There
was a time when Hamilton was largely interested in the carriage and wagon
business, and quite an army of men and boys were steadily employed, even though
the wages fell short of what manufacturers are paying nowadays. Half a century
ago, but little, if any, machinery was used in the making of wheeled vehicles,
even in a wheelbarrow. The hubs, spokes, and felloes, as well as the
finely-finished carriage bodies were all the handwork of the skilled artisan,
and they made carriages, buggies and wagons that stood the rough roads for
years, and then were as serviceable and looked as well as ever after a visit to
the carriage painter.
In the early forties, the stone
building now occupied by DS. Aitchison and Co’s planing mill was erected for a
carriage factory. It may well be that James M. Williams was the first carriage
builder that occupied it – dates are dangerous things to bet on – but if not,
he was one of the owners soon after, and, later, with him in the company was H.
G. Goper, who was Mr. Williams’ foreman for many years. The factory covered
fully one-half of the block from Park street to the Bowery – South Bay street
was called the Bowery even as late as 1858 – and swarmed with busy men and
boys. The front of the factory faced King street, and there was no building
between it and King, and when the bell rang for ending work, it was a pleasant
sight to see the army of employees troop out. Speaking of that bell reminds us
that one night in the days of the old volunteer fire department, when the city
paid a reward of $3 for the first bell that gave an alarm of fire, the night
watch happened to be the lucky man to
see the blaze as it was slowly making its way out of the roof of a building,
and he rang the bell so lustily that it cracked and rang a doleful sound
thereafter when calling the factory hands to work. The city not only rewarded
the zeal of the watchman by paying him the $3 reward, but it finally bought a
new bell for the factory, and that is the one in use today. The ringing of the
bell now calls up the old days when Williams and Cooper were counted among the
best carriage makers in the country, and there was a demand for their vehicles
in all parts o Canada.
There were eight carriage factories in
Hamilton in the fifties, and most of them did a large manufacturing business.
As said in the beginning of this article, everything was handmade. There are
eleven factories and shops now, but machinery has reduced prices so that a hand
worker would starve on what he would get for making a carriage, buggy or wagon.
Among the old carriage workers was John P. Pronguey, who came to Hamilton in
1843 and built the stone building on the corner of Park and Market streets, now
converted into a flouring mill. Pronguey was a first-class workman, and for
years had, as foreman, Anthony Reche, the father of John Reche, the druggist.
While Pronguey’s factory did not employ as many hands as Williams and Cooper,
nor turn out as many carriages in a year, he did a prosperous business, and his
work was of the highest standard. Poor Pronguey was not a financial success,
although he made a good deal of money, for after spending 58 years in this
city, he left a year or more ago with only his wearing apparel and his beloved
cello and flute. He built a brick block down on James street, which was too far
from the business centre to make it rentable, and it was covered so thickly
with mortgages that what little rent he received would not pay interest and taxes.
Finally, he gave up in despair, and got out of town with barely enough to pay
his fare to Rochester, where he found a home with a boy he had raised. The only
consolation left him were his cello and flute, on both of which he was a good
performer, and people passing down James street at almost any hour of the night
could hear the sad strains as he played the songs of other days. Indeed,
superstitious people declare that they can now hear the wailing of the old
cello or the sad notes of the flute in the midnight hour.
Mr. Williams went out of the carriage
business when the coal oil excitement first began and built a refinery down on
one of the inlets east of Wellington street, and made lots of money. He entered
the political field and was elected and M. P., and finally retired from active
life into the fat office of county registrar. Robert Walker, father of Ex.-Ald.
Walker, had a factory on Main street, near John, and did a large business.
Maccabe and Co. were proprietors of the Burlington Carriage factory, corner of
Caroline and York, and had a good trade. The other four made up some new work,
but their principal business was in repairing.
