Lyndell’s Bakery

Lyndell’s Bakery, the long-standing Ball Square establishment, has been serving cakes, donuts and other treats since 1887. Across four owners and over one hundred years of operation, the store remains mostly unchanged with its decor recalling a bygone era of American life and its pastries made each day according to antique recipes. Amid changing storefronts, new neighbors and a growing community, Lyndell’s has been a well-loved Somerville tradition.

Birger C. Lindahl was born in Sweden in 1866. Upon arriving in the United States in 1882, he began using the Americanized spelling Lyndell. On May 5th, 1887, the same year he founded the bakery, Birger married Mary Emma Allen, an American whose father was from Maine and mother from Ireland, at St. John’s Episcopal Church in Boston. Eight years later, on October 11th, 1895, Mary gave birth to the couple’s only son: Allen August Lyndell, named for Mary’s family and Birger’s father August. The Lyndell family moved around for several years, to Boston, Newton and Malden, before settling down in Somerville’s Powderhouse Square, just a short walk from the bakery. Around this time, in 1904, the Lyndells made a cross-Atlantic trip to Sweden, presumably to introduce Mary and Allen to Birger’s relatives there. In a time before commercial air travel, this was no easy jaunt. Their return passage to the United States required them to sail from Gothenburg, on Sweden’s Western coast, to Liverpool, England and from there to traverse the Atlantic Ocean aboard the SS Cretic to Boston. A few years before, in 1901, the Lyndells made a much shorter trip from Dudley Square to Sullivan Square as passengers on the Boston Elevated Railway’s inaugural ride along that route. Seventy-five years later, Allen was one of a dozen or so surviving passengers invited to ride the first Orange line train from Sullivan Square down to North Station.

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Birger Lyndell

Birger and Mary were both greatly involved in their civic community. He served as a member of the New England Bakers Association as well as several fraternal societies in the area, including the Somerville Lodge of Freemasons. She was deeply committed to veteran’s causes and served as Secretary of the American War Mothers of Massachusetts and as President of the Welfare Association of the 101st Engineers, the Massachusetts National Guard battalion to which their son Allen belonged during World War I. In 1937, Birger and Mary celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary in the gold room of the elegant Hotel Kenmore in Boston. Befitting their many connections and commitments, the large party had over one hundred guests, including Somerville Mayor Leslie E. Knox. On August 22nd, 1944, Birger Lyndell died at age 80. Almost exactly one year later, Mary Lyndell, Birger’s wife for over fifty-seven years, died at age 84.

Birger Lyndell sold his bakery to Eugene and Albert Klemm, a pair of German-born brothers, in 1932. Both Klemm brothers came to the business with considerable experience. Eugene had been living with his sister Maria and her husband Frank Favorat in Malden. Frank owned Nelson’s Bakery in Malden and employed Eugene as a baker. Around the same time, Albert was living in Lynn with their uncle Carl and his family. Carl owned Klemm’s Bakery in Lynn where Albert learned his craft. After purchasing Lyndell’s, both brothers moved to Somerville: Albert with his wife Erica and Eugene with his wife Clara and their daughter Louise. In 1972, the Klemms sold the bakery to Herman and Janet Kett, two long-time Lyndell’s employees. Eugene hired Herman in 1959 and sponsored his immigration to the United States. Herman, 24 years old at the time, had been a baker’s apprentice in Germany and found the job through a neighbor there – Eugene and Albert Klemm’s mother. Janet had grown up across the street from Lyndell’s and began working there at age 14. She and Herman met at the store and later married. Under the Ketts’ management, the Klemm family continued to be involved with the bakery. Eugene continued to keep the books and helped out during the holidays. Walter Klemm, Eugene and Albert’s nephew, has been Lyndell’s master baker for over thirty years, and has worked for the Ketts as well as the store’s current owners.

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Lyndell’s Bakery in Ball Square.

When Lyndell’s current owners purchased the bakery in 2000, they also bought the store’s collection of hundred-year-old recipes. Included among the pies and strudels are Lyndell’s moons, which have become one of the bakery’s featured items. A moon, a disc of golden yellow cake frosted with white buttercream on one half and chocolate on the other, is similar to New York City’s famous black and white cookies but with a lighter base – more of a fluffy, moist cake than a dense, crumbly cookie – and creamier frosting, rather than the stiff fondant that tops the black and white. Moons are popular throughout upstate New York and New England and Hemstrought’s Bakery in Utica, N. Y. is sometimes attributed with inventing the treat. Lyndell’s says it has been handmaking moons for over one hundred year, which puts Hemstrought’s, opened in 1925, claim into question. One theory suggests that both moons and black and white cookies are American descendants of a German cookie, one with a similar base but frosted entirely in white. That cookie is, however, commonly known as an “amerikaner” (“American”) in Germany, which leads to a chicken-and-egg situation: did Germans bring the cookie to America, or did Americans bring the cookie to Germany? Both answers may be true, with German and Jewish immigrants first bringing the recipe to the United States in the 1800s and the cookies later becoming so popular with American servicemen in WWII, who were reminded of sweets they had eaten at home, that amerikaners were named in their honor.

Porter Square

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The North Cambridge neighborhood known today as Porter Square takes its name from Zachariah B. Porter, a highly successful innkeeper once described as “a host no one could excel and very few could match.” Porter’s Hotel was demolished long ago to make way for new developments and his large cattle stockyards are now occupied by houses and business blocks. However, Porter’s name persists throughout the square.

Zachariah B. Porter, “Old Zach” as his patrons and friends called him, was born in 1797 in Vermont. In the early 1830s, Porter managed the Cattle Fair Hotel, a large hotel near the Brighton Stockyards. Brighton was, at the time, an important center of commerce for New England’s livestock industry and droves of cattle, sheep and pigs were brought down from Maine, New Hampshire and elsewhere to be slaughtered and sold. Porter remained in Brighton until 1837, when a falling out with the Cattle Fair’s owner, John Bennett, led him to a new business venture across the Charles River in Cambridge. Porter and his business partners – Colonel George Meacham and carriage manufacturer Ebenezer Kimball – purchased a recently foreclosed stockyard, slaughterhouse and hotel that had been constructed in 1931 by Sylvester Edson. The Cattle Market Hotel’s new owners would rename the business Porter’s Hotel, and under their watch it would become a Cambridge landmark.

