Every year, the memories of World War II – its sights, sounds, horrors and triumphs – and the people who fought its battles, we’ve come to call them “the greatest generation” — are disappearing. Sadly, this past year, Hampton’s last two World War II veterans have died – Clarence Thornton at 102 and Tom Gaines at 99.

The Memorial Day Committee thought it would be fitting this Memorial Day, as a somber nod to the memory of all of Hampton’s World War II veterans, to recall the words of our lost warriors — their letters home, their shared memories in speeches and in interviews. Some of these words, like the human spirit, are light and humorous, but others, like the terrors of war, are hard to hear. We hope you will stay and listen as our readers who have some connection to the words they will read share these deeply personal words of a generation that is quickly fading into the past.

Bert Vallaincourt: I saw all the army trucks all lined up along Main Street, they were all parked. In those days they didn’t have radios like they do now. Today if an important person coughs it’s on the news. So I’m going by Elm Street and this man comes out and he’s in the army; he came out with his duffle bag, and he said, “the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor – we’re at war now.”

Sidney Marland: My own special memories flow swiftly back to Roscoe Staples who took a Japanese bullet in the forehead, not at arm’s length from me. As he fell he said, “Get down, Sid, they have the range on us.” I think of Duke Slager, whom I had asked to guide a platoon of tanks through an infantry company pinned down by enemy fire. Duke accomplished this mission, but they brought his body back on a litter. Time has erased the period of mourning now, and we celebrate their memory and their sacrifice with profound respect and honor. Those whom we honor today did not choose to die in battle, but they knew – we all knew – that was a possibility.

Charlie Halbach: Serving in the military had its good points; we learned to rely on one another, and we developed a camaraderie. We would, as some people say, “walk the extra mile.” I experienced all that and more in the 25 months I was in the military.

Richard Schenk: On the Moselle River, I watched army engineers trying to put up a pontoon bridge for us to cross. They became easy targets as the pontoons extended out into the water. Murderous shellfire would seek out and find them. We watched their bodies float down the river. New men came and took their place. This scene was repeated over and over until the bridge reached the other shore. What gave these men the strength and courage to take their fellow soldier’s place immediately after seeing him killed? It was, of course, because he could not forget what his comrade was trying to accomplish. To forget would have meant that his comrade’s efforts were in vain.

Clarence Thornton: My most memorable moment in France was when I met my brother there. I was hauling supplies to the beach where troops were arriving from Ireland. Even at a distance, I knew that walk. I caught up with them, and sure enough, it was my brother who was just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. I asked if he needed anything and he said – bullets, so I took my own gun, removed all of the bullets, and gave them all to him.

Kurt Koennicke: I enjoyed the trip over here a lot. Most of the fellows were sick, but I wasn’t. The more it rocked, the more I liked it. But the food was terrible! It looks nice here in England, but that’s where it stops. Most everything is rationed here, including cigarettes and razor blades.

Charlie Pike: Off the Philippines, my ship got torpedoed. We was 12 hours out to sea, got hit, pretty near sunk the ship. It took three days to get back to shore. I got wounded, but didn’t report it. There was a hatch sticking out of the steel wall, I was standin’ right next to it. That wall blew in and hit my arm and stuck that hatch right in my arm. It was only short but made a big hole in my arm. I pulled it out, put on a bandage. You can still feel the shrapnel in there.

Dr. Woodworth: During a brief respite from the fear and noise and wounding and dying, I was standing in the shade of a mimosa tree, spellbound by the fragrance of the yellow flowers and the cool shade in the brilliant sunshine. That night, by candlelight in my dugout, I wrote my requiem for these dead. I offer that poem of forty years ago as my tribute to the men of my unit who died.
Under the mimosa I stand
And count the leaves of the twig in my hand.
and shadows dance upon the ground
where late my comrades fell around.
Under the mimosa I hear
Their voices murmur sweet and clear
“We fought but did not wish to die”.
Under the mimosa, still, they lie.

Barney Pawlikowski: We didn’t get back to camp until eight-thirty last night. We don’t have any lights so I couldn’t write to you. We’ve been on the move so much our mail is all messed up. Perhaps we’ll stay here long enough for it to catch up to us. Well it’s getting so dark I’ll have to close. Give my love to the folks. I love you dearly and I miss you.

Steven Neborsky: I finally bought the bicycle I was planning to buy. I paid 7 lbs. for it, which would be $28. That’s probably too much money, but, boy, I can tell you it is much better than walking to the nearby town or city. The other night the Sergeant and I went to the movies in town and saw a good cowboy picture. In the newsreel they said something about New London, Connecticut, and boy, I nearly fell through the seat! I really was surprised to hear something about one of the cities near home all the way over here. Boy, oh boy!

