Tales of the Town – part one of three

Tales Of The Town

By Jack Coll

1/9/2014

PART ONE OF THREE

     Sometime ago I spent time researching names taken off the gravestones from old St. Matthew’s cemetery located at Thirteenth Avenue and Fayette Street.  I noticed a number of the stones declared where the deceased was born, and many of them were born in Ireland.  I was attempting to find out a little more about them and was flipping through microfilm at the Conshohocken Library, the microfilm was from the Conshohocken Recorder newspaper from 1901.

While searching for the tombstone obits, I ran across a number of stories that mentioned Conshohocken, but never really mentioned names, and I was left wondering if in fact the story was just a tall tale, or if these little stories were in fact happenings in town.  I picked a few of the tales out and will reprint them in their entirety and maybe you can ponder the fact or fiction side of the articles.

Before reprinting the article in full, and I will print word for word, I feel the need to set the stage, so we understand life in Conshohocken in 1901, from when the story was written, and 1849, from when the story refers too.

Conshohocken in 1901 was a civilized town, we had trolley cars running up and down Fayette Street although Fayette Street was still just a dirt road often referred to as Conshohocken Pike.  Walking from what was then a steel bridge to Twelfth Avenue was like an overnight trip, there were no sidewalks and often the dirt road itself was in bad shape.  While we did have laws in the borough, they were rarely enforced.  We also had traveling men who came in on barges along the canal and would often spend the night in the local watering holes, picking fights that would often spill out into the streets (dirt road) of the borough and robbing residents before pushing off in the morning for the next town.

Conshohocken was a hotbed for Immigrants, we had the jobs and immigrants flooded the borough seeking those jobs, they would live with relatives who came to the new world before them, stay with them, or pitch tents in their yard to live in, and for those who didn’t have relatives they would pitch tents in the surrounding woods and make that their home until they could afford housing.  Along with that we had the usual run of tramps, hobos and homeless people like most towns did back then.

Entertainment came in the usual ways back then, family gatherings, church, and on Sunday’s men would gather at the edge of town (the big getaway) eat, drink, fire guns, and tell tall tales.

This story was told reflecting back 50 years earlier or so, at the end of the article it refers to 1849.  In 1849 Conshohocken wasn’t even a borough; we were a village, and a small village at that.  The village of Conshohocken had less than 700 residents at the time, very few roads were laid out other than Washington Street, (a dirt path).  There was no law and order, differences were settled on the spot one way or another, meaning the bigger guy, or the group with the most people would win.

So some of these tales make sense, but were they written from fact, or just entertainment, now you can decide, and hey, either way, enjoy the tale, remember Conshystuff .com will run two more segments of the “Tales.”

From The Conshohocken Recorder

January 4, 1901

Heard From Our Oldest Residents

     When residents of the town used to kill their own pigs there were some lively times in the borough.  The execution of a porker really meant a day and a night of festivity, if not longer.  In most cases the killing cost twice as much as the pig yet the owner of the animal prided himself on economy by saving the cost of a butcher or the price he would have to pay per pound.

Four prominent men of the borough one time went over to Cyrus Wilden’s farm in Lower Merion to kill a pig. They were loaded down with ammunition in the shape of four quarts of whisky, a keg of beer, two boxes of cigars and a gallon of gin.

First of course there was a big dinner, besides the four men from Conshohocken numerous friends had been invited and a goodly crowd had their feet under the table.

At the conclusion of the dinner which lasted nearly two hours, there were several rounds of drinks.  Then the amateur butchers donned their working clothes, the porker was brought forth and murdered in jig time.  When the pig was dressed there was another round of drinks.  Then there was a small slice cut off for each one present and when everyone had received a sample, there was very little left for the family.  After washing and donning their store clothes again the bottle was opened for more liquidation and supper was served.  Songs and stories followed interspersed with cigars and drinks.  Each guest then took their piece of pork and after a rousing song on the front porch, all bade their good natured host good night.  Such was the pig killing economy of the good old days of 49.

END

     As stated someone was reflecting from 50 years earlier from 1849, good story, TRUE OR FALSE, FACT OR FICTION, either way, on this cold January day, a heartwarming story.

See ya next week