Welcome to The People's Press - Your Town, Your News, Your Views! We are the #1 Single Copy Newspaper for Wallingford and Meriden Connecticut – Your Stories for November 2007
Giving Thanks 2007
By C.S. Purcell
I am not sure when it happened – maybe in my teens? – but I officially hated Thanksgiving. I am not much into food, and Thanksgiving, to me, was all about eating. We go to a restaurant every year, and I would watch everyone take trip after trip to the buffet bar. But gathering meant something to my mother and father – it meant that the whole family would get together over a meal – which I never understood because we are lucky enough that the whole family gets together frequently for meals and otherwise. And then 3 years ago I lost my daughter, Maya Rain, in August. And by Thanksgiving I was in no shape to celebrate without her. My parents understood. So I did not join Thanksgiving dinner that year. The next year my mom really wanted me to join again, and I went. But my heart sank as I watched all the moms celebrating with their little girls. Last year, I did join in and with more heart, because I was pregnant. And I was so thankful that another little soul would grace me. This May I gave birth to a perfect little boy. His birth was rough and he almost died. So every day I look at him, I have a day of Thanksgiving. He smiles and I melt. He laughs and my heart soars. He cries and I hold him close to my chest to comfort him. To comfort us.
These last 3 years have been filled with downs and ups and tragedy and love, and through all these experiences – bitter and sweet – I taste the full delicacy of life. I have learned to savor the good in ways I never knew possible. And I have learned to grow from the tragedies. I want to teach my son to experience life, not just go through it. I want to teach him to follow his heart and remain true to it. To know that life is a gift and every day a celebration. I want to teach him to always, always be thankful for what he has and to love all the opportunities that are given to him to learn and to grow.
This year, I will gather with the family over a meal, and the meal will be sweeter than ever before. No, I probably won’t eat much, as always. But I will savor the experience of being together and celebrating life.
Annual Meeting of Meriden Children First
On October 17, the Meriden Children First Initiative (CFI) held its annual meeting. More than 130 of Meriden’s finest parent and community leaders were in attendance at the Curtis Cultural Center to celebrate the year’s progress, welcome the 2008 CFI Board of Directors, and preview 2008 issue priorities.
The highlight of the evening was the recognition of the first-ever Meriden Preschool Teacher of the Year (St. Andrew’s Cindy Eddy) and this year’s Children Champions. Two groups were recognized for their efforts to improve the lives of Meriden children and families: the children’s department of the Meriden Public Library (Kathie Matsil, Sandy Olson, and Sherry Breton ) and the Hubbard Park Playground Committee (Dawn N-Reynolds, Joan Goodman and Maryann Santos).
The event concluded with a debate of candidates running for the Meriden Board of Education. The debate was co-sponsored by the Meriden Federation of Teachers, the Meriden-Wallingford NAACP, the Greater Meriden Chamber of Commerce, and the Record-Journal.
For more information about Meriden Children First, call 630-3566 or visit
www.meridenchildrenfirst.orgGRIEVING TO ACHIEVING ABOARD THE USS NIMITZ
The marine screamed loudly at his new recruits. “Stand at attention. Drop and give me twenty push-ups. Do it now! Stop laughing.” Suddenly the music of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake began playing. Again the marine hollered, “STOP LAUGHING AT ME!” But no one listened. By now the audience was laughing hysterically as the marine, dressed in his fatigues and combat boots began delicately dancing a fluttering ballet!
As a comedy stage hypnotist, I’ve used this “drill sergeant becomes a ballet dancer” routine with hundreds of volunteers in college and corporate shows, but this was a first for me! Here was a real-life hypnotized marine performing in front of 3000 sailors and leathernecks on board the hanger deck of the nuclear powered aircraft carrier, USS NIMITZ. The carrier was returning home to San Diego, California from the Pearl Harbor Naval Base in Honolulu, Hawaii. In the tradition of Bob Hope, I was performing my comedy hypnosis show for these brave men and women who were on an extended tour of the Persian Gulf. Away from family and friends, they were exhausted and morale was low. I was told a few laughs would go a long way to help cheer them up. After all, laughter is supposed to be the best medicine.
But how could I cheer up battle-fatigued troops when I needed some cheering up, too? Just three months earlier, my beautiful wife Christine, passed away in her sleep without warning. Christine was a well-known Middletown High School Spanish teacher. She spent her summer vacations as a volunteer teaching in one of the bleakest places on earth: the garbage dump of the city of Tijuana, Mexico. Most people think of TJ as a popular and wild tourist destination, but on the edge of the city there is another Tijuana. The city allows its poor to build shanties on a landfill dump. Their tiny shacks have no water or electricity but they have a school that Christine helped build. Every summer she lived with the poor and taught English to the children of the Tijuana garbage dump!
Life was wonderful! I was at the top of my game as a stage hypnotist. I performed over 150 shows per year throughout the United States, Europe, the Caribbean, and even Mexico, where I entertained in the most elegant resorts of Cancun and Acapulco. But on June 15, 2007 my world collapsed. My wife was gone. I was devastated, exhausted and depressed. My morale was at an all-time low. How could this happen to me? I doubted I would ever perform again or even regain my sense of humor.
The Nimitz is over 23 stories tall with a flight deck the size of 4 football fields. It is the same size as a luxury cruise liner, but that’s where the similarity ends. My previous “cruising” experience was on ships where everything was glamorous and the staff catered to our every whim. Christine and I would lounge by the pool soaking in the sun while reading the latest Grisham novel. Our suites always had large living rooms, beautiful bathrooms with a shower and a Jacuzzi, and even our own private balconies. What a difference on the Nimitz! Forty sailors and I shared quarters crammed with racks of bunk beds stacked three high with no private bathrooms or showers. On my first night with lights out, I startled a sleeping sailor as I mistakenly got into the wrong bunk. I had volunteered for “duty” aboard the USS Nimitz, but that night I wondered, “What had I gotten myself into?"
What I had gotten myself into was one of the greatest and most satisfying adventures of my life! The men and women of the Nimitz were returning home from active war duty in the Persian Gulf on one of the longest carrier operations in naval history. They were tired, homesick, and stressed, and they were ready to have some fun. But, was I ready?
Only 350 people attended the first show, and they were somewhat reluctant to participate. Sometimes people think all we hypnotists do is make people cluck like chickens or bark like dogs, but anyone who has ever seen my show knows that the volunteers have a really great time and they feel fantastic! Word got out that the hypnotist was “okay” because over 1000 people attended the next show, and then over 3500 people came to watch the last show. But, then a surprise! The executive officer of the Nimitz asked if I would perform an additional show for a special guest, Governor Arnold Schwartzenegger.
The Governor was scheduled to arrive on board by helicopter to meet and greet the men and women of the Nimitz, and to attend my hypnosis show with all the troops. Everyone was excited, the stage was set, and I was eager to meet and entertain one of the world’s best-known celebrities. And then disappointment; at the last minute the Governor’s schedule was changed and his visit to the Nimitz was canceled. But, the show, like life, must go on. And, so it did.
I was impressed with the dedicated young men and women of the USS Nimitz who volunteered to serve our country. They told me that during the shows for a little while they forgot about their own problems. Funny thing is, I forgot about my problems too! Most people find stage hypnosis to be amazing and hilarious, but there is another side to this awesome mind technology, the therapeutic side. Many on board asked if I would help them quit smoking, eliminate stress, or shed a few unwanted pounds. I began my career as a hypnotherapist conducting private sessions, and so I said yes. After the first few sessions I realized why I became a hypnotist in the first place: to help others reach their goals and improve their lives.
My journey on the Nimitz really was a remarkable and fun time. For me it was life changing.
Please Visit
www.militaryrotary.comHello People’s Press, I know it may seem a bit early for Christmas but I believe once you see my sight @ http://
www.militaryrotary.com in support of our soldiers overseas, you will understand and share it with your readers this season. God Bless!!! Linda Harris, Wallingford, CT
The San or Hunter –Gatherers of South Africa
By Jill Vickerman
Thinking about days gone by, I was wondering how the tribes migrating down from Northern Africa must have given thanks when they arrived in the southern part of the Western Cape
The earliest inhabitants of the Western Cape were the San (hunter gatherers) who lived their lives in harmony with nature. They were governed by the seasons and the movement of game and were isolated from the people in the North. Clans followed seasonal game migrations between the mountain ranges and the coastline meeting at certain times of the year.
They eventually would have had to come into contact with the Khoi or Khoikoi (herders), who had moved into the northern and western parts of South Africa and had started to migrate southward bringing with them cattle, sheep and oxen obtained from the Nguni, who were also moving southward from the eastern parts of the country ( the Zulu, Xhosa and Swazi )
Some of the early Europeans, who were shipwrecked on the treacherous Skeleton coast of South West Africa, would have come across 'Strandloopers' (San beachcombers) who often had secret sources of water as Vasco de Gama found, after landing at St Helena Bay in 1497 looking for fresh water, he was shown to a cave where a secret spring was located in what is now called Slipper bay by a local tribe of Strandloopers
It could have been no walk in the park to survive the long journey south without some knowledge of the plants that grew in that vast desert. Food, both in sufficient amounts and of nutrition, would have been an enduring struggle and they would have had to turn to the local San to identify edible indigenous plants.
Thousands of plants were known to the San, from nutritional to medicinal, mystical and lethal. The San ate anything available, both animal and vegetable. The ‘kannika’ or ‘jakkalskos’ (jackal food) is a root parasite which produces a single underground fruit, takes about two years to ripen, and was not found everywhere up the barren west coast, wild melons such as 'tsamma', roots and the creeping Sour Fig, which is sweet to eat (and is also applied on wounds and burns, insect bites and stings. It also stops bleeding) Snakes (venomous and non-venomous), Hyena, antelope, Zebra, porcupine, wild hare, Lion, Giraffe, fish, insects, tortoise, flying ants, lizards and scorpions.
There is a bird that led the San to bee hives, and they always left a share of the honey for the honey-guide, They said it is a vindictive bird which will lead the way to a snake or leopard next time if it is cheated.
In severe, prolonged droughts the San women chewed the bark of a particular tree which acted as contraceptive, so preventing an increase in the number of mouths to feed, they stored water in ostrich shells, which they buried deep below the sandy desert surface and recovered with uncanny accuracy. San hunters could follow the spoor of an animal across virtually any surface. A 'ka' 'ngwa', which is a small caterpillar, produced a poison that was boiled until it resembled a red jelly. Highly toxic, this would be smeared onto arrow heads, which would be contained in a reed, to avoid any accidental contact with the bearer where it would have acted slowly on the nervous system.
After months of hardship, the Winter rains would have transformed the land, they would have come across more and more streams and springs, plants and flowers, where vast herds of game would have abounded across a land magically transformed into a glorious tapestry of rainbow colors.
The San recorded the first encounters with Europeans on rock paintings. The Western Cape is said to have more rock paintings than anywhere else in the country. South Africa probably has the richest legacy of rock art in the world. The paintings recorded the experiences of shamans, they became animals in order to enhance their power as healers, rainmakers or to control game during a hunt. The shaman perceived images and became a part of them. Patterns of light, animals, especially the Eland (being particularly important to the San) merged, and these images were recorded in their art where frequently the Shaman's image would be shown changing, from a man or woman into an animal.
The peaceful existence of the San was eventually shattered, and they must have watched with disbelief as the herds of game disappeared, to be replaced by the domestic herds of the Khoi . After centuries of a free migratory way of life, many of them chose to retreat into the desert, others made their peace and slowly adapted to the Khoi way of living. These people then called themselves 'Khoisan'.
A Connecticut Connection to South Africa
Simeon W Cummings was born in Connecticut in 1827. For 12 years before the outbreak of the American Civil War, he lived in Louisiana and worked in the merchant marine. When the war broke out, he offered his services to his adopted state Louisiana. This caused a rift with members of his family who were loyal to the north and he never saw them again. He was ordered to join the newly completed steam and sail corvette, CSS Alabama, a vessel of 900 tons and built at Birkenhead, England. This Cruiser was to be the most successful Confederate raider of the war.
The ship sailed into Saldahna Bay in July of 1863. On 3rd August four officers, including Lt. Cummings, formed a party to go duck shooting. Later that day when the party was returning to the ship, Cummings accidentally shot himself through the heart while pulling his gun towards himself by the muzzle.
He was buried on the farm 'Kliprug' which is about seven kilometers outside of Saldahna. In May 1994, 131 years later, Lt Simeon W Cummings’ remains were exhumed from the grave at Saldanha and more than 5,000 attended when he was re-interred in Columbia, Tennessee on 3rd June 1994. He now lies next to a plantation house in the rolling hills of the Deep South – home at last.
