Published: 22 September 2009

• 2009 Inductees

1760 - 1850; served in gen. Washington’s army

The links between Joseph Plumb Martin and Milford start early. Reverend Ebenezer Martin (1732-1795) was Born in Hampton, Windham, CT, and was a graduate of Yale. 

Yale existed partly due to the efforts of Rev. Andrew, teaching many Yale students at Milford in the early days and First Church remained active with Yale throughout the eighteenth Century. The Reverend Martin met his wife at Milford: Susannah Plumb, a descendant of Robert Plum, one of nine persons added to the 11/20/1639 roll of 44 Milford “free planters” (but he was not a free planter). Other notable Plumbs of Milford were John Plumb, Sr. who built the first Mill on the Indian River (Rose’s Mill) in 1707. It operated until 1815 when much of the site (Quarry Road) was sold to the Milford Marble Company. They produced “Verde Antique,” a green Marble for the US capital. 

The Reverend Ebenezer was the founding minister of the First Congregational Church at Becket (MA) from February 23, 1759 until his removal on October 12, 1764. Joseph Plumb Martin had been born at Becket, November 21, 1760. Young Joseph recalls that his father “often got in trouble for speaking his mind too freely.” Despite a Yale education, an out of work Puritan minister who spoke his mind may have had difficulty making ends meet. His parents provided Joseph an education but, when he was just seven [possibly six], they sent him to live with Susannah’s more affluent parents in Milford, Joseph Plumb and Susanna Newton [other source: “Rebecca”].

From 1774 young Joseph knew of the strain between the colonials and the British but intended to keep out of it, at least until after the battles in Massachusetts in 1775: 

“During the winter of 1775-1776, by hearing the conversation and discussion of the good old farmer politicians, I collected pretty correct ideas of the contest between this country and the mother country. I thought I was as warm a patriot as the best of them. The war was waged; we had joined issue, and it would not do to “put the hand to the plow and look back.” I felt more anxious than ever to be called a defender of my country.” 

That spring, uniformed recruiters with fife and drum came to the center of this little hamlet promising adventure and pay to all patriots who would sign up. Joseph was as patriotic as any and with the pressure of his peers enlisting sought to do the same. Grampa forbade it but under his threat to run away and join a naval privateer he was allowed to join the army. Better on land than sea, thought his grandparents. 

Joseph was, perhaps, still not totally committed. In June 1776, at just fifteen and a half, he signed up for just a six month enlistment with the 5th Connecticut State Militia. He was assigned duty in New York where on August 27, 1776 Martin fought at the Battle of Long Island, a/k/a Battle of Brooklyn or Brooklyn Heights. It was the first major battle after the Declaration of Independence. In numbers involved, it was the largest battle of the entire conflict, and the first battle for an army of the now “United States.” Ultimately it was a serious defeat which only the hesitance of General Howe and an early morning fog prevented it from being the total destruction of Washington’s escaping army to Northern Manhattan. Many took ill in the fall of 1776, including Martin:

“It now began to be cool weather, especially the nights. To have to lie as I did almost every night (for our duty required it) on the cold and often wet ground without a blanket and with nothing but a thin summer clothing was tedious. I have often while upon guard lain on one side until the upper side smarted with cold, then turned that side down to the place warmed by my body and let the other side take its turn at smarting, while the one on the ground warmed, thus alternately turning for or six hours till called upon to go on sentry ... and when relieved from a tour of two long hours at that business and returned to the guard again, I have to go through the operation of freezing and thawing for four or six hours more…”

 “I had the canopy of heaven for my hospital and the ground for my hammock (bed). I found a spot where the dry leaves had collected between the knolls. I made a bed of these and nestled in it, having no other friend present but the sun to smile upon me. I had nothing to eat or drink, not even water, and was unable to go after any myself, for I was sick indeed. In the evening, one of my messmates found me and soon after brought me some boiled hog’s flesh and turnips, without either bread or salt. I could not eat it, but I felt obliged to him notwithstanding.”

Eventually Howe moved against Washington, landing forces along the coast from Throg’s Neck to New Rochelle and sweeping west across Westchester County. He defeated Washington at the Battle of White Plains near the Croton River on October 28, 1776. Joseph served as a Private. Howe again allowed Washington’s army to escape.

When his six month tour of duty ended in December 1776, Joseph returned to Milford having done his duty. Wintering with Grampa and Grandma probably re-inspired his sense of duty, or adventure, or boredom, he joined the Continental Army in April 1777, signing on for the duration of the War with the 17th Continental Regiment, a/k/a the 8th Connecticut under General James Varnum. It had been raised on September 16, 1776 at Danbury. The regiment had seen action at Brandywine on September 11, and Germantown September 26, 1777.

At Danbury that summer of 1777 Martin relates:

 “I had ample opportunity to see the devastation caused by the British. The town had been laid in ashes, a number of the inhabitants murdered and cast into their burning houses, because they presumed to defend their persons and property, or to be avenged on a cruel , vindictive invading army. I saw the inhabitants, after the fire was out, endeavoring to find the burnt bones of their relatives amongst the rubbish of their demolished houses. The streets, in many places, were literally flooded by the fat which ran from the piles of barrels of pork burnt by the enemy.

