Imagining Norwood’s Past

“Imagining Norwood’s Past: Old Home Week and the Creation of Community Memory” by Heather S. Cole. Presented at the 10th Annual Conference on Cultural and Historical Preservation (Newport, RI), September 2006.

“North Dormer was preparing for its Old Home Week… of course North Dormer was so full of Associations…historic, literary… and ecclesiastical…he knew about the old pewter communion service imported from England in 1769, she supposed? And it was so important, in a wealthy materialistic age, to set the example of reverting to the old ideals, the family and homestead, and so on.” – Edith Wharton, Summer (1917)

New Hampshire Governor Frank W. Rollins invented Old Home Week in 1899 as part of his efforts to revitalize the state’s economy. Designed as a celebration of local history and culture, the festivities were intended to encourage former residents who had left New Hampshire to find fame and fortune elsewhere to return to their hometowns for a week (or several days) of reminiscing and reconnecting with family and friends. The Old Home celebrations variously consisted of parades, concerts, fireworks, historical addresses, readings of poetry and dedications of various memorials and statues to local heroes. At the end, organizers hoped, the former residents would be inspired to invest in their hometown, perhaps by endowing a local library, purchasing their ancestral home or, at the least, making their hometown a regular summer vacation destination, bringing much needed funds to the town coffers. Old Home celebrations reached their height of popularity by around 1904, when more than 100 cities and towns across New England were celebrating it in one form or another.

Two historians who have studied Old Home Week, Dona Brown and Joseph Conforti, have argued that these celebrations were part of the efforts of declining northern New England towns to revitalize their local economy by capitalizing on the popularity of the Colonial Revival, described by Conforti as “a historical refuge where the native-born could indulge their nostalgia for simpler times.” In true Colonial Revival fashion, organizers hearkened back to a colonial past—real or imagined—and were often part of larger efforts to restore old buildings and celebrate old-fashioned Yankee values. Nostalgia played a large role in Old Home Week as organizers, often members of a local historical society or preservation organization, promoted their towns as traditional, picturesque, harmonious New England villages and escapes from the increasingly crowded, industrial, ethnically diverse and politicized cities of southern New England.

In 1902 and 1903, the town of Norwood, Massachusetts decided to join the Old Home Week trend. Excepting that they were Old Home Days, rather than full weeks, Norwood’s celebrations were similar in several ways to those described by Brown and Conforti: the parades, historical addresses, dedication of memorials, reminiscing of old-timers. Norwood organizers also hoped that the festivities would inspire former residents to contribute financially to their hometown. But beyond those similarities, the case of Norwood is quite different and complicates our understanding of Old Home Week and the purposes of those celebrations.

At the turn of the 20th century Norwood was no declining rural village; instead, it was more similar to the places Old Home participants were supposed to be escaping. Located about 15 miles southwest of Boston, Norwood in 1902 was a bustling, crowded industrial town. Although it had a population of just under 6,000, Norwood was experiencing the same forces of immigration and urbanization that were affecting larger cities and towns. The town’s population had tripled in 30 years, and as early as 1895, one-third of Norwood’s residents were foreign born. Many of those immigrants lived in crowded multi-family homes and worked in the loud and dirty local industries including two tanneries, two printing conglomerates, a lumber mill, a paper mill, an ink factory and railroad car shops.

Norwood also bore little resemblance to the northern Colonial Revival villages in another important way: until 1872 the land that would become Norwood was part of the south precinct of the town of Dedham. Norwood had been incorporated as an independent town for just 30 years when it held its first celebration commemorating the town’s past.

So what was a place like Norwood, Massachusetts—a growing industrial town, flooded with immigrants and only recently incorporated—doing hosting an Old Home celebration?

In Norwood, organizers used this staple of the Colonial Revival not to advocate for the preservation of historic buildings or the recreation of an “Olde Timey” New England village, but to generate support among current and former residents for the town’s industrial development and to create a common history and identity for the town. Many of the organizers were not local old-timers, but young entrepreneurs, many of whom had moved to town only recently. And the town history and identity they were celebrating was one that they crafted to suit their purposes.

