of Andrew A. Wightman whose home was on Lacock street and whose business was that of a machinist and an iron founder. It is a pleasure to record that the little Wightman girl is still living, healthy and active; contented and happy. She is Mrs. S. C. Wilbur, for many years a resident of Oil City, making her home with a daughter. Some genealogical account of the Wightmans of Pittsburgh contributed by her appeared in The Gazette Times in the issue of September 3 last, to which reference may be had. The family name is commemorated in that beautiful residential street in the Squirrel Hill section, Wightman street. Thomas Wightman an uncle of Mrs. Wilbur was best known for his long connection with glass manufacturing in this city and other points in Western Pennsylvania. For several years Mrs. Wilbur has corresponded with The Gazette Times relating many recollections of various topics discussed in these history articles; often in appreciation of some things that appealed to her and expressing her pleasure in reading them.
Mrs. Wilbur begins her narrative, from which some extracts have been made today, with her first recollections. Old Allegheny had but four wards. It stretched along the river from about Allegheny avenue to a point opposite Twenty-third street, Pittsburgh. Part of the old Second Ward went to the top of the hill at the head of Buena Vista and Federal streets. The commons, now the North Parks, were commons in the legal sense of the word. The parks date from 1870. The name, Alleghenytown, was in frequent use until after the Civil War, just as Birmingham was used to designate the South Side boroughs, above what is now South Seventh street. Mrs. Wilbur's story is simply told. There is in it a bit of adventure; some descriptions of old time dwellings and modes of life; recollections of a busy neighborhood; the anxiety caused by the frequent freshets in the Allegheny, and the heroism shown by two little girls who hastened for a doctor when father was stricken in the dead of night, the stroke caused by worry over high waters. The narrative of Mrs. Wilbur's early years, especially her first school days, will set many old folks to ruminating over days long gone.
Mrs. Wilbur's first recollections go back to her fourth year. Her parents lived in an old frame house on Lacock street about half a square west from Federal street. She remembers crossing Blackstock's alley before reaching her home when going to and from Federal street. Directly across from her home there was a high board fence and her childish mind was want [sic] to wonder what went on within the confines of that big fence. She could hear men talking and other noises. There was a wide wooden pavement in front of this fence, and a pump on a raised platform which was highly valued on account of the pure cold water it furnished the neighborhood. Hydrants were infrequent; usually they were on the outer edge of the pavement. Many persons not middle aged may remember this location of the hydrants in the old sections of Pittsburgh. The wooden pavement along Lacock street was made of puncheons—a high grade of corduroy we may call the sidewalk.
Andrew Wightman conducted a machine shop on Lacock street which was burned in 1845 with great loss to him. He had intended to raze the old house and build three bricks on the lot which he later built. The frame in which the Wightmans lived adjoined another of the same type—both were old and inconvenient—Mrs. Wilbur states.
"My father intended tearing these down, as they had become too old to live in. There were two houses and we were living in the one only until we could afford to build. My father had lost a good many thousands when his machine shop burned. My mother was in such poor health that every one thought she might have better health if she had a brick house to live in. A few years later we moved out of the old house and it was torn down and three bricks built on the same lots. One was the side to Blackstock's alley. This alley was wide enough to be called a street, but it was not so while I lived there. The rear entrance to our house was around the corner, after passing the side of the corner house and a high board fence along the yard. There was a paved alley about six or seven feet wide that led into our back yard, which was larger than those of the other two houses, as the width of this alley was taken off. It was paved with brick, with a gutter in the middle. Our yard had the bakeoven in it and they all had hydrants in them. The tenants in the other two houses had the use of the bakeoven, which was in almost constant use through the week. We had a table out there and a bench or two, but it was a tight squeeze when the time came to clean the fire out of the oven. The yard was all paved except under the oven, where there was cinders. We were very careful to put water on the ashes to quench the fire when the baking was done. As there were frame buildings all around us my mother was on the lookout, if she was able, to see all danger removed. Our house had a bathtub and a shower bath upstairs. It must have been about the first to be installed in Allegheny. I remember there was a brick taken out of the wall to let the pipes in, for the tub and shower bath only. The bathroom was over the kitchen. It had a bed in it and a new rag carpet on the floor. My mother soon saw the necessity of oil cloth, so she had two yards put down in front of the tub. The shower bath was ever so high up and I am sure it was not any larger than a basket round the top. It was brass and very fancy around the edge. These houses had 10-foot cellars, and the floor was as hard as stone.
"There was no cement used in these days but there was a preparation of cinders and lime. I can remember our folks planning and talking about it, arguing as people did in those days. My father's brothers were all concerned with one another's affairs. Some of them thought there ought to be cellar kitchens, but my father said he was going to keep his wife and babies above ground as long as he could. The cellar was for coal and wood, he said. One part was called the vegetable cellar. It was so cool down there that our butter never got soft at meal time if it was not brought up to soon [sic]. We did not use ice until long after that time. Lacock street had been raised just at the time these houses were being built. There were three steps up to a portico with two big round pillars, and two seats on the portico. There were Venetian shutters up stairs that were kept bowed in summer time to keep the rooms cool. Down stairs the shutters were solid wood and paneled, and with locks on them to be locked every night as robbers were on hand even then.
