Ken Hintz at the boyhood home of 16th Connecticut Captain Newton Manross. |
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“Put a marble on the floor of one side of a room and it might roll to the other,” the owner of the house, Ken Hintz, told me with a chuckle during an impromptu guided tour years ago.
Captain Newton Manross of the 16th Connecticut suffered a mortal wound in the 40-Acre Cornfield at Antietam. |
Manross was one of nine children of well-known Bristol clockmaker Elisha Manross and his wife, Maria. (Two of Manross' brothers, John and Eli, also served in the Union Army.) Newton was a brilliant man, graduating from Yale with a degree in geology in 1850, and a world traveler. A 37-year-old professor at Amherst College in Massachusetts, Manross enlisted in the United States Army on July 22, 1862, excitedly telling his wife Charlotte, "You can better afford to have a country without a husband than a husband without a country." (Love that!)
A little more than a month later, Manross was commissioned captain of Company K of the 16th Connecticut, composed mostly of men from prosperous Hartford County towns. “The father of the company,” one soldier called him. Another recalled how Manross earned the respect of his men by carrying the muskets of three soldiers (and a drum) while on the march from Washington to Maryland.
That's me with window frames from the boyhood home of Newton Manross. |
“The loss of our Captain was keenly felt by every member of the Company, for he not only recruited the men, mostly from the town of Bristol, Conn., but he cared for his men constantly,” wrote Pvt. George Robbins of the 16th Connecticut. “They felt for him almost a filial affection.”
Manross was buried in Forestville Cemetery in Bristol, about a mile and a half from his boyhood home.
“Come out back,” Hintz said during our visit. “I have something you might be interested in.” He took me to a barn-like structure and pointed to the floor at two ancient window frames — original to the house, he said.
“Would you like to have these?”
“Of course,” I told Hintz, who died in June 2024.
One of the treasures I gave away. The other remains in the garage, near the hunks of “witness trees” from the battles of Champion Hill and Nashville. Mrs. B insists they remain there, but despite their out-of-the-way location, neither the window frame nor the other “stuff” are ever far from my mind.
Neither is one of my heroes, Newton Manross. Nor Ken Hintz, too.
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