At the turn of the last century, White’s Yucatan Gum, wrapped in pink paper which was encircled by a narrow yellow band, was one of the few chewing gums on the market.
It is a generally accepted fact that W.J. White made the first gum in his own home from his own formula, and that Mrs. White sold it from door to door using a little hand pulled cart to carry her stock of gum.
This could have been true for only a short time as before 1890, the White were enormously wealthy people. In fact, Mr. White was spoken of as “Millionaire White” as often as “Chewing Gum White”
Those of us who remember Rockport, Ohio at about 1900 (especially that part of Rockport where Wooster Road crosses Lorain Road and winds down into the Metropolitan Park) will remember White’s Two Minute Villas at the top of Wooster Road hill, and White’s Stock Farm at the foot of the hill.
Mr. White, like many wealthy men, had become interested in thoroughbred horses, especially race horses. (He named his villa, “White’s Two Minute Villa” as he wanted to his horses to run a mile under 2 minutes – he would later have a horse succeed at this) It was on his farm which is now part of the Metropolitan Park, that he bred, raised, and trained his race horses. One of his most famous race horses was “Star Pointer” and is buried somewhere in what is now the golf course. The race track, where his trainers worked the horses, is now part of the golf course. And the old, red brick building near the entrance to the golf course was, I believe, Star Pointer’s stable. My grandfather’s farm adjoined White’s Stock Farm, and as very little children, we used to watch the horses working out on the race track, from the part of our farm which overlooked the valley.
The very early years of my life were closely tied to the White’s Stock Farm and White’s Two Minute Villas. About 1890 a young man (my father) had come from his home on a farm in southern Ohio (New Philadelphia area – his grandfather Mr. Kneisley had earlier founded New Philadelphia) to manage White’s Tow Minute Villa. (His brother in law was manager of the Stock Farm and was in sending for Papa.)
Papa met and married a young woman of the community (my mother) and they lived with her parents on a nearby farm where my two sisters, my brother and I were born.
The Villa was a private inn run solely as a place where the Whites could bring and entertain their friends. It was a rambling wooden structure, the first floor encircled by a wide porch. There were bedrooms upstairs, and on the first floor, a parlor, dining room and kitchen. A gramophone with its horn shaped like a morning glory was the outstanding furnishing in the parlor as far as I was concerned. It stood on a stand near the entrance to the dining room, and Eli (who was in charge of the dinning room ) spent a great deal of the time holding me up to peer into the horn to find the voice. How well I remember Eli! Standing just inside the wide entrance to the dining room, immaculate in the white coat during the day. Straight and proud in a perfectly tailored black coat for the evening meal, his flashing smile and eep bow welcomed every guest.
The Villa was known for its service, and its excellent food – its baked whitefish, its steaks, and fried chicken. Bthe the clambakes in the late summer and early fall were worth coming to. And come people did!
This was, of course, in the dirt road era before the automobile so Mr. White’s guests were brought to the clambakes in conveyances we call “Tally-Hos”. These were topless rigs, or carriages with rows of seats along the sides, each carriage having room for eight or ten gaily dressed ladies and men. Every lady was a Gibson Girl picture in her lace-trimmed dress, huge puffed sleeves, lace-trimmed hat atop a pompadour, and, crowning touch, a lace-trimmed parasol which matched her hat and dress. The carriages were horse drawn, and driven by a liveried driver beside whom sat another man in matching livery. The second man carried a horn on which he blew at intervals. The sound of the horn never failed to bring us children running to stand wide-eyed at the fence beside the road until the carriages were out of sight around the corner.
Then it was time for us to go into the house to be buttoned into our good dresses so we, too, could go to the clambake. Later, if we could keep our eyes open, we stayed to watch the dancing and listen to the music of the Andy Braggs’ Band. No clambake at the Villa was complete unless Any Braggs furnished the music.
These are the gay remembrances of day a half a century ago. Sometime about 1904 or 1905, Mr. White disposed of both the Farm and the Villa. His interests were now confined almost entirely to the East. The Villa became a public road house – both an eye sore and an ear sore to the people of the community. It burned to the ground a few years later and was never rebuilt.
Papa’s connection with the Villa stopped when Mr. White sold it. But I have two very tangible reminders of those gay, long ago days hanging on my wall in my dining room. There are two very beautiful china plates given to Papa by Miss Josephine, buyer of china and glass ware for the Bowman Company in Cleveland, when he was the manager of White’s Two Minute Villas in old Rockport, Ohio..
