J. B. Prescott Dairy Company, founded in 1880, is the longest surviving business in Bedford, though the business has changed hands and names multiple times. Josiah Bartlett Prescott, the founder of the business, acquired a plot of land on North Road in 1879. The next year he founded his dairy company, which he ran from his home for the next twenty-five years.
In 1905, J. B. Prescott acquired the adjacent lot (where Holi and Bedford Farms stand now) and built a dairy plant and a large stable for his horses. According to Williston Farrington in An Awesome Century, after morning milking, local farmers would put their shipping cans in well houses, little buildings that would keep the milk cold (think along the line of an old-fashioned refrigerator). J. B. Prescott dairy would pick the milk up from the farms, pasteurize the milk, then ship them to Bedford residents.
When J. B. Prescott died, he left the business to his son Horace, who continued to run the company until his death in 1929.
Amos L. Taylor acquired the business and renamed it Bedford Farms Dairy. In the 1950s, Bedford Farms Dairy began to produce and sell ice cream. Dairy operations ceased in the late 1960’s, but Glenn Simm Jr. acquired and continued to operate the ice cream business. Current owner Joe Venuti acquired the business in 1984.
From its humble beginnings as a dairy company operated out of Josiah Bartlett Prescott’s home to a popular ice cream shop with two locations, Bedford Farms is the oldest business in Bedford and remains a popular place for Bedford residents enjoy a cold ice cream on a hot summer day.
“Which comes first, the chicken or the jet? News out of Bedford indicates that the Air Force is becoming disturbed over the high mortality among chickens which drop dead from fright when jets take off from Hanscom airfield.”
Chicken farming has a long history in Bedford. In addition to chicken farmers selling chicks and eggs, many residents kept chickens in Bedford backyards. There are many photos of chickens in the Bedford Society archives, including the one you see above from the Blinn family. Although we don’t have much evidence in our archives to prove that chickens were dying of fright, the Hanscom Air Force base website does state that “the airfield’s runways were reconfigured and expanded in 1953.” Perhaps this new configuration resulted in increased noise that affected nearby farms, leading to this 1956 Lowell Sun editorial article.
If you have any memories of area farms and how they were affected by Hanscom, please share them with us at firstname.lastname@example.org or with the community on our Facebook page.
Kathleen Fahey, Executive Director
Thank you to volunteer Brian Oulighan for locating this entertaining article. To read the full text of the article, continue reading below:
Full Article from the Lowell Sun, June 19, 1956, page 6. New Problem. Which comes chicken or the jet? News out of Bedford indicates that the Air Force is becoming disturbed over the high mortality among chickens which drop dead from fright when jets take off from Hanscom air field. No one would suggest that the Air Force transfer its operations elsewhere, but by the same token chicken farming in the Bedford area would appear to be a highly unprofitable venture. And what’s the answer for the poor chicken farmer who was operating in the area long before the jets arrived, back in the days when Hanscom was a dream in the heart of draftsmen? Does he crate up his chickens and move out or does he shift the base of his operations to something less chicken-hearted. Something like cows, say. The Air Force brass is attempting to offset its chicken scourge by sending teams of pilots around to soft talk chicken farmers and unhappy householders, but it would appear that there is little common ground for talk between the groups. The Air Force itself admits there is no solution to the problem in sight, so what will the pilots have to offer by way of peace token. If anything, the noise will increase as new jets come into the field, and the carnage in the barnyard will get worse. The situation appears to be impossible of a workable solution. The Air Force can’t reduce the noise; the farmers can’t revive their chickens. It would seem to be, in a manner of speaking, a dead end. In Bedford, at least, the chicken is by way of becoming as extinct as a fellow fowl, the dodo bird. The whole thing points up once again the manner in which the way of the world is changing in the jet age. Almost nothing is as terrifying to hear as the burst of a jet taking off; and almost nothing is more seemingly peaceful and calm than chicken farming. But this is the age of breaking the sound barrier, and rockets to the moon. And the civilization we knew as recently as 1940 has advanced to the point habits of that time have changed drastically. The world is continually evolving and, it appears, into an age of greater speed, greater motion, greater activity. The basic values, the ethics and morals are unchangeable, but the civilization in which they operate has been altered. One could get quite philosophic over the ramifications the Bedford chicken situation under- scores, because it is only one of hundreds of similar problems, minor and major, which the air age has speeded. We heartily sympathize with the problem the Air Force faces in its public relations with the town of Bedford; and we are deeply sympathetic to the plight of the chicken farmer. But it appears to be one of those things that will have to adjust itself, given a lift by time. And for the chickens, let us hope they will one day roost in peace.
Photo: Abbott Reed Webber before being deployed overseas, February 1943. From the archives of the Bedford Historical Society
On June 6 the nation observes the 75th anniversary of D-Day, the invasion of Normandy beaches by Allied forces in 1944 that ultimately led to the defeat of Nazi Germany in World War II. Among those sent into battle that day was Bedford’s Abbott Reed Webber. He was a medic with the 101st Airborne Division that parachuted into enemy territory during the night. He was later wounded during the Battle of the Bulge in Ardennes forest. His widow, Doris “Mickey” Webber, died earlier this year.i
Don Corey, President
Special thanks to Joe Damery for sharing this memory of Abbott Reed Webber after reading the above blog entry:
“During WWII, Mr. Webber, dressed in combat uniform & wearing his parachute pack, visited us in Grades 5 thru 9 at the Center school – then located in the brick building, now our town hall. Standing on the stage after a brief introduction, he explained how his parachute operated. He actually pulled the rip-cord which ejected a small parachute – his pilot chute, which was designed to pull and deploy his main parachute out of its container.
Not many weeks later he was on the way to Europe, where he did indeed parachute right into the war zone. We pre-teenagers were totally impressed by seeing, first-hand, just a portion of what our men and women in uniform were doing . . . Always through the years I quietly admired Mr. Webber whose actual residence was only a few hundred feet from that school building, where he simply resumed being a civilian-veteran, as so many among us continued to do.”