Talkin’ Trash in Manchester—Part 3 of 4
by Alan Dyer and Ray Berg
Introduction
In Parts 1 and 2 of “Talkin’ Trash in Manchester”, the authors described the excavation of rural middens, or accumulated trash heaps which originated locally in the 19th century, on Ray Berg’s property in Freedom Township. These middens yield artifacts which provide insight into the living habits, diets and origin of articles used in everyday life. Part 2 also discussed early burial practices before the formation of church or municipal cemeteries, often resulting in forgotten graves on many rural properties around Manchester.
Part 3 of this series now moves to Manchester Village, where we will examine middens within the village during the second half of the 1800s, woeful cries of poor waste disposal and filth, and the development of modern sanitation systems.
Village Middens
That middens exist in urban settings is not exactly a foreign concept, although their association is more often with rural areas of our region. If one accepts the dictionary definition of a midden as simply a “dunghill or refuse heap,” then Manchester Village possessed plenty of them in the second half of the 19th century, and they were a constant irritation to those who encountered their effects and to the village fathers who had to deal with their presence. Most of these were temporary trash piles outside of buildings, subject to periodic removal, and would disappear as ideas of sanitation evolved. Outhouses, a second and more permanent type of urban midden, never received the degree of negative attention showered on their more short-lived counterparts. In addition to their main purpose, they became a convenient place to throw trash in the days when there was no village dump, garbage services, or recycling centers. Items that resist decomposition, disposed of in this manner, have provided many clues to the everyday life of past generations. Although they eventually became a thing of the past, much of the refuse thrown there remains in the ground. The problem for the Manchester archaeologist/historian is in determining where these structures once sat on the property.
A third type of midden found in urban areas, also of the permanent type, is similar to the rural one and can be found in the Ann Arbor Hill area. A few years ago when landscaping was done at the back of the former Sloat house at 206 Ann Arbor Street, the owner unearthed numerous bottles from a much earlier time. It is reasonable to believe that throwing unwanted items down the hill leading to the river was the common means used by that area’s residents to dispose of much of their rubbish, and was considered an acceptable practice.
Figure 8 – 1890 Photograph from Ann Arbor Hill,
Showing Garbage Piles behind Downtown Businesses
Dr. Bennett Root’s family, living at 214 Ann Arbor Street which is now occupied by Alan Dyer, undoubtedly disposed of items in a similar manner, as did other residents along the Manchester Mill Pond canyon. This “luxury,” however, was not available to most of the village’s residents who lived on smaller lots, devoid of hills, where the idea of “out of sight, out of mind” was not an option. To further complicate disposal matters, many residences included barns where the family horse, or horses, were stabled and some sort of carriage kept. Pig sties were also common as was the family cow. The village’s business section also added to the “dung hill” definition of a midden. Not only were the livery stables found here, but horses were tied to hitching posts as their owners shopped or spent time in one of the village’s many saloons. The commercial section of the village also lacked any means for its businesses to rid themselves of their rubbish, other than to throw it out the back door where it cluttered the alleys and slowly rotted. Thus, we have Manchester’s contribution to the second half of the definition of a midden—the “refuse heap.”
Living With No Trash Cleanup
Manchester village was not always a pleasant place to work, live, or visit, especially as winter waned and the summer months approached—and it only got worse as the dog days of July and August approached. The lack of sanitation, the fear of disease, and how the Village Council, its health officers, and the marshal confronted, or failed to confront, the problem of these temporary urban middens became a long-standing bane. The period immediately after the Civil War began with a short-lived economic downturn, quickly followed by expansion and prosperity. It was an especially promising time for Manchester with the construction of the village’s second railroad in 1870. This development brought “many strangers” to town in search of business opportunities and an unparalleled belief on the part of Manchester’s leaders that this small village would soon blossom into a thriving city, complete with new industry and a flourishing commercial district. It would not be long before this small rural village would rival Ann Arbor, Jackson, and Adrian in size and importance.
Figure 9 – Dr. Bennett Root in front of 214 Ann Arbor Street, 1870s
Countering this view were complaints of odors so foul, especially along Railroad (Adrian) Street, that residents and businesses in the area were forced to keep their doors and windows tightly closed. Odors that emanated from pig sties and barns were overpowering, especially those near the brewery. Merchants were implored to clean up the front of their stores, something that needed to be done weekly, but there was little compliance due to the village marshal’s failure to enforce the law. When shop keepers were finally induced to make piles of the refuse that littered the front of their premises, the marshal failed to remove them as was part of his job.
