Neilson Caplain’s Magical Bus

by Michael Brimbau

First published in May/June, 2007, Volume 4, Issue 2, The Hatchet: Journal of Lizzie Borden Studies.

Whether it is the long rich history of Fall River or the colorful demeanor of its Victorian citizenry, there are few who are more qualified to record it than Neilson Caplain. His fictional but vibrant accounts of Lizzie’s promenades up and down the cobbled streets of her beloved city triggers a kaleidoscope of sights and images parading through the mind. Many of the events and places described by Mr. Caplain are vivid to this aging youngster. I utter such words with profound respect for Mr. Caplain, keeping in mind that when I was born, gentleman Neilson was well into his thirties and on his way to a long, productive and successful life. After all, there are few of us who can make claim to being a grade school boy when Lizzie Borden was tending her gardens at Maplecroft. 

Neilson Caplain does not live very far from me in Fall River. Though we have never been introduced, through his wonderful narratives I feel we have walked the streets of Fall River together in Lizzie’s footsteps.

Reading Neilson Caplain’s accounts are always a treat. His keen mind’s eye and detailed description of Lizzie’s Fall River, along with its marvelous architecture, provides us a glance at the pride Victorian homeowners had for their colorful properties.

Today, many homeowners are more concerned with maintenance-free cheap plastics instead of conventional painted ornate surfaces. Traditionalists are few and far between. Though some strive for beauty in architectural design, they fail miserably in attaining it. The expenses of constant upkeep, such as painting and replacing precious woods like cedar or redwood, might be dear, but there can be no substitute when attempting to duplicate the grandiose splendor that once lined Fall River streets in Victorian times.

I must confess to being somewhat partial about what I enjoy reading. As soon as my copy of The Hatchet arrives, I give Mr. Caplain the respect warranted by quickly thumbing directly to his brilliant articles. I am sure I’m not alone.

I just finished reading Neilson’s fine article “Lizzie Borden’s French Street in 1896” in the March issue. I followed Neilson’s Lizzie on her imaginary stroll down French Street starting with the William Hooper house. Its elaborate, hefty, detailed trim, lofty glassed cupola, two story carriage house and shear dimension renders it freshman status as a true entry-level mansion.

As Lizzie’s walk continued, I could not help but grin when reading Neilson’s account of her conversation with Phoebe Davenport. The “triple decker” at 328 French Street, discreetly sandwiched between Maplecroft and the Hooper home, is better known as the Henry house, but was first owned by Davenport. Later it passed to her niece Harriet Henry, who in turn sold it to Lizzie in 1926. Many sultry summers I sat on the front porch of 328, now my home, and envisioned Lizzie toiling in her garden, waving or smiling over to me.

As Neilson’s Lizzie continues her hike down French Street, she eventually comes to 710 High Street, at the corner of French. It was then that Mr. Caplain puzzled me. In 1896 there was no 710 High. Also, Lizzie could not have gazed at 186 French Street, as it was likewise not there. Neither 710 and 724 High, nor 186 French existed at that corner in 1896.

Though these three buildings were not moved to their present location until 1981, they did exist during Lizzie’s lifetime. House number 186 French Street, or the Elkanah Whiteley house, was actually built c1875 when Lizzie was only 15 years old, but at that time it stood at 514 Prospect Street. The J. Edwin Cornell house, given as 710 High Street, built c1875, stood at 40 Prospect Place just down the street from the Whiteley house. Though not included in Caplain’s article, 724 High Street, better known as the Edward A. Mott house, originally stood at 392 Prospect Street. 

In 1896, a large period 19th century house, number 716, occupied by John C. Milne, stood on the northwest corner of High and French where 710 and 724 stands today. Milne was part owner of the Fall River Daily and Weekly News. He was also president of the Citizens Savings Bank. Sadly, whether by fire or disrepair, 716 High Street vanished into history. It was torn down well before I remember.

Taking liberty and embellishing Mr. Caplain’s story I could add: 

Lizzie admired the house at 716 High Street with caution. This was the home of John C. Milne owner of the Fall River Daily and Weekly News. At one time Lizzie considered the Fall River Daily News her favorite paper. After all, it was a strong advocate for temperance. Throughout its entire history the Daily News refused to take liquor advertisements—a paper after Lizzie’s own heart. But after they sent that meddlesome reporter, Walter P. Stevens, to snoop around her father’s house and testify at her trial, Lizzie never read the Daily News again. Anyone who worked for the press could not be trusted.

Standing on the front porch of 716 was a short globular man with a white walrus mustache. Looking her way, he raised the corners of his puffy lips and bowed his head in diplomatic salutation. Lizzie hastily turned away. She could almost feel a slight spark, a tinge of shame welling up, even if it was for just a split second. In a rare display of uncommon behavior she looked across the road and pretended not to see him. Composing herself she quickly regained her poise. After all, what was there to feel ashamed about? Twelve such men found her innocent, no less. She pointed her nose to the sun and turned her face to the man in a show of bravado. But the well-dressed man had vanished behind a large oak door. Without missing a step, Lizzie continued her walk as if the last sixty seconds never occurred.

