From the Notebook

The Background

The following article, published in The Atlanta Journal in March 1890, describes a log cabin built outside of Vinings, Georgia, as a summer residence for A.E. Thornton, and designed by G.L. Norrman.²

Located in Cobb County, roughly 10 miles northwest of central Atlanta near the Chattahoochee River, Vinings was a tiny rural outpost in the 1890s; today it’s a sprawling suburb of leafy neighborhoods and office parks.

In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, many of Atlanta’s prominent citizens maintained “summer homes” in the surrounding countryside, typically only a few miles outside the city for easy access via wagon or train. Vinings, for example, was a stop on the Western and Atlantic Railway.³

Thornton was also a director of:

• The Atlanta Street Railway Company⁹
• The Augusta, Gibson, and Sandersville Railroad¹⁰
• The Atlanta and West Point Railroad¹¹
• The Atlanta Electric Illuminating Company¹²
• The Atlanta National Bank,¹³ founded in 1865 by his father-in-law, Alfred Austell¹⁴

Thornton would have been well-acquainted with G.L. Norrman’s work, since Norrman designed the renovation for Atlanta National Bank in 1886,¹⁵ as well as residences for one of its chief employees, Paul Romare. Norrman and Thornton were also members of the Capital City Club.¹⁶

About the Writer

It was a slow news day when the Journal published this front-page article, which describes nearly every aspect of “Thornhurst”, Thornton’s 600-acre country estate at Vinings, in exhaustive detail — including the family dogs.

Howard then returned to Atlanta and served as an editor for the short-lived Atlanta Daily News,²⁰ but like so many hot-shot journalists, he burned out fast, dying at the age of 32 after a years-long battle with tuberculosis.^{21 22}

Following his death, Howard was described as having “the energy of a dynamo,”²³ yet it’s hard to find much of it in this plodding, prosaic piece that has all the rhetorical brilliance of a typical college freshman’s essay. My favorite line: “chimneys that one reads about, or, perhaps, dreams about but never sees.”

Howard’s depiction of Thornhurst as “a log cabin in the mountains” is also amusing: there’s exactly one small mountain at Vinings — Mount Wilkinson — although I would characterize it as a large hill. Today, the area is as hot and polluted as the rest of Atlanta, but you can be sure it was never a place for “cool draughts of pure mountain air.”

Thoughts on Thornhurst

The construction dates for Thornhurst are unclear, but the project was first announced in December 1889, and the article here was published in March 1890, so the home was likely completed in 1890.

Another description of the structure from October 1891 — nearly two years after this article was published — revealed that the interior had yet to be fully furnished, and that Thornton and his wife, Leila, spent “some few days out of every week or so there.”²⁴

The same report said the Thorntons planned to build an “elegant residence” on the property, at “a point of commanding prominence overlooking the Chattahoochee river and some very rugged country.”²⁵ Those plans apparently never materialized, but presumably Norrman would also have been the designer for the larger home.

Norman’s specialty was elegant residences, so it must have been a unique challenge for him to design a six-room log cabin that “preserved some characteristics of antebellum days,”²⁶ as the 1891 article put it, using old-fashioned building techniques described as “peculiar to the backwoods.”²⁷

The latter article provided a little more detail about the home’s construction that wasn’t included here, notably the following:

“The space in the walls between the logs are daubed with mud, and the entire surface inside and out is shelaced [sic], adding infinitely both to the beauty and the durability of the structure. The roof is of thatch.

The rustic effect has been carried out in detail on the interiors. Here the mantels are of barked ash poles, notched and rugged. The floors of the cottage are of polished wood.”²⁸

Thornhurst’s Fate

From the 1890s to the 1900s, local social columns regularly reported on the Thorntons’ excursions to Thornhurst, where they often hosted large parties and social gatherings in the summer months, including at least one barbecue in 1906 for the employees of the Atlanta National Bank.²⁹

As the Journal noted in 1900:

“Among the country places of Atlanta persons, “Thornhurst,” owned by Mr. and Mrs. Albert E. Thornton, arouses pleasant memories in the minds of a number of Atlantians who have visited this home during the summer.”³⁰

The last mention of Thornhurst in an Atlanta newspaper appeared in January 1908,³¹ nearly a year after A.E. Thornton’s death.³² Leila Thornton inherited the entirety of her husband’s estate, including Thornhurst and other real estate holdings, which the Journal said made her “perhaps the wealthiest woman in the state.”³³

The final published reference I can find to Thornhurst is in the Summer Social Register of 1911,³⁴ and beyond that, the date of the cabin’s demise is unclear.

