On a cool, overcast Saturday afternoon, Peg and I decided to take a walk and stretch our legs a little before driving up to Watkins Glen for supper with friends from my old F-15 squadron.
A stroll around the neighborhood is always good for the soul and for the lungs, especially in the fresh spring air, with steep elevation changes between rows of perfectly restored old Greek Revival and Victorian homes.
Nearing the top of the hill, we shifted from the sidewalk to the street to go around a fit-looking septuagenarian in a Red Sox cap, trimming tree branches in this yard.
I asked in passing, "What kind of tree is that?"
"Soft wood maple. That's why I can't crawl up there to cut the smaller branches. The wood's so soft even the big branches will just break off."
From there, we talked a little about the dangers of having a big tree right next to your house (we gained a little experience with that when a giant magnolia fell through the roof on Massalina Drive on 10.10.18), and Peg commented on what a lovely home he had.
"It was my parents' house. I grew up here. Right across the street from the Knoll up there, where the Houghtons lived. Now Corning uses it for receptions and training meetings mostly, but back then it was just their house when they were in town."
By way of background, the Houghton family came to Corning from Brooklyn in the middle of the 19th century and established what became Corning Glass Works and now Corning, Inc. There are three or more generations of Houghtons buried down the hill from here. The last in the line, if Wikipedia is to be believed, is a very old Episcopal priest. The family provided congressmen (always Republican, but also centrist, reflecting the values of this place), an ambassador to Great Britain, and in our new friend Mike's recollection (at some point he referred to himself by name) an ambassador to France. That would be Amory Houghton, born in Corning, Harvard educated, and Chairman of the Corning Glass Works from the 1940s until 1961. He was our ambassador in Paris from '57 to '61.
"Right there in that driveway was where I met President Eisenhower," he pointed up the hill to the winding path leading to a huge red brick mansion partially shielded by a thicket of pines.
The story of Mike's boyhood encounter with Ike took a meander at this point, as he described life in Corning in the 1950s.
"The Houghtons owned the company, but they just lived here. There was no gate to the Knoll back then. All the neighborhood kids would go sledding in their yard in the winter. The girl who lived in that house over there had a pony she kept in their barn. In the summer we'd come knock on the door and ask the housekeeper if it was okay to go swimming. Usually it was, but sometimes she'd tell us 'the Houghtons are here today' or 'we have visitors', and we'd know to come back another time.
The Houghtons had a big dog named Bagley, who loved to drink beer. Back then Market Street was lined with saloons, and Bagley would walk down the hill in the afternoons into town. All the tavern keepers knew that was the Houghton's dog, and they'd leave a bowl of beer out by the doorstep when Bagley would come around, going from bar to bar until pretty soon he could hardly walk. We had one taxi back then, and when Bagley'd get too drunk they'd load him into the taxi and drive him up the hill. Mr. Houghton would always settle up later with the taxi driver and the saloons.
Mr. Houghton was the poorest rich man you ever saw. He never had any money in his pockets. But he'd walk into any store in town and they always had something he'd want to buy, and he had to have a tab with all of them.
He used to drive up and down the hill in a Bentley. When we kids were walking home from Corning Free Academy down on Third, he'd stop the car and offer us all a ride up the hill.
One day we were out here playing in the street when a procession of limos came up the hill and onto the Houghton property. A secret service guy was posted at the bottom of their driveway, and another around the corner. We saw Mr. Houghton and a tall bald man walking along that ridge right there. Mr. Houghton noticed us watching him, and waved us up the hill to where they were standing.
'Would you boys like to meet the President?'
Well, of course we would. President Eisenhower held out his hand, and Mr. Houghton introduced me as 'Mike'. He knew all of us by name.
Months later my parents took us to the City to buy clothes, and we were staying at the Commodore Hotel. A bunch of limos were out front, with lots of security. My dad said to me, 'Looks like some bigwigs are staying here at the hotel.' We were waiting on the elevator, which was running slow (Peg noted this was probably because, as Mike had told us, he thought it would be funny to press all the buttons).
After a few minutes the doors opened, and although the elevator was packed I ran inside. The next thing I knew a guy in a suit was gripping me to his chest. I recognized him as one of those Secret Service guys. When he saw I was just a kid he let go of me, and as I looked over his shoulder I could see it was President Eisenhower behind him, surrounded by security. Eisenhower saw me there, smiled, and said, 'Well, hello Mike!' That's the kind of guy he was. He remembered my name.
Back then my dad was a photographer for Corning. You can see his photos of things like the 20 foot disk down at the Museum of Glass. He started out in the glassblowing operation, just like I did. In those days Mr. Houghton ate in the employee cafeteria, getting a tray just like everyone else and sitting at a table full of workers. They had an HR department, I guess, but if there was ever any conflict or something that needed to be resolved, they'd just go straight to Mr. Houghton, and he'd take care of it.
All that changed in the '70s and '80s. The company got big. The town got big. The Houghtons moved away. Bagley's still buried up there on the Knoll, though.
The company hired a landscaping company for the grounds. Used to be Mr. Hillman, who lived in that little house right there on the corner (Mike gestures toward a deep red craftsman cottage a few doors down), took care of the whole place with two guys. They did a great job. Then one day they told him they didn't need him, and hired this company that didn't do as good of a job but they sure had a lot of people up there doing it. The neighborhood kids weren't allowed on the property anymore--the new landscapers said they were trespassing, and threatened to call the cops. Mr. Hillman would have never done something like that.
Every one of these houses is a story. You said you lived in the Sinclaire House? Right next door to you was the whore house."
He paused and smiled a little, letting that sink in.
"That's spelled H-O-A-R-E. They were one of the biggest glassmakers in town, like the Sinclaires. Their big brick mansion is right there on Third Street, across from the Academy."
Well, that explains why the CFA was built where it was--the Houghtons managed to block the view of two of their competitors, who happened to be next door neighbors. There was no such risk up here on the Knoll.
At this point I was sneaking glances at my watch and trying to calculate how late we'd be for supper up in Watkins Glen. I told him we had to go, but had enjoyed our time and hoped to run into him again soon.
"I normally wouldn't bore you with all that, but you being from out-of-town, I thought you might like to know a little about the neighborhood."
"Maybe one day we could come back and you could take us around the block, and tell us the stories of all these houses," Peg suggested.
"I'd like that," Mike nodded, looking back up at the tree that still needed trimming.
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