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Frozen in time

Thursday, January 26, 2012

From the collection of Polly Cote Firefighters layed hose across the icy river, but soon the whole east side of the French and Heald plant was "a roaring furnace" and "water poured on seemed useless," according to The Cabinet's account of the 1912 fire that destroyed Milford's largest factory.

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From the collection of Polly Cote Probably taken from an upper floor or roof of the neighboring McLane factory, this photo shows the extent of the blaze that destroyed the French and Heald furniture factory a century ago.

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From the collection of Polly Cote The fire that destroyed the French and Heald furniture factory Jan. 26, 1912 threatened the old Swing Bridge over the Souhegan River. This photo was taken when the fire appeared to be at its height.

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From the collection of Polly Cote Bundled up in the cold, townspeople gathered to witness the fire that destroyed Milford's biggest factory on Jan. 26, 1912.

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From the collection of Polly Cote Heavy smoke comes from the eves and other openings in the French and Heald furniture factory as the Jan. 26, 1912 fire was ramping up.

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From the collection of Polly Cote A postcard shows the east side of the French and Heald Company, one of New England's largest furniture factories, along with the old Swng Bridge across the Souhegan River. The plant burned down 100 years ago today.

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From the collection of Polly Cote Workmen gathered for this undated photo before the French and Heald Company factory burned down in 1912

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Courtesy photo The new French and Heald plant takes shape on the old Dutton lot on Nashua Street in mid-1912.

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From the collection of Polly Cote Firefighters and volunteers man a pumper from Amherst's Lawrence Engine Company as they attempt to pump water from a brook to the French and Heald factory during the fire.

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From the collection of Polly Cote Workers slide to safety on wide boards as they escape the burning French and Heald furniture factory on Jan. 26, 1912.

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From the collection of Polly Cote Firefighters do what they can to stem the fast-spreading flames during the French and Heald furniture factory fire 100 years ago.

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The lone casualty of the great Jan. 26, 1912 French and Heald factory fire, Homer W. Proper was born in Franklin, Vt., June 4, 1862. The son of George L. and Lucy P. Proper, he was educated in Quebec and later studied dentistry in Montreal.

For a time, he had a dental practice in Pelham, after practicing in Virginia and Florida.

In 1900, he married Emogene Burrille of Melvin Village. The couple initially lived in Sunapee, and moved to Milford in 1905 when Proper accepted a job as expert carver at French and Heald Company, a large furniture manufacturer.

With a family military background, Proper helped organize the Sons of Veterans in Milford, of which he was junior vice commander at the time of his death. A gifted bass singer, he also led the Milford Cornet Band and helped found the Milford Drum Corps and the family’s Proper Orchestra.

He also belonged to the Methodist Brotherhood and the Good Will Circle, and was an accomplished artist, his illustrations appearing in many books.

He left his wife, Emogene and six-year-old son, Argyle Burrille Proper of Milford, along with a sister, Mrs. Edward Hyde, and three nieces, Bessie, Beryl and Vera Proper, all of whom lived in Pelham at the time.

By DEAN SHALHOUP

Staff Writer

MILFORD – They didn’t stand a chance. Still, 100 years ago, on Jan. 26, 1912, Milford firefighters ignored the impossible odds, doing everything they could to wring a few more gallons from exhausted pumpers and steamers as they fought one of the biggest fires in the town’s history.

It was the day that the French and Heald furniture factory burned to the ground and threw many people out of work.

Town fire departments a century ago were a handful of eager, brave men with little more than a modified raincoat, hard hat and desire to help their neighbors and community. Back then the enemy – fire – held all the cards, and everyone knew it. Though the balance of power would one day shift on the strength of better organization, education, evolving technology and a robust desire to halt preventable deaths and property damage, such change was still a thing of the future on the frigid Friday morning that wrote itself into Milford history.

When Milford’s roughly 3,000 residents woke to below-zero temperatures that day, their focus was most likely on the wood or coal stove and the heavy, warm clothing they’d surely need for the day.

Down at the banks of the frozen Souhegan, the 150 men who made their living building, refining and finishing furniture hustled across the frozen tundra or the wobbly Swing Bridge – at the end of what is now Bridge Street – and into the warmth of the French and Heald Co. By then, the booming business had become one of the largest manufacturing plants around, its newest improvements a 1905 four-story annex and new dry house built the next year.

Almost every working man or woman in Milford, it was said at the time, worked either at French and Heald, its next-door neighbor McLane Manufacturing or in one of Milford’s dozen or so granite quarries.

