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Updated: June 17, 2025
The trip by trolley with my husband and Grace Draper through the beautiful country lying between Jamaica and Hempstead will always remain in my memory as a turning point in my ideas of matrimony and its problems. Lillian Underwood's talk with me had destroyed all my previous conceptions of dignified wifely behavior in the face of a problem like mine.
They flew over meadow land and pasture, farmhouses where tiny figures emerged from buildings and looked up at them, over rivers and railroads, and still the alternator spat and sparked and the messages between Jack and his father were interchanged in a steady stream. Rayburn had been left behind. They were now over a small town Jack believed to be Hempstead. He looked at his map to make sure.
It would not surprise me if at some future time Mrs. Bedell's boarding house, on Jackson Street in Hempstead, becomes a place of pilgrimage for lovers of the essay. They will want to see the dark little front room on the ground floor where Owd Bob used to scatter the sheets of his essays as he was retyping them from a huge scrapbook and grooming them for a canter among publishers' sanhedrim.
The newly elected President of the Council, Stephen Hempstead, thought that, notwithstanding the fact that the "Territory is yet in the bloom of infancy," only a "short period will elapse before Iowa will become a State."
He gloomily planned to go back and have another cup of coffee on the shelf before Washington's glassy but benign face. But he looked down the street, and all the sky was becoming a delicate and luminous blue. He trotted off toward Hempstead Plains. The Aviation Field was almost abandoned.
For several days they, and several others who had announced their intention of competing for the coveted Hempstead Plains Cup, had been making flights that had attracted vast crowds from the metropolis and filled the papers with air-ship news. The city was aviation mad.
His son, John, Jr., born in Hempstead, England, sailed to America in the ship Hercules, from that port, April 16, 1634, when he was twenty-seven years old. He settled in Portsmouth, R.I., and became a land-owner, an innkeeper and an office-holder. His five children who survived infancy left forty-three children.
We found Hempstead a quiet, old Dutch town, undisturbed by progressive ideas. Here I made the acquaintance of Chauncey C. Parsons and wife, formerly of Boston, who were liberal in their ideas on most questions. Mrs. Parsons and I attended one of the Seidl club meetings at Coney Island, where Seidl was then giving some popular concerts.
Run away from the subscriber, his negro fellow, John. He is well known about the city as one of my bread carriers: has a wife living at Mrs. Weston's, on Hempstead. John formerly belonged to Mrs. Moor, near St. Paul's church, where his mother still lives, and has been harbored by her before. JOHN T. MARSHALL. 60, Tradd street."
Occasionally a missionary from the studios of Hempstead or Chelsea goes down to sort out Hammond from his surroundings, and to look him over for damage, when found. "Did I ever tell you about Jabberjee?" Hammond asked me that afternoon. No, he hadn't.
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