The Milliner’s Goldfish

by Erin Doane, Senior Curator

On September 15, 1939, Mrs. Bertha Whitley’s pet goldfish passed away. Such an event would not normally make the news but, in this case, the goldfish was reportedly 41 years old. If true, it would have been born around 1898. That was the year the USS Maine exploded in Cuba’s Havana Harbor, sparking the Spanish-American War. The same year saw the founding of the Goodyear tire company, the annexation of Hawaii by the U.S., and the discovery of radium by Marie Curie. The goldfish would have lived through the First World War, the Roaring Twenties, and the Great Depression.

Matt Richardson wrote about Mrs. Whitley and her goldfish in his “‘Round Town” column in the Star-Gazette on November 14, 1939. He sounded a bit skeptical about her claim that the goldfish had lived 41 years, but he didn’t push the issue. He wrote about her home about two miles west of Fitch’s Bridge with its $400 fence with two swinging ornamental iron gates and how she liked listening to the radio. He also mentioned that she had worked for nearly 50 years in the millinery and hair goods business in downtown Elmira, having been trained by Louisa Hoppe, one of the city’s best wigmakers.

After reading Mr. Richardson’s article, I dug a bit more into Mrs. Whitley’s life. She was born Bertha A. Valois in 1857. Her parents were of German and Swiss descent, according to the 1930 census. She married Eugene Whitley, three years her junior, on November 2, 1890 at the Park Church in Elmira. Rev. Thomas K. Beecher officiated. They did not appear to have had children. Mr. Whitley worked several different jobs. The city directories list him as a farmer, painter, gardener, and clerk over the course of about 30 years. Mrs. Whitley first appears in the 1893 directory as a milliner at 328 East Water Street. Around 1900, she moved her shop to 135 East Water Street where she remained for more than 25 years. The couple lived on West Water Street until 1910 when they moved to Maple Avenue. Around 1920, they moved into the house past Fitch’s Bridge where Mr. Richardson spoke with Mrs. Whitley.

The big question I could not find an answer to in my research was: when did the Whitleys acquire their goldfish? If the goldfish was born about 1889, one or the other of them could have had the fish before they got married. Was it Mr. Whitley or Mrs. Whitley who first brought the young fry home? While goldfish were very common as pets at that time, I can’t guess whether they appealed more to men or women. Either way, it seems the goldfish was with them their entire marriage.

Goldfish were first introduced to North America in the 1850s. The species of carp, originally from East Asia, quickly became popular as pets in the United States. Goldfish became so widespread by the mid-1900s, they were often given away as carnival game prizes. I always wanted to win a fish at our local carnival and I’m sure my parents were glad I never did.

A goldfish’s lifespan is greatly determined by its environment. A goldfish in a small bowl or container lives an average of 6 months to 5 years. A tank or aquarium, with good filtration and suitable food, can increase that to 10-15 years. The best environment for the little creatures is a natural pond where they can live for up to 20 years. For Mrs. Whitley’s goldfish to have lived 41 years is phenomenal, but not impossible. The Guinness Book of World Records lists the world’s oldest goldfish as Tish, owned by Hilda Hand of Thirsk, North Yorkshire, England. Tish was 43 years old when it died in 1999. Tom and Pauline Evans of Bradninch, Devon, England were owners of Goldie, a 45 year old goldfish who died in 2005. They, unfortunately, didn’t have the documentation needed to get into the record book.

Mrs. Whitley didn’t report doing anything special to keep her aquatic pet alive for so many years. She changed its water once a week and fed it fish food from Banfield’s. Now named Banfield-Baker, the seed and animal feed company was founded in 1880 by Frederick Jennings as Jennings Seed Company. It became Banfield-Jennings Corp. in 1920 and was located at 222 W. Water Street in Elmira. Mrs. Whitley would have gotten her fish food there until the end of her pet’s life. The business moved to Railroad Avenue in the 1940s and became Banfield-Baker in 1960. The Bakers had been involved in the company since 1935. In 1977, during Elmira’s urban renewal, the city acquire the company’s building, and it moved out of downtown to 2512 Corning Road. You can still shop at Banfield-Baker today, though I don’t know if they still sell fish food.

