I have less than one hundred miles to go on my journey to New York.  Sometime during today’s walk from Branford to New Haven I crossed the magical line where I no longer count how many miles I have traveled but rather how many miles I have remaining to reach my destination, the southern tip of Manhattan.

        According to the various Almanacs I have examined the distance from New Haven to New York is listed as: 84 miles (Bicknell, 1697), 94 miles (Tulley, 1698), 90 miles (Prince, 1732). The distance from Branford to New Haven Green is listed as anywhere from 10-12 miles. Thus, at some point during the walk from here in Branford Center to my destination today, I will cross under the century threshold no matter which almanac writer I follow. The distance on Google maps for walking from Branford to New York is about 84 miles, but this is the most direct modern way to walk to New York and includes shortcuts that did not exist in colonial America.

        In 1789 an Irish-born surveyor and engineer named Christopher Colles began drawing an atlas of roads in the new country of the United States of America.  The individual plates were made up of two or three adjacent “strip maps,” usually totaling about twelve miles of road per plate with detailed information about taverns, houses along the route, bridges, churches, even blacksmiths, the eighteenth-century auto mechanic.  Colles funded his work by subscription and had covered about one thousand miles from Williamsburg to Albany when he gave up the enterprise for lack of subscriptions in 1792.  Colles did create detailed maps for the post road from the southern tip of Manhattan to Stratford, Connecticut before discontinuing the project.  Colles lists each mile passed (perhaps milestones, but more likely just his own calculations) on the maps. From Federal Hall in New York to the Ferry at Stratford on the Housatonic River is a little more than 73 miles according to his extremely detailed and precise maps.

        The distance from Stratford to Milford is about four miles according to my calculations as well as the tavern lists of the eighteenth century. To travel from Milford to New Haven via West Haven (more on that in a future entry) works out to a distance of about 11.2 miles according to my calculations, and the same trip is usually listed as ten miles in the almanacs. So the distance from New Haven to New York using a combination of Colles’s map and my calculations yields a distance of roughly 88 miles. 

        That leaves the distance from Branford to New Haven Green.  The difficulty in calculating this distance revolves around the question of how the traveler from the east entered New Haven as we shall shortly see.  Assuming that Hamilton and Birkett took the longest route to town, the distance from Branford center to New Haven Green works out to about 9 miles. Low in 1775 lists the distance from Baldwin’s in Branford to Kilby’s or Bear’s in New Haven as 9 miles, while Prince and Tulley give ten miles as the distance from Branford to New Haven. Bicknell in 1697 states that the distance from Widow Frisbie’s in Branford to captain John Mills at New Haven is 10 miles. As we saw in the last entry, Widow Frisbie’s house may have been east of the center of town, and thus the distance to New Haven from Branford center would necessarily be lower than 10 miles. 

        The upshot is that I have 9 or 10 miles to go to get to New Haven; from there I have about 88 miles to get to New York and the end of this journey. Thus, sitting in the Common Ground Cafe in Branford, I have 97 or 98 miles to go to reach my destination. From now on I will also list the putative distance remaining on my journey along with the distance traveled that I already list at the end of each entry. 243 miles down, 98 miles to go.

*****

       

        The Common Ground in Branford serves a mean (and enormous) cafe latte, and everybody seems to know each other. Taverns were originally meant to be for the convenience of travelers and were specifically required to discourage local trade (i.e. regular drinkers), but it was abundantly clear at an early date that the typical inhabitants of New England towns in the colonial period enjoyed having a place to meet and chat about local affairs. It seems to me, as I eavesdrop on conversations about Bob’s hip replacement surgery and the fortunes of the Branford High School football team, that this cafe has taken the place of the eighteenth-century tavern that once thrived  within the boundaries of Branford.

        In my previous entry I mentioned the house of Edward Frisbie, speculating that perhaps the Widow Frisbee mentioned in an almanac of 1697 could be the widow of Edward Frisbie. Further research has uncovered that the tavern in the town of Branford was started by the son of Edward Frisbie, Jonathan Frisbie, in 1693.  Jonathan, who died in 1695, was married to Mary (nee Bower, I believe), and it is she who is the “widow” who kept the tavern after the death of her husband.  A descendant of Edward Frisbie (named Edward Frisbee!) states that “after the death of her first husband, she (Mary) continued the management of the tavern in Branford Center.” (1) He does not say where he got this information, and I have been unable to find any reference to the location of the tavern.

