William V. "Bill" Cottman, Sylvan Beach, Oneida Co., New York
Reflections:
My first recollection of William “Bill” Cottman was when I was three years old, peering out of my bedroom window and watching him walk through the marina on the oil laden dirt road that led past our camp.He always wore bib overalls and lived with his wife in a large white Victorian home at the end of the road on “the point”, where the New York State Barge Canal met Snug Harbor, very close to the entrance to Oneida Lake; I only knew it then as “Cottman’s Backset”.
Their home had lots of gingerbread, and I recall a big circular driveway with some sort of statue or fountain in the center; off to the right was a small building barely large enough for one car.On the canal side of the house was a screened in porch that covered the entire back.Their lawn stretched around to the harbor side of the house where Mr. Cottman parked his long mahogany touring boat, it must have dated to before the turn of the century.It was not very tall but was quite long, it had about twenty seats on each side, large glass windows, and a pilot’s seat in the front that was uncovered with its own windshield.I now wonder if it wasn’t the “L. C. Spencer” that his great-uncle Joseph operated on Oneida Lake in the late 1800’s.
It was the fall of 1946 and we had just rented a camp from Mr. Cottman, having moved from a camp on Forest Avenue in the small village of Verona Beach, New York which we shared with my uncle Red, aunt Nellie and Cousin Donna.Uncle Red had just returned from Germany that spring and we from a winter trip to Florida with the Visser family.My sister was eighteen months older than I and would start first grade the following year at the Verona Beach Elementary School.
The camp was yellow, and the back half stood on stilts over the backset, that is where my father would park his boat.Between us and the camp next door was a set of rails that began at the shore of the backset and traveled across the road to a big barn where Mr. Cottman stored large yachts.In the second camp to the north, next to Mr. Cottman’s home, lived Jack and Ann Visser, their daughter Judy and sons Johnny and Bobby; I suspect they were the ones that encouraged my father to rent the camp we lived in.
The camp was about forty feet long and just wide enough for two single beds at the end facing the road, where our bedroom was.At the opposite end was a small workshop where my father had all kinds of electronic equipment.He had been a radio repairman in the Army Air Corp and fixed radios and TVs for local residents, often times taking me along with him.He continued to do this up until the late 50’s, when he sold his equipment to a neighbor.
My Dad and Uncle Red owned two large dump trucks and on the sides it read “Schafer Sand and Gravel”.Dad kept his parked in the driveway and Uncle Red kept his at his camp on Lake Shore Road near the Fish Creek Post Office.(The name of the Post Office was officially changed to the “Verona Beach Post Office” in July of the following year.)
That fall I recall watching out the window for Mr. Cottman so that I could run outside and follow him.I was fascinated by the way he moved giant Chris Crafts into the barns with no help other than the machinery he had built.
In the barns were railroad cars which were flat, except for two large wooden supports that formed a “V” in the front and back.In the back of the barns were gasoline motors with large pulleys and cables that were hooked to the back of the railcars.He would start the engine and slowly the railcar would move out of the barn, across the dirt road, and under the Chris Craft that was moored at the dock.He would tie a cable to the yacht, and like a magnet, it would settle on the railcar as he pulled it out of the water and into the barn.
He was of average height and build, not muscular but very rock-hard, he reminded me very much of my grandfather Schafer who was a Lorraine Shovel operator and was also very lean.His face reminded me of Howdy Doody; it was short and had squinty eyes that sometimes twinkled.I don’t recall much about that winter, nothing was happening in the backset and most of the time my sister and I played with the Vissers building snow forts.
Spring came and I was back at the window watching for Mr. Cottman.I don’t recall him saying much to me the previous fall, but I was intent on following him.I again watched in awe as he moved the giant Chris Crafts from the big barns to the backset.I don’t ever recall him smiling, but neither did he scowl.The entire summer passed and he never did say much to me, but not a day went by that I didn’t follow him.It was as if we communicated by telepathy.
There was only one other camp that I recall, it was across the road and down a bit, had a long driveway and was buried deep in the woods.Three old men lived in it, they were known as the “Doherty Boys”.They had been musicians in their earlier years and I found out later that they were Mrs. Cottman’s brothers.They would love it when my sister and I visited them, which was often.They would entertain us with their guitars and violins and were very cordial.I recall that their living room smelled just like my grandpa’s, who smoked a pipe also.
I later learned that Mr. and Mrs. Cottman had a home in Florida and would winter there; the “Doherty Boys” owned a car and would also go with them.However, none of them drove, so they would hire someone to drive them down and then back again in the spring.
