I recently received an inquiry about a project in Plymouth. I recognized the address immediately because the house has piqued my curiosity for years. The home is clearly the poster child from the Sesame Street song that goes: “One of these things is not like the others. One of these things just doesn’t belong.”
It’s a mid-18th Century home sited among a group of Victorian cottages. On the symmetrical front facade, it’s obvious the front door was removed and replaced with a window, perhaps due to street widening at some point. When I visited, the interior revealed its antique heritage. A tight front entry stair in a small hall led to the second floor. In the attic and basement, there was timber framing consistent with 18th century construction. The framing and millwork offered clues that a massive center chimney and fireplaces had long ago been removed.
The home sits close to Plymouth Harbor on a raised brick foundation, prompting me to guess that it may have been once tied to a seafaring industry. (I’m leaving out the address to protect the owners’ privacy.)
My initial assumption was that the neighborhood grew up around the house. But questions remained. Why was the front door removed and when did the fireplaces and chimneys disappear?
When I returned to the office, I tried to figure out when it was built. The town lists the home as being constructed in 1900. That’s the default date when a property’s actual age is unknown. My next stop was the MACRIS (Massachusetts Cultural Resource Information System) database. The house was not listed individually but thrown into the collective of Victorian cottages built to house workers employed by the long-gone Puritan Mills. I knew that was wrong, so I attempted to locate the house on various historic maps of Plymouth. The early maps of 1830,1846, and 1857 do not show the house or even the street.
The story gets interesting with the 1879 map, which shows an empty lot where the house now sits. Moving to the aerial map drawings of 1882 and 1897, the house is still missing but it does appear in a 1910 aerial drawing. On the assumption that it was moved there, I reached out to my history “squad,” which includes Select Board member Bill Keohan, Historic District Committee Chairman Mike Tubin, historian Jim Baker, and Connor Anderson, the town’s records access officer.
The team was quick to agree that we were looking at a moved structure. Jim was instrumental in providing names of house-moving companies from that era. Connor noted that owners who wanted to move a house back then needed permission from the selectmen. Such moves are recorded in archival records. Additionally, Bill pointed out that under Massachusetts law, utility companies are required to move power lines free of charge for structures that must be moved. With a bit of luck, it seemed that we would be able to determine the home’s original location. The conversation that followed focused on structures moved in Plymouth.
Although moving a house today seems daunting, it’s been commonplace throughout history. I learned about the prevalence of moving houses in a college preservation class. There is documentation of a house moved from Fall River to Bristol, Rhode Island in the early 1800s. What makes the story interesting is that Mount Hope Bay separates Fall River from Bristol, making the move difficult. The solution was to wait until the bay froze so it could be moved on skids across the ice.
Moving houses in Plymouth was also commonplace. One notable relocation took place in 1920. The historic Hedge House on the waterfront was threatened with demolition to allow for the construction of Memorial Hall. It was saved by a group of women, who would later form the Plymouth Antiquarian Society. They oversaw the short move from Court to Water streets. Not only was structure moved, but it was also done with the fireplaces intact and involved turning it a full 180 degrees.
At least four major structures were moved during the Summer Street redevelopment project of the 1960s. The first was the 1766 Harlow Bishop House which was originally located at 49 Summer St. and moved to 22 Summer St. (The history of the Bishop House and its history is worthy of a future article that includes celebrities and senators involved in its preservation and move.)
The 1840 Schroeder House originally sat in the western end of what is now the John Carver Inn and Spa parking lot. Its move required an enormous lift up to its present location adjacent to First Parish Church. Today, it serves as the parish house for the First Parish congregation.
The last two significant structures moved are the 1804 Russell House and the 1799 Richard House. Both sit at the intersection of Summer and Newfield streets, having been relocated from the northern side of Summer Street.
Also scattered throughout Plymouth are one-room schoolhouses that were moved and converted to residences (another future article) as well as the Camp Edwards barracks buildings, which were moved from the Cape to Plymouth to be used as summer cottages.
Returning to our mystery house on Murray Street, Connor spent a significant amount of time combing town records and cross-referencing assessors’ documents. In a pure stroke of luck, the house was identified. According to town records, in 1884 selectmen denied a permit to John Murray (who owned a lot on Murray Street) to “move the old Merrick Ryder House.” But in 1884, permission to move it was granted to Nathan Perry. With the knowledge that the house was known as the Merrick Ryder house, Connor was able to search the 1857 Walling Map of Plymouth County and discover that the Ryder House was located on the corner of Court and Cushman streets. Cross-referencing the 1882 map, he was able to see that the building form matches the building form on Murray Street.
Now that we knew the house’s original location, it was easy to trace its history. Property records indicate the lot was originally owned by Isaac LeBaron in the early 1750’s. Isaac LeBaron sold the corner lot to Lemuel Robbins, who built a house and lived there until at least 1796. Town assessing records indicate Robbins was charged $10 in 1781. By 1782, the value shot up to $360, most likely indicating a structure had been built.
The reason the home was moved has to do with what was built on the original lot, which was bought by Jason W. Mixter prior to 1882. His vision for a grand Victorian estate did not include a small house on the corner. The building would need to be moved (or razed).
By 1884, Mixer’s home was well under construction, prompting the move of the Ryder house. In addition, with central heating firmly established in building construction during the period, multiple fireplaces were no longer necessary. The cost of moving the chimneys would have been an added expense, so they were removed. As for the front door, my guess is it was removed in a street widening exercise several years later.
As the saying goes, “it takes a village,” and this certainly was a team effort. In the end, my curiosity was finally satisfied. My original guess – that it was an 18th century structure – was correct. But its rich history was something I had not anticipated. It added to the fun of the research.
Architect Bill Fornaciari is a lifelong resident of Plymouth (except for a three-year adventure going west as a young man) and owns BF Architects in Plymouth. His firm specializes in residential work and historic preservation. Have a question or idea for this column? Email him at billfornaciari@gmail.com.