Bob Jones: I flew a B-24 and was shot down on my tenth mission during a raid on the Polesti Oil Field in Romania on July 26, 1944. I bailed out and was hit on the head and was knocked out. I came to falling and pulled my chute. I had a backpack on, and I kind of passed out again but it jerked me and it really woke me up and I didn’t know what had happened and I looked up and saw the canopy above me and then I knew that the chute had opened and that I was ok. I was captured when I hit the ground. I spent a couple of days in a prison at a German airfield and then was put on a train and taken to a town by the name of Obaruzel outside of Frankfurt. And interrogated for four days. All you gave them was the name, rank and serial number. I also gave them my mother’s name and my religion, and that was it. I was sent to a transient camp and then to Stahlig Luf 1 in Barth, Germany. You’re in a room with 24 men. The room was only 12 x 12. That’s where we stayed for ten months until we were liberated. Sometimes you thought you’d be there forever.

Albert Schimmelpfennig: We moved to McAlester Prisoner of War Camp. German prisoners from Africa. They couldn’t feed and take care of them there so they brought them into McAlester. We had 5000 prisoners there. This one day, we were all caught up on our work, so the Company Commander come up to us and says, “Well, boys, here’s passes, go to town.” So we went to town and we asked some of the people there where the best place to eat was and they said, “The Central Café.” So we all went to the Central Café and when I went through the door, Laura was comin’ out of the kitchen with a tray on her hand. I fell in love with her right away and she did with me, too.

Mario Fiondella: My age prevented me from seeing active combat, but I enlisted in the Army as soon as I was old enough, stationed in Japan during the Period of Occupation. It was the thing to do. Young fellows were expected to serve. Nevertheless, my parents, who had emigrated to the U.S. from Italy, were not happy with my decision. All six of their sons served in various capacities in World War II.

Henry Moon: What are you thinking of as you watch the little town’s parade go passing by with little military precision and the hustle of children trying to keep up with their longer-legged elders? Most people may deny it, but deep down inside of each person, there is a pride… As long as there are little parades like ours, scattered throughout the country, I feel that these little cornerstones of rural independence and strength, will keep our country moving forward to a greater future.

Arthur Osborne: I still remember being part of the war in Europe, the struggles, the mud and cold, the fearfulness, the longing for home, my buddies being brought in wounded and dying, not ever knowing what was coming next. And then the good news, Japan had surrendered! Our ship was turned around and put into Newport News, Virginia. What a welcome we received! All over the country people were rejoicing. How I wish that our boys coming back from Vietnam could have received a welcome like we had.

Tom Gaines: In my lifetime, US troops have served courageously in five wars. In every case we can be proud of the way our soldiers conducted themselves. But this is one veteran who is not satisfied to pass another Memorial Day helplessly grieving, helplessly mourning, helplessly bemoaning our inability to stop the insane warring of people upon one another….On this Memorial Day, let us honor our soldiers by beginning the long rethinking process that will ultimately lead to universal peace.

Wendell Davis: I see an airplane streaking across the sky, with first a thin trail of smoke, and then a thicker, denser tail and 10,000 men looking up, waiting for the pilot to eject and the chute to blossom against the sky, but no ejection comes and the nose goes down and a ball of flame marks the spot where the plane hits the beach at 300 miles an hour. I see a pile of dead men, stacked like cord wood, waiting for the graves registration unit to clip their dog tags before burial. I see the charred and twisted remains of an enemy killed by a flame-thrower. I see a mine-sweeper, lifted half out of the water, breaking up as much in the air as in the sea, and fifteen seconds later nothing but a pitifully small number of men swimming for their lives. I smell the stench of rotting flesh on a tropical beach. I see a young sailor sewed up in a length of new white canvas, slipped gently over the side, starting his trip to the bottom one mile down. I hear voices talking, killing the tedium, of the long night watch. These were voices always full of hope, dreams of the future, plans, full of excitement, voices of young Americans, “when I get home”.

Arthur Pearl: Hope you are fine. I am so far. Went swimming this morning and was the water good and warm in Italy! I go to a show now and then. I’ll have plenty to tell when I get home, which I hope won’t be too long. Boy, will it be good to get back home again!

