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We have moved the blog to a new website, one that will include web pages as well as our stories. Please bookmark danvillevthistorical.org

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Photos: Mary's First Annual Memorial Tea

We felt Mary's presence all day long.

I've written a small piece for the March issue of the North Star, but thought some might like to see the photos of the tea sooner than that. Picasa hasn't let me edit them at all, so no captions are available. To see the photo album, click here.

A Leap Year Proposal I Send by Mail

Florence and Herbert Stanton of North Danville

By Mark R. Moore

We tend to think of people whose writings date from the early 1900s as “old” folks--ossified citizens of Danville who were “set in their ways” and as personable, humorous and emotional as a marble statue that we touched as a child. Frequently, in the course the course of classifying family documents for the Danville Historical Society, I come across one that offers insight that shows that they were not much different that teenagers are today.  Had I read only Florence Johnson’s 1907  letters to Herbert Stanton (her husband only a year later) I would been confirmed in a straitlaced controlling stereotype of an all-knowing spouse-to-be. In the following letter, Herbert was confined to home with mumps.

March 14, ‘07
My dear Herbert:
I have just been down street and sent a diet card and sent you a diet card just  to remind you that you were dieting…Now don’t eat too much or the wrong things.
With Love- Florence

Of course, I found that I was wrong. The letter entitled “Leap Year Proposal 1904” had no envelope and bore no address or name of sender. Only handwriting comparison revealed the writer. Definitely Florence. Reproduced below, it shows a fun-loving, teasing woman, full of life and spirit, which no man could lightly refuse.

[

All the bows are attached with two stitches except the last, which is gone. It is not torn but is missing, obviously carefully removed.

The historian in me fades. Though I have no proof, the romantic in me speculates young Herbert removed the rope and told Florence that his love wasn’t dead as the red bow’s return would have signified. Instead, his love would grow and flourish in Danville, his home with his beloved Florence.

A Leap Year Proposal 1904, transcribed

A Leap Year Proposal I send by mail
And hope you will guess from whom it hails [sic]
And send back the bow you think is accepted
And know with best wishes that it is accepted
If you want to be my fellow
Send me back my bow of Yellow
If for me your love is true
Send me back my bow of Blue
If you want me for your wife
Send me back my bow of white
If of me you sometimes think
Send me back me bow of Pink
If of me you sometimes dream
Send me back my bow of Green
If you wish me to elope
Send me back my Hellitrope
If for me your love is dead
Send me back my bow of Red
If for me there is no hope
Send me back my bow of Rope
If the writers name you guess
Send the bow to her Address

A Dear Couple for Dear Acres

Kenneth and Florence Ward, a Valentine Story

Kenneth and Florence's wedding picture, February 15, 1941

By Sharon Lakey

“Never a child born that bawled as much as Andy. I tried to tell Florence that the boy was hungry, but she was following the latest doctors’ books and using their recommendations. I raised calves all my life, and when they bawled, I fed them! That’s what he needed as far as I was concerned.”

What a way for Ken Ward, one of Danville’s premiere farmers, Town Lister for 35 years, Vice President of Vermont’s Soil Conservation Service, father of three and husband of one to start our interview. We sat in the living room of what used to be the Pumpkin Hill School, nestled at the foot of the farm that has been in his family for five generations. Ken will be 92 on his next birthday in March. With that many years behind him, there were many stories told in the ensuing hours, one for every photo that filled the small box in front of us. But this is a Valentine story, and that will be our rudder.

We’ll start with the boy Kenneth, who went to Pumpkin Hill School. He and his buddy walked the tracks of the St. J and LC trestle above the school where each placed a nickel on the tracks, then waited for the train to smash them. Late for school, they became swingers of birches, grabbing a sapling and riding it down to the next sapling, Tarzan-like, until they reached the bottom and raced to school. Late, they had to “run the gauntlet,” said Ken. Directed by the teacher, the children held switches and made two lines. “Like the Indians used to do. Sometimes I went home with tender shins.”

In the town of Kirby lived a girl, one of ten children in the Stuart family. Her name was Florence. “She was bullied,” said Ken, sitting forward, animated, still incensed at the injustice. “She had a way of walking that most girls don’t come by naturally. The other girls thought she was showing off, and they made fun of her walk and her clothes. She became shy of people and wouldn’t go to school. She gave it right back to them, though.” But the effect of the bullying was to shadow her for life.

Kenneth graduated from Danville High School in 1937. In 1938, he and five other boys from his class attended Vermont Ag (now Vermont Tech) in Randolph Center. “I went to learn better ways of farming,” said Ken. “They ran a farm there, and we were put to work as well as learning.”

Right away, the boss, who was the principal of the school, took a group of students to the barn. “Who among you can drive horses?” he asked.

“I’d been driving horses since the age of 12,” said Kenneth, “so I raised my hand.”

“Harness those horses,” said the principal, pointing to the team and then the harnesses hanging on the wall.

“I went to work. You see, the reins are done up differently for each horse,” said Ken. “The nigh horse harness is different than the off horse. I asked which horse was which and harnessed them accordingly. I guess he thought I did a good job. From that point on, I got to drive the team.” Kenneth smiled. “That was a benefit,” he explained. While the other boys had their hands on shovels, he had hold of the reins.

America was just coming out of the Great Depression when he graduated in 1938. According to Kenneth, President Roosevelt was trying to improve the lives of farmers, helping them make a living on the land. “Farmers were good spenders, and he wanted to encourage new ways of doing things. The thinking then was to remove the stone walls and hedges and increase the size of the fields so you could use a tractor to do the cultivating.” He listened carefully to the college president’s final address. “He told us that we should go out into the world, run our farms and take jobs in the associations. It was our duty!” Ken looks over. “I took that to heart.”

That summer, back at the farm, Kenneth met Florence for the first time. A man up the road (the Chapman farm as we might know it) got married at home and intended it to be a quiet affair. “The neighbors decided otherwise and got together a cheverie. We brought the party to them,” said Ken. “Florence was doing housework for a family on Route 2 and she showed up at the party. I was fresh out of college and didn’t know who she was.