        Frisbee’s eldest daughter Elizabeth married Samuel Baldwin in 1710/11.  Interestingly the tavern listed in Branford in Nathaniel Low’s 1775 almanac is called Baldwin’s, although it may simply be a coincidence as a large proportion of the population of early Branford were Baldwins and Frisbies.  Regardless I have as yet been unable to ascertain with any degree of certainty the whereabouts of any of the early taverns of Branford, so this cafe on the green will serve as the nearest approximation.  I step back outside and cross over to the green, where members of the Branford Garden Club are putting Christmas decorations up on the light poles to the tune of  “Stars and Stripes Forever” which blares from the loudspeaker attached to a truck driving around the green in endless circles (see photo above). A sign on the green tries to claim Yale College for Branford, continuing a trend I have noted from Old Saybrook onwards of towns trying to claim the title of the original site of Yale. I stroll around the charming town center, and the smell of good cooking draws me into a diner on Main Street.  I eat a roast beef, horse radish, and cheese omelette at the Waiting Station a few yards along Main Street from the Common Ground. My meal is much larger than I had anticipated and extremely tasty, and this meal sets me up for the rest of the day, which I plan to spend walking to New haven from here, stopping at the Branford Library along the way.

        Branford was established early as it was between the two early settlements of New Haven and Guilford. Originally known by the local Indians as Tokotet, Branford was settled by the English in the late 1630s. An early minister, Abraham Pierson, wrote a dictionary of the local language, which was known as Quiripi, a variation of the languages of the Eastern Algonkian family.  The history and nomenclature of the Indians in western Connecticut is somewhat confusing.  There is the local tribe, the Mattabesic or Mattabessett, who may have been part of the Quinnipiac or Quiripi tribe. The Indians in Connecticut from the Connecticut River to the Hudson River belonged to a group of related tribes referred to as the Wappinger (or Dawnland) Confederacy, but what the relationship was is not clear to me. Regardless, the Indians were much reduced in number by the seventeenth century, and the languages of the area have almost completely disappeared.

        The settlement at Branford was much diminished as well in the 1660s as many of the inhabitants of the town picked up and moved with Reverend Pierson to a new settlement in the New Jersey Colony called Newark.  Apparently these emigrants were unhappy with the loosening of religious laws which accompanied the merger of the strict New Haven Colony with the more tolerant Connecticut Colony to form the Province of Connecticut. The unhappy campers decamped, and Branford, as a result, was somewhat thinly settled compared to its neighbors to the east and west. (2)

        I walk along Main Street to the Blackstone Memorial Library, another in a series of beautiful libraries I have encountered in Connecticut.  After some time researching the local history and trying to find clues about the road, I return to the road and head west. After ten minutes walk along Main Street I reach the Harrison House, built in 1724 by Nathaniel Harrison, and now the home of the Branford Historical Society.  A short distance beyond the Harrison House I reach the junction of Main Street and North Main Street, which is what Route US1 is known as here.  The area is busy with traffic and commercial development, the BranHaven Plaza on the south side of the road being just one example, although indicative of the transition zone I have reached.  The area is really pretty unpleasant, even as commercial development goes. I climb a relatively steep hill and the sprawl continues unabated. A small loop branches off and rejoins West Main Street at the top of the hill. Although it is unremarkable and has commercial sprawl along it as well, it is clearly part of the old road that was bypassed at some point when US 1 was straightened. These small branching loops are a common feature of the road whenever it intersects with US 1; some are longer, charming detours that recall the former state of most of the road, while others are anodyne, and still others, like this stretch of three hundred yards is overdeveloped and unpleasant, although there is much less traffic than the main road a few yards away.

        After another half mile of commercial sprawl, the road crosses a small stream which is fed by a large body of water on the right, called Lake Saltonstall. This large and long body of water is the reason the old road to New Haven passes this far south as the lake extends about three miles to the north. Crossing the small bridge on US1 West Main Street brings me into East Haven, where US1, now called the Saltonstall Parkway, and Main Street (route 100) diverge, thankfully liberating me from the agony of another mile or two on the busy commercial road. My early impression of East Haven is that it is a “working-class” town; there are a lot of houses covered in vinyl siding, the residences are interspersed with retail establishments that are often housed in what were once residences, there are not many trees on the street, and there seem to be quite a few chain stores. In other words, I am unimpressed. My spirits rise a little as I reach East Haven Town Green, but not for long as the landscapers are out in force with their leaf blowers and lawn mowers, and the noise, fumes, and dust are unpleasant in the extreme. I cross the street to escape and wander through the downtown area, which is undistinguished. I head into the East Haven library for a little break.