After her goldfish’s passing, Mrs. Whitley was left living all on her own in her tidy little house near the Bennett Crossing. Her husband had passed away just a year before their goldfish on October 7, 1938. She had retired from her millinery store downtown more than ten years earlier but still engaged in the business of false hair for women out of her home. In the summer, she also grew berries to sell, sometimes making up to $75 for a single crop. She passed away at home on June 13, 1940. She and her husband are interred in Woodlawn Cemetery in the mausoleum. There’s no record of the final resting place of her long-lived goldfish and I never learned its name.

The Donkeys of Rorick’s Glen

By Kelli Huggins, Education Coordinator

When we talk about Rorick’s Glen, we mostly remember it for its amusement rides, theater that hosted the Manhattan Opera Company every summer, and its connections to the trolley lines (having been founded to give people an excuse to ride more often). My favorite story about Rorick’s Glen, however, is about the donkeys.

In June 1902, W. Charles Smith brought 12 Angora goats and a few donkeys to Rorick’s Glen. The management intended to have them pull carts carrying visitors over the park’s new walking trails. The animals were outfitted with little yellow and red carts and the paying public were invited to take a ride. There was one problem: no one seemed to have anticipated just how stubborn goats and donkeys are. On what was supposed to be the inaugural run, not a single animal would move. The animals were whipped and still would not budge. Customers watching on suggested a gentler method, and that too failed. Customers were refunded their money and the stables were shut down for business until they could “teach the animals how to walk.” Smith was particularly upset since the man he purchased them from claimed they were “high steppers and willing workers.”

Rorick's trail showing a donkey and a goat hitched to a cart, c. 1902.

A month later, Smith and his assistants were reportedly making progress and the animals were now demonstrating “agility and submission." The animals, now “acting for all the world like park donkeys and goats should act,” took passengers around the paths at the Glen. The animals lived in a small cabin that was converted into a makeshift stable on the side of the hill.

It’s unclear how long these donkeys and goats were employed at Rorick’s. In 1910, however, new donkeys were brought in. Possibly the first donkeys and goats had died, or perhaps they were only ever used for that 1902 season. Either way, on June 1, 1910, Colorado cowboy George “Blinky” James arrived via train in Elmira with a new shipment of donkeys. The donkeys came with fantastical, most likely totally invented, back stories. Hailing from the Ratoon Mountains of the Rockies, the donkeys were reportedly descended from the mules of Cortez’s Spanish Army which conquered the Aztecs. One of the donkeys was also said to have made its original owner’s family rich by discovering a gold mine by kicking dirt. The owner died on that expedition before the discovery and a court supposedly granted 1/3 of the profits to the deceased’s family because the burro was the discoverer.

Some of the Colorado donkeys, 1910

Blinky James left Colorado with 20 donkeys and arrived in Elmira with 21. Somewhere on the train between Chicago and Elmira, a donkey was born. Upon arrival in Elmira, this made for an instant marketing campaign. The Elmira Water, Light & Railroad Company, owners of the donkeys and the Glen, partnered with the Star-Gazette to hold a contest for children to name the new foal. Helen Turnbull  of 514 Lake Street had her submission selected and the donkey was named Roricka. Helen won a free pass to ride the burros until the 4^th of July. Helen wrote “I think Roricka (Ro-ree-ka) would be a pretty name.” Other names suggested included: Nobino, Jacko, Cute, Teddy, Comet, Sanco Pansy, Free-n-Equal, and Billy Bunco.

These donkeys, likely due to their training by Blinky and his staff, seemed to adjust better to their tasks than the 1902 donkeys and goats. They did however suffer some effects of the change in climate and elevation from the Rockies to the Southern Tier. Some were off duty for a couple of weeks before recovering or acclimating.

By July 1910, the newspapers were proclaiming that the donkeys were a must-see for everyone.  One article said: “Moonlight burro parties have become all the rage at Rorick’s Glen. The sport is being enjoyed every evening by Elmirans who have tired of the usual forms of entertainment and are looking for something out of the ordinary.”

Burro party, 1910. Blinky James is front and center. From newspaper on Fultonhistory.com

Another proclaimed: “Had the officials of the Elmira Water, Light & Railroad Company dreamed how popular the little burros at Rorick’s Glen were to become, doubtless they would have purchased a greater number….They are kept busy nearly every hour of the day carrying the children about the pretty Glen upon their backs.”