“So I sidled up to her and introduced myself. Later, I asked how she was getting home and offered to take her in my Model-A Ford. She agreed and when we got to the house, I asked her if I could give her a kiss goodnight. She thought that would be okay as that was the custom then,” said Ken. One can tell this is a story he has remembered often. “They say you’ve got a mate that’s made for you, and when you think you’ve found them, you can’t be shy.”

After going together for about a year, he was invited to her house in Kirby for dinner. Her uncle ran the farm, and he was behind on his haying. “It was August, and they needed to get it done,” said Ken. “I grabbed a fork and offered to help.” Since Kenneth was in his good clothes, he reports he removed his shirt. “I think she liked what she saw,” he added.

Later, a job well done, her Uncle Irish told her in front of all present, “If that young man ever asks you to marry him, you’d have to have your head examined if you refused. Anyone who can come back from college and still use an old pitchfork like that shows he’s a good man.”

Kenneth asked her that very night. Florence said she’d think it over. “I guess she wanted to find out if I really meant it.” That winter, she took a good job in Newport, VT, doing housekeeping. One time when Kenneth was visiting, she asked, “Does your offer still stand?”

They were married in the Danville Congregational parsonage on February 15, 1941. “It was a simple affair,” said Kenneth. Florence had sewn her own dress, made of a deep, blue velvet material with soft gathers in the front, two shining rhinestones on the bodice. “She would never let anyone else touch that dress,” said Kenneth.

The couple joined his father, Wesley (known as Gene), and mother, Ruth, in the brick farm house. In 1942, little Barbara came along, named after Kenneth’s first girlfriend. “My grandfather took me aside and asked if something was wrong with her,” said Kenneth. “She never cried; she was always happy.” In 1944, Andy was brought into the world, named after Kenneth’s Uncle Andy, who was blind but a great man with children. In 1948, one year after the Wards got their first tractor, Ida was added to the family, named after Kenneth’s grandmother.

Andy remembers that first tractor well. He had the measles when they brought it into the yard to try it out. Florence came into his darkened room and said he could get one peek of it before going back to bed. He stood at the front window with his mother behind him watching the marvelous machine pushing snow out of the driveway before she shepherded him back to bed. It still upsets him when he thinks about it. Tractors were rationed after WWII and the Wards applied for all kinds. The first one available was a ’47 Ford N.

Kenneth and Florence bought the farm, half at a time. “I did my share of the work for my half interest,” he said. “Then when we paid that off, we bought the other half.” Florence, like many farm wives, could milk if she had to, but she tried to stay out of the barn. “Her part of the business was the calf barn,” said Kenneth. “For those who know Jerseys, it is no small task to keep them healthy. She used to be good at running the dump-rake, too. I can still see her out there with Dick, her Morgan, hitched up, cleaning up the droppings.”

Eventually, after the Pumpkin Hill School closed, the Wards bought it. The schoolhouse was sitting on land that was originally part of the farm. “There was an option to buy the school back should the school ever be closed,” said Kenneth. Gene and Ruth remodeled it, adding on where needed, and moved there, giving the family full ownership of the space at the farmhouse.

Kenneth, true to the duty spoken of by his college president on graduation day, accepted leadership roles in the Soil Conservation Service. The organization was created in 1935, after the tragedy of the dust bowl, when the U.S. government realized the value of good farming methods and the dissemination of those methods through education to farmers all over the country. He dutifully attended meetings and conventions, learning from others and sharing his knowledge. “I learned the most from Soil Conservation meetings. I would always find a stranger to sit next to, ask them what their problems were and how they solved them. Florence went along to these meetings, even though I don’t think she liked them much,” said Kenneth.

This necessitated managing work on the farm while he was away at these meetings in and out of state. “I had two full-time hired men working with me.” At the peak of the farm, the Wards milked 80, with a herd of 150. By that time, they had decided to go with a registered herd, choosing Jerseys because of their milk, which is high in butterfat. “Hood was paying a better price for Jersey milk, shipping it all over the Northeast.” That’s when they had to upgrade the facilities to include the bulk tank and a cement-floored barn. At that time, he and Florence were asked to come up with a legal name for their registered farm. “We tried to get Deer Acres,” said Kenneth, “but that was taken. So, we changed it to Dear Acres.”

The farm changed hands again in 1983 when their daughter Barbara and her husband David Machell bought it, and he Florence moved into the old schoolhouse. Farming went into decline shortly thereafter with rising costs and falling milk prices. Kenneth shakes his head in sadness, “We had no intention of that happening to them.” Barbara and David eventually sold off the herd, but they still keep beef cattle. They do a business in the raising and selling of beefalo. The bulk tank was removed and a large freezer installed where they sell the beef they have raised and butchered. The Machell’s renamed the farm “Pumpkin Hill Farm.”

In 2008, Florence passed. She and Kenneth had been married for 67 years. He still enjoys life in the snug, little house at the foot of farm, but every day he misses his dear mate, who so long ago accepted his offer to share a life together. 


This article was first published in the February, 2011, issue of The North Star Monthly.


For the photo album that relates to this article click here.

Keep Your Story Alive

It Has Been a Good Day

Diary entries of Homer Stanton circa 1900

By Mark R. Moore

Life in rural Danville was very active and exciting for young boys at the turn of the century. Herbert and Homer Stanton were the robust sons of William Henry Stanton who, in turn, was one of the many offshoots of the Stanton family who came to Danville in the early 1800s.

At Historical House, we have received and are cataloging a large collection of artifacts, photos and archival information that William J. Stanton of North Danville saved during his lifetime.  Many of these pieces are unsorted, unlabeled and present both a difficult and interesting puzzle. Sometimes, though, we are blessed with a clear record that reveals the ebb and flow of life in a time gone by. Such is the luck we had with the three journals of Homer Stanton of North Danville, written in 1900, 1903 and 1904.

