Photograph

by Patricia Greenhalgh

September 11th

2026

By Clifton (Jerry) Noble Sr.

September 1, Saturday. Uncle Ralph came while I was taking a bath in brook. Elizabeth brought lunch to me and ice cream to him at schoolhouse. He was surprised at how well baby can spin a big ball.

September 2, Sunday. I used Meyerbeer’s “Le Prophete” as prelude for church. After-ward a Springfield man named McCloud said he liked that especially and praised our choir music. He had studied piano with Rudolph Zerkin and taught in private schools such as Deerfield Academy. After dinner I showed baby Bookhouse Vol 1 (which is mostly the best nursery rhymes) and he looked at pictures with new interest.

September 4, Tuesday. Baby is be-ginning to ask for Bookhouse picture book. In evening we took him up to Marion and Mildred’s, bringing ball so he could show them how he spins it and throws it to us.

September 5, Wednesday. Water in well is only 1 foot 11 inches deep so I ran pump 6:25 to 7:50 to fill reservoir. Baby plays a simple “hide and seek” with Mr. Bundy, his toy rabbit.

September 8, Saturday. Baby gets off win-dow seat safely by himself, climbs on couches and beds and sometimes opens and closes doors.

September 9, Sunday. I took baby on my shoulder up through Williston’s meadows where he saw birds and butterflies.

September 11, Tuesday. I took him out to pick mint and sweetfern. He says “cow” clearly and tries most all new words.

September 12, Wednesday. Doris Barnes phoned E this morning and said they have no water because spring has failed with dry weather. Clarence has taken wash to Russell laundry. I met Selectmen Wesley Monat and Milo Cushman at Bear Den Brook bridge which is to be extend-ed with a new $1,200 metal arch. This will permit raising the road grade eight feet. So the hills won’t be so steep.

September 15, Saturday. At laundry Hazel Griffin had me tell her about prices at Sarah Gillette Home. She felt inspired because she is fed up with having her sister getting her to take neighbors on weekly errands. I did ironing at home by 9 a.m., and then got pipe fittings at Huntington Hardware. To Russell for meat but found market closed, so back to Huntington; At home I found Uncle Ralph asleep in his car at schoolhouse. He came to brook with me while I disconnected pump and changed oil in motor. After supper I took E and baby to Westfield where we walked in Grandmothers Garden and Chauncey Allen Park.

September 16, Sunday. At church duet with Carolyn Thornton went well. John Camp sang with us. After baby woke from nap I took him on shoulder up through meadows to visit Stella Williston. She thinks Jerry is the most beautiful child she ever saw, marvels at how bright he is and that he is not afraid of cows in barn like her own grand kids.

September 17, Monday. Bob Fay has named his new daugh-ter Sally Ann. Forms are up for southerly footings of extension of our metal arch bridge.

September 1962

September 19 Wednesday. Town workers poured concrete for footings so they are now ready for placement of arch.

September 20, Thursday. I sawed timbers saved from schoolhouse ceil-ing to make 4 8”x 7’ sills for new woodshed.

September 21, Friday. After sup-per I read Ralph Moody’s Mary Emma and Company aloud to E and baby’s books to him.

September 22, Saturday. I start-ed tearing down old woodshed and burning rubbish, and finished about two p.m. Collected flat rocks for foundation and placed 7”x 8” sills for new woodshed. Uncle Ralph came at 1:30, and said he will soon start going to football games. He went to Worthington to hike. Atwaters visited and mother A took baby for a walk. Both she and Collins came up to remark about my Good Business article. They left at 4:30. Elizabeth came up at 5:30 and was surprised to find I had sills fastened in place and planks laid loosely for floor. 6:30 picked up tools when it began getting dark. E said baby was mad because I didn’t play with him and kept going to the door looking for me

September 23, Sunday. Got up at 6:00 a.m. and to laundry by 7:30. Got newspaper at Chadwicks on Main St., Russell. There were nine in choir at church. After dinner Hester played with baby. I pumped the reservoir full twice and worked on the new woodshed till 7:00. When I took Hester home to Westfield at 7:30 I was surprised to see so many tough looking youths on Elm Street.