A TALE OF THE QUINNIPIAC RIVER
by Francis W. Lappert
According to Connecticut maps of the river systems of Connecticut, the Quinnipiac River originates in the north reaches of Plainville and empties into the Sound in East Haven Harbor. It has many feeder streams that empty into it, and keeps a well-balanced, level running water. Beginning with Southington, I know of Eight-Mile River and also Misery Brook. Then comes Ten-Mile River that originates in west Cheshire and joins the Quinnipiac in Mildale. Also Honey Pot Brook from Cheshire. Farther downstream is Ives Brook that begins above Johnson Avenue in Meriden. Also the overflow from Broad Brook Reservoir feeds the river. As the river flows through Meriden, it is joined by Harbor Brook, which flows into Hanover Pond, which is part of the river. I know of only one from Wallingford, Meeting House Brook. There are others I do not know about.
Since I was a young lad, I fished many of these smaller streams and caught many native brook trout. At this time the Quinnipiac River was not known as having any trout in it. That came much later. The river then was clean enough to swim in. Our favorite spot was call Charlie’s Rock, and we went there often.
I remember when the river froze over in the winter, there was a group of men that would cut a large hole in the ice by Red Bridge and jump in the cold water. They called themselves the Polar Bears. They enjoyed showing off to the crowd who watched them.
In later years the State Board of Fisheries decided to stock trout in the river from Carpenter’s Dam down to Red Bridge. The fishermen in our area were quite happy about this. Shortly after, several fishermen from Meriden got together and formed the Quinnipiac River Water Association. I was invited to join the organization and was elected to represent Meriden on the commission. We had members from Southington, Cheshire, Meriden, Wallingford, and also North Haven. Our goal was to clean up as much of the river as we could and to improve the quality of the water.
Mike Roberts was also one of the group representing Meriden and was responsible for getting donations from all the towns to keep the organization going, and also getting new members to join. The State Board of Fisheries now stocks the river with a good many rainbow, brown, and brook trout.
The Meriden Rod and Gun Club also helps by putting many large sized trout in the river, and tags them so that when someone catches one, he will get a prize from one of the bait stores.
When the fishing starts in April, it is hard to find a likable place to fish as some of the fishermen set up camp the night before in their favorite spot. I do not go there on opening day, as it is too crowded.
I have been informed that the State is now stocking trout in the river from Yalesville to Wallingford, and a few fishermen have caught some nice trout from here.
I hope some day in the future the quality of the water in the river is made suitable for swimming also. I would like to see Hanover Pond dredged and made suitable for boating and swimming.
believe...
Did You Know?
The tradition of professional football on Thanksgiving Day is now more than 80 years old. Thanksgiving football is most associated with the Detroit Lions and Dallas Cowboys. Both teams host a game each Thanksgiving. However, the Turkey Day tradition actually dates back to the National Football League's first season in 1920, when the league was known as the American Professional Football Association (APFA). In fact, while Thanksgiving football is now limited to just three games (a third game was added in 2006), in the league's first year a total of six games featuring APFA teams were played on Thanksgiving Day in 1920, a concept that would surely thrill today's football fans. The Lions have the longest running Turkey Day tenure, having hosted a game every year since 1934 (excluding the years 1939 to 1944, when the game was not played due to World War II). The Lions' involvement in the game is due to former owner G.A. Richards, who volunteered his team to play onThanksgiving as a means of increasing sagging attendance. If Richards were around today, chances are he might volunteer his team to play on every holiday, as the Lions boast a 33-31-2 mark on Thanksgiving Day, compared to a 448-513-30 in regular season games not played on Turkey Day.
Here are some comments made in 1951 ---- only 56 years ago!
Submitted by Donna Mahon
"I'll tell you one thing, if things keep going the way they are, it's going to be impossible to buy a week's groceries for $20."
"Have you seen the new cars coming out next year? It won't be long before $2000 will only buy a used one."
"If cigarettes keep going up in price, I'm going to quit. A quarter a pack is ridiculous."
"Did you hear the post office is thinking about charging a dime just to mail a letter?"
"If they raise the minimum wage to $1, nobody will be able to hire outside help at the store."
"When I first started driving, who would have thought gas would someday cost 29 cents a gallon. Guess we'd be better off leaving the car in the garage."
"Kids today are impossible. Those duck tail hair cuts make it impossible to stay groomed. Next thing you know, boys will be wearing their hair as long as the girls."
"I'm afraid to send my kids to the movies any more. Ever since they let Clark Gable get by with saying 'damn' in 'Gone With The Wind,' it seems every new movie has either "hell" or "damn" in it.
"I read the other day where some scientist thinks it's possible to put a man on the moon by the end of the century. They even have some fellows they call astronauts preparing for it down in Texas "
"Did you see where some baseball player just signed a contract for $75,000 a year just to play ball? It wouldn't surprise me if someday they'll be making more than the president."
"I never thought I'd see the day all our kitchen appliances would be electric. They are even making electric typewriters now."
"It's too bad things are so tough nowadays. I see where a few married women are having to work to make ends meet." "It won't be long before young couples are going to have to hire someone to watch their kids so they can both work."
"Marriage doesn't mean a thing any more; those Hollywood stars seem to be getting divorced at the drop of a hat."
"I'm just afraid the Volkswagen car is going to open the door to a whole lot of foreign business."
"Thank goodness I won't live to see the day when the Government takes half our income in taxes. I sometimes wonder if we are electing the best people to congress."
"The drive-in restaurant is convenient in nice weather, but I seriously doubt they will ever catch on."
"There is no sense going to Lincoln or Omaha anymore for a weekend. It costs nearly $15 a night to stay in a hotel."
"No one can afford to be sick any more; $35 a day in the hospital is too rich for my blood."
"If they think I'll pay 50 cents for a hair cut, forget it"
“Why Can’t Johnny Sing?”
Part 2 of 2
By Katrina S. Axelrod
How many students know what a cello is and don’t think it is a dessert? This is killing our country. The Arts Economy is Flat-lined. We have no one to carry on the Artists’ traditions, the basic information, the techniques, the love, the existence of the oboe. The what? The oboe. (Look it up).
The younger the student expresses an interest, the more the public school system fails the artistic student. If that student goes to a school where there are no oboes, well then the student will never learn that she could be a world-class oboe player. Then when that student does have a chance to discover it, it will be in college, (again if the family’s economy works out) and then studying the oboe becomes a very expensive prospect indeed. Now there were obviously years wasted that cannot be made up for, and if the student has gone to college outside Connecticut because there is no program enticing enough, now this represents a “Brain Drain “ and “Talent Drain”. Lost to the Connecticut Economy, lost to the Arts Economy.
When we deny our students their rights to creativity, we pay a dear price, but it is like bridge repair, you don’t notice it at first. Silent. When we add the Arts back into the curriculum, we add the reason that some kids go to school. Some kids are artistic kids. In the exact same proportion as there are kids who do other things. But the Math and Science and Auto Mechanics-inclined students get their public school training and the arts kids don’t. They should complement each other in the spectrum that is good public education. Not just rich kids are artistic. The rich kids just get the oboes.
Multiply that by every school system. Every school system, even the rich ones. Because every school system has kids who are being denied the Arts in school, even the really rich ones. That is because the Arts themselves are being denied another talented member when a public school doesn’t teach the subject. The Arts are so far back on the bus that they are hanging off the back bumper.
Who cares? I do. So do the parents of kids who are showing their artistry at three years old. Violin, harp, accordion, I’ve seen it. “Mommy, I want to learn the language of Music”. That is an actual quote from a young lady musician, who was then three years old. What will become of these students of music who are already choosing for themselves that which they love? Can we in good conscience bundle them off to kindergarten, give them ‘happy sticks’ and ask them to pound out some inane song or another? Meanwhile the musically-inclined child is feeling the music in his/her soul, reading music and performing for family and friends. What does school have to offer in first and second grade? Talented and gifted is only for fourth graders in many schools. But in the reality of a child’s life, there is a continuum, a life span, to consider. For the kid, being talented in a public school is a lonely social experience, because no one in the school knows you even play an instrument, because ‘nobody else is doing it’ until fourth grade. By this time kids who started young, in accordance with their talents, are playing Bach and Vivaldi and the public school kids are seeing music for the first time, the public school kids aren’t your peers- again!
These ultra talented students are treated like well, the exception, in a bad way. They are exceptional, in a good way. That’s another kind of ‘diversity’ that teaches something too. Cultural Diversity is not the only Diversity there is. There is Talent Diversity. Talent Diversity is a good thing; it is one of the more positive ways of helping inspire kids to change themselves in their own chosen field- such as Science or any other. Kids who strive teach other kids to strive. But right now, there is nowhere in the public school system for them.
Kindergartens are places for children to explore and discover. When they explore the sports portion of their abilities, it is picked up quickly; those teeny-tiny hockey sticks and these itty-bitty bats and ½ size soccer balls will attest to that. But how many parents know that there are 1/8 sized violins? There are 1/8, ¼, ½ -sized version of lots of instruments, and that’s why piano benches go up and down.
So, we should rearrange our budget priorities for a few exceptional children? No, we should rearrange our budget priorities for all children. Will all children become mathematicians? No. But we have math books-aplenty. You see where I’m going with this? There are plenty, years worth, of opportunities for children to realize that they are mathematicians. Or scientists or Olympians, for crying out loud. But where is the child down the street going to be able to learn to draw a three-dimensional object, or photograph the moon’s craters, or design a building? The Math kids are sometimes the Music kids, too. They all deserve a good public school education.
The students who learn like this grows up like this. Go ahead; ask 10 kids at the age of 10 what an oboe is. Ask the parents the difference between a band and an orchestra.
Now I’ve shown you that schooling can be incomplete, too, perhaps now you feel foolish. That was not my intent. My intent is to tell you that there are worlds within worlds awaiting discovery, outside and inside every human being, and they include the Arts. Maybe you didn’t get shown them. But your children are different people and you want and should expect a more complete education than you got. That is how a civilization progress.
Even the Army has a band. You can serve our country playing music. But it is extremely hard to get into - it is the elite, the cream of the crop. One would have to start playing early in life to be admitted after audition. Gee, I wonder who gets in?
Children grow to know what they are taught. Some drum on trash cans and anything else they can find. Some become listless in school, knowing that nothing reaches them, a loss to themselves and our State of Connecticut.
Oh, over-reaching am I? How many violinists are on your block? You don’t know and neither do it, because some of them will never have had a chance to find out.
Next: The Artists’ “Brain Drain”
The Artistic “Brain Drain” in this country isn’t spoken about much. It never makes the news. It exists. There are fewer orchestras, there are fewer communities willing to support an orchestra. AH, the Metropolitan Opera is having a wonderful success with piping their operas into movie theaters. People are going! They come home singing. There is hope. There is opening up for more accessibility and there is marketing. Remember the Metropolitan Museum of Art? Big business, because the New York City Arts community can afford to put money into Marketing and put more creativity in getting your attention. They need Connecticut bucks, too. That’s fair; we want them to be there in New York when we visit.
Next: “The Brains”
What do we suppose goes through the mind and heart of a child who KNOWS that he wants to play the trumpet for a living? Well, the one I know got roundly and soundly told to choose something else, because that ‘just wasn’t practical’. I got that, too. Singing was something that you did in the shower. OK- tell Barbara Streisand that - her Mom wanted her to be a typist. But, Barbara sang and we’re glad she did. It was very hard road. And that’s for a person of her talent!
Should we make it easier for artists (all artists, now) to make a living? Hmmm, isn’t that what the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) does? Yes, it is. And without entering any politics in this discussion, the NEA is laying on its side, panting for life-sustaining water, that is- money and cooperation.
The circular argument goes like this: So, why put more money into the NEA? Afterall, (seemingly), there aren’t very many people who pursue the arts, (because they aren’t taught in public schools anymore), so no one cares enough to keep them funded. My point precisely. We are Arts-deficient and there is almost no one left to scream about it. The bad guys have damn-near won.
I care, a lot. I am not giving up. I propose a different way of thinking about the arts- a life-cycle approach. And in one generation, we’ll be back where we should be. Remember those kids who come into the school system every year? We’ll think of their arrival in school as Round 1. Those children can learn about the arts with our existing system-when we move the figures around to include more music and movement and drawing and imagining and nurture the children for who they are we get them, as they come in. Not things that take a whole lot of money, just common sense and sensitivity, like Math/Lit courses. Math/Arts courses or Writing/Music Courses. Take the resources we have, move them around, and listen to what the children say to us. Teach them as they come to us. The new arts students who come to the Middle Schools, the High Schools and Universities this year are new, too. Think of these students as Round 1, too.
So, now we have five year olds and 13 year olds and 15 year olds and 18 year olds. Everyone can learn. It is only the level of instruction that has to change for the students, not the students themselves.
When we use our school systems’ natural areas of redundancy and turn them into a more profitable use of the resources, we will all win with students who get a more balanced education. Students who become Connecticut Grown Artists. “Connecticut Grown” isn’t just for milk and produce anymore.