When Leila Thornton died in 1931, she was a resident of the Biltmore Hotel in Atlanta,³⁵ and it appears the family’s estate in Vinings had already long been sold off, with the cabin presumably demolished.

Coincidentally, a Log Cabin Drive exists in Vinings today, named after the Log Cabin Community Church, which was founded in 1912 and housed in a log cabin. Based on a photograph of the original church, it wasn’t the same as Thornhurst.

I guess Vinings had more than one log cabin.

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A Place Of Beauty.

An Atlanta Gentleman’s Country Home
On The Banks Of The Chattahoochee.

Mr. A.E. Thornton’s Country Residence Near Vining’s Station–An Elegant Log House Built on the Top of a Hill Overlooking the River.

Written for The Journal.

There is in course of construction on the banks of the Chattahoochee river, one mile from Vinings station, an ideal country home of a city gentleman.

The place is owned by Mr. A.E. Thornton, president of the Atlanta Cotton Seed Oil company. It consists of six hundred acres of well wooded land among the small mountains to the right of the little station; at a place where the river bends well towards the south in its course.

The house is on the summit of a tall hill near the river side. At the bottom of the hill a clear spring branch threads its way through a mass of undergrowth and finally mingles its waters with those of the Chattahoochee.

The house is nothing more than a log cabin, but it is the most elegant one in the state. It is a story and a half high and contains six rooms, four down stairs and two above.

Every piece of wood that is being used in the construction of this picturesque building is fine, and was cut and prepared for use on the place. For this purpose a small steam saw mill was put up at the foot of the hill by the side of the branch, and all of the logs and planks used on the place are sawed in it.

The House Itself.

The log house is built upon a stone foundation. The first story is built of evenly selected logs, lain one upon the other, and the small crevices between them neatly filled with hardened cement. The upper half story is covered on the outside with fancy shingles.

The bark is scraped off of all the logs, and they are neatly scraped, but unpainted.

And then the chimneys. They are chimneys that one reads about, or, perhaps, dreams about but never sees. There are two of them, one at each end of the house. They are regular old fashioned log chimneys with the cracks stopped up with cement. They are what are called double chimneys, furnishing a fireplace for each of the four down stairs rooms.

These chimneys are four feet deep and sixteen feet wide at the base, and taper gently to the top, where they are four by nine feet. The logs of which they are built decrease in size toward the top so that the appearance of the chimneys is entirely symmetrical.

The Broad Porches.

The house has two very broad porches. The front porch faces the west, giving a magnificent view of the glorious sunsets to be seen in these mountains. The posts supporting the roof of this porch are nicely-selected pine saplings, sawn so that the knotty branches form artistic rustic brackets.

The back porch is a broad, open plaza, fourteen by forty-two feet, without any roof. It is inclosed by rustic banisters and railings of knotty pine branches.

From this porch, through a vista dimmed by intervening trees, is the view of the river, about a hundred yards off. Mr. Thornton’s place has about one mile of river front, and the grounds from the house to the river will be cleared out nicely so that the view will be unobstructed.

Inside The House.

The inside of the house is finished with an exactness and nicety that is charming to observe.

The walls and ceilings of the rooms and hallway are cleanly and smoothly scraped and painted white.

The very broad inviting hallway, leading through the house from one porch to another, gives passage to cool draughts of pure mountain air.

Everything inside the rooms is arranged with the same artistic roughness as on the outside. The mantles are of pine and adorned with rough, knotty brackets. The large, old-fashioned hand-irons in the fireplace, across which are laid large logs of hickory and oak wood complete a picture of one of those comfortable rooms.

The stairway leading to the second floor is constructed in keeping with the rest of the house. The post at the foot and banisters are of the same knot covered pine branches, presenting a very pretty rustic effect.

The interior of the two rooms upstairs is finished with the same comfort and neatness as those below. Amply large closets are set on either side of these rooms and pretty little dormer windows looking out over the mountains on one side, and the river on the other.

The Water Works.

This log house of Mr. Thornton’s will have a complete system of water works in it.

