THE witch weather vane still flies over the main factory building and the water tower, a landmark around Essex, bearing the familiar yellow label of the E. E. Dickinson Company. Yet since last May, the buildings where witch hazel was produced for more than a century have fallen silent, empty of people.
The E. E. Dickinson Company, whose name was synonymous with the traditional household remedy and with the town of Essex, was bought some years ago by Merz Inc., a multinational firm headquartered in Germany. In time, production of witch hazel was moved elsewhere and the entire Essex property, with 11 acres and a dozen buildings large and small, is now for sale -- a subject of concern and speculation in the riverfront community.
The use of witch hazel extract for the relief of wounds, sprains, aches and insect bites was known to native Americans who, it is said, saw magic qualities in the shrub whose yellow blossoms appear in late autumn, after its leaves have fallen. Legend has it that after medicine men had collected a supply of twigs and boiled them in their cauldron, the ghostly form of a beautiful maiden could be seen rising through the steam -- the healing that ensued was credited to her assistance.
Magic or not, European settlers picked up on the remedy. In the early 19th century, small mills dotted the area along the lower Connecticut river, and local farmers would deliver cartloads of branches to be distilled into liquid form. In the mid 1860's, rum was added to the brew as a preservative.
Enter the Rev. Thomas N. Dickinson of East Haddam, a Baptist with a taste for commercial endeavors. In 1866, with various partners who later dropped out, he bought a building in downtown Essex and began wholesale production of witch hazel. In 1897 his son Edward Everett took over the business -- the E. E. that put Dickinson on the map, nationwide and beyond.Continue reading the main story
He purchased land adjoining the Essex freight depot -- now the Valley Railroad with its vintage steam train -- and erected a storehouse, the start of what became a 35,000-square-foot bottling plant. Then he bought a brick factory, added new copper stills and a steam boiler and, after 1910, began expanding the building to create today's handsome three-story structure with a cupola and distinctive Art Deco details.
By the 1930's, the company was supplying the largest part of all the witch hazel used in the country, by households and cosmetic companies alike. And its efficiency was such that, at its peak, it never employed more than 75 workers.
''It was a real Yankee enterprise -- self-contained, self-sufficient,'' said Rick Weiner of the Mitchel Agency, the broker in charge of the property's sale.
Guiding a visitor through the main factory building, where all the equipment is still in place, he explained how the company made everything it needed: crafted the barrels in which the witch hazel was shipped to barber shops and drug stores, printed the labels, repaired the equipment, including oxcarts and, in later days, trucks. Even the weather vane -- the jaunty copper witch-on-a-broomstick -- was created on site.
Everything looked impeccably maintained and recently painted -- gray for the towering nine-foot stills, with copper trim polished to a high gloss, bright red pipes, green faucets.
In the laboratory. a large sunny room with windows overlooking (what else?) a grouping of witch hazel bushes, rows of fluted glass funnels line a shelf and a beautiful old brass scale stands ready for use. The print shop's cabinets are chock full of blocks picturing bottles, barrels and, of course, witches. In the machine shop, the tools are in their places, clean and ready for use. And on the stairway that leads to the top floor, every corner is painted sparkling white -- E. E. Dickinson's way of discouraging workers from spitting tobacco juice.
''It looks like the whistle just blew and everybody went out to lunch,'' said Mr. Weiner. Indeed, the factory is in such good shape that the Essex Historical Society recently held a holiday party on the distillery floor, to give the townspeople a chance to visit before the buildings are sold and the contents go up for auction.
Four generations of Dickinson men -- Thomas N., Edward Everett, Edward Everett Jr. and Edward Everett 3d -- ran the company, building a complex of fine homes and offices in the village, keeping yachts in the harbor, employing entire families in the factory.
''It was a paternalistic organization, the kind that has largely disappeared,'' said Donald Malcarne, the town historian. ''They would keep people on full time even though witch hazel is only made part of the year. They would find them other jobs to do.''
Mr. Malcarne, who teaches the history and culture of the Connecticut River Valley at Wesleyan University, worked at the factory during the summer when he was in high school. Although he argues that the plant's closing was inevitable -- ''One thing you learn as a historian,'' he said, ''is that the only constant is change'' -- he was happy to be invited to watch the stillmen cook up the last batch of witch hazel last spring. ''The factory looked very much as it did when I worked there,'' he said. ''I just had to see it.''
Another resident in attendance that day was Peter B. Webster, the town's First Selectman. ''It's sad to see any business leave a town,'' said Mr. Webster, ''but for us, this is truly the passing of an era. E. E. Dickinson has been synonymous with Essex all my life -- I grew up with Dickinson children .''
Asked what future he could foresee for the factory buildings, he replied that the area is zoned for both commercial and industrial uses. ''It's a key location in Essex,'' he said, ''just off Route 9 and right next to the Valley Railroad, a major tourist attraction.'' Any new use would have to be approved by various commissions, he explained. Possibilities being discussed include a museum, shops, a brew pub -- options that would bring visitors to the area but not change the character of the town too radically.