Professional artists are in our communities. I suggest that we offer to teach them to teach, and hire them. Not everyone is a teacher, but some are, and we have GREAT teaching schools. Then we take the 18 year olds and teach them how to teach and we hire them when they become 22 year olds, or whenever they finish their training.
And, in Round 2, we teach our elementary school students and our middle school students with these teachers and teaching-interns. Then as the natural process of attrition starts to require new people to replace those retiring, we have a bevy of well-trained candidates from whom to choose. So who are these people in this bevy? Yes, they are the Connecticut Artists that are now recognized in our communities are Entrepreneurs. They will be regarded well for the arts that they do. They can make their living in the Arts by teaching, or he or she can help pump up the communities’ arts economies because more money will be flowing through it. The Arts are natural multipliers in the big National Economy. Let’s use the Commission on Culture and Tourism to teach more entrepreneurial and managerial skills that the new artist needs to get established. Let’s get the Local Artists into the local Connecticut Chambers of Commerce. They can support themselves as artists because communities want them, as purposeful and valued members of communities who can make a living wage doing/sharing/continuing their art. More people buy their art, and, learning about their art, (maybe even cultures and traditions, too?) appreciate their arts. Children learn and then turn the Arts into their own Arts. Local Arts institutions become relevant again. Hence, “The Arts Economy.” And it goes around, and around in a self-sustaining, meaningful way. And we live to see Round 3. We will be Round 3.
Katrina S. Axelrod is a Meriden resident and has founded the Meriden ArtsTrust, (MAT), an incubator agency for programs that link youth with the Arts. The MAT is now administering the Central Connecticut Civic Youth Orchestra. Meriden ArtsTrust may be contacted at meridenartstrust@yahoo.com Reader’s views are requested.
“Sheltering an Animal’s Perspective”
by Gregory M. Simpson
While perusing the newspaper, Animal People, I came across an article that described pro-animal laws passed in 2007 in various states. In reading about the new legislation it occurred to me how overdue this country is in enacting some basic protections for animals – and in many cases, people, too. Here’s a sample.
Arizona passed a law requiring that engine coolant or antifreeze that contains more than 10% ethylene glycol must also include the bittering agent, denatonium benzoate, to keep animals and children from drinking poisonous antifreeze by accident in its normal sweet tasting form. This is a law that should be in every state and would most easily be put into place by enacting federal legislation. It is also one of the myriad of risks that speaks to keeping cats safer indoors. Cats love the sweet taste of anti-freeze which has dripped from cars onto driveways.
Indiana signed into legislation a bill which makes killing an animal to threaten, intimidate, coerce, or terrorize a household family member a Class D felony, punishable by up to three years in prison and a fine of $10,000. While personally I’d like to see the maximum penalty higher, it’s a step in the right direction. The link between animal abuse, domestic violence, and child abuse is well established. The American Humane Association has long advocated that there also be a law in every state requiring cross-training and cross-reporting regarding child abuse and animal abuse among law enforcement officers, humane investigators, veterinarians, health professionals, domestic violence advocates, and child protection workers.
The Iowa governor signed a bill into law prohibiting Internet hunting, in which hunters kill animals from distant locations using web cameras to spot their targets and a mouse-click to shoot. Model anti-Internet hunting bills have been promoted nationally in recent years by the Humane Society of the United States. Thirty states have enacted such laws and the other twenty should quickly follow. As P.G. Wodehouse wrote, “The fascination of shooting as a sport depends almost wholly on whether you are at the right or wrong end of a gun.”
Nebraska Governor Dave Heineman signed a bill into law making animal abandonment a felony offense. Now there’s a man after my own heart. Animal abandonment is one of the most heinous crimes against animals.
As of 2007, Washington State now bans private acquisition of large cats, wolves, bears, non human primates, alligators, and other potentially dangerous wild animals. Once again, this should be enacted as a federal law. No one needs to keep as a pet an animal that may view a house guest as its next meal.
The Hawaii state legislature passed a 2007 bill enacting felony penalties for intentionally torturing, mutilating, or poisoning pets, including pigs as well as cats, dogs, rabbits, guinea pigs and birds.. Bravo, Hawaii! Did you know that the very first American child abuse law in 1874 was modeled after already existing animal anti-cruelty laws?
The Texas legislature sent multiple pro-animal bills to the governor for signature, including one to increase the criminal penalties for dog fighting. Another bill extends the laws protecting cats, dogs, and horses to feral members of their species. A third bill introduces penalties for prolonged dog tethering.
Many states, including Connecticut, enacted legislation in 2007 that would require disaster planning to include plans for evacuating, transporting, and sheltering service animals and household pets. This follows the 2006 federal Pets Evacuation and Transportation Standards Act which requires states that accept Stafford Act funds for homeland security to ensure that state and local emergency preparedness plans “take into account the needs of individuals with household pets and service animals prior to, during, and following a major disaster or emergency.” Kudos go to Connecticut Representative Christopher Shays who co-introduced the bill in the U.S. House of Representatives.
Governor Rell also signed a law, effective 10/1/07, which allows a state or local animal control officer to take custody of an animal without a warrant if a neglected or cruelly treated animal faces imminent harm. Previously, a criminal search and seizure warrant was needed before taking custody.
Also effective 10/1/07 was legislation signed by Governor Rell which permits courts to issue orders of protection for animals kept by victims of family violence, stalking or harassment. Previously, court orders only protected people.
On the federal level, President Bush signed the Animal Fighting Prohibition Enforcement Act into law on May 3, 2007. This legislation provides felony penalties for interstate and foreign animal fighting. Each violation has a maximum sentence of 3 years incarceration and a fine up to $250,000. Since involved dog kennels rely on transporting their fighting dogs across state lines and internationally, the new law should cripple the interstate transport and international trade in fighting animals.
Every year more progress is made with pro-animal legislation. Sometimes it is two steps forward and one backward. There is still much more that needs to be done. Please consider becoming an animal advocate.
For the animals, Gregory M. Simpson
Gregory Simpson’s animal welfare involvement spans over 25 years, having provided leadership for several Connecticut organizations, as well as having served as state advisor to the national Friends of Animals. Chosen by CAT FANCY magazine as one of the ultimate cat lovers in the U.S., he is also a member of the Cat Writers’ Association.
Love Comes Tenderly
Chapter 2
By Diana Lewis
The alarm on the wind up clock by their bed went off. Sara heard it first and turned to Jason.
“Honey, it’s time to get up.” He groaned and turned over and looked at the clock. He hit the button to turn it off. He rolled over on his back and stretched. Sara sat on the edge of the bed. She got her clothes that she was wearing for the day that she laid on out the night before, on the rocking chair next to the bed.
“Just in case we run into any Indians. You should have one too.”
‘Yes, I supposed I should. He didn’t tell him about the rifle he has stashed in his closet. He would dig it out and buys some shells and bring it along.
“Finally everything was packed that they could bring along. Sara was disappointed on some things she couldn’t take so she took them to her mother to take care of. On July 22, the day before they were to leave, Jason went to the bank to sign the farm over to them and what ever equipment that was being left behind.
The next day, everyone from Sara’s family and Jason’s family came to see them off at the wagon train. They were two hours early so they had some time to visit. Jason and Mike went to find the wagon master and have a chat with him about the trip and what was expected. Sara’s mother, Julienne cried her heart out. She was losing her baby. They hugged each other for the longest time. Jason and Mike came back just in time to say goodbye to everyone before the wagon master hollered “Wagons Ho” and they got into their wagons and waved goodbye until they couldn’t see them anymore.
Then Sara started concentrating on her new adventure.
They must have traveled about 10 miles and it was time to stop for dinner. The wagons joined into a circle and the women started making dinner for their families. They barely got the dishes cleaned up and repacked when the Wagon Master hollered “Wagons Ho” and they were off again. They went about another 20 miles to a river and the wagon master sent word back to everyone that they would be stopping for the night and crossing the river the next day. They formed a circle for the night. The women fixed the evening meal and they settled in for the night. Sara had just finished the dishes when some of the men took out harmonicas, and fiddles and started playing hymns. Everyone gathered and sang with them until they decided they better get some sleep for another day of traveling the next day.
The next day, they were awakened early and were rushed with their breakfast. Sara decided to walk with the women and children for a while. She met several of them. Mrs. Chamberlain and Mrs. Faulkner seem to throw insults at each other all the time. Sara couldn’t tell if they were joking or they were serious. They were both middle age women with three children a piece. Sara also met Belinda Cross, who was more her age and was pregnant as well. They both hoped they’d make it to Missouri before their babies came. They were both due about the same time. They both became good friends on the trip. Sara and Jason often were over to Belinda and Thomas Cross’s wagon in the evening after they dinner.
They were on the trail for a week and on Saturday night the wagon master told them that they wouldn’t be traveling on Sunday. They could have the day to do as they pleased, but to be ready early morning to be on the trail again.
“How about we have ourselves a little church service.?” Suggested Thomas Cross.
“And who’s going to be the preacher?” asked one of the men.
“Well, I can give a little Bible lesson,” said Thomas. Then it was settled, they would have a service on Sunday morning at 11:00.
Sunday morning, Sara rose to a bright sunny morning that made her thank the Lord for His goodness on a very nice say for the church service. She had never been to one out of doors, but she was excited about it. Jason came around the
wagon as she finished cooking their breakfast,
“Are you going to the church service?” she asked.
“You know how I feel about church.”
“But everyone is going. What will you do for the hour?”
“I’ve got plenty to do.”
“But can’t that wait till after church? We’ve got all day.” He walked over to her and put his arms around her.
“It would mean a lot to you if I went, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, Darling, it would.” she reached up and hugged him as well.
“Well, I’ll this once, but please don’t nag me to go, ok?” He kissed her.
“Okay.”
They met Thomas and Belinda on the way to the clearing that they had chosen for their meeting. When they arrived everyone was standing around talking. At 11:00 Thomas went up front and got their attention.
“Is there a favorite hymn you would like to sing?” he asked.
“At the Cross” someone hollered out. Thomas started the song and the others joined in. They sang a few more hymns and Thomas started his message.
“If you have Bibles, we will be studying from Paul’s letter to the Romans, chapter one. I will read the first five verses for now and we will talk about them and then go on till the end of the chapter, He read the verses. This is Paul’s greeting to the Church in Rome .He calls himself a bond servant of the Lord Jesus Christ, the word bond servant means “slave”. Paul was called to be an Apostle. He places himself on the same level as the twelve Apostles and he claims authority from God for His work.”
The rest of the service was really interesting to Jason, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to be a slave to anyone. They ended with another hymn and they broke up heading back to their wagons for dinner and doing some repairs on harnesses and things that needed repair. Today was a good day to do that.
Soon after supper, they went to bed so they could rise early the next morning and get on the trail again.
The next morning they rose to rain. The wagon master urged them on. Sara stayed in the wagon, trying to do some knitting for the baby. It was a bumpy ride and she knew Jason was soaked to the skin. She handed him a towel to wipe his face.
The train continued for two days. By that time they had reached the river. The wagon master halted the train for the night. During the night the rain had stopped, but everything was soaked and the roads were muddy. But today they would have to forge the river but the wagon master said the river was too high to cross. They would have to wait until the water level went down. They camped there for a week, when the wagon master thought it was safe enough to cross. They went one wagon at a time. Sara sat with Jason in the wagon seat. She held on tight to the seat when they were crossing. They were the four wagon to get over to the other side of the river.
The wagon behind them had problems. The horse stopped in the middle and refused to go any further. The man, Walter Samson, had to get down off the wagon and almost pull the horses the rest of the way. Finally all the wagon were safely on the other side of the river. The wagon master urged them on. They needed to pick up some time. That week put them behind schedule. The nest few day he urged them on until almost dark before he let them stop for the night. They then had a quick supper and went to bed. There was no visiting these nights. They still had their customary Sunday stops and Thomas Cross did the service for them. They had been studying other chapter in the book of Romans each week.
Traveling on trail turned into a routine for everyone. Sara met most of the women when they were walking and the children. One lady, Amanda had two small children and this day they both decided to cry and wouldn’t stop. Sara went over to her.
“Can I help?” she asked. The woman just looked her with relief in her eyes. Her children were getting to be a handful on this trip. Sara took the two year old and held and cooed to her and sang a hymn to her and she finally fell asleep on her shoulder. The mother was holding the four year old and he finally did the same. They took them to the wagon and laid them in there.
“I better get some rest myself while they are sleeping. Thank you so much for your help. I was getting beside myself.”said Amanda.
“You are welcome. Anytime you need any help, just let me know.” said Sara sincerely.
“You are a God sent, thank you.” and she went in the wagon so they wouldn’t hold it up for to long. Sara waved to her and went back to the la dies and children who were walking. She walked most of the day and went to the wagon a little while before they stopped for the night.