A July 24, 1910 article discussed the donkey-riding experience of prima donna Mrs. Horace Wright, better known by her stage name Rene Dietrich. She exclaimed, “Well, this burro ride has climbing Pike’s peak or a ramble in the Alps crowded right off the map.” Along with Blinky, Mrs. Wright and her husband decided that they wanted to off-road it, after already riding the short and long trails. The group went from Rorick’s across the Rorick’s bridge (the burros were not happy about that and “one burro was partly carried and partly shoved” across). They then went east down Water Street before going back to Fitch’s Bridge. Another donkey had to be carried over the bridge so the others would follow. When they got back to the paths on the hill, Mr. Wright’s burro sat down and was forced up with a fence rail. Mrs. Wright’s burro tried to jump over a barricade, and since “a burro can’t jump any more than a camel,” she was thrown off. The donkey remained halfway over the fence, “prepared to stay there indefinitely” until more “shoving and heaving” got it to move.

Of the trip, Blinky said “Cute little things, them burros. Never run away or go fast. Patient little things, they’re well trained.” “They’re well trained all right, not to exceed any speed limit,” said Mr. Wright, “you’re wise to charge by the hour, and not by the mile.” The Wrights were so enamored  with the donkey riding that they came back every day. Baby Roricka was also rubbing elbows and hooves with the opera company stars; she was brought on stage for “Family Affairs,” a farce at the theater.

The Wrights enjoying their donkey riding

Blinky James' authentic cowboy charm proved very popular with visitors …perhaps even too popular. From September to November 1910, the divorce proceedings of Fred M. Schmidt and Minnie Kinner Schmidt were published in the local newspapers. Mr. Schmidt filed for divorce from his wife alleging that she had abandoned him and had been having extramarital affairs. Mr. Schmidt claimed that Mrs. Schmidt has spent the night at the Lackawanna Hotel with Blinky on September 8.  Then on September 10, she allegedly stayed at the hotel with Arthur Parker, a one-armed burro assistant. She admitted guilt of adultery and was sent to the Albion home for wayward girls. Blinky James denied any involvement in the Schmidt affair.

By the end of November 1910, Blinky James headed back to Padroni, Colorado. Reportedly, “eastern life was not for George James.” It was the end of the season and there was no mention of him leaving because of the adultery scandal. There were reports that he would come back the next season, but it seems that he may have left Elmira for good.

The donkeys wintered at the Maple Avenue Park, but were back in action in 1911, ready to carry “youngsters over the picturesque paths through the glen, from the theater to the top of the Indian Steps.” That June a new ½-mile burro path opened. In the off-season of January 1913 the highly-decorated donkeys marched in the parade for the opening of the F.C. Lewis company.

In April 1913, four new burros added and it was noted that these “long-eared hill climbers” were “as frisky as kittens and as comical as monkies [sic].” While they weren’t yet ready to ride, children would be able to come and see them.

The donkeys were so popular they became fodder for cultural commentary. A joke in the news used the donkeys to take a jab at suffragettes: “Brownie, Rorick’s glen burro, carried a 250-pound suffragette around the long trail. Brownie is now known as the suffering yet burro.”

The donkeys remained popular for the next several years. The E.W.L.&R.R. Co. gave away a baby burro to the person who correctly guessed the number of people coming into the Utilities Company booth at the Elmira Industrial Exposition. It seems like a strange and high-maintenance prize, but suggests the continued popularity of the donkeys.

The last reference I’ve seen to the donkeys was from September 1917 when a donkey escaped from the Glen and was found by Patrolman John Drolesky. While he “was phoning to headquarters, the animal became overly affectionate and proceeded to butt him in the stern.”

The Tragic Story of Peggy the Dog Heroine

By Kelli Huggins, Education Coordinator

At 3:15 a.m. on January 30, 1946, a fire swept through an apartment building at 107 College Avenue in Elmira. Peggy, a 4 ½-month-old collie puppy, woke her owner, Mrs. Davitt, when smoke began to fill their apartment. Mr. Davitt called the fire department and rushed to alert the other tenants. He carried Peggy under his arm through the smoke to safety. Because of Peggy, all nine people in the building escaped and the firefighters were able to contain the blaze. 

