history

The building that became known to the world as the first-ever business incubator earns a spot in the Holland Land Office Museum's countdown of The Twenty-Five Things That Made Genesee County Famous.

Museum Director Pat Weissend relates the history of this famous plant:

In 1886, the Johnson Harvester Company of Brockport, NY moved to Batavia following a fire in the Brockport plant. Company officials chose Batavia because the railroad lines that came through the village would make the shipment of product easier. Also, local citizens purchased 14 acres of land along Cemetery Street and donated it to the company to build its plant. Cemetery Street was renamed Harvester Avenue.

In 1910, a controlling interest in the Johnson Harvester Company was acquired by the Massey-Harris Company of Canada. One of the more well known products of the Massey-Harris Company was the Clipper Combine.

In 1953, the company merged with Harry Ferguson Limited of England and became Massey-Harris-Ferguson. Five years later, the name was shortened to Massey-Ferguson.

After the plant closed a few years after the merger with Ferguson Limited, the city began the search for a new tenant. When no one could be persuaded to take over the enormous space—industrial plants all over the nation were beginning to close their doors at the time—Charles Mancuso was charged with the task of filling the space. So was born the business incubator.

Mancuso came up with the idea to rent portions of the building to small manufacturing firms until they were large enough to strike out on their own. This type of arrangement allowed startup businesses to save money and resources until they grew enough to go out on their own.

One of the first tenants to the Industrial Center was a chicken company. Mr. Mancuso was traveling around the US looking for other potential tenants and spreading the word about Genesee County. He used the chicken company as an example, and started calling it an incubator. Mancuso invented the world's first business incubator. Today, there are an estimated 5,000 business incubators in the world. In Anshan City, China there is a statue of Joseph Mancuso, the father of the business incubator.

Visit the museum's Web site for more about the business incubator and to keep up with the countdown of The Twenty-Five Things That Made Genesee County Famous.

This may be my favorite video at the Holland Land Office Museum so far—and Map Measuring Madness is not easy to beat! I won't say anything about this one. As Pat Weissend said to me: You don't want to ruin the surprise factor. Enjoy!

The Holland Land Office Museum continues its countdown of The Twenty-Five Things That Made Genesee County Famous with the recounting, at No. 17, of a tale of wartime heroism. This story provides a nice counterpoint to last time when Museum Director Pat Weissend told us the sordid tale of a cuckold who kills his wife's lover and gets off scot-free.

When American morale took a blow after the bombing by Japan of Pearl Harbor during World War II, Lt. Col. James Doolittle organized a counter-strike. His plan was to load sixteen B-25 twin-engine bombers, take off from the deck of the USS Hornet and bomb Tokyo. Batavia's Eddie York (née Edward J. Chichowski) was pilot of plane number eight.

Pat Weissend tells us the rest of the story:

York knew he didn’t have enough fuel to make it to friendly mainland China, so he headed to Siberia in the Soviet Union instead. He landed his plane near Vladivostok in the Soviet Russia and planned on refueling and heading to China. At the landing site, Russian troops took the crew into custody. A Japanese unit showed up shortly after, and demanded the American crew be turned over to them. The Soviet Union and Japan were not at war at that point, so the crew was held by the Russians. After 13 months of captivity the crew escaped through Persia and eventually returned to the United States.

For more on this tale and to keep up with the countdown, visit the museum Web site.

In February, Present Tense Books, hosted a talk by Josh on Patti Pacino centered around old photographs Patti's father either took or collected of old Batavia.

The collection of photos is posted here.

It contains a number of photos related to the destruction of the north side of Main Street to make room for the mall many people, including City Council President Charlie Mallow, call an eyesore.

Here is a video slide show I put together of from those old photos:

I haven't found anybody so far -- long-time resident or not -- who has good things about the mall.  Even Mitchell Chess, president of the Mall Merchant's Association, doesn't come across as a particular fan. With all of the conversation about the mall on The Batavian this week, not a single commenter has come forward to say it should be saved.

In a back-and-forth with Mallow over whether we were hyping his statement that parts of the mall (which, frankly, I too quickly turned into "all of the mall") should be razed, I quipped, "Mr. Mallow, tear down that mall," which was good for some comic relief.