That night two children had come down with fevers. The women kept them in the wagons and gave them some medicine that they had brought with them. The wagon master kept them going, nevertheless. The nest day two other children came down with the fever and also an older woman. Sara went to help the families in the evenings. Within the next week five more people came down with the fever. Two of the children died who got it the first day. Thomas officiated at the funerals. Still the wagon master urged them on. Belinda was getting a little nervous about the baby she was carrying. She prayed that she wouldn’t get the fever.
Within two weeks nine more people had the fever. One of them was Amanda’s two year old. Sara went every day to help her with her other son. Finally he got it as well. Finally the wagon master had them stop so they could take care of the ill. Sara worked from sun up til sun down, helping them all. She started getting weary and Jason made her take a day off from it and get some rest before she got sick too. She had to think about their baby. Sara reluctantly did what her husband told her to do. When she woke up the next day it was 2:00 in the afternoon and she was still tired. Jason put her to bed again soon after supper.
The next day when she woke up, she found out that six more people had died. Three of them were children and one of the other three was Amanda’s husband. She was miserable. She lost both her children and her husband to the fever. The wagon master tole them that they were three days to St Louis and they really should get going.
Three days to St Louis. It was hard to believe. They had been on the trail for five months. Normally it took four months for the journey but with all the stops they had to make, they were behind schedule. Sara got really excited and wanted to get going. One of the scouts who road on horse back volunteered to drive Amanda’s wagon for her, She hid herself in the back of the wagon for the rest of the trip. Sara took her some supper each night because she refused to come out. Sara prayed for her the rest of the way to St Louis. Sara tried to encourage her telling her that God was with her during this hard time.
“God is supposed to be a loving God, but He took my family away from me. Is that being merciful and loving? I don’t want to hear anything about God.” She turned away from Sara and closed the flap on the wagon. Sara slowly walked back to her wagon praying along the way.
When she arrived back to her wagon, Jason wasn’t there, but Mike was.
“Where’s Jason?” she asked.
“He’s over to the Cross’s wagon with Thomas.” answered Mike.
Sara curiously walked over to the Cross’s wagon. Belinda ran to her just before she got there. She was smiling.
“What’s going on?” she asked her friend.
“Jason just accepted the Lord as his Savior.”
“What? When?”
“Just a few minutes ago. He came over to ask Thomas some questions about Sunday’s lesson and now he’s a believer.” Tears came to Sara’s eyes.
She had been praying for this for the two years that they had been married. She slowly walked over to Jason. He was smiling. He turned to Sara and took her in his arms.
“I decided to try Jesus as my Lord.” Sara was crying now, she was so happy.
“I’ve been praying for so long.” she said in between the tears.
Jason turned to thank Thomas and they walked back to their wagon. Mike noticed a change in Jason as soon as he walked to the wagon.
“What’s going on?” asked Mike.
“I’m a believer now.” said Jason. Mike got up from his seat on a barrel and shook Jason’s hand and then pulled him into a bear hug.
“Welcome to the God’s family.” said Mike.
“I know you’ve been praying too.”
“Yes, I have. Every day since you two got married.” Jason just smiled.
Look for Chapter 3 in the next issue
Thanksgiving Baby
By Maura K. Ammenheuser
Yes, I know Thanksgiving is a time for gratitude. Yes, like others, I’m grateful for much: a roof over my head, healthy relatives and friends, food on the table, a decent life. OK, now that I’ve said all that, here’s something else: I’m pregnant.
Somewhere deep down, I’m thrilled by the prospect of another child. But pregnancy’s not exactly causing me great blissful leaps of joy, at least not at the moment still stuck in early weeks, I’m a groggy, nauseated mess with a bad attitude. I’ve tried looking on the bright side, however, and indeed, I’ve found stuff to be grateful for.
We have three toilets in our house. I’m never more than a five-second dash from any of them, which is really important when you’ve got dry heaves threatening to turn wet any second. Ramen noodles are cheap. I don’t exactly crave them. Rather, they’re one of the few foods that don’t actually turn my stomach when I’m sick with a cold, sore throat, or in this case, chronic nausea. So lately I’ve ingested a frightening volume of salt-starch-and-fat feasts. My husband is a saint. Of course, I’m overlooking the fact that he got me into this situation in the first place. Guilt notwithstanding, he’s been unbelievably patient. In 11 weeks he’s never complained about the unwashed laundry, the general household filth or the sorry state of dinner around here. I haven’t had the energy or the stomach to clean, and it’s tough to cook when you can’t stand the thought of food. (Have I mentioned the queasiness yet?) Plus I can barely remember anything the poor guy tells me because I’m walking around in a hormone-induced fog.
Miraculously, David hasn’t filed for divorce, lost his temper or run away from home. Plus he brings in mashed potatoes from Boston Market (more starch). I knew I married him for a reason.
My toddler is a saint. Luckily, Ryan has his daddy’s temperament. He’s an agreeable, happy kid, mature enough that I don’t have to entertain him every second of the day. He pours over his books, pushes Matchbox cars contentedly across the coffee table and watches “Sesame Street” while I attempt a grocery list. Frankly, I’m just over on the couch, too lethargic and headachy to do anything at all. Ryan even turns the TV off when his show’s over. I don’t even have to lift my head to nag.
This is my second pregnancy; Good thing the first one didn’t feel this crummy. I would never have done this again. I can doggie–paddle. Oddly, I feel far less seasick in the water then on dry land. In the pool I am graceful, soothed. I am Aqua Woman. I am Strong. I am At Peace with the universe.
I am Ms. Lumbering Landlubber the moment I climb out of the water.
So when I can’t get to the pool. I hibernate in the bathtub. (It’s tough to swim laps in there but least we have bubbles.)
The second trimester starts before Turkey Day. I eagerly await the day I wake up feeling relatively normal. According to books, calendars and conventional wisdom, that should be any time now. The 12-weeks mark free most women from the crappy side effects of early pregnancy. For me it’ll be just in time for the feast. Pass the turkey, stuffing and pecan pie, please. I’ll be eating for two.
Sonograms, there’s nothing like medical science to put everything in perspective. I went for a prenatal checkup. Late last month. The doctor swept her little handheld baby-detecting thingamajig over my tummy, listening for the baby’s heartbeat.
It should have been there, a rapid-fire thumping filling the room through the speaker. There was no heartbeat. The doctor pressed and prodded for what felt like an eternity. I held my breath, felt my own heart banging in my chest. Still no sign of the baby.
Doc stepped outside to get the sonogram equipment for a visual investigation. That quickly, all my complaints vanished. Nausea, fatigue, aches and pains. Self-pity – gone, in an instant, replaced by pure fear, agonizing certainty that something had gone wrong and a heroic effort not to start crying right there on the exam table, in front of Ryan, who was talking to himself in his stroller in a corner of the room.
The doctor lugged in the sonogram, rubbed its sensor over my belly, than laughed.
That’s why I couldn’t find the heartbeat, she, pivoting the screen so I could see it. “The baby’s moving too much. Ooo, what a long baby!
Sure enough, there was my blurry little tadpole, turning somersaults on the screen; two incredibly long skinny legs kicking out constantly from its round blobby body. How is it possible that I can’t yet feel something gyrating so vigorously inside me? I exhaled in relief, grinned the biggest grin I’ve managed in weeks and gazed at the sonogram image for a long, giddy minute before Doc had to pack the gear away. The baby’s fine. I’m going to be fine. Never mind that I’m never doing this again. For now, I just have to wait out the grogginess and the queasiness. It’s the most wonderful wait in the world. And I’m grateful to do it.
Old Man
By Chris Randolph
“Old man look at my life, I’m a lot like you were.” Just one simple line from the Neil Young song, “Old Man,” from his Harvest album. I look back at the seventies and the promise I made to myself that this would not be the case. It was wrong of me to think that, but such is the ignorance of youth. It was an interesting time with the Vietnam War and the rebellion against past generations in full force.
My father was a good man. He cared about others. He befriended all those he met, and even if he disagreed with them, he kept it to himself and focused on what they agreed on. Why he became a target for my rebellion is clear to me now - he was an easy target.
He often hid from the world. The moments that he went out and showed his positive side were rare. It was almost as if he had to recover for a while, rebuild his confidence, and then he could face the world again. This cycle is what I promised myself I would not do. I never attacked him directly, except to push him out of these hiding periods he had.
He also was obsessive/compulsive. He would check the front door to the house 10 times before he could leave. This compulsive checking and rechecking always happened while I was waiting frustrated in the car. The frustration grew 10 fold as I got older and his OC increased, as well. I remember quite clearly how checking the front door became checking all the doors in until he could finally go to the car, and shortly after he would leave again to double check if the stove had been turned off.
There are times I laugh about this. There are times I cry about this. What could I have done for him? How could I have helped him more? Normal reactions I suppose. Ones that all of us go through when faced with any type of problem a loved one faces or is challenged with. Now I realize that there is nothing I could have done. He had his demons as we all have.
Like him, I now focus on the positive that we shared. His love of people. His gregarious nature. His charity. Mostly it was his ability to communicate with children that I strive for the most. Even in his darkest hours he was liberated by his grandchildren, and it was so beautiful to see the smiles that he brought to their faces.
Our relationship grew much better over time. I began to understand both his problems and my own. I never stopped pushing him, though. When he did not want to attend a family event, I sometimes would wait till I forced him to come with me. Sometimes this worked and sometimes it didn’t. I don’t regret those efforts at the end of his life as he changed into the gregarious man once he finally did arrive.
I am still traumatized by the very ending of his life, though. The pain and suffering he felt against a losing battle with Melanoma. The anger I felt towards him for not getting it checked as recommended after he had a successful surgery to remove his first case of it. I thought that his obvious lack of care for his health was just another way of hiding again. Maybe death would be the best way to end the suffering he faced his whole life.
The time came when I had enough and forced him to go to the hospital. The disease had come back of course, just as I knew it would. It had spread far into his body. Again, when offered with the hope of an extensive program to fight the disease, he refused. The trips became more frequent to the hospital, as his lungs would often fill with fluid. I still remember the traumatizing moments for me. He was so ill and his lungs had filled again. I rented a wheelchair and insisted on bringing him to the hospital - again. He refused to be seen in a wheelchair when he left the house. So he made me check 5 times to be sure that no neighbors were out. He had become so week that I had to carry him to the car. The anger that showed on his face was piercing. He made me stop the car before I drove off, he looked at the house for a moment and then said simply but with frustration, “Just Go, Chris.” He knew that was the last time he would ever see his home, where he had hoped to die instead of a hospital.
The hospital knew as soon as he came in that the time was near. He was transferred to the Branford Hospice and was coherent for a few days more as he said goodbye and spoke with all our family with kindness and love. But he never spoke to me at the end. I know why, and I understood. I stayed day and night as did most of my family, especially my Mom. Mom would climb into bed with him when night came and hold him close. He surprised even the staff of the Hospice as he clung onto life even when he no longer spoke and was no longer coherent.
I knew he was afraid of death at the end. I remember my last words to him: “It’s alright Dad. It’s a beautiful place you are going to. Your loved ones are waiting for you. Just let go. Let go of the pain and find peace.” I walked out of his area for a moment as the nurse came in to clean him and change his bedding. Seconds later came that last horrible rattling breath and he was gone.
I know I am left to deal with those last months, and I try the best I can. It’s funny though, that I have become so much like him. There are many times that I hide from the outside world to recover and then go out again. There are times I check the door a few times. I get a good laugh out of it, actually. I understand him so much more now.
So as I hear those words, “Old man, look at my life, I’m a lot like you were,” I know that I am and that’s o.k. with me.
Rediscovering Family
By Bill Mercuri
“So how are you spending the holidays?” I asked a good friend.
“Oh, I can’t wait for them to be over. What a hassle. I can’t stand my brother-in-law and to drive fifty miles to my mother’s house only to have to sit there and listen to her and my grandmother fight all afternoon over something that happened twenty years ago. This one doesn’t talk to that one and my cousin Tom just stirs the pot and makes it even worse. I hate it”
“You’re serious? You don’t get along well with your family.”
“I’m serious.”
How sad, I thought.
Some of the most interesting people I’ve ever met or haven’t met are members of my own family; each one with his or her own story to be told and history to be revealed. In our book of life, they’re the characters.
This summer, I was at a family reunion. There were aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters, cousins and in-laws. One person I met was my cousin, Doreen. Doreen is probably a second or third cousin but with the Mercuri’s, a cousin’s a cousin. No matter what number comes before it, the relation is skin tight.
Doreen lives in Florida but through the magic of the internet is able to read some of my People’s Press articles on line. She actually sent some unsolicited (honest!) fan mail to the editor, asking when one of my stories would appear next. I tend to write about family. Our family
I’ll bet I hadn’t seen Doreen in more than 20 years, but I enjoyed talking with her. She encouraged me to continue writing, at one point saying, “you should write a book!”