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Porter’s Hotel

The hotel, a drab-colored, three-story wooden structure with a row of gabled Lutheran windows projecting out from its sloped roof, stood at the corner of Massachusetts Avenue and Upland Road. The surrounding stockyards occupied seventeen and a half acres and stretched all the way north to today’s Creighton Street. Cattlemen from as far away as Michigan would bring their droves to Porter’s before selling them in the Boston markets. In 1843, the Fitchburg Railroad was built through Porter Square, allowing even greater numbers of stock animals to be brought to market. Porter capitalized on the growing cattle trade and catered to the drovers’ needs – boarding cattle in the yards for free and offering discounted meals (drovers often ate for twenty-five cents while other patrons might pay a dollar or more for the same fare). Porter’s legendary hospitality quickly attracted the attention of well-to-do Cantabrigians and Harvard students, who were served side-by-side with the visiting cattlemen. People of all stripes appreciated the hotel’s beautifully decorated dancing hall, fresh cuts of beef and athletic contests and Porter’s became a fixture of the Cambridge community for generations.

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The Porterhouse Steak at Peter Luger Steakhouse in Brooklyn

How famous was Porter’s Hotel? So famous it may have left a permanent mark on the American menu. Although competing legends exist, one theory asserts that the popular porterhouse steak may be named for the North Cambridge tavern and its beloved host. The porterhouse, a thick cut of beef with a T-shaped bone dividing a New York Strip Steak (also known as a top loin) and a large tenderloin filet, may have been first served at the hotel sometime after the Civil War, according to a report from one of Porter’s former cooks. Skeptics have pointed out that Old Zach’s establishment was always referred to as “Porter’s Hotel” and never “Porter’s House.” In the 1800s, many taverns did bill themselves as “porter-houses” after the dark, malty porter beers they served. Two such establishments – one in Manhattan and the other in Georgia – claim to have invented the porterhouse steak. Sandusky, Ohio also claims to be the steak’s birthplace. The story goes that, while on a 1842 tour of America, author Charles Dickens spent an extended stay at the Porter House, a Sandusky hotel. Later in his trip, in Buffalo, N. Y., Dickens requested “a steak like you get at the Porter house in Sandusky.” Dickens’ Buffalo innkeeper wrote Sandusky for the recipe and later advertised that his establishment sold a “Porter-house steak like Charles Dickens likes.” An 1842 register from the Sandusky Porter House bears Charles Dickens’ signature, but his thoughts on the steak (and what it was called) were not recorded.

Zachariah Porter died in 1864 and was buried in Mt. Auburn Cemetery. Following his death, the hotel was leased to Amos Pike, who continued to operate an inn on the premises. The neighboring cattle markets were closed in 1871, but the hotel persisted with a succession of proprietors at the helm. By 1901, the tavern had come under the management of Edwin I. D. Houck, who had occasional run-ins with the law over illegal stores of liquor kept at the hotel. Houck disappeared one night in August 1901 and his wife Cora became the hotel’s new proprietor. The Cambridge papers at the time reported that “domestic infelicity is attributed to his sudden disappearance,” suggesting that he may have run out on his wife and skipped town. In 1903, Caroline Porter, Old Zach’s daughter, sold the property to real estate managers William F. Brooks and James J. Conley, who already owned much of the land in the surrounding area. Under Brooks and Conley, the hotel was mostly unsuccessful and in 1907, they moved the building to the back of the lot so that a more modern business block could be put up on the corner. The hotel was converted into apartments, which proved to be an unpopular venture. By 1909, Brooks and Conley had demolished the historic inn and built a large garage in its place.

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Adjutant General Josiah Porter

Many turn-of-the-century articles eulogizing Zachariah Porter and his famous hotel also make mention of his son Josiah. Born in 1830, Josiah was a Harvard graduate and led a decorated military career. He served as Captain of the Massachusetts 1st Battery during the Civil War and later as Colonel of the 22nd Regiment of the New York National Guard. In 1886, he was appointed Adjutant-General of New York (the state’s highest military office). He died on December 14th, 1894 after suffering a stroke while aboard the Third Avenue elevated train in Manhattan. He was buried near his father in Mt. Auburn Cemetery. In 1902, the 22nd Regiment honored his memory with a statue in Van Cortlandt Park in the Bronx. The inscription reads: “erected by the National Guard of New York in appreciation of his fidelity as a patriot, his qualities as a soldier and his services on behalf of the National Guard.”

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Gift of the Wind

Today, Porter Square’s most eye-catching feature is Gift of the Wind, a large-scale steel sculpture set nearly fifty feet in the air. The sculpture, three red, balloon-like wings which flip in the wind and rotate around their aluminum base, is located just outside the Porter Square MBTA station and across the street from the former location of Porter’s Hotel. It is one of the most recognizable pieces in the MBTA’s art collection and was commissioned as part of the “Arts on the Line” initiative in 1985. Its sculptor is Susumu Shingu, an Osaka-born artist who has created large, kinetic installations for public spaces around the world. The Boston area is home to two other Shingu works: Echo of the Waves, a marine life-inspired piece outside the New England Aquarium, and Wind Traveller in Eastport Park.

Inman Square

The Inman Square neighborhood is named for a notable British loyalist. The incredibly wealthy Ralph Inman owned a vast estate that stretched across much of today’s Cambridgeport area where he threw lavish parties for the colonial high society. When revolution broke out, Inman fled to Boston, abandoning both his property and wife in Cambridge. After the war, he returned home to reclaim and rebuild his life there.