But it can also serve as a rallying cry. 

Not everybody is pleased that there is so much heated discussion over the mall, but sometimes in such discussions a vibrancy can be found for finding new solutions to old problems.

Nobody has a plan yet, and the city and the MMA are spending way too much time on signs, bird poop and whether Bob Bialkowski has a conflict of interest, but the community needs to move beyond these trivial matters and focus on a long-term solution to the eyesore of a mall. 

A good plan will improve downtown, not waste taxpayer money, help the current merchants find new Main Street-facing shops and create jobs.

Mr. Mallow, tear down that mall.

Who is Edward Newton Rowell? And why is he so special that he warrants a place—at No. 18—among "The Twenty-Five Things That Made Genesee County Famous"? Well, he's a man at the center of a story of intrigue: a story of lies, trysts, jealousy... and murder. His tale is a tale of strange times past, and it's told brilliantly by none other than our very own paragon of local history, Pat Weissend, director of the Holland Land Office Museum.

Pat's done such a great job with this one that we won't even attempt a summary here. Just get over to the site and read it for yourself. While you're there, don't forget to poke around—the site is loaded with other fun facts, podcasts and virtual exhibits.

Genesee Community College lands at Number 19 in the Holland Land Office Museum's countdown of "The Twenty-Five Things That Made Genesee County Famous." Museum Director Pat Weissend tells us that when the county first imagined building a community college — back in the early 1960s — county leaders had little hope that it would ever be a success. In fact, explains Weissend, the Board of Supervisors at the time didn't think enrollment would ever exceed 75 students!

Along came the Batavia Area Jaycees, who were a little dubious of the results, and they put  together a survey of their own. Here's what they found out:

1.        A community desire for a two year college

2.        The need for a community college

3.        The financial ability to support the college

4.        Favorable economic growth in the region

5.        Population Increase

6.        A sufficient student population for a college

When the first classrooms opened in September, 1967, the first class numbered 378 full-time and 243 part-time students. Today, there are about 6,500 students enrolled at the institution that now offers nearly 60 degrees and certifcates.

Visit the Holland Land Office Museum Web site for more information on Genesee Community College and the other things that made Genesee County Famous.

Holland Land Office Museum Director Pat Weissend tells us why our forebears saw fit to end New York state at Lake Erie instead of just continuing on to the Mississippi... or on to the Pacific. Why not? Pat tells us. Also included in this third installment of our series on what's going on over at that museum is Pat's explanation of why Transit Road is called Transit Road. Really, this one's a gem, folks. Enjoy!

From muck to dirt, the countdown of the "Twenty-Five Things That Made Genesee County Famous" rolls right along.

Number 20 was announced this afternoon as the Hiscock Site in Byron. Holland Land Office Museum Director Pat Weissend explains:

Known locally as the Byron Dig, the site is an ongoing archeology dig in the Town of Byron. In 1959, landowner Charles Hiscock was digging a pond on his property when his backhoe pulled up a mastodon tusk. ... To date, less than one-quarter of the 52-acre Buffalo Museum of Science-owned property has been explored.

Visit the Holland Land Office Museum Web site for more information on the Hiscock Site and the other things that made Genesee County Famous.

Who knew muck could be a claim to fame... It's dirty. It sounds gross. It doesn't contribute anything to society. What has muck done for you and me?

But before we get to that bizarre question, let's start simple: What is muck? Holland Land Office Museum Director Pat Weissend takes up the question in his latest post in the countdown of "The 25 Things that Made Genesee County Famous."

As Pat says:

Muck? What is muck? That is a question often asked by visitors to our county. What is this land with such an unusual name? Muck is a black soil that is left behind after swamplands are drained. The soil is made up mostly of humus. The mucklands in northern Genesee County and southern Orleans are thought to be the largest continuous section of this type of soil in the world. To create muck, wetlands must be drained, and because of environmental concerns, it is unlikely that any more mucklands will be created in the United States.