And the water will be the purest spring water, cool and refreshing.

On the top of one of the mountains is the large, clear spring from which the water will flow. At this spring a tank has been placed, the bottom of which is sixteen feet above the top of the house. From this tank pipes will convey the water to the house, about a quarter of a mile distant.

The idea of having waterworks in a log cabin in the mountains is quite something new.

The new waterworks plant of the city of Atlanta will be on the Chattahoochee river just one mile and a half above Mr. Thornton’s place.

The Out Houses.

Just outside the house, near the open plaza, is a neat little kitchen and a servant’s house. The yard is surrounded by a tall picket fence, and will be laid off and planted in nothing but grasses and natural wild flowers.

The place has over a hundred good chickens on it and a separate inclosure [sic] has been built for them.

Then the dogs.

Mr. Thornton has a pack of five little beagle hounds, the smallest, prettiest little fellows imaginable. There are but very few of these dogs around Atlanta, and to follow them in a chase after a rabbit is an interesting experience. The little fellows never get tired. They will run a rabbit all day and never abandon the chase until it is killed or captured.

Besides these there are two fine fox hounds, and several other dogs, setters and pointers, will be taken to the place. A kennel has been built for the dogs as large as a stable, and an inclosure built around it.

The Stable And Orchard.

On the northern slope of the mountain, only a short distance from the house, is the stable.

In this Mr. Thornton will keep his cows and two carriage horses, his carriage, a wagon, and other farm implements. This barn and stable is perfectly arranged.

Below the stable is a newly planted orchard of fine peach, apple and pear trees, grapes and scuppernongs. The orchard is regularly and beautifully laid off and will be sown in clover. It contains about six acres of well-cleared land.

The place is peculiarly picturesque and beautiful. The buildings are all constructed upon a similar style of architecture, and the uniformity with which the work, the designs, and the arrangements of the buildings have been perfected and carried out is an evidence of Mr. Thornton’s excellent taste and good judgment.

Mr. George A. Yarbrough is the polite and efficient contractor who has so ably carried out this beautiful work for Mr. Thornton.

During the approaching summer Mr. and Mrs. Thornton will entertain some of their friends at their country seat in true English style.

Walter H. Howard.³⁶

References

1. Illustration credit: “Summer Homes!” The Atlanta Journal, October 17, 1891, p. 7. ↩︎
2. “Georgia And Alabama.” Columbus Enquirer-Sun (Columbus, Georgia), December 8, 1889, p. 3. ↩︎
3. “Summer Homes!” The Atlanta Journal, October 17, 1891, p. 7. ↩︎
4. Illustration credit: “Thornton Goes To Final Rest”. The Atlanta Constitution, April 3, 1907, p. 1. ↩︎
5. “A.E. Thornton, Esq.” The Atlanta Constitution, July 10, 1887, p. 16. ↩︎
6. “An Important Enterprise.” The Atlanta Constitution, April 29, 1887, p. 1. ↩︎
7. “From Our Notebook.” The Atlanta Constitution, May 3, 1889, p. 5. ↩︎
8. “American Pine Fibre Company” (advertisement), The Atlanta Constitution, April 16, 1890, p. 4. ↩︎
9. “It Changes Hands.” The Atlanta Constitution, April 9, 1889, p. 1. ↩︎
10. “The Augusta, Gibson and Sandersville.” The Atlanta Constitution, February 13, 1890, p. 3. ↩︎
11. “Officers Elected.” The Atlanta Journal, August 8, 1890, p. 2. ↩︎
12. “Light and Power.” The Atlanta Constitution, October 3, 1890, p. 6. ↩︎
13. “Report Of The Condition Of The Atlanta National Bank”. The Atlanta Journal, March 10, 1890, p. 1. ↩︎
14. “Col. Thornton’s Funeral Today”. The Atlanta Constitution, April 4, 1907, p. 4. ↩︎
15. “The City.” The Atlanta Journal, May 25, 1886, p. 4. ↩︎
16. “The New Club.” The Atlanta Constitution, April 17, 1883, p. 8. ↩︎
17. “Story Of The Journal.” The Atlanta Journal, May 1, 1889, p. 8. ↩︎
18. ibid. ↩︎
19. Ormond, Sidney. “Walter Howard Is Dead; The Story Of His Life”. The Atlanta Constitution, June 12, 1902, p. 1. ↩︎
20. ibid. ↩︎
21. “Walter Howard Dies In Asheville”. The Atlanta Journal, June 11, 1902, p. 1. ↩︎
22. “Walter Howard To Rest In Oakland”. The Atlanta Constitution, June 12, 1902, p. 5. ↩︎
23. Ormond, Sidney. “Walter Howard Is Dead; The Story Of His Life”. The Atlanta Constitution, June 12, 1902, p. 1. ↩︎
24. “Summer Homes!” The Atlanta Journal, October 17, 1891, p. 7. ↩︎
25. ibid. ↩︎
26. ibid. ↩︎
27. ibid. ↩︎
28. ibid. ↩︎
29. ‘Barbecue at “Thornhurst”‘. The Atlanta Journal, April 25, 1906, p. 10. ↩︎
30. “Homes Where Atlantians Spend The Summer Months”. The Atlanta Journal, June 2, 1900, p. 6. ↩︎
31. “Mr. J.G. Oglesby Jr., To Give Barbecue”. The Atlanta Journal, January 21, 1908, p. 8. ↩︎
32. “Thornton Goes To Final Rest”. The Atlanta Constitution, April 3, 1907, p. 1. ↩︎
33. “Thornton Estate Is Left To Widow”. The Atlanta Journal, April 9, 1907, p. 1. ↩︎
34. Social Register Summer 1911 ↩︎
35. “Mrs. Thornton’s Funeral Services Set For Saturday”. The Atlanta Journal, May 29, 1931, p. 23. ↩︎
36. Howard, Walter H. “A Place Of Beauty.” The Atlanta Journal, March 15, 1890, p. 1. ↩︎

