Hi. My name is Dede Thorpe, the Town of Hunter Historian, and I’m excited about the poem I’ll start the evening with.
The Ulster and Delaware Railroad. This poem was written 52 years ago by a woman whose name was MAGGIE MC CORMICK, but that was her pen name. Her real name was Dorothy Slutzky, Orville and Izzy Slutzky's sister.
Maggie loved the mountaintop, and like me, she loved sharing our history. I found this 1972 poem while doing local research in the Hunter Library. Maggie McCormick tells our story in just these few pages. And for those not familiar with our history, Maggie McCormick wrote of our 60 years of railroads, the many hotels, the first being the 1824 CMH, the demise of the trains, and the town’s birth of skiing.
Here we go:
The Ulster and the Delaware Railroad had fame,
When up the Catskill Mountains it came
Kaaterskill Junction, Tannersville, Haines Falls, and Hunter stops-
Came many people to the Mountain Top.
Getting off at each crowded station,
they came to spend their summer vacation.
At the many hotels and boardinghouses here,
the same people came year after year.
Friday nights brought special travelers when the Husband’s Train was met by wives and sweethearts. A very pretty site.
The train brought US Mail, freight, papers, and express,
many from places with a foreign address.
Large cases of coffee, spices, and tea came
from far away and across the sea.
Created furniture, farm machinery, and other freight stood at the deck building to wait.
The cars carried coal, and feed from many a state & they stopped over by the building marked FREIGHT.
I’d hear the train whistle coming through the notch,
coming ‘round the mountain—oh, how I liked to watch.
Slowly it came puffing, when it came ‘round the sharp curve,
it was huffing.
The tracks were full of black smoke-and coming closer toward the depot, I began to choke.
The large wheels went round and round as the engine came, stopping at the depot the conductor called Hunter’s name.
The train quickly coming to a stop, and now the step Mr. Broadhead would drop!
Each passenger he helped by holding their hand, as they stepped down carefully, he watched them descend.
Then each passenger claimed their baggage, Just as today we claim our luggage.
Most of the passengers had hotel reservations and soon a driver would ask where they were going-
He would bring a horse, a buckboard, or surrey, and
take them straight there in a hurry.
The engineer took off to the creamery for a load of milk, butter, and cheese AND back to the station, with an “ALL ABOARD” and then gone in a breeze.
Carloads of coal, kerosene, oil, feed, lumber, and other freight, people came to claim and pay, but almost always had to wait.
The windows in the depot were large, I often recall.
Pictures of scenery hung on the walls.
In winter, I watched the engine push away the snow- it was deep on the tracks as the engine did go.
I remember when the train whistle blew long blasts,
That was the call for volunteer firemen to come fast. The watchmen on the night train blew the whistle with all their might.
If ever there was a fire during the day, and the train happened to be away,
They rang the bells at the church; thus, our town was not left in a lurch.
Then people began driving automobiles and coming much sooner to the Catskills.
Then came the Greyhound, and Trailways bus, bringing many passengers here to us.
Soon hotels were empty as people travelled far from the city.
Summer camps sprung up for children to spend vacations, where they learned to swim, hike, and paint, with some education.
Thus, many children enjoyed the summer season, the adults traveled to lands they found pleasing.
We did not see familiar faces anymore. Trains came practically empty as never before.
The train brought the express and freight, coming less with loads of food, so we just had to wait.
Perishables were brought in by potluck and vegetables, fruit, meat, and fish by truck. All stores moved to the main street after closing their doors.
The creamery in nineteen twenty-four burned, and no more carloads of milk ever returned.
Now the trucks brought the papers and the US mail, the express and freight, that, too, did fail.
Now the train did not come to Hunter anymore, the tracks were taken up before the war.
Suddenly it was Pearl Harbor, we were at war, and we were saddened as never before.
After much blood was shed, many of our men and boys were dead.
Many coffins were sent back home, many funerals happened, and bugles were blown.
Now our town has become quiet and already at rest, large hotels and boarding houses closed up fast.
Suddenly skiing was a new game, nothing was ever quite the same.
The old, crumbled buildings were restored, and everyone built A-frames or homes they could afford.
Barns and stables became fancy nightclubs, now business is done around these hubs.
Hunter became as busy as Forty-Second Street, alive with people who travel to meet.
The bumper-to-bumper traffic is under control when lots of people are out for a winter stroll.
Rip Van Winkle has finally awakened, and Mountain Top life has sure been shaken.
Do you see that big mountain over there? It’s none other than the Colonel’s Chair.
It stands proudly overlooking Hunter Village, where many people ski above its steep ledges.
Still, I returned to the depot where once was Hunter Station, and a road was built where the tracks had been.
The depot became a privately owned home, as it stands in the quiet all alone.
Colonel’s Chair towers over the Village of Hunter, where many residents grow their flowers.
And now you wonder why I stand and cry, The wind just blew a cinder in my eye.
April 21, 1972. Maggie McCormack
Thanks for the opportunity to share Maggie’s poem of the history of Hunter,
Stay safe, and take care of yourselves.
Dede Thorpe-Hunter Historian
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