Do the traits of our ancestors affect who we are today? Does the character of our town still bear the imprint of its founders? When we look at the lives of Stoneham’s early settlers, we see, as historian William B. Stevens calls it, “the best traits of English yeomanry.”
But what does Stevens mean by referring to those who carved out small farms in the hilly terrain north of Charlestown as “yeomen.”
Today, the word has come to mean someone who works hard at a something and is skilled at it, a ground-level worker.
In Chaucer’s medieval England, yeomen were small farmers, foresters and skilled fighters. Historians credit the long bows of English yeomen with turning the tide when the English defeated the French at Agincourt in 1415.
What Stevens is getting at is not far from the original meaning. Silas Dean, whose brief history reaches back to the first settlers, writes of a Scotsman named Hay, who “came over from Lynnfield with his ax and gun.”
What made our 17th century village different is that there were no wealthy settlers, no people of rank, no nobility. There were no massive land grants, or plantations, or any from the top tier of Puritan society. There were also, at first, no slaves. They were farmers and blacksmiths, shoe-makers and weavers.
They included deserters from British ships anchored in the Boston harbor, and some escaping indentured service. They plowed and traded, planted orchards and corn fields. They harvested the abundant cedar trees around Spot Pond, turning them into posts, shingles and clapboards. They built saw mills and grist mills.
Most of the women, as well as the men, knew what to do with a musket. They hunted deer and turkeys, fought Indians and wolves, and drank rum when they could get it, often when they came together to slaughter the pigs, or to build a school or a church. They went to church, religiously.
Stevens writes: “The foundations of Stoneham were laid, not by men of culture or wealth, but by the brawn and courage of laborious yeoman.”
Yet Stevens, an attorney, judge and the grandson of Stoneham’s longest serving minister, the Rev. John H. Stevens, seems to take pride in the town’s humble beginnings.
To bolster his point, he catalogs the possessions of several of the first settlers at their death. I find the details fascinating. He starts with Thomas Cutler, who died in 1683.
He left 25 acres of land and a house valued at 40 pounds; 3 cows, 4 young cattle, 18 pounds; 1 mare, 2 colts, 2 pounds; 10 swine, 40 bushels Indian corn and some rye and oats and barley, 9 pounds and ten shillings; 1 plough and ax and implements for husbandman’s work; 2 beds with bedding; 3 pair sheets with other linen, woolen and flax, 2 pounds, 4 shillings; 5 yards home-made cloth and some yarn, 2 iron pots with iron things and pewter and brass, 2 pounds, 5 shillings; chests and boxes with other usable things in house, 1 pound 10 shillings; wearing clothes, 2 pounds; gun and sword, 1 pound.
After listing the estates of several early settlers, Stevens notes that there were no carriages, no glassware, and only chairs and boxes for furniture. They had no carpets or curtains, watches or clocks. Their staples “were Indian corn, wheat, rye barley and pork, with mutton and beef at intervals, and doubtless veal and lamb now and then.”
They consumed plenty of milk, butter and cheese, but grew few vegetables. They supplemented their diet with meat from wild game. And they planted orchards. Later, when the trees had matured, they harvested the apples. As Stevens notes, “and afterward great quantities of cider were made and consumed.”
With the passing of time, came more comforts of life. In the 18th century personal wealth increased, and in the 19th century, fortunes were made, as the Industrial Revolution brought capitol, mechanization and employment to a town of farmers, traders and shoemakers.
Today, a suburban town of some 23 thousand souls, we celebrate our origins as a community forged by the labor and creativity of hard-working men and women. I like to think that the spirit of our yeoman ancestors is still alive.
Note: Excerpted from If the Shoe Fits: Stories of Stonehan, Then & Now, by Ben Jacques, available at the Book Oasis on Main Street and at the Stoneham Historical Society & Museum.
I guess you could call him an illegal alien. It was sometime in the 17th century, and a British sailor by the name of Hadley had just jumped ship in Boston and high-tailed it inland, looking for a place to hide. The man who found him was a farmer named Gould, one of the first settlers of our town.
A century later town clerk Silas Dean told the story. Dean, also a longtime church deacon, had an ear for stories, and this is how he told it:
A man by the name of Gould . . . on a certain morning during the first settlement of the town, while at his barn at a very early hour, a man approached him, stark naked, and told him he came over to this country on board a war ship. The night previous he had deserted from the ship, and being fearful that his clothes might retard his escape, or the procuring of them cause some alarm, he left the vessel in a state of nudity.
He also stated to Gould that if he would provide him clothes, and afford him means to keep himself secreted till after the vessel left Boston, he would work for him for a sufficient length of time to satisfy him for all the trouble he might be at. The proposal was agreed to, and by this means Hadley took up his abode in this town, and from him all of that name now living in town descended.
This wasn’t the first time desperate sailors sought refuge in Stoneham. In Colonial times, serving in the British navy was no picnic. “Recruits” were often men seized in taverns or sentenced in court to a grueling life at sea.