Ralph Inman was born in 1713, most likely near Burrington, England where his brother Rev. George Inman served as a clergyman. Ralph became a successful merchant, importing textiles, pottery, glass, beer and wine to the American colonies. In 1746, the 33-year-old Ralph married the 19-year-old Susannah Speakman at King’s Chapel in Boston. Susannah was the daughter of William Speakman, a prominent Boston landowner and a warden of King’s Chapel, and his wife Hannah Hackeril Speakman, both born in England. Ralph and Susannah were very close with Susannah’s twin sister Hannah and her husband John Rowe, a Boston merchant for whom Rowe’s Wharf is named. Much of what we know about the Inman family was written down in John Rowe’s diary or is provided in letters between the Inmans and Rowes. Also surviving are portraits of Ralph and Susannah by the artist Robert Feke. The two paintings were left to Hannah Rowe who willed them to the Inmans’ granddaughter Hannah Rowe Linzee Armory. They were owned by many subsequent generations of descendants until 2004, when they were given to the Harvard Art Museums. Susannah died in 1761 at age 34.

Ralph Inman, painted by Robert Feke in 1748

Ralph and Susannah had three children survive to adulthood. Their daughter Sarah “Sallie” Inman died unmarried in 1773, predeceasing both her parents. Their two other children, George and Susannah “Sukey” were both involved with the British war effort. Sukey married a British Navy captain named John Linzee in 1772 and sailed for England soon after the wedding. The wedding itself was a grand affair, held in Ralph’s large home near today’s Cambridge City Hall (on what is now Inman Street). He threw a similarly extravagant party earlier that year to celebrate George’s graduation from Harvard College. According to John Rowe, the graduation bash was attended by 347 guests, with 210 seated around one massive table. The attendees included the Governor and Lieutenant Governor of the colony and many other “gentlemen and ladies of character and reputation.” The event held such notoriety that a 1906 anniversary pageant included the party among its scenes of life in eighteenth-century Cambridge. The Linzees returned to Boston with their infant son Samuel in 1775, only days before the beginning of the American Revolution at Concord’s North Bridge on April 19th. Captain Linzee was given command of the Falcon and fought in the Battle of Bunker Hill. As a British Naval family, the Linzees led a nomadic life, as demonstrated by the birth records of their ten children. Sukey went with her husband as the revolutionary battlefront moved south. She gave birth to their third child (their second child, Hannah, was born soon after their return to Boston) during a 1777 naval battle on the Delaware. Unfortunately, this child did not survive the delivery. Her next daughter, Susannah, was born in Barbados, then a British colony, in 1779. By 1783, the Linzees had returned to Plymouth, England where Sukey delivered four more children. Two more, Mary and George were born in Boston, Mass. in 1789 and 1792. Sukey died in Boston in 1792 and John in Milton, Mass. in 1798.

Susannah Speakman Inman, painted by Robert Feke in 1748

With the colony erupting into war, George Inman became an enlisted soldier in the British army, a decision to which his father objected. During the Battle of Bunker Hill, George served in the Light Company of the 4th (also known as the King’s Own Regiment) under the command of his friend Captain William Glanville Evelyn. The following year, George sailed for New York aboard Captain Linzee’s Falcon. He was present for the Battle of Long Island, in which the British forces were victorious, and participated in the capture of five American officers prior to the battle. He continued on to the Battles of Fort Washington, Trenton and Princeton before wintering with the rest of his regiment in Perth Amboy, N. J. In the spring, George sailed for Virginia and fought in the Battles of Brandywine and Germantown. He spent his second winter as a British infantryman in Philadelphia where he met his soon-to-be wife Mary Badger. The couple married in April 1778. He served in the Battle of Monmouth that June, but a long illness kept him away from the war for the remainder of the year. Now a Lieutenant, George was sent to England in December 1779 as an army recruiter. In England, he and his wife visited several friends and relatives who had sought refuge from the revolution. The American Revolution came to an end while the Inmans were abroad. They spent the next several years moving around England and Ireland before sailing across the Atlantic again in April 1788, this time headed for the British colony on Grenada. While aboard the ship to Grenada, George and the rest of his family became very ill. On land again, most of the Inmans recovered however George and his son John did not. Both men died sometime in early 1789.

For ten years after his wife Susannah’s death, Ralph Inman remained a widow. He was remarried in 1771 to Elizabeth Murray Campbell Smith, who had been widowed twice herself. She and her first husband, a Scotsman named Thomas Campbell, had both been successful in the merchant trade and Elizabeth had used the profits made selling millinery goods to purchase several properties in Boston. The death of her second husband, James Smith (they married when Elizabeth was 34 and Smith 72) in 1760 greatly increased her already considerable wealth and she inherited several additional properties, including a sugar refinery in Boston and Brush Hill, Smith’s country estate in Milton. Following Smith’s death, Elizabeth returned to her native Scotland, where the Murray family could trace its root back to the Norman Conquest. During her stay in Scotland, her affairs in Massachusetts were poorly managed and when she returned home to Boston she began the work of righting her finances. She reacquainted herself with Ralph Inman, whom she had known since her early days as a merchant and shopkeeper. They had been business associates as well as friends and he was a frequent dinner guest during her marriage to Smith. In September of 1771, Elizabeth and Ralph married at King’s Chapel, a move intended to benefit both parties financially. Their marriage included an unusual prenuptial agreement, giving Elizabeth the right to keep her estate intact and gift or will it away according to her desires. In turn, Ralph would receive income from his wife’s properties during their marriage.