        Sometimes research in the local libraries helps clarify information about other towns I have passed through and contributes to the development of larger themes I have tried to explore.  A book in the East Haven Public Library by Frederick Calvin Norton about the post office in Guilford, Connecticut is one of those great local histories that has taken the time to investigate the claims that are frequently proffered about the development of the local post road and postal system.(3) Chief among the targets of Norton’s research is the claim that Benjamin Franklin was an able postal supervisor who was personally responsible for the development of the modern postal system in America, including personally laying the milestones on the road from Philadelphia to Boston.  Of the brown milestone in Guilford center discussed in the previous entry, Norton says, “I soon found that Franklin’s connection with the lonesome-looking old brown milestone was, on the whole, purely conjectural.”  He also states that the first postmaster in Guilford was Medad Stone, who ran a tavern on the northwest corner of the Green. This fits perfectly with the information I have that a Stone tavern existed in Guilford in the late eighteenth century, and that post offices and taverns were often one and the same in the colonial era. 

        Norton goes on to discuss the journal of Hugh Finlay, appointed surveyor of the postal routes in colonial America in 1773.  Finlay traveled from Boston to New York and describes each post office along the road. Finlay was unimpressed with the rocky roads, especially those in Connecticut. Of the road from Westerly to New London he says it “passed all conception of bad ... (and) is one continuous bed of rocks and very hilly.” Finlay also had a low opinion of the job Franklin was doing, and the result of the report Finlay submitted was that Franklin was essentially fired in 1774.

        Of the mythology of the Post Road, Norton casts an even more jaundiced eye. “There has been an enormous amount written about this post road but much of it is sheer fiction,” he states. (4)  He debunks the myth that Franklin personally laid  the milestones or even ordered the milestones laid. For Norton, the milestones were less about indicating distances to and from destinations and more about calculating fares for travelers on turnpikes and hence, were laid out most likely in the early Republic, during the turnpike craze, after Franklin had ceased to have any connection with the post office (in part because he was dead).  Norton’s small book is a refreshing change from the usual local histories that parrot the hoary old chestnuts that have been passed down unchallenged for generations.  Not only does he dare to criticize the great Benjamin Franklin, but in doing so, has made him seem less of a founding father/genius and more of a person with strengths and faults. The road is more interesting to me knowing that it was not all the work of one extraordinary figure but rather the work of many people over the course of many years.

*****

        Back on the road in East Haven I reach a second green across from which sits the elegant Old Stone Church Congregational, built in 1774. A milestone on the green indicates five miles to New Haven. Of course this town once was part of New Haven, originally known as East Farms. An iron works was established early on on what is now Lake Saltonstall, and the area was known as Iron Works Village. After 1707 East Haven was allowed to become a separate town, but the decision was revoked and East Haven remained part of New Haven until 1785.  However in the nineteenth century East Haven had accumulated a lot of debt and ceded territory along the Quinnipiac River back to New Haven in order to pay off the debt, losing 70% of the town’s population and 30% of its land in the process.

        Today East Haven is a transitional town; it is suburban but it is clearly on the edge of a city as it has an urban character unlike any town I have been in since New London.  It is also more transitional demographically-- although 92% of the population was listed as white in the last census, there are many more signs of the presence of a significant Hispanic population (i.e signs in Spanish for a start). According to Wikipedia, East Haven also has the fourth largest percentage of Italian-Americans of any town in the country. (see note 5 below for an update)

        As soon as I leave the green, Main Street winds its way to New Haven. I pass through a small Hispanic neighborhood that evidence suggests has quite a few natives of Ecuador. Main Street heads uphill, and at the crest I see ahead the tall buildings of New Haven, the first proper city I have encountered since Providence. Heading downhill, I pass the city limits of New Haven and cross under Interstate 95. When I reach the junction of Main Street, Townsend Avenue, and Forbes Avenue the question now becomes one of deciding which way to enter the center of New Haven. This is not as easy as it sounds. The straightforward paths of  Interstate 95 and US1, which barrel over the Quinnipiac River directly into the center of the city, ignore the fact that the original bridge across the Quinnipiac at this wide crossing, the Tomlinson Bridge, was not built until 1796. A ferry was established early on at this point but was apparently abandoned in favor of a ferry further up the river at a narrower crossing where today’s Ferry Street Bridge is located. Ferry Street is the obvious giveaway that a ferry must have been present before the bridge.(6) The trouble is, even deciding to cross the river at Ferry Street does not solve all the riddles. The Ferry Street bridge leads to the neighborhood of Fair Haven, which is separated from the original settlement of New Haven by a second river, the Mill River, which was crossed by a bridge to the north at a narrow point where State Street crosses the river today.  Thus a rather roundabout walk from Ferry Street Bridge to the New Haven Green would be necessary which involved passing along Ferry Street to State Street, then turning west and south on State Street to head back down to the Green, a total of almost three miles.

        To make matters worse, construction on State Street has closed the bridge entirely on the day I plan to walk across it. I have three options as I see it: 1) Cross the Quinnipiac at Ferry Street, head up Ferry Street through Fair Haven, and cross over to State Street on the next street nearest State Street, in this case Humphrey Street, and follow State to the Green; 2) Cross the Bridge over the Quinnipiac that US1 takes (Forbes Avenue) and head into the center of town via Water Street, the route followed after 1796; or 3) Compromise by taking the Ferry Street Bridge and then turning down Chapel and heading straight for the Green, even though Chapel did not cross the Mill River until the nineteenth century, then backtrack later and follow the other two paths as best as possible. Since the hour is late and darkness is looming I choose option three.

*****

        Having decided to eschew the direct path to New Haven in favor of the compromise route via Ferry Street Bridge and Chapel Street, I cross Forbes Avenue and head north on Townsend Avenue. After a few minutes I reach the Griswold Triangle, which formerly would have been the junction of the road to Ferry Street and the road to Tomlinson’s Bridge (or ferry as I will explain in the next entry). I walk up to Ferry Street Bridge via Quinnipiac Avenue, with a sharply rising hill looming over me to the right.  I can easily feel the landscape today, and it is obvious as I walk along the relatively flat Quinnipiac Avenue why travelers took this seemingly roundabout way to reach New Haven. Between water, hills, and marsh, the road twists and turns searching out the path of least resistance. 

        Soon I reach the Ferry Street Bridge, site of the ferry kept here from the early seventeenth century, at the narrowest point across the river.  I cross over the Quinnipiac River and take in the industrial landscape on all sides. When I reach the neighborhood of Fair Haven I turn left on Chapel Street. My plan is to reach New Haven Green today before dark then retrace the various entrance routes into New Haven tomorrow.  Chapel Street did not reach Fair Haven in the early days, and the traveler would make his way up Ferry Street before turning onto State Street.  Chapel Street is a curious cross section of all that New Haven has to offer. It starts out in a heavily Hispanic working class neighborhood of modest houses and apartment buildings before passing an industrial zone near the Mill River,with a scrap metal recycling center, a few abandoned warehouses, and what appears to be a slag heap, or is it a giant mound of coal, or rubber tires? Whatever it is, this area has that postindustrial apocalyptic blight look so favored by science fiction movie-makers.  I pass over the Mill River and then pass under Interstate 91 which heads north to Hartford. Suddenly everything changes as I enter the Wooster Square neighborhood. I pass elegant brick townhouses and stately Victorian mansions fronting a lovely square.  Gone is the blight, the rough edges, the noise, and the dirt of the neighborhoods through which I have spent the last hour walking. 

        A couple of blocks later I cross over the train tracks and pass through the downtown area of New Haven, with its elegant but downtrodden office buildings and faded commercial palaces.  The street scene here is similar to that of any big city, with lots of people waiting at bus stops, dollar stores, not a few rough-looking characters, and a riotous mix of ethnicities and cultures.  In five minutes walk I see more Black, Hispanic, and Asian people than I have seen in the last sixty miles combined. I soon reach the corner of Church and Chapel Street and catch my first glimpse of the expansive New Haven Green. 

        New Haven, Connecticut.  An important milestone has been reached. I have left the wealthy, mostly white, and scenic “shoreline” communities that extend from Branford to Stonington and entered the urban, multicultural, poorer, historically and culturally rich city of New Haven.(7)  Not only have I reached the last segment of my journey, the “century” mark, I seem to have been dragged back into the present from my previous flirtation with eighteenth-century Connecticut.  Modern New Haven and modern America have forced themselves to the front of the line and need to be given their fair share of “airtime.”  Right now I will head for the Anchor Bar just off the Green and take advantage of some of the ample cultural offerings the big city has to offer. It’s time to start looking ahead increasingly to New York and the modern world instead of back to the area I have covered thus far and the distant past.

BACK IN THE CITY