In 1980, Charlton Memorial Hospital embarked on plans to expand. In doing so, they began purchasing property to the south and west of the existing hospital building. Though the expansion scheme included a new state of the art emergency ward, most of the land was used for a multi-level parking garage and lot. Some viewed this as a destruction of a beautiful neighborhood. For the few who remember the before and after, there is no disputing the claim. 

To make room for the four level parking deck and lot, two small streets, Highland Place and Prospect Place, along with all the houses on them, were removed. Also moved were a group of homes along Highland Avenue and Prospect Street. Of the 15 to 16 homes that once stood in that area, I remember eight that were relocated, along with one large barn. The barn stands today as a two family home at 170 French.

Highland and Prospect Place was a secret and quiet neighborhood. Weeping maples and chestnut trees line the narrow and shady road like a southern canopy. Magnificent Victorians in blushing colors with graceful porches sat like little sleepy country villas. It was really a wonderful historical area. A mini Highlands within the Highlands. 

Highland Place began on Highland Avenue near the beginning of French Street. It continued east where it turned south and became Prospect Place, emptying onto Prospect Street near Linden. It was at this location that the homes that were to become 710 and 724 High Street and 186 French Street once stood. In 1981, I was working for New England Telephone Company and took part in the transplantation of some of these marvelous structures. My job was to go before the building as it moved down the road and drop the telephone lines to the ground so that these majestic titans on wheels could transverse city streets to their new locations.

The home at 186 French Street was moved to its present location from Prospect Street near Linden. Built in 1875, one can see it on the 1877 Bailey/Hazen “bird’s eye” map on Prospect.

Shortly after all the homes were moved, there was one last home left. Its proprietor fought the construction project and became a thorn in the hospital’s side for a long time. It was rumored that he was offered twice as much as everyone else to vacate, but refused all offers. I remember walking by it as it displayed a large banner advertising how Charlton Memorial Hospital destroyed his beloved neighborhood. Today, as I did then, I agree with him. The expansion continued and the hospital just built around him. One day years later I suddenly noticed that the old gracious lady was gone. I stand and salute its owner’s struggle. 

Happily, someone with vision had the good sense to have many of these splendid homes moved to other locations in the city. I was pleasantly surprised, if not downright stunned, that someone in Fall River had the insight to have these wonderful structures relocated rather than razed. Still, in the name of progress and ease of parking, the beauty of Highland/Prospect Place is gone forever.

Without extensive research, and mostly from memory, I have listed below the homes that were moved and where they exist today. All these structures were taken from the Prospect Street and Highland Avenue area to accommodate hospital expansion. Watching these behemoths precariously rolling down city streets was a sight to behold. As the truck inched up the road, snapping off tree branches, clearing telephone poles by an inch, sometimes scraping off a gutter or shingle, while traveling at a blinding quarter mile an hour, it was a strange, surreal sight one never forgets. 

Current Location Former Owner/Description

710 High Street (J. Edwin Cornell house.)

724 High Street (Edward A. Mott house. Mr. Mott was a broker with Greene and Son on Bedford Street.)

186 French Street (Elkanah Whiteley house. Mr. Whiteley was an upholsterer. This structure is probably the oldest.)

170 French Street (Old barn converted into a two family.)

500 Hanover Street (This charming gambrel dormered cape came to rest in a pleasing, quiet and hidden location on Hanover Street.)

Current Location Former Owner/Description

765 Hanover Street (Seth Borden house. Built c1881, I consider it the most beautiful home in Fall River. What a treasure.)

612 Pearce Street (Darling house, relocated to a privileged location on the corner of Highland Avenue.)

1111 Langley Street (Relocated near the corner of Elsbree and Langley Street near Durfee High School—moved the furthest.)

1475 President Ave. (While being transported down hill on President Avenue, the truck carrying it blew a tire. The noise was so loud we all thought the house would topple.)

As for Neilson Caplain, let us all continue our delightful Victorian walks through the past. Though perhaps they were not the best of times, they were simpler, innocent times. To this writer, that is a good thing. 

Let us not only place our feet into the footsteps left behind by Lizzie but also continue to see the world through her eyes, as she once did—through Neilson’s eyes, as he still does. Let us thumb the enchanting pages of his wonderful stories and tag along as he guides us through the old Fall River he loves—the Fall River Lizzie loved—loved so dearly that nothing and no one could make her leave it. So, Mr. Caplain, continue your timeless journey to places that once existed . . . places that can never be again, to a time whose distant echoes have all but faded. Start the engine to your magical bus. Place your wit and fancy into gear and lead the tour. We yearn to dream, to voyage, to follow.