Elizabeth Murray Campbell Smith Inman, painted by John Singleton Copley in 1769

Elizabeth and her husband were separated at the outset of the American Revolution. Just before the war began, Ralph travelled to Boston to visit with his recently arrived daughter and son-in-law. The rebel army quickly set into Cambridge and it was decided that Ralph would remain in Boston rather than risk a trip home. The Inmans had been friends of the American Major General Israel Putnam and he made sure Elizabeth was well-treated in the occupied city. During the Battle of Bunker Hill, General Putnam dedicated a small guard, including his son Daniel, to patrol the Inman property and protect Elizabeth and her young nephew and nieces (living with her at the time). Elizabeth would later relocate her family to the Brush Hill estate in Milton. With the Inman property vacated, General Putnam made the house his headquarters and had barracks erected on the grounds. The war eventually marched away from Cambridge and the Inmans were some of the few loyalist families who were able to reclaim their property and status in the new American nation. Elizabeth’s estate was still quite substantial at the time of her death in 1785. Despite their prenuptial agreement, there were several disputes over her will with Ralph and George Inman on one side and Elizabeth’s nieces and nephews (she had no children of her own, but helped raise her brother’s after he fled to England) on the other. The feud reached a pitch with Ralph and his allies defaming Elizabeth as a “deceitful woman” who had given her husband “ill treatment” in life. While the estate was eventually settled, the bitter feelings lasted for decades.

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The Inman House, before 1907

Ralph Inman died in July 1788. His son George had no surviving male heirs, and the estate passed to George’s four daughters, who sold the Cambridge property to Leonard Jarvis. The estate, which in Inman’s time had included half of Cambridgeport, running east to Lafayette Square and north to the Somerville line, passed to Jonathan Loring Austin in 1801. Austin had the estate divided up into lots with the Inman home occupying a lot bordered by Massachusetts Avenue, Harvard Street, Austin Street and Bigelow Street (near today’s Cambridge City Hall). This reduced parcel was purchased by Benjamin Bigelow, a merchant and politician, who occupied half the house while his daughter and son-in-law, Deborah and Isaiah Bangs, lived in the other. Following Bigelow’s death, the home was sold to Samuel Allen and following Allen’s death it was sold again to real estate developer Albert Vinal who relocated the home to the corner of Brookline and Auburn Streets, south of Massachusetts Avenue. At its new location, the Inman home was divided into units and developed a reputation as a slummy, “third-rate” tenement building. The house is no longer there, a modern apartment building stands in its place. On Inman Street, a stone tablet marking the original location reads, “in 1775, General Putnam had his headquarters in the house which stood here.”

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Inman Square, c. 1905-1915

The intersection of Cambridge, Beacon and Hampshire Streets has not always been known as Inman Square, nor has the Tory’s namesake gone without challenge. Prior to 1876, the neighborhood was known as Atwood’s Corner, presumably after James Atwood, a ship chandler (one who supplies oil, rope and other essential goods to sailors) from Chatham, Mass. who moved to the area around 1842. Atwood made his home at the corner of Hampshire and Beacon and was one of the area’s only residents for some years. James ran a grocery store, the Atwood stand, in the square which helped associate the man’s name with that of the corner. Although the intersection is best known as Inman Square, an official plaque bears the name of David I. Calnan. Calnan, a US Navy ensign, died in battle in 1944 in Naples, Italy at the age of 23. He had grown up in the neighborhood and in 1945, it was proposed that the square be renamed in his honor. Only a few years earlier, an unsuccessful attempt was made to rename the square after Cambridge Councillor Edward J. Sennott, who had died unexpectedly in 1933 and had been a lifelong resident of the city. Sennott Park, at the corner of Broadway and Norfolk, was named instead.

The Death of Holland Bennett

Part 1: The Life of Silas Holland

In Part 1, I wrote about the life of Silas Holland, for whom Holland St. in Somerville is named. Part 2 describes the unexpected death of Silas’ grandson Holland Bennett. While on vacation in Italy, Holland disappeared without explanation. He was never heard from again and his body was never found. The story became international news, appearing on the front page of papers around the world. Several explanations were posited, one eventually became conventionally true. The whole story, however, can never be known.

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Front page headline from The New York Times, June 12th, 1909

In May of 1909, Holland Bennett, a twenty-seven-year-old lawyer, wed Lucetta Averill Upham. Both bride and groom came from well-to-do Cantabrigian families – Holland’s father was President of the Cambridge Electric Light Company and Fresh Pond Ice Company while Lucetta’s was City Auditor. Holland and his bride had known each other since a young age, growing up together on Linnaean St. in the Avon Hill neighborhood. Both families were part of a closely knit community and for many years, the neighborhood children held an annual fundraiser in the Bennetts’ living room for the nearby Avon Home, a charitable organization for children in need. Their relationship continued into college, with both attending school nearby at Harvard and Radcliffe. The couple’s many long ties were well reflected in their wedding, with siblings, childhood friends and others from their university days standing at their sides. The ceremony was presided over by the Reverend Edward S. Drown (ironic, given Holland’s eventual fate) and was described in The Boston Globe as “one of the most brilliant of the season.” To celebrate their nuptials, the couple planned a three-month European voyage, it would be their only trip together as husband and wife.

After their wedding, the Bennetts set sail for Italy. In Naples, the newlyweds stayed at the brand new Hotel Excelsior. Constructed the year before, the fashionable Belle Epoque hotel boasted crystal chandeliers, elegant marble floors and a prime location overlooking the gulf. Holland and his wife took short trips to nearby Pompei, Sorrento and Capri. While aboard the ferry to Capri, the Bennetts made the acquaintance of William Sallmon, a Yale professor on his way home from China. He would later recount the saga to the press in New York, who incorrectly recorded his name as “Sallman.” Enjoying each other’s company, the trio drove together to Anacapri at the island’s center where they parted ways. By coincidence, Holland, Lucetta and Prof. Sallmon were reunited in the galleries of the Vatican in Rome. That evening, Holland shared with Sallmon that their restful Mediterranean  honeymoon was intended to have medicinal effects. Some years before their wedding, Holland had developed a stomach ailment serious enough to require multiple surgeries. It was hoped that a break from the stress of school and career would spur a recovery. In Rome, however, Holland seemed to be waning. The next morning, at Sallmon’s suggestion, the Bennetts agreed to cut their original trip short – forgoing their plans in Venice and Switzerland – and instead follow the professor through Florence, Pisa and Genoa to Naples and eventually home across the Atlantic.