Silas Dean tells of another deserter, who hid under the floor in a saw mill in Stoneham. British soldiers sent to find him entered the mill and stamped about on the floor, but never discovered him.
Flash forward to the 1830s and we find Stoneham is again a refuge for runaways, this time, runaway slaves. Here we turn to a history of Stoneham written by Marina Memmo in 2010. She writes:
The issue of African slavery divided the town in the 1830s, but by 1850, Stoneham had fully embraced the abolitionist cause. Members of the Congregational Church led the reform. In 1838, Deacon Abijah Bryant, Levi D. Smith and 60 others formed the Stoneham branch of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society, and Bryant’s home on Main St. became a “station” on the Underground Railroad. When Congress passed the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850, Rev. William C. Whitcomb expressed his outrage in a sermon that was later published. In it, he urged the people to fight for their enslaved brethren, even if it meant suffering and death.
From a village on the outskirts of Colonial civilization to the present, our suburban town has been a place of refuge and opportunity, a place where men and women have come to plant their fields, open their shops, work in the mills, or simply raise their families. They have come from around the world.
Among those who live or work among us today are more recent immigrants, and some of them are living in fear. Whether they lack proper documentation, or have had their legal status revoked, they, like those before them simply need a safe place to live. They want to know that their children won’t be taken from them, and their children know a parent will be there when they come home from school or camp.
You know the stories. You’ve been watching the news. Being true to our history, being true to our best selves, we must protect the rights and humanity of all who live among us.
You came north after the Civil War, a Black man from Norfolk, Virginia, looking for a place to work and raise a family. You chose us, Stoneham, Massachusetts, a shoe-factory town of about 3,500 people just north of Boston.
In Virginia, were you enslaved? I could find no record. I did find that the year after the Emancipation Proclamation you enlisted in the Union Navy and spent a year aboard the USS Ohio. The Ohio was used to blockade Confederate ships along the Carolinas and in Europe.
The USS Ohio
In 1867, two years after the war, you appeared before the Justice of the Peace in Stoneham with your bride, Sarah Cecelia Hill, from Brooklyn. You were 23 and she was 18. With her you would raise five children, three sons and two daughters.
Cabinet card portraits of African Americans from the David V. Tinder Collection of Michigan Photography. Left: Man with Pipe, circa 1887. Right: Woman in Silk Dress, circa 1888. William L. Clements Library
I don’t know if you were tall or short. I do know you were strong. I found this ad in an old Stoneham Independent: “The services of Charles Cephas stone mason can now be had. He tends to laying pipes, sinking wells, digging cesspools and blasting. ‘He thoroughly understands his business.’”
Remember that summer when people were praying for rain, you made the news when you dug and lined a 35-foot-deep well, a record in Woburn.
Business must have been good, because in 1876 you bought a house on Hancock Street, then moved it over to Albion Avenue on the northwest side of town.
Lining a hand-dug well
For you and the few other African American families, Stoneham was a good place to put down roots. But the soil was rocky, in more ways than one. Getting along in an overwhelmingly white community sometimes meant conflict. Sometimes you were the target. In 1878, as reported in the Independent, five men attacked and beat you and your friend Thomas Shanks.
Another time, when you were walking by the Cogan and Sons shoe factory, from the upstairs window, someone dumped a bucket of white wash on your head. Furious, you stormed into the building demanding to know who the culprit was.
You raised such a fuss that the police were called. But instead of helping to find the offender, the police arrested you and charged you with disturbing the peace.
Another time, faced with arrest after a domestic dispute, you threatened to blow up the police station with dynamite you had in your work bag. Appearing in court the next day you stated you couldn’t remember making such a threat, but if you did, you were sorry. You were fined $10.
1870 U. S. Census showing Charles Cephas, his wife, Sarah, his mother-in-law and two children.
Were there good times? Did you and Sarah get together with other families after church for dinner? Your children would have gone to school in town.
In 1902 the Independent reported the wedding of your son, George, to Carrie Yancey. It was “a very pretty home wedding, performed in the presence of a large company of friends.”
Another time we learn of your son, Ernest, playing hockey on Spot Pond. Earnest would later go to sea, serving in the U.S. Navy during the Spanish American War.
There were painful losses, as the loss of your firstborn son, Charles H. Cephas, age one. Infant deaths were also recorded in 1874 and 1883.
At some point the stresses of life must have crossed over to your marriage. In 1895, after 28 years, your wife petitioned the Middlesex Court for divorce, and it was granted.
Sometime after this, you moved to Chelsea and started working as a stone mason at the Charleston Navy Yard. I couldn’t find any more about you until 1908, when I found this in the Stoneham Independent:
Charles Cephas, colored, passed away Wednesday evening of last week, at the Chelsea Marine hospital, as the result of injuries received by being assaulted as he was coming out of the Charlestown Navy Yard.
The reporter speculated that your killers must have been after your pension money.