Much of this industrial development in Norwood since its independence had been led by the Norwood Business Association, an organization formed in 1892 to “to advance the growth and encourage the business prosperity of the town.” With the support of town officials, the Norwood Business Association pushed for the expansion of industrial development in town, successfully recruiting new and established businesses to town with offers of free land and tax benefits. It was this same group of prominent businessmen who organized Norwood’s Old Home Day celebrations.

In addition to industrial and residential growth, Norwood was also undergoing a generational change. By 1902, the men who had fought for Norwood’s independence from Dedham and led the town in its first few years were easing their way into retirement and passing the reigns of their businesses and town leadership to a new generation. This generation included college-educated men who brought new ideas and new innovations to business and public service.

The year 1902 marked the 30th anniversary of the incorporation of Norwood. On the occasion of this anniversary, Norwood’s Old Home Day celebrations were intended to be both an opportunity to show off the changes in Norwood, a way to help the town’s elite negotiate the change in their town and a means to establish unity and common history among residents who may have felt threatened by the changes in Norwood. Although they may have found themselves in the minority population-wise, this was a way for them to stake their claim on the history, mythology and culture of the town and for newcomers to reaffirm their commitment to the cultural and political hegemony of Norwood.

The idea for an Old Home Week celebration apparently grew out of an earlier effort to define a symbol with which to identify the town. In the fall of 1901, the Norwood Business Association proposed that the town of Norwood should have a new town seal. A committee, chaired by local attorney and newcomer James A. Halloran, invited town schoolchildren to submit designs for the seal. About 80 students responded. Several of the proposed seals included eagles, flags and other patriotic symbols. Two portrayed Wampanoag chief King Philip. A few others were drawings of buildings or streetscapes in town. But the most popular symbols included in the proposed town seals were of Norwood’s industries and included imagery of books, printing presses, ink wells, smokestacks, even pieces of flayed and hung leather. This was Norwood as the children saw it. It was apparently not the Norwood that the Norwood Business Association wanted to portray. The Norwood Business Association thanked the schoolchildren for their efforts, but decided to indefinitely postpone the selection of a seal. Instead, the Norwood Business Association appointed a new committee to organize an Old Home celebration in Norwood in the fall.

With only three months to plan, organizers decided that the event would be a modest Old Home Day, rather than a full week. The Norwood Business Association rented the largest hall in town, arranged for music and food, recruited hostesses and commissioned a historical talk to be accompanied by stereopticon slides of both the oldest and newest buildings in town including, of course, homes of some of the Norwood Business Association members. They sent out invitations to between 400 and 500 former residents inviting them to the celebration.

Less than three weeks before the big event, organizers decided that the central event of the day’s festivities should be the dedication of a historical tablet. But organizers had a particular challenge in identifying exactly what event or person in the history of the town should be commemorated. As the former south precinct of Dedham, residents could claim part of a rich history dating back to the Dedham land grant of 1636. But Norwood’s elite wanted to establish a sense of Norwood’s own identity and history, separate from that of Dedham. As such, organizers did not select any of the Dedham men for recognition.

Instead, the man who the Norwood Business Association selected for commemoration was a little-known local man named Aaron Guild. Guild was born in 1728 and lived his entire life on land that would eventually become part of Norwood. A farmer by trade, Guild served as captain in the French and Indian War and played a very minor role in the events leading to the American Revolution. But a minor role was good enough, especially since there were more than a few of Guild’s descendants among the organizers and participants in the Old Home festivities. In celebrating Aaron Guild as a local hero, organizers established their hereditary connection to this esteemed past.

As the actual location where Aaron Guild lived was private property, organizers received permission to place his commemorative stone across the street, appropriately on the grounds of the Congregational Church. They commissioned an engraving on a granite boulder, using language lifted nearly verbatim from an 1867 genealogy of the Guild family. The stone, which still stands, was engraved in gold letters to read:

Near this spot
Capt. Aaron Guild,
On April 19, 1775, Left plow in
Furrow, oxen standing,
And departing for Lexington,
Arrived in time to fire upon
The retreating British.

Harold Fales spoke at the dedication, describing Aaron Guild as descended from a long line of men who led “pure, wholesome and Christian lives” devoted to family, country and God. Said Fales: “We honor Aaron Guild, but we honor him more as a type of many who shows their heroic devotion, for the heroes that day were numbered by the thousands.” But the dedication was not just a commemoration of Aaron Guild but also an affirmation of the connections between the town’s current elite, the former residents, (described by Fales as “scions of those sturdy families who founded this community”) and the town’s colonial forefathers, such as Guild.