Soon after, he returned to New York where he underwent inoculation for Small pox. Smallpox was a greater killer than war as the legacy of Milford’s Steven Stow can attest.

“In company with about four hundred others of the Connecticut forces, to a set of old barracks, a mile or two distant in the Highlands, to be inoculated with the smallpox. We arrived at and cleaned out the barracks, and after two or three days received the infection, which was on the last day of May. ... I had the smallpox favorably as did the rest, generally ... I left the hospital on the sixteenth day after I was inoculated, and soon after rejoined the regiment”

Private Joseph was assigned to join the defenders at Fort Island Battery a/k/a Mud Island Fort (officially called “Fort Mifflin” since 1795), in the Delaware River at Philadelphia. The British had taken Philadelphia and began a siege on the forts to clear the river for supply. The battle lasted six weeks to mid November, 1777 and included the greatest bombardment of the war; 85 of the 400+ defenders were killed. Martin wrote:

“Here I endured hardships sufficient to kill half a dozen horses. Let the reader only consider for a moment and he will still be satisfied if not sickened. In the cold month of November, without provisions, without clothing, not a scrap of either shoes or stockings to my feet or legs, and in this condition to endure a siege in such a place as that was appalling in the highest degree.”

Martin encamped at Valley Forge over the terrible winter of 1777–1778. There he met the Oneida of the Iroquois who walked 250 miles to Valley Forge. They joined the Colonials at who fought at Barren Hill in May 1778: “Stout-looking fellows and remarkably neat for that race of mortals.”

The Connecticut Regiment fought at Monmouth (now Freehold, NJ) on June 28, 1778, a partially successful battle against the rear guard of the British. General Clinton had been ordered in May 1778 to evacuate Philadelphia to New York after France had entered the war on the American side. That year, Martin was made a Corporal of Light Infantry.

After the most difficult winter of the war, 1779-80, during which merchants would not accept worthless Continental currency for desperately needed supplies, soldiers starved and froze in near nakedness at Morristown, NJ. Martin commented on the Connecticut line mutiny in May 1780: 

“They [the mutineers] were truly patriotic; they loved their country, and they had already suffered everything short of death in its cause; and now, after such extreme hardships to give up all was too much, but to starve to death was too much also .... Here was the army starved and naked, and there their country sitting still and expecting the army to do notable things while fainting from sheer starvation .... We were unwilling to desert the cause of our country, when in distress; that we knew her cause involved our own.”

In the summer of 1780, Washington ordered the formation of a Corps of Sappers and Miners, the predecessor to the Army Corps of Engineers. Martin was selected for this regiment and promoted to Sergeant. Still in the New York area, he witnessed British Major John Andre being escorted to his execution at Tappan on October 2, 1780 for his part in the treason of Benedict Arnold over control of West Point.

By August 1, 1781 the British under Cornwalis was surrounded by forces under the Marquis De Lafayette. Washington hurried to join the battle at Yorktown, VA. Prior to Yorktown, Martin’s corps was responsible for digging defensive entrenchments for the Continental Army. At Yorktown they cleared the field of sharpened logs called abatis. Abatis are placed along trenchlines and fortified hillocks to prevent mass charges by man or horse. Martin and his men advanced under fire to remove these before, or during, battle. His actions allowed a regiment commanded by Alexander Hamilton, to capture Redoubt #10, a site preserved (re-built) to this day at Yorktown national historic park.

On October 19, 1781 Cornwallis surrendered, effectively ending the conflict. Martin was discharged from duty when the Continental Army disbanded in October 1783. 

He taught in New York state for a year, and became one of the founders of the town of Prospect, Maine. In 1794, when he was 33, he married eighteen year old Lucy Clewley and had five children: Joseph (b. 1799), twins, Nathan and Thomas (b. 1803), James Sullivan (b. 1810) and Susan (b. 1812). At Prospect he was a farmer, served as a selectman, Justice of the Peace and, finally, 25 years as Town Clerk . 

In 1836, a platoon of United States Light Infantry was marching though Prospect and discovered that Plumb Martin resided there. The platoon stopped outside of his house and fired a salute in honor of the Revolutionary War Hero.

He also wrote many stories and poems over the years, most famously his 1830 a narrative of his experiences during the war drawn from his own contemporaneous diaries originally published anonymously in 1830, A narrative of some of the adventures, dangers, and sufferings of a Revolutionary soldier, interspersed with anecdotes of incidents that occurred within his own observation, despite the snappy title, had been mostly a failure and went out of print. 

His work would re-gain national acclaim and become a major primary source for researchers when an old first edition copy was donated to Morristown National Historical Park. From it a new publication under the title Yankee Doodle Boy: A Young Soldier's Adventures in the American Revolution, told by himself was published by Holiday House, New York, in 1955. The book was published again by Little & Brown in 1962, in an edition edited by George F. Scheer under the title Private Yankee Doodle. It also appeared as a volume in Series I of The New York Times “Eyewitness Accounts of the American Revolution” in 1968. last published as A Narrative of a Revolutionary Soldier: Some of the Adventures, Dangers and Sufferings of Joseph Plumb Martin. (Signet, New York, 2001), but perhaps the best version is by descendant James Kirby Martin, editor: Ordinary Courage: The Revolutionary Adventures of Joseph Plumb Martin. 3rd ed. (Blackwell, Malden, MA 2008).