Although there was no mention in the Boston papers, I did find a copy of the coroner’s report. It stated the cause of death as “acute fibrinous pneumonia consequent on hemorrhage and laceration of the brain sustained under circumstances unknown, probably those of an accidental fall.” Accidental fall? Really?
After a funeral in Chelsea, they brought you back to Stoneham for burial in the Civil War military section. Was there an honor guard? On Memorial Day I stopped by Lindenwood to pay my respects.
Sometimes I wonder what you would make of our town today. Of our nation. Some things are better. Some not.
Charles Cephas stone in Lindenwood Cemetery in Stoneham
There’s so much that would amaze you. So many stories of African Americans who paved the way in education, music, science, law enforcement, athletics, and business, not only on the national stage, but in our own town, some of them your descendants.
If I tell you about the achievements, however, I also have to mention the set-backs. I have to tell you about George Floyd.
But here’s something to celebrate. Did you know we now celebrate Juneteenth, the date in 1865 when enslaved folk in Texas finally found out they were free?
Mr. Cephas, when I think of you, I think of a man digging wells so families can have water. I think of a stone mason, his hands rough with callouses. I think of a man who had a temper, but who wanted, above all, a safe place to live, work and raise a family. Who deserved more respect than he got.
They love America, but America doesn’t love them back. “They” are the millions of immigrants, refugees and asylum seekers facing deportation.
Built by immigrants, America has now turned its back on them, thanks to Donald Trump and his MAGA followers, who for decades have demeaned and dehumanized them, especially those with skin darker than theirs.
Ironically, many immigrants and asylum seekers have come here legally, through government programs granting them the chance to live here in safety. Others, like Marcelo Gomes da Silva, a Milford high school student taken by ICE while on his way to volleyball practice, have grown up among us and know no other life.
Marcelo, who came to the United States from Brazil when he was six, is an honors student. A junior, he plays in the band and would have performed at Sunday’s graduation. According to a friend, he was shackled feet and hands and shoved into a holding cell with 25 older men.
Here’s what’s happening. Trump wants Homeland Security and ICE to roundup 3,000 “illegal” immigrants a day. They haven’t been meeting their quota, though they’ve tried. To make it easier to find bodies to deport, Trump changed the rules. Now a half million immigrants—families, parents and children who were here legally—have had the rug, no, the ground, pulled out from under them.
Fleeing violence and persecution in their home countries, they were granted “humanitarian parole” or “temporary protected status.” They were fingerprinted and documented. By revoking these programs, Trump has made them easy to find.
ICE has also found other easy targets, immigrants who show up at courthouses for hearings. They’ve been nabbed in hallways and stairwells. A judge was arrested and accused of helping one immigrant leave by a back door.
Masked ICE agents are raiding factories and farms, bodegas and restaurants. They are grabbing people off the streets, taking mothers and fathers from children and children from siblings. The word has gone out. No place is safe, including churches, hospitals and schools.
All this is going on while the Trump administration is calling on Americans to have more babies to counter the declining birth rate. He wants more babies, more young families, yet the clear message is that he wants white families, not black or brown. How else to explain the counter-intuitive break-up and deportation of families already here–those who want nothing more than to live in a safe and free country. Those who love America, even if America doesn’t love them back.
If ICE can meet its 3,000 per day quote, over a million of our neighbors will have been arrested and deported this year, one big step towards the deportation of the 15 to 20 million Trump has threatened.
To millions of Americans, sadly, that is a good thing. They voted for someone to do just that. To millions more, however, it is a travesty. It goes against everything they believe in and stand for.
The largest segment of Americans who voted for Trump in 2024 were Christians, especially white Christians. They put Trump in office. They could be the ones, now, to stop him. Leaving their pews, they could pick up the phone, march in the streets, demand an end to the cruelty, whether to our immigrant neighbors, or to the millions of poor who will lose their health insurance if his budget goes through.
Last Friday in an interfaith rally, some 70 clergy did just that. Marching from the Lexington Green to the Boston Common, they protested the cruel treatment of immigrants and international students.
Meanwhile, in Washington, D. C., a group of ministers praying in the Rotunda of the Capitol were cuffed with zip-ties and taken out, arrested for protesting against cuts to Medicaid and the harm it would cause millions. They were led by the Rev. William Barber, co-chair of the Poor People’s Campaign.
These faith leaders, like the prophets of old, are calling us to action. It’s time we pay attention.
Let’s see if I get this right. The Trump administration wants us to have more babies. What with Covid and a declining birth rate, we need more young people to offset those of us with gray hair. We need them to replenish our communities and pay our bills. Trump recently talked of giving a bonus of $5,000 to each new mother.
At the same time his administration is deporting mothers, fathers, and, yes, babies. He is rounding up immigrants, including those who are paying taxes and contributing to Social Security and Medicare. He is breaking up families.
In Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, ICE recently took a mother away from her 1-year-old girl and deported her to Cuba, separating them indefinitely. ICE also deported three children ages 2, 4 and 7 along with their mothers to Honduras. The children are U.S. citizens. The 4-year old has a rare form of cancer.
It’s become clear that Trump’s pro-baby, pro-family approach is meant for one type of family, one type of baby–white families and white babies. And that all this talk about encouraging women to give birth and to stay at home to raise their children is rooted in white nationalist ideology.
What is white nationalism? White nationalism is “advocacy of or support for the perceived political interests of the white population within a particular country, especially to the exclusion or detriment of other racial and ethnic groups.”
White nationalism, along with white supremacy, has always been around. It was behind the enslavement of millions of African Americans. It was behind the Chinese Exclusion Act. It was behind the “separate but equal” Supreme Court decision that affirmed racial apartheid in Southern states. It was given new energy with the re-election of Donald Trump.
Consider the makeup of Trump’s cabinet and advisors. Consider his history of demeaning comments and slurs. Consider the attacks on DEI—diversity, equity and inclusion—and the government’s punitive policies directed towards racial and ethnic minorities. Consider Trump’s revoking of “temporary protected status” for asylum seekers from Haiti and Venezuela.
Consider his shutting down of our refugee resettlement program, stranding thousands of already approved refugees from Africa and the Middle East. At the same time, he has put out the welcome mat for Afrikaners in South Africa, whom he claims are victims of “white genocide.”
Last week 59 white South African “refugees” arrived at Dulles International Airport in Washington, D. C. A photo of them shows young families holding babies in their arms. Deputy Secretary of State Christopher Landau told them: “We’re excited to welcome you here to our country where we think you will bloom.”
All this, while Trump denies a haven to black and brown families fleeing famine, war and persecution.
So what do we do about it? First, we need a stop to the deportations of non-violent immigrants—full stop—and the affording of due process to all. And we need a resumption of our long-standing refugee-resettlement program, applied fairly to everyone.
Second, we need immigration reform. For too many decades, we have let Congress off the hook. The last significant immigration reform came during Ronald Reagan’s presidency, when millions of immigrants were granted pathways to citizenship. The failure of Congress and past administrations to legislate common-sense reform has victimized millions of our neighbors, who want nothing more than to build lives for their families in a safe and free country.
As for the Administration’s push to have more babies, I say let’s protect the babies we have, and their parents and siblings–refugees, asylum seekers, DACA enrollees, immigrants. They are part of our communities. We need them. Diverse, multi-cultural, hardworking, creative, they, with us, can build an American future based not on white-nationalist ideology, but on equal opportunity for all people, regardless of race, ethnicity, gender or religion. A future aligned with our Declaration of Independence and Constitution.
I was wondering about this when I heard that federal and school programs labeled as DEI—that’s diversity, equity and inclusion—are being defunded.
I’ve always been taught that diversity, equity and inclusion are good things, that they are fundamentally American things. DEI has made us who we are, a nation of and built by immigrants, unlike any other, “dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.”
As Americans, we brag about our diversity—our inventors, scientists, athletes, musicians and artists. Without diversity, we become a monoculture, and monocultures aren’t healthy, as all farmers know. Monocultures may bring quick profits from scale, but leave the soil depleted. Cotton, for example. Or potatoes. Reliance on one variety of potatoes in Ireland led to disease and starvation.
It’s the same with people. Homogeneous societies flourish for a time, then grow stale. Institutions lose their vitality. Birth rates decline. Meanwhile, societies that welcome diversity, that plan for diversity, advance, benefiting from the rich cross fertilization of talents and ideas.
DEI is also expressed in our religious beliefs. We celebrate a God who creates diversity, who loves all equally, and leaves no one out.
So, what’s up with this anti-DEI stuff?
Other words long considered positive, like “science” and “education,” are also suspect. It’s becoming dangerous to look at things too closely, like climate, for one. Or history.
Which brings us to the word “woke.” Despite its mainstream use today, it’s been around for at least a century. It stems from African-American vernacular, meaning awake. It was used to describe those with a heightened awareness of social and political issues, especially race and inequality.
Today it’s used in derision. To be woke is to be part of the radical left, if not communist. You are “woke” if you advocate for minorities, including women and LGBTQ. You are woke if you teach your students how to think critically. You are “woke” if you pay attention to global warming.
Then there is the word “empathy,” a necessary capability for living in community. Without empathy individuals look out only for themselves. They ignore the suffering of others and tolerate systems of abuse. Yet, even this word has taken on negative connotations.
According to the political right, having too much empathy, or empathy for the wrong people, is a problem. It’s called “toxic empathy.” When the Rev. Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde at the National Cathedral on Jan. 21 called on President Trump to have empathy for immigrants and LGBTQ community, she was accused of expressing toxic empathy.
I recently visited a web site that offers support for those suffering from toxic empathy. Having empathy can be stressful and wear you out. It can keep you from taking care of yourself.