Pat gets into much more detail than that on the museum's Web site, so be sure to check it out. Also, we here at The Batavian — inexcusably in my own estimation — forgot to post a reminder when Number 22 in the countdown was released a couple weeks ago: Iroquois National Wildlife Refuge. So go check that out, too.

Last week, the Holland Land Office Museum announced the first "thing" to make the list of the "Twenty-Five Things That Made Genesee County Famous," a six-month countdown of the oddities, happenings, dudes, dames, places and episodes in history that put our lovely county on the map — and you thought a cartographer did that, ha ha ha.

Some of us were a little surprised to find that the New York State Thruway eked its way onto the list, even if it was onto the bottom rung of the ladder. I don't know about the rest of you, but whenever I hear "thruway," I tend to cringe. I remember that it costs about a buck and a quarter to get from Henrietta to Batavia on that gum-stained stretch of barren road that has about as much of a personality as a sleeping Parisian. But even the not-so-pretty things sometimes warrant a niche in our collective history. Take Louis XIV, for example.

So... what is Number 24, you ask? Or should we say who?

Why, it's none other than Mr. John Kennedy, that paragon of pedagogy, that eponymous father to Batavia's grade school, that Englishman turned Midwestern calvaryman who came to Batavia in 1890 to take over as superintendent of schools.

As HLOM Director Patrick Weissend writes of Kennedy: "Visitors to Genesee County often think the elementary school on Vine Street in the City of Batavia is named after the 35th President of the United States, but even the kindergarteners attending the school will correct you and tell you its “JK” not JFK."

Be sure to visit the Holland Land Office Museum Web site to keep up with the other 23 "things" forthcoming. And be sure to check back with The Batavian next Friday to hear about Number 23.

So it begins... The Holland Land Office Museum kicked off its countdown of "The Twenty-Five Things that Made Genesee County Famous."

And what, you ask, was the first to make the list?

None other than that 500 mile stretch of bleached tarmac and costly tolls otherwise known as the Governor Thomas E. Dewey Thruway, "the longest toll road in America."

Visit the HLOM site for more info and to keep up with the countdown.

In Episode Two of our living history series at the Holland Land Office Museum, Pat Weissend tells us about a pair of Civil War medals on exhibit. Check it out:

We'll be back at the museum before long, so be sure to watch for the next episode!

For a short while in 1895, the newspaper that proudly proclaimed itself "a good organ" in service to farmer, merchant and tradesman alike shrunk its name from The Progressive Batavian to the simple yet stately: The Batavian. What a pleasure it was for us here at the contemporary Batavian — no less stately, no less of a service to farmer and citizen alike — to discover our progenitor in the drawers of microfiche at the Richmond Memorial Library.

As evidence of our continued service as a good and vital organ of the people, we have initiated this series of revisits to our shared past: that bizarre world of tonics, dames, davenports, milliners, philtres and... pugilists. So we turn back the clock 113 years to August 17, 1895, to peek in on the news of the times on that particular dog day of summer.

Before we delve into the tale of the wife of a pugilist, let us look at some of the other headlines from the day.

"This is Tough: Providence, a Lawyer and a Woman Make an Unhappy Combination for One Man" is a short tale of woe about a man who "had his eyes blown out ... in a lime-kiln explosion" and was then abandoned by his wife who subsequently hooked up with the man's attorney who had moved into his home and taken over his life.

"Grasshoppers Take Free Rides" is a quirky story about a "plague" of grasshoppers that rode a passenger train from Kansas to Denver and "made themselves disgracefully real" there, taking over the town.

"Girl Wife Sues Boy Husband" is mostly self-explanatory. While "Sheriff Sale on Execution" begs a bit more intepretation.

"Beats a Sea Serpent" tells of an 875-pound sea turtle that was believed to have already been an adult when Columbus discovered America. A state Senator purchased the creature for $25 and had plans to

"make the turtle a feature of the babies' parade on the board walk. He will place the monster on a float decorated in the national colors. Upon the back of the turtle will be a little girl dressed as a mermaid, holding ribbon reins extending from the turtle's mouth."

