USS Constitution, Boston (2)

The USS Constitution at Charlestown Navy Yard in Boston, around 1905. Image courtesy of the Library of Congress, Detroit Publishing Company Collection.

The Constitution at the same dock in 2022:

As explained in more detail in the previous post, the frigate USS Constitution has a long history with Boston, dating back to its construction in the North End in 1797. The ship served with distinction in many American conflicts, most notably in the War of 1812, when it captured or sank five British warships and earned the nickname “Old Ironsides.”

The Constitution remained in active service for nearly a century, but by the end of the 19th century it had been converted into a receiving ship, with a large barracks structure that was constructed atop its deck, as shown in the top photo. In this role, the ship served as temporary housing for new recruits and other sailors who were not currently assigned to a crew. It was in use as a receiving ship at Portsmouth Naval Shipyard in the late 19th century, before being moved to the Charlestown Navy Yard in Boston in time for its centennial in 1897.

When the top photo was taken, its future was uncertain. it was in need of major repairs, and there was a possibility that the navy might choose to sink it for target practice. However, it was ultimately restored, including the removal of the barracks, and it became a museum ship. It underwent several other major restorations over the course of the 20th century, and also embarked on a three-year tour of the country, including visiting ports along the Atlantic, Gulf, and Pacific coasts.

Another ship is also visible in the top photo, on the right side. It is the passenger liner SS Arabic of the White Star Line, the same company that would later construct the Titanic. The Arabic was built in 1903, so it was only a few years old in the top photo, providing a dramatic contrast to the Constitution. Ironically, though, despite being more than a century older, the Constitution would outlive the Arabic by more than a century. The Arabic was ultimately torpedoed and sunk by a German submarine in 1915 during World War I, in an incident that caused a diplomatic crisis similar to the sinking of the Lusitania several months earlier.

Today, the Constitution is still moored at the same dock in Charlestown Navy Yard, although it now much more closely resembles its appearance in its fighting days, when compared to its appearance in the top photo. It remains a commissioned United States warship with its own officers and crew, and it is the oldest commissioned warship afloat in the world. Only Britain’s HMS Victory is older, although it has been in drydock since 1922.

USS Constitution, Boston

The USS Constitution at the Charlestown Navy Yard in Boston, around 1905. Image courtesy of the Library of Congress, Detroit Publishing Company Collection.

The Constitution at the same dock in 2022:

These two photos show the USS Constitution, the oldest commissioned warship afloat in the world. Constructed across the harbor in Boston at Edmund Hartt’s shipyard, the Constitution was one of six frigates that were authorized by the Naval Act of 1794. Prior to this act, the United States did not have a standing navy, with the earlier Continental Navy having been disbanded after the end of the American Revolution. The initial motivation for constructing these ships was to protect American shipping from Barbary pirates in North Africa, but they would also see extensive service in the Quasi War against France and in the War of 1812 against Britain.

The Constitution was launched in 1797 and departed on its first patrol in 1798, during the Quasi War. It later served in the First Barbary War, but the Constitution would earn its fame for its role in the War of 1812. Over the course of the war, it sank or captured five British warships, and it earned the nickname of “Old Ironsides” after its August 19, 1812 defeat of the HMS Guerriere. The ship was later further immortalized by Oliver Wendell Holmes’s 1830 poem “Old Ironsides,” which was written in response to a news article that the navy was planning to scrap the Constitution.

The ship would remain in active service throughout most of the 19th century, including being used as a training ship during and after the Civil War. However, by 1881 it was in poor condition, and it was brought to Portsmouth Naval Shipyard and converted into a receiving ship for housing sailors who were not currently assigned to a crew. This conversion included the construction of barracks on the deck of the ship, as shown in the top photo.

In 1897, the Constitution was moved back to Boston, just in time for the centennial of its launch. The top photo was taken about 8 years later, showing the ship moored on the western side of the Charlestown Navy Yard. At this point, the fate of the famous ship was still very uncertain. That year, the secretary of the navy proposed sinking it as a target ship, but it prompted an outcry similar to that which had prompted Holmes’s poem some 75 years earlier.

This sentiment led to the restoration of the ship, including removal of the barracks structure, and it was subsequently opened to the public as a museum ship. However, within a few decades it once again needed significant repairs due to rot. This prompted a campaign in which schoolchildren across the country contributed pennies to raise money to save the ship. The restoration work began in 1927, and it took nearly three years to complete. During this time, about 85% of the ship’s wood was replaced. The Constitution then embarked on a three-year tour of the country, including transiting the Panama Canal and visiting ports on the Pacific coast. However, while the ship was seaworthy enough to make the voyage, it did not actually sail, but was instead towed from port to port.

The Constitution ended up needing additional repairs in the 1970s, and then another major overhaul in the mid-1990s. The latter was completed in time for the ship’s 200th anniversary, which was celebrated with a trip from Boston to Marblehead. Along the way, the Constitution sailed unassisted for part of the voyage, marking the first time that it had done so since before it was retired from active duty in 1881.