“I’m going to write a book? I have enough trouble meeting the People’s Press deadlines once a month and I’m going to write a book? And if I were to write a book, I’d have to write about something I’m really passionate about. What would that be?”
Without hesitation Doreen said, “Your family! You’re passionate about your family.”
She was right. I am passionate about my family. Proud of our history with a hunger to learn about who I am by understanding those who came before me. Honored to sit and listen to good, decent people; people who won’t make the headlines but whom live interesting and fulfilling lives, leaving their marks in so many ways.
Their stories are what books are made of. Think of the adventure of a 14-year-old boy leaving his home and family at the turn of the twentieth century, alone, boarding a ship bound for a brighter future in America. Each new immigrant needed a sponsor to claim him before he could enter the country. When the boy arrived, his sponsor failed to meet him. The boy worked his way back to Italy on a ship. Two years later he made the journey again, this time landing for good and starting a family of his own. Say hello to my grandfather.
Want to know about Joe Mercuri? Which one? There’re five of them ranging in age from 91 to 22. Wouldn’t it be great, if not confusing, to get the five Joe’s around a table with some pasta, Italian bread from Boston (Joe, you bring the bread) and some wine and just let them talk for a few hours. There’s a chapter right there.
How many more tales there must be? Enough to fill the pages of a book? Maybe, maybe not. But the fun would be in collecting the stories.
Your family has stories, too. So put aside the petty quarrels and make the holidays a reason to celebrate your family and write your own book.
In the meantime, I’ll rely on my family to provide the backdrop for the next story. Maybe you’ll enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them. If you don’t, that’s OK. I know my family will.
A Brief History of Thanksgiving
By C.S. Purcell
As most of us know, our national holiday evolved from the Puritan Thanksgivings of colonial New England. The Plymouth Pilgrims and the Boston Puritans, both strict Calvinists, observed only three religious holidays: the Sunday Sabbath, Days of Fasting and Humiliation, and Days of Thanksgiving and Praise.
Whereas Sunday Sabbaths were predefined times, having occurred every Sunday, in the religious calendar, Thanksgivings and Fast Days were set neither in date nor in number. In any given year, there could be many Thanksgivings and Fast Days, or there could be none. These holidays were called in response to God’s Providence. If God was pleased with His people, He granted favorable conditions, such as a mild winter or a good crop. To show their appreciation, the Puritans would call a Thanksgiving. If, however, God was displeased with His people and conditions reflected such, then the Puritans would call Fast Days. Although both religious holidays could be declared by different churches in different towns at different times, most Fast Days occurred in the spring before the crops had matured and Thanksgivings were usually declared after the harvest in the autumn when food was more abundant. Often, both the Fast Days and Thanksgivings were held on sermon days, which were Wednesdays in Connecticut and Thursdays in Massachusetts.
These days of Thanksgiving were not big feasts, as ours are today. Instead, the town would gather at the meetinghouse where they would give thanks to God for their blessings. Afterwards, they would go home and enjoy a celebratory dinner with family and sometimes with friends and neighbors.
The Thanksgiving of 1621 is what we refer to when we say “The First Thanksgiving.” After surviving a particularly difficult first winter, the Plymouth colonists and the Wampanoag Indians shared an autumn harvest feast. But it was more a secular feast than a religious Puritan holiday.
Our description of the 1621 celebration comes from a letter written by Edward Winslow on December 11, 1621:
“Our harvest being gotten in, our governor sent four men on fowling, that so we might after a special manner rejoice together after we had gathered the fruit of our labors. They four in one day killed as much fowl as, with a little help beside, served the company almost a week. At which time, among other recreations, we exercised our arms, many of the Indians coming amongst us, and among the rest their greatest king Massasoit, with some ninety men, whom for three days we entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five deer, which they brought to the plantation and bestowed upon our governor, and upon the captain, and others. And although it be not always so plentiful as it was at this time with us, yet by the goodness of God, we are so far from want that we often wish you partakers of our plenty.”
However, this “First Thanksgiving” was not the beginning of our annual national custom as we know it today. This particular Thanksgiving was entirely forgotten until a reference to it was found in 1820, after which it was referred to as the First Thanksgiving. Also, although the custom of an annual Thanksgivings was established throughout New England by the mid-17th century, it was not a national holiday.
The first national Thanksgiving occurred in 1777 when the Continental Congress declared December 18th a national day of Thanksgiving following the victory at Saratoga. In Puritan tradition, the day was officially a religious observance in recognition of God’s mercy on the newly-born country. Being a holy day, both work and amusements were forbidden. But the focus from a religious holiday to a more secular holiday was unofficially underway. Families still attended church each Thanksgiving Day, but the social and culinary attractions were increasing in importance.
For five years, from 1777 to 1783, Congress declared national annual Thanksgivings. All the Thanksgivings between those years were celebrated in December, save for the Thanksgiving in 1782. After 1783, there were no national Thanksgivings until President Washington once again called for two Thanksgivings, one in 1789 and one in 1795. John Adams declared Thanksgivings in 1798 and 1799, while James Madison declared the holiday twice in 1815. Not one of the Thanksgivings declared by Washington, Adams, and Madison was celebrated in November, though.
1815 was the last nationally celebrated Thanksgiving until the Civil War, as the south was not fond of having a “northern” custom forced upon them by the federal government. The northern states, however, continued to have their own Thanksgiving traditions, which were usually held in November. New Englanders traveling westward brought their Thanksgiving traditions with them, spreading the celebration of an annual Thanksgiving first in the Northeast and in the Northwest Territory, then to the middle and western states. By the mid 19th century, even some southern states had their own Thanksgiving traditions.
By the 1840s the Thanksgiving celebration had moved far from its holy-day roots to a family gathering day with a feast as the central event. Newspapers and magazines helped popularize the holiday as a secular autumn celebration featuring feasting, family reunions and charity to the poor. In a time of industrial revolution, it was hoped that having a family-centric holiday with undertones of charity would bring focus back to moral integrity for an industrial society lacking virtue.
By the turn of the century, as Victorians searched for a return to family values, the imagery of the First Thanksgiving, with its large feast and charitable hospitality, was a perfect representation for the holiday. The 1621 celebration quickly became the mythic First Thanksgiving, remaining the primary historical representation of the holiday ever since.
Still, the holiday was celebrated at different times in different states. Those Americans that truly wanted a return to the values and simplicity of a bygone era lobbied for the establishment of Thanksgiving as a permanent national holiday. Among the biggest supporters was Sarah Josepha Hale, a leading figure in the domesticity movement and author and editor of Godey’s Ladies Book. From 1846 to 1863, Hale wrote editorials urging the federal government to establish Thanksgiving as a national holiday. In 1863, after the victory at Gettysburg, Abraham Lincoln declared that a national Thanksgiving be held that year on the last Thursday in November.
In his proclamation, Lincoln wrote:
“The year that is drawing toward its close has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added which are of so extraordinary a nature that they can not fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever-watchful providence of Almighty God….
No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy.
It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently, and gratefully acknowledged, as with one heart and one voice, by the whole American people.”
In 1864, Lincoln called again for the last Thursday in November as a Thanksgiving Day. Andrew Johnson followed Lincoln’s lead by calling a Thanksgiving for December 7, 1865. In fact, every president after Lincoln declared a national Thanksgiving, but it was not a holiday sanctioned by law until 1941 when Franklin D. Roosevelt signed a bill establishing the fourth Thursday in every month as the Thanksgiving holiday.
Today, Thanksgiving is not a day called to give thanks for positive events bestowed upon us, as it was for most of the holiday’s history. Rather, we gather with loved ones to celebrate a feast in a combination of early American traditions that have evolved to fit our modern times and our own families’ traditions. And, hopefully, in midst of the feast and cheer, we will take a moment to give thanks for all that is good in our lives.
Abraham Lincoln's Thanksgiving Proclamation
The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God. In the midst of a civil war of unequalled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign States to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere except in the theatre of military conflict; while that theatre has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union. Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defence, have not arrested the plough, the shuttle, or the ship; the axe had enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege and the battle-field; and the country, rejoicing in the consciousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years with large increase of freedom. No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and voice by the whole American People. I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to his tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity and Union. It is the duty of nations as well as of men to own their dependence upon the overruling power of God; to confess their sins and transgressions in humble sorrow, yet with assured hope that genuine repentance will lead to mercy and pardon; and to recognize the sublime truth, announced in the Holy Scriptures and proven by all history, that those nations are blessed whose God is the Lord.
ONE WOMAN'S STRUGGLE CAN BE ANOTHER WOMAN'S HOPE
WHEN I WAS GROWING UP AND ENTERING THE STAGES OF WOMANHOOD I LOOKED TO MY FAMILY FOR ADVICE AND GUIDANCE. I GREW UP KNOWING THAT ONE DAY I WOULD HAVE TO FACE WHAT IS KNOWN AS A MAMOGRAM. ALL I KNEW THEN WAS THAT IT HAD TO BE DONE AND THAT IT WOULDN'T BE A PLEASANT EXPERIENCE.
I ENTERED HIGHSCHOOL AND THEN COLLEGE AND FOUND OUT THAT THIS FEAR WAS DRILLED INTO ME BECAUSE IT IS ONE MILLIONS OF WOMAN SHARE AROUND THE WORLD. WHEN I FIGURED OUT THAT A MAMOGRAM WAS SOMETHING TO PRE-SCREEN BREAST CANCER, I BECAME EVEN MORE SCARED. LIKE ALL WOMAN I BEGAN TO WISH THAT IT WOULD NEVER HAPPEN TO ME.
I THEN ENTERED COLLEGE WHERE I STUDIED SCIENCE AND BIOLOGY AND BEGAN TO UNDERSTAND THE MANY FORMS OF CANCERS AND DISEASES THAT EXIST. I REALIZED THEN THAT SOME HAVE CURES AND OTHERS DON'T, SOME ARE HEREDITARY AND OTHERS ARE NOT. AFTER LEARNING ALL THIS AND MUCH MORE, I FOUND OUT THAT MY GRANDMOTHER WAS DIAGNOSED WITH BREAST CANCER AND WE ARE HAVING OUR TRADITIONAL CHRISTMAS EVE CELEBRATION MOVED FROM HER HOUSE TO MY AUNT'S AS SHE WOULD UNDERGO CHEMOTHERAPY AND RADIATION. I DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO HANDLE THIS OR HOW SCARED I SHOULD BE. BUT THE WHOLE FAMILY TOOK IT DAY BY DAY. SHE BEGAN TO LOSE HER HAIR AND HAVE TO GO TO THE DOCTOR AN AWFUL LOT. THE ONE THING SHE DID NOT LOSE THROUGH THE ENTIRE STRUGGLE WAS HER HOPE. SHE KEPT HER POSITIVE ATTITUDE THAT SHE ALWAYS HAD AND WE CURRENTLY ARE GOING ON HER 5TH YEAR AS CANCER FREE.
AFTER THIS BATTLE ENDED ANOTHER ONE BEGAN. WE FOUND OUT ABOUT A YEAR AGO THAT MY GRANDMOTHER'S SISTER (MY AUNTIE GINA) HAD NOW ALSO BEEN DIAGNOSED WITH BREAST CANCER. LOSING HER HAIR KIND OF HIT HER A LITTLE HARDER THAN IT DID MY GRANDMOTHER. MY AUNTIE GINA LOVED HER HAIR (SOMETHING WE BOTH HAVE IN COMMON)! SHE EVEN USED TO MAKE A LIVING AS A HAIRDRESSER. MY AUNT GINA MANAGED TO KEEP HER HOME UP AND RUNNING WITH DAILY TASKS WITH THE HELP OF FAMILY OF COURSE AND CONTINUE TO GO TO SCHOOL PART-TIME TOWARDS HER ASSOCIATES DEGREE.
NOW THOSE ARE TWO STRONG WOMEN! THEY BEAT THE STRUGGLE MANY WOMAN DON'T OF BREAST CANCER AND PROVIDED ME AND MANY LOVED ONES WITH HOPE. TECHNOLOGY TODAY HAS DEFINETLY PROVED IT WORTHY. HOWEVER I DO NOT BELIEVE IT WAS JUST SCIENCE THAT HELPED, BUT THE POSITIE ATTITUDE THAT THESE TWO WOMEN HAD THROUGHOUT THEIR STRUGGLE AND THEY BOTH DESERVE A PINK RIBBON THAT THEY SHOULD WEAR WITH PRIDE.
AND MOST IMPORTANTLY MY AUNT GINA'S HAIR IS STARTING TO GROW BACK!
I LOVE YOU BOTH VERY MUCH!