"The river was always a menace, as it flooded Robinson street nearly every spring and part of Federal street, first at the bridge. It had never come as far back as where we lived, but whenever there was an unusual rise my father was uneasy and was always advocating a trial of some method to confine the river within its banks. In the spring of 1852 we had several scares. One night in 1848 my father took a walk at late bedtime to see if the river was still rising. When he came in my mother saw he was terribly worried as the river was still on the rise and he was afraid it would come back and damage his property. But he went to bed; after a while mother heard him make a peculiar noise. She got up and lit a candle. She tried to raise him but could not. She took hold of his left arm and then realized that it was paralyed [sic]. This was the evil night above all others for she was in the house with no help as she had let her girl go home for a brief vacation. She awakened my oldest sister, who was three years older than myself, and sent us for Dr. Shriver, who lived a way off on the West Common, I think, a half mile at least. We ran all the way and had great difficulty in getting anybody to reply to the bell, but we kept ringing it and after a long wait the doctor himself put his head out of an upstairs window and we told him who we were and that father was dreadfully sick. He told us to wait and we could go back in the buggy with him, which we did. I thought I ought to go and tell Uncle Hugh Wightman, who lived on Sandusky street. The doctor let me out at the corner of Federal and Lacock and I ran over and awakened my uncle, who took me by the hand as we started, telling me what a thoughtful little girl I was. My father had had a stroke and was in bed for about six months, then he got able to go out to walk around but was still in bad health the third year after. He was induced to go to Connellsville and act as manager of woolen mills."
Here the narrative ends abruptly as though a page was either missing or had been intended. Evidently Mr. Wightman did not remain long in Connellsville, for he died at his home in Allegheny in 1852. Mrs. Wilbur in another installment than that recording the matter above tells of a close call she had. Leading up to this story and rehearsing it, she writes as follows:
"When I was 7 or 8 years old I was accustomed to go from my home on Lacock street to Dyer's grocery on Federal street, most often in the evening, to get cheese, a great article of diet in my young days. It was usual to have dinner at noon and what was called supper in the evening. Dinner consisted of soup and a roast—beef most frequently, with pie for dessert. For supper we had cold meats, cheese, bread with some form of preserves, or New Orleans molasses. Cheese is not easily kept fresh, so it was purchased in small quantities. Dyer's store was on the corner of Lacock street when I first went to it, but later it was moved farthur [sic] up Federal, near the Canal crossing. This was when the railroad came through Allegheny. Trains stopped on the opposite side from the store, so I was obliged to cross Federal to get to it. My mother was doubtful about trusting me on this thoroughfare, as a great number of drays and wagons were on their way home in the early evening hours, so much so that on week days the street was crowded. My father, however, thought I was smart enough to look out for myself and keep out of danger, especially not be run over by any vehicle. I was always quick on my feet, and was allowed to take my chances and go for the cheese, usually just before 6 o'clock. As my father's shop was at Sandusky street, one square east of Federal, I generally met him on my way home from the store. One evening I went as usual, crossing Federal street at Lacock street, going along very leisurely. Just as I reached the grocery I heard a great noise, but before I comprehended in the slightest degree what was happening, I was grabbed by the left arm and whirled into the store. I struck on the top of the counter a few yards and fell or rolled off, striking against a lot of empty tea boxes on the inner shelf. I was not hurt, but dreadfully frightened. I got up as soon as I could and when I looked towards the front I saw the nose of a locomotive inside of the store and window glass, bricks and mortar scattered about a crowd of people. I espied my father. I knew in a moment he was looking for me and I climbed on the counter and cried out as loud as I could: 'Here I am, papa! Here I am!'
"He lost no time in getting to me over the mass of debris. I told him the Dutchman had grabbed me by the arm and flung me over the counter. I then saw this man and I tell you he was glad to see me unhurt as I was a great favorite with him. I recall my father would not permit me to walk home but carried me, big girl that I was, though I was small enough for my age. My mother wanted to send for a doctor to have me examined to be sure I was not hurt in any way. I soon convinced them that I was all right. Then my father was so much interested in what made the engine act that way that he returned to the scene of the accident to learn how it happened. He found that the engineer had not stopped in time and the engine knocked down a brick wall about a foot thick that had been built in front of the one track as a precaution again [sic] proceeding too far. Father came home laughing and telling us that such an accident would never happen again as the railroad people had learned a lesson not easily forgotten. The "Dutchman," as we called Dyer's German clerk, had seen me entering the door of the store just as the locomotive broke through the wall and was coming across the cobble stone pavement in Federal street. He did not think what he was doing—his sole aim having been to get me out of the way. No one was injured but it was a wonder there was not as the street was full of people at that point. All got out of the way of the monster machine. This must have happened in 1847 or '48 as I had been going to school a year or more. I can remember the time when trains were first run in Allegheny. They were in service as far as New Brighton when first run."
Mrs. Wilbur is wrong in her dates here. The Salem, the first locomotive on the Ohio and Pennsylvania Railroad, the forerunner of the Pennsylvania's Fort Wayne route, was brought by canal to Allegheny in July, 1851, and trains were run to Crestline, Ohio, the next year.
Blackstock's cotton factory was on Lacock street near Balkam. It was first operated in 1828 by Blackstock, Bell & Co. Andrew Carnegie and his father worked in this factory. This location is west of Federal street. The railroad station was then as now on the west side of Federal. Sandusky street, where the Wightman shop and foundry was, most of us are aware is east of Federal running the same way. Lacock is the second street crossing Federal going from the river.
Mrs. Wilbur's remembrances of her school days at the old First Ward School in Allegheny with some additional recollections will form the subject matter of another story on this page.
TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK.