One of Homer’s entries from the diary of 1904 gives us his age: July 17, 1904. “Uncle Jim and Aunt Eva have been here today. I went out of doors. It is my birthday. I am 18 years old.” So, in the 1900 diary, he is a young man of 14. Young Homer’s diary gives us the texture of daily life through which the history of Danville during the early 1900s can be seen:
“March 7, 1900. Mama, Herbert and I went to singing school. It has snowed and blowed some. Herbert drawed (sic) slabs and phosphate. Read in the Bible.”

There is even some mystery as to road repair:

“March 9, 1900. Read in the Bible. Mama and Herbert and I went to the singing. Papa has been cutting out cradle [?] holes on the St. Johnsbury road. Herbert went with slabs and phosphate.”

But there are also activities that we understand well:

“April 6, 1900. Read in Bible. Papa has been up helping tap trees to Grandpa’s. Herbert has been drawing manure. The singing is finished tonight.”

And we can understand the holiday food traditions:

“December 9, 1900. Herbert and I went to meeting. The wind has blowed  (sic) all day. Grandma and I popped some corn and made some corn balls.”

What is amazing to me, having read the diaries of Homer, is the number of daily activities that revolve around a large network of church, family, friends and community. Card games occupied the family at night:

“May 16, 1903 …Alice, Helen, Chauncey and Bert Massey were here tonight. We played Younker [?]

and whist.  It has been a good day.”

At least that is true until Thomas Edison’s invention makes its appearance:

“June 20, 1903 …Grandma has been down to Uncle George Sanborn’s tonight hearing the phonograph.

“July 29, 1903… We all went down to George Sanborn’s to hear a graphaphone [sic] tonight.”

It’s nice to find out that even audio advancement couldn’t beat old time fun of a good dance.

“August 5, 1903 Herbert went to St. J. this afternoon after meal. Papa and myself chopped. We all went to a promenade and dance at the hall.”

There were times when even the stalwart Stantons needed medical assistance. Medical practitioners were located in Danville, which was identified by Homer as “the Green.”  Dr. Brown had to come to North Danville to see Homer’s father, William, who was in his early fifties at the time.

“March 24, 1904. Papa fell into the silo this morning and stuck a pitchfork into his leg two times, one clear to the bone. The other all most to the bone. We had Dr. Brown from the Green. Herbert, Win and I have been sawing wood with Win horses.”

March 28, March 30 and April 1^st 1904. Homer noted his last visit laconically:

“April 1^st 1904…Dr. Brown was here today and he is finished coming.”

One assumes William was getting better although there is no mention of the charge for a house call or Dr. Brown’s treatment. Less than a month later, William was splitting wood.

“April 14, 1904: Papa and I split some wood today. Herbert has been doing odd jobs. Net Langmaid has been here cleaning house today. It snowed a little today.”

The attitude about oral health was shocking to me.  My research into the diaries began innocently enough, but things rapidly accelerated in the Stanton family, especially for his brother Herbert, who was in his twenties.

“June 11, 1904: Herbert went to the Green and had 21 teeth pulled. Papa and I cultivated corn and potato[s]. Bee [s] swarmed today.”

Then it was 18-year-old Homer’s turn.

“June 18, 1904: I went to the Green and had two teeth filed [does he mean filled] and three pulled. Ira has been hoeing.  Papa and I put some fire out.”

Finally on June 23, 1904:

“June 23, 1904 Herbert went to the Green and had the rest of his teeth pulled. I have been to school.”

There is no given reason in any of the diaries as to why a young man like Herbert should have all of his teeth pulled out. Surprisingly, there is no mention by either Stanton of the existence of false teeth!

The diaries and records of the Stanton family in North Danville,Vermont, are multifaceted beyond these excerpts quoted here. There were several Stantons with many male and female children who, perhaps, had experiences similar to these which the Historical Society is yet to discover. Even more interesting are the known historical figures who appear momentarily in the family and public records i.e. Langmaids, Siases, Sanborns and Beckwiths, whose history waits to be fleshed out.

The habits and customs of the 1900s as revealed in the diaries are, to me, stories of hard, determined work but also of the joy of companionship which give us the tapestry of life.

This article was first published in the January, 2011, issue of the North Star Monthly.
To see the complete photo album associated with this article click here.

Voices of Our Elders

Life in Caledonia County documentary is living, breathing history

By Sharon Lakey

On a rainy night in December a good-sized crowd gathered in a downstairs room at Catamount Arts. The audience had made the somewhat treacherous journey to watch a 43-minute documentary entitled Life in Caledonia County. Some in the audience were interview subjects in the video, but others had braved the elements just to get a glimpse of what life was like in earlier times in our part of the state.

Before the video rolled, Senator Bill Doyle stood before the group and gave a short introduction of the project. “The idea for this came from a documentary I saw at Harwood High School by students who had interviewed elders in their community. I thought, ‘If high school students can do this, my students should be able to as well.’” That was ten years or so ago, and Bill, who teaches history at Johnson State College, and his students in his Vermont History and Government Class have unveiled their ninth in a planned series of 14 videos—one for each of the counties in Vermont.

The process he came up with is not an easy one. Students entering the class have just one semester to complete the project from beginning to end. Luckily for them, Johnson State hires a videographer to put everything together. Vince Franke, of Peregrine Productions, handles the camera and sound work of the interviews and cuts the piece together. After sharing the first draft with the class, seeking input from them and making necessary changes, he travels to area historical societies photographing photos that illustrate the information in the video.  Add music, smooth out all the bumps, produce the physical copies and there—deep breath—it is show time!

That brings us back to the room downstairs at Catamount Arts. The lights are dimmed and we are taken back in time by the sound of a guitar and fiddle and old photos. Our neighbors from around the county, fifteen of them in all, agreed to speak of the time in which they grew up. A narrator’s voice moves the script from one topic to another. It is reminiscent of a Ken Burns documentary, except, as one audience member pointed out afterward, “Thanks for not showing the same photo over and over again.” Nearly 250 photos illustrate the story, not a one of them repeated. This collection of images represents life in our county in the first half of the 20^th century.

In order of appearance, some of which appear more than once, here is a sampling of the voices:

Catherine Beattie, Danville, on the importance of farming:  “I made a list of the farms that were in operation here in the late 40s and there were over a hundred farms.”

Alice Hafner, Danville, on wages earned on the farm: “Well, a lot of the men around here worked for a dollar a day, room and board. Those would be the hired men who worked here on the farm. And they were happy to get that kind of money.”

Leeland Simpson, Lyndon, on changes brought about by machine: “When we first came here in 1920 we milked probably about 15 cows. We got the first milking machine about the second year after I was married. My father was against them to begin with, but, of course, soon's we got ‘em in place and so on, you would have thought it was his idea to begin with.”

Roger LeCours, Hardwick, on farm chores: “Even during the school year, at about quarter to six, my mother would say, ‘Your father’s already been in the barn for an hour. You boys better hurry!’”  

David Mitchell, Lyndon, on chores: “Most of kids had chores to do. You had to get wood in for the fire in the kitchen. Had a barn to clean. Kids had to work back then.”

Lorna Field Quimby, Peacham, on chores:  “You had to cut a lot of wood for the furnace and the cook stove. It always seemed to us little girls who had the wood box to fill that my mother burned an awful lot of wood! Because my father had five girls, I was one of his hired men. I did a man’s work when I was 10, 11 and 12. I didn’t wear jeans then. I wore a dress and I had these bloomers. I was barefoot and probably dirty half-way up to my knees, but I was out helping Dad, and I would pick stone with him all day. I’d get a sunburn but feel very important because I was helping Dad.”

Leigh Larocque, Barnet, on haying: I remember that myself and a couple of my sisters had to shake the hay out by hand. Years later they used tedders, but back then they used hand and fork. Farming grew from, you might call it, horse and buggy days to equipment and tractors.

Albert Taylor, Kirby, on the transition to machinery: “Well, I’ll tell you about the transition that we made from horses to tractors. Dad was a man in his 60s. He probably started work when there was no piece of machinery, and so forth. I knew more about that than he did. I was the one that come up with it, you know. We were the lucky ones to come up with the machinery. They had the labor.”

Dave Warden, Barnet, on tractors: “I can remember when you got the first tractor, which would be around ’46 if I remember right. And even then you couldn’t get a starter on it. They were still a part of the military needs. They weren’t building starters, so you had to have one that cranked.”

Duane Smith, Sheffield, on horse pulling: “At the end of the summer there were the county fairs and they were really looked forward to by everybody. You didn’t have all this television and all this other stuff. The horse pullin’ was a lot different than it is now, because all the farmers were using horses. And so there was some real rivalry between my team and your team and his team down there to see who could out-pull the other team.”

Dwight White, Ryegate, on the telephone: “Most everyone had a telephone. There were maybe a few families that didn’t have them--elderly people, for example. We would think now they were the ones who most needed to have a telephone. These would often be the widows of a farmer who had put away a given amount of money. The widow had a home, but she lived very frugally. A telephone was considered a luxury.”

Francese Cochran, Walden, on the telephone: “This fella, when he was just a young kid, had to man the switchboards so his mother could get some work done. So he had a couple of ladies that would ring in and want a certain number, and he’d say, ‘The line’s busy,’ whether it was or not. You see, he’d rather be out playing ball.”

Elizabeth Hatch, Walden, on schools: “Wherever people gathered, they were concerned about education for their children. They would form their own district school. To begin with, their school would be kept in either a room in their house or a room in the barn or shed until they could get organized and build themselves a schoolhouse.”

Russell Reed, St. Johnsbury, on Fairbanks: “We had one of the original major businesses in Vermont in St. Jay, which was Fairbanks. Fairbanks scale was the heart of St. Johnsbury. It was where the money was made.”

Peggy Pearl, St. Johnsbury, on Fairbanks: “Fairbanks came here to St. Johnsbury about 1819. They established themselves on the Sleepers River and made wagons, stoves and at one point were brokers for hemp, which was grown along the Moose River. The farmers would bring their hemp to the Fairbanks’ who would then sell it for rope making. They would have to unload wagons and weigh it then put it back on wagons. That’s when Thaddeus came up with the idea of having a platform scale that you could roll everything onto and not handle it so many times…They didn’t have a clue how really big this was going to be.”

It was a joy to watch the faces and listen to the storytelling voices of these elders. As one of the Johnson State students said in the video, “It was living, breathing history.” After the showing, there was time allotted for audience reaction, which gave its wholehearted approval. Vince explained that each school, library and historical society in Caledonia County will receive free copies of the video. They are also for sale at Catamount Arts, Natural Provisions, Green Mountain Books in Lyndonville and the Danville Historical Society as well as available online at: www.peregrineproductions.com. The cost is $15 and helps support the continuing project at Johnson State. A portion of the proceeds goes to the local historical society. The next planned project is Life in Windham County.  

This article was first published in the January, 2011, issue of the North Star Monthly.
To see the complete photo album related to this article, click here.        

The Artist as Historian

Robin Rothman Recreates the Old Stone Gaol

The completed drawing of Danville's old stone gaol by Robin Rothman

By Sharon Lakey

Artist Robin Rothman was given a mission; Mary Prior wanted her to recreate, as correctly as possible, two of Danville’s historic public buildings—the Bark Meeting House and the old stone gaol (jail). Neither of these buildings still stands; nor are there sketches or photographs of them. It was a job for historical sleuths. The two worked in tandem, digging up as much written material as possible as well as Robin visiting the sites where the buildings were thought to have stood.  Before she passed, Mary saw Robin’s rendition of the Bark Meeting House, and it brought tears to her eyes.

 

As time progressed, Mary became confined to her house, but Robin continued to pursue the jail. “I hoped to finish it so she could see that one, too,” said Robin. Unfortunately, Mary passed in July; the piece was finished in late September.

Along with the finished drawings, Robin has recorded and submitted her sleuth’s path for the historical record. How did she get to her finished drawings? When asked, she smiles and emphatically says, “It’s a total fabrication!” We will trace her method in arriving at the jail drawing now and let the reader decide how well she has done.