The underlying message is, learn to control your empathy. Unchecked, it will deter you from your own goals and may bring you into conflict with your religious or political beliefs.
Meanwhile, some words considered bad are now heard as good. Tom Homan, Trump’s deportation enforcer, talks of “bringing hell to Boston.” Trump tells his supporters, “I am your retribution.” He calls African countries “shitholes,” and women who oppose him, “nasty.”
No wonder public discourse has become so polluted.
Words are important, as is the way we use them. I propose that we continue to celebrate DEI, diversity, equity and inclusion. And that we make it our business to stay woke, that is, awake to the world around us. As for empathy, we need it now more than ever.
Rumeysa Ozturk, a doctoral student at Tufts, is grabbed off the street and flown to a prison in Louisiana. In Boston a man is nabbed while leaving the courthouse. In New Bedford, ICE agents smash the windows of a car to arrest someone with no criminal history. In Chelsea, Boston, Worcester, Medford, Wakefield and other cities, hundreds have gone missing, picked up by ICE in raids.
Meanwhile, immigrants, including those with temporary protected status (TPS), are afraid. Children don’t want to go to school for fear their parents won’t be there when they return home. Community leaders talk of a siege mentality.
Since a 2017 ruling by the state Supreme Judicial Court, Massachusetts has limited its cooperation with the federal government’s deportation efforts. As Stoneham Police Chief James O’Connor puts it: “Being in this country without legal documentation is a civil offense. Massachusetts police officers do not have the jurisdiction to enforce civil immigration law.” The only exceptions are in cases of criminal activity or threats to public safety.
In a policy statement, Chief O’Connor stated: “Stoneham Police will afford all residents all civil rights, due process, and equal protection safeguards available under the U. S. Constitution, the Massachusetts Constitution and Town laws, ‘irrespective of the person’s immigration and/or documentation status.’”
Regardless of state and local policies, our immigrant neighbors are increasingly threatened by a Trump administration that has shown no regard for rules or, for that matter, First Amendment rights.
For this reason, four bills are now at the State House that would increase protections for immigrants in Massachusetts. They are sponsored by various state reps and senators and supported by the ACLU, MIRA and numerous organizations.
The first is the Safe Communities Act. It would prohibit voluntary involvement of local police and courts in civil immigration matters and require “informed consent” before any ICE interview can take place.
The second bill is the Immigrant Legal Defense Act. Studies show that immigrants are five times more likely to win relief from deportation if they are represented by a lawyer. This act would provide funds for free legal defense for at-risk immigrants, especially those in federal detention.
A third bill at the State House, the Language Access and Inclusion Bill, would expand translation and interpretation for Massachusetts residents. This is especially important as the federal government is pulling back from communications except in English.
A fourth bill in Boston would prohibit contracts with the federal government for detention facilities in the Commonwealth, such as the Plymouth County Correctional Facility, which currently holds hundreds of immigrants awaiting deportation.Fact sheets on all four legislative proposals can be found online at the Massachusetts Immigrant and Refugee Advocacy Coalition at miracoalition.org.
This week, members of Stoneham for Social Justice, a network of concerned citizens, endorsed these four bills and called on state legislators to support and fast track them.
In Massachusetts there are an estimated 250,000 undocumented immigrants, individuals and families who have sought a safe place to work and live. Thousands more have fled oppression and disasters under programs that grant them protective status. For many, including Venezuelans and Haitians, this status is being revoked.
Immigrants among us, our families, our neighbors, those we work with, those who provide services to us, are part of our daily lives. They play an integral and productive role in our communities. At the very least, they deserve the rights guaranteed to all in our Constitution, including the right to fair hearings and due process. When these are threatened, they deserve our protection.
As we celebrate our town’s 300th birthday, reflecting on our founding in 1725, you may have wondered, who was our first employee?
Well, it seems we were rather selective, because the first person we hired was a graduate of Harvard. But before I tell you who it was, here’s some historical context.
In 1725, as we broke away from Charlestown, we were just a village ten miles north of Boston in a colony called Massachusetts Bay. Massachusetts Bay was founded in 1630 by English Puritans led by John Winthrop, who became its first governor.
The Puritans, who had separated from the Church of England, were a serious lot. They based their customs and laws on English Common Law and the Bible, especially the Old Testament.
They also believed that church and state should function as one, and that’s why, as stated in the founding document, the town was required to find, install and support a minister. That person would become the first paid employee of the Town of Stoneham.
That person was James Osgood and he came from Salem. When the words “Puritan” and “Salem” are mentioned in the same breath, it is not unnatural to think of witchcraft, and the trials and executions of the late 17th century. For the Osgood family, some of whom lived in Andover, the connection was personal. In 1692 James’ paternal grandmother, Mary Clements Osgood was accused of being a witch.
