SO FAR AS SCHOOL was concerned my shift back to
Wallingford was opportune. The school in Wallingford was to have a new
principal, Professor Shaw. I cannot remember ever having heard him called
by any other name, nor can I remember anyone's having spoken of him as an
intimate friend though he had been brought up in Wallingford. We knew that
his given name was Will and that he had worked at manual labor for a time
in one of the cities to the south of us to earn money for his higher
education and that he had eventually graduated from Middlebury College,
where he was known as the most powerful man in college.
When he became principal of the Wallingford
school, he was twenty-six years of age. His salary was six hundred dollars
a year. He was high-principled, vigorous, handsome, well dressed-a perfect
specimen of young manhood. He walked between his home and school on
exactly the same schedule, year in and year out. I can see him now as he
passed our house, his Latin textbook in hand, shoulders thrown back, chin
thrust forward and looking neither to the right or left. He seemed the
very opposite of Professor Ichabod Spencer with his shuffling gait,
bristling eyebrows and malevolent deep-sunk eyes. Professor Shaw loved
boys and he seldom had to use the rod of correction.
The debating society of the Wallingford High
School was the inspiration of Henry Lincoln ("Inky") Ballou, the first and
only President. There was every reason to believe that it would have
continued its valuable services to society for generations to come had it
not been for one untoward event. At its first meeting one of the members
conceived the idea that the deliberations of so august a body ought to be
in secret session in order that members might feel that they could express
themselves fully and without regard to what effect it might have on their
future political aspirations should they happen to run for Congress or for
President of the United States.
Another member said that in order to accomplish
the desired purpose, it would be necessary to have the members take an
oath of secrecy and allegiance. In the final analysis this meant that all
members, old and new, would have to be initiated if we were ever to get
anywhere with Inky's" idea. So the next meeting was set aside for the
purpose of initiating each other in the sacred rites. During the
intervening weeks, the members naturally spent most of their time figuring
out what they would do to each other when the time came.
To all intents and purposes, the debating society
was already extinct; nothing of it remained but the joint and several
resolution to do each other up nice and fancy on the great night of the
initiatory ceremony.
When the appointed evening came round, the members
were divided into two squads, those who, for the time being were supposed
to be members, and those who were to be candidates. Some chose to be
candidates, reasoning that it would be best to have their initiation over
with as soon as possible so that they might concentrate on what they would
do to the others when their time came.
After the candidates had been excluded, the board
of strategy held a powwow and decided upon their maneuvers, which were
simple enough. The lights in the school room were to be put out and the
candidates were to be admitted, one at a time. The candidates were to be
blindfolded and informed as to the solemnity of the undertaking and told
that it would be necessary for them to go through a trying and horrible
ordeal to demonstrate their fitness for membership. Albert Mandigo was the
first candidate and he was not long held in suspense as to the nature of
the ordeal. One of our most distinguished members had been elected
Chaplain and another as Undertaker, and, as soon as Albert had been
suitably blindfolded, the Chaplain administered the last rites, ending
with what we thought to be a beautiful prayer. I cannot recall the exact
wording, but I remember that he ended every sentence with the brief
imprecation, "God have mercy on his souls."
The Undertaker then informed Albert that every
provision had been made for a suitable interment; that all details had
been attended to and that even if he came apart during the trying ordeal,
each part would be picked up and all put together again insofar as they
could make the parts match.
At this point Albert informed the committee on
admissions that he would have to be going home; that he had promised his
mother that he would be home early and that he had already overstayed his
time; that he would come down some other night for the rest of the
ceremony.
To this arrangement "Inky" Ballou, the lord High
Executioner replied with an emphatic, "NO," that no reprieve could be
granted except by the King, and that, unfortunately, the King had died a
week ago Thursday.