Peggy was treated for minor injuries at the Blostein Animal Hospital at 2046 Lake Street. A photograph of her and her doctors was taken by the press. Peggy was praised as a heroine in the local newspaper.

Press photo of Peggy receiving treatment at the veterinarian's office

Sadly, the next week, on February 4, Peggy was hit by a car and died. She had been staying with her displaced family in the Town of Veteran. The Elmira Star-Gazette said she was a “victim of another form of danger which she was too young to understand.” The Davitts didn’t blame the driver for the accident and recalled their brief time with her fondly. They had purchased her immediately after seeing her in a store window.

The 4 ½-month-old puppy was buried with some of her beloved toys on a hill near Sullivanville. The Davitts wanted to have a plot of land around her grave deeded in Peggy’s name, but this likely never happened.    

The Mayor’s Pet Porcupine

By Kelli Huggins, Education Coordinator

I’m writing a book tentatively called Curiosities of Elmira that will be published by The History Press next year. When I was doing additional research on Elmira’s bear pit for the book (you can read a little about the bear pit here), I found a delightful little story that didn’t make the cut. In December 1909, Charles Rodburn of Erin presented Elmira Mayor Daniel Sheehan with an odd gift: a live porcupine.

Rodburn left a note stating that porcupines had become rare in this area and that he thought the mayor might like to domesticate it because “it would make a great watch dog.” He alternatively suggested that, if the mayor didn’t want it as a pet, he could keep it in the bear pit because the spiny critter could stand up to the larger predators. I’m not sure if this was a politically-motivated message or a genuine gift, but it’s odd either way.

Mayor Daniel Sheehan, proud pet porcupine parent

Reportedly, Mayor Sheehan was happy with the gift and relayed a story of a friend who once had a pet porcupine in his orchard. The Star-Gazette suggested that the mayor might want to let this animal free in an orchard, too. There's no word of what Sheehan ever decided to do with his new pet, but I suspect it was likely freed in a suitable habitat (although I much prefer to imagine that it just ran around City Hall).

An orchard like this would be a far more suitable habitat for a porcupine than City Hall.

This odd story got me wondering if there was a time when it was more common to see porcupines as pets. The short answer: I don’t think so. I did find a few scattered references to pet porcupines around the country, but, understandably, the trend never caught on. There was one other notable local pet porcupine incident, however.

In 1933, City Clerk William T. Coleman had a strange complaint come across his desk. A man’s pet porcupine routinely followed him to the store and, one time, had an unfortunate run-in with another person’s dog. The dog owner complained to Coleman that the “porky” shouldn’t be allowed on the streets. Coleman talked to the porcupine owner and they agreed on reasonable limits for the spiky pet.

Serious Thoughts on a Ridiculous Photograph

By Kelli Huggins, Education Coordinator

I think that the photograph above is one of the most remarkable pieces in our collection.  Yes, I’m serious.  While on the surface this photo is a little crass, allow me to explain just how unique this piece is.  In other words, this is my attempt to write a mature, thoughtful blog post about one of our most immature collection items. 

The photograph is a part of our collection of materials from Charles Whipple, a Horseheads resident.  We have his diaries, photographs, and other assorted documents.  Tucked in amongst these items is the photograph in question.  There are several photographs of these two dogs, showing them around the yard and in the home (and even on the bed).  The photos are dated 1948. 

This collection is a lovely glimpse at mid-century pet keeping.  Candid photos like these give us a better understanding of how our relationships with our pets have changed and stayed the same over time.  Like Whipple, people today take pictures of their animals playing, sleeping, or being otherwise adorable. 

The dogs look well loved.  But still, the first picture is special. 

First, it is remarkable that this photograph was even taken.  Photographic technology had made great strides in portability and affordability by the 1940s, but film was still a valuable resource.  There were families that took few photos of their children in the 1940s, much less their dogs.  So that someone would use a frame on this scene (and also the fact that they had a camera handy when this went down) is noteworthy.  And, not only was the picture taken, it was developed.

Someone cared enough about this photo to date it on the back (many of the other photos in the collection are not dated).  They also kept it.  Maybe it became a family joke. Eventually, the photograph was donated to the museum in 2009 as a part of the much larger Reverend Donald Roe collection (Whipple was Roe’s parishioner and his possessions were left in Roe's care after his death, thus adding another layer of improbability to the survival of this photograph). 