Fales used language which implied not only genealogical connections, but the racial superiority of Norwood’s elite. He described how Norwood’s “sons and daughters” had “gone forth to all portions of this broad land, building up new communities, making them stronger, better and purer for their presence.”   

“We have now a land upon which the sun never sets, and I believe that the end is not yet reached. Call it imperialism if you will, the word does not frighten us: on the contrary it signifies that the Anglo-Saxon race, which has done more for human liberty than any other race, is still possessed of those virile qualities which make up that blind instinct to press forward, to rule, to civilize, using peaceable means wherever possible, force when it must… Our ancestors have left us a splendid heritage… so we may glory in the fact that we are American citizens.”

Some historians have pointed out the ties between Colonial Revival commemorations and early Americanization efforts: the idea that the celebration of colonial heroes was both to “inspire colonial descendants and to encourage respect for tradition and interest in Americanization” among new residents. In the case of Norwood, however, there were likely few immigrants present to  hear about local hero Aaron Guild. Very few, if any, members of Norwood’s working class (including the bulk of Norwood’s immigrants)would have been able to participate in the festivities. In 1902, admittance to most of the festivities were by ticket only and restricted to former residents, their friends and family and “really old residents.” The 1903 festivities were to be open to “the whole town without regard to social, political or religious differences;” yet, despite requests from organizers that manufactures give their employers at least a half-day off for the events, none of the major employers gave their employees any time off. Members of Norwood’s working class were absent, and their contributions to the history and economic development of the town over the previous 50+ years were also conspicuously absent from the commemorations.

This didn’t seem to bother the local newspaper, which commended the Norwood Business Association on their efforts with a special edition of the newspaper. The editor wrote: “The enterprising gentlemen [of the Norwood Business Association] have evolved from their labors a proof and demonstration of the fact that the town has a past, of which it may well be proud, and we may trust that the town has also a future whose achievements will surpass the hopes of the most sanguine.”

Not all of Old Home Day was a success, however. Like Governor Rollins of New Hampshire, the Norwood Business Association hoped the festivities would inspire former residents to make some financial contributions to the town. During the 1902 festivities, Frank Fales (one of the organizers who had been born in town) spoke to the visitors about the changes that had taken place in Norwood over his lifetime. Fales focused on the material improvements to the town: the new businesses, library and railroad station, and the recent paving of roads and sidewalks. At the conclusion of his talk, Fales bluntly asked for contributions to the continuing improvement of the town: “If any of you have come back to us with fortunes and desire to immortalize yourself, you might leave us a Town Hall. That and a system of sewerage are our most pressing needs.”

Organizers were a bit more subtle in 1903 when they placed illustrations of two recently-donated public buildings—a public library and chapel—on the cover of the Old Home Days program. But apparently none of the former residents had the means or the interest in supporting Norwood’s development.

1903 was the second and final year that Old Home Day was celebrated in Norwood. Despite an increase in the number of out-of-town visitors, organizers evidently determined that the work and money to organize the festivities were not worth it. None of the visitors donated a new town hall, a new sewer system or anything else of substance to the town. After that year there was no further mention of Old Home Day in the local newspaper, town reports or the minutes of the Norwood Business Association. Old Home Day in Norwood died as quickly as it had been born, but the symbol of Norwood’s idealized remained one that emphasized patriotism, Americanism and industry.

So what ever became of the plans for a new town seal?

The plans were showcased at the 1903 Old Home Day celebration. Shortly thereafter, the Norwood Business Association awarded first prize to high school student Ethel Hubbard for a drawing of Norwood’s downtown area. But Ethel’s design was never made into Norwood’s town seal. There are no accounts in town reports, the minutes of the Norwood Business Association or the local newspaper as to what happened, but two years later the issue of a town seal came up again at Norwood’s Annual Town Meeting. A new committee was appointed to “make recommendations as to the adoption of a new town seal,” and the following spring Town Meeting voted to accept as a town seal a design presented by the committee. But the seal that was presented to and accepted by Town Meeting in 1906 was not Ethel Hubbard’s design. Instead, the seal that was selected, and that continues to appear on all official town documents 100 years later, was the drawing made by the second place winner, high school student George Boyden. And the drawing: it is of our dear patriot, Aaron Guild, leaving plow in furrow, oxen standing, and departing for Lexington.


