by Stacen Goldman, FHC Curator
Here at the Framingham History Center we’re undergoing a huge transition, rethinking our collections storage and work space. The first step in this process is to take stock of what we have and the space we have available for storage. This is a really exciting process for me as a relatively new staff member, because it’s almost like a foreign language immersion program – just spend one year reorganizing the FHC’s collection and you will be fluent in all things Framingham!
One of the very first projects I threw myself into, even before I began working on our upcoming costume exhibit (which you may remember from my last blog post), was taking stock of boxes full of dolls, doll furniture, and doll clothing that had somehow made its way into our textile storage space. These items were taking up valuable shelf space in a room that we had designated for a specialized purpose, so we needed to remove them for reorganization and rehousing. Doing this properly would, of course, require an inventory, some of which I undertook myself, and some of which was done by our Desilets Memorial Intern, Colleen Jenkins.
As we were performing the inventory, one item in particular caught my eye. It was a simple doll’s nightdress, white with very little decorative trimming, but one eye-catching detail: a hand-written note that said “Made by E. D. Upham, age 7 years.” Now, I don’t know about other people, but I can’t see an inscription like that and not go hunting for more information about the little girl who made a nightdress for her doll! With the help of Ruthann Tomasini, a dedicated member of our Research team, I began the hunt for little E.D. Upham in the historical record.
It turns out the dress was made by Eliza D. Upham, who was born in Framingham in 1830 and who would eventually marry Abiel S. Lewis in 1854 (she would be the second of four wives, a sad testament to the high mortality rate at the time). Abiel came to Framingham from Boston in 1851 and was elected to the State Senate in 1856. This information piqued my interest – although I was trying to learn more about Eliza, the fact that Abiel was a State Senator meant that he was more likely than your average person to show up in the historical record. Perhaps he would lead me to Eliza.
What I found instead was Issue 2907 of the United States Congressional Serial Set (a publication of all House and Senate documents from 1892) with a report regarding a claim Abiel S. Lewis had filed against the United States for compensation for a ship and cargo belonging to his father that were seized by French privateers off the coast of Guadeloupe in 1798. Abiel, as the executor of his father’s estate, was granted $8,480 from the United States, which took on responsibility for France’s unlawful seizures of American cargo when it ratified a treaty with the French Republic in 1803.
I was amazed! I had gone from a doll’s nightgown sewn by a little girl in Framingham to a real-life pirate story in the Caribbean! (Well, technically a privateer story, but the difference is essentially semantic). In this case, looking for Abiel didn’t help me find Eliza, but it took me to an incredible and unexpected place.
I love my job because surprises like this are typical in a day’s work. One item can take you from New England to the tropics or from domestic life to swashbuckling on the high seas – it really expands your perception of the stories a small historical society can tell! Having this experience so early in my tenure here at the FHC means I’ll never lose sight of the fact that communities don’t exist in a vacuum – local history can also be global history.
You can read the senate report on Abiel Lewis’s claim here.