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The Hotel Excelsior in Naples, c. 1908

By most accounts, the steamship Berlin left Genoa on the morning of Thursday, June 10th, 1909. The ship, built in 1908, was to stop in Naples before making its first return trip to the United States. Holland and Lucetta met for lunch in the early afternoon and were seen strolling the decks arm in arm. The timeline of what happened next differs depending on the source, but what seems generally agreed upon is that Lucetta accompanied a group of American women to the ship’s saloon while Holland went above deck for a smoke. Sometime that evening, possibly before dinner possibly as late as midnight, Lucetta left the saloon in search of Holland. When she was unable to locate him, she took the news that her husband had gone missing straight to the captain.

Initially, the Berlin’s Captain Langreuter, with his twenty-six years of experience at sea, doubted that a man could jump or fall from the deck unnoticed. He organized a thorough search, examining every cabin and area of the ship from bow to stern and from the uppermost decks down to the cargo hold. Langreuter also retraced the path from Genoa, sweeping the sea’s surface with a searchlight for several miles. He suggested, however, that there would be very little chance of recovering a fully-clothed body at sea. His death unconfirmed in the search, it was thought that Holland may still be alive, disguised aboard the ship, and hoping to escape unnoticed into Naples. Guards and officials scanned the face of every man leaving the Berlin and kept watch over all decks on the chance that Holland snuck away over the side (similar methods of surveillance were employed when the ship next docked at Gibraltar). While no motive for escape was ever put forward, some employees held onto a belief that Holland had jumped ship and swam to the island of Caprera (off the coast of Sardinia, hundreds of miles from Naples). Even assuming the newspapers misreported the island’s name and that the crew actually believed Holland swam to Capri, which the Berlin probably passed in close proximity as it entered the Bay of Naples, it seems highly unlikely that Holland would engineer his honeymoon with an ulterior motive to exchange a comfortable life in America for one of an anonymous Italian vagabond. Given his reported poor health, it also seems unlikely that he was physically capable of making the swim. Lucetta kept faith that a body may be found on the Berlin and when it arrived in New York City it was given a final search.

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S. S. Berlin

Captain Langreuter thought Holland was hiding, the police in Naples thought he had been kidnapped. Neapolitan authorities searched buildings near the harbor and the involvement of the Neapolitan Camorra, a centuries-old criminal organization analogous to the Sicilian mafia, was suspected. The Camorra effectively ran Naples with many politicians and public officials firmly in their orbit. Two theories quickly formed. The first was that Camorra associates had snuck their way onto the ship and murdered the wealthy American for any petty cash and jewelry he had on him. Then, it was supposed that the men dumped the body overboard and either swam to shore unnoticed in the night or exited disguised when the ship arrived at port. The second theory, favored by the police, was that Holland was kidnapped by Camorra gangsters and would be returned for a hefty ransom. The Camorra theories may have been attempts to link Holland’s disappearance to another breaking story at the time. That same week, a wave of arrests were made in Ohio. The apprehended were members of the Society of the Banana, a criminal organization with ties to Naples. It was suggested in some places that Holland was murdered in a revenge plot against the United States or kidnapped as a bargaining chip. Holland’s family in Cambridge doubted the validity of these Camorra theories and, after searching the Neapolitan slums and the Berlin without turning up any leads, the police also ruled out gang involvement. In 1911, forty Camorra members were put on trial in Italy. Gennaro Abbatemaggio, a Camorrist turned police informant, became a leading figure of the proceedings and listed several ill deeds allegedly performed by his former cohorts. Among the crimes listed was the robbery and murder of Holland Bennett. Abbatemaggio was said to be unfaltering on the stand, delivering consistent testimonies. Whether his stories came from memory, imagination or were supplied by the prosecution was left somewhat in question. When news of the trial reached Cambridge, the Bennett family reaffirmed their skepticism in the local press.

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Members of the Neapolitan Camorra on trial in 1911

If foul play could be ruled out, then it seemed increasingly likely that Holland’s death was a suicide – an answer which satisfied the police but not the man’s widow, nor his family in Cambridge nor many who met him aboard the steamer. It may seem unlikely that a man with Holland’s wealth and prospects would choose to end his life during an idyllic honeymoon along the Tuscan coast. However, the interiors of Holland’s mind are wholly unknown to us and the gleaming surface of his life may have obscured insurmountable anxieties submerged deep below. Many firsthand accounts suggest that Holland’s final days were joyful, with other passengers describing his light-hearted nature. Postcards which arrived home from Rome and Florence depicted a cheerful trip and contained anticipation for the upcoming school year at Harvard. But, other accounts describe a young man in dire health exhibiting increasingly erratic behavior. According to Prof. Sallmon, Holland grew more dejected throughout their time together. In Genoa, he was diagnosed with acute melancholia – characterized by a gloomy, depressive state – and he told his wife he believed his condition to be incurable. Two further anecdotes (which are difficult to place in the timeline and possibly conflict with other descriptions) indicate a harried mental state. Prof. Sallmon related to The Boston Globe that while aboard the Berlin, Holland “attempted to crawl through the porthole of his cabin and after a little while ran from the cabin” while Lucetta reported  that Holland “suddenly left her in their cabin and that she had been unable to find him in any of the general rooms or on any of the decks.” Trying to determine a motive, police questioned Lucetta about any fights they may have had that day. Unable to stomach the thought, she broke down and wept, leaving the question unanswered.