Wielding a Mighty Force for Civic Righteousness

“‘Wielding a Mighty Force for Civic Righteousness’: A Case Study of a Community Center in the Progressive Era” by Heather S. Cole, presented at the New England Historical Association Spring Conference, April 2006.

Most of us are at least generally familiar with the historiography of the Progressive Era in America. The late 19th century saw a rise in industrialization, urbanization and immigration—which coincided with the rise in the power of big business, party politics and labor organization. Early in the 20th century, muckraking journalists began exposing the downside of the nation’s urban and industrial growth and its negative impact on the residents of America’s cities and towns.

In response, women and men from a variety of backgrounds and with a variety of agendas spent the next two decades experimenting with strategies to assist the populations impacted by the effects of modernization. This period, roughly 1900-1920, has come to be known as the Progressive Era.

One of the ongoing debates in Progressive Era historiography is around the issue of the role of big business and big businessmen in the reform of the period. On one hand, industrialization and business incorporation caused many of the problems that progressive reformers hoped to mitigate. But, on the other hand, many individual businessmen were involved in financing, (and sometimes) planning and implementing, the reforms of the period. So, one of the great ironies of the Progressive Era is that businessmen were often both the cause of and the perceived solution to the problems of this period.

Historians have studied the role of businessmen in the reforms of large cities and on the national level. But, the federal census tells us that prior to 1920, most Americans lived not in cities but in small towns or rural areas. Many of these small towns, in particular, experienced their own reform in this period. My research examines Progressive Era reform in one of these small towns

The town I am studying—Norwood, Massachusetts—is located about 15 miles southwest of Boston (and about 20 miles northwest of where we are today). Between 1908 and about 1918, Norwood was transformed from a struggling industrial town to what the Providence Journal described as “the most progressive [town] of its kind in New England.” This transformation involved reforming the town’s municipal government; reforming the town’s tax structure; introducing town planning; building parks and playgrounds; building the town’s first public hospital and building the town’s first community center. All this reform was conceptualized, led and financed largely by one man—a local industrialist named George Willett.

We don’t have time today to look at George Willett’s entire plan for civic reform in Norwood—which is the focus of my recently completed Masters’ thesis. Instead, I would like to focus on one piece of his reform plan—the creation of Norwood’s first community center. I think it is the most interesting and most exemplary piece of the reform in Norwood, and it brings together strands of Progressive Era historiography that are often talked about separately, including social, business and political history. It also gives us some insight into the motivation of one particular Progressive Era businessman-reformer, and the impact that his reform had on one particular New England town.


Norwood, Massachusetts was part of the town of Dedham for the first 200 years of its existence, only becoming incorporated as an independent town in 1872. Shortly after incorporation, Norwood began active recruitment of industry to the town, believing that was the fastest route to generating income for the young municipality. This effort was generally successful, and by 1900 Norwood had a population of about 5,500 and was home to several large factories producing books, leather goods and other industrial products.

Concurrent with Norwood’s industrial growth, the town also experienced a population and development boom. Much of the increase in population was due to chain migration of new immigrants who came to Norwood to work as laborers in the local factories. By 1913, Norwood’s foreign-born population had reached a height of 40 percent, including growing numbers of immigrants from southern and Eastern Europe, with languages and cultures that were very different from earlier immigrants.

It didn’t take long for the town to begin to feel some of the negative effects of its rapid industrial and residential growth. Having been dependent on, and somewhat neglected by, the mother town of Dedham for so many years, Norwood had few public buildings, limited public services and a tax rate that was the highest in the state as the town struggled to build an independent infrastructure. There was concern among the middle class residents about the cost of “Americanizing” Norwood’s newest residents and the demands they were believed to be placing on the town’s charitable organizations. Moreover, public recreational facilities for all ages and classes were non-existent, a fact that was pointed out by a series of articles in the local newspaper. The newspaper reporter wrote: “There is still a chance for some public-spirited citizen to donate land for park or playground purposes… [a place where] the exuberant physical nature of boys and young men may find vent.”

