The Good Old Days

Eli Tardiff stands patiently for a rare family photo July 13, 1941. The photo is taken facing Mt. Forist on Willow Street Berlin in New Hampshire. Being the senior patriarch of the Ernest and Irene (Tardiff) Dube clan, Eli is positioned in the center for the sake of prominence and photographic symmetry (being the shortest). Left to right Pepere's uncle Thomas Dube, Pepere (Ernest) Dube, Eli Tardiff (Memere's father), (unknown person), and Pepere's father Alfred Dube

Mr. Tardiff manages a slight grin as his daughter Irene snaps the photo. He has just turned 83. Eli pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his brow; the summer warmth is soothing to his pale skin and thin blood. Since he turned 80, it seams like July and August are the only months where he isn't chilled to the bone by Berlin's cool damp weather.

Memere returns to the kitchen to help prepare the picnic lunch. The men congregate in the backyard, smoking cigars and chatting about world events. Eli quietly walks to the fence and looks toward the Burgess Pulp Mill.

He watches the steady flow of factory smoke in the distance as the younger men discuss the war raging in Europe. "The world has gone crazy" Eli thinks to himself. His old blue eyes strained to see the large brick smokestack in the distance. "Those were the days" he thought. The conversation in the background fades as Eli's thoughts drift into a daydream.

The year was 1880; a 22 year old Eli Tardiff walks a newly cleared dirt road between fresh cut trees. The pungent smell of manure and pine needles linger in the humid air as a horse team drags the sawed logs to the river. The Androscoggin River roars in the distance, but now accompanied by the grind and clatter of heavy equipment. Eli reaches the edge of the construction site clearing to catch a glimpse of the progress.

Mammoth steam equipment plunge their giant steel shovels into the wet earth and rock; belching black smoke and wood sparks as chunks of mountain are clawed out and spewed out as piles of rubble. A steam locomotive sits idle along the newly constructed railroad tracks with a long line of flat cars. These cars are filled with burlap bags of cement, neat piles of bricks, wood barrels & crates, and large pieces of equipment.

The brick mill structure stands above the clatter and activity. Rows of wood scaffolding are suspended around the building, currently one-quarter complete. Eli walks to a crude make-shift office and waits for the site foreman to appear. "Chimney mason" Eli says in broken English as the boss approaches the office. The foreman turns the pages of a large ledger book, checks his pocket watch and scratches some numbers with his fountain pen. With a wave of the foreman's hand, Eli grabs his mason tools and walks to a pile of odd curved bricks. He mixes a fresh batch of mortar in a large corrugated steel tub, grabs one of the curved bricks, and continues to build the chimney. 12 hour days and a mile walk each way, the smokestack chimney is completed before snow fall.

"There she stands" Eli drifts back to the present. He turns to see his daughter (my Memere) walk up to him with a bowl of potato salad. "Come on dad, lunch is ready". He looks back at the Burgess Sulphite Paper Mill chimney in the distance. "Yes indeed, those were the days."