It is impressive that this small, silly photograph exists.  While it is not typically what most people would deem museum-worthy, I think that it is because it's a great reminder that people in the past were very much like us.  And if anything, this photo shows us that poop jokes have always been funny. 

Chemung County's Famous Train and Trolley-Riding Dogs

by Kelli Huggins, Education Coordinator

I spent part of this last week putting together a conference proposal about Railroad Jack, a train-riding dog based out of Albany, NY, who was nationally famous in the 1880s and 1890s.  When I'm not busy researching Chemung County for our exhibits, blog posts, and programs, my work focuses on the rise of canine celebrity in the late 19th century.  Fortunately, these two intersect occasionally and I can sometimes write about famous Chemung County dogs.  In this post, I'll tell you about some of Chemung County's trolley and train dogs.

In the late 19th century, there was a trend of dogs gaining recognition for their train-riding prowess.  The most famous example is the United States Post Office's Owney, a terrier mutt who road the mail trains out of Albany.  He is still remembered today and his taxidermied body is on display at the US Postal Museum.  However, Owney was only one of many dogs who lived in rail yards, road trains, and befriended rail workers.   The exploits of train dogs, even those who were less famous, were published in newspapers and magazines throughout the country.  These tales are often heavily embellished, but still indicate that many dogs closely associated themselves with trains.  This is likely for several reasons: strays found attention and food at rail yards and stations and some dogs probably enjoyed the movement of trains (like dogs in cars today).

Chemung County played host to travelling dogs, including Railroad Jack.  In 1890, Jack came to Elmira and the railroad workers brought him to the Elmira Telegram office to have a play date with the newspaper's famous dog mascot, Colonel.  

Drawing of Railroad Jack clipped from a newspaper.  This is in our collection in the scrapbook of Elmira Police Chief Levi Little.  The scrapbook is primarily clippings about crimes, but Little clipped an occasional pop culture piece.  Railroad Jack was one of those few non-crime stories that Little cared enough about to add to his scrapbook.

But the county's homegrown travelling dogs are pretty interesting, too. For example, in 1894, the papers reported that an Erie yard switchman brought his black and tan dog with him to work.  The dog reportedly was fond of quickly ducking under and out from moving train cars, riding on the steps of the engine and in the cab, chasing off tramps and other dogs, and then eating his dinner in the switch shanty.

Elmira also had trolley dogs.  The image below shows a trolley line car, probably in the late 19th century.  If you look closely at the road on the far right side of the image, you'll see a small, fuzzy image of a collie.  On the back of the image, someone noted that the dog always followed the line cars. 

 

The dog is on the far right side of the image.  On an unrelated note, I'm glad I didn't have to use that rickety-looking line car!

Elmira even had its own Railroad Jack (this was an exceptionally common name for rail dogs).  In the early 1900s, a bulldog named Jack gained local fame for chasing the trolley from Horseheads and Elmira Heights down the line to Elmira.  He did this, reportedly, everyday for years, earning the admiration of the linemen.  In August of 1906, he was falsely reported to have been killed in a trolley accident, but it evidently had been an "imposter."  In September of 1906, however, Jack retired.  One day he was chasing the trolley as usual, but he became tired around the Reformatory and stopped to lay down by the tracks.  This was the first time Jack ever stopped chasing the moving trolley.  He walked over to the nearby Stearns silk mill where the employees fed him.  Apparently he decided this was a more favorable arrangement, and he was adopted as the Stearns mascot.  Jack's trolley-chasing job was apparently taken over by a deaf dog named Dummy.  However, the train workers didn't respect him as much because he would ride the trolley when he got tired, which was something Jack wouldn't do.

 

Train dogs still got some attention a few decades later, but the late 19th and early 20th centuries were the height of the train dog craze.  In 1937, a dog named Jack the Bum, who was based out of Scranton, PA, was shot and killed.  Jack was famous for riding the trains on the Lackawanna line and was a frequent visitor to Elmira.  George E. Griffis, an engineer from Elmira who took many trips with Jack in the engine, memorialized him in the newspaper.  He said that he would ride with his head out of the windows and "that dog would brush cinders from his eyes with his paws, same as any man."