September 24, Monday. Very busy in Greenfield and Gran-ville. Took afternoon vacation to work on woodshed roof. Mil-dred Moore wrote to ask if I would mail some things she’d left at Little House so went up to Whitman Hill to get them.

Setember 25, Tuesday. I visited all survey parties in the morning. Started making equipment index cards. Coulson says there are lots of termites in his area of West Springfield. Got Po-laroid film at Zayres and took vacation time for afternoon. Kath-ryn Cole, the retired kindergarten teacher who recommended

Calvert School correspondence lessons for me as a child and Dorothy Atwater visited Mrs Cole noticed how advanced baby is in use of his hands. Her son, Philip, my best childhood friend was 40 in July and lives in Lincoln, Nebraska. I got building paper on woodshed roof just before rain. Mrs Barnes phoned E that they still have no water.

September 26, Wednesday. On way home at 1:00 p.m. was held up half hour by Gene Washburn’s Grade all placing extensions for metal bridge arch over Bear Den Brook.

September 27, Thursday. Stopped at Sarah Gillett Home to see Hester. Broken eaves trough leaked rain into Miss Sibley’s room below H’s . However I thank God for this rain.

September 28, Friday. Was very busy ar Greenfield office. Ed Hawkins will help me with equipment lists. To Marcoul-liers to pay lumber bill and get 5 pounds of 8 penny nails. Got gas, groceries and home. Worked most of afternoon vacation on DPW records and daily accounts

September 29, Saturday. Uncle Ralph helped me get a few boards on sides of woodshed. He suggested putting a small door in the north wall for removing firewood. Mamie has two grown kittens in the well house.

September 30, Sunday. Foliage is very colorful. After sup-per I took Hester home over Russell Mountain. Baby says, Gramma, Grampa, Mommy, book, car, cow, God, hat, and his name, Derry.

“I started tearing down old

woodshed and burning rubbish...”

packaged. The federal government needed tax revenue, and tobacco provided one source. An excise tax was imposed in 1862, and regulations surrounding cigar packaging and tax stamps followed. By the mid-1860s, wooden cigar boxes had become a familiar part of the tobacco trade.

At nearly the same time, color lithography was coming into its own. Cigar manufacturers quickly recognized its ad-vertising possibilities, and boxes became increasingly color-ful and decorative as companies competed for customers’ attention.

Once the cigars were gone, however, those wooden boxes were often too useful to throw away. People turned them into containers for buttons, keepsakes and lunches, as well as clocks, lamps and all sorts of homemade projects. Even-tually, some became musical instruments.

For the average working man in the mid-1800s, a manufactured guitar could be expensive. Making an instrument from available materials offered another possibility. A cigar box already provided a hollow wooden sound box. Add a neck, some strings and a little ingenuity, and you had the beginnings of a cigar-box guitar.

We also know these homemade instruments were appearing during the Civil War era. Artist Edwin Forbes, who documented military life, created an 1876 im-age showing two soldiers at camp, with one playing a cigar-box fiddle. The picture offers an early glimpse of the same make-do ingenuity that would remain part of homemade American mu-sic for decades.

By the late 1800s, cigar-box instruments were spreading through word of mouth, printed instructions and simple experi-mentation. Homemade instruments could be found in a vari-ety of musical settings, particularly among people who did not have ready access to commercially made instruments.

New Orleans provides one colorful example. Groups such as the Razzy Dazzy Spasm Band became known for making music with improvised and homemade instruments. Such groups are often mentioned when discussing the musical environment that helped lead toward early jazz.

Vaudeville provides another example. Larry Fine, later fa-mous as one of the Three Stooges, was a musician from an early age and has also been linked in cigar-box-guitar histories with

Cigar Box Guitars

this broader homemade-instrument tradition.

Blues musicians provide still more examples of how in-expensive homemade instruments could serve as an introduction to mu-sic. Lightnin’ Hopkins and Big Bill Broonzy were among those whose ear-ly musical experiences reportedly in-cluded simple homemade instruments before they moved on to conventional guitars and professional careers.

