by Noel Stanton

My grandfather Fred Sheldon drove things for a living. At age 17, he was already driving a horse trolley through the streets of Oneonta, a small city in upstate New York. When the U.S. armored cruiser Maine mysteriously sank in Havana harbor in February 1898, he was 23 years old and working for an Oneonta livery stable, driving every wheeled vehicle they had, including a hearse.

It was a time of great patriotic fervor, and war with Spain was declared two months later. Fred was a man of few words but strong feelings. He abruptly enlisted a few weeks after the Maine sinking, despite being married and father of an infant son (saying only “Grace, I just signed up” according to family legend). Instead of being posted to Cuba to fight the Spaniards, Fred was sent to Hawaii with Company G of the 1st New York Volunteer Infantry to protect U.S. interests in the islands.

A letter he wrote was published in an area newspaper, and a clipping was passed down through the family for half a century. I included it in an eighth-grade genealogy project along with ancestor photos and information from interviews with elderly relatives. My mother zipped this project into a plastic pillowcase, and it sat in various basements for another 70 years before I finally scanned it into a computer file to pass on to my sons. The clipping is still legible after 127 years.

Hawaii was not exactly an island paradise for the troops. Fred wrote:

“Some people back in the states told us that this was such a nice place and so healthful. If they could see the men now they would not know half of them. There are 115 men in the regiment in the hospital and as many more sick in quarters. The boys have lost 10 or 20 pounds each since coming here. Take 20 pounds off a man, and he will show it more than you think. There is a man with me who lost seven pounds in a week, while I am as good as the best.”

The army put Fred’s civilian driving experience to good use, but its wagons were pulled by mules instead of horses. Fred was in for a learning experience:

 “I am the company teamster and have become quite proficient as a mule whacker. They want me to take a four-in-hand, but two of the contrary animals is all I care to drive. When you want them to go anywhere you must guide them in the opposite direction and then you will reach your destination all right.”

By early 1899 the short war with Spain was over, Hawaii had been annexed by the U.S., and the men of Company G returned to civilian life. Fred moved on from mules to electric trolleys, working for the Oneonta & Otego Valley Railroad, one of dozens of interurban trolley lines that sprang up all over the Northeast and Midwest during the early 20th century. The O&OV initially served seven small towns between Oneonta and Cooperstown (of Baseball Museum and James Fenimore Cooper fame) and soon reached 19 stops along a 46-mile route north to Mohawk.

Fred started out laying track, then moved up to motorman and eventually to dispatcher. During this time, he and Grace lived in Hartwick, a small town along the Oneonta-Cooperstown route where the O&OV had a power plant, a car barn, and a dispatcher’s office. My mother was born there in 1910.

In 1920, Fred left the trolley line and moved his family to northern New Jersey, where his son was struggling to establish a bus service. But the era of buses had not quite arrived, and the venture failed, done in (as family lore goes) by powerful trolley interests.

Fred found a job driving a Gulf fuel truck and was fortunate to keep it all through the Depression. In 1940, he and Grace retired back to Hartwick, where he raised prize gladioli and delicious red raspberries. His yearly berry crop was two or three bushels, most of which he gave away. He also worked part time for the town funeral director, driving a hearse.