In June and July 1901, the eastern United States suffered the hottest and deadliest heat wave prior to the Dust Bowl.
Starting in mid-June, Philadelphia sweltered for 12 consecutive days in 90-plus temperatures, a record not broken until 1953. In New York City, the relentless highs of 95 degrees led to several people going mad and committing suicide. Historians estimate there were 9,500 heat-related deaths along the eastern seaboard between June and August.
The June 28 edition of the Geneva Daily Times reported, “The hottest day in 30 years.” The experiment station reported an afternoon high of 93.5 degrees, and the night temperature did not drop appreciably: “It was the hottest night experienced in the memory of the oldest inhabitants.” Genevans were “worn out” by “the almost intolerable heat, and today sweltered humanity is hardly able to get about.”
Workers bore the brunt of the high temperatures because employers kept them working in the heat. Three people paving Milton Street with bricks fell prostrate on June 27 and, the next day, another “fell unconscious this morning as the result of the intense heat.” Later that day, the members of the public works board inspected the paving: “The commissioners say they are pleased with the progress made by the contractors. It is considered by the board members one of the best pieces of paving in the city.”
Not a word was said about the toll on the workers who had to pave on the hottest days on record.
Also on June 27, Mary Van Houten was overcome by the heat while working at the Torrey Park Preserving Co., where the temperature was 92 degrees. She was taken to a “cool place” in the factory and recovered. The Phillips and Clark Stove Cc. closed on June 28 because the temperature in some parts of the factory reached 140 degrees. The Summit Stove and Foundry Co. also closed but reopened the next day. All the other factories were open.
Animals suffered when they were driven too far. Melancthon McKinney and three friends drove 10 bulls from Gorham, south of Canandaigua, to the Northern Central Depot at Hall’s Corners (near Geneva), which undoubtedly took several days. When the four men tried to herd the animals onto the very hot railcar, the animals finally had enough. One large bull lowered his head, caught one of the drovers on its horns, and tossed him high into the air. The man landed on the station platform, miraculously none the worse for wear.
The remaining bulls lacked the strength to take out their feelings on the men who had force marched them through hell. They collapsed from heat prostration, with blood and froth pouring from their mouths and nostrils, something farmer McKinney had never seen before. The men hurried to carry water to revive the animals, and once several of them managed to get to their feet, they took off.
The men chased after them and, sometime after 10 a.m., managed to get the bulls loaded onto the railroad car. A number of farmers who witnessed the collapse of the bulls said they would soon fall prostrate again in the hot, poorly ventilated cattle car.
To cool down, Genevans could make their own ice cream. In 1843, Nancy Johnson invented and patented the “artificial freezer,” a hand-cranked ice cream maker. She made ice cream — an expensive luxury — available to the average household. The hand-cranked model required 30-60 minutes of constant, arm-tiring turning.
In June 1901, the Times advertised a labor-saving advance, the crankless “XXth Century Freezer” available at Dorchester and Rose, a hardware store at what is now 1 Franklin Square. The crankless freezer used physics rather than muscle power. The ingredients were poured into a sealed metal container, which was placed inside a larger insulated bucket and packed with crushed ice and rock salt. The salt created a sub-freezing liquid that chilled the metal cylinder. The cream inside froze into a rich, cooling treat.
Genevans had to pay more for ice in the sweltering summer of 1901 than the previous summer because the two ice suppliers had merged.
While hanging ceiling fans were available to cool customers in stores with electricity, home fans were not yet a household item. Genevans could resort to the lake. This did not always go well. One young man caught a sizable string of bullheads (a type of catfish), which he tied to the pier while he treated himself to a refreshing dip — only to find, when he returned, his fish had been stolen.
Travel was one option. Special rail excursion fares were available for a trip to the ocean. Or, a steamboat boat ride for 25 cents might appeal as a quiet way to cool off while the shoreline scenery slipped past. The outing from Geneva to Watkins Glen took four hours, with several stops. Romance might bloom as the steamship plied its quiet way through the still waters, or melodramatic jealousy might flare.
A Mr. Reckford and his wife agreed to work on a freight steamer. En route to Watkins, a Steersman named McCarthy swept Mrs. Reckford off her feet, and she refused to disembark with her husband, preferring to continue to Syracuse. Mr. Reckford was determined to swear out a warrant for McCarthy’s arrest. His trouble, he said, “was all due to McCarthy and his winning way.”
Linda Robertson is a retired faculty member from Hobart and William Smith Colleges, where she started the Media and Society Program. She has made several documentaries about the history of abolition in upstate New York, including Geneva. Her new historical novel, “The Lusitania Code: A Lady Butterschloss Mystery” (Level Best Books, 2026), is now available at all major online booksellers.