This letter was sent from Lt. Colonel Ernest Loew from the European Theatre of Operations to his soon to be wife Army Cadet Nurse Eva Jacobsohn, stationed at Fort Custer, Michigan. He had just turned 26, and she had just turned 24. Both were German Jewish refugees who joined the U. S. Military shortly after their arrival in the United States: 5 July, 1945. Somewhere in Germany: Today we buried the dead that we found in the concentration camp right outside the town. We buried them in the public square of the town, opposite the castle of the Grandduke, and the whole population as well as the captured German Generals and higher ranking officers had to attend. But before I go into details I would like to tell you a few words about the concentration camp. We found it outside of the town, alongside the road, in a wood clearing. It is just a small camp, with about ten buildings behind the usual barbed wire, and it housed 2000-3000 slave laborers. The most horrible one I have ever seen. The place was filthy and smelled of decay, of dead bodies and found turnips; gnawed on turnips were lying around on the barracks floors, in addition to their filth and the dead bodies of the inmates. You found them all over the place; piled up head to feet; in the latrine, in the so called wash room, in the barrack corners. Two hundred of them lay there, unburied, simply starved to death. Their limbs, partly fallen off their bodies already, were as thin as sticks. It was a repulsing, sickening sight. Their bodies were shrunk, only bones and skin. And over a thousand more bodies were being dug out of mass graves by the German population right then while I was up there. But six kilometers away were people living in a town as good as you can imagine, a bit rationed, but not suffering, in nice houses, with dogs and cats that had to be fed, and with good clothes to wear. I found several survivors in the camp yet, and talked to them. They still wore their striped suits, they looked more dead than alive, and their faces, regardless of age, looked old. They showed me their numbers which were tattooed to their arms, they told me of their sufferings, and even if they had not done so, the sight out there talked louder than these people could. I don’t want to tell you anymore. It is one dirt spot in the history of Germany which will never be washed off….Thus were buried 200 human beings, Dutch, French, Poles, Russians, and Jews, buried by their former oppressors and by the liberating Americans, who had come too late for them in the middle of a German town.

Leslie Jewett: Though we do not have his words, his service speaks precisely to what it is we are commemorating. Hampton’s only casualty of World War II, Leslie Jewett, whose ancestors were one of the town’s founding families, enlisted in the Army when he was 21, and died on D-Day, June 6, 1944, on Omaha Beach in Normandy, leaving behind his parents, a sister, his wife, and a son he never met. Our eternal gratitude to him, and to all of those who served our country from the Greatest Generation.

Thumbs Up to Memorial Day, 2023:
to the parade participants – the color guard and other dignitaries, the band and the floats, the scouts and the school children, the horses and the tractors, the fire trucks and the antique vehicles, all forming a procession representing small town, rural life;
to the Congregational Church for preparing a delicious breakfast;
to the Hampton General Store for providing popcorn;
to the Gazette for another fabulous barbecue;
to the “Barstool Diplomats” who entertained picnickers in the pavilion;
to the Historical Society for opening its new exhibit in the barn;
to the Naval Ceremony at the Little River;
and to the ceremony at Town Hall, those who prayed with us, those who sang for us, those who recognized our veterans, past and present, and especially those World War II veterans, whose words were compiled by our Editor, and read by family members and neighbors: Allan Cahill, Renee Cuprak, Mark Davis, Dale Demontigny, Al Freeman, Andrea Gaines, Bob Grindle, Dave Halbach, Maggie Jones, Connor Loew, June Miller, Mary Oliver, Rich Schenk, Amy Thornton, Gay Wagner.

Many, many of those present remarked that this was the most moving of Memorial Day Addresses – indeed, it was the first time “you could have heard a pin drop” — for the power of the words, read with the reverence they deserved.

Thank you to all.

Complaints have been filed with the Freedom of Information Commission against the Hampton Elementary School Board of Education regarding their conduct during a June 21 Special Meeting. The complaint alleges, and the minutes confirm, that the school board voted on three matters not included on the agenda of the special meeting, which listed only “Discussion on Future Planning”. These included a vote to approve a three month leave of absence for Superintendent Samantha Sarli; a vote to hire an interim superintendent for a rate of $1000 a week to fill the two-day position Sarli currently holds; and to approve a starting salary of $110,000 for a new principal, $7000 more than the salary of the retiring principal, Sam Roberson, who spent the last seven of her 38 year career at Hampton Elementary serving as the school’s principal. Roberson’s ending salary was $103,049.

According to the Freedom of Information Act, while additions to the agenda are allowed in regularly scheduled monthly meetings, only the items listed on an agenda can be discussed at a special meeting, which must state the date, time, location and the specific purpose. Additionally, the complaint alleges that the agenda item for executive session, “personnel matter”, lacks the specificity the FOI Act requires so that the public, though not permitted in a closed executive session, is aware of its purpose. “The school board forgets that agendas are posted for the public’s benefit”, the complaint states.

A second complaint, filed earlier this year with the Commission of Human Rights and Opportunities by the former secretary alleging discrimination in the school, was filed shortly after her dismissal the day before Thanksgiving last year. According to the complainant, that factor evinced a showing of malice. Equally problematic were false claims by school officials regarding due process rights, the board’s hiring of a non-minority person to replace a person of color at a significantly higher rate, and the fact that two school board members were named to testify as witnesses for the former secretary.

One of those members, Juan Arriola, reported that when he was first apprised of racial issues in the school, he requested that the Minority Recruitment Committee, which never actually convened as it lacked a charge, be changed to Minority Recruitment and Retention, a decision unanimously approved by the board. However, when the charge for the committee was finally drafted, Arriola objected in that not a single item mentioned the issue of retention, which he claimed, from past examples as well as the current situation, was the problem. This objection led to Arriola’s dismissal from the committee by Chairman Rose Bisson. Additionally, Superintendent Frank Olah’s commitment to meetings with the NAACP and school officials were never scheduled either. Sarli replaced Olah last August.