Without further admonition Albert was seized by
the slack of his pants and the scruff of his neck by the two powerful
hands of the Lord High Executioner and rushed around and around the
darkened hall with a speed at which he had never traveled on his own feet
before, and, in the meantime, "Inky's" trusty knights and nobles thrust
baseball bats, stove pokers and other impediments ad lib between his
flying feet punctuating their efforts by groans, shrieks, maledictions and
imprecations in which the candidate unreservedly and wholeheartedly
joined.
Candidate Albert was the one and only candidate
initiated into the debating society of the Wallingford High School. When
the Lord High Executioner went into the anteroom for candidate number two,
he found nothing but a row of empty chairs; the candidates, having heard
too much of what was going on inside the hall, had left for parts unknown.
When this discovery was announced, Albert the only
certified and bonafide initiate, put up a dismal howl. Up to that point he
had been sustained through his agony of bruised shins and strained back by
the thought of what was coming to his fellow candidates. Now he found that
he had been manhandled by the members. betrayed and deserted by the
candidates; life was no longer worth living. Some of the members held with
him and some against him but none found satisfaction in the thought that
the day of his own initiation must Inevitably come if this thing was kept
going.
Eventually President "Inky" arose and said, "I
move that this debating society of the Wallingford High School be
adjourned sine die." What "sine die" meant, none, with the possible
exception of the Lord High Executioner, knew, but all except Albert voted
in the affirmative and thus perished a noble cause.
Spelling was given much study in the Vermont
schools of my day and some of the students were exceedingly good while
others were exceedingly bad. Among the good spellers was George Hitt and
among the poor spellers was 'Inky" Ballou., though "Inky" was excellent in
everything else.
To make amends for his deficiency, "Inky" devised
the plan of sitting next to George in the spelling class so that George
could covertly prompt him. George became "Inky's" crutch, as it were, much
to "Inky's" advantage on all occasions save one. "Inky" never studied
spelling any more but became entirely dependent on George. In course of
time, George became curious to know just how far he could lead "Inky" off
the track. The opportunity was not long deferred. Professor Shaw
pronounced the word, "Mississippi" for "Inky" to spell and George realized
that his time had come; the word was full of possibilities. We had been In
the habit of spelling the word sing-song fashion, "Mis-sis-sip-pi" so
George, in order to throw "Inky" up In the air, changed the order and
began, "Mi-double s, i-double s, i-double p. 1" "Inky" followed him
slavishly to the end of the word but George continued on, syllable after
syllable in endless succession. How far he would have gone no one knows
but eventually George ran out of ammunition and "Inky" sank into his chair
exhausted.
"Inky" was always loyal to his friends as was
evident one day when someone spoke of the Mississippi. "Inky"
remarked, "By Jimminy, that's a hard word to spell; if it hadn't been for
George, I surely would have flunked when Professor Shaw asked me to spell
it."
A few years later "Inky" became the crashing right
guard of the Amherst football team and still later, he became a
Congregational minister. In that capacity, he made his mark in the world
hut I am not quite sure that he could spell the word, Mississippi, even
now; I wouldn't bet on it.
During the autumn the political fever broke out
and on years of Presidential elections the fever rose to high pitch. There
was really no necessity of exciting Wallingford people over politics for
Danforth Hulett, the son of Ephraim Hulett, was the only Democrat in town.
Danforth was one of the leading merchants of our village and later one of
the leading merchants of Rutland.
All that I knew of him was that his father always
spoke of him as, "My boy, Danforth' and that Danforth wore a cape instead
of an overcoat, picked his teeth with an ivory toothpick with a gold
clasp, never spoke to anyone about anything except business, and always
voted the Democratic ticket. He was fairly well balanced on everything
except politics but in that respect only he had a curious and incurable
disorder of the brain. Certainly there was little hope of showing Danforth
the error of his ways.