Many close to Holland chose to believe his death had been accidental – that he had suffered a seizure while above deck, tumbled over the railing and drown in the sea. Reports from Prof. Sallmon, Lucetta and Holland’s family make this theory seem the most likely. Holland had been dogged by health problems since at least 1906, when he underwent a major surgical stomach operation. His recovery was slow and he developed signs of nervous hysteria and vertigo. While his trip was intended to spur recover, Holland continued to flag in Italy and sought medical advice from an American consul in Pisa. Learning that the nearest sanitarium capable of sufficiently treating him was in Switzerland, Lucetta decided to return Holland to his doctors’ care in the United States. According to Prof. Sallmon’s report to the Boston Evening Transcript, Holland’s health took a sharp turn while on course for Naples. In the early evening, Holland found Sallmon in his cabin and requested accompaniment to the ship’s surgeon. Sallmon needed a minute to gather his belongings and upon emerging could not locate his friend, the implication being that he plummeted to his death in the short time it took Sallmon to get ready. It came to light only afterwards that Holland had suffered a similar attack in Cambridge and had been found unconscious in the street. He kept the information secret from his friends and family, consulting only with a physician. Holland’s father Josiah Quincy Bennett attested that accidental death was the only possible solution in the Cambridge Chronicle and Whitman Bennett threatened legal action against the North German Lloyd company (which operated the steamship) for not taking sufficient measure to monitor his brother’s health.

“My son must have fallen overboard on the night on which his absence was first noticed. He could not have committed suicide, nor could he have been killed or kidnapped by the Black Hand. I have always been thoroughly intimate with my son’s affairs. In them was nothing to cause his to commit suicide. He was abroad on his wedding trip. His affairs had been left in the best of shape; there was nothing on his mind even to worry him. I know he never had any trouble or even in the slightest way came in contact with any Black Hand societies. He never had anything to to do with the arrest of any members of that society in Ohio, as has been intimated, or anywhere else.”

-Josiah Quincy Bennett in the Cambridge Chronicle, June 19th, 1909

None of the reporters covering the story (and there were several – articles appeared on the cover of The New York Times, The Boston Globe and regional papers across the country) seemed to suspect Holland’s wife of murder. However, in the age of Lifetime television, Star Magazine and Gone Girl, it feels impossible not to wonder if this was a honeymoon homicide. Money seems to be the obvious motive here and the Bennett family had considerable wealth. After his death, Lucetta received Holland’s entire estate of $5,000 (comparable to about $750,000 today). This is no small sum, but if money was her only motivator, it does seem like she stood to make a lot more if her husband, a young lawyer, had survived to have a lengthy and successful career. Lucetta, whose parents lived down the street from Holland’s, came from money herself and may not have been too interested in her husband’s wealth. Perhaps even more telling of her innocence is the close relationship she maintained with the Bennett family. The Bennetts and Uphams were united in their grief and Holland’s brother Whitman was with Lucetta’s parents when they met her at the docks in New York City. Upon returning to Cambridge, she moved into what would have been their marital home, around the corner from her parents and in-laws. For several years she continued to be a member of the Avon Club, an organization through which the Bennetts, Uphams and other families in the neighborhood held charitable fundraisers. Six years after the incident, in February 1916, she remarried – to Harry Peabody, an insurance man. After the wedding, still a young woman at 31, she began life with her second husband in Wellesley Hills.

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The Yale Foreign Missionary Society in China. Prof. Sallmon is the man holding a hat in the front row.

While researching this article, I grew suspicious of Professor Sallmon, the mysterious stranger who coincidentally enters the story at multiple points. Sallmon’s account informed much of the press coverage and helps establish the severity and urgency of Holland’s illness. It includes private encounters that cannot be confirmed or denied by other parties and places Sallmon and Holland together minutes before the latter’s death. If Sallmon was Holland’s killer, it seems plausible that he could use what he had learned of Holland to fabricate a believable story of accidental death. Truthfully, my theory may be been based on a hundred-year-old typo: the newspapers universally and incorrectly refer to the professor by the name “Sallman.” Finding no evidence of a Yale-affiliated William Sallman, I began to suspect that the man the Bennetts met in Capri was some roguish conman or imposter. In reality, William Sallmon was a benign divinity professor returning home from China, where he had spent a year running the Yale Foreign Missionary Society. Several sources mention his time at both Yale and in Minnesota where he served briefly as President of Carleton College. Years after the incident on the Berlin, Sallmon moved to Chula Vista, Calif. where he became a leading figure in the early days of the state’s avocado industry. Perhaps the erroneous name should not be attributed to the press, but to the man with whom they spoke. Imagine that the real Professor William Sallmon meets a charismatic psychopath enroute to America. That man later adopts Sallmon’s identity, misspelling the name “Sallman”, and meets the Bennetts at Capri. Perhaps spotting an easy mark in the sickly rich man, perhaps jealously obsessed with this happy young couple, perhaps falling delusionally in love with Lucetta, Holland or both, “Sallman” stalks them to Rome. While in Rome, he ingratiates himself to the newlyweds, gains their confidence and convinces them to follow him to Florence, Genoa, Naples and eventually New York. At sea, he finds himself alone with Holland and murders him (as intended or in an escalating confrontation). Before the boat reaches New York, “Sallman” concocts a story and relays it to the reporters. He escapes to adopt a new persona, or to live as “Sallman” without the real professor’s knowledge. The theory is obviously unlikely, however it is not impossible.

None of the theories are entirely impossible. The historic record, based on incomplete testimonies, perceptions and hearsay, fails to construct an exact, accurate account. Instead, it offers a pointillist array of data points and facts from which a likely, agreed upon truth can be discerned. Over time, the hundred years between now and then, the image fades. Fewer sources exist today to shade and color our understanding of the information. When accounts conflict, we are left unable to reconcile the facts and must concede that aspects and angles of this story cannot be defined. Ultimately, only one person could possible know what happened aboard that ship, and even Holland Bennett may have missed out on the full picture of his death as it developed around him.

Holland Street

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Part 2: The Death of Holland Bennett

Holland St., the road joining Davis and Teele Squares in Somerville, Mass. was named for Silas Harvey Holland, a carriage maker, farmer and politician who spent a large part of his life in Somerville. Silas was born in Boston in 1814 to Samuel Holland and Martha Rogers Holland. Born in Liverpool, England, Samuel made his living in America as a sailor. Only a few months after the birth of his son, Samuel captained a ship out of Boston and was lost at sea. Silas and his older brother James, two years old at the time, were left fatherless. Martha remarried in 1819 to Ephraim Trowbridge, a wool merchant from Marlborough, Mass. The Hollands moved to Ephraim’s hometown, where he and Martha had four children of their own.