"Free Silver Charlatans Endeavoring to Humbug the People" artfully (and editorially) transposes the image of rainmakers sending dynamite-filled balloons into the sky and cheating Midwestern farmers with a group of citizens attempting to start a "coinage congress."

Near the end of the paper is a first-hand account of a boxer's wife titled: "Wife of a Pugilist: When She Met Him, Fame Knew Him Not. When Notoreity Came, Women Pursued Him — A Story With a Good Deal of Pathos Between the Lines." In it, the wife, a native of Amsterdam in New York, tells of why she decided to divorce her husband. She tells of how Jim went from a bookkeeper to a boxer and became adored by women, and how he was too "gallant" not to pay them attentions. She never wanted for anything, she says, though the couple barely spent a few months out of each year together. Still she kept with him. That is, until Jim began seeing another woman regularly and went as far pretending the other woman was his wife. She says: "To have such a creature as she be passed off for myself was outrageous. I felt no ill will toward her. He is a strange mixture, and few can understand him. I hope that he may be very happy with her, but I fear for him."

Previous "From the Vault" posts:

• Gold
• Sweet Girl Graduates

Look for the next installment in the coming weeks.

In today's Daily News, correspondent Kristina Greene Gabalski previewed the summer season for Genesee Country Village & Museum. It seems they've got more than ever going on at the Mumford living history museum this summer.

This year's annual Whirl — the museum's major annual fundraiser — will have a Kentucky Derby theme. The Sport of Kings Cotillion is planned June 14 and features a mock horse auction, jockeys moving wooden hobby horses around a giant  game board, a ladies' hat contest and live and silent auctions. The event is intended to capture the excitement of a Derby Day Ball at Churchill Downs.

Funny. Ladies' hats are the first thing that come to mind when I think of the Kentucky Derby — seriously. Have you seen these hats? They're about the size of a car hood, plumed with feathers or bows or nets or flowers. In an erotic swoosh, they curl and curve and dip around the head of a dame.

They're showy, posh — in a word, magnificent. My measly, paisley, Windsor-knotted tie is no match for their pretension.

But enough of ladies' hats.

What else can we find at the Genesee Country Village & Museum this summer? Well, just this month, for example, they've got:

• the Civil War by candlelight
• a birthday party for a pair of oxen
• a hike in search of bats, bugs and beavers
• and a birding expedition.

Visit the museum's Web site for dates and times of these and other events. Or call (585) 538-6822. The museum is located at 1410 Flint Hill Rd., Mumford.

Photo of the Derby hat borrowed from Hats by Nancee. Visit the site for more such hand-crafted splendors.

This morning, Pat Weissend was kind enough to show me some of what they've got over at the Holland Land Office Museum, where he serves as the director. I took a video camera and we stepped out onto the cold stone floor of the wood-walled museum addition that houses the 14-foot gibbet — a variation on the gallows. He tells me that the hangman's noose is the most popular artifact at the museum — no surprise, I guess, when you consider the morbid curiosity of children big and small.

This video will be the first in a (hopefully) long series of discovery-style episodes over at the museum, where they have thousands of other artifacts to scope and get the story on. So be sure to tune in regularly and keep an eye out for those. We'll try and get a new one up every couple weeks or so. In the meantime, and without further ado, The Batavian presents: The Hangman's Noose.

Visit the museum's Web site for more information, and to access links to Pat's podcasts on history. Or just head over to 131 W. Main St. and check out the collection.

Some years ago, a pug-eyed French aristocrat gave me a book to read. She was a trunk of a woman with a tongue more refined than any cut gem I've ever held. When she spoke the language, it was like a lesson in grace and custom. She was a whole other class of beast.

That book was L'Or by Blaise Cendrars. It was about a Swiss-born pioneer named Johann Augustus Sutter, quiet tycoon of the California gold rush. Sutter was a tragic character, as flawed as any other that had graced the stage of American history. His men found gold by accident. He amassed wealth by design. He died poor and broken by fate.