Call for Action
Mat Blosser, publisher of the Manchester Enterprise, was always a vigorous promoter of Manchester, as well as a vigilant advocate for action when needed. A health committee was in place, as of 1871, whose purpose it was to protect the public, but it was nowhere in evidence when it came to issues of sanitation. The Enterprise periodically urged its members to tour the town, note the nearly “unbearable” conditions, and do what they were elected to do. Their laxity, according to the medical practices of the day, put the public at risk for cholera and other diseases that were prevalent in the village’s noxious air. Conditions existing in October 1868 serve as a good example of what was considered to be an especially dangerous time from a health standpoint. Heavy rains had inundated the area, causing streams to overflow and deposit decomposing vegetable matter that created “bilious diseases,” some of which were fatal. As protection, people were urged to wear warm woolen clothing and avoid the fog and damp of the evening. It was also deemed especially dangerous to breathe the nearly unbearable “suffocating stench” of burning rubbish during spring cleaning.
The village bylaws of June 1871, which were reprinted in the Enterprise in June 1875, attempted to solve the town’s sanitary problems by codifying the nuisances that would not be tolerated. A Board of Health was created that was composed of the village president, the trustees, the marshal, and a village physician appointed by the Council to act as the health officer. “Slop, carion [sic] or filthy substances” were banned from disposal through any “sink spout” onto sidewalks, roads, or alleys. Privies had to be erected with a vault at least six feet in depth, lined with brick, stone, or planks. Those no longer in use were to be properly covered with dirt. The location of structures such as privies, hog sties, and cow pens, could pose no nuisance to others. The throwing of “unwholesome substances” into the River Raisin was also prohibited, as was bathing in the river before 8 p.m. within the corporate limits, although a few exceptions existed in this case. Enforcement of these regulations became the duty of the village marshal. Fines were levied for each offense ranging from $5 to $25 per occurrence, with river bathing at the wrong time or place possessing the ultimate fine of up to 10 days in prison. Apparently this transgression was considered more heinous than dumping the remains of slaughtered animals in the water.
Figure 10 – Mat Blosser of the Manchester Enterprise
The health officer’s role went far beyond dealing with the village’s filth, although pleas for relief were made to him by residents, just as they were to the members of the health committee and individual members of the Council. Drs. E. M. Conklin, T. L. Iddings, Christian F. Kapp, and A. C. Sheldon held the position of health officer at different times. The marshal’s responsibilities included keeping the peace, collecting taxes, and all other duties required by the Council. That he was often derelict in those that referred to efforts to keep the village clean is not surprising. Keeping the peace in Manchester could be a time consuming task in the presence of somewhere between six and ten saloons over the years. Neither was tax collecting an easy task, which is probably why it fell under the purview of a peace officer, but it was one that was worth the effort for the marshal was paid a percentage of the money he collected. Enforcing the sanitary measures instituted by the village was one of those “other duties required by the Council.” To actively pursue this function put no money in his pocket, was not a very pleasant task, and it is easy to understand why it was often neglected.
Frustration with the city fathers is glaringly evident during the last half of the 1870s. Complaints were most often made in April and early May as the weather warmed and the winter’s collection of refuse began to ripen. They abated some thereafter, only to increase again in July and August as the summer’s heat reached its peak. In the spring of 1877, when the winter’s accumulation of trash was revealed following the snow melt, Mat Blosser scoffingly remarked in the Enterprise that the village fathers were “smelling around” the downtown area. The next month they were out again, and he asked that they not be timid in their inspections, for the usual odors were present, only much earlier in the year than usual. It was a simple matter—the officials should do their duty and enforce the regulations. In July, citizen complaints had resulted in another inspection of the streets and alleys by the health committee. Blosser commented that it was about time that the committee woke up and purged the town of its “intolerable stench.” The mill pond was especially unhealthy. Although Shakespeare wrote that “a rose by another name would smell as sweet,” it was Blosser’s belief that its author did not include mill ponds in this claim.
We’ll continue in Part 4 of this series.
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