The “boy soldier” view has been played up in modern television accounts featuring Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Ricky Schroeder as the title character. Martin would have bristled at “boy soldier” as his exploits were that of a man forged in war and hardship. He was a seasoned and hardened sergeant of 22 years by the end. A version of Joseph Plumb Martin’s life is on display by re-enactors with a history trail at Valley Forge, PA. There is even a face-book page one can visit to see a spiffy clean version of his life, suitable for children. 

Joseph Plumb Martin lived to be 89, dying on May 2, 1850. He is buried with his wife at the Sandy Point Cemetery, outside of Prospect, ME. He never returned to live in Milford.

Published: 22 September 2009

• 2009 Inductees

1740 - 1787 an explorer who always found his way back to Milford

No matter how far a field Peter Pond traveled during his eventful lifetime, he always found his hometown of Milford as a place to which he could return.

Enlisting against his parents’ wishes at age 16 in 1756 to fight in the French and Indian War, he took part in four different campaigns. At the end of each he would return home as the oldest in a shoemaker’s family of eight children.

Since Milford was and is a seaport town, Pond took a trading voyage to the West Indies in 1761 at age 21. That was the same year his mother died, and he found himself as head of the large family while his father apparently dropped shoemaking and went off trading furs in the Detroit area.

In 1762, he married Susanna Newell and soon had two children, Peter Jr. and Elizabeth. He stayed in Milford three years, a period that turned out to be, as stated in his colorful phonetically spelled memoirs “the ondlay three years of my life I was three years in one plase since I was sixteen years old up to sixtey.” He followed his father into the fur trade, a profession he kept for the rest of his life until retiring to Milford in 1790.

Pond first started trading along the Mississippi River valley and found he was good at it. He had an affinity for dealing with the Indians with whom he traded their furs for his trinkets and tools, and a love of living outdoors, even through harsh winters. In 1775, he headed for Canada where the colder winters made for thicker furs. In 1778, Pond was chosen among a group of traders who had wintered along the Saskatchewan River to gather all their trade goods and push out of the Hudson’s Bay watershed where the rivers flowed east, into the Athabasca River watershed where the rivers flowed north and west, and where no white man had ever been.

With four birch bark canoes and 16 men, Pond’s brigade crossed the torturous 12-mile Methye Portage that connected the two watersheds carrying packs and boats on their backs. In establishing his first trading post on the Athabasca River just south of the huge Lake Athabasca, he was the first white man to settle so far west at the time, about 400 miles due north of present-day Montana. This venture produced the thickest and richest fur pelts anyone had ever seen. Indians were eager to trade, happy that the white men had come to them. Before this, Indians traveled great distances east to trade with the white man along the Saskatchewan River and as far as Hudson Bay.

Pond brought back to Montreal as many furs as his four canoes could carry, which was only half the amount gathered, the rest left behind in an Indian lodge to be retrieved the following season. He gathered a group of Montreal businessmen who saw an opportunity to cash in on these rich furs, including the highly sought beaver pelts that went into making the popular beaver hats of the time. This was the start of the North West Company that was soon to become a stern competitor with the venerable Hudson’s Bay Company that had been trading in the Hudson Bay watershed since 1670.

But Pond, a man of short temper, felt slighted after being offered only one share as the company expanded around 1785. He left Canada for Milford to ponder his next move. There is no record of how he was received by his wife and children after being away for so long.

It was around this time that Pond started drawing crude but decipherable maps, considered the first of their kind to show rivers and mountains west of Hudson Bay.  In Milford he was told by seafaring cronies of the voyage of British Capt. James Cook up the West Coast of North America and finding what looked like the outlet of a large river around the same latitude as Athabasca Post. For several hundred years, explorers had been looking for a Northwest Passage as some kind of navigable waterway that crossed North America to the Pacific Ocean and riches of China and the East Indies, which Columbus had originally been trying to reach. Pond concluded this wide opening that cut deep into the land must be the outlet of the large river he had seen emptying out of Great Slave Lake just north of Lake Athabasca. 

Pond set to work on a map that included showing a river connecting Great Slave Lake and the apparent outlet that Cook had found. He went to New York City, the nation’s capital from 1785 to 1790, and stated his case to the young U.S. Congress. He presented his map showing the area from Hudson’s Bay to the West Coast and the river he believed to be the mythical Northwest Passage connected to the Pacific Ocean. He offered to lead an expedition down that river to the ocean, thereby claiming that river and all of the West Coast for the young United States. The Congress turned down his proposal as too ambitious to take on for a young nation so low on funds. Pond left his map with Congress and returned to Canada and the North West Company where he knew he still could get work, accepted the one share as better than nothing and continued on at Athabasca Post as he had before.

