In 1860, when St. Joseph’s was built, Moses M. Jones was 30 years old, living in Schenectady. He was married, had real property valued at $1000 and personal property at $2000. Moses was born in Wales; his 28-year-old wife Catherine was from Pennsylvania. Their children were Morris M, Emma and George. His profession was given as “slater.”
Right next door to Moses? More Jones boys, all slaters. There was Morris M. Jones, 28, and his wife Angeline and son Royal. (Angeline was also from Pennsylvania, and Royal and Morris were born there, suggesting the Jones boys swept through Pennsylvania to pick up some brides on their way to the not-yet-Electric City). There was another Morris M. Jones, 19, and a David M. Jones, 16. In that household was another slater, John M. Drake, 20, who had the courtesy at least to have the proper middle initial if he was going to persist in not being a Jones. They lived in a merchant neighborhood on Yates Street, a street that runs between Union and Liberty just east of Broadway that is now little but parking lots. But in 1860, it was slaters, clergymen, tailors, and a patent rights business. In 1863, Moses registered for the Civil War draft, though his age then was given as 39.
But other than this ad, a single census entry, and a draft registration, I can’t find any evidence of Moses. He doesn’t appear in the 1870 business directory. All the Jones boys seem to disappear, except Royal, who shows up in Tacoma, Washington, in 1892. I’d love to report that he was putting up slate roofs, but he was listed as a cook.
By the way, to go by the surviving records, in 1830 Wales was producing people named Moses Jones by the bushel basket.
Interesting that in the 1862 Schenectady directory, Moses Jones listed his residence before his business address.
Fans of St. Joseph’s Church on Arbor Hill in Albany should take note that it was considered (by Moses Jones, at least, who installed it) to be the most complete slate roof in the United States. I have no idea what that means.
“Practical Slater” would have been an excellent name for a Puritan, by the way.
Shoot, a fellow could have a pretty good weekend in Vegas with all that stuff.
The Modus Operandi of the Turkish Bath: “The Bather enters the Reception Room, registers his name, and is there shown into a Dressing Room, where he disrobes, each bather having a separate apartment. A sheet is then provided for him, and he is now ready for the ‘Tepidarium,’ or warm room. There his head is wet with cold water, also drinks freely of water, and reclines or sits on a resting chair for ten or fifteen minutes, until the skin becomes soft and moist. He is then ready for the “Calidarium,” or hot room, until profuse perspiration takes place, the head meanwhile being kept with wet with cold water. He is then taken out and shampooed from head to foot with perfumed Glycerine Soap, which leaves the skin ‘soft as velvet.’ Then comes the Spray Bath, warm at first, then cool, then cold; and so gradual is the change of temperature that no shock is given to the system. When the bather is sufficiently cooled, a hot dry sheet is thrown over him, he is ushered into the ‘Frigidarium,’ or cooling room. Here, reclining or sitting, he remains until thoroughly cool and dry, when he is ready to dress, a wiser, cleaner and happier man.”
THE LADIES GO THROUGH THE SAME ROUTINE.
Funny how the Modus Operandi of the Sulphurous Vapor Bath isn’t given.
In the old days, cities took their reputations as manufacturing centers very seriously, and so did the companies. When inter-company (and intra-family) rivalry broke out in the burgeoning bell industry, one company took pains to point out that only their bells were actually made in Troy; that other pack of scoundrels (who dominated the industry) were in West Troy, across the river in what is now Watervliet. And to some extent it still matters today; I won’t ever buy a Troy-Bilt product again, simply because they’re no longer built in Troy, or anywhere near. They decamped for Michigan years ago.
So I can’t help but feel that the Albany Paper Collar Company, a few miles south of the Collar City, must have always been thought of as putting out a second class product. Not because their collars were paper; don’t forget that celluloid (an Albany invention) hadn’t yet been applied to the collar business. Paper collars were considered a breakthrough. If they were made in Troy. Oh, sure, those Albany collars’ll cover your neck, but they’d never make it in the big town. Nevertheless, they had a very large factory on Broadway, right where the DEC building is today. One guide to Albany claimed it was the sixth largest company in an industry of 70, employing from 40 to 50 persons, “mostly girls,” and that this business also supported the box factory of George Cozine at 283-285 Broadway, “which is fitted up with all the latest improved machinery, and devoted expressly to making the little box into which the collars are put, each box containing ten collars systematically rolled in the least possible room.” The covers of the boxes were ornamented with a fine representation of our new State Capitol.
Norton Street, by the way, is gone. Formerly called Church Street and, until 1835, Store Lane, it ran east from South Pearl Street and ended at Green Street. It is shown as “Nail Street” on the Simeon De Witt maps from the 1790s.
Also, he always had corset bone on hand, sold in quantities to suit purchasers — not like the whole corset bone dealers who required you to take an entire whale’s worth of bone at a time.
Plain Street, which once ran west from South Pearl between Hudson and Hamilton, is no more, destroyed by the South Mall Arterial.