“It is not so much what we have in this life that matters. It’s what we do with what we have.” ~Mr. Rogers

As we wrap up our Baby Boomers and Beyond series where we have addressed: mind, body, health, exercise, community resources, Blue Zones and lifestyle choices and more, we wanted to leave you with some Boomer cultural “blasts from the past.” We are the generation born between the end of World War Il (1946) and the mid-1960’s. We are considered the “pig in the python”—referring to the population bulge as it moves through life’s stages. We were a huge population explosion! Yup, all 76.4 million of us! Previous generations were happy to blend in, to “fit in”, Boomers wanted to stand out. We began the movement towards individuality and uniqueness, and instilled these values in our children and grandchildren. We were the first consumer generation. We grew up in the television age watching mass media emerge and embracing cultural change—Elvis, Jimi Hendrix, Beatles, Joni Mitchell and others. We listened to blues, soul, folk music and it was the advent of the electric guitar that really kicked off the musical revolution!

How did we change society? Here are some of those things that wouldn’t exist without baby boomers, proving we made the world a better place: We made driving safer; we immortalized road trips and travel in general; we pioneered rock ‘n’ roll; we invented the internet; we created personal computers; we ushered in the era of screen time; we launched Saturday Night Live; we turned movies into cultural events; we took volunteering to new heights; we stood up for LGBTQ rights; we fought for gender equality; we protested war; we kickstarted environmental activism; we made waves in forensic analysis; we ended the Cold War; we reduced the stigma around divorce; and we increased life expectancy.

We are a unique generation that was molded during a time of radical changes in U.S. culture. Our culture was one of consumerism. On one hand, boomers were a generation that was experiencing wealth and an influx of gadgets like never before. On the other hand, we lived under the shadow of the Cold War. How many of you remember the mock air raid drills ducking under our desks in case of a nuclear attack? And who had a bomb shelter?

If you are not a baby boomer, it might help you understand the drives and motivations of this generation a little better. Boomer attitudes and behaviors go well below the surface. What an exciting and tumultuous time!

Have a safe summer!
Be well,

Andrea Kaye and Peggy McKleroy, Co-chairs of the Hampton Seniors Vision’s Committee

A special thank you to Andrea and Peggy for their contribution of “Baby Boomers and Beyond”. Entertaining and enlightening, the column provided us with various and great information for the last few years. And what a dynamic ending to this column! Reminding younger generations — as we, the “baby boomers”, honor our predecessors, “the greatest generation”, in this very issue — of our various and valuable contributions. Thank you, Andrea and Peggy.

Incorporated in 1929, Hampton Fire Company is one of the few remaining All-Volunteer companies in Connecticut. The company has six response vehicles and 35 active members. Of the members, six are certified for internal fire fighting and nine are EMS certified. There are 11 certified to operate the three operational fire trucks. Most others are certified to operate the service vehicles (utility truck w/trailer and the gator).

For the calendar year 2022 the Hampton Fire Company responded to a total of 231 emergency dispatches, representing a 25 percent increase in dispatches over the previous year. These included 122 medical calls (89 in 2021), eight structure fires (four in 2021), 40 fire calls of other nature (five in 2021) and 38 vehicle accidents (19 in 2021). Other dispatches included such things as tree and wires down, response to medical and smoke/CO alarms, mutual aid to other towns, etc.

Officers are elected by the membership for two-year terms. Officers for the current period are:
President: Dave DeMontigny
Vice President: Rebecca McCollum
Secretary: Emily Waite
Treasurer: Dale DeMontigny
Chief: Richard Schenk
Deputy Chief: James Kilburn
Assistant Chief: Jeff Stoddard
Captains: Noel Waite and Mike Barnard
Lieutenants: Kathy Artz, Ben Waite & Justin McCollum
EMS officers: Captain: Rick Nichols & Lieutenant Stacy Gendreau

Changing demographics, work situations, and a mobile population has had a negative impact on volunteerism across the country. So far, not in Hampton . Hampton Fire Company has, so far, been able to maintain its all-volunteer status, increase its membership and have some level of response to 99% of calls. Most of the members who are able to respond during the daytime hours are over sixty and retired and to one degree or another have limits on what they are physically able to do. Rick Nichols was honored as Hampton’s top responder for the year 2022.

For Hampton Fire Company to continue into the future as an all-volunteer company a continuing infusion of young blood is required. There is always a job for you. It’s not all about running into burning buildings; it’s about community; it’s about service; it’s about family, friendship and your neighbors. It’s about making a difference.