Elsewhere in the country, early 20th century reformers and philanthropists responded to similar calls by building networks of public parks and playgrounds, YMCAs for middle class youth and settlement houses for the immigrants. In Norwood, local businessman George Willett answered the call to civic responsibility with the creation of the town’s first community center. He named the community center the Norwood Civic Association—or, the Civic, for short.

The Civic was designed to serve all of the town’s residents—rich and poor, immigrant and American-born. It was to be what one Civic publication described as “a real community center where all of the people may gather, and which as an institution may wield a mighty force for civic righteousness in the community.”

The Civic’s founder, George Willett, was a multi-millionaire businessman and nationally recognized for his skill in industrial reorganization and management. He made his first million dollars by introducing scientific techniques and streamlining the business processes in Norwood’s tannery industry, one of the oldest and largest in the country. George Willett then went on to found Willett & Sears, a Boston-based industrial management consulting and holding company that controlled more than a dozen large industrial concerns throughout New England. Not just a local figure, George Willett’s expertise in industrial management was later recognized by the federal government when he was asked to consult on the reorganization of the War Department in preparation for America’s entry into World War I.

Like other wealthy industrialists of the time, George Willett envisioned taking the same business methods that he instituted in his factories and applying them to the broader arena of public affairs. Willett’s goal was to mitigate the problems of industrialization and urban growth in Norwood by transforming the small, industrial, working-class town into what he said would be the “biggest, busiest and best suburban municipality in New England.” He intended to do this in two ways: first, by creating a stable, efficient workforce and, second, by attracting upper- and middle-class homeowners and taxpayers to the town. The Civic was one of the mechanisms by which he hoped to carry out these plans, and he invested at least half-a-million dollars of his own money in the Civic.

In February 1911, George Willett opened the doors to the Civic. The Civic was located in the center of town, adjacent to the business and government center. It began with just a gymnasium and meeting rooms, but soon expanded into a 30,000-square-foot complex with an auditorium that sat 700, a clubhouse, gymnasium, swimming pool, tennis courts, bowling alleys, billiard room, social hall, meeting rooms and classrooms. On the five acres of land surrounding the Civic buildings were athletic fields, tennis courts and a grandstand.

In hopes of attracting upper- and middle-class residents, the Civic hosted lectures, concerts and socials, including performances by the Boston Symphony Orchestra and a series of lectures called “The Forum” which brought in world-renowned experts to speak about current events and politics. Tennis courts and bowling alleys could be rented by the hour, and there was a library and reading room with current business and news publications.

Several social, charitable and government organizations, including the Norwood Business Association, Women’s Club and Planning Board, had their offices in the Civic buildings. And the Civic auditorium—the largest public hall in town—hosted Norwood’s annual Town Meeting and elections.

Concurrently with these activities, the Civic ran very different programs targeted at Norwood’s working class residents, particularly the new immigrants. In contrast with the middle class-oriented programs, these programs were not for the leisure or entertainment of the immigrant residents, but instead were designed to help “Americanize” the immigrants by teaching them middle class values and lifestyles. According to George Willett, these programs were designed “to improve the morality, industry, thrift, health, cleanliness, education and good citizenship” of the immigrants.

Towards these ends, the Civic advocated for the construction of new playgrounds in town, and provided “highly trained and specialized” staff to organize and supervise the children’s activities. The Civic operated a Vocation Bureau, where young men and boys could attend lectures on various trades and meet with a counselor about which vocation would best meet their “mental, physical, oral and social characteristics.”

Adult men were encouraged to attend English language and citizenship classes, in preparation for becoming American citizens. And the Civic especially targeted immigrant women with classes in sewing, millinery and cooking intended to teach them to how to increase their purchasing power through following “American standards” of cooking, cleaning and housekeeping. The women’s classes were held in the Civic Association’s Model House, a building that was described in Civic publications as “modestly furnished as an example and illustration of an attractive home.”

Some of the Civic activities reached across class and cultural lines and, as other historians have observed, these were often athletic activities. Mirroring national trends, the Civic sponsored a baseball team and hosted gymnastics competitions and military drilling exhibitions that were popular with a range of residents.

Throughout the 1910s, the Civic was bustling with activity most afternoons and evenings of the week. And the most popular activities at the Civic were free Saturday night movies, attended by up to 1000 residents during warm summer evenings.