Pond was 45-years-old in 1785 and showed no sign of slowing down even though younger traders were starting to retire from such a strenuous profession. Hearing of the richness of Athabasca furs, other traders were starting to operate in the area, which made tensions mount. Pond had two unfortunate run-ins during these tense times. In March 1782, before leaving for Milford, he and his clerk, Toussaint Le Sieur, had been heard arguing inside a cabin near Lake La Ronge, Saskatchewan, with a rival trader, Jean Etienne Waden. A shot rang out in the cabin, and others ran in to find a gun on the floor and Waden bleeding profusely from a leg wound. He died a few hours later without saying who shot him. No one had actually seen Pond and LeSieur commit the act. An inquiry later took place in Montreal, but since the crime had occurred where no court had jurisdiction, the two were never convicted. But now a cloud of suspicion was hanging over Pond as head trader for the area.

Then in 1786, Pond was at his Athabasca Post while some miles away a fight took place between Pond’s men and a rival band of traders. A shot rang out and one of the rival traders, John Ross, was dead, “killed in a scuffle with Pond’s men,” as the report spread from mouth to mouth around the trading regions of Canada. This second killing under Pond’s watch made officers back east take punitive action. To calm tensions down between the two rival trading groups involved, North West Company merged with XYZ Company and a man from that latter group was sent to replace Pond at Athabasca. The man was a young, fiery, ambitious trader named Alexander Mackenzie. Pond accepted his replacement with magnanimity, knowing his time in the frontier had come to an end and he would never be able to lead an expedition to the West Coast. Pond spent the winter telling Mackenzie all he knew about the area, showed him a map of the West he had been preparing for the Empress Catherine the Great of Russia, and related his theory that the Great River emptying Great Slave Lake connected to the Pacific Ocean. This, he said, could be the closest anyone would come to a Northwest Passage as well as the best way to get the rich Athabasca pelts out to the West Coast for trade with Russia, China and the Indies.

Pond left Athabasca for good in the spring 1788, leaving Mackenzie fired up to conduct his own exploration. In Montreal, Pond started living the good life, squandering his fur trade earnings and basking in the glow as the one who pointed Mackenzie to become the first white man to the Pacific overland across North America. In 1789, Mackenzie led an expedition down that river from Great Slave Lake only to find that after heading west it swung north and emptied into the Arctic Ocean. When news hit Montreal in 1790 that Mackenzie did not reach the Pacific and called the river that Pond suggested the River of Disappointment, Pond was ostracized. He left Canada and returned to Milford for good. The river, second longest in North America, was later named the Mackenzie River.

Back in Milford, Pond’s wife had died and he took up residence with his daughter, Elizabeth. He soon became an object of curiosity if not admiration after returning from places so far away. But in a likely touch of sarcasm because he was so long in British territory, he started to be called “Sir Peter.” Admirers included Yale College President Ezra Stiles, who recorded in his 1790 diary that Pond visited him twice to relate his experiences in far off Canada. Stiles also made a copy of Pond’s map, which is still on file in Yale University’s Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library. There is no record that Pond was ever officially dubbed a knight.

Mackenzie, still fired up over Pond’s theories about a river to the sea, tried again in 1793 and this time he made it. He did so through a series of rivers from the Peace leaving Lake Athabasca, to the Parsnip then a trail through the Rocky Mountains and finally the Bella Coola River to the Pacific. He wrote a best selling book about his travels for which he was knighted by King George III and lived in prosperity until his death.

It was Mackenzie’s book that pushed President Thomas Jefferson to launch the Lewis and Clark Expedition to forestall any more British incursion on the West Coast. Therefore, Pond can be seen to be indirectly responsible for the Lewis and Clark Expedition.

But things did not go well for Pond during his later years in Milford. Taking Mackenzie’s lead and probably needing a way to bring in money after squandering most of it in Montreal, Pond wrote his own memoirs. With many phonetic misspellings and without a ghostwriter to clean it up as Mackenzie had, the journal was simply passed down through several generations of Ponds until Mrs. Nathan Gillette (Sophia) Pond saved it from being ripped up for stove kindling in 1867 in the house of Gov. Charles Hobby Pond on Broad Street. The house is no longer there but a plaque marks the spot.

How much of the journal went into the fire is unknown but it ends abruptly at 1775, just before entering his glory years in Canada. The journal was finally published with phonetic misspellings retained in a 1906 issue of Connecticut Magazine, then in 1935 and 1965 by the Minnesota Historical Society with many annotations. A family member donated the journal in 1947 to the Manuscripts and Archives Division of Yale University Library.

Pond died of consumption (tuberculosis) at age 67 in 1807 and was buried in Milford Cemetery. But the location of his grave is unknown as no headstone remains

Published: 22 September 2009

• 2009 Inductees

theater visionary with strong ties to Milford

Situated behind a stone wall at the intersection of Merwin Avenue and Abigail Street in Woodmont is the estate of the late Sylvester Z. Poli. Long time residents of Milford are familiar with the local landmark. Not too many, on the other hand, may know much about than who resided in the estate fronting Long Island Sound.