WRITTEN BY: BREANNA
Dear Andy,
I have been a single mom for 11 years and work very hard for what I have including to teach my son well and give him a decent lively hood. Five years ago my son won a new bike from his school and gave to a young person that had none so they could ride together where we lived then. He has been noted for all good deeds that he has done at his young age. He grew out his old BMX bike . I bought him another one that was better fitted so that he could race at Falcon Field here where we now live and registered him to compete locally and nationally. He recently took 3 trophies and he goes to the field to practice on his NEW red BMX that was stolen! He has since seen the boys who are taller and older. They say thanks for bike and he's afraid of them so, he only says I didn't give it to you but I have another one you can have if you need it.
I'm writing because someone knows who they are and knows it does not belong to them. They broke his "spirit" he's devastated!
Please print this and hopefully that someone will help to recover this bike for him.
God Bless,
Nature As a Mirror by Dorothy Gonick
CORNUCOPIA
Drives along the countryside have been lovely this fall as though the earth had burst into flaming flower. On one drive we came to a rustic farm wagon piled with golden pumpkins and we marveled at the uniformity and sameness of their beauty. A short distance beyond we came to a veritable feast for eyes and senses. A farm produce stand was a picture of diverse color, shape and texture. There were the orange pumpkins; corn with rows of yellow kernels topped by dried husks, much like a young boy’s thatch of tousled hair; smooth purple eggplants glistened near red, ripe tomatoes; glossy red and yellow apples nestled near a variety of hard shelled nuts; yellow crooked necked squash cradled a bouquet of broccoli. We sensed a keen awareness of God’s creativity in the sweet, spicy, pungent produce!
The gathering of these diverse fruits into a harmonious cluster brought to mind a class of small children and their diversity. Variety not just of size, color or culture, but also their individual traits that the children will learn to accept or to tolerate. The classroom cornucopia of humanity will have the studious, the clown, the challenged, the worrier, the jolly, the bully, the meek, the gifted, the plodder: a more diverse combination of personalities that will seldom be found in many adult groups. It is heartwarming to remember how the children befriended and accepted friendships with one another regardless of their differences.
Our nation is a cornucopia of much diversity. ‘Foreign’ foods tempt us at mealtimes with exciting tastes and textures. Each nationality and culture adds its special flavor and influence to the creation of a people who acknowledge and embrace the diversity of others, adding depth and richness to life.
Let us celebrate our differences and be thankful that God in His wisdom did not make us copies of each other.
Community Thanksgiving in Wallingford
By Nancy Freyburg - Coordinator
Every year I am always asked this one question by a first time reporter to the holiday community dinners, “Why do you give up your holidays to do this?” For 27 years I have given the same answer. “Look around. Pull up a chair. Stay awhile. Then ask me again.” They never do. On Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter, I get to enjoy the world exactly the way I think God intended it to be. We come together in friendship to be with, and to serve one another. We have created a huge family that loves to come home year after year. That is the goal of the dinners, to make people feel like they are coming “home.”
Twenty-seven years ago I was out for a walk. I heard a voice say, “find a place and cook. No one should be alone for the holidays”. I don’t want you to worry that I often hear voices, but that one was pretty clear! We started at the Advent Christian church on Whittlesey Avenue. About 35 people attended that first dinner. We added Christmas the next year and began serving Easter Dinner about 15 years ago. As the dinners grew and needed more space, we moved to St. Paul’s Episcopal Church for many wonderful years and now enjoy a tremendous partnership with the First Congregational Church. People from every church in town and every walk of life support the community dinners, which have grown in every direction.
Although Thanksgiving is the largest dinner, with 250 – 400 people eating in the fellowship hall, Christmas and Easter are close behind. We also send about 250 meals and visits out to the home bound each holiday, and provide food for two other communities so that they might enjoy the holidays too. Baskets with turkeys and all the trimmings are given to families at Thanksgiving who want to cook at home, and we “adopt” individuals and families at Christmas, providing them with food baskets, gifts, and whatever is needed. The Christmas Adopt – A – Family Program has extended to a school supplies program in the Fall that sends many kids back to school well equipped with clothes, back packs, lunch boxes, note books, pens, pencils, and so much of what they need to be successful in school.
As the dinners and everything attached to them has grown, we have affectionately renamed it “God’s Dinner”. It really takes a miracle of faith and spirit to bring it all together. This is all done with volunteers who share their time, talent, energy, and great kindness to make these holidays wonderful for so many. The food is all donated. Even though the dinners are so large, all the food is home made, hand made, heart made and healthy! We want every participant to feel like they are coming home for the holidays. Individuals bring in pies and other home made desserts while Brownies, CCD and high school cooking classes bring over pans of the best cookies ever! Dennis Bonito brings his guitar and keyboards and plays and sings all afternoon. It is simply amazing and heart warming to be part of this effort.
Every one who works on the “dinners” is blessed by it. It is the best example I have ever seen of people joining together to make our world a little safer, softer, and with such kindness. I give up nothing and gain everything to be part of this! The blessings are too many to name.
Here is what I need as we move in to this wonderful season. There is a place for everyone who wants to help. We need volunteers on the actual holidays to help set up, serve, deliver meals to the home bound, and clean up. We need help ahead of time in the kitchen doing prep work and cooking turkeys. We also need donations of time, talent, food and money. Anyone who wants to volunteer, make a financial contribution, or donation of food should call the office at 203-284-8299. We are happy to tell you what we need.
Dinner is served noon – 2pm Thanksgiving and Christmas day. The meal is free and transportation will be provided as needed. The meal is for anyone who wants to spend the day with others and have a great time.
One of the thanks I received after Christmas last year was from a 91-year-old woman who had received a meal and visit. Her note simply said, “In 25 years, you have never forgotten me. Thank you.”
My thanks to all of you who never forget to share yourselves with others. It makes us all better.
Parents & Kids Foundation, Inc.
Nancy Freyberg, Master Dreamer
101 No. Plains Industrial Rd.
Wallingford, Ct. 06492
203-284-8299
Bobbie’s Bevy of Beauties
The Montauk daisy and orchid chrysanthemums (they resemble the white Shasta daisy) have finally come into bloom. Made up many bouquets of these mums. The very colorful and different varieties of dahlias were also added to them. And as usual when a bouquet is made up it is given away. Looking out the windows or standing on the deck surveying my garden beds gives me great joy. Most people like flowers and are happy to receive a posie or two which also makes me feel good. Unless you are an avid gardener you might not understand. But a lot of time, energy, money and love goes into this hobby.
My cleanup has finally begun. Only a few perennials remain but a goodly number of annuals are hanging in there. Remember don’t trim your butterfly bushes or transplant any new ones until the end of March or beginning of April. And hands off the rhododendrons. If you start clipping away you’ll be cutting off the buds which will produce the flowers for next spring.
Don’t think this was the greatest year for tomatoes. Still have quite a few green ones. A couple times a week three or four will be ripe enough to pick. Some are on the smaller side. They might have e few dark spots or narrow slits in them. Just cut them out and they are fine to eat. Maybe next year will be better.
Since there is nothing more as far as the gardening bit goes let’s get to the birds. Specifically the turkey vultures. Three of them , about 7:30 in the morning a couple of weeks ago when Jimmy was doing his therapy exercises in bed, he could see from the hall window these huge birds sitting on our neighbor Pam’s roof. He called me to come upstairs to see them. From there they flew to the chi8mney and roof on the last house on Fairview Ave., which is two houses past Pam’s. Prior to our seeing them their first landing which was quite noisy according to Pam was on hew sunroom roof. Went outside, ran over to Ruth’s, another very dear neighbor and borrowed her binoculars. They put on quite a display for the neighborhood. Taking turns showing off their wing span. Finally about 10:00 one by one each turkey vulture took his or her departure. Told our neighbor friend Jeff who lives in the condos below us on West Main St. about our visitors. Said he sees five coming and going in his area quite often. Early evening they fly into the tree tops across West Main St. into the wooded area below Johnson Hgts. They may not be the prettiest of birds but certainly are very impressive. Photos courtesy of Pam.
This is probably my last writing until spring of 2008. Am making my hibernation plans. Since Jimmy is doing much better and he has LatlBit for company I’m sure he’ll make it okay without me for those few cold, icy, snowy months. The two of them fit very comfortably in his recliner. Jimmy stretched out to his full length and LitlBit sprawled in his lap. The last couple of years I’ve made my bed under the park bench at the end of the back yard. Been quite comfortable there so I think that is where I will return. Now the question is when. I always entered my bed of peat moss on Nov. 1st and exited on March 1st. But with the 3rd month of this year being so cold and miserable and seeing what the outside world looked like after Jimmy came for me I had decided to have him place me back into the peat moss again until April 1st. That was when I returned for good. So all depends upon Mother Nature.
Thank you for reading my articles and sometimes commenting on them. Wishing you all health, happiness and may peace reign forever in the world.
Flowercerely yours, Bobbie G. Vosgrien
P..S.
Love and best wishes to our son Keith, the oldest child, who lives in Paris, France. He turned 50 years old this past October 5th. This snapshot was taken of him and our two older granddaughters, his nieces, Emmy “Me O” and Abby, on his annual spring – summer visit I can remember when he called me from Paris to wish me a happy 50th birthday. It seems like it was only a couple of years ago. Where does the time go? And the older one becomes the faster it seems to fly.
Home Country
Slim Randles
Some things aren’t allowed to go away, no matter how much a person might want them to, and no matter how much sense it makes to do away with them. It was that way with Doc’s golf tournament.
Last fall, to raise money for coats for kids who needed them, Doc talked two farmers out of the use of their pastures and set up the only 18-hole golf course in history that was created in an hour and a half. Each of the 18 holes had a hole (personally dug by Doc with a shovel) and a flag by the hole (a steel t-post personally pounded in by Dud) and a tee-off spot (personally tee-off by Herb Collins). But that was all the course had. If there was grass on the fairway, it was because the cows missed a bite. The whole course was hazard. The tenth hole alone had two rock piles and a manure sump to negotiate. The second hole required people to clear a prairie dog town or lose the ball forever to the abode of confused and terrorized rodents.
Well, everyone had fun, and the whole thing was won by Delbert Chin, owner of the Gates of Heaven Chinese restaurant, who came in with the low score of 312.
Doc wasn’t really excited about doing it again, but first one, then another of our locals pestered him until he relented and set out a whole new course this year that included the elementary school playground and the town’s sewage treatment lagoons.
Twice as many people signed on to play this year, and Doc admits that next year’s course might have to take in the gravel quarry just east of town.
“The hardest part about this tournament,” he told the boys down at the Mule Barn truck stop, “is figuring out what par should be.”
THANKSGIVING
By Ernie Larson
What is it – What it mean to me?
To many, Thanksgiving is a just a day off, another holiday, to others it is a gathering of family and friends and to an estimated 279 million people it’s a day to eat turkey in one form or another. I remember the Thanksgivings of my youth, Mom toiling in the kitchen, while the men, Grandpa, my father, my brother and I waited for dinner in the living room with our guests usually my Uncle Al and Aunt Carmen, unless they were going to spend the day with “her people’ as Grandpa would say and Mrs. McDonald in later years, she was Grandpa’s companion, he knew her in his youth and struck up a relationship when he was in his 70’s, long story, but he was happy. Dinner was around 1:00 PM and I do remember that every year my grandfather would compliment the cook “Margaret, that turkey was done to a turn”, little did we know that Mom usually overcooked the turkey and it was dry as a bone, we ate it of course, just doubled up on the gravy; it tasted OK to us and we never criticized Mom’s cooking. After dinner we usually just sat around, sometimes we’d go outside and throw around a football, while the others visited, the TV and football games were on in the background and my Dad snoozed in his chair………that was Thanksgiving.
In grade school we were taught the story of the Pilgrims, Plymouth Rock, the Indians who helped the Pilgrims acclimate to the new world and the meaning of Thanksgiving. I remember when I first saw Plymouth Rock as an adult I got tingly all over – after all, hearing about it for so many years and here it was a rock, big rock with the inscription 1620. Who knows if this is the exact rock the pilgrims moored the Mayflower to, but it’s got its own pavilion so it must be the real Plymouth Rock, hey, I was convinced, I’m not going to question history. Then there was the replica of the Mayflower nearby, built to exact specifications of the original, it was smaller than some of the ‘pleasure’ craft moored nearby and to think it made a transatlantic voyage, remarkable.
The basis for our present day Thanksgiving holiday is directly related to the Pilgrims. The settlers were thankful for surviving a harsh winter and with the help of the Indians purportedly held a feast sometime between September 21 and November 9th in 1621, a year after they landed, some say it was 1622, who knows, eking out a living was a bit more difficult than they had imagined. They invited the natives to their celebration and both groups contributed to the feast - some of the menu items were fish, cod, clams, waterfowl, ducks, geese, turkeys, venison, dried fruit, nuts, grains i.e. wheat flour, Indian corn, vegetables, mainly squash and beans. No corn on the cob, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie, whipped cream or cranberry sauce as we know it nor was there any ham on the menu, historians claim the Pilgrims did not bring any pigs with them – who eats ham on Thanksgiving anyway? And that’s the way it all began, in a nutshell.
And now for some little known facts about the holiday - do you know why Thanksgiving is on the fourth Thursday in November – well, yes you guessed it; I’m going to tell you. It all political, believe it or not, and goes back to George Washington who declared a national day of thanks in 1789 and for years to come the holiday was on or near whatever Thursday came closest to the 26th of November. Then Abraham Lincoln declared Thanksgiving be celebrated on the last Thursday in November in 1863. This was all fine and good until the presidency of Franklin Roosevelt. Under pressure from retail merchandisers, who said that the last Thursday of November only gave merchants 4 weeks to sell their Christmas wares, as many people started their holiday shopping just after Thanksgiving, they asked him to change the date of Thanksgiving to the fourth Thursday in November. And so he did, not without controversy, some claimed he was buckling under to big money – he probably was and like almost every other questionable act by a politician this one too was soon forgotten and now the fourth Thursday of November is Thanksgiving in the United States.
So now, what does Thanksgiving mean to me, it’s a time of year when family and friends gather and enjoy each others company while enjoying the bounty of the season; this year we’re again welcoming my son’s fiancée along with my wife’s Aunt Agnes, she just moved into Meriden and was going to spend the day at her assisted living facility, no way, she’ll be with family for the holiday, that’s just how it should be! Our immediate family, our daughter, her husband, our granddaughter, my brother, his wife and son, my Aunt Carmen, she spends Thanksgiving with us and Christmas with “her people” in New York. Not sure if anyone else is coming, but they certainly would be welcome.
We always recall the year we invited ‘the Indians’ to our celebration. In a nutshell, my workmate who was spending his first Thanksgiving in the US, asked me on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving at 3:00 in the afternoon “how do you prepare the traditional Thanksgiving dinner?” To say the least it would have taken me quite a while to explain the whole deal so I just invited him and his wife to our dinner. My children were amazed, his wife had a pierced nose and wore her traditional Indian sari – and of course I said this is just like the first Thanksgiving, having the Indians (Harish and Nilima were from Bombay, India) to dinner. They liked it so much, they came back for Christmas.
And we do celebrate with food, traditional roast turkey, stuffing, potatoes, root vegetables and all the trimmings, I have a great recipe for a cranberry/pear chutney – I’m sure the family is looking forward to that; (a bit of sarcasm, I must say). And we top it all off with desserts, pumpkin pie, apple pie and this year my daughter wants me to make Indian pudding, I think a version of this was on the original Thanksgiving menu. We’re never lacking for something to eat on this day. And remembering the less fortunate, as in past years we will be donating our excess holiday food to Shelter Now in Meriden.
But the best part of the day are the family discussions and reminisces; perusing photo albums of yore and this year, my nephew just started college at UCONN so we’ll hear some of his stories – I’m sure he’ll be rather reserved, maybe Mom and Dad really do not want to know what is going on, hey, as long as he is having fun, right? He better be studying, if he knows what’s good for him! We’ll recount tales of holidays past and have a good old time. Thanksgiving is a holiday where just having everyone together is the main purpose of the day, when asked many people say Thanksgiving is their favorite holiday: family, food, football the general camaraderie of the day makes it special. I look forward to seeing my granddaughter interact with mine and my wife’s aunts, who as octogenarians don’t get to mingle with 4.5 year olds on a regular basis, I’m sure she will keep them amused.
That is what Thanksgiving is all about to me and I eagerly await the day.
Here’s a quote from the 2008 Old Farmer’s Almanac, it says it all:
? “THANKSGIVING - The company makes the feast.”?
And so it does: Happy Thanksgiving to all!
View From The Village
by Ralph Riello
This is a special edition of View From The Village
It has been nearly four years since my first cathartic submission to this, Mr. Reynolds’ most excellent publication. The personal rewards were such that I sweated deadlines for two years, nearly without fail (thanks to the publisher’s patience). Pushing the deadline envelope and sweating the column in the waning hours of the month was my compensation. So was the visceral response from those whom, having read my published thoughts, loved or hated what I had to say. I was happy to promote a laugh, or social discourse in the search for clarity, even if it was just my own.
Some might call my disrespect of deadlines mere procrastination. Truth be told, I’m a bit of an adrenaline junkie. The thrill of racing anything, cars in my younger days, column deadlines, waning sunlight climbing mountains, bespeaks years spent working in live remote network television. While I am pulled further into middle age, there are less opportunities to quench my adrenaline-thirst. The excitement leading up to a remote event, the edgy adrenaline surge as the event unfolded, and the pressure of my part in it, laid bare to the participants, the fans, and my peers, tended to bring out the best in me. I was good at it, and I have statues to prove it.
For those of you new to this column, I announced my self-imposed sabbatical so that I could attend grad school and attempt a career change. I’ve almost completely traded remote events and a voyeur’s ringside seat for the regularity and pressure of four shows a day in front of a live audience. I am now a high school teacher. I did return to the People’s Press once during my time away, inspired by a remote event right here in my favorite village, one near and dear to my heart. I return again today, inspired by that same event, in the hopes of inspiring you to get motivated, either to help, donate or attend the ninth annual Christmas In The Village, happening on Saturday December 1st in the bucolic Village of South Meriden, also the inspiration for this column. I hope to return to my cathartic ramblings with regularity in this space, although as I’ve gained wisdom, I’ve learned not to make promises unless I intend to keep them. Let’s just say I’m hoping for the best.
Christmas In The Village (“CITV” for the rest of this column) is one of those rarities that most folks believe only takes place in Norman Rockwell paintings or Hallmark cards. If you’re new to the area, or share proclivities with the late Howard Hughes, the best I can say is that CITV is a Norman Rockwell painting come to life. I am honored to be part of a caring and hard-working committee of local volunteers, in partnership with businesses, residents, donors and other benefactors who pull together every year to provide a family holiday event that is open to anyone who wants to share the Holiday Spirit with a couple of thousand like-minded neighbors, friends, relatives, visitors, and four-legged creatures. For your convenience there are no longer any dates to remember from year to year. The committee decided as of last year that the event will always be held on the first Saturday of December. How easy is that?
Last year, I wrote about the history of the event, so I won’t rehash that here. You can find it in a past issue of The People’s Press by visiting the website. I want to focus on what this year’s event is with the goal of whetting your appetite, and possibly motivating you to give a little of your time, or money to this worthy cause. Donations can be made to CITV care of Tom’s Place, 55 Main Street, South Meriden 06451. We are a 501c3, so your donation is tax deductible. We are also looking for volunteers to help put wreaths (paid for by CITV) on light poles, on November 17th, 9am. Meet at the firehouse. Volunteers are also needed for the day of the event in various capacities. Community service hours are available to middle and high school students.
The event time frame is 2pm until roughly 5:30pm. Main Street will be closed from Webb Street to Evansville Avenue. Traffic help will be provided by the MPD and the Police Explorers. The event will once again be kicked off by the Santa Parade through the streets of the village. The city’s mobile stage will be set up and once again I’ll be on stage introducing acts, promoting our sponsors, and soliciting personal items in return for prizes from our local sponsors. Speaking of prizes, be sure to sign up for the popular house decorating contest, with three winners announced before the tree lighting. The stage will go dark around 5pm, when we move the party east to the park for the annual tree lighting ceremony.
In order to keep your strength up, refreshments at the event are provided free of charge thanks to the generosity of our sponsors, volunteers, and committee members. That includes baked apples (thousands served last year), chestnuts, popcorn, hot chocolate, coffee, and baked goods at various locations. Since we’re providing food, we ask that in the spirit of the holidays, attendees bring a canned food item (or three) for distribution to local residents in unfortunate circumstances. Canned food items are collected in various locations throughout the event. Check the brochure for updated information. Local businesses will also be open and serving food, although we have no control over what they charge. No one is allowed to charge for vending in the street, so if you see somebody selling something, please come to the stage and let us know and that person will be asked to leave.
Refreshments aren’t the only free offerings. Santa is at the firehouse and polaroids are available of the kiddies with the jolly one. So is face painting, entertainment, hot chocolate, and Amber Alert registration. At the western end of the festival, Hanover PTO is running a book sale at the elementary school, so stretch your legs and invest in your child’s intelligence. South Meriden Trinity United Methodist Church a name that has taken me nine years to commit to memory, is providing a children’s carnival and crafts fair. New Life Church will probably have something going on, but as of this writing, Reverend Will is still seeking divine guidance. We’ve asked the Connecticut Kempo Karate and Fitness Center to return for a demo. The stage will be populated throughout the day with familiar acts like The Connecticut Barbershoppers, Hanover Chorus, and our old friend Dennis from Top of the Key. Sadly, we’ve lost Kelly & Sean to greener pastures, so Dennis might be moved indoors to the firehouse. His fingers will thank us, and the kids will love him. Rudolph and Frosty will be making the rounds, and Nick Grasso and his Accordion could be back this year. Also on Main Street will be balloon animals, a craft tent, children’s games, and two horse drawn carriage hay rides. In the past, the Bookmobile and the Meriden PD’s rolling command post were on display, and we hope to see them back as well.
One of my favorite aspects of the event is the selection of a local charity. We provide them with a space, some promotion, and supplies for luminary bags that they sell for their purposes. This year, we are pleased to support the Platt & Maloney High School “GUS 228” Robotics program. “GUS” (the robot) and this amazingly talented group of students, parents, and volunteers need to raise money to compete in the national robotics championships in Atlanta, Georgia next spring. Their goal is six thousand dollars, so please plan to purchase a luminary bag to help them on their way. We hear so much about sports, but these folks compete just as intensely as any stick and ball sports team. If you want to help them out, contact Artie Dutra for more information at
apdutra3@sbcglobal.net or visit their web site at
www.team228.org .
The headquarters for the event remains at Tom’s Place, which is where the lost and found is located. It is also the location for the House Decorating Contest signup. If you don’t want to sign up, nominate a neighbor who works hard at sharing their holiday spirit. All you have to do is give us the correct address, and we’ll drive by and assess the work. As the event gets closer, visit our web site at
www.southmeridenevents.org and see what’s going on. You should also check this site periodically for updates, and other events throughout the year. In the event of inclement weather, local news organizations are contacted with cancellation information. We don’t expect any problems, but it’s the weather in New England, so we’re always prepared with a plan B. I hope you’ll consider a donation or volunteering at this year’s event. Meetings are every Tuesday evening in November at 5:30, Tom’s Place, 55 Main Street.
We are always in need, and it’s not easy to put on a free event of this magnitude without help. Tough as it is, the effort is always worth it when the faces of the children and the holiday spirit combine to create a village scene that Norman Rockwell would have been proud to paint. So spread a little of your holiday cheer, bring some cash for donations, some canned food for those in need, and wishes of good cheer for your neighbors as we all celebrate the holiday season together in my favorite place on earth. At that time of year, the view from the village is always good.
Thanks for listening. See you at the stage.
While walking along North Street in Tucson, Arizona, on October 21, I chanced to spot a very large black bird perched on top of a pole and Ithought from its size it must be a raven. When it flew down to the street for a drink, I was even more sure. When I got home, I was looking for aphoto of a raven and came across a site that compared the raven to a crow, saying one difference between them is the caw sound of the raven is muchdeeper and throatier than the crow's. The caw of the bird I saw sounded like someone clearing their throat, so I would say it was a raven. I think it was Wikepedia that said it was the smartest of all birds which means it is even smarter than the crow, and was a very special treat for me. As I continued my walk to the grocery store, I preserved this encounter with the following poem: I think I saw a raven while walking to the store. I am not completely sure; it didn't say "Nevermore." But if, indeed, it was, then I can definitely say, I'm glad I saw a raven while on my walk today.
I also wanted to add the following brief quotes paying homage to the beauty of autumnal foliage, not much of which is present in Tucson: Everyone must take time to sit and watch the leaves turn - ElizabethLawrence A fallen leaf is nothing more than a summer's wave goodbye. Autumn arrives, array'd in splendid mien.- Farmers Almanac, 1818 Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting, and autumn a mosaic of them all - Stanley Horowitz Autumn is a second spring where every leaf is a flower - Albert Camus Autumn is a season followed immediately by looking forward to spring.-Anonymous Autumn arrives in the early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day -Elizabeth BowenFrom Nancy Sherburne, Tucson, Arizona
Dear Housewives,
I have lost faith in life and "God". I believe in neither anymore and feel lost searching.