In June 1913, The Boston Globe devoted a full page spread to a profile of the Civic. The article credited the Civic with “doing much to wipe out class distinction,” called George Willett a “mighty practical visionary” and compared the work he was carrying out in Norwood to “the sort of Utopian dream one reads about in a book like [Edward] Bellamy’s ‘Looking Backward.’”

But contrary to its portrayal in the Boston Globe, the Civic was not a place where class distinction had been eliminated and it was not quite Bellamy’s vision of social equality. And it was never intended to be.

Although George Willett insisted that the Civic be open to all residents of Norwood, he didn’t actually expect the various cultural and class groups to interact socially. In what became his most famous speech, George Willett said, “the Civic Association is an organization for the purpose of centralizing in some one place the various community activities, rather than a social organization for the purpose of bringing all of the townspeople together in a common social basis. That would be clearly impossible.”

Ever the businessman, George Willett was less interested in equality than in efficiency. And although its activities were social, the Civic’s mission was not social reform but structural reform. Just as he streamlined the production of boot leather in Norwood’s tanneries by standardizing processes and centralizing management, George Willett intended for his Civic to streamline civic and recreational activities in town—activities that were integral to his vision of a modern suburban town—through standardization and centralization.

In the end, George Willett appears to have been quite successful in centralizing civic and recreational activities in town. By 1913 at least one out of ten of Norwood’s residents was a member and many more attended programs.

Most of the residents who attended Civic programs appear to have been from Norwood’s middle class, rather than from either the upper class or immigrant populations. The Civic’s monthly newsletter and other publications make special note of immigrant group participation in particular events, suggesting that it was not a common occurrence. And, according to a survey in December 1913, only 46 of Norwood’s 170 most successful businessmen and industrialists were members of the Civic.

It was this lack of support from Norwood’s upper class residents that eventually led to the dissolution of the Civic. In early 1918, George Willett’s companies ran into financing problems and by the end of the year, George Willett was on the brink of bankruptcy and no longer had the funds to support his reform efforts in Norwood. The Civic embarked on a series of fundraising campaigns, but received just lukewarm results. Evidently Norwood residents were happy to participate in Civic programs, but couldn’t or didn’t want to pay for them.

Without George Willett’s financial support, the Civic began a slow decline through the 1920s, offering fewer programs and frequently in debt. A fire in April 1930 destroyed the main Civic building beyond repair and, without the funds to rebuild, it closed for good.


So what can we learn about the businessmen in the Progressive Era from the case study of George Willett and Norwood’s Civic Association?

While it is important not to generalize from one example, I think we can get a sense of the power that wealthy businessmen in small towns could continue to wield, even as these small towns were becoming part of national communication, transportation and economic networks. It also demonstrates how quickly reforms could come to an end, if the funding for reform activities dried up

I think the case of the Civic also demonstrates that, in some cases, the businessman and the reformer were the same person. And it shows that there were often contradictions between the intents of reformers, how those reforms were promoted, and effects the reforms had on the targeted populations. This reminds us that, as historians, we need to pay careful attention to the sources we consult when telling the story about Progressive Era reform.

Finally, I think that although the results may not always have been what they wished, it is truly remarkable the complexity of the plans that Progressive Era reformers developed to transform the cities and towns around them and the visions many reformers—both businessmen and others—had for remaking American society.   Their optimism that business methods could apply everywhere—might remind us that looking for a universal solution to all problems is not likely to be entirely fruitful.


Images of South Norwood

southnorwoodImages of America: South Norwood
By Patricia J. Fanning and Heather S. Cole
Arcadia Publishing, 2004

Beginning in the late nineteenth century, immigrants streamed into Norwood, attracted by work at industrial sites such as Morrill Ink Works, Norwood Press, and Bird & Sons. Arriving from Lithuania, Poland, Syria, and Italy, they took up residence in the southernmost section of town, nicknamed “the Flats.” Facing prejudice and isolation from the more established community, the area became a self-contained neighborhood characterized by small businesses, ethnic cooperative markets, benevolent associations, and the St. George, St. Peter’s, and St. George Orthodox parishes. Today, the immigrant population still thrives, and generations of families keep this melting pot alive with fairs, festivals, and neighbors who truly care about one another.
Available from the Norwood Historical Society.