Poli, who was referred to by friends and associates simply as "SZ," was a visionary who in the late 19th century saw the potential of live theater and, therefore, legitimatized vaudeville without the bawdiness for which it previously had gained notoriety. He was one of the first entrepreneurs to recognize the potential of the motion picture and he was responsible for helping to launch the careers of such noted stage screen starts as Al Jolson and James Cagney, among others. Poli also amassed a fortune by buying, renovating, restoring or building theaters from New England to Washington, DC. The famed College Theater in downtown New Haven, for example, was wants a Poli property. By the time he died in the spring of 1937 at the age of 80, he was a business mogul whose reputation was matched only by very few others. Is Woodmont estate is a tribute not only to the man and his accomplishments but also to his foresight add to the entertainment industry he helped to flourish.

Sylvester Z Poli was born on the last day of 1858 in Piano Lucca, Tuscany, Di Coreglio, Italy. Because he showed an early talent for sculpting and clay modeling, a well known sculpture invited the 13-year-old to go to France and become the sculpture’s apprentice. Within a short period of time Poli mastered the modeling and sculpting craft and learned how to sculpt in wax. Following 32 months service with the Army, he returned to Paris and his studies where his work was quickly noticed by the museum director who hired him to work in the institution’s historical wax collection. It was while he was at this museum that Poli became skilled in modeling from sketches. As a result, he was offered an opportunity to come to the United States. He sailed to New York in the fall of 1881 and never looked back. It was during his museum career in New York they met his wife to be, Rosa Leverone, who was born in Genoa, Italy. "It was love at first sight," Mrs. Poli confided. They were married three months later. Poli was 27 at the time, his wife was 16. They would become lifetime partners, not only in marriage but in business as well.

In late 1886, Poli what's invite to relocate to Philadelphia to become chief modeler at the new Egyptian Museum. Two days after his new exhibit opened, fire engulfed the building that housed the museum. His exhibit, however, miraculously survived the conflagration. It was relocated and became so successful that Poli took it on tour to other cities. He traveled extensively with similar shows until 1889 decided he had sufficient experience to open his own museum. He and a partner opened Robinson and Company in Toronto, a three-story building that featured a wax museum on the third floor, curios and a menagerie on the second floor and a variety show on first floor.

After two years with Robinson and Company, Poli thought about posting his first Poli Museum and rented an abandoned church in Troy, New York. When he lost his lease two years later he traveled to Springfield, Massachusetts, Hartford and New Haven to explore new business opportunities. New Haven seemed to offer the best chance to succeed so Poli leased the second floor of the building at Church and Crown Streets in downtown New Haven where he opened a museum in 1892 it was so successful that “SZ" leased an additional floor and build a stage for vaudeville shows which eventually did nine performances a day. He decided 12 months later that he needed a more comfortable theater with permanent seats for his "High Class Vaudeville" so Poli moved to an old church on Church Street that had been extensively remodeled. Its owners were so impressed by the young man's confidence and persuasive personality they withdrew their demand for one year’s rent in advance. He and his wife began working on the new project. The wax figures were cleaned, rejuvenated and moved to the new quarters. Poli and his wife decorated their own theater. Out went the bawdy acts that were replaced by clean shows that became the foundation of the Poli entertainment empire. Performances were staged to attract women.

Poli constantly improved and changed his New Haven theater. He added 300 more seats and hired a renowned architect to redesign the complex. These changes made him wealthy; which enabled him to acquire a second theatre, in Waterbury, where he leased a building and created a large stage that attracted touring companies and he staged plays and musicals. He purchased the Park City Theater in Bridgeport at a public auction a few years later to further enhance his number of theaters. His empire further expanded upon the acquisition of the Harford Coliseum in 1903.

Sylvester Poli and Vaudeville grew together as the entrepreneur continued to expand the number of theaters under his control. Al Jolson first appeared at the Poli in New Haven as part of a singing group. Poli suggested that the singer become a single and talk to others in his troupe. Jolson donned blackface and became legendary, thanks to Poli's advice and vision. In order to challenge his competition, Poli opened additional theaters in Boston, Providence, Jersey City and in other cities that were considered to be competitor’s strongholds. He booked asts inexpensively by contracting them between other dates and since the Poli theaters were close to New York, travel time was not a disadvantage. 

This same tactic was employed 75 years later by New Haven’s Toad’s Place nightclub to become national known.

Poli befriended the mayor of Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, and in 1906 purchased a building in that town for a theater. He then added a theater in Scranton and foreseeing the growth of motion pictures, moved again to Waterbury where he leased a new 700 seat theater as a motion picture house. He then want on to theater building and buying sprees and acquired a theater in Worchester, Massachusetts, and another one in Washington DC and sought other opportunities to expand his empire. On December 22, 1913, he opened an enormous new Poli Palace in Springfield, Massachusetts, It could seat more than 2000 patrons. It was the first theater designed without supporting columns so that everyone in the house had an unobstructed view of the huge stage. Poli theaters began to dot the northeast and he confided to associate that among his many talents, he adored designing theaters.