Empty in Wallingford
FLORA: Dear Friend in Wallingford. I hope I have words for you to give you hope in a life and God that can fill you up. First I have to say that if you are suffering from depression call your physician and be totally honest with your feelings. Your doctor can guide you to a therapist and psychiatrist if medication and talk therapy are needed. Depression is treatable. Calling 211 can lead you in the right direction too.
Another direction you can go is up. Lifting your eyes up to the all powerful, can do anything God. You can pray to God and say "I am powerless. I realize I cannot change without your help. Show me Lord and help me change my heart. I ask this in your precious name. Amen".
There are some things that you can try. Go and invest in a Bible. Not just any Bible but an NIV Study Bible. There is a great one by Zondervan Publishers. NIV is short for New International Version which gives you God's word with a contemporary translation.
Some people find that journaling their feelings helps them receive their faith back. Did something happen to you or someone you care about that caused these feelings? Write things out and ask God to help you. You said that you lost faith in God so you had faith at some point. Try the Bible, journaling and prayer. Put God first and things will turn around. It is promised to you. Let us know how you make out. We care.
JUNE: Wow, first of all, thanks Flora for bible time. I felt like I should start clapping as I read your answer. I guess I shouldn't be silly this is a serious matter, especially since our writer sounds truly upset by their feelings.
I am sorry to hear you feel empty but I am not sure purchasing a bible will help that feeling much less reading through it. Without getting into a religious "thing" here I can only say that your life is making you feel this way not belief in God or lack of belief. If you were religious before you may want to speak to your priest or clergyman or head of your church. You may need a doctor to evaluate you in case something chemical is going on. If something traumatic has recently happened you should seek a psychologist or psychiatrist. Maybe even getting away on a small trip for a change of scenery to think about what is important to you may be of help. Please, if you feel dire and like not living at any point get immediate help.
Things will always change and you need to be "around" to see how.
Dear Housewives,
I am a Vegetarian and I am dreading Thanksgiving and what I have to deal with from my family and the dishes they make for me and how they stare at me all dinner to see if I like it. How do I get them to get over it?
Suffering Stuffing in Meriden
JUNE: I won't go on with my opinion on vegetarianism but I will say this--by now everyone in your family knows your choice I am sure. It seems a little hysterical that you feel you have to "deal" with the dishes and staring. There is nothing to deal with it is Thanksgiving and this is what people do; they make dishes and look at each other. Please, bring your own food and have them make you a dish of the veggies and potatoes and cranberry sauce and whatever main part you would make at home to eat, eat it with relatives. Stop stressing about something so silly.
FLORA: Dear Vegetarian, How are you suffering if your family is accommodating you by making you dishes to satisfy your dietary requirements? Before they start to stare at you, why don't you tell them how grateful you are that they made something for you and compliment them. Have you thought about making a bringing a delicious homemade vegetarian dish to share?
JUNE: Don't waste your hummus and thyme if there are no other vegetarians.
Sound Off
FLORA: O.K. folks, Flora had her feathers ruffled this morning. I went to the unnamed cable company in Meriden, CT and politely asked for a copy of the channel guide. I explained to them that I tried going on-line and printing it from home but the file was very big and jammed up our printer. The woman opened a drawer, pulled out a paper and said she needed to make more copies and would return. Eight minutes (I counted after she was taking a while...) later she came out and said that they did not have one. I then said to her " Aren't you the cable company, if anyone would have a channel list, I thought it would be you. and can you explain why you had pages to photo copy and now you tell me you don't have a listing?" She said that she looked closer at the pages and it was not the channel guide. She then said "actually you should go on-line and print it out myself. We don't do this type of thing here". Well, I felt my feathers start to ruffle and there was a rage in my cage.... I took a deep breath and said that I will like to leave here today with my channel guide and reminded her that I did try to print out the guide at home without any luck. A moment later she returned with my guide.
Oof, Flora, sorry you had such a cruddy experience at the old cable company. I have a good sound off. Be ready next month. Glad you got your guide. Seems like a no brainer they should be the ones to give it to you. Duh, right? Way to stick to your guns and make the gal earn her paycheck.
BOOK REVIEW
FLORA: "Half of a Yellow Sun" by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie is an incredible book that takes you to her home land, Nigeria during the 60's and 70's. It tells a tale of the Nigerian-Biafra War. The book centralizes on the lives of three people and how their lives are affected by colonization and the brutality of a civil war. For some reason, I never learned about Africa in school. Sure we learned about Egypt but that was pretty much it. There is so much history in Africa that American children miss out on.
By reading novels like "Half of a yellow Sun" I was drawn into Nigeria and now have a better understanding of the Igbo people, and how they were affected by British colonization and the horrors of their civil war.
JUNE: Okay Flora, I could barely get through the description much less the gazzzillion pages that this book must be. (If it was a full orange sun perhaps.) I also think that American children should finish learning about American issues and history before we move on to a distant continent. Many kids can't answer simple questions about America. Anyway, a book a slightly different speed is a book called "Forensic Files" by Dr. Henry Lee. My friend urged me to read this book which lays out five different forensic cases (Scott Peterson, Michael Peterson (no relation to Scott) and the kidnapped Elizabeth Smart just to name a few. Anyway, this book offers a breakdown of the evidence as well as a mini lesson on blood spatter and crime scene analysis. Easy read and pretty interesting and hey, it is even set in this decade. What a treat, right Flora?!
Zachary Hart 5th Grade
What Thanksgiving means to me... Thanksgiving is about being thankful for life and what we have. It's about getting together with your family and having a nice dinner. It's about remembering all the soldiers who are in Iraq right now, not getting to see their families. It's about being thankful for the world and all it's beautiful places; the galaxy and its solar system and planets. All the sports and people we're all lucky to have. Our countrys, continents, and water. Without these items no one would be alive. We should be thankful for the sun and all its warmth. Imagine if all of these just disappeared.Irina Tsilfoglou 5th GradeThanksgiving Means To Me:Thanksgiving means having family and being surrounded by family. Family is very important. The first Thanksgiving was with the Pilgrims and the Native Americans. So... Thanksgiving should be about being with friends and family. You should be very thankful on Thanksgiving. Be thankful for the food, family and life. Just be thankful for everything you have. So... now be thankful!Gabrielle Hummel 5th gradeWhat Thanksgiving Means to Me:Thanksgiving means to thank God for the food, shelter, family and other things he has given us. In our every day life, we use those things many times a day. Thanksgiving is a day we feast and pray for him. Thanksgiving is also a day to spend with our family.Joshua Glynn 5th Grade
What Thanksgiving Means to Me:
Thanksgiving means a special day that we celebrate by having a feast. Thanksgiving is a day that we say thanks to all the things we are thankful for. The first Thanksgiving was with the Indians and the Pilgrims. The Indians helped the Pilgrims with growing crops such as corn. The most important food at Thanksgiving is a turkey. Lots of different foods that are eaten are corn, fish, turkey, squash, deer meat, cranberry sauce and much more. On Thanksgiving, before anyone eats anything, you are suppossed to say grace. You should be most thankful for shelter, food and clothes. You should also be thankful for anything that is special to you. Other things to be thankful for is your family, your pets, your friends, your teachers and your school.
Dea Acorda 5th GradeThanksgiving means to have thanks to everyone and everything we have. It means thanks for food, thanks for family, thanks for teachers who go and teach you in school. It means thanks for friends who stick up for you when things go wrong. It means thanks for books that take you to placed unknown and thanks for the Earth that gives us everything that we need. It means thanks to the animals that give us some food to eat. Last of All...It means thanks for this paper and pencil so I could write this for you.Sammi Chagnon 4th GradeT hanks to peopleU s givingR espectfulness to everyoneK indness to everyoneE nergy to pass onY ou are a heroS pecial thought to share
Thanksgiving by Marisa Daly 5th gradeT hinking of othersH aving funA n awesome dinnerN o selfishnessK indnessS ecret presentsG ivingI interesting things happenV ery thankfulI 'm thankful for the worldN ice helping to get readyG iving presents to family members
THE WORLD OF THE REVEREND THEOPHILUS HALL, AM
Part 2 of a 3 part series By Ken Cowing
YALE COLLEGE
This first pastor of the church in Meriden was born in Wallingford, April 1, 1707, and was the son of Samuel and Love (Royce) Hall. He was the oldest of six children. Theophilus Gall married Hannah Avery, and they had seven children. One son, Rev. . Avery Hall, was the Pastor of a church in Rochester, New York, and one daughter, Eunice, married the Rev. Andrew Lee of Lisbon, Connecticut.
Theophilus Hall was described as being small of stature and slight of physique. Two hundred and sixty years ago, such a description would have indicated that he was not more than five feet tall, since the height of the average man at that time was less than five feet, five inches. Slight of physique did not mean that a person was weak. In this case, we can assume that Hall had a lean and wiry build that is often identified with New England. He owned farm property, and like most of the men of that time he was no stranger to physical labor. One of his peers described him as having “suavity of temper and dignity of manners combined with the greatest affability!! He was persuaded of the truth of Christianity and was deeply sensible of its importance. Hs was much esteemed as a preacher with great firmness and stability and a zealous advocate for civil and religious liberty.”
His original salary was 50 pounds per annum and firewood. It was raised to 54 pounds and firewood in 1757, and later raised to 70 pounds and firewood. Often problems with the local economy required the community to pay Hall in provisions in lieu of cash. The following rates were set by the bushel: wheat, 4 shillings; rye, 2 shillings; and corn, 2 shillings.
Fortunately he had other means of support. He owned over five hundred acres of land in the Meriden, Southington and Killingworth areas, and he owned most of the land in the area that is now ‘Broad, East Main, Curtis and Liberty Streets. He gave the land to the church which was the site of the second meeting house. The third meeting house that was built in 1830 is in the same area. He also gave the land across the street from the church for the construction of Sabbath houses. (Church service in those days was al all day affair, and the houses were a place to rest and have lunch after a sermon that usually lasted two or three hours.) When the second meeting house was built, he advanced the sum of 150 pounds.
The colonies of New England were close to becoming a complete theocracy – a Bible community. The English colonists had moved to Connecticut from the Massachusetts Colony for freedom of religion – for themselves. Christ’s Church in Meriden Parish of Wallingford was the established church. No other religious services could be held without their permission. In fact, the Meriden church was established only after the Assembly in New Haven gave permission. One of the requirements was permission from the surrounding communities to form a separate religious society. Only church members could vote, own land or hold public office. Everyone was required to support the church regardless of any other religious persuasion. Quakers were not welcome and could be put to death if they practiced their beliefs in public.
Eventually this changed when the Great Awakening swept through the Connecticut Valley. One of the many changes was the separation of church and state. Individual churches gained their own autonomy and ecclesiastical government came to an end. Hall held his congregation together during this controversy. It required strong leadership, an ability to consider both sides of the controversy and a genuine regard for the welfare of his congregation. When a minister was hired by a congregation, he was not accountable to them but to the governing body of the colony. The freedom of the individual began to emerge, and although it was not immediately evident, the effects were far reaching. It eventually led to the independence of the English Colonies from the mother country. Theophilus Hall was in fact the only leader in Meriden at the age of twenty-one.
Rev. Hall was a slave owner as was nearly every minister and a person of affluence in the colonies. It seems to us today, a contradiction for a man of God or any Christian to own slaves. However, the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries were cruel, harsh times, and slavery had been a way of life for hundreds of years.
Theophilus Hall was a man of his time and a member of the establishment. It was understood and accepted that anyone who entered the clergy profession had other means of financial support. As a group, the clergy owned many acres of farmland and depended on slave labor. Existing records show the affluence and land ownership.
The demand for labor in the colonies reached a critical state and slavery was considered the only solution. It was and it precipitated one of the greatest tragedies in our history that has never been completely resolved.
The period during Hall’s lifetime was the end of an era that included severe inhumane punishment for crimes committed against the colony.
Public humiliation and disfigurement were quite common. A person could be flogged at the whipping post on the community green in front of the meeting house. Sitting in the stocks or standing at a pillory be a convicted offender was an invitation to the public to give the offender physical and verbal abuse.
At the main entrance of the meeting house an offender would be forced to sit on the Remittence Stool with a sign hung around his neck indicating his crime. I The first offence as a forger was branded on the thumb with the letter “F”. A third offence as a forger would require that the ear lobe be clipped.
But the practice of slavery remained during Hall’s life. After his death in 1787, the attitude began to change.
It is true that some families treated their slaves with affection and considered them members of the family. They were, but they were still slaves and were considered property. The status of slaves in the family was the same as a household pet.
How can we, today, judge Reverend Hall? Only more knowledge of his attitude towards life in the Eighteenth Century can give us only an idea of what life was like then.
What will someone say about our lifestyles two hundred years from now? As someone once said, “History can be a harsh judge!”
Fifty-four years later, another clergyman assumed the responsibility as pastor of the same church. The story of ‘Reverend George W. Perkins will follow. Slaves again, played a prominent role in the history of this church.