The Philo National Poultry Institute and the Business of Birds

by Kelli Huggins, Education Coordinator

As early as 1887, Edgar Woodruffe Philo attracted attention for his innovations in poultry keeping. That year the Troy Daily Times of Troy, NY reported that Philo perfected an apparatus in which alcohol is used to regulate temperature in incubators.  Philo's work was part of a larger climate of agricultural innovation.  By the late 19th century, scientists and amateurs undertook the challenge of improving and industrializing egg production. While much of this work took place at agricultural experiment stations or agricultural colleges, backyard farmers and other non-professionals were making an impact as well.  Philo was a part of this growing trend of men who made agricultural improvement their business through publishing, teaching, manufacturing equipment, or breeding poultry.

Philo moved from Salem, NY to Elmira, NY in 1906. He relocated his Cycle Hatcher Company to Elmira citing the city’s favorable business climate.  In fact, Philo and other businessmen were actively recruited by the Elmira Chamber of Commerce, which was trying to build the city's industrial standing.  Philo ran the business with his son E.R. Philo.

Cycle Hatcher produced brooding and hatching equipment. Philo claimed that the company was routinely filling orders as far away as Buenos Aires, Argentina and Johannesburg, South Africa. As an offshoot of the company, Philo also published his own poultry magazine, The Poultry Review. The Review featured articles and advice about best practices in poultry raising, many distilled from Philo’s own experimentation. By 1911, Philo claimed that the Review had a readership of over 100,000 people in each state and over thirty countries.

Poultry Review, March 1908

But Philo’s real crowning achievement was the creation of his Philo System and, later, the establishment of his Philo National Poultry Institute. Philo explained his system first in his book The Philo System of Progressive Poultry Keeping, first published in 1907.  His program was designed for small-scale production, like on a city lot, not for large farms.  His advertisements promised that followers of his system could make $1,500 a year from a small backyard flock.  Philo's system represented a radical departure from the work of many of his contemporaries. In the book, Philo contests that the theories of many poultry writers are “without foundation,” a claim he based on his thirty years of poultry experimentation and experience.

A Philo System farm in Ohio

One of his major contentions was that artificial heat was unnecessary to raise birds. Philo argued, “When they come into the world they are supplied with an abundance of heat and all we have to do is retain it.”  In addition to being useless, Philo claimed that artificial heat could actually be dangerous for poultry. He also contended that heated brooders were simply too expensive and complicated to provide any benefit to one’s flock.

A Cycle Hatcher "metal mother"

Philo’s objection to artificial heat was not only practical, it was also philosophical. He wrote that Americans have “endeavored to devise appliances whereby the chickens may be turned out like the output of great factories. Although the output may be unlimited, nature has something to say when its laws are violated to any great extent.”

An Elmira couple's Philo system backyard poultry business

The other unique component of Philo's system was his belief in the close confinement of hens. According to the system, two pound broilers were best raised when confined to a space of one square foot each. Pullets received one and one half square feet, while laying hens needed three square feet.

Philo system houses

Philo's system was wildly successful and he made a small fortune selling his books, brooders, and teaching classes.  Eventually he built a 30,000 square foot building on Lake Street to house both the Poultry Institute and the Cycle Hatcher Company.  One floor of the building was dedicated to education, both for on-site and correspondence courses.  Another floor was exclusively for printing the Review and other promotional and educational materials. 

Philo National Poultry Institute

Poultry stationary printing- another service offered by Philo

The system and the Institute were not without controversy, however.  Most critics said that the system was simply too labor intensive to be worth it.  With it's strict feeding and cleaning schedules, the Philo System could be a full-time job.  However, one of Philo's harshest critics was John F. Graham of the Amherst Agricultural Colleges, who in 1912, accused Philo and others of lying about their profits.  He said of Philo, "he fishes for suckers and he gets them."

Ultimately, however, it wasn't his critics that drove him out of his business; it was his own family.  In 1917 he was ousted from the business by his two children after a bitter family fight.  Philo moved to Florida where he continued his work.  For years, Philo had been purchasing land in Florida to create a large model farm.  From there, he marketed his "New-Philo-Way," which doesn't seem to have deviated much from the original system.   Philo died in 1937.  