The monthly member meeting takes place on the first Wednesday of the month at 7:30PM. Training sessions are held on the second and fourth Wednesdays at 7PM. Company officers’ meeting is held on the third Wednesday of the month at 7:30PM. Other members are encouraged to come to the station on those evenings to do service checks on small equipment.

During May 2023, members responded to 17 emergency dispatches. One-hundred-thirty-three man hours were logged on dispatch. Ninety + man hours were logged on training. To date for 2023, members have responded to 87 emergency dispatches.

Fire House Dog

Town historian Bob Burgoyne’s 2002-2003 series “This Old Hill” describes a “street that was nearly barren” when the meeting house was built in 1723, with an inn, and no more than two or three homes. Subsequently, the hill experienced three periods of development: 1750 – 1760, 1815 – 1820, and 1830 – 1835. An impressive history accompanies this growth. Two houses served as a governor’s residence, two were captain’s houses, two were the subjects of books, one was the birthplace of a famous artist, a few served as doctor’s offices, a few as stores, one as a hospital, two as parsonages, one as a library, another as a cooking school, a bed and breakfast, an inn, and a hotel.

The house facing south at the top of Hammond Hill was the original parsonage for the first minister, William Billings, who served from 1723 to 1733, and the second, Reverend Samuel Moseley. Billings’ estate in 1733 lists a “Farm & House” for 600 pounds, along with the following items and their worth: clothes, books, horse, stock, furniture, cloth, yarn, flax, bedding, brass, pewter, iron, and an Indian Girl. It’s possible, Burgoyne opined, that the pre-1733 portion is the northern part of two structures on independent foundations. With its later construction, this mansion is one of the most impressive on Main Street.

The structure known as the “Chelsea Inn” was one of the first structures on the street and the first of the town’s inns. In Folklore and Firesides, Susan Jewett Griggs suggests that this “public house” was established prior to 1731 due to references of “inebriated brethren” who were “brought before the Church” after indulging in “strong drink” served “on the highway”. Clark’s journal reports that when the meeting house was rebuilt in 1754, the original structure was moved across the street to continue to serve as an inn for the next 70 years. This older building was torn down in 1824 and rebuilt to look far differently than the original and current structure, and would continue to serve visitors for over 100 years. The tiny structure next to it was a tea house called “the Nutshell”.

It was not uncommon for buildings to be pulled by oxen across frozen fields to new locations. Such was the case with the second village house, built prior to 1738 on Parsonage Road, and transported to its present site on the corner of Main Street and Cedar Swamp Road. Similarly, the house which was the birthplace of the famous deaf and mute portrait artist, John Brewster , Jr., built prior to the 1759 survey of the road, was situated too far into the right-of-way, and was transported in 1830 to its present location at 227 Main Street. The house on the northern corner of Main Street and Old Route 6 West bears little resemblance to its 1761 beginnings. The 1830 remodeling in the American Empire style, complete with stately pillars and ornate cornices, was accomplished when Governor Chauncey Cleveland resided there.

Thomas Steadman Jr., who in 1754 replaced the original meeting house with the current structure, built the home north of the Congregational Church in 1790. The Taintor residence was the subject of the New York Times best-selling All Our Yesterdays, A Century of Family Life in an American Small Town, published by owners and authors Jim and Janet Robertson in 1993. The house north of that was probably also built by Steadman in 1791 for his sister, Patience, and her husband, Captain Daniel Fuller, a “town house” for the wealthy land owner whose farm extended to Edwards Road. In 1798, Steadman would give his son, Griffen, a half an acre parcel containing a new dwelling. This included the small plot where the General Store is still sited, the first version built in 1821, and the apartment house next to it, which we call the “Guild House” for the owner, from 1890 to 1915, who, though not a physician, was apparently adept at caring for patients, as the 1798 dwelling served as a sort of hospital or nursing home.

Another famed builder, Jonathan Clark, surveyor and abolitionist, built the Captain Tweedy home in 1801, and in 1820, the next house north, where Brewster’s sister Betsey and her husband Joseph Prentis lived. In spite of the twenty years between them, “an observer with an eye for detail can readily see that the Tweedy house and the Prentis house are the work of the same artisan,” Burgoyne noted.

In between the building of these grand structures, there was much construction in the village. Clark built the house at 289 Main Street, still called “The Misses Pearls”, in 1814. Prior deeds show this parcel “with a blacksmith shop standing in the highway”. The blacksmith shop disappears from these deeds, yet its positioning, south east of the property, suggests that when it was necessarily moved from the middle of the road, it became part of the property across the street at 276 Main. Clark’s 1858 survey identifies this turn-of-the-century structure as C. C. Button’s grain pantry, noting a wagon shop and another small shop which might have been the original blacksmith’s. Years later this house would know another commercial enterprise, “Martha’s Herbery”.