For the jail, her research included site visitations to the Dow-Webster house, later sold to B.F. Haviland, on Brainerd Street. The house is still there, occupied presently by Jamie and Lindsey Beattie. Robin walked and studied the landscape surrounding the house, looking for possible footings of the jail. She found hints of a stone wall and parts of a broken, hewn granite stone. A hump of earth can be seen where possibly the jail stood.

A map drawing was of particular interest to her. The Beers Atlas of 1875 hangs on the wall at Historical House. It shows Jail Street (now Brainerd) with the footprint of the Haviland house and another structure sitting akimbo to it entitled “Old Jail.” Robin was puzzled by its placement in the landscape; the jail does not sit parallel to the street. Instead, it is more in line with the present day Masonic Temple (originally the Baptist church). 

  

To find background on its most likely construction, she pored over microfilm of the old North Star, read and reread accounts relating to the structure in historical gazetteers, the town history and searched the Internet for photos of other historic stone jails.

The original jail in Danville was constructed in 1796 of logs. In 1801, when Danville became the shire town of Caledonia County (the county seat), it was upgraded. According to Child’s Gazetteer, it was constructed with “square logs, notched and pinned together.” That jail also included a pillory and whipping post.

Later, in 1834, Danville was required of to build a more substantial jail. Town records show that the Town Warning of 1834 included an article to see how much money the town would raise to build the new jail. It was decided to raise $1,000; an equal sum would be raised by subscription.  Ira Brainerd was put in charge of the construction. According to Child’s, the structure was made of “immense granite stones, some 20 foot in length, quarried in Danville, hewn and dowelled together.” In 1838, the court ordered a picket fence to be installed around the jail. A 10 to 12 foot high fence made of planks that were sharpened to a point was added.

Two articles from the North Star were used by Robin to help determine the jail design. In her search, she found the escapades of a prisoner, Daniel Floyd, to be most helpful. In the first article, Floyd, “a prisoner confined on a charge of railroad thefts, and awaiting his trial at the next County Court” alerted the jailer to a fire in his cell. The article relates that the jailer ran upstairs to douse the fire, putting Floyd in another cell to do so. From this, Robin surmised the structure was at least a two-floor affair.

In a later issue, Floyd is reported to make his actual escape:

“Last Sunday night or early Monday morning, Daniel Floyd, …awaiting his trial at the next County Court, succeeded in making his escape from the jail in this village. To effect it, he evidently had help from some one outside the prison, who no doubt furnished him tools to work with. With an inch and a half auger he bored out a space large enough to admit his body, from a large heavy beam overhead, and in this way gained the attic. He then removed some stones at one corner at the north gable end of the attic, and having fastened a rope firmly round the chimney, swung himself down by it, outside, into the prison yard. It was then a comparatively easy matter for him to scale the high picket fence, jump over the other side, and “be off.”

“ …Two panes of glass were broken out of his cell window, and though it was protected by heavy iron bars run across, yet from the tracks and other appearances outside, it was evident that some one, probably by the use of a ladder, had handed in to the prisoner, by breaking the window glass, the auger, rope, &c…”

Jackpot! There was an attic from which the prisoner removed stones as well as description of a chimney,  window treatment and gable ends. At this point, Robin had a good idea about how the building looked and functioned. Now she had to set it in its surroundings to create a sense of place.

But before we get to that, it is important to know the fate of the jail. In 1856, Danville’s shire town designation was stripped and given to neighboring St. Johnsbury. The citizens of Danville were angry about what they felt was a theft of power by political intrigue instigated by the Fairbanks family. Much ill will resulted. The North Star reported heavily upon the situation, stating Danville had gone through much expense in building, maintaining and upgrading the County Seat facilities. These included a handsome courtroom and fireproof room for County records. Likewise, the jail was considered to be the best in the state.

The town fought the change, but to no avail. Still, hard feelings prevailed and when the new County seat offered to buy the stones of the jail for $700 and move them to St. Johnsbury to build their own new facility, the Town refused to sell them. The old jail stood empty until 1877 when it was torn down. The stones were purchased for a sum of $100 by the North Congregational Church in St. Johnsbury. They became the foundation stones for the church tower. In the church records, it is reported that the sermon that followed the opening of the church referred to the stones as “removed from Satan’s realm to serve a higher purpose.”

Though the jail was no longer in use, Robin felt setting it according to the Beers map of 1875 would give the best feel as to how the building fit into the town landscape. In the mid-1800’s, B.F. Haviland, who now owned the house where the old jail stood, was a well-known horse breeder of Morgans.  A number of photos exist at Historical House of the Haviland house, barn, family and livestock.  The most famous of his horses can be traced back to the original Justin Morgan. That horse had one white foot, and Robin believed might be in one of the photos. She also had two photos of Haviland himself--one standing, holding the lead of a horse and one of him seated in a hitched Brewster Buggy.

Now, she had all the pieces necessary to do her artist’s magic. She called one day and said, “It’s done. Come get it before I ruin it!”

So, reader, you may now judge. Is this work of art a total fabrication? On this subject , Robin quotes from the Mikado with her flashing smile: “Corroborative detail intended to lend verisimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative.” Mary would be happy, I believe.

Both the Bark Meeting House and the Old Stone Gaol drawings will be on display at Historical House during the month of December.

 

To link to the photo album of Robin’s work on this project,click here. 

This article was first published in the December, 2010, issue of The North Star Monthly.

  

           

Finding Answers through the Fragments

Bruce Badger’s Memorial Album Comes Home

Bruce L. Badger

By Sharon Lakey

Jean Dutton, sister of Danville’s only soldier killed in action in Vietnam, Bruce L. Badger, made a decision. She would send the album she created detailing the events surrounding her baby brother’s death. “I think it should be in Danville,” she said over the phone. Before sealing the box, she added his Vermont Patriot’s Medal and the last two letters he wrote to his mother before his death on April 2, 1968.

When the box arrived at Historical House, we unpacked it, set it on the table and reverently turned the pages. It exudes a certain solid silence. The cover is a deep brown color with an embossed mandala on the front, and every piece the album is covered in protective plastic, smooth to the touch. Even the glues she used on the contents are of archival quality; it is meant to be handled and read and be accessible for many years to come.

