Providence Directories are ubiquitous in our local archives. They are frequently used for researching genealogy and house histories. Beginning in 1824 and running until the 1990s when the internet made them (allegedly) obsolete, these books are full of interesting details that can give us a window into lesser-known aspects of Providence history. 

But there are downsides to these books, such as equity issues. The publishers chose not to include people of color until 1832, and for several years they were segregated into the back of the directories. The listings are based primarily on a head of household and do not include most married women or children unless they ran a business of their own. Women are identified as “widow,” but men are never identified as widower. Both Mrs and Miss are included, but never Mr. At times, the publishers struggled with the city’s changing ethnicity. For example, Chinese people were listed, but for several years in the early 1900s, the directories explicitly claimed that “Chinese names were unreliable,” and the spelling was anglicized, which led to mistakes.

Directories are not perfect records of the Providence community – however, they are excellent resources for understanding what kinds of work people did, how individuals and groups moved around the city, and how people identified and promoted themselves. The directories are also funny. It is not often noted that history can be profoundly hilarious. The directories can reveal to us what was presumed to be “understood” at the time they were written, and how some of that contextual knowledge is lost to us today. 

Using the 1896 Providence Directory, I created a list of jobs that caught my eye. There are three main categories that I’ll talk about here: this and that, jobs that no longer exist, and jobs as microhistories. You will see that in some cases, these turned into a portal for further research. So let’s take a walk down the block in 1896!

This and That 

Richard W. Farr, of 381 Elmwood Avenue, is listed as “dry goods and circulating library,” so he sold things like cloth and thread, and also had books which customers could borrow. This is unusual, but not wildly so. Crossing the city, we have Antonio Mariani, at 597 Charles Street. He was an undertaker and he sold “coal, etc.” Perhaps undertaking did not pay well, or more likely it was a bit irregular, a job which ebbed and flowed, so to speak. As did the coal business; the demand was seasonal. But the real mystery here is always the “etc.” What lies behind it? We may never know for sure, but at one point he was also in the business of hay and grain, so perhaps that was the etc. Mariani was born in Fontegreca, Italy and he served in the Italian Army before, as the Evening Bulletin politely stated, being “connected with an undertaking concern.” He lived on Charles Street, then Branch Avenue. Upon Mariani’s 1920 death, he was an active member of the Societa Principe de Napoli Number One, the Societa Saint Antonio, the Saint Rocco Society and the Modern Woodmen of America. While the latter may seem incongruent, it was actually a fraternal benefit society, so was in fact similar to the others. Mr. Mariani’s funeral was held in his own home, at 486 Branch Avenue. 

Jerome Potter’s business at the corner of Orange and Dyer Street Downtown sold windmills, tanks, bicycles, etc. Is there a common thread here? Born on Prudence Island, the youngest of ten children, he was billed as “a retired agent of windmills” in his 1914 obituary. Perhaps he was skilled at welding, or just needed to diversify the business. 

Nicholas Ross, who was located at 6 Townes Street, was listed as an “expressman, also fish.” An expressman was a delivery person, who may have moved freight or messages. Did he have a storefront that sold fish? Did he deliver it? We may never know, but we do know that he was born in Yuglsolavia c. 1841, and according to the Providence Journal, “When he was 15 years of age he took up the vigorous life of following the sea, as the sea was followed in the 19th century. For eleven years he shipped aboard vessels traveling the Adriatic and the Black Seas and many times made his home for short periods in Turkey.” Then, following the path of many before him, he moved to Providence. He married Annie Jane, worked as a laborer, and served in the American Civil War, though not necessarily in that order. By 1910, he was living in Warwick’s Conimicut Point, and the censuses list him alternately as a fisherman and a peddler of fish, “on his own account.” Ross died in 1930. 

George Whitford, at 248 Broad Street, was listed as an “agent and harpist.” Another interesting combination; was he a hustler, agenting during the day, harp playing at night, perhaps? 

Adding more evidence to the idea that neither agenting nor embalming pay, Dennis and Eugene McCarthy worked as undertakers and emigration agents. The 1896 Directory is full of people who had recently “removed to” another country. Folks who had immigrated mid-century may have had enough money to return home or may have just had enough of the American experience. The McCarthys could help! 

And finally, we have the truly delightful Clarence Herbert Freeman. Clarence was listed in the Directory as a “janitor and checker player.” In 1896, he worked at 4 Market Square, then at the Tillinghast Building at 301 Westminster Street. He was a man who followed his dream.  Born in Plainfield, CT to a family with some Pequot ancestry, he was considered a world-champion checker player. In fact, in March of 1903, Clarence helped open the Olneyville Checker, Chess, and Whist Club by playing 32 checkers games simultaneously!

According to the Providence Journal, only one of the 32 players was able to beat him. Clarence died in 1909, age 46, due to bladder disease.

Jobs That No Longer Exist

Now, we turn to jobs that don’t seem to exist today or have changed from their 1896 state. Thomas M. Aldrich, “dog fancier,” lived at 35 Battey Street. He may have been a breeder of dogs, which does still exist. He also trained “field dogs,” which is indeed rare now. A Civil War veteran who was also keen on Civil War history, upon his 1916 death he was 74 and widowed with no children. 