In an article from The Batavian, June 22, 1895, an old miner tells of the day the gold was discovered. It reads:

"There is alive but one of the men who worked for Sutter in the mill at Coloma, where on Jan. 24, 1848, James W. Marshall discovered gold. That survivor is James Brown. He is nearly 70 years of age and makes his home with a grandchild in Pomona valley. He is the only man living who was present when Marshall washed the yellow grains in the camp doughpan, and he is the man who first tested the flaky scales with fire, and going forth from the shanty to where the men were at work on the mill race cried, "Boys, here's gold!"

"I am the oldest miner alive in California today," said he the other day. "I don't mean the oldest in years, but I was the first miner. ... It was Marshall came to me and told me about the books about gold and mines he had been reading, and on the afternoon of Jan. 23, 1848, he determined to do a little prospecting. He asked me to bring him the pan. It was a common ordinary pan that we baked bread in and the like. He spent all the afternoon with that pan trying to find gold, but he hadn't got anything by supper."

The next day, everything changed when Marshall came back with the "little flake-like scales" of gold. Meanwhile, Sutter was working his men hard.

"But we made no kick," he went on. "We had agreed to accept cattle, horses and grub in part payment for our work. Moreover, we picked up enough gold before we left the place to square our account with the captain's Coloma enterprise. We had come with a bigger mission than that of seeking gold. We were Mormons. Many of us were soldiers. I had been serving with my battalion, and after our disbandment was marching with the rest of our people to Utah."

But the old miner stayed on with Sutter, at least until the captain's mill was finished. By then, news of the gold had spread.

"Did I stay long at Coloma after the completion of the mill, you ask? No, sir. Only a few of us did. Myself and most of our people only remained long enough to dig up enough gold to equip ourselves for marching back over the plains to meet those of our people who were coming out to join us."

James Brown made a fine cut — about $1,500 in gold dust, he reckoned.

"Marshall, who found it first, had none at all. Marshall was not lucky anyhow. He was one of the original bear flag men — one of the filibusters who thought he owned the country. They had selected the bear flag as their banner because bears were so abundant out here in those days. The first bear flag was nothing but an old strip of canvas, on which the men daubed a picture of a bear with tar, their paintbrush being their own fingers."

I came across this spectacle during my travels around the city yesterday. Do you know where it is? Do you know what it is? (This is, of course, just one small section of a much larger artifact — if we can call it that.) I'll put up a medium cup of java from Main Street Coffee to the first person who can guess both what and where this thing is.

It's June 22, 1895. The front page of The Batavian — a newspaper of the times — tells the simple story of a high school graduation, titled: "Sweet Girl Graduates."

"Radiant as the rosy morn was the graduating maiden of the Batavia Academy Thursday night. In ravishing costume and with brightened eye and blooming cheek she stepped on the rostrum of the opera house and with all the glamour that surrounds the pomp and panoply of war pulsing in her heart she gazed into the proud eyes of parents and friends and an immense concourse of people, and in the midst of showers of beautiful flowers was thrown into a dreamy ecstasy of delight."

It's no surprise the author has eyes only for such maidens. Batavia Academy's graduating class in 1895 consisted of 13 girls and a meager four boys. Where were all the young Batavian men at the turn of the century? Were they too good — or no good — for study? Ravaged by war? Bound by the ox to the farm?

No matter. This article's author had no need for them. Full of that very same poetic excess, he describes a few of the young ladies who especially caught his eye. Such as:

"Miss Flora Van de Venter is a piquant, fair-haired girl, with expressive eyes and a complexion that suggests peaches and cream. Her essay was captioned 'Fun and Philosophy of Mother Goose,' but there was nothing frivolous about it, though nicely spiced with humor."

And let us not forget "Miss Florence Quirk, a tangle-tressed maiden in white, (who) gave a learned essay, which evinced deep research."

Or in an article on the same front page (under "Town Topics: Seen and Heard in the Daily Current of Batavia Life").

"The summer girl is with us again. Arrayed in delicate tissue gown and jaunty straw hat, she rides through the streets in all her glory these pleasant evenings. With fan or parasol in hand she graces the piazza or the streets as she makes her periodical visits to the soda fountain. What would the druggist do without the summer girl? But it befits us all to be duly and honestly grateful for the blessing. For the summer girl is a blessing."

It must have been a long, lonely winter.