The Story of Cooperstown

by Ralph Birdsall

"Cooperstown," he repeated, "Is not Cooperstown the home of Fenimore Cooper, the great author?"

It was now Worthington's turn to exhibit interest, for in boyhood he had been next door neighbor to Cooper; and he asked if his Highness was acquainted with the writings of the novelist. The Khedive had read all of Cooper's books. Some of them he cared little for, but those he did care for he loved. The Leather-Stocking Tales had opened a new world to him, and he was charmed. The Deerslayer he "adored." The sublime and shadowy forests, the silent lakes high up in evergreen hills, the cool rivers—how they captivated his imagination! how they invited his soul! He would, he exclaimed, give a year of his life if he might view the Glimmerglass, if he might tread a forest trail. In his library the Khedive showed to his visitor, with evident satisfaction, his three magnificent sets of Cooper's works, in French, in German, and in English.

John Worthington's later days were passed in Cooperstown, where he lived to be the village man of letters, delighting his contemporaries with contributions of picturesque prose and graceful verse that would have given him a wider renown had he written otherwise than, as it seemed, for the mere pleasure of writing for the entertainment of his friends. His twelve years of service at Malta, with many excursions in the ancient world, developed in him an oriental color of mind, and gave even to the Otsego of his childhood, when he returned hither to live, the dreamy glamour of the mystic East. At home he lived altogether among books, and in the companionship of poetic imagination passed the years of almost exile from Malta, his fondest retrospect. A winning soul was John Worthington, widely beloved for what he was, and mourned for all that he might have been.

During the Civil War a girl of extraordinary beauty and vivacity, skilled as a musician, drew many suitors to her home, the house which still stands at the southwest corner of Pioneer and Elm streets. Her name was Elizabeth Davis, and her happy disposition made her a universal favorite in the community. Toward the close of the war she suffered a disappointment in love, the exact nature of which was not made known, but so seriously affecting her attitude toward life that she registered a solemn vow never again to be seen in public. From this time forth she kept to the house, although it was said that she sometimes walked about at night. Years passed. Father, mother, brother, and sister, followed one another to the grave, until Elizabeth Davis became the only inhabitant of the old house. Nobody ever saw her except a negro who brought her supplies. In the village there grew up a new generation to which she was a stranger. The windows of the house showed an abundance of the choicest plants, always carefully tended. Passers-by often arrested their steps to listen to the sound of a piano splendidly played within. But nobody ever caught a glimpse of a face or form. The most that the nearest neighbors saw was a hand and arm that were stretched forth from the windows every evening to close the blinds. Thus Elizabeth Davis lived for more than thirty years after the close of the war, and carried her secret to the grave.

In the time of the Civil War the favorite reading matter of the soldiers in camp and hospital throughout the northern armies was supplied by the enterprise of Erastus F. Beadle, who had learned the publishing business in the employment of the Phinneys in Cooperstown, himself being a native of Pierstown, just over the hill. He became known throughout the United States as the publisher of "Beadle's Dime Novels," and on his retirement from business in 1889 purchased "Glimmerview," the residence which overlooks the lake next east of the O-te-sa-ga. Here he died in 1894. This inventor of the "dime novel" made an amazing success of publishing paper-covered books adapted to the popular taste on a scale of cheapness and in quantities which had never before been dreamed of. After leaving Cooperstown, he began business for himself in Buffalo, publishing magazines, and on his removal to New York, in 1858, discovered, in the publication of "The Dime Song Book," the field which he afterward made so profitable. To the song books were added, in rapid succession, the "Household Manual," the "Letter Writer," and the "Book of Etiquette." In the summer of 1860 the Dime Novels were started. These little salmon-covered books became immediately popular all over the country, and the business grew to vast proportions, until Beadle had about twenty-five writers employed in the composition of stories for his imprint. The business was afterward expanded to include the publication of popular "Libraries,"—the Dime Library, the Boy's Library, the Pocket Library, and the Half-Dime Library. After his retirement from business, as a resident of Cooperstown, Beadle did much for the development of the village.

Main Street
Looking west from Fair Street, 1861. The Clark Gymnasium displaces the two buildings at the left.

The village had troubles of its own during the progress of the war. In the spring of 1862, a disastrous fire, the largest conflagration in the history of Cooperstown, destroyed at least a third of the business district. The fire started near the Cory stone building, which alone survived of the stores and shops in the path of the flames that spread on the north side of Main Street, and extended from the building next to the present Mohican Club as far east as Pioneer Street. The fire then crossed to the south side of Main Street, destroying the old Eagle Tavern, originally the Red Lion, and burning westward as far as the present Carr's Hotel. Up Pioneer Street, on the west side the flames ate their way as far south as the Phinney residence. The buildings at the eastern corners of Main and Pioneer streets were several times on fire, and were saved only by supreme efforts of the village firemen. The survival of the Cory building was due in part to its solid stone construction, but chiefly to the efforts of two plucky men, David P. House and George Newell, who stationed themselves on the roof, and while the fire worked its way around the rear of the building, succeeded in defending their position, although so terribly scorched that for weeks afterward they went about swathed in bandages.