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On Sept. 16, 1920, the Town Clerk and Selectmen qualified 252 Women as Electors of the State of Connecticut under the new law that allowed Women to vote.
The youngest, Justine McGowan, was age 20, single, and living with her parents. The oldest, Cornelia Hotchkiss, was age 76, single, and the head of her own household.
In the weeks and months ahead, the Watertown History Museum hopes to share more information about these women and that historic moment. They will publish a list of their names on their website and include other information that they have available about the 1920 election. If you are a descendant of one of these women, they are asking you to share their stories with them!
You can see the original ballot box (pictured above left) from 1920 labelled "For Womans' Ballots" at the Watertown History Museum exhibit in the new Town Hall.
Nathaniel Wheeler and Allen B. Wilson, whose patented sewing machines would dominate the global market for the latter half of the 19th century, were one such set of innovators. Nathaniel Wheeler, born in Watertown, Connecticut in 1820, was a businessman who jumped at the chance to partner with inventor Allen Wilson after viewing one of Wilson’s unique sewing machines on display in New York City in 1851. In 1853, they established the Wheeler & Wilson Manufacturing Company in Watertown, where they began mass-producing Wilson’s patented sewing machines and marketing them, with remarkable success, to middle-class American men and women. #localhistory #watertownlearns
One of the most controversial events in aviation history took place in Fairfield, Connecticut in 1901, as inventor Gustave Whitehead is thought by many to have executed a half-mile-long flight in his Flying Machine No. 21 at a height of 50 feet off the ground — over two years before the Wright Brothers made their much more famous flight at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. A few days later, the Bridgeport Herald published an account of the experimental machine’s August 14th flight, complete with a line drawing of Whitehead’s motorized glider sailing above the ground. #historyfacts #watertownlearns
Whitehead was a German-born mechanic with a lifelong passion for studying kites, gliders, and the physics of flight. As a teenager, he worked aboard a sailing ship before immigrating to the United States in 1893, where he found work for a New York toy company designing kites and model gliders. During the 1890s, Whitehead built a number of experimental aircraft, including an ornithopter (a helicopter that achieved lift by flapping its “wings” like a bird) and full-size gliders both with and without engines.
Despite several contemporary newspaper accounts detailing Whitehead’s flight and eyewitnesses later signing affidavits that attested to it, a number of modern-day flight historians dispute the claim that Whitehead made the first motorized flight in history, citing minor discrepancies in eyewitness accounts and the lack of a photographs showing the Number 21 machine in flight. Whitehead advocates point out that the odds are stacked against any major institution’s acknowledging Whitehead’s milestone because of an agreement between the Smithsonian Institute and the Wright family estate, wherein the Smithsonian would obtain the original 1903 Wright Flyer in exchange for promising to exclusively credit the Wright Brothers with completing the first powered, controlled flight in history.
The controversy is still flying high today, over a century after Whitehead’s high-flying achievement.
On March 22nd in 1816, master American artist and internationally acclaimed landscape painter John Frederick Kensett was born in Cheshire, Connecticut to Thomas Kensett, an English-born engraver, and Elizabeth Daggett Kensett, his Connecticut-born wife. Displaying an early aptitude for art, John was working in his father’s engraving studio by age 12, honing his keen eye for fine lines and details. He continued in that line of work until his mid-20s, when he decided to move to England in search of formal training as a fine artist specializing in landscape painting,
Kensett traveled extensively around Europe for seven years, perfecting a landscape-painting technique that emphasized contemplative, simplified scenery illuminated by a cool, hard and diffuse lighting style. Kinsett occasionally sent works to his friends in New York City for display in exhibitions. By the time he returned to the United States in 1847, Kinsett had already achieved a small but rapidly growing reputation as an artist. Greater recognition soon followed, as Kinsett became nationally renowned for his expressive brushstrokes, attention to natural texture and detail, and use of color to imply natural light.
Most of Kensett’s landscapes depicted scenes from across the northeastern United States, including Lake George in upstate New York, the White Mountains of New Hampshire, and especially, beautiful views of Long Island Sound from the Connecticut coast. In 1867, Kensett purchased Contentment Island off the coast of Darien, Connecticut, where he set up a studio and painted some of his most iconic coastal scenes. In 1870, he helped found the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.
In late 1872, a double tragedy struck when Kensett’s close friend and his wife came for a late autumn visit to the artist’s home on Contentment Island. His friend’s wife fell into the frigid waters of Long Island Sound and drowned, despite Kensett’s brave attempt to save her by leaping into the dangerously cold water himself. Kensett caught pnuemonia as a result of the failed rescue attempt, and died just a few weeks later in New York at age 57.
After Kensett’s unexpected death, his brother donated many of the artist’s unfinished works to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the institution that John Frederick Kensett had played such a large role in founding. This provided a lasting legacy to a luminous artistic career that had its origin in a small Connecticut town, today in Connecticut history.
One of the darkest days in Connecticut history occurred February of 1780, as 19-year-old Revolutionary War deserter Barnett Davenport brutally murdered his employer and his entire family in what many historians recognize as the first documented mass murder in American history.
Born in New Milford in 1760, young Barnett was a troubled youth who, by the age of 15, developed a reputation as a brazen robber and horse thief. When he turned 16, he then ran off to Massachusetts, where he joined the Continental Army under an alias and served at Valley Forge and Monmouth before deserting. In 1779, a penniless and destitute Barnett returned to western Connecticut, looking for work as a farmhand and using his younger brother’s name, Nicolas, as yet another alias. He was soon hired by Caleb Mallory, a farmer and miller who lived with his wife, children, and grandchildren in the modern-day town of Washington, who gave him a job, a new set of clothes, and a place to stay.
In a chilling confession that was published after his arrest, Davenport described what seems like a psychopathic obsession with killing the Mallory family soon after he was hired, “without the least provocation or prejudice against any of them.” On February 3, 1780, he put his premeditated plan into action. Just after midnight, Caleb entered his master’s bedchamber and proceeded to bludgeon him, his wife, and their young granddaughter who was sleeping alongside them to death using a blunt farm implement and the butt end of a musket. Then, after looting the house, Caleb proceeded to set it aflame in hopes of covering his tracks, completely indifferent to the fact that two other young grandchildren were still sleeping inside.
A massive manhunt for the Mallory’s suspected killer soon led to the arrest of Barnett’s younger brother, the real Nicholas Davenport, who was sentenced to jail time in East Granby’s Newgate Prison for the alleged crime of harboring his brother. Barnett himself was found hiding in a cave in Cornwall a few days later, and brought to the town of Litchfield to face justice. There, he gave his full confession to the local minister, and was sentenced to be publicly whipped and then hanged for the murder of five members of the Mallory family. On May 8, his death sentence was carried out on Litchfield’s Gallows Hill, finally bringing one of the most heinous chapters in Connecticut history to its conclusion.
Street names are often guides to a town’s past. In Litchfield’s case, this is perhaps most graphically illustrated by Gallows Lane.
An Article by Peter Vermilyea which appeared on connecticuthistory.org
Once called Middle Street, its 28 rod span (154 feet) made it the widest in Litchfield. Most town residents have heard the story that the street got its current name because executions once took place there. The historian–trained to be a skeptic–questions this piece of lore. But it’s true. And the story reveals crimes of a bloody nature we don’t often associate with our forefathers.
He took a job with Caleb Mallory, a farmer who operated a grist mill along what is now Route 109 in Washington. Mallory and his wife Jane had two daughters who lived in the area. Davenport had entered the home on the night of February 3rd and beat Caleb, Jane, and Charlotte to death. Looting the house of its valuables, he set it ablaze as he left, killing John and Sherman.
Davenport escaped on foot and hid out in a cave in Cornwall for six days. Captured, he was brought to Litchfield where he was arraigned and gave a full confession, likely to Reverend Judah Champion of Litchfield’s Congregational Church. The confession is now in the archives at the University of Virginia.
Davenport’s trial was presided over by Roger Sherman, who previously had served on the committee that wrote the Declaration of Independence. Sherman sentenced Davenport to 40 lashes and then to be hanged. The execution took place at Gallows Hill on May 8, 1780. The hill, as it name implies, served as an execution site. In 1768, a Native American named John Jacob had been hanged there for the murder of another American Indian. In 1785, Thomas Goss of Barkhamsted was also hanged on the hill, for the murder of his wife.
Davenport would likely have been led in a procession from the Litchfield jail to the site of the gallows. It was quite common in early America for large crowds to turn out for an execution, as it was considered an opportunity for moral instruction for children. The sheriff would read the sentence to the condemned, who would be hooded and mounted on the stand. A minister would give a sermon. With the noose placed around Davenport’s head, the trap door was sprung. The body would be left hanging for some time, a reminder to passersby of the dangers of immorality.
Detail of a map from Some Historic Sites of Litchfield, Connecticut by the Litchfield Historical Society
Peter Vermilyea, who teaches history at Housatonic Valley Regional High School in Falls Village, Connecticut, and at Western Connecticut State University, maintains the Hidden in Plain Sight blog and is the author of Hidden History of Litchfield County (History Press, 2014).