We continue today the series of articles about the early physician, Dr. Thissell. As mentioned in an earlier column, Dr. Thissell arrived in this area in 1875 as the personal physician for Addison Child and later as the “in-house” doctor for the guests of Child’s new Childwold Park House and the farm community that Child named Childwold. Dr. Thissell would be witness to the ultimate fate of that great hotel – a wonder in its day – that flourished for only a short time, its register carrying the names of U.S. presidents, visiting European royalty and the greats of the 1890s.
He would also be at the scene of the disastrous fire of 1899 that destroyed up to 72 buildings in this village.
From the organized settlement of the village following that fire, Dr. Thissell would serve the medical needs of this community until his death in 1945. Among other contributions, he would help organize the Tupper Lake Water Co., the Cliff Ave. Sewer Co. and the Tupper Lake National Bank.
This was a period of overwhelming growth and feverish building activity. You could go directly to one of the mills and buy lumber for $10-$12 a thousand. This village became a boomtown in a frontier land, as real as any in the legendary West. The settlers who came here in their search for “something better” needed, as Frederick Remington once noted, “to have their bark on.” The growth of science and industrialism was just beginning to emerge (the light bulb, the telephone, the airplane and the automobile), and Tupper Lake was a place of stark simplicity. The streets were only dirt paths that turned into a mire of mud after every rain. In the winter months, the snow would simply be packed down by heavy rollers pulled by a team of horses.
Homes were heated by wood stoves (as many as three in some homes), and obtaining and cutting firewood was a constant chore in an already long, work-filled day. Water was obtained from nearby brooks, wells and the many springs found in the valley. Not even the gas light had yet appeared, and homes were lighted by candlelight and smelly kerosene lamps. Nor were there any streetlights, and if you ventured out at night, you carried a kerosene lantern to find your way. Nature’s call, as it was known, was accomplished first by chamber pots in each room and later by holes in the ground over which was placed a bench with openings cut into it. This arrangement was enclosed by a rude shelter for privacy and protection from the elements. Such structures were placed downwind away from houses and came to be known as “outhouses” or “privies.” Toilet tissue consisted of dried moss, corncobs and pages from any available newspaper, etc.
As you might expect, the odor from these outhouses could be overwhelming. Our pioneer families would use fresh dirt, lime or wood ashes from their stoves added to the ditch in an attempt to mitigate this problem.
Sidelight: This fall a local hunting club, whose camp in a remote location, required such an outhouse. They employed the same technique of using wood ashes to temper the odor. It worked fine until the day an overzealous club member used ashes that, unbeknown to him, contained live embers. You guessed it! The outhouse caught on fire. It has been reported that following the initial excitement, the members treated the episode with great humor.
As the town’s population continued to explode, two needs quickly became evident. The first, spurred by the lack of sanitation and fear of disease, was the need for sewer connections to carry off wastewater, etc. The other, with the devastating 1899 fire still fresh in memory, was the need for water for fire protection, for general use and for a potable drinking source. The problem was quickly solved when five local businessmen, including Dr. Thissell, formed a private stock-holding company, incorporated as the Tupper Lake Water Co. The first order of business was to hire local civil surveyors, William LaFountain and James McBride, to survey the Mt. Morris sector for a suitable water supply. Two locations were discovered: “Little Simon,” a deep glacial pond of cold pure water nestled in the col between Buck Mountain and Mt. Morris, at an elevation of 1,789 feet. This location allowed a 223-ft. descent for gravity to feed the pond’s water to a pumping station to be built on Big Simon Pond.
The other source was a small marshland pond called Cranberry, less than a mile above Big Simon Pond, also with proper elevation for gravity feed. Despite a strong recommendation for utilizing Little Simon Pond by the surveyors, who feared Cranberry Pond would not prove adequate for an expanding community, the Water Co. elected to go with Cranberry Pond. The added expense of the longer connection to Little Simon was of considerable financial concern and the deciding factor in their decision.
The pond and surroundings were purchased by the Walter Company from the A. Sherman Lumber Company, and pipe was laid to the pumping station on Big Simon Pond. Several years later, Dr. Thissell became the sole proprietor of the stock company. About this time, the need for a backup source became apparent, and Dr. Thissell contracted for a dam reservoir to be built. This would have been in 1905, and the reservoir was located on Mike Manning’s hill above the Moody Bridge. (Note: In the late 1930s, an early ski slope and rope tow were located on this gentle slope, the bull wheel or terminus of the towline being a short distance below the earthen walls of the reservoir. As kids skiing on that hill, we often explored that site and wondered about the gaping hole in its wall.)
In a Sept. 24, 1964, edition of the Free Press, the editor ran a photo of the reservoir taken by a well-known local photographer by the name of Crane. In the photo caption, the editor wrote that he had not found any reference to the reservoir in his files and asked any “old settler subscribers to fill him in on this picture.” The following excerpt is from a letter he received on Oct. 8, 1964, in reply to his inquiry. The letter is from David Balch of Monticello, N.Y., a boyhood resident in the 1900s and a summer resident:
“The picture of the damaged reservoir on the front page of your Sept. 24th issue brings back a lot of memories. It was built in 1905 and was located on the top of the hill directly up from the old red bridge over the Racquette River. It served as an impounding area for village water which drained down out of Cranberry Pond, a region resembling a swamp that lay back on a plateau about a quarter of a mile away.
“The pond area was Tupper’s first water supply. Then, finding the supply inadequate, the reservoir was built by a contractor named Nims, at the direction of Dr. J.A. Thissell, who was president and principal owner of Tupper’s first water company. The reservoir was about 150 feet long and 100 feet wide, with a depth of eight to ten feet. It was an auxiliary supply, supplementing the direct flow and feed from Cranberry Pond.
“The break occurred in the spring of 1906, as I remember, and the subsequent litigation in Malone in the fall of that year. It so happened I was a boarder at LaFountain’s at the same time the contractor, Nims, was. He was sued by the Tupper Lake Water Co. for improper construction. The west side of the reservoir, facing the village in the distance, lacked sufficient supporting girders, and in addition had an inadequate sheath of solid concrete. It seemed that the water company had a clear case for damages.
“But as events proved, it didn’t. The testimony of the principal witness for the water company, the good doctor, became confused, it appeared, and so many conflicting statements were made of his oral contract with Nims that the jury was forced to find a verdict for the defendant. Dr. Thissell afterward arranged with Colonel Barbour to take over his interest in the water works, and thereafter, under Colonel Barbour’s direction, all proceeded in a regulation manner, with a pumping station installed down on the edge of the Racquette River, by which the water was pumped into a standpipe that was constructed on Sears Hill on the outskirts of the village at its north end.
“It might be added that the night the reservoir broke and swept in a torrent down the steep hillside, Mr. McBride, who lived in a log house at the foot of the hill, said he was awakened by something that sounded to him like rain. As his log house was directly in the path of the torrent, only a slight twist in the terrain saved the occupants of the McBride cabin from being swept into the river . . . . It was a narrow escape from a real tragedy.”