Today, more than a century after the top photo was taken, the Constitution is still moored at the same wharf at the former Charlestown Navy Yard, which is now part of the Boston National Historical Park. The ship is still a commissioned warship of the United States Navy, with officers and crew members who are assigned to it. Thanks to the many restorations over the years, the ship now looks much more like its historic appearance than it did when the first photo was taken. The Constitution is one of the many famous historic landmarks along Boston’s Freedom Trail, and it is open to the public for tours.

Boston Skyline from Boston Harbor

The view of Boston from Boston Harbor, around 1928-1938. Image photographed by Samuel Chamberlain; courtesy of the Phillips Library at the Peabody Essex Museum.

The same scene in 2021:

These two photos show the view of Boston from the northeast, from near the waterfront of the North End. The most visible landmark in the top photo is the Custom House Tower, which was completed in 1915. It was the tallest building in the city by a considerable margin, with a height of 496 feet. At the time, the city had a height limit of 125 feet for buildings, but as a federal building the Custom House was exempt from the limit. This restriction was eventually lifted, but the Custom House Tower would dominate the city’s skyline throughout much of the 20th century, and it remained the tallest building in the city until the construction of the Prudential Tower in 1964.

Today, the Custom House Tower is still here, although it is a much less prominent part of the skyline, due to the many other tall buildings in and around the Financial District. Aside from the skyline, other major changes to this scene include the waterfront, which was primarily comprised of commercial wharves in the top photo. Over the years, the port facilities in Boston have moved out of the North End area, and most of the wharves have been redeveloped with hotels, condominiums, and marinas, as shown in the 2021 photo.

76 Greenwood Street, Springfield, Massachusetts

The house at 76 Greenwood Street in Springfield, around 1938-1939. Image courtesy of the Springfield Preservation Trust.

The scene in 2024:

This house stood directly to the east of the one in the previous post, and it was likely built around the same time, probably in the 1860s or 1870s. It was definitely here by 1880, when it was owned by Charles D. Ufford. He was 43 at the time, with his occupation listed as working for the railroad. He lived here with his wife Fidelia, who was 37.

The Uffords later moved to a house on State Street, and by 1900 this house on Greenwood Street was the home of Jennie Aronson, along with Abram and Ida Lewis and their three young children. The children were born in the United States, but the adults in the household were born in Russia. They were part of a large Jewish community that had begun to form here in this part of Springfield, many of whom had immigrated to the United States to escape persecution in the Russian pogroms.

By 1920, two different immigrant families were living here in this house. In one part of the house was Patrick Moran, a 55-year-old machinist who was born in Ireland. His wife Bessie was born in the United States, but her parents were likewise from Ireland. The other part of this house was the home of Anthony and Martha Chmielewski, along with Martha’s mother Teofila Roztiboske. All three were immigrants from Poland.

The top photo was taken in the late 1930s. By this point it was still a two-family property, with Charles and Doris Faughman and their children in one unit, and Charles and Josephine Barker in the other unit, according to the 1940 census. They each paid $18 per month in rent, and Charles Faughman was employed as a painter, earning $400 per year.

The house was still standing here until at least the 1950s, but it was ultimately demolished by the early 1960s as part of a large-scale urban renewal project that involved the demolition of nearly every building between the railroad tracks and Memorial Square along the Main Street and Chestnut Street corridors. Some of the land was redeveloped for commercial properties, but the project also included the construction of Interstate 291, which has its interchange with Interstate 91 just to the west of here. The second photo shows the modern-day view, including the embankment for Interstate 291 where it crosses Dwight Street. The spot where the house once stood is just a little to the left of the willow tree.

72-72 1/2 Greenwood Street, Springfield, Massachusetts

The house at 72-72 1/2 Greenwood Street in Springfield, around 1938-1939. Image courtesy of the Springfield Preservation Trust.

The scene in 2024:

Although it no longer exists, Greenwood Street once ran for two blocks from Main Street eastward to Chestnut Street, two blocks north of Congress Street. The street was developed in the second half of the 19th century, when Springfield saw rapid population growth due to industrialization. The land that would eventually become the street was once owned by Samuel Green, which was likely the source of the name.

The house in the top photo was likely built sometime around the 1860s based on its architectural style. It has a Mansard roof, a distinctive feature of Second Empire style architecture that was popular in the United States in the 1860s and into the 1870s. The house was definitely in existence by 1880, when it appears on the U.S. Census as a two-family home. In one unit was William L. and Eliza Elwell, who lived here with their two children, a nephew, a niece, and a lodger. The other unit was the home of John and Almeda Alexander, who had two children and also lived here with Almeda’s sister.

By the turn of the 20th century, this part of Springfield had become the home of many immigrant families, and this is reflected in the nationalities of the residents who lived here during the 1900 census. In one unit was Frank and Apolina Hepsick, who immigrated to the U.S. from Bohemia in 1875. They were both 59 years old in 1900, and the census indicated that they had 11 children, although only three were still living by that point. All three of these surviving children lived here, including their daughters Mary and Jennie and their son Frank. Also living here was Jennie’s husband Michael Kelleher, who was the son of Irish immigrants. Jennie and Michael had one child, three-year-old Roger. In the other unit was Harry and Esther Aronson and their young children Milton and Arnold. Harry was born in Russia and immigrated to the U.S. as a teenager in 1882, perhaps to escape persecution from the anti-Jewish pogroms. Esther was born in New York, but her parents were immigrants from Germany.