The family relocated to Northborough, Mass. While there, Silas learned the carriage maker’s trade. In 1835, his new career took him to Cambridge, where he found employment with the railroad car manufacturers Davenport and Bridges. The firm was one of the most successful railroad car companies of its time and owned factories in Cambridgeport and Kendall Square. Silas remained with the business until 1853, when health problems caused him to retire. His working days behind him, Silas and his family moved to West Somerville, purchasing a farm on Broadway from Thomas Teele in 1856.

In Somerville, Silas raised fruits and vegetables for sale in a small market-garden operation. In his 35 years on the farm, he became well-ingrained in the community, rising to several civic positions. In the local government, Silas spent several years as an Assessor and was elected to the Board of Selectmen from 1866 to 1869. He lent his reputation and talents to the Somerville Savings Bank where he served as a Trustee and Vice President and to the Somerville Hospital where he was a founding board member. Silas took an active role in the city’s religious life – he was a board member of the Park Avenue Methodist Episcopal Church, which was organized by a group of Methodist families in West Somerville seeking a larger meeting place for their religious services. He was also a Vestry member of the St. James Episcopal Church, a Cambridge church located at the corner of Massachusetts Ave. and Beech St. The church organized a mission chapel near Teele Square in 1876, where Silas also served. He may have felt compelled to give back to Somerville on account of being one of the city’s wealthiest residents. An 1888 article in The Boston Globe lists him as one of a small number of rich men living in the city, with “something like $200,000” (comparable to about $40,000,000 today).

Silas Holland

Silas married Sarah Shattuck Locke of Lancaster, Mass. on May 13th, 1844. Sarah, the daughter of Major Jonathan Locke of Charlestown and Mary Tufts Locke, had worked as a school teacher before marriage. The couple was married for 54 years until Silas’ death on September 23rd, 1898. He lived long enough to see his namesake road laid out in the late 1860s. Sarah would follow him ten years later in November 1908. Both she and Silas are buried in Cambridge Cemetery.

The Hollands had three children – Harriet “Hattie” Reed Holland, who never married; James Franklin Holland, who died in infancy and Sarah Jane “Jennie” Holland, who married Josiah Quincy Bennett in 1879 and who had five children of her own: Holland, Harold, Ruth, Edward and Clark. Like his great-grandfather, Holland Bennett met his untimely end at sea. While on his honeymoon in Italy, Holland disappeared aboard a steamship to Naples. His mysterious and shocking death became international news with rampant speculation concerning his final moments appearing in papers across the country. Was it suicide? Murder? Was he still alive? Read more in Part 2: The Death of Holland Bennett.

Magoun Square

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Though not a native Somervillian, John C. Magoun was joined through marriage with one of the city’s most influential and historically prominent families. The house he lived in, which was continuously occupied by his wife’s ancestors and descendants for over 175 years, remains one of the oldest structures in Somerville and, of its era, the best preserved. He enjoyed longevity too as a civil servant, holding several positions in the local government, and left his name in the Magoun Square neighborhood of his adoptive home.

John Calvin Magoun was born on December 11th, 1797 in New Hampton, N. H. to Rev. Josiah Magoun (1759-1841), whose family descended from Scottish immigrants, and Anne Sleeper Magoun, whose father Stephen was a church Deacon in her native Acton, Maine. Josiah was a veteran of the Revolutionary War – he joined the continental soldiers at the Battle of Bunker Hill and served for three years at Plattsburgh, Ticonderoga and Crown Point before returning to civilian life. Josiah settled first in Acton, Maine before moving his family to New Hampton where the Magouns raised eight children (seven boys, including John, and a daughter). John was educated in New Hampton and at Atkinson Academy in southern New Hampshire before migrating to Somerville at age eighteen.

John C. Magoun

In Somerville, John met his wife Sarah Ann Adams Magoun, a relative of the Presidents Adams and the Tufts family. Sarah was born in 1802 to Joseph and Sarah Tufts Adams and married John on Dec. 30th, 1824. She lived nearly her entire life in the same home and was born and died in the same room. Her father, like John’s, was a military veteran, having aided in the fortification of Dorchester Heights and having stood guard at the Winter Hill encampment where British and Hessian troops were held prisoner. Through her mother, Sarah was a member of the Tufts family, for which Tufts University and Nathan Tufts Park were named. Sarah’s grandmother, Anne Adams Tufts, also joined in the war effort, first nursing wounded soldiers in her home after the Battle of Bunker Hill and later offering comfort to the dying wife of an enemy soldier imprisoned at the Winter Hill camp. Long after her death, Anne Adams Tufts’ name was given to the local chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution. Their founding charter was framed in the wood of an apple tree grown on the Adams-Magoun estate, which was also used to make the chapter’s presiding gavel. John and Sarah Magoun’s daughter Helen Magoun Heald served as the chapter’s founding Regent.

Medford St., Feb. 1961

John and Sarah lived in the Adams-Magoun House, located at 438 Broadway. It was built in 1783 by Joseph Adams and is one of the oldest extant buildings in Somerville. Colonial American history is imbued in the fabric of the house – timbers taken from the fort at Winter Hill were reused in its construction. Much of what is now the Magoun Square neighborhood was then part of the family farm – their 71 acres stretched from Broadway to the southern slope of Winter Hill, along the Boston and Maine Railroad, and from Hinckley St. to Central St. On this land, John ran a dairy farm as well as the Winter Hill Nursery, where he raised a wide variety of fruit and ornamental trees for sale.

