The Elliott Museum’s Swiss music boxes, roller organs, and Regina music boxes allow us to imagine their world with sound.
Mr. H. B. Bessey and his wife Sue stand at the heart of one of the warmest stories connected to the Elliott Museum’s collection of mechanical music. The Elliott Museum’s Swiss music boxes, roller organs, and Regina music boxes allow us to imagine their world with sound. These instruments were the soundtrack of an era when music filled parlors, porches, and gathering places through carefully crafted mechanisms made of wood, steel, and brass.
Regina music boxes, produced in Rahway, New Jersey, became some of the finest domestic music machines of their time. A Regina in good voice could carry its tune through an entire house. Families might save for years to purchase one. Visitors would admire the cabinetry, choose a favorite metal disk, and then listen as the machine turned a simple pattern of holes into a living melody. At the Elliott, the six Reginas and the graceful Swiss boxes and roller organs speak to that culture of shared listening and simple pleasure.
In early Stuart, mechanical music did more than entertain. It helped to knit a small community together. Neighbors might gather in a sitting room after supper to hear a new tune. Young people might cluster around a roller organ and take turns at the crank. Even in remote or hardworking places, a music box could change the feel of an evening and remind people that life held room for beauty as well as duty.
This spirit comes to life in the story of Mr. H. B. Bessey, keeper of the House of Refuge, and his wife Sue. They watched over a lonely stretch of coast, with the surf as their constant companion. One evening, a group of young people from Stuart decided to cross the river by boat for a visit. They did not arrive empty handed. With them came a mechanical music box, carefully carried across the water, perhaps wrapped in cloth and held close to protect its delicate workings.
Late at night, Mr. Bessey heard faint music drifting through the darkness, mixed with laughter and the rush of waves. He stepped outside to see lantern light and figures moving near the dune, the music box playing for the little group on the sand. Sue joined him, drawn by the same bright sound. Instead of sending the visitors away, the Besseys welcomed them. Before long someone wound the music box again, and the beach became a dance floor.
The young people of Stuart danced with Mr. and Mrs. Bessey until three o’clock in the morning, skirts brushing the sand, boots and bare feet moving in time. The scene must have felt almost magical. The heavy work of the day gave way to spinning tunes, shared stories, and the rare joy of company on an isolated shore.
The music box that played that night may have been similar to one of the instruments now preserved at the Elliott Museum. It is tempting to imagine that one of the Reginas or Swiss boxes in our galleries carries the very melodies that once rang out at the House of Refuge. Whether or not that is true, the collection keeps the spirit of that night alive. When visitors hear these mechanical instruments play today, they hear echoes of Mr. Bessey, Sue, and the young people of Stuart, gathered in the moonlight and dancing until the music finally ran down.