Blind Willie Johnson has one of the more interesting stories. As a youngster, he reportedly learned on a cigar-box instrument made by his fa-ther. He later became famous for his slide-guitar playing, sometimes using a pocketknife as a slide. His remarkable recording “Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground,” made in the late 1920s, shows just how expressive a simple slide technique could become in the hands of a gifted musician.

Homemade stringed instruments also occasionally found their way onto early recordings. One often-cited example comes from 1931, when James “Beans” Hambone Albert and El Mor-row recorded music featuring a slack-stringed instrument as part of the accompaniment.

But cigar-box instruments were not confined to blues mu-sicians or recording studios. As the 20th century progressed, instructions for making homemade instruments appeared in newspapers and magazines, including publications such as *Popular Mechanics*. Builders could find plans for guitars, fiddles, mandolins and other instruments made from ordinary materials.

During World War I, soldiers overseas also built homemade instruments. Cigar-box guitars, ukuleles and fiddles offered en-tertainment and probably provided a welcome break from mili-tary life. Eventually, inexpensive factory-made guitars became easier for ordinary people to buy. Once a commercially manu-factured instrument was within reach, the cigar-box guitar was no longer as much of a necessity.

But, it never completely disappeared. Cigar-box fiddles, mandolins and other specialty instruments continued to turn up, especially in places where homemade music had strong tra-ditions, including parts of Appalachia and other rural areas.

Then, beginning in the 1990s, interest began growing again. The do-it-yourself movement, renewed enthusiasm for roots music and the internet all helped introduce a new generation to an old idea: You do not necessarily need an expensive instru-

ment to make music.

The instruments themselves come in many forms. The sim-ple one-string diddley bow, with Afri-can roots, is an important ancestor of the cigar-box guitar. Today, you can find two-string “chuggers,” tradition-al three-string CBGs, four-string tenor versions and even six-string cigar-box guitars.

Construction varies just as much. Some are intentionally rough and primitive. Others are built with the precision and craftsmanship you would expect from an experienced in-strument maker. That variety is part of what makes building and playing them so interesting.

Modern musicians have also kept the homemade-instru-ment tradition visible. Seasick Steve became especially popular in Europe and frequently performs with homemade and uncon-ventional guitars. Jack White of the White Stripes brought ad-ditional attention to the idea of building and playing unusual homemade instruments in the 2008 documentary *It Might Get Loud*. Justin Johnson has become one of the better-known modern players and ambassadors for the cigar-box guitar. Sa-mantha Fish, a blues-rock guitarist and singer, has also incorpo-rated cigar-box guitars into her performances, bringing her own energy and style to the instrument.

Today, cigar-box guitars are built and played around the world. They can be heard at festivals, in recorded music, in movies and, of course, on back porches. The cigar-box guitar is more than just an odd homemade instrument. It has a place in blues history and American popular culture, but perhaps its greatest appeal is even simpler than that. It shows what can happen when someone looks at an ordinary wooden box and thinks, “I wonder what I could make out of that?”

More than a century later, builders and musicians are still answering that question. And if you want to see just how many different ways a cigar box can be turned into a musical instru-ment, YouTube is an excellent place to start.

of products. During World War I, one of its most important uses was in luminous watch and instrument dials that soldiers could read at night.

To meet demand, companies hired hundreds of workers—mostly young women—to paint those dials by hand. Dial-paint-ing operations existed in New Jersey, Illinois and Connecticut, where Waterbury and surrounding clockmaking communities were part of a thriving watch and clock industry.

The work required precision. Each woman used a small brush to paint tiny numbers and hands on watch faces. The brushes quickly lost their point, so workers were taught to shape them with their lips before dipping them back into the glowing paint. Lip, dip, paint. Over and over again—sometimes hundreds of times a day.

They were told the paint was harmless.

It wasn’t.

