The Hidden Monument of Guildhall, Vermont

Church Monument, Guildhall Hill. (Photo courtesy of Susan McVetty)

Church Monument, Guildhall Hill. (Photo courtesy of Susan McVetty)

When we moved from Boston to Guildhall, Vermont in 2004, a big part of the charm and attraction was the town’s well-documented history.  Even before we arrived, I was able to research the history of the town and our new house (the Benton Cottage) on the internet and at the archives of the Boston Public Library. (This was in part because of the historical links between some of Guildhall’s prominent 19th century citizens and the Boston area.)

After our move, I volunteered at the Guildhall Public Library and spent hours poring over old documents and photos I found on dusty shelves.  When I became Town Clerk, one of the job’s greatest pleasures was organizing and becoming familiar with the old deeds, maps, school ledgers, photographs and town meeting minutes that overflowed out of the Town’s vault.

I’ve visited and photographed all of Guildhall’s cemeteries, pored over documents in the old evidence room at the Courthouse, read several histories of Guildhall, and spent many a pleasant hour in conversation with Allen Hodgdon, our assistant and probate judge and the Town’s de facto historian.

In spite of all this, for years, one little piece of Guildhall’s history had eluded me:  the Monument.  Since my arrival in town, I’d been hearing about a mysterious monument somewhere out in the woods, on Guildhall Hill.  There are pictures of the monument in Patricia Rogers’ book The HIstory of Guildhall, Vermont.   The monument was financed, designed, constructed, and then hauled up to Guildhall Hill by Everett C. Benton in 1899.  There was a dedication ceremony held, with speeches at the site and then refreshments and music back at the existing (new) church and the Grange Hall in the Village.

Dedication Ceremony, Monument to Church, Guildhall Hill, 1899. (C. Dodge)

Dedication Ceremony, Monument to Church, Guildhall Hill, 1899. (C. Dodge)

Colonel Benton was a Guildhall native who moved to the Boston area in the 1880s, but had retained his ties to his beloved town.  After making the move to Boston, he’d become quite wealthy and had shared that wealth with the town of his childhood, building a Town Office, a public library/masonic temple, and his own summer house which came to be known as the Benton Cottage.  (It’s now our home!).

Most of the time, when we encounter monuments, they commemorate the war dead.  But this one, curiously, has nothing to do with honoring the dead.  It commemorates a particular Congregational Church, which at one time sat at that site on Guildhall Hill where the monument now stands.   The text inscribed on the monument outlines the basic history of this church, starting with a town meeting in which voters appropriated 25 bushels of wheat to pay a preacher for the church.  The church building was constructed at this spot around 1801-1803.  There it remained, serving congregants until the late 1830s.  For some reason that remains unclear,  the church was dismantled and built elsewhere and ultimately was rebuilt again in Guildhall Village, where it still stands.

Yesterday, I finally decided that it was time to see this hidden monument for myself.  I thought I might be able to find it on my own, since several people who’d been up there in years past had described its location, at least roughly.  So I parked my car on Maplewood Farm Road and headed off on the Maplewood Farm trail.  Eventually, this legal trail terminates onto Fellows Road, a Town Class 3 road.  I’d been told to look for another trail veering off to the left.  The problem is, by the time I’d worked my way all the way to the terminus, there had been 4 possible left hand trail turns.  Two of them I ruled out, because they were level or sloped downward, and I knew that the correct trail should take me up a hill.  But I followed two ascending trails for some distance without finding a thing.    At that point, I knew I needed some help from someone who had actually been to the monument.  Sadly, there is no sign or marker of any kind providing any clue.

I headed back to the road and called Alfred and Susan McVetty, who live up on Stone Mountain.   They agreed to take me up to the Monument on a four wheeler.  The left hand trail, it turned out, was one I had tried, but the monument is a looong distance to the top.  On my own, without knowing if I was on the right track, I wouldn’t have gone that far.  On the ATV, the trail turned out to be navigable, but a bit on the rough side–it quailfied as bushwhacking.  But it was worth it when suddenly, over the tops of some smaller trees, the top of the monument peaked out.  I shouted out in sheer joy to see it!

We got off our machines, walked about, and took photographs.  The area is surrounded by thick forest and barely cleared, only because a few ATVs have been up there already this summer.   A thick, imposing range of raspberry brambles covered what Alfred said was the old stone foundation of the church building.  I wouldn’t have known this without him telling me.  No one is maintaining the area around this monument.    Although you can see Burnside Mountain over the forested area, in 5 or 10 years, if nothing is done to clear or maintain, the growth will overtake the monument completely.

The monument itself is a beautiful piece of architecture.  Its formal beauty is somewhat surreal when contrasted with the bramble, ferns and tree growth that will soon overtake it.  It’s the sort of monument that you’d expect to see on a nicely groomed town green or park.

This monument’s existence raises some very interesting questions that may simply never be answered.  First, why did Everett C. Benton decide to erect this monument at all, up here on this lonely hill, in 1899?  In general, we know that Colonel Benton was a benefactor interested in preserving the Town’s history.  But why a monument to a Church?  Why a monument to this particular church?  And why place the monument at a location where there had been no church in 60 years?  (Colonel Benton himself had never attended the church on Guildhall Hill when it was there, although his parents or grandparents may have.)

And why, in 1899, did all of these people (see photograph) traipse up a steeply ascending trail in their best dress and hats for a mile to a spot that in 1899 was probably as remote from the habited part of town as it is today?  Why did a 60 year old church building no longer in existence matter to them?

I went looking for clues to this question in the Guildhall history books that exist, of which there are three or four.  That provided some intriguing possibilities, but nothing conclusive.  There is some reason to believe that in 19th century Guildhall, religious divisions were fairly sharp.  The Town financed and established the Congregational Church around 1799 (I guess the separation of church and state concept hadn’t quite been tested yet in practice), and this was done through taxation.  Those who submitted written statements asserting their membership in a different church were exempt from the tax.

After the Congregationalists organized, a competing Methodist Church organized, as well, and there are some references in the literature to tension between the two churches.  In 1844, the Congregationalists erected a new church in the Village, which remains the only church in Guildhall to this day.  (See today’s photo of the church, which is seldom used.  Sometimes  funerals or weddings are held there)  Through the 19th century, the competing Congregational and Methodist churches existed in Guildhall, but by the 1920s, church membership in either church was in decline, and the Methodist Church disbanded.  By then, the tensions or differences (whatever they might have been) had been resolved enough that the two churches essentially merged, or put a different way, the Congregational Church “swallowed” the Methodist Church.

But perhaps in 1899, those differences were still meaningful and alive for Congregational and Methodist membership.  And perhaps those in the Congregationalist camp (whatever that meant) retained a sense of nostalgia for the original church.  In small towns, there are always factions and they can take unexpected forms.  And perhaps that was the impetus for locating a beautiful, imposing monument on top of a hill in the middle of nowhere. I concede this is all speculation, albeit educated by the crumbs of information we have.  Perhaps some scholar well versed in the split between Congregationalist and Methodist theology in 19th century New England towns can shed some light on this.

The second question I contemplated as we bumped down the hill on our ATV was why that church had ever been erected there in the first place.  Given the current layout of our Town, it’s an utterly improbable location for any kind of community structure. On the other hand, at the turn of the 19th century, Guildhall, like most small Vermont towns, was far more populated and had a far busier infrastructure, with a dramatically different development pattern.    It’s hard to imagine now, but Guildhall Hill, lonely, remote and inaccessible as it is today, was once quite busy.  The stone walls lining the criss-cross of old logging roads and snow machine trails throughout this backwoods area attest, ironically, to a much busier, complex world in this small and declined municipality.

There’s a certain sadness to the lonely Guildhall church monument.  How many similar architectural beauties sit in towns around Vermont and New England, hidden away, almost lost to the overgrowth of bramble and forest, left unmarked deep in woods or at the top of hills?  How long before no one remembers them at all?

(Here are the directions, such as they are, to the Monument.  There are no markers or signs for it.  From Vermont 102, North, take a left onto Granby Road.  After Old Home Crawford, the road ascends steeply.  At the top, turn left onto Maplewood Farm Road, a dirt road.  At the terminus of this road, there is a house.  You can park your car here or at the beginning of Maplewood Farm Rd proper.  On foot, continue straight onto Maplewood Farm trail.  It is unmarked, but an obvious trail.  Continue until you come to a left trail turn.  It’s clearly a trail, but it looks sketchy, with some logs fallen across it.  It ascends up fairly steeply for about 1 mile.  You can’t use a car or truck.  Has to be on foot or by ATV.  Below is a google map plotted out by my friend and neighbor Linnzi Furman.)

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More Reflections on Same Sex Marriage from Essex County

imagesEdward and I moved from Boston to Vermont in May of 2004.  That same month, the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court ruled that same-sex couples had the right to marry.  But Vermont had paved the way for that pioneering decision, by passing its own civil union law, back in 2001.  The battle for civil unions wasn’t an easy one.  It tore the state apart, liberal as Vermont is.  All but one of the fourteen Republican legislators who voted their consciences for the civil union bill lost their seats in the next legislative session.  To this day, in some corners of Vermont, one can still find, affixed to barns and trailers, signs that read “Take Back Vermont,”

Flash forward to 2006.  By that time, we’d moved to Vermont and I’d been appointed Town Clerk of tiny little Guildhall, the shire town of the most conservative county in Vermont.  One of my responsibilities was the issuance and recording of marriage and civil union licenses.

That fall, an adorable lesbian couple from Gorham, NH appeared at my office.  They wanted a civil union license but they were nervous as hell about asking for it.  I gave them a big smile and handshake, and they looked so relieved.  They confessed they hadn’t known what to expect from any Town Clerk they might approach. I issued their license–they were to hold the ceremony in neighboring Maidstone–but they also needed an officiant for the ceremony.  That proved to be a harder task.  We sat down and went over the list of five Justices of the Peace from our town.

Unfortunately, one JP was out-of-town on the date planned for the ceremony.  Three others, sadly, refused to officiate at a civil union.  When I phoned the fifth–an elderly curmudgeonly gentleman with a soft side–and explained that we needed an officiant and that no one else would do it, there was a lengthy pause.  My heart sank and I could tell that a “no” was looming.   And so I did the practical–some might say cynical–thing. I offered to pay him.  Nothing wrong with it, after all.  Lots of officiants get paid for conducting marriages.  I told him they would pay $100 and I would chip in another $50, in my private individual capacity.

He agreed.  I was kind of disappointed that money was the persuading factor.  But in retrospect, that doesn’t bother me much.  People’s motivations can be complicated, and as later became clear, it was still an act of courage and boldness for this gentleman.    Still, he was pretty apprehensive about doing the ceremony.  At one point he wanted to back out and I only kept him on board by agreeing to accompany him there.

I remember driving up Route 102 in his pickup truck.  On the way, he was grouchy (as he often was anyway), and he complained, saying he didn’t want to stay any longer than absolutely necessary with “those people.”   By way of rejoinder, I said “well, we have to stay for at least a little while.  It would be very rude to just leave.”   This gave him pause, and he seemed to agree, grunting his assent.

When we arrived, he stood up and recited the vows the couple had prepared for him.  I remember that one of the couple was dressed in a tuxedo for the ceremony, and the curmudgeonly Justice of the Peace’s eyes widened at that.   Afterwards, we went inside for food, drink and socializing. There was a beautiful view of Maidstone Lake.  My companion the officiant sat down on a couch, stiff as a board, looking around suspiciously.  There was music, laughter, a few impromptu speeches.  I told him I was going to fetch some food from the buffet table.  “Do you want me to bring you some?”  He grunted no.  I brought back a plate heaped with food and started eating it, slowly and deliberately as I sat beside him.  I commented how good the food was.  Finally, I asked him again if he wanted any, and this time he let me go get him a plateful.  After that, he seemed to relax considerably, and even made some small talk with people who it turned out he knew and with whom he had done some kind of business.

As we drove back that afternoon, he said to me “I just don’t understand it, two nice girls wanting to be like that.”  I responded and simply said “well, they seemed very happy, like most people are at weddings.”  He looked over at me, paused, grunted, and then said “well, the food was pretty good.  Can’t argue with that.”  I couldn’t help but smile.   With that, he had come pretty damn close to a form of acceptance.  Not that he was a paragon of gay rights activism.   But hell, in spite of his trepidation, in spite of his doubts, in spite of everything, he was still the Justice of the Peace in Town who was willing to officiate at that cute lesbian couple’s ceremony, no matter what his friends and neighbors might say or think.

He passed on a few years after that, but I’ve always thought fondly of him and that afternoon in Maidstone.  And I thought of him again this past Friday, when the U.S. Supreme Court made same-sex marriage legal throughout the land.

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The 14th Amendment, Same-Sex Marriage, and Essex County, Vermont

L to R:  Rose Fitzgerald, Barbara Peaslee Smith, Teri Anderson, 2009.

L to R: Rose Fitzgerald, Barbara Peaslee Smith, Teri Anderson, after Teri and Rose’s wedding ceremony, December 2009.

Friday, June 26, 2015.  The United States Supreme Court ruled that gay and lesbian couples are entitled to a legal marriage anywhere in the nation.

This is a memorable, landmark ruling.  The Court took the long overdue step of applying the 14th Amendment of the U.S. Constitution and making marriage a fundamental right for same sex couples.  The 14th Amendment was adopted in 1868.  Section I reads as follows:

“All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the state wherein they reside. No state shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any state deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.” 

The amendment was crafted in the aftermath of the Civil War, during Reconstruction, in an attempt to furnish equality under the law to the former slaves emancipated by the 13th Amendment.  In the years since, the 14th Amendment has been the linchpin of thousands of legal rulings across the nation–covering issues ranging from gender equality, to affirmative action, to the right to travel, or to use contraception (to name only a few!)

The U.S. Supreme Court hasn’t exactly been the vanguard or cutting edge of change over the years.  The Court has lagged behind both popular sentiment and state jurisprudence on some of the thorniest issues of our time.   Likewise here:  on the eve of the Court’s ruling, welcome as it was, over 70% of the states had legalized same-sex marriage, either through state or federal litigation, or through their legislatures.   In a pioneering 2003 ruling, the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court was the first to legalize same-sex marriage.  Other state courts followed, in quick succession.  In 2009, my home state of Vermont was the first to green-light same sex unions by vote of the Legislature.(Vermont had previously paved the way by enacting the nation’s first civil union law.)

A couple of months after the Vermont law went into effect, my beloved friends Teri Anderson and Rose Fitzgerald were married here in Guildhall, Vermont.  At the time, I was the Town Clerk of my little municipality, and I had the privilege of issuing them their marriage license, the first in Essex County, Vermont.   They were married at a ceremony at the Town offices by local Justice of the Peace Barbara Peaslee Smith, and there was a joyous celebration into the wee hours of the morning, with music and a bonfire on the Town green.  Now, Teri and Rose live with the confidence that their relationship is recognized everywhere they go in this land.

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Reconstruction: Nine Things That Should Have Happened After the Civil War

hmy7Nmwwsc_1399142816204In the aftermath of the Civil War and the defeat of the Confederacy, there was a moment–ever so brief–filled with promise and hope for a future of equality for former slaves.  But the promise of Reconstruction withered, largely due to the failure of the Union leadership to bring the former Confederate states into line.

In spite of General Sherman’s initial plan to provide all former slaves with “forty acres and a mule,” those former slaves got nothing.     And  over generations, a Southern culture of racism and brutality has flourished.  We live with the consequences of the failure of Northern leadership (which wasn’t exactly a paragon of equal rights sentiment) to this day.

Here are my thoughts on what should have occurred–but didn’t–in the months, years and generations after that bloody war.  This program would have been harsh, but civilized, without resort to capital punishment or torture.  It would have inflicted sufficient hardship on those responsible for the confederate treason, over a multi-generational period– to shape and make clear what kind of society we were–and were not–going to be.  We might live in a very different sort of country now if we had fulfilled the promise of Reconstruction in this manner–by decisively crushing the southern Confederacy.

Here are the steps that should have been taken.  Perhaps some of them can even be taken today.

1)Public tribunals with lifetime, or near-lifetime incarcerations for all persons involved in the confederate leadership;
2)Public tribunals with shorter incarceration periods for all individuals who voluntarily joined or otherwise supported the confederate army;
3) Near-total confiscation of land, money, and personal chattel of all those in the leadership and of those who voluntarily joined or supported the confederate army;

4) Near-total confiscation of all assets of those who owned slaves;
5) Re-distribution of that property to former slaves, who had made that wealth possible with their forced labor over generations;
6) Reward of individuals who were loyal to the Union, and who refused to participate in the confederate treason (via re-distribution of wealth);
7) Widespread, consistent criminal prosecution of violence against black people, with long prison sentences and enforcement of anti-segregation laws  using the powers of the federal government;
8) A lifetime ban on any person in the confederate leadership or anyone who voluntarily fought or supported the confederate army, from ever serving in public office;

9) Ban on the display of any forms of the Confederate flag, except as artifacts in museums.

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A Blizzard and Biscotti: Easter Day, 2015

11134000_10153233734537276_3462173835281411901_nEssex County, Vermont.  The snow started early yesterday afternoon, but didn’t seem particularly ominous or impressive.  On the contrary, it appeared light and probably fleeting.  But it continued steadily through the day and the wee hours, and this morning, we woke up to a hard snow, which by 7:30am had turned into a blizzard. Yes, a true blizzard, with howling winds and near white-out conditions.  I suspect most easter egg hunts in these parts had been moved indoors.

I dutifully started and stocked our wood stove and then headed out for a newspaper and some baking items.

By about 11am, the wind died down, the snow stopped, and the sun came blazing out.  The temperatures are still pretty cold, but the morning blizzard, as fierce as it was for April, is gone.

I’ve kept the fire going, however, and today’s baking project was coconut-almond biscotti.  I have a little recipe book devoted exclusively to biscotti.  On this occasion, I used a recipe from that book, but decided to ad lib in some sliced almonds. The spontaneous addition worked well!   Biscotti is a great (and healthy) snack for late winter.  We’ve been munching on it all day as we read the New York Times and play with the dogs.

When will winter begone?

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Doug Willey: Public Defender of the NEK

127481-0This week, to my great sadness, Doug Willey passed away.

At the time of his death, Mr. Willey was the chief public defender in the three counties of the Northeast Kingdom,  the region where I also practice law.  He was a tireless advocate for the most unpopular among us, those accused of crimes large and small.  He carried out his job with passion and conviction, but also with a healthy dose of realism. His sense of justice was profound and over the years, he and his right-hand investigator Chip Troiano have touched thousands of lives and played their role in forcing the State to prove its cases against the accused beyond a reasonable doubt, as all good criminal defense attorneys do.

He knew the ins and outs and complexities of the courts, corrections systems and  prosecutors, and  that knowledge was voluminous and sophisticated.  He was generous with his knowledge, sharing his information and experience with newer lawyers like me, and in any encounter with Doug, I could always count on a useful–and usually hilarious–insight.

I admired Doug for all these reasons, but there was more to it than that: I’ve always felt a special kinship with him, because he’d taken an unconventional path to the practice of law, similar to my own.  Like me, he never went to formal law school, instead reading, or apprenticing for the law under the Vermont’s Law Office Study program.

After serving in the Marine Corps, Doug made his living as a logger, woodsman and accomplished horseman, operating out of a cabin in Walden, Vermont.  He then made the leap to working as an assistant at one local firm, and then ultimately landed at Sleigh & Williams in St. Johnsbury, the same firm where about 15 years later, I would also do my Vermont law study clerkship.

By the time I got to my clerkship, Doug had already taken the bar exam, been admitted to practice, and moved on to manage the public defender system for the entire region.  In a geographically isolated area marked by high rates of poverty, joblessness, and substance abuse,  the public defender caseload is high and the challenges are many.  Doug handled it all with a dry wit and a steady temperament and he never sought publicity or the limelight for himself.    But in the courtroom and with prosecutors he pulled no punches.  He was the very first criminal defense attorney I saw in action out here in Essex County, as he  aggressively tried cases or negotiated fair plea deals as needed with our local State’s Attorney.

Most people remember seeing Doug in the Caledonia County Courthouse in St Johnsbury.  But for years, he was also a regular presence at our Essex County Court in Guildhall, often standing on the court house steps facing the Town Green, deep in conversation with clients or smoking a cigarette as he waited for a jury verdict or his turn in front of the judge.

I’ll never forget an encounter with Doug a few weeks after I’d passed the Vermont bar exam in the fall of 2011.   He stood in his usual spot on the courthouse steps as I walked by.  Outside the courtroom, Doug wasn’t one to talk much, but on this occasion, he waved and called out to me:  “I heard you passed that g__dd___m exam.”  When I confirmed I had, he asked “on the first try?”  and when I nodded happily, he said “smart girl,” stubbed out his cigarette and went inside.

Rest in peace, Doug.

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More from Town Meeting: Saga of the Salt Shed

Salt Shed, Collapsed Feb 2015.

Salt Shed, Collapsed Feb 2015.

In our town, population 263, we don’t have much municipal infrastructure.  There’s a Town Office and that’s about it.

Oh, except for the salt shed.  Here in Guildhall, we don’t have our own road crew and we own no equipment or vehicles. Given our size, it makes more sense for the Town to outsource plowing and road maintenance to private contractors.

Back in 2007, however, the Town decided to appropriate money to build a structure for the storage and protection of the large amount of salt we use on our Class 2 and 3 roads.   The salt shed, as it’s called, has a long and somewhat stormy (and sometimes amusing) history.  Citizens voted to create a reserve fund for it in 2007, but the project languished until 2011,  when the Road Commissioner Barbara Peaslee Smith lobbied hard to have the salt shed built on the Peaslee Farm.  She and her husband Matt Smith were managing and overseeing the farm’s operations at the time.

That proposal was controversial, to say the least.  Many of us felt it was unwise to intermingle municipal and private property in this way.  Others were concerned about the appearance of a conflict of interest, given that the Road Commissioner was pushing the Town Selectboard to place a facility at the farm she managed, and therefore would stand to gain rental/lease money from the Town.   At a straw vote taken of the assembled opinion, a majority of those present were opposed to the idea of it being at the farm.  But the Selectboard voted to put it there anyway.

After Ms. Peaslee-Smith and her husband exited the farm and moved to Lancaster, the new manager and the owner Janice Peaslee came up with an idea that seemed to make sense.  In 2013, they proposed to sell the land where the salt shed sat to the Town, at a discounted rate.  That way, taxpayers wouldn’t have to expend money to move the damn thing, and it would be a town building sitting on town land.    But for reasons that are not altogether clear, the Selectboard decided to reject the Peaslee offer and dismantle and reassemble the shed on a small parcel of Town-owned land near Elvina Allen’s house.  This past winter was the first winter at the new location.

According to the budget presented in this year’s Town Report, the cost of moving the structure to the new site was over $31,000.

Flash forward to last month, when the Town Clerk Sam called to let me know that the roof of the salt shed had collapsed.  Even worse, I later learned, there would be no insurance money to cover repairs, because the Selectboard had specifically declined to insure the structure.

I didn’t get a good look at the salt shed until last week.  Until then, I had assumed it was just a minor dent.  As you can see, the damage is  more serious than that.

At last week’s Town Meeting, the problem of the salt shed was a major topic of discussion.  It looks like we’ll probably have to shell out $60,000 or more to put it back up again properly.   There’s no insurance money, and there’s no line item in the budget for it, so where the money is going to come from is anybody’s guess.

(By my calculations, this salt shed will have  cost us a pretty penny when all is said and done:  $25K from the initial reserve fund, $31K to move it, and if the estimate presented at Town Mtg was accurate, $60K to replace/repair it.   That means approximately $116,000.  Was it worth it for saving a bit of salt runoff?)

 

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