The Background

At the time he wrote this sketch, Romare was employed as the bank’s vice president, but was appointed president in 1903. When he died just a year later, it was reported that “no one had more friends than he.”¹

Romare’s story provides a fascinating glimpse into his circuitous journey to the Deep South, an uncommon destination for Swedish immigrants in the 19th century.

The story is particularly interesting because of the many parallels between Romare’s life and that of his younger friend and fellow Swede, G.L. Norrman, whose own coy autobiographical sketch a few years later was much less revealing.

I kinda wish Norrman had taken a cue from Romare and shared more details of his early life, but alas, the enduring mystery of the man is part of his appeal.

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Mr. Paul Romare.

Paul Romare, Vice-President of the Atlanta National Bank, whose history being somewhat out of the usual line, may prove a matter of interest to his many friends and the readers of these pages. We give his life and life work in his own words:

I am a Swede, born on the shores of the Cattegat, in the town of Tonkon, Province of Skane, Sweden, November 20, 1928.

I was the youngest of five children, three brothers and one sister. From the age of six to fourteen I attended the village school, where I obtained a knowledge of arithmetic, geography, and history. At fourteen I left school and began life in earnest. My father, Paulus Romare, was Captain of a merchant ship for over thirty years. Too young to launch out for myself, I went with him as cabin boy to New York in 1843.

Of course the impressions of this first sight of America and an American city were not only deep but naturally enchanting to a young lad such as I was. None but a foreigner can appreciate the newness and beauty of a place like New York, and right then I felt that at some time this to me new world must and should furnish a home.

Of course I returned with my father in Sweden, and remained at home one summer. The next fall I sailed again as cabin boy with an older brother, who was the Captain of a ship. We sailed from Stockholm to Marseilles, returning home in the summer of ’45. That same summer I sailed again with a friend of my father’s for the Island of Java, touching Cape of Good Hope going and returning.

Resting a while in Stockholm I sailed with the same Captain for New York once more, and from New York to Rotterdam, Holland. While in this city the First Mate left the ship and I was given his position at the age of eighteen. However, by this time I had considerable acquaintance with the sea and sea-faring, and had gathered some knowledge of navigation from my father, brother, and present Captain. We returned to America, visiting Philadelphia and New York, and while in this city that had for me so many charms an incident occurred which changed my future and indeed my entire life. My Captain and I had a quarrel, and vowed I would never return with him to Sweden. Of course I kept my decision a secret for prudential motives.

Of course I ran considerable risk, but I went at once to see a friend, a Swede who live in New York for some years. I told him I was determined to remain in America. He promised to come to our ship that night in a boat and help me off. Like a true Swede, he kept his word, and I was soon securely hid in his home.