Mary Osgood’s story is too long to tell here. Suffice it to say, she confessed in 1692, under considerable pressure, of making a pact with the Devil and afflicting several other women and was subsequently imprisoned in Salem. But under examination by the Rev. Increase Mather, who had been sent to Salem to reign in the witchcraft hysteria, she recanted her confession and said she had made it all up. You can read about it in the report made by Governor Thomas Hutchinson. Meanwhile, over 50 citizens of Andover had petitioned for her release, and she was freed.
One of Mary’s sons was Peter Osgood, a tanner, who did so well that he sent two sons to Harvard, the younger one being James. One other thing I should mention is that the Osgood family owned slaves. Owning slaves was not common in colonial Massachusetts, but neither was it exceptional. For an enterprising farmer, seaman, merchant or tradesman, owning a slave could make the difference between just getting by and prospering. A 1754 inventory of enslaved persons age 16 and over in Salem listed 83. There were 989 in Boston. Eight in Stoneham.
Growing up in Salem, James Osgood followed his brother to Harvard. From what we know, he did well. At one point, however, he appears to have gotten into trouble. In a biographical sketch of Harvard graduates, we read that “James found himself caught up in the student riot of 1722 at Harvard, managing to break glass to the value of 11 shillings.” My guess is, he smashed a window.
But time can make a difference, as the parents of any college student know. By the time James graduated with a master’s degree, he was described as “one of the soberest and quietest members of his class.”
Looking for Employment
When James Osgood graduated from Harvard in 1727, he must have wondered what the future would hold. The youngest son of a Salem tanner and church deacon, he had earned a master’s degree, placing him into the upper echelon of Puritan society.
A few months before his graduation, there had been a turning point. An entry in his diary from this period stands out. It’s dated Jan. 1, 1727. It seems James had stopped taking Communion in church. Had he, a college don studying Greek and Latin, entertained doubts? Had he grown skeptical?
For whatever reason, as he now wrote, he repented his neglect of the sacrament and promised to “walk according to the Rules of the Gosple & the Discipline of the Church.” From now on, he covenanted, he would “walk as becomes a true Disciple & follower of our Lord Jesus Christ.”
After graduation, Osgood left Cambridge and returned to Salem, where he began looking for employment. One of his first jobs was teaching school in Salisbury, for which, records show, he received 30 pounds. He was also called on to fill the pulpit as a guest preacher in nearby parishes, giving him valuable experience.
In the fall of 1728 the young theologian received an invitation from the newly incorporated town of Stoneham, which was searching for its first minister. To audition for the job, Mr. Osgood would have to preach in front of the whole town, around 65 families, and get the approval of town voters, all 13 of them, men only. Other candidates would also be invited.
Meanwhile, in Stoneham “it was voted in town meeting assembled to set apart a day for prayer to ask God’s direction in the choice of a minister” (William B. Stevens, The History of Stoneham).
James Osgood was only 23 when he came down from Salem, probably on horseback, to audition for the job. What must have gone through his mind as he entered the simple structure of the Meeting House, erected by the townspeople just three years earlier, and stood before the small congregation. We can only imagine his looks and manner, and the sermon to follow. We can assume he made a powerful impression, because he got the job.
Was it a hard choice for him to make? I wonder when I read that it took him until April to formally accept. Nevertheless a few months later, on Sept. 10, 1729, he was ordained and installed in the Meeting House as Stoneham’s first minister.
All things considered, it was not a bad job. The town voted him an annual salary of 110 British pounds (about $22,000 today). It also gave him 172 pounds ($38,000) “for a settlement,” and agreed to supply him with ten cords of wood for heating and cooking.
At first boarding at the home of Peter Hay, a prominent town citizen, the young bachelor set about ministering to the families of the parish. Besides preaching two or more sermons a week, his duties included teaching, baptizing, counseling and consoling. He conducted weddings and funerals. And he began plans for a parsonage. As Stevens records: “Mr. Osgood purchased land and built him a house which was a fine one for those times.”
A photograph of the parsonage, taken in the 19th century, shows a large house in the traditional saltbox style. Nine windows face the street, and a storage shed is attached at the rear. Cord wood is stacked on the side, and children play in the yard.
We don’t know when the house was completed, but it may have been before 1735, when Osgood, now 30, returned from Killingly, Connecticut, with his new bride. Her name was Sarah Fiske and she was 17. In Stoneham, the couple would have two children, Abigail and John.
From William B. Stevens’ History of Stoneham, 1891.
The Reverend’s Account Books
On August 6, 1729, James Osgood started recording his expenses in two books, preserved in the Congregational Library in Boston. These daily accounts give us clues into the 24-year-old Harvard graduate from Salem, ordained in October as Stoneham’s first minister.
The entries, made in his own hand, are various and include lists, like what books he was reading, the founding of Puritan churches in Massachusetts Bay, and commentary on historical and theological matters. They also record payments received, like one of 56 pounds from Daniel Gould, town treasurer, half of his yearly salary.