The house at 268 Main Street dates to 1815, the residence of prominent citizen Charles C. Button, proprietor of the inn and a harness business. One hundred years later it would be purchased with funds raised by the Ladies Aid Society for use as a parsonage for the Congregational Church. The house north of the post office, referred to as “The Silas Tiffany Store”, is the only structure Burgoyne coined “the one that got away” for the difficulty of dating the current residence, which architecturally presents as 1820-1830 on a site which contains, on Clark’s 1858 map, three small structures identified as the Silas Tiffany house, his store, and the Town Hall.

Whether or not the original house identified as Thomas Steadman’s in an 1809 survey, on the southern corner of Old Route 6 East and Main Street, is at all included in the current residence is unclear. In 1833, Governor Cleveland built the house Burgoyne describes as “a temple…the myriad of architectural motifs, piled detail upon detail…the windows with elaborately molded trim and corner blocks…the front entry with its six panel grain painted door sunken deeply into the pedimented and pillared portico… elliptical panes with protruding rosettes at the joinery and elaborate carved wood encasing the panes.” The house has historical as well as architectural significance. Hampton was the State capital twice while Cleveland was Governor when, from his “Executive Office in Hampton” he issued a message to the legislature on May 4, 1843, and a Thanksgiving Proclamation on October 16, 1843.

Cleveland’s subdivisions of the east side of the road led to the last period of development. The first of these, the house at 236 Main Street, two structures architecturally distinct, the older portion on a stone foundation, the newer section on brick, became Dr. Marsh’s house and office. The house north of it was probably built, or moved to the site, shortly after the land transfers of 1830, and the house on the corner of Main Street and East Old Route 6, south of the store, was probably built shortly after the 1835 purchase of the lot. The house north of the Guild House, also an apartment house now, was built between 1836 and 1846, the features which distinguish it, the floor-to-ceiling fenestration and wraparound porch are Victorian modifications. The only other house on Main Street during this period was the one at 223, a dwelling listed in an 1838 deed, known as “the Stones” throughout the 20th century, and during the Depression” The Connecticut Yankee Tourist Home”. In Alison Davis’ Hampton Remembers, Harold Stone recalled, The first guests just dropped in, you might say. They stopped and asked to spend the night and so we put them up. And then the very next night a couple stopped and we told ‘em the sheets were all used but they said “couldn’t you just turn ‘em over and please let us stay?” So finally we did – and that was the beginning. At that time we didn’t have any bathroom, just the outhouse, and no running hot and cold water. So pretty soon we had the bathroom and running hot and cold water in the kitchen and then we needed a washer for all the sheets. And then the guests wanted to eat here so we had to get refrigeration. We got a lot of conveniences sooner than we would have if we hadn’t had to get ‘em for the guests.

This is one of many examples of Hampton’s hospitality, which served from the late 1800’s to the mid 1900’s as a summer colony for visitors. The Italianate house built in 1865 on the north corner of Main Street and Cedar Swamp Road would be donated to the town for a public library, serving in that capacity since 1924. The house at 245 Main Street, built in 1869 and later to become a cooking school, was originally a summer guest house for “ladies only” and a boarding house for women who worked at the inn. The mansion on the corner of Hammond Hill and Main Street, built in 1897 as a hotel called “Prospect House”, was originally an annex to the existing Chelsea Inn. In Hampton Remembers Bertha Burnham recalled, At that time there was the inn with all the long porches along the front, upstairs and down, and the barn in back and the little building next to the inn called “The Nutshell” and then of course the large Prospect House which was the annex.

It’s difficult to imagine the village as we walk through its development, envisioning the homes in their original forms. Imagine also that there were two roads in the town’s center, the existing street and another to the east, with a town green in between, lined with elms. The blight killed the elms, and though the highway eventually eliminated the lower road, it became a foot path, still visible in some of the paving. Many of us remember when the path, whether stones or worn dirt, stretched across every lawn from the Silas Tiffany Store to the Prospect House. Evenings people would walk along the foot path and visit for a spell on their neighbors’ porches, with a view of a picture-perfect post card of a New England village respecting its past.

Dayna McDermott

Across from the church was the Chelsea Inn run by Anna Burnham. In the summertime there were a few steady boarders who came out from the city and spent the summer. At noon time Mrs. Burnham walked up and down the pathway ringing a hand bell to call the guests back from where ever they might be visiting. My brothers and I were told that this was the time for us to come home also. There’s lots of history associated with the inn. A British spy caught just before the revolution was forced to “run the gauntlet” between the church and the inn. As he passed between the two, lines of town folks were entitled to take a swing at him. Not fatal, but not pleasant. The building was considerably larger than at present… On the second floor there was a ballroom with a barrel-vaulted ceiling and was the scene of dancing and partying…In the past the Chelsea Inn must have known success…The business outgrew the structure and the Prospect House was constructed as an annex.

There was an organization known either as “The Side Walk Society” or “The Village Improvement Society” which took it upon itself to make a gravel path from the top of Hammond Hill to…south of the post office. This ran along the east side of the street. A few of us remember being drafted to weed the walk, which was done under protest.