The paint contained radium mixed with other materials, and every time the women shaped the brushes with their lips, they swallowed small amounts. Day after day, week after week, it built up in their bod-ies. Some of the women even painted their fingernails or teeth for fun, unaware of the danger.

These workers often painted anywhere from 30 to 300 dials a day. The women and girls believed they were doing respectable, even important work—especially during wartime. For women at that time, these factory jobs also offered rare fi-nancial independence.

But they came at a terrible cost.

The first signs of trouble were often dental. Dentists began noticing unusual patterns—loose teeth, infections that wouldn’t heal and jaws that seemed to deteriorate. Dr. Harrison Martland, a New Jersey physician and pathologist, later helped establish the connection between radium exposure and the illnesses ap-pearing among dial painters.

The condition became known as “radium jaw.” But it didn’t stop there. Radium could settle in the bones, where its radiation continued damaging surrounding tissue. The women suffered fractures, anemia, bone deterioration and other serious illness-es. Some died while still in their late teens and twenties.

What makes this story even more troubling is that the com-panies involved had reason to suspect the danger. Scientists working with radium took precautions—using lead screens

The

Radium Girls:A Luminous Promise,

a Dark Legacy

and protective tools—while the women on the factory floor were given none. Yet they continued to be instructed to put the brushes in their mouths.

When illnesses began to ap-pear, the response from company leadership was not transparency, but denial.

United States Radium Corp. president Arthur Roeder resisted findings that linked the women’s illnesses to radium. In some cas-es, blame was shifted onto the women themselves. Poor hygiene was cited, and unrelated diseases were suggested as explanations for symptoms that were becoming increasingly dif-ficult to dismiss.

It’s hard to imagine today, but young work-ing women at the time had very little power—and even less credibility when challenging the companies that employed them.

It took determined individuals to bring the truth forward. Industrial-health pioneer Dr. Alice Hamilton learned that a report prepared for the company had been altered in a way that minimized the danger. Journalists helped bring national attention to the issue, and at-torney Raymond H. Berry took on cases that many others refused.

The legal fight began in the mid-1920s. It was slow, and many of the women didn’t have time. Some were already gravely ill by the time their cases moved forward.

In 1928, five New Jersey dial painters reached a settlement with United States Radium Corp. Each received $10,000, a $600 annual payment for life and coverage of medical expenses.

It was something—but hardly enough to account for what

they had endured.

Still, their fight changed history.

The Radium Girls helped es-tablish greater recognition of a worker’s right to seek compensa-tion for occupational disease and unsafe working conditions. Their cases also contributed to chang-ing attitudes toward workplace safety, employer responsibility and the handling of radioactive materials.

And just as importantly, their story shed light on the treatment of women in the workplace. These were young women—some still teenagers—expected to follow instructions without ques-tion. They were paid by the piece, pushed to work quickly and discouraged from taking slower methods that could reduce production.

In many ways, their health was treated as expendable.

As I sat in that lecture in Winsted, I couldn’t help but think about how close this history is to home. Connecticut’s clock and watch industry is something we often take pride in—and rightly so. But this story is part of that legacy, too.

It reminds us that progress is not always clean. Innovation, without responsibility, can come at a terrible human cost.

The Radium Girls were not scientists or activists when they began their work. They were simply young women trying to earn a living. But in the end, they became something more—their voices, their suffering and their courage helped change the system for those who came after them.

That is a legacy worth remembering.

Waterbury Clock Co.

November 1998

“Sit down. I’m sorry. I’m letting you go.”

You know betrayal.

And you’ve probably experienced disappointment, too.

I thought my life would go this way. I never thought I’d be battling cancer and chemotherapy in my 40s. I never thought I’d be a single parent. I never thought my child would lose his or her way. I never thought I’d be unemployed.

Disappointment. I’ve felt it. And something tells me you’ve felt it, too.

So, what do you do? What do you do when life lets you down?

You do three things.

First, you adjust to reality.

The Bible says, “We can make our plans, but the final out-come is in God’s hands” (Proverbs 16:1). In other words, we can map out our lives, but God will have the final say. That’s the way life is for me, and that’s the way life is for you.

