Posted tagged ‘Franc Fassett Pugsley’

Celebrating Chester Hutchinson’s 85th Birthday – A Poem by Franc Fassett Pugsley

June 2, 2012

The second poem dedicated to the life of Chester Hutchinson is by Franc Fassett Pugsley. Franc was the daughter of John J. Fassett, a comrade of Chester’s from his days in the 108th New York Infantry. It is worth noting that Franc Fassett Pugsley knew Chester personally. It is incredible how much detailed information about his life is included in this tribute.

On Your Birthday

To Comrade Chester Hutchinson

July 12, 1841-July 12, 1926

Congratulations today, dear friend of old times,

Sincere are our wishes, indeed;

We hope for your joy and your happiness, too,

In each added year as it comes unto you,

Choice blessings may God shed on your way.

For God has ever directed your course

To Him you have always gone

When troubles assailed, and you knew not which turn

To take in the path just before you.

Through all the joys and sorrows

Of eight-five years, God has guided,

And wrought His will as He walked with you,

Adown the Path, to Life’s perfect day

Which awaits at the end of the journey.

And now, please take a glimpse with me,

While Memory turns the wheel,

At the Past as it flashes before us,

Vivid pictures from Life’s short reel.

First we see a tiny baby

In the Town of Penfield born,

Toothless, hairless, generally helpless,

July twelfth, in forty-one.

Later Perinton became the home

Of parents and young son,

A little time after, the mother died,

Leaving father and child alone.

A move was made later to Pittsford,

Where the lad to young manhood grew,

A fun-loving youth who stopped short of nothing,

Which his fertile brain told him to do.

And now a picture flashes upon the canvas white

Of two youths fast escaping

From a younger lad, left in a plight,

And a sorry one, too, it would seem,

For like Joseph, he had been cast in a dry well

 By his brother and young “Chet”

Who did not care to be bothered

On their walk through meadow and wood,

And left him there all safe and sound

To get out as best he could.

The older companion passed on years ago,

Rosseau Crump of Bay City,

A man loved and honored through many a year.

The young boy now is a gray-haired man

Of eighty years just past,

Mr. Shelly Crump of Pittsford,

Who will be Chester’s friend to the last,

In spite of this little episode,

Which ended alright you perceive,

For he soon climbed out, none the worse,

From the well,

Taking a sort of French leave.

Then serious days, how fast they followed,

Soon the boy became a man,

And the man became a soldier

In a uniform of blue.

For the storm clouds now had gathered

O’er our land so fair and bright,

And Lincoln called for her young men

To aid in their Country’s fight.

Ah, then sad good-byes were spoken,

And the sound of marching feet

Was heard through the length and breadth of the land,

And our hero went out with the rest,

Leaving all that his heart held dear

To follow the Red, White and Blue.

Then into the turmoil of battle

Right soon they were called to go,

A severe wound in the breast here he suffered,

At Antietam, as all of you know.

Many painful days followed, on hospital cot,

In old barn, or hovel so crude,

With wounded comrades for nurses,

Doing for him as best they could.

Who could do justice to those cruel days

In telling their history o’er,

But out of their shadow he finally came,

Taking up in peaceful pursuits

The burdens of life once more.

Then came his marriage, and family life

Brought joy to his heart once again,

Four children were born, and the mother then died,

Leaving the babes in his charge.

To this trust also he proved true,

Striving to be to them both father and mother,

No better test of fine manhood

Surely, could ever be given.

Later, a dear companion he chose to walk with him,

And she blesses his life with her loving care,

Through peaceful days in a cozy home

Which they have made together.

We wish for you, friend, “Many Happy Returns”

Of this, your Natal day,

May the sun turn the evening skies to gold

And love brighten all the way.

Advertisements

Chester Hutchinson and the Mystery of Ira Ingerson

April 30, 2012

After my April 3rd post on Chester Hutchinson, several readers were interested in learning more about the poems written in celebration of his 80th and 85th birthdays.  Let me just say that I am not an expert on poetry.  However, I find the poems to be quite different in feeling and sentiment.

The first poem, by Ira Ingerson of Dewittville, New York in Chautauqua County, was written in honor of Chester’s 80th birthday.  It was published in the Monroe County (NY) Mail on July 28, 1921.   Here’s the mystery:  Who was Ira Ingerson, and why did he write a birthday poem for Chester Hutchinson? 

Research on Ira Ingerson began by searching newspaper archives.  Not much was found about him there.  Next, I tried Ancestry.com.  I was able to track Ira in census records from 1850 through 1930.  It appears Ira was born circa 1849 to Harry and Harriet Ingerson, and he lived the majority of his life in Chautauqua County, New York.  Ira and his wife, Elizabeth, had at least five sons together – George, Marion, Eugene, Leon and Llewellyn – who were born between 1869 and 1879. 

The mystery deepened as I found a 1910 census record showing Ira was married to a woman named Julia, and had been for three years.  It was listed as Ira’s second marriage.  However, a Find A Grave memorial for Ira’s first wife, Elizabeth, states that she died in 1926.  An Ancestry.com family tree gives Elizabeth’s death date as 1932.  Are those sources both inaccurate and Elizabeth died prior to 1907, were there two different Ira Ingersons who were the same age living in the same town, or were Ira and Elizabeth divorced?

It occurred to me that Ira may have served in the Civil War with Chester Hutchinson, but I found no documentation to verify that idea. So, however it happened and whatever Ira’s relationship was to Chester, Ira Ingerson wrote the following poem in celebration of Chester Hutchinson’s 80th birthday.  We’ll follow up with the second poem, by Franc Fassett Pugsley, in our next post.

Eighty years of life I’ve lived,

Its pleasures, peace and strife:

Its end cannot be far away,

I’ll not complain, I’ve had my day.

 

I recollect long years ago,

My cheeks were red with youthful glow:

They now are pale, my hair is gray,

I’ll not complain, I’ve had my day.

 

In youthful days around me stood

So many friends, both true and good:

They now are gone, alone I stay,

I’ll not complain, I’ve had my day.

 

Yet not alone, ‘round me arrayed

Are later friends that I have made,

Both kind and true and good are they;

I’ll not complain, I’ve had my day.

 

What others feel of joys or woes,

For my own part, I do not know.

Have I had my share?  I cannot say.

I’ll not complain, I’ve had my day.

 

But there’s another, better clime,

Where years eternal ever shine.

Hope, only hope, sends a glorious ray,

I’ll not complain, I’ve had my day.

 

I’ve had my day, I’ll not complain:

In that blest land, no sorrow, no pain:

For the Master, Himself, will gently say,

I am the life, I am the way.

Oh, the thought how it thrills me,

When life’s trials will all be o’er,

I can wait, for at the longest,

It will be only a few years more.


%d bloggers like this: