_The Mutual Admiration Society of Scotch Plains.—My Husband Becomes a
Leader in Local Politics and Activities.—The Passing of the
Mossbacks.—How We Gained a Public Library, a New School-house and a
New Truck-house.—An Overseer of the Poor with Peculiar Methods._
DURING the summer of 1878 we tried the experiment of remaining in New
Jersey. We never repeated it. The heat, especially in the eastern and
inland part of the state, is much greater than that of New England. Miss
Emily Coles, the sister of our landlord, desiring to do something
pleasant for us, arranged a festivity in honor of my birthday. The event
of the evening was the reading of tributes to my various excellent
qualities, real or imaginary. These were neatly written on fancy cards
adorned with pictures. As Miss Coles read each one, she gave the name of
some lady or gentleman present. At first this puzzled me, for the guests
looked very quiet and thoughtful—not in the least enthusiastic over my
virtues. When Miss Coles handed me the basket with the cards the secret
was revealed. She had written all the cards herself—and, in order to
avoid monotony, had attributed the quotations to the Baptist dominie and
the rest of the company. This was a meeting of the Mutual Admiration
Society of the place—which existed, I fancy, chiefly in the fertile
brain of our good friend Miss Coles.
We invited our neighbors to informal entertainments, without any mention
of admiration to be either received or given. The refreshments were
simple and appropriate to a small country place where ice-cream was not
indigenous. Our friends came, and I learned later that people were glad
to have us set an example of simplicity in entertainment.
During our first years in New Jersey I was principally occupied with
household and nursery cares. My husband soon began to interest himself
in the life of the little town. A few years before we came there the
managers of the local railroad (the New Jersey Central) wished to move
it nearer to Scotch Plains. But certain property-owners, thinking they
had the railroad at their mercy, named an unreasonable price for their
land. The managers, finding they could make a better bargain elsewhere,
moved the railroad farther away, leaving Scotch Plains more than a mile
from the new station.
It was governed by a triumvirate who gathered around the stove in the
principal grocery-store. They were all hide-bound conservatives, not to
say moss-backs. Their party—the Democratic—ruled the town. A witty
friend of ours remarked that you could not do anything with a New Jersey
town until the outlanders outnumbered the native inhabitants.
My husband was a Republican of the most ardent type. He was also very
public-spirited and soon became the leader of those who wanted to see
things done in the village. Before long the Democratic majority was
definitely lost and a Republican one took its place.
There was no fire-engine in the town. One of the triumvirate could not
see the necessity of having any. “Insure your house, and if it catches
fire let it burn down.” It did not occur to him that if every one
followed this sweet and simple creed the insurance companies would
become bankrupt.
My husband was made president of the volunteer fire company, and a
campaign for improvement began. The neighboring town of Plainfield was
younger but much larger and more prosperous than our village. Here there
dwelt a hand fire-engine, old and retired, but still capable of
usefulness. Plainfield was persuaded to lend this to us. It was
burnished and polished with enthusiasm, coming out almost like new. Next
a better building was needed to house it and the fire-truck. Men who
could not give money were persuaded to give labor, and before long we
had a good building, with a large hall capable of holding half the
village on ceremonial occasions. True, it housed the engine and
truck—but these could be wheeled out of doors in a trice and brought
back at the close of a performance. Many were the amateur theatricals
and the church fairs held in that truck-house, for the town had sadly
needed such a hall.
It also needed a public library. My husband determined to found one that
should last. Mr. Andrew Carnegie had not yet become the sponsor of such
institutions; outside of New England, they were apt to fade away and
die.
Mr. Hall’s first step was to get a law passed by the Legislature making
one thousand dollars sufficient endowment for a free library. A large
part of this sum was raised by Miss Mary N. Mead, a lovely and unselfish
young woman living near the village with her sister, Mrs. Augustus D.
Shepard. Another sister was the wife of William Dean Howells. Miss
Mead’s enthusiasm and personal charm enabled her to raise money where
other people failed. She knew the funds were there, though to get them
out resembled the task of Moses when he drew water from the rock.
In the new building of the fire company were several upper rooms used
for their occasional meetings. Mr. Hall had the brilliant idea of
installing the library here, at a nominal rent of one dollar a year, the
trustees to carpet and furnish the rooms as a _quid pro quo_. The fire
company generously entered into the plan, and the library was formally
opened with amateur theatricals by the school children of the village.
We had discovered, early in our residence in Scotch Plains, that the way
to reach the parents was through their boys and girls. I wrote the
little play which went off very successfully. The library was proudly
thrown open for the inspection of the public. Magazines were provided
for the reading-room, with games in the small rooms set apart for the
children.
Among the obstacles we had to encounter was the opposition of a worthy
lady who disapproved of public libraries because she feared some of the
books might be objectionable. She had a long talk with my mother and me
in which she freed her mind as to the iniquity of the theater, and
expressed her grave doubts about the proposed library. “The works of
Swedenborg might be placed there,” she declared! I doubt whether she had
ever read any of the works of the famous mystic, but she fancied
something must be wrong with him. She doubtless knew that his writings
are sent free to any library desiring them.
The library once established, she sent tracts to it, but these Mr. Hall
firmly refused to place on the tables.
In selecting the trustees he took great pains that all cliques and sets
of the little place should be represented, no one being given an
overwhelming preponderance. He drew up the constitution making the
governing body a close corporation, with the thought of perpetuating
this balance of parties.
The little library had distinguished friends. Mr. Howells sent boxes of
books from time to time, while Mrs. Elliott F. Shepard, sister-in-law of
_our_ Mr. Shepard (Augustus D.), contributed liberally. But, best of
all, the people of the village, both rich and poor, became interested in
it, and adopted it as their own. Many were the fairs given to raise
money for it. It has passed through various vicissitudes, but was still
living and flourishing at last accounts.
I have said that my husband served as trustee of the public library,
president of the truck (fire) company, overseer of the poor and
vestryman of All Souls’ Church. He was soon called upon to fill so many
honorable but unremunerative offices that we called him “Pooh Bah.” Thus
he became a school trustee and a member of the town committee of three.
The affairs of the village were managed by this body. The school-house
had grown old in service, so that a new one was badly needed. Between
the floors lived rats, for which the boys fished through the cracks.
As our sons attended this school in their early years, we sadly realized
its deficiencies. My husband determined that there should be a new one.
The people of means in the village sent their children to private
schools elsewhere; some had none to send. Hence most of them were
inclined to oppose the erection of a new building, as it would increase
their taxes without being of any personal benefit to them. The moss-back
faction murmured mechanically their shibboleth, “What was good enough
for our fathers is good enough for us.” The project was at first
defeated. Then my husband “got mad” and made things move.
A law had recently been enacted in New Jersey empowering women to vote
at school meetings. Mr. Hall determined to fall back on this, should
other means fail. On the fateful evening a number of women were gathered
in our parlors, ready to march over to the neighboring school-house and
vote, should our ballots be needed. A pretty young married woman said,
“Oh, I’m so afraid!” I myself was not at all frightened, neither do I
think the others were.
After a time my husband entered, triumphant! He and his friends had
carried the day—the new school-house was won and our votes had not been
needed. He had a wonderful power of enthusiasm which, combined with hard
work, enabled him to carry out many projects.
The little town of Scotch Plains won not only a new, but a beautiful
school building. Through the good offices of Mr. Augustus D. Shepard,
brother-in-law of William Rutherford Mead, the firm of McKim, Mead &
White consented to erect this at a low price. My husband and the other
trustees gave the most careful attention to all the details, in order
that the school might be as convenient, yet as inexpensive, as possible.
I believe he enjoyed the laying of every brick!
Since we women had not actually attended the meeting which decided the
fate of the school-house, it was thought well that our initial entrance
upon the educational and political arena should be at an election that
did not promise to stir up excitement. Accordingly three or four of us
attended the meeting in March of the following year and voted peaceably
on all questions.
A magic change took place on that day! At previous school meetings
peanut shells and other débris had been scattered about the floor, and
the electors had mistaken the ink-wells in the children’s desks for
cuspidors! It had always been necessary to close the school for a day in
order to clear up after the “illicthors.” Behold, on the coming of the
women neatness and order reigned. Next day school kept as usual.
The overseer of the poor in our little village was in his private
capacity a landlord. A certain family failing to pay their rent, he
turned them out of doors in the middle of winter. They camped out on a
piazza until they could find other quarters. My husband was so indignant
that at the next election he ran for the office, and was duly elected.
Quite a little work but no salary was attached to it. The four dollars
which he received were presumably for expenses.
His friends amused themselves with guying the new overseer of the poor
by sending tramps to call on him. I remember only one real pauper with
whom he had to deal—a respectable old woman no longer able to maintain
herself. There was outside aid to be given, notably to the family of a
man in jail.
At the instigation of the owner, a woman, he had set fire to her house,
and was caught in the act. When the trial came she had her children in
court, and was let off. S—— had children, also, but they were at home.
Hence he was sent to prison. He no doubt deserved it, but, as the civil
authorities made no provision for the maintenance of his family, they
had a hard time to get along. We realized the terrible injustice of
taking away the breadwinner and expecting his wretched wife and children
to care for themselves without outside assistance.
There were, when we came to Scotch Plains, a Baptist and a Methodist
church, and a struggling little Episcopal mission. My husband and I
decided to throw in our fortunes with the last named. We liked the
clergyman in charge, Rev. Charles L. Sykes, very much, and we both had a
tendency to take the part of the under dog. Mr. Sykes’ talents qualified
him to occupy a more important position, but clergyman’s sore throat
obliged him to choose a small cure. He was one of the most devout men
that I have ever known. He did not read nor recite prayers, like most
ministers. When he prayed we felt that his soul was lifted up to God.
His wife was a woman of ability, cheery and courageous; we soon became
great friends.
When the mission services were temporarily discontinued, we invited Mr.
Sykes to deliver a series of parlor lectures. Miss Mead and I arranged
the course, our friends and neighbors subscribing and giving their
parlors. We were only able to give a small fee for the talks, but Mr.
and Mrs. Sykes were so fond of literature that the preparation of the
lectures was a labor of love. By and by a pretty little stone church was
built for the mission. Unfortunately, the expense of the building was
greater than the small congregation could afford, and for years there
was a desperate struggle with a debt, which was finally paid off. My
husband was too wise to advise this injudicious outlay, but he served
for some years as a vestryman.
The sister who had been my mate and dear companion from early childhood,
Julia Romana Anagnos, died of typhoid fever in March, 1886.
The Metaphysical Club, of which she was the founder and president,
published a little volume containing the tributes to her memory. The
following verses are by Dr. T. W. Parsons.