You may ask, “But why would God allow this to happen to me?”

The Bible says, “‘I don’t think the way you do. My plans are different,’ declares the Lord. ‘For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so high are my ways above your ways and my thoughts above your thoughts’” (Isaiah 55:8–9).

In other words, God operates on a whole different level than we do. Complaining about what has happened won’t change it, and arguing with God won’t make the difficulty disappear. At some point, we have to adjust to reality rather than expect reality to adjust to us.

Second, you keep moving.

There’s an old saying: If you’re going through hell, keep moving. Maybe you can get out before the devil even knows you’re there!

The Bible offers a similar reminder: “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me” (Psalm 23:4).

It doesn’t say, “When I enter the valley, I set up camp.” It says, “I walk through.” I keep moving. I keep going.

In other words, don’t wallow—walk! Don’t moan—move! Don’t be a pushover—push on! Don’t make excuses—make progress! Don’t let your situation define you—let it refine you!

When Life

Let’s You Down

Third, you make the best of it when you’re getting the worst of it.

You say, “Okay, I’m divorced. I didn’t want it. But that’s the reality. Now I have to keep moving forward and make the best of it.”

Or, “I have this health issue. I’m going to deal with it. I’m going to learn to thrive, not just survive.”

Or, “My finances aren’t what I planned. But I’m going to sit down and make a new budget and a new plan. It’s not over. I’m just passing through this valley.”

You adjust to reality. You keep moving. And you make the best of it.

If you learn to make the best of it, I believe your story can still have a happy ending. Because, friend, God’s got this.

What do you do when life lets you down?

You adjust. You keep moving forward. You make the best of it.

And if you feel like life has let you down, here’s a simple prayer you can pray:

“Father, I’m going through a tough time, a dark valley. Help me to feel Your presence in that valley. Help me to feel Your love when I need it most. I ask for Your blessing and strength as I go forward. I pray this in the name of Jesus. Amen.”

sister Clara was born in Sydney, New South Wales, on Dec. 22, 1885. By 1888, Elizabeth’s father, John, was working in the cop-per mines in the Outback town of Cobar, where another daugh-ter, Margaret, was born. A son, William, followed in 1890.

In 1892, Elizabeth returned to England with her mother, Mary; sisters Clara and Margaret; and brother William. By 1901, the family had reunited near Rathfriland in Barnmeen, North-ern Ireland. Two more children, Robert and Sarah, had joined the family in 1896 and 1898.

Elizabeth was on the move again in 1907. She sailed from London aboard the Arabic and arrived in New York on Oct. 19. The passenger list described her as 5 feet 8 inches tall, with dark hair, a dark complexion, and hazel eyes, and record-ed her birthplace as Rathfriland, Ireland. Her desti-nation was Pittsburgh, where her uncle Gordon Wal-lace lived. Gordon was a widower with several adult children, but Elizabeth stayed there only a short time.

By 1910, she had moved to Southwick to live with her aunt Mary (Wallace) Nicholson. Elizabeth’s younger brother William was also living there. Both were de-scribed in census records as “cousins” to other members of the household, which included the widowed Mary and her sons Robert C. and John B., who managed the farm. William had ar-rived at the Port of New York in December 1909 aboard the same ship, the Arabic, that had carried Elizabeth two years earlier.

Elizabeth married her cousin John B. Nicholson in New York City on Feb. 1, 1912. Their son, Amos, was born in Southwick on July 23, 1912.

How did Elizabeth, who was born a Rowney, become owner of the Moore House from 1915 until her estate was settled in 1934? In 1915, her husband, John B. Nicholson, acquired the in-terests of the other heirs in the estates of his deceased mother,

World Traveler

Elizabeth Nicholson

Owner of the Moore House, 1915–1934

Left: The Arabic - Brought travelers from England to America

Top: View of Great Cobar Copper Mine along Harcourt Street from Barton Street - Cobar, NSW

Bottom: Cobar (later Great Cobar) Mine in 1874 (Plate VI, Report on Cobar Copper and Gold Field, E.C. Andrews, 1911)

Mary, and brother Robert. The deeds listed the consideration as “$1 and other valuable considerations.” The heirs included John’s brother James; his sisters Martha Barnes, Mary Barry, and Margaret King; seven sur-viving children of his deceased brother Thomas—Emma, Thomas, William, Robert, Harry, Clara, and Sadie—and one of Thomas’ grand-children.