By 1920 the house was owned by Max Schaffer, a 38-year-old auto repair shop owner who lived here in the house with his wife Anna and their four children. The birthplace of both Max and Anna was listed as “Russia Poland,” and they spoke Yiddish as their native language. The Schaffers rented parts of their house to three other Jewish families: Isaac and Etta Hutner, Morris and Bertha Saven, and Nathan and Bertha Newman.

Over the course of the 20th century, the neighborhood demographics continued to evolve. By mid-century the area along Main Street between the railroad tracks and Memorial Square had become one of the city’s two major black neighborhoods, along with the Mason Square area farther to the southeast. This was partially a result of discriminatory housing practices, such as collusion among realtors and landlords to not sell or rent to black families in predominantly white areas. As a result, by 1950 more than 70% of the city’s black population lived in just one of two census tracts, with Tract 10—here in the area around Greenwood Street—having the highest percentage of black residents of the city, at 34%.

The top photo shows the house at 72-72 1/2 Greenwood Street around the late 1930s. The 1940 census, which was conducted only a few years later, shows two black families living here. In one unit was James and Mary Bartley, who were 72 and 69, respectively. They were both born in Georgia, only a few years after the end of the Civil War, and they lived here with a lodger, James Lattimore, who was also from Georgia. In the other unit was David and Irene Lofton, and Irene’s mother Sally Patterson. David was from South Carolina, and Irene and Sally were from Georgia. At the time of the census, David was working for the city water department, while Irene was working as a seamstress.

Irene Lofton died prior to the 1950 census, but David was still living here in 1950. His occupation was listed as special inspector for the water department, and he lived here with several lodgers, including Curtis and Fannie Jones and their two young children, and also Ray Evans. Curtis was from South Carolina, Fannie was from Georgia, and Ray Evans was from Illinois. The other unit in the building was the home of Mamie Gullick, who was from Georgia. Her son Roger lived here, along with Roger’s wife Hermione and their infant son. Mamie also had two lodgers who lived here with her.

By the late 1950s, this part of Springfield was targeted for a large-scale urban renewal project. This included the demolition of nearly every building north of the railroad tracks and south of Memorial Square, along with the elimination of many of the side streets, including Greenwood Street. The result was a series of large blocks with commercial development, along with a highway interchange with Interstate 91 and Interstate 291. This house was among the many that were demolished as part of the project, and the site of it is now an embankment that leads up to Interstate 291, near where it crosses Dwight Street.

28-30 Congress Street, Springfield, Massachusetts

The building at 28-30 Congress Street in Springfield, around 1938-1939. Image courtesy of the Springfield Preservation Trust.

The same scene in 2024:

The early history of this building is difficult to trace, but it appears to have been built sometime around the 1850s. This date coincides with the large-scale development of this part of Springfield, and it is also consistent with some of the architectural features on the house, particularly the rounded Italianate-style windows in the front gable. It was owned by the Dunn family in the late 19th century, who evidently used it as a rental property. The 1899 city atlas shows it, along with the house next door at 24 Congress Street, as belonging to Margaret J. Dunn.

Margaret Dunn, a 65-year-old Irish immigrant, was living in the house at 24 Congress Street during the 1900 census, and she rented the house in the top photo to three different families, most of whom were also Irish. These included Ellen Fogarty, a 38-year-old widow from Ireland who lived at 28 Congress Street with her four children, who ranged in age from 5 to 17, and also her 22-year-old niece. Also living at 28 Congress Street was Martin Dillon, a single 35-year-old Irish immigrant who lived here with his sister Margaret, brother John, and two nephews and a niece. The third family in this building, in the unit at 30 Congress Street, was Adolphus Mason, a 50-year-old French-Canadian immigrant who lived here with his wife Mary, who was the daughter of Irish immigrants. They had one surviving child, 19-year-old Catherine, who lived here with them.

By the 1920 census, the house in the top photo was still owned by the Dunn family, and it was still rented primarily to other Irish families. There were four families living here at the time, with Napoleon and Mary Bluteau and Mary Morgan at 28 Congress, and Fred and Ellen Gaylord and Thomas and Anna Walsh at 30 Congress. A decade later, in the 1930 census, Thomas and Anna Walsh were still living here along with their son James, while Mary Morgan and her son John were still living in the unit at 28 Congress. The two families paid $14 and $13 per month in rent, respectively.

By the time the top photo was taken in the late 1930s, the house was evidently vacant. It was listed as vacant in the 1939 city directory, and the 1940 census likewise does not show any residents here. The building seems to have been used only sporadically for housing during the 1940s and 1950s, and it was demolished by the early 1960s, when this entire part of Springfield was redeveloped as part of a large-scale urban renewal project. Today, the site of the house is part of the parking lot for Northgate Plaza, which is located at the corner of Main and Congress Streets.