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The days of the American civil war
were Canada’s opportunity to get a start in the manufacturing business. Wages
were high in the States and workmen were scarce in the shops and factories, so
that there was a home demand for the entire output of all classes of
manufacturers and not much attention was given to foreign trade. The protective
tariff that was adopted by congress in
the first year of the war gave an impetus to American manufacturers. The good
times across the border acted as an incentive to Canadian capitalists, and they
were willing to engage in enterprises that promised reasonably fair profits.
Prior to 1878, a small factory in Peterboro began the manufacture of builders’
hardware, but found it uphill against even its only rival in Canada at that
time, the Kingston penitentiary. Convict labor was cheaper than honest labor in
Peterboro, as the government fed, clothed and housed the convicts at public
expense, and, of course, no manufacturing firm could stand up against such
odds. When the N. P. came into force, the penitentiary went out of the builders’
hardware trade, and the Gurneys began in a small way to manufacture that line
of goods, and the business has been continued by the Gurney-Tilden company,
which now gives steady employment to an average of 53 hands. There are only two
factories in Canada making that class of goods – in Hamilton and in Peterboro –
and while they are doing a fair business, yet they have to cut the profits
close owing to the competition from large manufacturing concerns in the United
States.
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There is no denying it, but a little
wealth is a comfortable thing to have, but when one becomes possessed of more
than he knows what to do with, then it gets to be a burden. The greed for
wealth is one of the greatest curses of the day. Men will scheme and plan and
trample upon the rights of others in order to accumulate a few more thousands
or millions of dollars. Forty years ago therewere not many millionaires in the
world; now they can be counted by the score, and many of them are
multi-millionaires – men who do not really know how much they are worth, nor
will it definitely be known till their executors wind up their estates. Canada
has a few millionaires, who have accumulated their wealth in less time than
forty years, and it has quite a number who can count up over the $100,000 mark.
Time was when a man worth $25,000 to $50,000 was considered to be way up on
Easy street, but money was worth from 8 to 10 per cent interest. Now bank
stocks pay not more than four per cent on good mortgage security. It is a
difficult matter to find a safe investment at over 4 per cent. Nowadays a man
must be worth at least $100,000 to bring him an income equal to what $50,000
did 25 years ago. The poor fellow that has only a paltry $10,000 or $15,000
laid up as a result of long years of saving, has to live very economically to
make both ends meet. He cannot indulge in the luxury of fine horses and
carriages, nor can he afford four or five course dinners daily and the
regulation wines with each course, but he is mighty lucky if he has a
comfortable home and is able to pay his taxes and then have enough left to buy
good, plain, healthy food. It is the natural desire of man to be rich, and he
dreams everyday of what he would do if he were worth $50,000 or $100,000. The
boys and girls who told in this week’s Spectator Junior what they would do if they
had $500 are no more extravagant in their desires than are the boys and girls
of mature years. To a child $500 is a fortune; to a man or woman is hardly
worth considering.
After all, is not contentment better
than riche, even if one has to keep close to the shore? While we may dream of
being as wealthy as Pierpont Morgan or Carnegie or Rockefeller, or the scores
of men whose names would be good on a bank cheque for a million dollars or
more, would we be the happier if rich, considering that Mr. Morgan has to be
surrounded by detectives day and night to keep some desperate anarchist from
filling his body with cold lead? Carnegie lives in torture at the idea that
death may claim him at any moment, and thus take him away from his wealth.
Rockefeller has a stomach that is poisoned by indigestion, and with all his
millions, he cannot eat a hearty meal without suffering untold tortures. The
dyspeptic can sympathize with him. Was it not Carlyle who said that man was
happy till he discovered that he had a stomach?
Still, with the annoyance that comes
from great riches, there is not one of us who would not be willing to run all
the risks if we only had a few thousands more than we could reasonably spent in
a lifetime? Yet, is it not true that the happiest man in the world is the southern
darkey, who has just eaten a big meal of roast possum and sweet potatoes, and who
has his post-prandial cigar to aid digestion. He is never worried where the
next meal is to come from; it comes.
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