W. Ray Freden

Inside of Franklin’s shop, 1959.

Franklin’s Dad, Decker, would show up in the shop from time to time for a small repair or advice. No advice was asked from me. In fact, I wasn’t even acknowledged! I was the young “whippersnapper” that didn’t know anything. So I just went about my work, but eavesdropped.

Of all the silent encounters, this one took the cake. One day, just before noon, Decker came in and confronted Frank with his problem. He had a flat tire on his 1946 Chevy Truck. He wanted to take a tire off his Ford model AA yard truck and put it on the Chevy.

Well, I being a motor head, and having worked at the Seaview Garage for two years, knew it couldn’t be done. I decided to offer my two cents, so I spoke up and said, “Mr Hatch . . . ”

Well, without looking at me, Decker said, “My friends call me Decker!”

So I came back with, “Decker, the wheels won’t interchange. The Model A Ford wheel is five lug, and the Chevy is eight lug.”

Well, . . . silence. Then he asked Frank if he would take the wheels up to the Trading Post and swap tires on the rims.

Little did I know then, the Chevy tire was showing canvas and all the Ford tires were bald.

So, once again I butted in and told Decker that the tires were different sizes and wouldn’t interchange either.

Well, there was silence and no comments. Out the door Decker went!

Lunch time came, and I headed out to the Trading Post for a burger. As I stopped at Union Street, I took a look down the drive to the mill and there were the two trucks jacked up in front, with wheels leaning against them. Decker and his workmen were home for lunch, so I drove down and took a look. It was sad — two trucks, twelve bald tires, one or two showing canvas! There were no tires streetworthy, and nothing interchangeable.

The road truck

The yard truck

After  lunch, I asked Roger, the Trading Post mechanic, about the tire guy that sold used tires. I gave Roger the size for the Chevy. He said he would call and get a price.

Back to work I went. Decker showed up after lunchtime to discuss his situation with Franklin. Frank relayed my info to Decker. He asked Frank how to get the truck to Roger’s for new tires? Frank looked at me and hesitated. I took the hint and told Decker to remove one of the dual rear wheels and put it up front. I’m sure Decker or his workers knew that, but it was not mentioned.

The next day at lunch, there was Decker’s Chevy truck on the lift, being fitted with a set of used, driveable tires!

The next time Decker came in the shop, he did speak to me, but not by name. Oh well, all in a day’s work with “Swamp Yankees.”

by Ray Freden, Marshfield, 70 years.

“Knowledge and timber shouldn’t be used until they are seasoned.” – Oliver Wendell Holmes

Next: Part 3 — Decker was a hard worker.

As long as I can remember, my Mom and Dad would go to shop in Rockland or Brockton. We would cross town to Pine Street then turn onto Union Street. As we slowed or stopped at the end of Pine Street, my Dad would always point and say, “That’s the oldest saw mill around these parts still working.”

Hatch’s Mill. Photo by Ray Freden.

I never saw Mr. Hatch that I remember, until my Dad went to buy some lumber in
the summer of 1947. When my Dad was in the yard selecting the lumber he needed, I wandered into
the shed where the saw was. I saw someone pitching sawdust out from under the machinery.

I said, “Hi.”

He responded with a “Hi.”

“I’ll never get all of this out!” he exclaimed.

He crawled out, brushed himself off and said, “Wanna see it run?”

“Yep,” I responded.

He told me to stand there and don’t move. I did, and didn’t move.

He disappeared into the other room and then the saw started to move, . . . then faster.

He returned and climbed over the machine, then pulled a lever, and the whole machine moved toward me with a huge log on it. It then suddenly returned and a large board fell to the side. It amazed me how easily the saw cut through the log.

 

My father returned and we left with boards tied to the top of the car. That was my first meeting with Franklin Hatch, Decker’s son. Little did I know that I would be working for Franklin nine years from then.

After WW2,  when we passed Decker Hatch’s house, the front lawn was filled with lawn ornaments and whirlygigs. These were the products of Franklin Hatch, Decker’s son. He developed woodworking skills and was making lawn ornaments in his Dad’s cellar. He also supplemented his income by trapping the North River for muskrat, mink, otter, beaver, fox and anything legal to trap.