Perusing the book, it seems stark at first. The content is straightforward, unembellished.  But when you take time to read each page, skimming over the repetitious elements of newspaper clippings, each chosen fragment adds a little more depth to the mind-numbing loss the family must have experienced at his death.

It opens with a senior photo of Bruce, a black and white 5 x 7. The photo is of a clear-eyed, serious young man, dressed in a suit, a white kerchief peeking out of the lapel pocket. It is this photo the family gave to the media, and it is repeated time and again in the succeeding newspaper clippings. Page two opens with a 5 x 7 color photo of Bruce in his army uniform. He wears the same serious look, but there is a hint of pride the young man felt in wearing the uniform.

On the army photo page, Bruce’s senior photo is repeated, heading two newspaper clippings. The first is the smallest column: “IN VIETNAM—Sp/4 Bruce L. Badger, son of Mr. and Mrs. Philip M. Badger Sr., Danville, arrived in Vietnam March 3…” Right next to it is a slightly larger column with the same photo: “Danville Man Killed in Vietnam—A 21-year-old Danville man has been reported killed in action in Vietnam...April 2…”

Bruce was a shy, intelligent youth, renowned locally as a sterling baseball pitcher and avid outdoorsman. At university in Logan, Utah, for two years, he enjoyed hiking the wild country there. But, as the war raged, he felt the call to enlist.

Most of us in Danville know his name because of the Bruce Badger Memorial Highway that connects Danville from Hill Street to North Danville.  The highway naming was the result of efforts by Louise Lessard. Her brother, Roger, was Bruce’s classmate, and she had been haunted for years about something that took place on Bruce’s last leave before leaving for Vietnam. She remembers a February day in 1968 when Bruce stood in the Danville General Store greeting those who entered. In this memory he is shaking hands with all who came through the door, telling them goodbye. His message—“I won’t be coming back.”

“I just couldn’t get this out of my mind,” said Louise. “I didn’t want him to be forgotten.” She took it on herself to ask the Select Board to change the name of the highway, and it was granted in 1983. There is a photo of this celebration in the album, the family gathered under the sign. Geneva, his mother, is in front, dressed all in white, holding a black purse.

She was an elementary school teacher in Danville and Walden. Bruce was her surprise child, she told Louise in an interview for a North Star article in 1991 , coming when she was 42-years-old. “Bruce was the easiest of my five kids. He was such a good boy and never gave me any trouble.”

Though all family members were deeply affected by Bruce’s death, it is Geneva that emerges in the album as the most stoic of figures. Both of his letters, now included at the end of the album, begin with “Dear Mom…” Page four of the album begins with a newspaper photo of the honor guard presenting the American flag to her. She stands straight, hand raised to receive the folded flag, head tilted upward to look at the tall man before her.

Toward the end of the album, Jean has included a piece written by Geneva. Jean entitled it “A Mother’s Remembrance,” but the strangeness of the writing is that there is literally no emotion in it; it is an exacting list of facts:  “Bruce left Danville Feb. 13, 1967 by bus for Manchester, N.H. He was sent to the U.S. Army Reception Center Station, Fort Jackson, S.C. Feb. 14, 1967…”

It ends with: “March 17 [1968], he was sent out on armored assault vehicle. He was injured by an enemy mine April 2, at Tam Ky at 8:35 a.m. He was taken to 2^nd Surgical Hospital by helicopter and died at 11:50 a.m. We were notified by Sgt. Webb April 3, 9:50 a.m. He arrived in Maryland April 8 and met by Duncan McNaughton. He was brought to Desrochers & Sayles funeral Home April 9 where he remained until April 13. His funeral was held April 13 at Congo Church. Military Honor Guards came from Camp Devens. His personal possessions came May 24. Stone was set May 25. Marker arrived June 28. Money came July 25. Lt. Golding presented his awards Mon. Nov. 3, 1968. He helped us with military affairs. History of 1^st Cav. and second lot of patches came from Col Treadwell Jan. 3, 1969.”

She was a mother looking for answers, and facts were as close as she could get. In a letter dated May 15, 1968, from a Captain of the Armor Commander, she received the following information: “In the mid-morning hours at approximately 8:35 a.m., your son was on a search and clear mission three miles north of Tam Ky, Quang Tin Province, Republic of South Vietnam. Bruce was assigned as the machine gunner when his Armored Cavalry Assault Vehicle ran over an enemy mine, severely wounding Bruce and two fellow crewmembers. Within seconds the platoon medic was administering aid to Bruce and within minutes he was evacuated by helicopter to a hospital. Despite the best possible medical care, Bruce died at 11:50 a.m. at the 2^nd Surgical Hospital in Chu Lai, Republic of South Vietnam…Bruce’s personal property is being collected and will be shipped to you immediately. I know you will treasure his personal property, and I hope that it will reach you without delay.”

Evidently, she pushed for more information as the following letter shows. In a response to Geneva’s questions, the Squadron Chaplain writes: “Dear Mrs. Badger, Your letter has been referred to me. Since I have just recently joined the squadron, I did not have the privilege of knowing your son, Bruce.

“I have checked with his troop and the men who knew him. They thought very highly of Bruce and were very saddened by his loss.

“Bruce was a side gunner on an Armored Cavalry vehicle which struck a mine during a mine sweeping operation. Two other men from C Troop were killed with Bruce along with three Marines.

“All Cavalry men wear flak vests when on operations. However, the nature of Bruce’s wounds was such that his vest could not save him. He did not regain consciousness after the incident and so was granted a painless death…”  With this information, she would have to be satisfied. To find spiritual peace, she had to look elsewhere, and Jean reports that she made daily visits to Danville Green cemetery for many months after his burial.

Glued into the album are five Polaroid photos that are from an unknown source.  Jean has no remembrance of where they came from, but there they are, reminiscent of photos we have all seen from Vietnam--a brown landscape with young men, war machines and village hamlets. They illustrate the type of military vehicle and activity that Bruce and his squadron were undertaking. In the upper left corner on the page is a particularly odd image; it is of an armored vehicle that is all out of alignment, disjointed, pieces of it lying on the ground. Is it Bruce’s vehicle?