Wendell Davis

What Happened to the Town Triangle?
Revamp? Decimation? Beautification?
*All of the above? Or none of the above?
*Maybe a bit of both?

When our family volunteered to maintain the flowerbed on Main Street and East Old Route 6 we got a bit more than we bargained for/bit off more than we could chew/grabbed a handful of thorns instead of roses (choose your favorite cliché).

Last fall we received permission to weed the area and with gloves and shovels we tackled it with a vengeance. The myriad of weeds, morning glory and unbeknownst and unrecognized by us – poison sumac were mostly eliminated. I was spared, my wife was not. A miserable itching, swelling, oozing and sleepless nights over the next two weeks ensued, until a doctor’s prescription took care of the sumac.

Fast forward to spring! “We need to tackle the town triangle” (as we affectionately call it) we would say to each other. In the past six months we had talked to the powers that be and some Hamptonites who had helped create the initial perennial masterpiece years ago and had learned of the volunteer labor of love and donations that had been given so generously over time. The daffodils, peonies, lilies and others had sentimental value.

We kept putting it off, hoping the sumac had not resurrected. “Should we rent hazmat suits?” Our self-imposed deadline of Memorial Day was fast approaching. We waited until the week prior and did an afternoon weeding job that ended up looking like a bad haircut.

“This will not do!” We thought some annuals with a little color for Memorial Day is what was needed so we went to work – sort of. The compost from Woodhill Farm that had been donated more than a decade ago had provided those perennials with everything they needed to thrive. Everything was so root bound that you could barely find a square inch of soil that wasn’t already occupied! Help!
We called in reinforcements and then it took on a life of its own.

“You need yards of loam!”

“Save the peonies!”

“Take out the gravelly border that has suffered the onslaught of years of road salt.”

“What’s going to keep the fresh loam from washing down East Old Route 6 the next time it really rains?”

“Let’s dig a trench and put in a French drain rock border.”

“Lots of annuals and fresh mulch are needed!”

Unfortunately, even with plenty of volunteer help and late night/early morning labor we just couldn’t get it all done for the Memorial Day parade.

Which brings me to the reason for this letter. I take full responsibility for this fiasco. I am offering a sincere apology to those of you who were horrified by the result of our effort. The timing was terrible and if we had to do it over we would do it differently. We did not intend to be insensitive to those of you who invested enormous amounts of time and energy over the years in creating and maintaining the town’s greens and flower gardens. Having only lived here for five years we don’t always understand the heartbeat/pulse of this town. We didn’t realize, for example, that Hampton’s “feel” is more of a perennial/wildflower town and not annual flower beds with symmetry and mulch. For the record, the perennials are still there and I’m praying the daffodils come up next spring. Here’s hoping that as the flowers reach full bloom and the zinnias in the center create a ground cover and beauty, those of you who are upset and disappointed will truly be able to enjoy the beauty and forgive us for over stepping and being insensitive. We love Hampton very much and want to help make it an even better place today and for future generations.

Sincerely,
Sam Fisher

“We are a naïve society.”

I met Sergeant Kalif Abdul back in the mid 80s. I’m not sure that I remember exactly how he phrased it but it stuck with me as “We are a naïve society.” Sergeant Abdul was probably the blackest Marine I had ever had the pleasure to work with. He had immigrated to America from somewhere in Africa. Nigeria and Kenya are the countries that rattle around in my head. I could be wrong on both counts but it doesn’t really matter.

He spoke flawless English with a distinctly African accent. Profanity never sprang from his tongue. He also spoke at least three other languages. Perhaps that’s where he stored his profanities. Sergeant Abdul could have been featured on any recruiting poster: Mentally sharp, physically imposing and damned good at his job. Along with “We are a naïve society” his other frequent utterance, when speaking of his adopted country was: “Never cease to amaze.” Sergeant Abdul’s perspective on life clearly had not been distorted by a personal history of American abundance, convenience and entitlement.

I thought of Sergeant Abdul recently while sitting in my car in the parking lot, outside Wally World, waiting for my logistics coordinator to return with the supplies necessary to ward off any potential micro-famine. Weather conditions could not have been better: temperature right around 70, perfectly blue skies with a few high and scattered cirrus clouds. A gentle breeze blew through my open window. On the island beside my parking space a tired looking shrub was pushing forward its first small white blossoms of the season – Corporate’s rather lame attempt at beautification, I suppose.

When I park outside Wally World I try to choose a spot that provides an unobstructed view of the entrance and the approaches to it. Ideally, the position will also lend itself to rapid extraction and egress when the time comes. Having established my observation post, I watch. I watch for the return of my logistics coordinator. And I watch the comings and goings of the stream of humanity with its baggage of wariness, anxiety, depression, narcissism and such. I watch them first being devoured by, then disgorged from the mouth of the cavernous consumer monster.

