NEITHER OF
MY grandparents were given to attending social affairs. Neighbors called
on grandmother and she would pay return calls. Aunt Lib Martindale called
frequently and I am sure that her calls meant much to grandmother. I
remember Aunt Lib's fleshy figure as she rocked slowly back and forth
relating the news that had come to her ears, and, when grandmother would
in turn relate some tid-bit of information, Aunt Lib would show her
appreciation by an ejaculation which sounded like "Y-ee." Whether "Y-ee"
is a contraction of something else or whether it is a noun, pronoun, verb
or adverb, I do not know but I have heard a lot of "Y-ee's" in my day.
Aunt Lib also had a nervous habit, affliction I think it might be called,
of repeatedly closing her eyes tightly and then opening them wide. I used
to want to ask her why she went through that performance but restrained
myself for grandmother's sake. She used to wear a little shawl over her
head as she came through the path connecting the Martindale home with
ours. During the call the shawl always dropped so as to protect her neck
and shoulders.
The doings of the Fox children, my
cousins, of Rutland constituted the principal topic of conversation when
Aunt Lib came to our house. It seemed to me that the eligibility of every
young man in Rutland was canvassed by my grandmother and Aunt Lib in their
quest of a suitor for my cousin Mary when she became of marriageable age.
Any young man who had ever touched his hat to our Mary was marked a
potential suitor and put on the list for gentle panning or blessing as the
case might be. I possessed a mental "Who's who" on all of them and could
have enlightened them if they had consulited me about their chances of
capturing cousin Mary.
One after the other, grandmother
and Aunt Lib married off the several children of the Fox family; set one
boy up in business, the other in a profession; married the girls off, and
launched them all on distinguished careers, while I, sitting on a stool
beside grandmother, took it all in and lent their conclusions my moral
support.
To be sure errors in their
reckonings revealed themselves; little Johnnie did not follow in the
footsteps of his father and become a doctor as the board had planned, and
faithful and self-sacrificing cousin Mattie, nearest to me in age and my
favorite, deferred the announcement of marital vows until long after we
had given up hope.
Failures in prognostication
weakened my faith in the infallibility of the strategy board, but I felt
myself greatly edified in witnessing its skilful maneuvers. It was like
seeing a game of chess between the great masters, my dear cousins being
pawns in their hands.
While the doings and prospective
doings of the Fox children were the chief topics of conversation they were
not the only ones. Sometimes certain villagers were honored by specific
mention but I cannot remember that Aunt Lib ever had a hired girl anywhere
near the equal of our Delia or Mary in the news-gathering business. Aunt
Lib was greatly handicapped in this respect; Delia and Mary were
unrivaled, better than some newspapers I have read.
To Aunt Lib however go my thanks
for having given me my first impressions of neighborliness; it was good,
old-fashioned neighborliness unspoiled by frills; the kind which continues
year after year without break and always a beneficent influence.
Vermonters are famed for their
frugality, and our valley had its full share of frugal folks; among them
was Mrs. Abigail Coleridge
-Aunt Abbie we called her. Aunt
Abbie once became afflicted with rheumatism which confined her to her bed.
Someone advised her to take Hood's Sarsaparilla and Aunt Abbie soon had an
ample supply. In order to avoid the high prices of Calvin Townsend's
retail store Aunt Abbie bought a dozen bottles at a wholesale drug house
in Rutland. Whether it was due to the virtues of Hood's Sarsaparilla or
some other cause-a change of weather perhaps-her rheumatism quickly
cleared up.
Eliza Huntoon, a neighbor who
chanced to drop in one day, saw Aunt Abbie taking a liberal dose of Hood's
Sarsaparila though she was running about the house chipper as a sparrow.
The neighbor inquired of Aunt Abbie: "Why do you continue taking medicine,
Aunt Abbie? You are entirely recovered from your rheumatism, aren't you?"