By 9 a.m., men and machines were up to full speed over at French and Heald. According to reports, it was just after 9 when someone in the finishing room noticed a bearing on a piece of shafting had become overheated.

Then a spark, and a flame. The finishing room, made of wood, full of wood pieces, shavings and cans of paint and varnish, was a goner.

“It was hardly a minute before the whole room was like a furnace,” the Milford Cabinet reported in its Friday night extra and again in its regular Feb. 1 edition.

Suddenly, horns and whistles resounded across the frozen town. Back then, it wasn’t uncommon to hear them several times a day, usually from factories signalling the start and end of the workday like giant school bells.

But these blasts had a certain urgency to them.

“The frantic blowing of the big whistle warned the men … many had narrow escapes, some jumping from windows and some sliding down boards,” the Cabinet reported.

Flames ate up room after room, wall after wall of the sprawling mill, at just 25 years a comparatively young building. Doors and windows belched group after group of stunned men running for their lives. From the commotion came many a tale of near-misses and a few oddities, like that of John Goss, who was busy varnishing frames on an upper floor when all hell broke loose.

With dense smoke blocking stairways, Goss threw open a window and dropped himself onto a lower roof over the dry kilns. Shivering in the bitter cold, Goss later noticed that he’d never let go of his varnish brush. Calling it the faithful companion that stayed with him through all the excitement, Goss told a Cabinet report he’d keep it forever.

A pall of sadness soon fell over the hectic scene. Missing was 49-year-old Homer W. Proper, an expert carver who’d worked for French and Heald for about seven years. Proper’s initial, successful escape turned tragic on a fateful decision to rush back in, most likely in an attempt to rescue money and valuables from his locker. Later, men searching the rubble discovered “only a few charred remains,” the Cabinet wrote.

Meanwhile, the fight was on. Brave but woefully disadvantaged firefighters, aided by almost every able-bodied bystander, swarmed the roof of the dry house and engine house, training a dozen streams on the main building. Others tried to “draft,” or pump, water from the icy Souhegan.

They didn’t stand a chance.

Fire-proof doors only slowed the inferno, which, having consumed its fill at the main building and the northern end, was now racing south – toward the spot where it came just yards from the McLane mill, a similarly mammoth factory along Nashua Street about where Cumberland Farms is today.

Despite searing heat that drove onlookers to the other side of Nashua Street, firefighters made up their minds they would save at least most of the McLane compound. “A dozen men, almost scorched by the flames, stood on the roof of the McLane buildings and kept them drenched,” the Cabinet reported. Under their feet was another weapon – cases of dynamite – which they would use to blow up a portion of the burning building closest to several cottages across Maple Street, which has since been renamed Pine Street.

Even across the river on Souhegan Street, homeowners were alarmed, mainly by watching giant, blazing embers rise from the inferno and float their way. “The roofs were covered with men shoveling snow onto the shingles,” the Cabinet reported.

By then, help was beginning to arrive. Wilton firefighters “raced down over the road, and a few minutes later Amherst men, with their tub, pulled in,” the Cabinet stated. Appeals for help had also been put out to Nashua and Manchester, the paper said; it was becoming clearer their engines might be the last hope.

But by the time they arrived – some two hours after the fire broke out – the “fiercest of the heat was over and it was plain the firemen had saved the McLane plant,” the reporter wrote.

Subsequent Cabinets were rife with praise for firefighters and volunteers, as reporters and editorial writers covered the aftermath and kept vigil on the question everybody was asking: “Will they rebuild, and if so, will they stay in Milford?”

“Will Continue Business,” shouted a headline in the Feb. 15 Cabinet, to the relief of many, especially those put out of work by the fire. Three weeks later, it was official: Directors voted to purchase the Dutton lot (where Edgewood Plaza is today) and erect a state of the art 70,000 square-foot complex between the railroad and Nashua Street.

Their proposed financing plan for the $85,000 venture might have been a tad unusual – the company would put up $35,000, with the other $50,000 to be raised by the town. Those who contributed would be considered investors, no matter how much or how little they ponied up. The company would treat the funds as a first mortgage, to be paid back with 5 percent interest.

Amazingly, the entire $50,000 was raised within two weeks, and by April, the old Dutton lot was bustling with men and equipment. Work progressed rapidly through the summer and fall, and come December, French and Heald was back in business at its new location.

Dean Shalhoup can be reached at 673-3100, ext. 31, or dshalhoup@nashuatelegraph.com.

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