As an old woman, Geneva visited the Washington D.C. Vietnam Veterans Memorial. One of the family members snapped a photo of her reflected in the glossy granite where Bruce’s name is engraved. It is titled by Jean as “Geneva Badger at the Vietnam Memorial.” She is seated in a wheelchair in a red dress, looking at her sons name among all the rest.  On that same page is a photo of bronze figures--three soldiers, dressed for the heat of Vietnam and wearing their flak vests.

Like many before and after him, gentle Bruce was lost for a cause that was stated simply in a letter from the White House to Mr. and Mrs. Badger, dated April 12, 1968: “Americans throughout our great country are eternally indebted and humbly grateful to your son for his selfless courage in fighting to preserve the ideal of freedom for all men…Lyndon Johnson.” In the album are many such letters of condolence from high sources as well as listings of medals and commendations given to him posthumously. On one of the pages is a newspaper column listing Vermonters who were killed in Vietnam: 114, including two that Geneva added in her own handwriting after the column was published.    

Glenn, Bruce’s older brother, spoke at the funeral: “Bruce…We remember your love for the picturesque hills of Vermont and Utah and your appreciation of the lovely things of life. The sun streams in golden shafts on the mountains and streams that you loved. You were close to nature, because you understood the beauty of life’s precious gifts which we take for granted…You were tolerant and understood that these were times of few convictions, but days of great causes and passions.”

Bruce’s album and Vermont Patriot’s Medal will be on display at the Danville Historical Society during the month of November. Hours are Tuesdays and Thursdays from noon to 7:00. 

This article was first published in the November, 2010, issue of The North Star Monthly.

For more photos related to this article, click here. 

   

The Danville Name is Not What it seems

By Stephen McDougall

DANVILLE – This year, the historic town of Danville celebrates its 150^th anniversary, but few residents know the origin of the name for their town. Sure, a few know that it came from the town of Danville, Vermont because of  pioneers who came north of the border in the early 1800s at the invitation of the Lower Canada governor who offered them free land to settle.

But over the years, many residents assumed the name had to do with someone named Dan. Few realized the name had a more complicated past and is not an English name, but rather a derivative of a famous geographer and map maker from France.

In the 1790s, the founding father of Vermont, Col. Ethan Allen, was searching for names for some of towns he wanted to establish in his newfound state, which had broken away from the larger state of New York. Because the northern half of the state had once been the lower part of the former New France up until the British conquest in 1760, the French influence on the state was still strong.

After the Americans won their independence from the British in the early 1780s with the help of the French government, Allen wanted to thank them by using French names for some towns. Under the advice of expatriate French author Michel Guillaume Jean de Crevecoeur, Allen took the name Danville from Jean-Baptiste de Bourgignon d’Anville, a cartographer for the French king Louis the fifteenth.

D’Anville was famous in France for redrawing most of the world maps based only on reports from explorers he recieved at his office in Paris. He died in 1782 at the age of 85. The name was anglicized by removing the apostrophe and leaving the D in place at the front of the name.

Despite his working for the King of France, d’Anville did not have an aristocratic title, unlike that of Duc d’Anville, the son of a former Huguenot who became a vice-admiral in the French navy. Known as the Duke, this d’Anville tried to retake Acadia from the English in 1746 using an amarda of ships and a regiment of soldiers from France. But before he could attack the English in what is now Nova Scotia, the hapless aristocrat died of a mysterious poisoning at Cape Breton. The two d’Anvilles do not appear to have been related, given that the map maker was a Bourguignon and the vice-admiral was from the Rochefourauld family.

The story would have ended there if not for the exporting of the name to Quebec via the first Vermont pioneers to leave and form a similar town in the Eastern Townships 150 years ago. But an extensive look at our neighbour south of the border indicates there are also 17 Danvilles in as many states in the U.S. Most of the Danvilles are small communities similar to those in Danville, Quebec and Danville, Vermont. The next closest Danville is in New Hampshire, about an hour’s drive north of Boston.

Besides these two New England towns, there are Danvilles in the states of  Alabama, Arkansas, California, Georgia, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Missouri, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Washington and West Virginia.

What is not known is why these other states chose the Danville title for their towns. Do they know the origin of the name?  Past attempts to contact these towns via the internet have not been successful. The Record will endevor to find out for a future article.

EDS : Pics of the historic characters are hard to find. Allen is on wikipedia, but Bourguignon d’Anville is not.

Senator Jane Kitchel, Paul Chouinard, Alice Hafner and Stephen McDougall in Danville, Q.C.

Note from Sharon Lakey, Director of Danville Historical Society :

This summer, when our Danville, VT, tour went to Danville, QC, one of the events we enjoyed was a display of historical photos set up in a room in the school. Several historical articles were on display in the hall as well, and this one was pointed out several times as a new piece of information about our town’s name. The author of the above article, who writes for the local paper in Danville, QC, was recently at Autumn on the Green with a contingent of citizens at a booth sharing information about their town and it 150th anniversary. We hope you enjoy this article; McDougall says he has more!

This article was republished in the November, 2010, issue of The North Star Monthly.

The Campico Story

Hubert Simons working on the first camp.

By Eleanor Bonney Simons

On a beautiful October afternoon, about 1950, Hubert and I drove around back roads as we often did. As we went by the Ward Farm in the Tampico area, we stopped to visit with Leon Crawford. Hubert asked him if he knew of a piece of land for sale where he could build a camp. Leon said, “I know just the place. Come. I’ll show you.”

He led us up to a height of land in his hay field with almost a 360 degree view of the Presidential range of the White Mountains to the East, Mt. Moosilauke to the South and Burke Mountain and the Willoughby gap to the North, with a scattering of Vermont farms in the foreground. Hubert had grown up on a farm on what is now the McDowell Road, so it was all very familiar to him. Leon insisted that we should have the land forever “as long as rivers run downhill.” They would only like the opportunity of taking their supper up there occasionally. As far as we know, they never did.