When the Italian immigrant and Milford resident felt that Washington, DC needed a new theatre, ”SZ" designed a new one in the nation's capital. He religiously adhered to his long-held philosophy that "If you don't keep up with the trend of the times and let up on your work, someone else will step in and take your place…"

When his son, Edward, who is destined to inherit the family business, died a young age, Poli decided it was time to retire and in 1928 sold his theatres for a sum estimated to be between $16.6 and $25 million. (In 2015 the equivalent value would be $232,496,000 to $350,145,000) "SZ" maintained 76 to 78 percent interest in the properties through first mortgage bonds, however, although retired, Poli encountered financial problems when the stock market crash in 1929 forced the purchaser of his properties into bankruptcy and receivers were appointed to operate the theaters. Poli announced despite these setbacks that "the future of the theater in America will is brighter than ever … I do not come back as a sole owner but will depend upon youth to aid me in the operation of the (Poli) circuit.”

Although 74 years old when he took back control of many of his theaters, Poli advised his staff that one must work to keep young and look young even “if the years were piling up on one."

In 1934, Loew’s theaters acquired the 18 Poli Theaters that "SZ" had owned or controlled. When the Mogul and his wife celebrated their golden anniversary in 1935, President Franklin Roosevelt sent his personal regards and congratulations and 400 guests participated in the event." SZ" and his bride remained a contented couple. Their charity also was well known and he was dubbed a Chevalier of the Crown of Italy by King Victor Emmanuel and Queen Elana while Rosa was bestowed the Italian Cross of Honor. Two years after the gala 50th anniversary event, Poli developed a cold that he could not shake. The entertainment magnate died suddenly of pneumonia at his Villa Rosa estate in Woodmont. Rosa Poli, her husband's teenaged bride died shortly before her 92nd birthday in 1960. Fort daughters, seven grandchildren and 18 grand children survived.

Published: 22 September 2009

• 2009 Inductees

Hometown boy made good

It was on July 18, 1906, that Joseph Anthony Foran entered the world in Meriden, CT, the third child of Anna (O’Connor) and John Valentine Foran. His early life can be most accurately described as “ordinary,” as siblings Henry, Grace, Elizabeth and Paul joined him by 1917. As the family grew in size, the Forans moved from Meriden to Milford to Stratford, back and forth in a quest for an apartment that was less expensive than the last.

As a result, Joe was never in one town long enough to learn much in school. Besides, he was too tired from the before- and after-school jobs that he had by the age of 9 to care much about learning, as his father was often out of work, and someone had to supplement the family income. By the time he reached Milford High School, some teachers felt he was rather “educationally challenged” – and that coincided with another round of unemployment for his father. Joe finally quit school at age 15 and went to work in a meat market to pay off the family’s accumulated debt at the store and to provide food for the family of eight. By that time, Joe had lost two siblings, a brother, John, who had died in infancy, and Mary Alice, who died in 1925.

Joe’s Aunt Gertrude, from his mother’s side, was a teacher and an early influence. She encouraged Joe, no matter what anyone thought of his abilities, to read and acquire knowledge. He was fortunate as well to have “Doc” Pearson, a teacher at The Milford Preparatory School, befriend him, and they had many lively conversations about history and literature. One day, when Joe was looking a bit forlorn, Doc asked him, “What is the matter?”

“Doc, I was just thinking – is this all that there is for me?”

“No, Joe, if you’re willing to work at it you can go to college. You’re a very smart young man despite what you’ve been told.” Joe took those words to heart, and was tutored, tested, and tutored some more by Doc and other teachers from the prep school. Their goal was to have Joe enter West Point. Even though Joe did not have a high school diploma, he was able to sit for the exam, and received the highest score; all the teachers were sure that he would get the appointment. But soon the news came that the appointment had gone to someone whose family had more influence and stature. To say that Joe was disappointed is an understatement. However, Doc Pearson pulled him out of his funk, and Yale became the next aim. Joe passed the entrance exam at the age of 26, and in the fall of 1933, in the midst of the Great Depression, he entered Yale. While he was a resident of Trumbull College for only two years and was eight years older than most of his comrades, the friendships he made were life-long, and sustained him as he grew old. In June 1937, Joseph Foran graduated from Yale with a degree in history.

As his Yale days wound down, one of his history professors asked, “What are you going to do after graduation, Foran?” He replied, “I’m really not sure – maybe law school.” The professor replied, “You’d make a great teacher, Foran. Give it some consideration.”

In fact, he gave it more than a little consideration – as in September of 1937 he came to teach in his beloved Milford. He was a teacher and teaching principal in several grammar schools and also taught in Milford High School. He had eleven years of working with children, parents, teachers, and administrators, and loved his work.

However, by 1946 the Foran family was growing, as children Paula and Joan were six and four, and he had decided that he would not earn enough money teaching to provide for his family.

Foran had been accepted at Yale Law School and was enrolled to start in September 1946. Fate then intervened, as in the summer of 1946, then Superintendent of Schools Lester Maddocks died very suddenly, and Foran was promoted to Superintendent.

Imagine going from a high school dropout to becoming the head of the school system! Now Foran found himself the boss of those who thought him “challenged,” of those who called him “Joey” even though he was an adult. Quite an irony! Yet, Joe never gloated or laughed at them, but his blue eyes did sparkle when he talked about how he felt on the first day in the “boss’s seat.”