Another shows Osgood paying 49 pounds, then another 50, to “Mr. Ebenezer Phillips, yeoman,” for the purchase of land. Below that is payment made to Francis Kittridge–12 pounds, 16 shillings and 6 pence—for 1,000 board feet of lumber for construction of his house.
Most of Osgood’s purchases, however, are for daily necessities, such as 16 shillings paid to David Gould for a bushel of corn. There are also payments for rye, sugar, molasses, tea, salt, beef, veal, and fish. Also, cotton, wool, linen and eiderdown, as well as kettles, tallow and other houseware items. And there are regular purchases of rum.
We also see a stream of payments for workmen building the parsonage. Others for plowing, hauling manure, planting and mowing. There are purchases of animals, including a pig. A payment is made to have Osgood’s horse shod.
Then there are payments for services rendered, like weaving and shoemaking. In one entry, the minister pays Simon Barjona, a cordwainer, one pound for a pair of shoes.
After his marriage to Sarah and the arrival of children, we see purchases that reflect his family, such as a handkerchief, silk, a looking glass and a pair of stockings for Sarah. Also a buckle and a new hat for Johnny, and a frock for his daughter, whom he calls Nabbe.
We find regular payments made to Abigail, the household maid. To employ a household maid must have made a huge difference to the family, especially for Sarah, whose duties as the minister’s wife would have gone beyond household management and raising children. She would have been called on to support her husband’s ministry in various ways, counseling the women and children, visiting the poor and the sick.
In October of 1743, however, payments to the maid cease. From November through January, no further payments are found. For whatever reason, Abigail is no longer employed. It appears the Osgood family is without household support.
In February that is about to change in a way that we, looking back three centuries later, find disturbing. On Feb. 21, 1744, Osgood writes: “Paid away for a Negro woman named (Fibbe) to Mr. Thomas Bancroft, 20 pounds.”
Osgood’s payment of 20 pounds was just a down payment. In March he will make a second payment of 12 pounds. Then in April, as he notes in his account book, “paid for my Negro woman in full, 43 pounds”—bringing the total to 75 pounds.
Reading this, I am stunned. Yes, I’ve known that many prominent families in colonial New England owned slaves. But this feels personal. It is my church, the First Congregational Church, founded in 1729, and in my town, which this year celebrates its 300th Birthday.
How could the minister of my church be a slave owner? Next week, I will conclude my story of the Rev. James Osgood. I’ll tell of his sudden demise and what happened to his family and his enslaved servant, Phebe.
Page 26 of James Osgood’s Account Book for the year 1744.
A Slave in the Parsonage
When James Osgood in 1744 brought home a Negro woman he had purchased, few in town would have questioned his actions or his ethics. Slavery had sprung up in the Massachusetts Bay Colony soon after its founding in 1630. English colonists had initially enslaved natives captured in battle, but found them too difficult to manage.
In 1637 the slave ship Desire, built in Marblehead, left for the Caribbean with 17 Pequot natives, including 15 children, to be sold to Caribbean plantations. Eight months later, the ship sailed into Boston with a cargo of cotton, tobacco and slaves from Africa.
In 1641 the Puritan community published The Body of Liberties, which spelled out rights and obligations of its members. Article 91 sanctioned the owning of slaves.
In Stoneham, as throughout New England, having slaves signaled a family’s success and status. Among owners were merchants, tradesmen, land owners and ship captains. There were also ministers, like the eminent Puritan minister, Cotton Mather, in Boston. Or like James Osgood.
The minister’s own family, his father, Peter Osgood, and uncles, owned slaves in Salem and Andover. When James Osgood arrived in Stoneham, he first boarded with Captain Peter Hays, who kept two slaves. At one time or another, at least eight Stoneham families owned slaves.
Osgood believed, as did Cotton Mather, that it was the duty of slave masters not only to treat their slaves kindly, but to Christianize them, thus to save their souls. In Stoneham, writes Stevens, “The colored people, though in a state of slavery, were admitted as brethren and sisters to the church.” Welcome in the Meeting House, they were restricted, however, to sitting in the balcony.
Church records show that Osgood “received” several slaves into full communion. Among them were “Amos, Negro servant of Deacon Green” and “Pomfrey, Negro servant of Mr. Sprague.” The minister also officiated at their weddings. In 1738 he blessed the marriage of Mingo and Moll, “servants” of Peter Hay, Jr.,” and in 1743 of “Obadiah How, Negro servant of Mr. Souther, married to Priscilla.”
The Puritans in Massachusetts had rejected the rigid hierarchy of the Church of England and instituted congregational reforms that gave the common person more say in church and society. Yet they continued to see themselves as part of the Great Chain of Being, which described their place in the natural order. At the bottom of this chain were natives and Africans.
So it was that Phebe, the woman Osgood had purchased for 75 pounds, was expected to serve the family in perpetuity. Regardless of the degree of kindness shown her, she must labor with no pay and no hope of freedom.