Johnny Visser and I became the best of friends, building forts and playing in the wooded area between the harbor and the canal.I recall discovering a makeshift cabin with just enough room for a cot and a cooking area.We were told it belonged to a hermit and not to go there, but we did often.I later learned that the hermit went south in the fall; that must have been why we never saw him that winter.
We moved to Vienna Road in Sylvan Beach in the spring of 1948, I had just turned five.Dad still kept his boat moored in the backset so we would see Mr. Cottman often.For some reason he took a liking to my dad and never charged him any dock fees right up until the time my parents moved to California nearly twenty years later.
In the summer of 1953 we moved to Uncle Red’s camp on Lakeshore Road.Two years later my parents bought a large two story camp on Forest Avenue, right across from the lakefront camp that Mr. Cottman purchased for his wife as a wedding present.It was never used by them, nor rented out.I later learned that she did not like living on the lakefront and would never stay in it.As soon as Mr. Cottman found out we moved there, he hired me to keep his lawn mowed.He paid me $1.00 each time I mowed it, which was about once a week - I had to use my father’s mower and provide my own gas.
That was the summer that Johnny and his mother were electrocuted.I was supposed to go water skiing with John and his father that day, but he had to cancel at the last minute.John and our friend Mike were playing catch in the backset when John jumped in the water to retrieve the ball. The owner of the boat at the dock was charging the battery and the electrical cord was frayed and was either touching the water or the metal hull, I’m not sure which.When John swam back to the dock and grabbed onto the boat, he was electrocuted.Mike went in after him but he too was shocked; fortunately he dove in and had just enough momentum to coast out of the electrical field.He swam to a different dock and called for John’s mother.She too dove in and was electrocuted.Mike, I and four other friends were pall bearers, it was the first time I ever had to deal with death, and I missed him for a very long time.
I continued to mow Mr. Cottman’s lawn, right up until the time I went into the Military.Although he was still only paying me $1.00 nearly seven years later, I liked him very much and knew he could not get anyone else to take care of it.I would ride my bike over to his house to collect my $1.00, but he was always out working in the Harbor.Mrs. Cottman would invite me in for milk and cookies and then ask: “Is he still only paying you a dollar?”She would give me a dollar and then tell me to go collect another one from him.For the next several summers, I made it a point to look for him at the house first.
Mrs. Cottman would tell me stories about her early years at Sylvan and Verona Beach, and about the year three barges full of gunpowder blew up and destroyed their home, which they rebuilt on the same site.The explosion also destroyed Mr. Cottman’s electric power plant along with several other buildings. That explained why we “beach kids” were always finding dynamite fuses lying on the bottom of the lake; we often used them to burn our initials into the seats of our bicycles.
Oneida Daily Dispatch, 25 June 1922
"One woman was killed, 10 other persons were badly burned and property damage estimated at over $200,000 was suffered June 25 in a disastrous fire at Verona Beach, starting from an explosion of gun-powder in three barges anchored at the canal terminal.Firemen and apparatus from Oneida and Rome responded to the conflagration, and did excellent work.The property destroyed includes W. V. Cottman's electric power plant, John Warner's general store and gas station, Miss Steven's Temperance Hotel, and 27 other structures, along with the three barges and a tug.What sparked the explosion has not yet been settled, but indignation is manifest among property owners over the fact that the powder should have been parked so near the business center of the pleasure resort, and there is talk on every hand of damage suits against the boat owners or the powder company."
In 1961 I enlisted in the Air Force but would always make it a point to visit Mr. & Mrs. Cottman when home on leave; I knew I could always find both of them at their carousel, with Mrs. Cottman and sometimes their niece selling tickets and Mr. Cottman always close by.Mr. Cottman would always reach in and grab a string of tickets and give them to me; these visits were the first time I ever recall seeing him smile.It was not that he was “grumpy”; he just always kept very much to himself and was absorbed in the work at hand.
In 1963 I was assigned to Griffiss Air Force Base in Rome.I spent the next two and a half years back at “The Beach”, and continued my visits with Mr. and Mrs. Cottman, usually at the carousel.
I made the decision to move to California shortly after my discharge.It was a very dreary late November night and I was the only patron in Russell’s Bar, sharing old times with the owner, Pete (Paul) Howell.I began working at the attached skating rink when I was nine, a few years later Pete purchased the rink and night club from Tom Anze and a guy name “Vern”, and he managed it up until the time I was sixteen, when he turned the management over to another local resident also named “Pete”.However, their name was the only thing they had in common.Within a few weeks the new manager had kicked out nearly every friend I had and all of the remaining kids from the nearby villages eventually quit coming, I left to work in the Midway.A few others tried to get the patronage back up, but it never did recover and became a flee market a few years later.
