So when the staff of Tecnomatix Unicam moved from Pease Tradeport to an old brick
building on the West End of Portsmouth, a few workers were bummed. They saw a
longer commute, more traffic and less connection to their fast-paced corporate
neighbors.
Marketing manager Amy Kenly saw something else.
"When someone told me that our office building used to be part of the old Frank Jones Brewery I was so psyched," Kenly told me. "Suddenly it seemed like a really cool place
to work."
The more she studied Portsmouth history, the cooler it got. Kenly tracked down
the one book about millionaire alemaster Frank Jones. She dug up old archived
photos of brewery workers and decorated the office with maps of the factory complex
that dates way back to 1843. She researched the 19th century brewing process and tracked down artifacts from the days of the Frank
Jones Brewing Company.
'Did you know," she says with energy, "that Jones Brewery was one of the biggest
in the entire country? Portsmouth was the beer capital back then."
Kenly has done her homework. She rattles off statistics from the post-Civil War
era when Frank Jones literally owned the city. She clearly has caught history
fever, and her enthusiasm is infectious.
On staff orientation day a month back, Tecnomatix workers toured their new office
space, tentatively peering around corners in part of the attractive renovated
brewery complex. Tecnomatix occupies two floors in what Kenly believes was the
old boiler building. Jones Brewery was among the first buildings in the city to
employ electrical power. On this day, high-speed Internet cables sprout from floors
and dangle from the ceiling as the last of the construction continues.
"This is pretty good," one programmer says, nodding approvingly at the high brick
walls topped with a new vaulted ceiling. "This isn't bad at all."
My job, after an elaborate feast of finger food is to talk about Frank Jones
and other curious characters from Portsmouth history. Two dozen employees, about
half the staff, have assembled in the plush chairs of the conference room just
off the second floor work office. Tecnomatix develops software systems for manufacturing
companies around the world. The home office is in Israel. Now the conference room
is full of programmers, salespeople, customer service reps and technicians. This
may be a tough house, I'm thinking. Maybe history doesn't float their boat.
"Okay, who can tell me when this city was first settled?" I ask. It seems a good
place to start.
"1623," a man in the front row quickly calls out.
"You're right!" I say, with obvious surprise. "How did you know?"
"It says so on the sign coming into town," he laughs. "I see it every day. And
I like history. It's like a hobby of mine."
"Mine too," I agree, and for the next half hour we teleport back to an era of
wild animals, fishing huts, Indian reprisals, devastating fires, Revolutionary
battles, slavery, privateering, yellow fever, witches, wars and, of course, Frank Jones. I tell them how Jones started out selling old rags for thousands of dollars
to foreign buyers. When his brother and partner Hiram slit his own throat in the
privy in the family farm, Frank married his brother's wife.
I tell them that Frank served six years as a New Hampshire Congressman until
his wife tired of his affair with a Washington, DC show girl and dragged him back
home to Portsmouth. We talk about his band of cronies, his mansions, his stranglehold
on local business, his racing stables, hotels, call girls, his lawsuits, his term
as mayor of Portsmouth and his failed bid to become governor of New Hampshire.
Jones built himself the tallest tombstone in the South Cemetery and, just before
he died, he took it down and built one twice as high.
"So may you all follow in the footsteps of your great mentor and become as rich
as Frank Jones, and never get caught," I say at last. I'm kidding, of course,
but it seems like a good place to end.
The group is very cordial and after my talk a number of Tecnomatix employees
come up to share their stories about local history. We kick around the idea of
building a little Frank Jones exhibit room, maybe somewhere among the complex
of towering brewery buildings. We look at a photo of Frank Jones workers back
in the 19th century. Maybe, someone suggests, the photo could be blown up huge and placed
in the lobby. Life-Sized Graphics, a company that makes huge photo enlargements,
just happens to be in the building next door. There's an enthusiasm here. It's
as if the workers of the past are channeling their energy from the decades of
workers that have come before.
As we're packing to go, I suggest to Amy Kenly that some of her colleagues may
want to join the Portsmouth Historical Society. I know they have an old keg from
the Frank Jones Brewery there. She says she will definitely check it out.
And that gets me thinking how amazing it would be if every business in the Seacoast
got excited about the past and adopted an historic building. Some already do,
but there is so much potential here. Everyone I talk to says they love the old
houses in town. This place just wouldn't be the same without them, they agree.
I’ve spoken to CEOS who have moved entire companies here because it exudes an
old New England charm that is increasingly hard to find.
"But doesn't the city pay to keep up those old houses?" a woman asked me the
other day.
"Not a farthing," I explain.
Nor does the state of New Hampshire help in almost every case, with the exception
of a recent spate of L-CHIP preservation grants. Nor does the Fed. Most of the
region's many historic buildings are maintained by tiny nonprofit volunteer agencies
that scrape together the dollars to keep them open to the public and prevent them
from falling down. Each house has a very small core of benevolent private citizens
who help where they can. Historic tours, if they make money at all, rarely cover
the cost of tour guides, brochures, electricity and insurance. It is an annual
struggle carried on by dozens of groups that are forever deeply in need of manpower
and money.
Now imagine what could happen if history groups could tap into local businesses
the way Portsmouth workers once tapped into Frank Jones ale. Those struggles could
be largely eliminated if the employees of just one major company threw their spare
time and affection into each historic house, or local monument, or ancient graveyard.
This is raw economics talking here, not charity. This region's very identity
-- its entire quality of life -- is tied up in history. These historic sites are
as essential to the soul of the Seacoast as are the rivers and the sea. Preserving
the places that connect us to the past makes financial sense, as does keeping
green spaces open, fighting pollution and controlling urban sprawl.
And it all starts when people who work here, like those at Tecnomatix, make a
personal connection to the past.
Jones Brewery photos courtesy of Portsmouth Athenaeum. Tecnomatix office photos
by Amy Kenley.
A Portsmouth technology company inherits the alemaker's legacy 