Just at this time, unfortunately for me, my brother’s ship was in the harbor of New York ready for sea. He was duly notified by the Captain of my escapade. He hastened to our mutual friend, feeling sure he knew of my whereabouts. I heard him coming; I knew his step. A closet being near, I opened the door, went in and was secure and out of sight. I could even hear his voice and what he said. My friend was astonished at my leaving; it was all news to him. I knew from what my brother said he did not believe one word, but seeing search in vain he left, and before next morning he was far out on the Atlantic. The ship I had so hastily abandoned also left in a day or two.

Left now absolutely master of myself and fortune at the mature age of eighteen, a stranger in a strange land, not one word of English at my command, I began to turn my thoughts to the serious side of my situation. That America was to be the home of my adoption was absolutely decided. That a knowledge of the English language was absolutely necessary to my progress in the new home was also decided. What to do while gaining that knowledge was the next serious question. This last query was soon settled by my shipping on an American brig as a sailor, bound for Mobile. On that trip I took my first lessons in English. On the vogage I found Dana‘s “Two Years Before the Mast.” Being far more familiar with the sea than I was with the land, the book naturally caught my fancy, being the plain and simple experience of a man who was two years before the mast. How I read it, now after the lapse of so many years, I cannot tell, but that I did read it and enjoyed it I am certain. Having no one near me who knew one word of my native tongue, I soon from sheer necessity had quite a vocabulary at my command.

I made various trips after this, crossing the Atlantic at least a dozen times; also had two or three trips to the West Indies and Mexico–on one of these trips taking army supplies to troops in Mexico. My last trip was from Charleston to Havana and back to Charleston, and in this city I was attacked with rheumatism, upon which my slight misfortune hinged my future plans.

One summer day, stopping at a cigar store on Broad street, I met a gentleman, a Swede, who had recently purchased large interests in the iron works at Cooperville, South Carolina. I had seen him before, and being countrymen, we were mutually drawn to each other. Approaching me, he said in Swedish, “Come, go with me to the iron works; you will soon get well, and I am in need of an interpreter. I cannot speak English, and I need a good man who can help me manage the business. I decided to go, and at the iron works took my first lessons in native business, first clerking at the supply store and then keeping books for the company. I was there from 1850 to 1854. It was then a prosperous concern, working about three hundred hands and manufacturing pig iron, bar iron, and hollow-ware.

In the summer of 1854, having laid aside some money, I resolved to see my native land once more. I left New York the last of April and reached my old home on Sunday, May 15. I notified no one of my coming. Reaching our house I rang the bell, asking for Captain Romare. My father did not know me, but in a little while all the household gathered to rejoice over the long lost and long regretted.

After a most delightful visit I returned to the home of my adoption. That fall I accepted a position in the Bank of Chester from the President, Mr. George S. Cameron, who was a friend of mine as long as he lived. I remained in Chester till the commencement of the war, when I enlisted with the old Chester Blues, the first company that left our place. I remained with that company till I was detailed for service in the War Department at Richmond, and was there till the evacuation, when I left with the retreating army, and in a few weeks the surrender at Appomattox ended the struggle.

In 1863, I was married in Grace Church, Camden, to Miss Lucy Fisher. I returned to Camden, and in the fall came to Atlanta to accept a position in the Atlanta National Bank, offered by my old and true friend, George S. Cameron, who with General Alfred Austell were the founders of that bank immediately after the war. I may mention that I received the first deposit ever made in that bank.

The rise, success, and prosperity of the institution are too well-known to be repeated. My life and life-work I may truly say has been here. For more than a quarter of a century my days have been spent in this bank, and to it has been given my best of life and time. Those who began here when I did are few indeed. I may say that I am the only one of the original officers and stockholders that is still interested in the bank.

I have made my home in Atlanta; here I expect to spend the rest of my life, and departing bequeath to this city and her people my fondest wishes and blessings.²

References

1. “Paul Romare, Banker, Dead.” The Americus Times-Recorder, February 9, 1904, p. 1. ↩︎
2. City of Atlanta: A Descriptive, Historical and Industrial Review. Louisville, Kentucky: The Inter-State Publishing Company, 1892-93, pp. 74-75. ↩︎