Warren F. Arnold, who boarded at 68 Meeting Street was an “egg tester.” Perhaps that role has been subsumed by the Food and Drug Administration. Waldo E. Barnes’ job of “dead animals removed” has also been turned over to the city. Mr. Barnes lived at Field’s Point Farm and was frequently getting into trouble. Unfortunately, he was cited in 1871 for boiling horses and creating a nuisance in his bayside neighborhood. He was also charged with “using a horse unfit for labor” and impersonating both a cattle dealer and a butter dealer. Perhaps because of this, or perhaps not, Barnes’ chicken coop was raided by thieves in 1895.

Dr. John P. Brooks provided the “lifting cure” based on Butler’s System of Health-Exercise and The Lifting Cure: A Scientific Application of the Laws of Motion, or Mechanical Action to Physical Culture and the Cure of Disease. It appears that he was, essentially, a proto-personal trainer. And turning to animal training, while horse trainers like John Henley have not entirely disappeared, you would be hard-pressed to find one on West Friendship Street these days. 

There were two oyster openers in the directory, William A. Keene and Amos Maynard. On reflection, I think we can identify workers at the Providence Oyster Bar today as performing this job, though perhaps not exclusively. Frederick Kennedy, “derrick man,” was a person who ran a derrick, which is usually applied to oil rigs. Although it is a job that still exists, I know of no oil derricks in the greater Providence area today. Quite possibly he operated a crane along the Providence waterfront.

Patrick F. Phelan, “horse clipper,” would be out of customers in today’s Providence. As would Richard B. McElroy, “hat and bonnet bleacher,” Samuel Lismer, “junk peddler,” and Peter Lalime, “building mover.” Sure, you may find a bonnet that needs bleaching or a house that needs moving, but it seems unlikely that any of these jobs would really pay the rent. 

George Pilkington, an acrobat, would have a chance at success today if he were really good at his job, which apparently he was. Soon after 1896, he changed his name to George Reno, and partnered up with “a young man named Kelly.” Both acrobats were from Joslin Street in Olneyville, and they were “among the best rough and tumble acrobats in the world,” according to the News-Democrat. The pair toured the United States and Europe for years, until George fell ill in Colorado in 1900, and died there. 

But the job of Max Schacter, an umbrella manufacturer who lived and worked at 90 Chalkstone has been outsourced entirely. He was not a one-trick pony though; by 1913, he was plying his peddler’s wagon in the vicinity of Pine and Pearl Streets. With the onset of smartphones, there is very little demand for William Mill and Son, who together offered “whist parties photographed by flashlight.”

Directory as Microhistory

Shehadi Shehadi was listed in the Directory with one job only: “lecturer.” This begs the question of what, exactly, did Mr. Shehadi lecture about? And how successful was this? Shehadi was born in Syria in 1874, so was only 22 when he had the confidence to publicly name his path in the 1896 Directory.

He had moved to Providence after attending the American University in Beirut, and went into the rug business with Adeeb Faris. Their shop was located at 2 Weybosset Street. But before that, he was living in a boarding house at 21 Willow Place, and lecturing about the history and culture of Syria and the Arab world. He traveled around the city, speaking to groups like the YWCA and the Cranston Street Baptist Men’s Club, sometimes singing while in Syrian costume. He married a woman named Adma, and they had a daughter and three sons. At the outbreak of World War II, he returned to Beirut to work for the Red Cross, passing away there in 1943.

Ernest Nachtrieb ran a restaurant at 173 Smith Street for many years, which he identified as “night lunch” in 1896. I question whether it is truly lunch if it is nighttime, but perhaps he was serving the third-shift workers. Nachtrieb could not drive. Or, rather, he did drive, but he should not have. He was an early adopter of the automobile in the first decade of the 1900s, and he crashed that automobile many times. He flipped it in Seekonk in 1910, nearly killing everyone aboard. His wife was trapped beneath the car until help came, and all others were ejected. He then ran over a girl named Annie Mencuinas, who tragically died as a result. He was consistently in trouble with the law for parking wherever he wanted to, getting into car crashes, and causing a vehicular nuisance. 

Archie Newcomb listed himself, humbly, as a “bicycle repairer” in the 1896 Directory, leaving out an important detail: he was “one of the most ablest and most popular” players of polo, perhaps ever. According to The Pawtucket Evening Times, Newcomb’s “gentlemanly bearing and ability as a polo player made him a big favorite with Pawtucket admirers of polo.” However, he caught tuberculosis, apparently while playing, and had to retire from his beloved game. A member of the Providence and Pawtucket Polo Clubs and the Rhode Island Wheelmen, he and his teammates also innovated “roller polo” locally. It was seemingly a cross between roller skating, ice hockey, and polo. After working for some time at Columbia Bicycle Co. in Providence, he traveled to Washington, ME “for his health,” but it did not resolve the problem, as Mr. Newcomb died there in 1898.

What we have here are lives lived – tiny snapshots that bring the past to us across space and time. Houses are not just wood and stone, they are containers for these lives. The details can spark our imaginations, connect us to past characters, and help us enter into history as participants, not just as bystanders.

By Traci Picard

Traci Picard is a public historian from Providence.