What would eventually happen to Phebe, however, the Stoneham minister would never know, because on March 2, 1745, a few months shy of his 40th birthday, the Rev. James Osgood suffered a fatal stroke.
James Osgood had served the people of Stoneham for 16 years, and his sudden demise must have shocked the town. William B. Stevens writes: “His body was carried to the Meeting House and there attended to grave by several ministers and a great Concourse of People.” He was laid to rest in the Old Burying Ground on Pleasant Street.
For the minister’s family, the loss was enormous. John, his son, was only 6, and his sister, Abigail, 9. Details about the family after his death are few. John Osgood grew up in Stoneham and married Lucy Torrey, and they had one daughter. He then married Jane Libby on January 2, 1781. He died in 1792 in Boston at the age of 53.
Abigail, their daughter, at age 15 married Joseph Bryant, Jr, in Stoneham. He would later fight in the Revolutionary War. They had five children. Abigail lived a long life, 89 years, and died in 1826 in Stoneham.
Sarah, town records show, remarried in 1752 to a Captain Ralph Hart of Boston. She, too, lived into the next century. When she died in 1801 at age 83, she was buried beside her first husband in the Old Burying Ground. In his Brief History of the Town of Stoneham, Silas Dean described her as “a very amiable and excellent person.”
As to what happened to Phebe, the Osgood’s household slave, I found two pieces of information. The first is her mention in the inventory of the Osgood’s belongings, made after his death. The inventory list is chilling, because tucked between items like “A looking Glass, 2 oval Tables, a Desk and Tankard board” and “A bed and furniture, a low Chest with Draws & a Table” is the entry: “A Negroe Woman, 70 pounds,” valued at five pounds less than her original purchase price.
The second is from Stoneham vital records for 1747, two years later. It noted the marriage of “Phebe, servant of Mrs. Sarah Osgood, and Quecoo, servant of Peter Hay, 3d, Mar. 12, 1747.” I could find no further information.
As we look back to our founding, we view it from afar. When Reverend Osgood arrived from Salem, Stoneham had just incorporated as a Puritan community in a British Colony. Yet it was in those times that our town was forged. What followed was earth shaking, the Revolutionary War and the creation of a republic inspired by the Declaration of Independence. Soon after, in 1780, came the Massachusetts Constitution. Authored by John Adams, it became the model for the U.S. Constitution. It was also the basis for the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court ruling in 1783 that ended slavery in the Commonwealth. In the first federal census of 1790, there were no enslaved persons in Stoneham.
For history to have value for us, we must do our best to tell it with honesty. We must acknowledge its complexity. This shouldn’t deter us, however, from paying tribute to the founders of Stoneham, including our first minister and first employee, the Rev. James Osgood. We also pay tribute to all those, enslaved or free, who helped build our town.
Come plant a rose for Cesar, And pick a rose for Delores. Sing a song of peace and justice, Sing aloud de colores.
In a river town called Yuma Cesar’s family farmed the soil, But a banker grabbed their deed, What they’d earned by sweat and toil.
So they loaded up the Studebaker Joined the migrants going west, Picking peaches, hoeing lettuce In the hot sun with no rest.
Years later in Sal Si Puede, Meaning: get out if you can, Cesar, with his new wife, Helen, Chose to make a stand.
He was joined by Delores Huerta, A teacher with a heart of fire. In Delano they formed a union. Si, se puede, is still the cry.
In the valley San Joaquin Filipinos pruned and picked the vines, Getting paid less than braceros, They soon formed a picket line.
Yes, said Cesar, we will join you. We will strike for decent pay. Until the growers sign a contract, On the vines the grapes will stay.
So the workers fought for rights, Marching, singing, organizing, Facing violence, hunger and low wages, Beat down, they kept on rising.
Fought for toilets and clean water, Long-handled hoes so backs wouldn’t break, Housing, health care, and old-age pensions, All that’s due for fairness sake,
For the children, for the parents, Campesinos proud and strong, Bringing us each day our food, Teaching us the justice song.
And still the fight continues. Pesticides still make us sick. Growers, politicians, attack our union Sowing seeds of harsh conflict.
But united we fight on. La Causa is our way of life Until all God’s children work together, Free of fear and want and strife.
Can’t you see the smiles of children? Can’t you hear the songs they sing? Songs of flowers, birds and rainbows, Songs of letting freedom ring.
Things go better with a contract A flower grower one day said. Then to honor Cesar Chavez, That brave Chicano man who led,
They named a new rose after him, A rose deep red so all would know That those who own and those who pick Can jointly sew the seeds of hope.
So plant a rose for Cesar And pick a rose for Delores. Sing a song of peace and justice. Sing aloud de colores.
De colores, de colores se visten los campos en la primavera. De colores,de colores son los pajaritos que vienen de afuera.
De colores,de colores es el arco iris que vemos lucir. Y por eso los grandes amores de muchos colores me gustan a mi. Y por eso los grandes amores de muchos colores me gustan a mi.
Ben Jacques Stories 