I had always “hated” November.It had the bitter cold of winter, but lacked that clean winter look.My latest fling had just moved to Florida for the winter and I had already taken my SAT tests at Syracuse University.I barely had enough gas money to get to the west coast, much less tuition at a prestigious University, so the following Monday morning I headed west to California.I had heard college was nearly free to almost anyone, and the thought of sandy beaches, little duce coups, and a year-round atmosphere of “The Beach” was very intriguing.
I regret very much not visiting Mr. and Mrs. Cottman before leaving, without knowing it; he had made a very big impression on me.I was still young and thought they would be there forever, however, when I returned for a visit a few years later, they had both passed away.
Nearly sixty years after first meeting Mr. & Mrs. Cottman, I ran across a 1920 census record of William and Carlotta Cottman while tracing my own family tree, they were residing in Verona Beach next door to his cousins Sallie Cottman and Evangalina Cottman Ketchem Parmalee.Mr. Cottman was age 33 and listed as the owner of a lighting company, Carlotta was 34.This was two years before the big fire.This tweaked my interest even more, and I began to trace his family history.
It all began in about 1858 when the brothers George Strieby Cottman (31), William Brinkley Cottman (27), Joseph Strieby Cottman (22) and their sister Anna Eliza Cottman (20) removed to Rome, New York, four of eleven children of William B. and Maria Strieby Cottman of Philadelphia.Their exact reason for coming is not known, but the 1860 census indicates that the eldest brother George was superintendent of the Gas Works in Rome and his younger brother Joseph was residing with him as a “Gas Litter” in the 2nd Ward.Their middle brother William is enumerated as an “Upholster” and resided with his family in Ward 3.William was the grandfather of the subject of my research, “Bill” Cottman.
However, in 1861 tragedy struck and at age 34 George died, leaving his wife Talitha with three young children.It is not known if six year old John, five year old Sarah/Sallie or two year old Elizabeth remained with their mother, but by the 1870 census, seventeen year old John was residing with his uncle and aunt Joseph and Frances in Rome and fifteen year old Sallie is found residing back in Philadelphia in an upscale boarding house operated by a Mrs. Francis Hyatt.
Sometime before 1880 William and Rachael, along with their children Edward, George and Eva, removed to Rochester, New York where father and sons were engaged as painters.By 1880, Sallie had left the boarding house and was also residing with her uncle William, working at the local Knitting Factory.
Again, tragedy struck, and on October 4th, 1881 Joseph’s wife Frances died unexpectedly in Rome at the age of 43; it was shortly afterwards that Joseph gave up his Plumbing business and removed to Sylvan Beach as the proprietor and captain of the steamboat L. C. Spencer on Oneida Lake.Four years later William died and not long afterwards “Sallie” moved in with her uncle Joseph as housekeeper, she remained with him for the next 26 years, until his death in 1911.In 1896 Joseph built the enclosed carousel that is still in operation behind the “Fun House” at Sylvan Beach.
A year prior to William’s death in 1885, Sallie’s cousin Edward married Nettie, and in 1886 their first child William V. “Bill” was born, followed by another son Chester in 1888.It is only conjecture that “Bill” was close to his great-uncle Joseph and his father’s cousin Sallie, but the 1910 Rochester census enumerates Bill as single, age 24, and the manager of a “Merry-go-roundout”.
Joseph and Frances had no children, so when Joseph died in 1911 he willed the carousel at Sylvan Beach to his niece Sallie.Again, it is only speculation that Bill removed to Verona Beach to help his cousin Sallie operate the Merry-Go-Round, but the 1920 census data placing Bill and Carlotta next door to Sallie would indicate this is likely.These records, along with the 1922 article about the barge explosions, establish that Mr. Cottman owned the Electric Company and purchased the Marina sometime between 1910 and 1920.
Upon her death in 1946, Sallie willed the carousel to Bill and Carlotta, who in turn willed it to their niece upon Bill’s death in February, 1967, Carlotta passed away the following year.This must have been Chester’s daughter but I can find no record of her.I recall meeting her on several occasions, but cannot now remember her name.
And so the ownership of the Carousel went, from uncle to niece, from niece to “cousin”, and again from uncle to niece, none of the owners ever having any children to pass it on to.
Proprietor, Inventor, genius?Bill Cottman was a man of many talents.He was a shy man and rarely got involved in local politics, and appeared quite content with his harbor and carousel in later life.The carousel is still there but the horses have been replaced, the harbor looks more like a lush green park and doesn’t quite smell the same.The little yellow camp on stilts is still there, all restored and looking very much like I remembered it.The big white Victorian house seems much smaller, and the circular driveway is barely big enough to turn a car around in it, there is no statue, just weeds.However, I still have my memories.
Bud Schafer
Elk Grove, CA (formerly of Sylvan and Verona Beach, NY)