The voice on the other end of the telephone line was straightforward and businesslike, “Is this the beer distributing firm in Tupper Lake?”
I remember replying, “Yes, it is.”
“Good,” the voice continued and then declared, “I’m the manager of the company store in Tahawus, N.Y., at the iron ore mine. Look, I’ve finally received an okay from the company that will allow me to sell beer at the store. I’m new at this, not having sold beer up to now. Can you put together a variety of brands and packages – whatever you think best, maybe 400 cases to start and get it here today?”
Could we ever! A full truckload at one stop? A salesperson’s dream order (I’m thinking to myself), but I replied something like, “Yes sir. Glad to oblige. We’ll be there this morning.” I’ll never forget that delivery. I’d never been to Tahawus, and that first visit was right out of a John Wayne western movie location.
It was a remote, almost intimidating spot: A dead-end plunk in the middle of wild forest. A genuine, bona-fide rough and ready mining town – no doubt about it! The aboriginal name Tahawus was given to the town from a similar Seneca-Iroquois word meaning, “He splits the sky.” It was highly appropriate.
The town was surrounded on all sides by spectacular towering peaks rising directly from the main street. It was that day, a busy, energetic place of machines and throbbing equipment, noise and dust, intense – almost frenetic activity.
Located across from a large earth-moving equipment maintenance shop was the company store. The scene that ensued as I began to unload the cases of beer from my truck is also indelibly etched in my memory. It seemed that the entire town had turned out as the news spread that “the beer has arrived!”
As soon as I would bring in eight cases on my hand truck and deposit them on the store’s main aisle they would disappear. It was a total frenzy, with long lines waiting to make a purchase. I have never experienced anything like it before or since. Yes, those were the days!
The village had risen like a Phoenix from the ashes of what had been called the Lower Works of the Adirondack Iron Works. It was established in 1840 to mine rich ore deposits discovered in that area. In all, 105,000 acres had been purchased from the state by that venturesome company at a cost of 10 cents per acre. (Note: The Open Space Institute that recently purchased 9,600 acres of that land for $8.5 million will eventually sell 6,200 acres back to the state for inclusion to the forest preserve, probably with federal Forest Legacy funding.) Here at Lower Works, a sawmill and boarding house and several other operational buildings were constructed. In addition, a monstrous dam was created that flooded the valley back to the outlet of adjacent Lake Sanford to aid in the navigation of the ore-laden barges that came from the mining operation located approximately eight miles to the north, where a forge was located and was known as the Upper Works.
A settlement near the Upper Works was also established that consisted of a large boarding house, 16 cottages and homes, school and bank. The owners originally gave it the name MacIntyre but then changed it Adirondac. (Note: Today that once proud settlement is a ghost town – a ruined village of boarded windows, crumbling foundations and caved-in roofs. One hundred to 400 acres associated with the ruins will be held privately by the Open Space Institute to be managed as a historical site.)
In 1843, in what could be considered one of their best years, the Upper Works was turning out from 12 to 14 tons of iron a day that was commanding the highest price paid because of the quality of the ore. Between 300 and 400 men were employed there at the time.
A series of deadly blows that included high transportation costs, floods, financial problems and the death of two of the original owners, Mr. Roberson and Mr. MacIntyre (both men of great stature, highly motivated and possessed of great entrepreneurial skills) culminated in the collapse of this great venture whose ore produced the best steel in this country.
It would seem that the words of surveyors Rueben Sanford and John Richards in their 1827 report to the mine’s founders rang true. It said in part: “The winters are unforgiving, there are no roads. Once mined, the ore will lie in your hands. It is our advice, though not asked for, to abandon this scheme and seek your fortune elsewhere. Leave this pathless waste to the panther and the bear.”
Yet in terms of history, the founders, men of vision who dared to take great risks and pursue a dream, set the stage for what was to follow – namely, that what was considered a century before only a troublesome impurity in the iron ore, a titanium-bearing mineral called ilemite, suddenly came into great demand.
In 1941, with the world locked in war, the chief source of this important mineral was India, and the sinking of ore-laden ships in the Red Sea prompted the need for a new supply to keep the manufacture of titanium pigment going. When the mine at Tahawus was confirmed to be rich in titanium, its new owner, the National Lead Company with full support of the federal government, reopened it.
In late winter, 1941, construction was started. Roads were built, houses constructed, new bridges installed and, wonder of wonders, a railroad line was laid across constitutionally protected lands from North Creek. During the peak of these construction efforts, required manpower ran to 1,600 employees. Tahawus was born again!
Few people standing alongside the company store the day of my great beer delivery could have guessed that in a few short years the two-mile long crystal-clear waters of Sanford Lake, actually a widening of the Hudson River, would be drained and its waters diverted to a canal so that a new pit could be dug that would reach a depth of 300 feet by 1983. Nor could it have been imagined that in 1963, when a rich deposit was discovered where the village stood, that the entire village of 100 families, 93 buildings, church, school and the store were to be moved en masse 13 miles to a new town site on the outskirts of Newcomb and named Winebrook Hills.
Next Transitions: The early discovery of the Tahawus MacIntyre deposit.