Jeepers: Mascot for a Day

Jeepers was the winner of our Mascot for a Day contest during Dogapalooza. The contest was inspired by some of our historical local canine mascots, like Colonel, the Elmira Telegram mascot, or military dog mascots.  Jeepers was selected by popular vote and her prize is to be the mascot for the Chemung County Humane Society and SPCA and the Chemung County Historical Society for one day, November 14, 2014.  As the mascot, she gets her very own blog post.  Enjoy her story and pictures below:
 

My Name is Jeepers.  I was born into a litter of 6 Shih Tzus on August 15, 2007.  When I was eight weeks old I went to live with my new friends Roger, Bob, and Rod.  I was very small.  I remember the guys being real careful not to step on me.  I liked my new home.

One day I was outside playing on the terrace.  I found a small hole that I could go through, so I went exploring.  I ended up chasing cars on Water Street.  It was fun and scary.  A car stopped and a lady grabbed me and took me away.  She took me to a vet far away on Lake Road.  I missed my guys and wasn’t happy.  The guys hunted for me all day and night.  They were out looking for me all the next day.  Finally they found me.  They were kissing me and crying at the same time.  We were back together!

January of 2008 I got really sick and had to go to Cornell.  I had a small piece of bone caught in my throat and more bones in my stomach. I had the sliver removed from my throat, and then had an operation to clean out my stomach.  I stayed at Cornell for a week.  When I got home the guys started making me my own special food.  I still eat it today; roast chicken, rice, peas, and carrots.

Today my life is really nice.  I take an hour long walk every morning down by the river.  If it is warm, I like to sit in the river and cool off.  I have seen eagles while on my walk.  During the day I like to sleep on my chair with my favorite stuffed animal.  Most days I bark to tell the guys I am ready for my daily ride in the car.  Sometimes I walk in Eldridge Park, and other times I walk at the park in Big Flats.  In the evening I watch tv with Roger and Bob for a while and then fall asleep in a chair.  I am carried upstairs and sleep on my feather pillow at the top of the bed.

 

I really like the guys' kisses, and they love playing with me.  We have a great life together!

Love,

Jeepers

Dogs of War: The Canine Veterans of World War II

by Kelli Huggins, Education Coordinator

Animals have long been used by militaries around the world.  Horses and other pack animals help move artillery, soldiers, or other supplies.  Cats are particularly useful on ships to control rat populations.  Pigeons were used to send messages.  Dogs have been used in warfare since ancient times, however, the United States did not have an official war dog program until World War II.  Since we are just coming off of our "Dogapalooza" celebration of contemporary and historical dogs, and since it is almost Veterans Day, I thought that exploring the history of the military dogs and their local connections in this blog post was fitting. 

After the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, a group of Americans, including poodle breeder Alene Erlanger and Arthur Kilbon of the New York Sun, created the Dogs for Defense program.  The goal of the program was to procure and train dogs for military use.  Dogs for Defense asked Americans to volunteer their own pets to the military.  They placed advertisements in newspapers and the program was promoted as another way that Americans could support the war effort.  Only certain breeds or mixes were accepted and dogs needed to be under that age of 5.  Americans sent the government at least 40,000 pets, and 10,000 dogs were ultimately selected for training. 

Dog food advertisement from the Elmira Star-Gazette which promotes the Dogs for Defense program (and the merits of their dog food).

Training was an arduous process.  Dogs learned to attack, detect bombs and other weapons, deliver messages, and most importantly, to not be spooked by gun fire and other loud noises.  At least two Chemung County men worked as dog trainers.  Archie Kieffer worked as an Army dog trainer on Long Island before joining the Army Air Corps.  Elmiran Homer J. Finley, Jr. worked as a dog trainer for the Marines (see another picture of Finley and a canine trainee here from the American Kennel Club).

Elmiran Homer Finley with his trainee, Jack.

Archie Kieffer at dog training facility.  Note the kennels in the background

 

Archie and one of his trainees.

Dogs served in many capacities during the war.  Some were trained to find enemy combatants, bombs, or trip wires, and alert soldiers to their whereabouts.  Others were messengers, and others still were cadaver dogs trained to find dead or injured soldiers.  All of this work was dangerous and many dogs were injured or killed.  This short 1943 War Department Film Bulletin shows the dogs' training and variety of roles (and is well worth watching). 

