While the building was being dismantled, I did a small project to record the window and door placements on the original 1867 Italianate structure. Since the architectural evidence was incomplete due to many additions and renovations over the decades, I began to look for historic images of the building from as many cardinal directions as possible. The 3.5 by 5.25 inch postcard above is a close, clear shot of the west facade, formerly facing South Main Street. Though it is hand-dated “12/27/3” in pencil, this appears to be a small human error, as it is clearly postmarked 1913, and the color and style of the card seem to confirm the later date.
The company managing the demolition process began by removing a section of bricks from the east facade of the Union School, and making them available to the public as keepsakes. Tiny fragments of Wellington’s nineteenth-century past have no doubt made their way across the country by this point, if the numerous requests I saw posted to social media are any indication. One of them is currently on display in my dining room.
The final object I want to highlight is actually from the twentieth century. In August 1901, Wellington hosted a massive celebration it called “Home Week,” to coincide with the annual fair. Former residents from around the United States returned to Ohio. The Wellington Enterprise printed numerous articles on the history of the town and notable buildings in the weeks prior, culminating in a special commemorative issue that included pieces such as a list of all the registered attendees, and biographical sketches of all the pioneer women of the town. Home Week has always been a subject of interest to me because of its own focus on the village’s founding and early days, and because so many of its most honored participants were the people I have been writing about in this blog for nearly three years. So you can imagine how delighted I was to acquire this unusual object:
The badge, which measures two inches in diameter, appears to be made of coated paper adhered to a cardboard backing, rimmed with metal. A straight pin is twisted through a slot in the badge, but it is not immediately apparent (at least to me!) whether the pin was the original securing mechanism; it seems neither long enough nor heavy enough to attach the badge to cloth. The badge is surprisingly heavy and the surface colors remain vibrant more than a century after its manufacture. If you happen to visit the Lorain County Fair this August, and you see fair goers wearing souvenir hats, pins or t-shirts, stop for a moment and imagine those same objects in a museum case one hundred years from now. I’ve written it before: history is today. Remember that while you are living it.