Yes, the economy has certainly taken a hit since the evil Alpha left Washington. Hitting some harder than others. Still, I see no indication that UNICEF is about to spring into action. America continues to be a country where obesity is an ever expanding problem regardless of economic status.

The relative quiet that had existed to that point, was abruptly interrupted by loud, animated voices a few spaces south of my position. I could not see the source of the commotion nor make out any of what was actually being said. My first thought was: Probably friends having a jolly time.

I was wrong.

Someone, somewhere, somehow had apparently committed some intolerable offense that someone else could not allow to pass unaddressed. I had heard no crunch of metal so ruled out a fender bender. Did someone take someone else’s parking space? Did someone not return their carriage to the carousel? Did someone take too long getting a baby situated? Who knows?

A voice grew louder and came closer.

In the next moment a middle aged woman came into view on my flank. She was shouting uncomplimentary instructions and tossing unfriendly gestures over her shoulder. This self-appointed guardian of public decorum continued in this manner, insuring she got in the last word, until she too was devoured by the consumer monster. When relative quiet resumed I got to thinking:
When you break it down to its absolute simplest terms, isn’t that really what wars ultimately come down to — Who gets the last word. The only difference being, in war, the people most hotly pursuing the last word are never the ones doing the bleeding and dying. Then I imagined our decorum guardian, or someone similar of righteous temperament, waving a banner in an anti-war demonstration and being similarly decorous in expressing their particular discontent.

You gotta love human nature: so full of contradiction and paradox, seldom entirely consistent, and always manifesting on a spectrum of virtue and vice.

The monster disgorged my logistics coordinator. We loaded the supplies into the rear of the transport vehicle and without further delay we egressed from the zone and headed east. My thoughts drifted to the children hauling water from the village well outside Kabul.

Never cease to amaze.

Uncle Grumpus

Dear Auntie Mac,

I made a mistake – I admit it. I said something I shouldn’t have and I apologized to the person I insulted. Immediately. She “accepted” my apology, also immediately. However, a year later she is still revisiting the incident in social gatherings in town. Relaying the circumstances, and my mistake, to everyone present. Again, I apologize. Publicly. Though I’m not keeping score, I think I’ve apologized at least seven times since the incident. Should I still feel guilty?
Very Sorry

My Dear Neighbor:

Upon reading your letter, Auntie Mac confesses to adjourning to the parlor, steadying herself on the divan, removing her hairpins (and they are legion), and racking her brain to imagine a scenario in which an incident that is now over a year old would be considered a still-intoxicating public anecdote, especially to the person who apparently was so irrevocably harmed. She is trying to imagine the scene—truly she is. A community picnic—Memorial Day, let us say. You are sitting at the pavilion with five or six other parade goers, nibbling on your potato salad, when the offended party passes by, notices you, and announces to the group, “See that one there? It’s a wonder they let her out in public. Do you know what she said to me last Memorial Day? I was getting my tractor ready for the parade and she walks up to me and asks, “Oh, are you one of the floats?” As Auntie Mac imagines this one of quite probably a thousand scenarios she could summon if given enough time and a strong pot of tea, several points come to mind, much like the errant hairpins she has forgotten to remove. Your narrative implies that this bit of over-the-top theater occurs when you are present; this person has a stake in your participation. While repetitive shaming may be the vehicle in which the incident is carried, the desired result is personal satisfaction: from seeing the reaction of citizens who perhaps have not heard the story before (by this time there can’t be too many of them), and from you, whose apologies may seem at this point rather Pavlovian. It also smacks of a need to control people and situations, by someone who has very little control elsewhere. (“I tell my story, I get not only objective sympathy, I get another apology. And who does not adore being apologized to, ad infinitum?”)

Lest Auntie Mac be accused of applying tools best left to the professionals, she will delve no further into the nooks and crannies of the aggrieved party’s belfry. She will venture to suggest, however, that your long-ago insult has turned into a sort of narcissistic ambrosia on which this person has been dining happily for far too long, at your expense.

One assumes that whatever the original offense, there are no further amends to be made. The incident is being kept alive by no one other than the victim of your momentary lapse in judgment. You may feel chastened, or humbled, or a year wiser, but this person is not responsible for your feelings of guilt. If you would like to continue to be manipulated by them each time you go out in public, then by all means exercise that prerogative. If you are finished, however, with your part in these public displays of attention-seeking, you could gently ask your nemesis what they need for some emotional closure (for that is most likely the term that would strike something approximating the right chord), and do your level best to comply. If the answer is along the lines of “Nothing! I will always carry this wound in my heart and must announce it whenever we are together in public!” then we can both see that whatever it was you said, dear, has paradoxically produced more benefit than pain to the injured party, in the manner that aspiring martyrs most cherish, and by which most of us are truly baffled. You may simply walk away and think no more about it.

Your Auntie Mac