We found a Sears-Roebuck building, probably meant for a garage or a utility building that we thought would make a good camp. Since $1000 seemed like a lot of money, our good friends, Velma and Winona Hall and Mary Stewart, who also wanted a camp, agreed to help pay for it. We’d all use it.

Hubert did most of the building, and a mason from Barnet built a chimney and fireplace. We often stopped to buy a loaf of Pauline Crawford’s home-made bread on our way up to spend evenings working on the camp. Since there was no water, we always carried it, and we found some Aladdin kerosene lamps like those that Hubert remembered from the farm. We shopped yard sales for kitchen equipment and friends contributed so much stuff, we were in danger of overload. Friend Rebecca Skillin donated red material with Pennsylvania Dutch figures that I made into curtains. Hubert and I spent our first overnight in the camp in mid-July and nearly froze, proving the futility of heating with a fireplace. Later, Betsy Chamberlin gave us an old parlor stove from her family homestead in North Haverhill, NH, which actually made it comfortable.

Cousin Theodore and Belle Perrigard also had a hand in the building and furnishing of the camp. Theodore helped Hubert build a privy, which was placed just over the brow of the hill in back of the camp. We discovered that if you left the door open while using the privy, you were looking directly into Archie Champagnes’s dooryard in the road below!

The next summer we added a bedroom, which made room enough for Cecil Brown and me to invite our Girl Scout troop for an overnight trip. Other visitors were hunters. Hubert, brother-in-law Jack Young, and friend Dean Romig, enjoyed the hunting season, but thought it was a pretty cold, windy spot. We girls, Mary Stewart along with Velma and Nonie Hall, had planned a winter weekend, which was memorable; we had a January thaw that was very dreary. Fran Sayward braved the long, dark back-road approach, coming all the way from Portland, ME, bringing a homemade meatloaf.

Just as we were beginning to enjoy owning a camp, the Crawfords sold the farm to Scudder Parker and family. They didn’t need strangers in the middle of their hay field, so we sold the camp to them. Velma, Nonie and Mary soon bought a small camp at Joe’s Pond, which worked out well for them; the lake provided more opportunity for fun for them.

And before long, Hubert and I found another spot just down the road and bought half an acre from Bub Dresser for $50. There we built another cabin—mostly Hubert’s work, but as our dear friend Cay Spencer said, “He couldn’t have built it without us. We helped him put up the walls.”

Hubert had saved the cross-arms from the telephone poles on Main Street in St. Johnsbury from when the wires were put underground. A telephone cross-arm, when sawed in half, makes a perfect two-by-four, and the holes were convenient for putting wires through. We had electricity from the start, because there was a transformer right across the road.

Cay Spencer gave us two big storm windows, which made wonderful picture windows. The two small windows on the roadside of the house were from a hen house. The foundation was made of railroad ties and some big rocks. Even the nails were recycled from the foundation of our house, which we were building at that time. Winter evenings Hubert spent in the cellar straightening nails. Jack Young built bunk beds for the bedroom, a trestle table and two benches. The furniture made a convenient spot to sit and enjoy the spectacular view of the Presidential Range and the big field in front that belonged to the Patterson farm.

Labor Day weekend that first year, Betsy Chamberlin and Kay Scott dropped in and stayed for supper. Hubert suggested we go see the Parkers, as he had already gotten acquainted with Scudder. That was our introduction to a wonderful family with four children, who had just moved from a New York City suburb and were trying to make a living farming. We became good friends with the family: Scudder, a newspaper editor; wife Bets; young Scudder (12), called Deacon;  Stephen (10); Sally just starting first grade, and Alan (3) called Punky (short for pumpkin).The family had been chosen by the Ladies Home Journal to be interviewed, and they had been given the offer of a remodeled room. We were surprised to discover that the pictures in the magazine had been printed before the remodeling had actually been done.

Hubert and Scudder hit it off immediately. Bets and I had a lot in common, and we chuckled about their long conversations. Hubert was pleased to be able to help Scudder learn about farming, and he was delighted to have a chance to handle the horse and cow that the Parkers were farming with. They had a joke about the hired man. When Scudder asked him to let him know if he was doing anything wrong, the answer was, “I don’t want to be shooting my mouth off all the goddamn time.” Hubert had a jeep, and we would drive up to visit the Parkers on snowy evenings when traveling was difficult.

The hunters liked the new camp much better, because it was less windy, and the electricity was an added enjoyment. My brother-in-law Jack Young and Dean Romig came many years for deer season. Dean’s son, young Dean, is still coming. They collected water in big milk cans from the Bennett spring and later from Fink spring.

Over the years, we added another bedroom in the northeast end, and for a few years we even had a flush toilet. Hubert rigged up a pump halfway down the hill, with water piped from the swamp. It didn’t last long, as it could only handle a few flushes.

When our son Tom arrived in 1956, he soon loved coming up to camp. He would holler “Campico!” as soon as the camp came into view. When the government offered money to plant trees, Hubert took advantage of the offer, and we planted thousands of trees on 12 ½ acres of land that we bought from Harley Brown. He owned the farm now owned by Van and Lucille. Tom was about three when he followed his father down the rows with the planter, seeding the pine and spruce trees that make up the current forest.

We enjoyed the camp for many years. Because Hubert was a fireman, he couldn’t be out of town. Campico was close enough to St. Johnsbury to allow us to slip out there whenever we found time.  He had a radio in the truck, and if anything was amiss, he would get the call and could get back to town quickly.

Time there was a luxury of simplicity. Indoors there was nothing to do but read and do crossword and jigsaw puzzles.  Outdoors, we loved to ride the back roads in Hubert’s jeep. We thought we discovered Cole’s Pond before it became a resort; maybe it had already been discovered, but it was new to us.  Sometimes, if I can’t sleep at night, I close my eyes and see once again the sweeping view of the White Mountains as they rose beyond Heath’s pasture. It’s a lovely vision.

This article was first published in the November, 2010, issue of The North Star Monthly.
For more photos related to this article, click here.