On June 9, 1874, in Granville, Alfred Hodge , 62, was repairing a fence with Clarence Johnson , 19, when a thunderstorm rolled in. Hodge took shelter beneath a tree while Johnson raised his axe to cut away a limb. At that very instant, lightning struck. Alfred Hodge's Gravestone Granville, Massachusetts   The jolt was so fierce it drove the axe blade and its handle deep into the ground. Hodge was killed instantly. Witnesses said the “electric fluid” entered through his eyes and mouth, traveled through his entire body, and exited through his big toe—leaving a small, burned hole about the size of a pea in his boot as grim evidence of its path. Most chilling of all, the lightning appeared to leave an image on Hodge’s side—an imprint of the very tree under which he stood, as if nature itself had captured his final moment. Clarence Johnson survived but was badly burned and temporarily left unable to use his limbs. It's interesting to note that Clarence's grandfather was born o...

David W. Hunter was a former cigar maker, like his father before him, and long-time resident of Southwick, Massachusetts. He had lived along Congamond Lake before moving to Hartford, Connecticut, where he found work at the massive Billings & Spencer tool manufacturing plant. As the operator hired to run the elevator, he worked closely with the machinery—but on Tuesday, April 4, 1911, something went horribly wrong.     No one witnessed what happened in that shaft. It was only when someone heard David's desperate cry for help that workers rushed to the elevator pit and found him at the bottom, the elevator suspended high above. His right hand was crushed, his face and head cut, his left ankle dislocated, and his ribs fractured. The man, once well known throughout the region for his skilled hands, lay broken in the darkness beneath the machine he had operated. He was rushed to St. Francis Hospital. For a few days, there was hope. But his injuries were too severe, his bod...

A Southwick man named John Mason found work far from home on one of Massachusetts' most ambitious engineering projects — the new Slade's Ferry Bridge, spanning the Taunton River between Fall River and Somerset. Construction of the bridge began in October 1874, financed largely by railroad interests. The design called for two levels: the upper deck to carry trains of the Providence, Warren, and Bristol Railroad (operated by the Old Colony Railroad), and the lower deck to serve wagons, pedestrians, and eventually automobile traffic. This dual-level innovation allowed the bridge to serve multiple transportation needs simultaneously, making it an engineering marvel for the era. The bridge would also feature a swing truss mechanism — a sophisticated design that could pivot open to allow river traffic to pass beneath — a capability that set it apart from simpler fixed structures of the time.   Slade's Ferry Bridge It was grueling, dangerous work. On September 15, 1875, Mason was ...

When the ground shook that March afternoon in 1833, the people of Canton, Connecticut, and the neighboring towns thought the earth itself had split apart.  In the early nineteenth century, the manufacture of gunpowder was one of the most perilous trades in America. The slightest spark, a stray ember, or the friction of machinery could bring instant ruin. The Hazard, Loomis & Company powder mill of Canton—formerly operated as Mills & Laflin , the latter a native of Southwick, Massachusetts —would learn this truth at tremendous cost. The Ground Shakes  — March 22, 1833 Late in the afternoon of Friday, March 22, 1833, around five o’clock, the powder mill lay quiet. The works had recently been rebuilt and reopened after an explosion roughly six months earlier, but on this day, the mill was closed for repairs. Situated along the Farmington River, the glazing mill held between sixty and one hundred kegs of powder—an immense and deadly stockpile. What occurred in those final ...

A Southwick Farm Tragedy, 1924   On the morning of June 25, 1924, Raymond A. Mason left his home on Putney Road—known today as Fred Jackson Road—in Southwick, Massachusetts, with his shotgun in hand. He headed into the fields, as he often did. For weeks, crows had been plaguing his farm, and before settling into the day's work, Raymond had made it his habit to drive off the troublesome birds with his shotgun to protect his crops. Around 8:00 a.m., his wife, Bessie, heard a gunshot echo across the fields. It was nothing unusual so she continued with her daily household chores.   Whether Raymond intended to scare the crows or strike them down is not recorded, but it was a familiar morning ritual on his farm. Bessie expected him back by noon for lunch, as was their custom. It was a day like any other—or so it seemed.   When noon came and went without Raymond returning home, his wife grew uneasy. She waited through the afternoon, watching the clock, expecting ...