A few months later, Elizabeth petitioned the court for a decree of separate support, alleging cruel and abusive treatment and habit-ual intoxication. The request was granted. A $5,000 payment was secured through an attachment of John’s real estate, including the Moore House property, and a deed transferred the property to Eliza-beth. Despite the change in owner-ship, Elizabeth and John were still listed as married and living in the Moore House in both the 1920 and 1930 Southwick cen-suses.

Their son Amos died on Sept. 28, 1922, and was buried in New Southwick Cemetery.

Robert Chambers Nicholson and his wife, Mary (Wallace) Nicholson, had purchased the extensive Moore House property by 1875. Members of the Nicholson family continued to live there until Elizabeth’s death in 1932. Her estate was settled in 1934, ending the Nicholson family’s ownership of the property.

Six of Robert and Mary Nicholson’s eight children were born in County Down, Northern Ireland. Their two youngest daughters, Martha and Mary, were born in Suffield, Connecti-cut, and Southwick in 1872 and 1875, respectively. Three sons died relatively young: Thomas at age 38 in Suffield; William at age 34 in Southwick in 1902; and Robert C. Nicholson Jr. at age 52 in Southwick in 1913. William and Robert, neither of whom married, appear with their parents in the earliest known photo-graph of the Moore House held by the Southwick History Mu-seum, taken in 1894.

By 1900, daughters Margaret, Mary, and Martha were mar-

ried and living elsewhere—Margaret in Westfield and Mary and Martha in California. Son James and his second wife, Margaret (Wallace) Nicholson, remained nearby in Southwick with his five children. His first wife, Ella (Ives) Nicholson, had died in 1895. James was 92 when he died in 1952 at the Glastonbury, Connecticut, home of his daughter Dollie.

John B. Nicholson, Elizabeth’s husband, was born in County Down, Ireland. He traveled with his parents and siblings to the Port of New York in 1872, settled in Southwick by 1875, and remained there until after Elizabeth’s death in 1932. He later left town and, like Elizabeth, spent part of his life on the move. He died in Brattleboro, Vermont, on July 12, 1954, and was buried with Elizabeth and their son Amos in New Southwick Cemetery.

For Elizabeth Rowney Nicholson, a life that began in North-ern Ireland and carried her to Australia, England, the United States, and eventually Southwick found one of its longest chap-ters at the Moore House—a local home with a remarkably well-traveled owner.

The Nicholson House (known as the Moore House). In 1894 the Family of Robert Nicholson was living there. Robert is shown seated; his son William is on his right, and his wife Mary and son John (Eliza-beth’s future husband) are on his left.

to offer.

Cultivating a talent also requires direction.

I once read of a competition among young plowmen who were asked to plow the straightest furrow. Some watched the plow handles. Others watched the ground immediately in front of them, but their rows wandered.

One young man looked between his horses toward a tree standing at the far end of the field. His furrow remained straight because he had a fixed point to guide him.

That is a lesson worth remembering. Know what you are trying to grow. Keep your eyes on where you want to go. Dis-tractions will always be present, but a clear direction helps us use our energy wisely.

We all travel through stages of development to become the people we are today. Life has shaped us, just as seasons shape a garden. And it is never too late to plant something new.

After 76 years of experience, I have also learned that what surrounds us matters. A successful garden depends partly upon its environment, and people do, too. Surround yourself with those who encourage growth, friendship and mutual respect. For me, personal faith has also been part of those deep roots.

We have a neighbor, whom I’ll call Les, who demonstrates this kind of fruitful living. He is an older man accustomed to taking early-morning walks every day. He remains active, shares what he knows and willingly helps others without ex-pecting a material return.