In 1947, Franklin got married and moved into a small home two houses up the street from his parents. While Franklin was still working for his dad, he started making picnic sets. in his cellar shop. The demand grew to the point that he needed a larger shop, and working at the mill wasn’t going to support a new family.

His Dad gave him a piece of land across Pine Street, where Frank built a new shop. The picnic furniture grew and whirlygigs declined. Soon there came a demand for inside furniture, and new products were developed.

Franklin’s furniture business grew to the point that he needed help. I would stop in to his shop many times because of my interest in woodworking. I had gotten laid off from a carpentry job in December of 1955. I mentioned this to Frank. He asked if I wanted a job?

“Sure do,” I said. I started work on January 2nd, 1956.

—-

Coming next, part 2 . . . when Decker would show up at Franklin’s shop—-

by Ray Freden
Marshfield resident 70 years

Another Saturday trip from Seaview was out the length of Summer Street. We are now going to Scituate to shop.

If you recall in my last blog, we got to Prospect Street. and through the Hills.

Half way up Prospect St. looking easterly, to Summer St. East Marshfield Railroad Station ,far L.  Note the wood street sign in the island,L. side.

So around the ”S” curve at the bottom of Prospect Street and up the long hill. On the right was a marsh fed by the Hannah Eames brook and high tide water. This became become Murdocks Pond in 1958. It had nothing to do with supplying water for the trains. A huge colonial home stands looking over the now pond.

The 1918 N. Phillips house Summer St. 

 

As we climb the hill, houses are stacked side by each on the west side, while the east side is bordered by a long, well-built stone wall.

Looking SW. from behind the stone wall, toward Marshfield Hills.

Near the top of the hill on the right is a huge mansion with a masonry stone wall. The lawn was neatly groomed and there were many red cedar trees around the buildings. In the spring, there were flowering trees everywhere. This was known as the Lampson estate. It is now owned by a member of the Aerosmith band.

The  Lamson  Estate.  922 Summer St. c.1930.

 

As we approached Stoddards Corner, on the left was an old wood sign with a  finger pointing toward Boston. “To Boston” was painted on the sign, a collectors item of today.

Next on the left was a half cape house in complete disrepair and falling in, a former Ewell home. At the very end of Summer Street was another mansion, with a huge barn across Summer Street.

Stoddard’s Barn on Summer St., looking from Spring St.

This is  overlooking  the North River., across from the home of South Shore’s Audubon.

Looking NE. over the North River  to Wills Island, Scituate. The Old Colony Railroad tracks run across the marsh in front of the Island.

The original road, Bridge St., in foreground, Replaced by now Main St in 1927.. This Street ran across Summer St. and is now Patricks Ln.Patricks Ln. looking S.

We then would merge onto Route 3A, and go down the hill to cross the North River. As we approached Little’s Bridge, there was the Toll House on the right — long gone in my time.

The Little’s Bridge Toll House.

Now, looking back, S., Little’s Bridge, The Toll House on L., & a car coming down Bridge St

 

Lew’s Bait Shack Rte 3-A Scituate.

Painting by    W Ray Freden.

Over the bridge on the right was a shack sitting on some fill that was flooded at most high tides. A clammer from out of town established a bait shop called Lew’s to sell bait, clams, lobsters and fish bought from local fishermen. Clams and lobsters were kept in the pools out in the marsh to keep them fresh.

When Lew ran out of inventory, he wandered out to a pot hole and retrieved a fresh supply. Lobsters could be bought fresh, or cooked on weekends.Route 3A was the main route to Humarock Beach for the summer residents. Lew’s provided the tourists fresh seafood for the weekend.

I was once told that Lew would bring a few buckets of fill to dump on his claim every time he arrived. Also, certain customers would receive a few extra clams for a bucket of fill. I have no proof of this rumor.

”There’s always room for a story that can transport people to another place”   J. K. Rowling

Ray Freden, Seaview/ Marshfield, 70 years.