Not all dogs in the war were these professionally-trained canines.   Likely most war dogs were strays or dogs otherwise adopted by troops.  CCHS' collection of materials from Helen Booth Sprecher, a member of the Women's Army Auxiliary Corp, features pictures of several dogs.  There are several shots of a puppy named Tappy, who was listed as the company dog.

Company mascot Tappy and WAAC member

Tappy and WAAC members

Tappy and WAAC members

A company dog

When the war was over, not all surviving dogs returned to a hero's welcome.  Even though the government promised that the Dogs For Defense dogs would be returned to their owners, military officials thought that the dogs would be too dangerous to reenter civilian life and should be destroyed.  Some people, like William Putney (author of a memoir about his work training military dogs) disagreed, and successfully campaigned for the creation of a "deindoctrination" program for returning dogs.  Dogs were rehabilitated and returned home.

Some of these dogs came home to Elmira.  In 1946, Elmiran Roy Churcher placed notices in the Star-Gazette about his missing dog Rex, a former military dog.  Rex served in the Coast Guard Canine Corp for three years and was wounded in the chest during battle.  Churcher feared his dog had been stolen since the highly-trained canine was not known to wander from home.  Fortunately, the story had a happy ending and Rex was found unharmed and returned home.



Notice placed in the newspaper about lost war dog Rex.

Dogs continue to serve in the military today and many are able to return to the United States to retire and live with their handlers.  Americans are no longer asked to volunteer their pets for military service.  Still, the work and sacrifices of dog soldiers, both historical and contemporary, are often forgotten or overlooked.  There are war dog memorials throughout the country, some of them created only within the last ten years.     

Curator vs. Nature

by Erin Doane, Curator

This weekend we officially opened our newest exhibit, Locally Grown: Farming in Chemung County.  This exhibit highlights historic dairying, poultry raising, and tobacco and celery cultivation in the area.  It also features information on modern farming, community gardens, and local farm stands and markets.  We even have our own farm stand within the gallery – Mammoth Acres – where kids can load up their baskets with play vegetables and learn some math at the same time.  Locally Grown will be open through September so come check it out.

Locally Grown: Farming in Chemung County

As part of this exhibit, we decided to install raised garden beds outside the museum.  We are using these small beds to present three different types of gardens: a three sisters garden, a Victorian garden, and a pizza garden.  The idea was that people could see how different combinations of vegetables were grown in different time periods.  I hoped to myself that at the end of it all we would have enough produce to maybe host an event with dishes made from these very local vegetables.  Well, you know the saying about counting your chickens before they hatch.  Mother Nature does not seem to care about what I hope.

Raised garden beds outside the Museum

 A few months ago I started some celery seeds in my office.  Celery was a major product of Horseheads at one time so we all agreed that we needed celery in our Victorian garden.  The seedlings were a bit spindly when it was time to transplant them but they held their own that first week outside.  Then a heavy rainstorm came and crushed them into the ground.  There were no survivors.  Thank goodness for the “insurance” celery plant I had purchased at a local greenhouse (just in case the ones I started didn't make it).

 

Celery seedlings

"Insurance" celery

 Heavy rains have not been the only thing to damage the plants.  I seem to be in a war with the local squirrels.  At first, everything seemed fine but then one day I pulled into the parking lot at the museum and noticed that the soil in the garden beds was disturbed.  I patted it all back down again and was pleased when the corn and beans in the three sisters garden began sprouting a short time later. 

 

Three sisters garden before the attack

 Just days later when I came to work, though, all the corn and half the beans had been dug up out of the ground.  I should have known that squirrels like corn so that was my own fault for not taking preemptive steps.  I replanted the corn and beans and sprinkled a good dose of cayenne pepper onto the soil above them.  I’ve heard that squirrels do not like hot pepper.  Well, they didn’t dig up the corn again but they did attack the peas and (horrors!) tore off part of the celery plant.  I can tell you that at this point I was not too happy.  I was even more unhappy when a night of rain washed away the pepper and my second batch of corn sprouts were dug up as well.  So, now we have a third batch of corn started with a formidable barrier of pepper.  Some women carry pepper spray in their purses.  I carry a jar of cayenne pepper!

 

Have some cayenne pepper, squirrels!

 Call me an optimist, but I’m hoping I have finally won the war.  The next step would be to fence in the garden beds but that just doesn’t fit into my aesthetic vision.  We’ll just have to wait and see what happens as the summer wears on.