He often said that his early educational experience helped him relate to students who had difficulties, and aided him when giving teachers advice about students. He was also keenly aware that with the encouragement and help of a mentor, one could go far in life. He used to say to his daughter, Monica Foran, “People sometimes say they pulled themselves up by their own bootstraps, but that is rarely the case. There is usually a helping hand, but it’s much more dramatic and self-satisfying to say you did it alone.” What he left out was his own determination to prove that Doc Pearson had made a great decision by having faith in him. His daughter, Monica, sometimes thinks, “What would life have been like for us without the guidance that Doc Pearson showed my father?” – mulling that perhaps Foran’s life can be likened to that of Jimmy Stewart in the holiday classic, “It’s A Wonderful Life.”  

In leadership studies, professionals talk and write about two aspects that are most important: results and attributes. The results of Foran’s tenure as superintendent were admirable. He believed in the neighborhood school, and used the art of persuasion as well as factual data to create a school system that truly served the community as a whole and within its parts. To accomplish the goal, he first visited any parental group and civic group he could find. The Milford Citizen has very small articles about him visiting these groups – no headline news about decisions he made early on.

Foran knew he had a lot to learn from those around him, and he used that first year to gather knowledge, share his vision, and let the townsfolk know he was approachable. He approached the PTAs, local church groups, non-profit organizations, and governmental committees to explain why the neighborhood school was a great plan, and how it would affect the children in a positive way, at the same time showing people his personal commitment and extraordinary dedication to creating a positive atmosphere for learning.

It was no small task to convince the townspeople that it was necessary to buy land as the future site for a school, but he succeeded with the help of others, of course. Reading through back issues of the Milford Citizen, it is remarkable at the number of parcels that were purchased during his leadership and to name the schools that soon sat on these sites: Point Beach (now a condo site), Calf Pen Meadow, Matthewson, Live Oaks, a new Milford High School (now the Parsons Complex where the Milford Hall of Fame is located), Jonathan Law High School, Foran High School, Kennedy, Orange Avenue, and Kay Avenue (today West Shore Middle School), as well as renovations and additions to other schools.

At the same time, Foran hired skilled professionals as teachers and encouraged them to reach toward a higher goal – to earn a Masters and Administrative Certificate so that they could advance within the system. Former Milford school principal and superintendent of schools Bob Blake has acknowledged that Joe Foran was one of the guiding forces in his life: if you worked hard and took advantage of the education available to you, you could rise within the ranks of your own school system, and provide continuity and accumulated knowledge of students, parents, faculty, and administrators.

Is hiring from within the system always the best way? It certainly seemed to work for the Milford community at that point in time.

At the same time, Foran’s attributes were equal to his achievements of educational excellence for Milford. His daughter Monica said she “hardly knows where to begin to describe how easy he was to be around. He was never judgmental; he had made mistakes in his life, and afforded others their chance to make their own without chastising them when they came to him for guidance. He had a wonderful sense of humor that he was willing to share. He was respectful of others. He had a fabulous memory for names, places, stories, historical events, and the successes and tragedies that were part of people’s lives.

“People always tell me about the high school reunions my Dad attended. The folks would cover their name badges, and say, ‘Ok, Mr. Foran, who am I?’ And he would say, ‘Fannie Beach, grade 4, row 2 – you’re John Smith!’ And he would be right! He could still do this at the age of 90; each child had been important to him, and made a mark in his mind. He absolutely hated it when he could not place a face with a name, but that was a very rare occasion.

She continued, “I personally believe that one of the greatest reasons for his success was his ‘hometown boy made good’ life story, and that he was satisfied to be a big fish in a small pond rather than a small fish in a big pond. He loved Milford, and the job was not a stepping-stone to a higher-paid job in some other town down the road. He was visible and approachable. I remember grocery shopping at the A&P that stood next to the railroad station. We would do an hour’s worth of shopping – and he’d do an hour’s worth of talking with people. It didn’t matter what their station in life was – in my Dad’s eyes, all people were equal and deserving of his time and energy.

“In my entire childhood, I never heard derogatory remarks about anyone’s race, religion, ethnic background, or mental acuity. As I grew into adulthood, I realized how fortunate I was to be brought up in a house where neither parent disparaged others; while it is said that we all have our fears of one group or another, my parents taught us that we needed to know a person’s background and personal traits before passing judgment. A person had to prove him or herself unfit, untrustworthy or unpleasant; my father wasn’t suspicious of or reticent toward anyone at first meeting.

“When people came to apply for teaching jobs, only the credentials and letters of recommendation were important; a person’s race or religion was of no consequence to him. Applicants needed to demonstrate a desire to help children and have an affinity for the role of parents in the education of their children. When Miss Richards applied for a job in the system, the local women’s group from the Protestant church made an appointment to see him. He was apprehensive, for Miss Richards was African American, and he was set for a confrontation. Lo and behold, it was anything but that; the women wanted Miss Richards hired. Dad was always grateful for this support and delighted with the knowledge that Milford had people with open minds, open hearts, and the ability to suspend judgment until someone proved him or herself unfit for the task.