His Excellency, Governor Redfield Proctor, made a
political speech in Wallingford during one presidential campaign and all
Wallingford, with the exception of Danforth Hulett, went to the station to
meet the great man. The men waved their hats and cheered as the Governor
stepped from the train, tall, stately, with flowing beard, high silk hat
and frock coat. The East Wallingford band, swollen to eight pieces, struck
up "See the Conquering Hero Comes,"
Governor Proctor had much to say about the
protection of home industries, particularly the growing of sheep and the
manufacture of woolen cloth. He said that Vermont hills and mountains were
well-adapted to sheep raising; that Vermont farmers had formerly raised
sheep in plenty but that sheep raising had been killed by the importation
of cheap wool from Australia. He said that the many fast flowing streams
furnished unlimited power for the manufacture of woolen cloth but that
this industry had also been put out of business, except for the few mills
which managed to exist on the manufacture of cloth from imported wool.
The torch light procession which followed Governor
Proctors speech was a magnificent affair as most anyone would have
admitted. The torches were sent down from Rutland and after being lighted
were placed in the hands of Wallingford Republicans; when the supply of
men ran out boys were substituted; any boy, the size of a peanut and
upwards, was entitled to the privilege of carrying a torch.
The East Wallingford band led off with two men
abreast of each other but on different sides of the road and the spaces
between were filled with boys carrying torches, so that the eight members
of the band looked more like eighty and the noise they made sounded like
eight hundred.
The last feature of the procession was a boy
leading a sheep, the sheep looking as if he were not in sympathy with the
demonstration and wishing that the boy would lead him in the opposite
direction; Jerome Hilliard said that maybe the sheep was a Democrat and
naturally objected to marching in a Republican torchlight procession. The
sheep bore a placard which no one seemed able to read until finally a
reporter for The Rutland Herald said that it read, "I am a forlorn,
helpless and almost extinct animal known as a 'Vermont sheep. Please help
Vermont sheep."
When Danforth Hulett was asked what he thought
about it he said he thought the best way for Vermonters to help Vermont
sheep was to stop buying woolen goods made in England and smuggled over
the Canadian border.
The political rally and torchlight procession was
pronounced a great success and we all felt that we had done our best to
show Governor Proctor that we were behind him to the last man and boy; it
must have made him feel very happy indeed.
New England has always been proud of its Town
Meetings at which matters of public interest are discussed. All tax payers
and everyone else so far as I know were permitted to air their grievances.
The modern Town Meeting of the Air, listened to by millions of people is
an adaptation of the New England Town Meeting.
The Wallingford town hall of my day was not a
credit to the community but through the generosity of public-minded
citizens, Wallingford now has a suitable building where the meetings are
held. Mr. Addison Stone, who was Moderator for many years, would have
graced any legislative assembly of the country.
New England's reputation for probity in the
administration of public affairs is, partly at least due to its system of
holding town meetings, and where such a forum exists, the opportunity for
betrayal of the public trust is minimized. Airing matters of public
concern is stimulating to the thought processes of the citizens but the
immediate objective of the founders of the institution was to increase the
efficiency of administration through obtaining the collective judgment of
the citizens.
In the final analysis we American people get about
what we are entitled to in the administration of public affairs; neither
graft nor any other form of political corruption can exist if the
citizenry are sufficiently interested to keep themselves informed and I
know of no better agency to spread information than though some form of
the New England town meeting.
New Englanders are always keenly interested in
matters of national importance. I shall not forget the hot summer day when
the news of the assassination of President Garfield was shouted through
the village. While such announcements are always a shock, in the days of
my youth they possessed us and filled every cranny of our lives. The most
important space in the newspapers was devoted to reporting the details and
amplifying the facts, sometimes in flights of imagination according to the
temperaments of the newspaper editors.
I well
remember the precise spot on the Ethan Allen Highway where I stood when
the cryer ran through the village shouting, "President Garfield
Assassinated! President Garfield Assassinated!' It was a warm summer day,
Just after dinner; all was quiet save for the hum of bees and other
insects with practically no movements except the dust raised by the flying
feet of the cryer. I stood transfixed; rooted to the spot as it were as I
tried to grasp the significance of the event. Could America survive now
that President Garfield was dead! Slowly I regained my equilibrium and
made my way home to carry the sad tidings to grandfather and grandmother
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