"Yes," answered Aunt Abbie "but I
paid seventy-five cents a bottle for that Hood's Sarsaparilla and you
wouldn't expect me to throw it away, would you, Eliza?"
The next house south of ours was
that of Judge Button, a refined and educated gentleman, who had served as
County judge at Rutland for many years, continuing however, during his
encumbency of office, to live in Wallingford. During the latter years of
his life he filled the position of Justice of the Peace in Wallingford.
The Judge heard petty cases of misdemeanors and the trials were at times a
circus for us boys. The most common offenses were drunkenness and fighting
and the dramatis personae were pretty much the same folks all the time.
Bob Rutherford was one of the most
frequent customers. Bob played shortstop on the baseball team and played
well when he was sober enough to see the ball; he had his eccentricities
and stuck to them come weal, come woe. He was ill one day and a friend
advised him to take a teaspoonful of Hostetter's Bitters. Bob took the
teaspoonful and then announced that it was his opinion if a little was so
good, much would be better and so he drank the whole bottle. We expected
to see him expire but he grew more hilarious with each succeeding swallow,
and when he topped off with an even pound of honey which he bought at
Luther Tower's candy shop, we concluded that if he were ever to die
someone would have to kill him, which several citizens would have been
glad to do.
Every' month or two, when Bob felt
sufficiently prosperous, he would take a jug and start for the New York
State line, twenty-five miles distant, where thirsty pilgrims from
prohibition Vermont, were wont to go to slake their thirst. Bob always
began his return trip with his jug full and arrived in Wallingford with it
empty. Having had twenty-five miles of joyous inebriation, he was ready to
work in anyone's hayfield at the customary wage.
Vermont was a prohibition state
and the law was frequently evaded but Vermont villages were cleaner and
more orderly by far than border towns in New York State. New Yorkers
residing in the border towns used to claim that the reason why they could
not keep their towns clean and orderly was because they were visited by so
many "bums" from the state of Vermont.
Judge Button, who at the time
presided at the court of justice, was exceedingly deaf and very solemn.
Witnesses always had to speak loudly which they seemed willing to do,
especially the contestants and their lawyers. There were no regularly
admitted lawyers but Mr. Elija Brewster and Mr. Charles Congdon acted as
such. Elijah Brewster was recognized as one of our most distinguished
citizens, a versatile gentleman, something of a farmer, something of a
capitalist and a politician as well. During political campaigns he played
an important part and for Fourth of July orations, his services were
indispensable. To use a hackneyed expression, Elija Brewster could "make
the eagle scream." Under his capable leadership, we fought the battles of
Bunker Hill, Bennington, Saratoga and Yorktown over again. We couldn't
help wondering how many lives would have been saved and how wonderful it
would have been, if the British could have had Mr. Elija Brewster to deal
with.
While Mr. Brewster specialized on
events of the Revolution, he was no tyro on the events of the Civil War;
in fact, it was clear to all who heard him orate that Elija was a war
horse and that it was a pity he was born too early to fight in one war and
too late to fight in the other. His speeches were inspiring; they made us
swell up until we almost burst. We felt that the United States could and
probably should, pick up all the nations of the earth and crack their
heads together. We knew that one American was the equal of ten of any
other nation; that in fact, America was just America and that all the rest
of the world was plain rubbish.
We also learned that America had
always been entirely right in its contentions and that its opponents had
always been entirely wrong; anyone who thought otherwise was a traitor to
his country. How it happened that our country had always been such a
paragon of virtue was a matter of conjecture. Mr. Elija dealt in "facts,"
not in theories. What he said was simply and definitely true; no one who
loved his country could fail to recognize its infallibility in all things.
I do not know which of the two,
Mr. Brewster or Mr. Congdon, knew the most law; in fact, it was claimed by
many that neither of them knew much law and that Judge Button was the only
person in Wallingford who knew law and the Judge was very deaf. However,
Mr. Brewster and Mr. Congdon looked very learned and folks opined that
things could not go very far wrong while Judge Hutton sat on the bench.
Deaf or not deaf, the Judge knew
how to separate the wheat from the chaff. When at concert pitch, Elija
Brewster's voice trembled with emotion and his hands shook as if he were
afflicted with palsy. It always seemed to me that Mr. Brewster had a great
advantage in this respect. He made us all feel lachrymose at times but I
felt that he might have saved some of his tremolo so far as Bob Rutherford
was concerned, and that it might have been just as well to have given Bob
a bottle of Hostetter's Bitters and a pound of honey and turned him loose.
Bob, after a fight, used to look
like a well-pounded beef steak but even so, he always seemed uplifted
after hearing Mr. Brewster speak so well of him and cry about him so.
Getting drunk and fighting were about the only spiritual outlets Bob had;
he never went to church nor to the Friday evening prayer meetings in the
little red chapel. Probably we all had something in the nature of a
spiritual uplift or awakening when we heard Mr. Brewster explain the high
moral tone of Bob 'Rutherford's fights; I mean all of us except Mr.
Congdon. He was an old campaigner and not easily moved by such doings and
besides he was on the other side of the case, and it was to his interest
to look as if he didn't believe a word Mr. Brewster was saying and that he
considered him a fraud anyway.
Judge Button always listened
respectfully to eveiything the witnesses and the lawyers had to say
however foolish it might seem to other people. The Judge's very presence
spread a mantle of dignity over all the proceedings in the little frame
building where he held court as Wallingford's Justice of the Peace.
No one ever thought of talking
"out loud" or laughing, and men and boys took theft hats off without being
told to do so. In fact Judge Button never issued any orders of any
character to anyone that I can remember; everyone instinctively tried to
act as near as possible as Judge Button acted during a trial of cases in
his courtroom.
There has to be an end of all
things both good and bad and, in course of time, there came an end to
Judge Button's tenure of office. The good, upright old Judge went to bed
one night tired and worn out and he never arose again. A hush fell over
the little village when folks learned that Judge Button had passed on. The
doors of the little office were locked for some time. The villagers had
not realized how important a part the little office had played in the
drama of community life.
I imagine that even Bob Rutherford
missed the little office. What was the use of getting drunk and fighting
if he must be deprived of the very heart and soul of the entire
enterprise-trial in open court before his fellow townsmen. It was not easy
for a great and temperamental artist like Bob to be pushed off the stage;
to the folks of Wallingford, Bob was Edwin Booth, Joe Jefferson and Nat
Goodwin combined when it came to dramatics.
There was no resident sheriff in
Wallingford but Mr. Harvey Congdon, brother of Mr. Charles Congdon, was
Constable and when tramps entered the village all one had to do was to
send a boy to find Mr. Harvey Congdon. He was old and frail and toed-in
considerably but even so, he was the best croquet player in Wallingford.
Reverend Mr. Archibald, the Baptist minister, was runner-up.
Whenever Harvey Congdon caught a
tramp, it was his custom to say to him, "Come along with me." There were
no further preliminaries; these words having been spoken, he took his
prisoner by the arm and led him to the village limits. Upon arrival at
this point he performed the brief but impressive ceremony of looking the
vagrant searchingly in the eye as if he feared he might forget him if he
ever returned to Wallingford.
Harvey Congdon had a habit of
spitting furiously whenever he became agitated. We townspeople knew all
about that and thought nothing of it as several of our best citizens
indulged in that practice. I have never seen Mr. Harvey Congdon administer
what might be termed his, "bums rush," but I have often thought that his
way of spitting right and left must have been disconcerting to strangers;
they must have been glad to get beyond his range.
The Clarenden folks
used to say that Mr. Harvey Congdon dumped more vagrant tourists on them
than all the other constables in the county, though all Vermont constables
were liberal in that respect; tramps had to walk too fast for their
enjoyment of the scenic wonders of our beautiful state.