The Adams-Magoun House; 438 Broadway

John held several esteemed civic positions. He was a founding member of the First Unitarian Society of Somerville. He also captained a local militia and was present for the reception of Gen. Lafayette on the Boston Common during the general’s tour of the United States in 1825. John and his men were also in attendance for the laying of the cornerstone of the Bunker Hill Monument in Charlestown, over which Gen. Lafayette presided and where Representative (later Senator) Daniel Webster gave an oration. John served Somerville for 34 years as town Assessor and for 22 years as an Overseer of the Poor, collecting poor taxes from the city’s more fortunate and administering relief money to the poor. In addition, he was a member of the School Committee and Sealer of Weights and Measures.

John and Sarah had nine children, at least one of which died in infancy. Of the seven which survived their father, sons John A. Magoun and Charles Magoun moved away to Sioux City, IA and Chicago, IL respectively. Two more daughters, Amelia and Lucy relocated within Massachusetts. After Sarah’s death on March 6th, 1876 and John’s on Jan. 8th, 1882, their children continued to occupy the Adams-Magoun house. In 1943, John’s granddaughter Cora Butman died, leaving the house to her daughter Helen. Helen Butman, an artist, continued to own the house until her death in 1960.

Sketch of Magoun Square. The Adams-Magoun House is above Central Street on the map.

The intersection of Broadway and Medford St. has not always been known as Magoun Square. For a while, it was called simply “The Corner,” as the bars and water troughs made it a popular crossroads for thirsty travellers. While his name is largely forgotten today, Darius W. Pollard was nearly immortalized in “Pollard Square.” Pollard was a druggist and operated the Pollard Square Pharmacy. John Magoun’s legacy won out, however, after his son-in-law Henry Woods, an official with the West End Street Railway Company, had the Magoun name placed on streetcar signs.

Davis Square

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Most Somervillians are familiar with Davis Square, home to the Somerville Theater, Rosebud Diner and many other historic Somerville landmarks. But, how many know the history of its namesake, Person Davis, who made his home there at a time when West Somerville was only sparsely inhabited farmland.

Person was born into a military family on June 1st, 1819 in Princeton, Mass. His grandfather was a veteran of the Revolutionary War who served for its entire duration and fought in the Battles of Bunker Hill, Bennington and White Plains. Person’s father and uncle, Captain Austin Davis and General Thomas Davis were members of the local militias, with General Davis captaining the National Lancers, a ceremonial, volunteer outfit that served as escorts and bodyguards to Massachusetts Governor Edward Everett. When Person was five years old, Captain Davis moved the family to Lancaster, Mass. where Person spent has childhood as one of seven children (four boys, three girls). As a young man he worked on the family farm and later as a wagon driver, transporting guests and baggage from Boston to his father’s hotel in Lancaster.

In 1845, Person moved to North Cambridge and married Lydia Hanscom the next year. Lydia (1826-1881) was a Mainer, originally from Danville and later living in Auburn. She would become heavily involved with the religious life of her new community once the Davises settled in Somerville, helping to establish the Willow Bridge Mission chapel and later the West Somerville Baptist Church, which grew out of the mission community (Deacon Warren Teele, whose father Jonathan was the namesake of nearby Teele Square, was also a charter member of the church). Lydia was the first President of the local Women’s Christian Temperance Union chapter, founded in 1879, and worked to make Somerville a dry community. When she died, relatively young at age 55 from a paralytic stroke, her obituary ran on the first page of the Somerville Journal newspaper with many kind words from a local reverend.

West Somerville Baptist Church, c. 1909

When Person and his wife moved to West Somerville in 1850, there were less than a half dozen other homes standing in that part of the city. The Davises built their home near the intersection of Elm St. and Grove St. and their land stretched as far west as the present-day Davis Square and as far north as Morrison Ave. What is today a bricked-over city square was then Person’s garden while his pear orchards grew near Kenney Park. Soon after the Davis family moved in, new roads and methods of transportation brought more people to the area. In 1856, horsecar railway lines were extended along Massachusetts Ave. from Harvard to Arlington. Within a decade, Elm St. was widened, allowing more traffic to flow through the square. The area became a crossroads when Holland St. and Highland Ave. were laid out from the square in 1870 and 1871. At the same time, the Lexington and Arlington Railroad extended service to the square, laying tracks over the Davises land (what is today part of the Community Path).

Davis Square, c. 1892

In parallel with the neighborhood’s development, Person Davis’ years in Somerville were met with increasing success and notoriety. Upon arrival in Somerville, Person established himself in the grain business. He and his business partner T. Albert Taylor, formed the Davis and Taylor Co., which produced cornmeal and flour at their mills in Lawrence, Mass. and kept offices in Boston. Person did well in the business. He worked for 25 years and was at one point considered “the wealthiest man in West Somerville.” After the Civil War, he bought up land formerly occupied by Union forces at Camp Cameron. He, Taylor and a third partner were also involved with a planned subdivision along Huron Ave. in Cambridge in 1871 (between Lexington and Lakeview Aves.) It appears that some of Person’s land dealings went sour, as one obituary describes him losing a great deal of money “through the speculation of his partner.” Despite these financial setbacks experienced as a real estate investor, Person’s business acumen and longevity in the community translated well to a successful political career. He served on Somerville’s last Board of Selectmen in 1871 and was elected to its first Board of Aldermen in 1872 (reelected to a second term in 1873). Nearly ten year later, he was elected to two consecutive terms in the Massachusetts State House of Representatives (R, Middlesex 6th District).

Davis Square, c. 1909

In 1883, Davis Square was named in honor of its longtime resident, who died some years later in 1894 at age 75. The square continued to develop and grow without its namesake and the area that was once part of Person’s garden was paved with brick in 1900. The Davis mansion on Elm St. would serve in several capacities, as headquarters for a fraternal organization, as a private residence and finally as a business block before being demolished in 1926. Some years later, Person’s son Charles oversaw the removal of the family’s stables, by then remodeled into residential units, to Winslow Ave., leaving the square’s name as the only remaining memento of Person Davis’ life there.