Monica Foran continued, “Just to demonstrate what I mean by equality and understanding other people’s hardships, I want to tell a story about the Ramos family. At my father’s wake, Edmund Ramos said that his life and his siblings’ lives were changed forever by the intervention of my father. Edmund’s parents were immigrants and owned a farm in town; they had 12 and ½ children on the day that the elder Mr. Ramos died very suddenly and unexpectedly. My father heard the terrible news and realized that Edmund’s mother needed some help as she tried to provide for her children. As Edmund Ramos describes, it, ‘We were sitting at home, trying to figure out what we were going to do, and a knock came at the door. My mother opened it, and there stood your father. He said, ‘Mrs. Ramos, I am so sorry for the tragic loss of your husband. What is it that I can do for you?’ My mother said, ‘Mr. Foran, I need my boys at home to work this farm. I need to have them quit school.’”

That was the last thing Joe Foran wanted to hear because he knew personally the toll that would take on a young person. He told Mrs. Ramos he would try to work something out so that the boys could stay in school and still tend the farm. He went back to his office, called the State Dept. of Education, and together they devised a plan to have the Ramos children attend school four hours a day, then go home to work. He laid out the plan for Mrs. Ramos and was very honest.

“The boys will have to go to school and also do their homework every day; they will not be excused from this part of their education,” he said. “Will this work for you, Mrs. Ramos? Will you see to it that they do their homework? It will be hard for them – and for you - the days will be long.” Mrs. Ramos instantly agreed.

As Edmund Ramos told Monica Foran this story, he began to cry and laugh at the same time. “I can remember saying I was too tired to do my homework, and my mother would say, ‘Mr. Foran came all the way out here without being asked and has given you a future. You respect him. Open those books and do your homework.’ And then she’d slap the back of my head to let me know she meant business. If it hadn’t been for your Dad, none of my sisters or brothers would have succeeded in life – and we all finished high school, went to college, and have professional lives. He was a great, great man.”

Monica noted that “This story always makes me cry because my father never told it about himself; I had to wait until he died to hear it. I would have loved to tell him how much I admired him for reaching out to someone in such need without being asked.”

As readers can tell by now, Joe Foran lived by the words of the Golden Rule, “Do unto others as you wish them to do unto you.” There was nothing complicated about Joe Foran’s ethics or values. Bob Blake told Monica Foran about a saying on the wall in the “Yellow Building” on River Street, now the River Park senior housing complex, where there was a plaque that read, “I complained about having no shoes until I met a man with no feet.” If all of us remembered that story, imagine how much less complaining we would do, and how much less complaining we would hear?

“My Dad was not a complainer, even though I am sure that he had plenty to complain about. He handled those who gave him the most difficulty by turning the other cheek. This doesn’t mean he became a victim of some sort of abuse; it means he could separate a person’s human qualities from his or her ideas and defend his own thoughts with convincing data and intellectual argument. He would not ignore the slight or argument; he just knew the difference between conflicts of opinion and conflicts of personality. Some of the people he respected most were often those with whom he had a conflict of ideas.

“He once said to me, ‘One of the most difficult things in life, Monica, is to realize that some people consider a criticism of what they do as a professional to be a criticism of who they are as a person. If you remember that there is a distinct difference between who a person IS and how he or she PERFORMS at a job, you will get along. If you ever have to chastise a person for a mistake on a job, remember to start out with a compliment – that lets them know that you respect the person even if you need to criticize the performance.”

Why was the east end high school in Milford named after Joseph Foran? It was because he gave respect, admiration and love to people of all ages, races, and creeds; and because he built a school system worthy of the citizens of Milford. In return, he was well respected, admired and loved as a person. He was known to be honest, self-effacing, quick witted, and fair. Many people in town had known him for decades – from his youth, his time in the meat market and through his days at Yale, into his almost three decades with the school system. He shopped locally and was accessible, sincere in all his associations. He was a man who went from meat cutter to educator, but never bragged or thought too much of himself. He gave others credit where credit was due; he often said his job as superintendent was made easier than it could have been by the dedicated work of administrators, teachers, parents and students. In today’s leadership scholarship, he would be called a proponent of shared leadership: he never hogged the glory.

After Foran left the school system, he served on the Board of Education, and was a source for any newspaper person who cared to call. Frank Juliano of the Connecticut Post once said that one of his saddest days was the day he exclaimed, “Oh, I’ll call Joe Foran” – and then remembered there was no Joe to call. He became a town celebrity of sorts – not in his own eyes, but in the eyes of others. It was wonderful for his family to see because he deserved to remain of value and a source of inspiration to others.

To sum it all up, Joe Foran had a great rapport with students, teachers, administrators, parents, and civic leaders on both the local and state level. He understood that children’s lives were often not easy; he knew  there were events behind the scenes that caused them heartache, anger, and sleepless nights. He evaluated those who worked with him on their success in their jobs, not on their personalities. He listened to parents who had problems with their kids or problems at home, and tried to help them in any way he could. He was dependable, even-tempered, quick with a compliment, and kind. He didn’t make excuses for people’s behavior and he believed in discipline, but the punishment fit the crime within the confines of the school rules. He tried to help people through their trials and tribulations, listening carefully and trying to suggest solutions without telling them what to do. In every sense, Joe Foran was a self-made man.