… who can think it possible that the president and two-thirds of the senate will ever be capable of such unworthy conduct. The idea is too gross and invidious to be entertained. But in such a case, if it should ever happen, the [ruling] so obtained … would, like all other fraudulent contracts, be null and void by the laws of the nations.
Somewhere in the past I heard about a kind of public journal that wasn’t overtly personal but carefully recorded by devoted individuals. News items, witty thoughts, chance encounters, weather observations might fill them.
Recently, I came across one of those, the Record Book Kept by Daniel C. Osborne (1794-1871), Quaker and Banker. The copy was online at the Friends of Allen County’s website – the highly regarded genealogical center at the public library in Fort Wayne, Indiana.
What especially interests me is that he was a member of Dover Friends Meeting in New Hampshire. His entries provide fresh insights on the life of the congregation and the broader community, both the subjects of my book, Quaking Dover.
A record book, as this one demonstrates, is a collection of random accounts the individual found fascinating or significant. Daniel’s, for instance, has entries on the manufacture of watches in U.S., John Jacob Astor’s will and estate, the popular vote for president 1848, the wife of president Franklin Peirce president-elect, population of the states 1855, English Bible translations list, executions for murders, steam boat accidents and Atlantic Ocean steamers lost, even the royal family of England – most of those notations are on distant events – but they accompany family genealogies and other things closer to home.
Daniel, a son of Marble and Mercy (Nock/Knox) Osborne, operated an iron foundry and was later president of the Strafford Bank, now part of TD Bank. He lived in a Georgian Colonial style home his father had built adjacent to the Quaker meetinghouse, where Daniel continued as an active member while the congregation aged and declined.
These entries note visitors from other locations to Dover Friends Meeting, perhaps all of them in traveling ministry.
Although his penmanship was impeccable, I’m not confident in my ability to decipher it clearly. Even so, I find his records filling in details I’m not sure I’d uncover otherwise. The family genealogies, for instance, have details otherwise lost from the Quaker records when an individual “married out of Meeting,” was “disowned” for other reasons, or moved from the area.
The accounts of deaths, mostly around Dover but sometimes including U.S. presidents, the Marquis de Lafayette, or soldiers at Lexington, Massachusetts, also name neighbors who weren’t Quaker. Perhaps they were even involved in business dealings with him. Notations in the margins point to a surprising number of suicides and, especially, drownings. One 53-year-old man was killed by his own father. Mention of the passing of Quaker evangelist Joseph John Gurney reflects the branch of Friends that Dover followed while that of Congregational minister Lyman Beecher indicates an openness to religious liberalism.
Notations of family marriages point to a much broader interaction of Dover Friends with fellow Quaker families in Rhode Island than I had suspected, including the Wilbur family, prominent in a schism in the yearly meeting, through no blame of their own. I’m guessing it’s because so many attended what’s now the Moses Brown School in Providence.
I wasn’t expecting this tidbit.
Of special interest to me is this notation, “10th mo 22, 1864. Israel Estes of this City, died this day, aged 64 years. He was a lineal descendant of Joseph Estes, who died in Dover Neck in 1626, coming over with Edward Hilton, in the first vessel, and had lands assigned to him as early as 1631.” If true, it would add another person – and, obviously, eventually a wife – to the settlement before the Puritan invasion that multiplied the frontier settlement now known as Dover. As the history stands now, Thomas Roberts was the only other person who arrived with Edward, and they were followed a few years later by brother William Hilton.
It would also place the origin of the surname in America at Dover rather than Massachusetts.
Well, that’s what I get in a first sweep through the record book. I suspect there’s much more to glean.
Yes, time marches ahead. I can’t count the number of times I rewound and reset this before Quaker worship in Dover each Sunday, or First-Day, in the old parlance. Some Friends said the ticking kept reminding them, “Slow down, slow down.” Others found the sound disturbing.
It’s hard for me to believe my book Quaking Dover has been published more than a year now.
“You’ll be the next Tom Wolfe,” one creative writing prof promised me. I loved the guy’s flashy writing and, for the most part, his subject matter.
Where he eventually rubbed me wrong was his consternation that no big novel of the hippie era had appeared. There, he kept ringing as a prompt for me.
Part of his hook for me was the fact that my dream job in the newspaper world would have been as a columnist, especially one like Hub Meeker’s State of the Arts in the Dayton Journal Herald. Arts journalism was, alas, a shrinking field, along with the more general community columnist, like that paper’s Marj Heydock or Binghamton’s Tom Cawley.
Wolfe had briefly been one of those, at the New York Herald Tribune.
The bigger part, of course, was about that novel. He was dismissing Richard Brautigan’s unique voice altogether and others, like Gurney Norman, John Nichols, Tom Robbins, who rode the vibe.
Wolfe was also snidely suggesting that he had been the one exception, with his Electric Acid Kool-Aid Test, which really wasn’t a novel and predated the blossoming of the hippie movement.
His idea of the Big Hippie Novel reeked of the misguided quest for a Great American Novel.
Quite simply, there were too many strands of the movement to fit into a single book. Political or social action, anti-war witness, civil rights, gender equality, environmental awareness, organic and vegetarian foods, intentional community, group housing, alternative education were all part of it, even before the sex, drugs, rock’n’roll, hair, fashion, or slang.
These other factors would come more fully into play when I revised Daffodil Sunrise into Daffodil Uprising, and Hippie Drum and Hippie Love into Pit-a-Pat High Jinks.
I’d like to think of those books as nominees for the Big Hippie Novel distinction.
Wolfe’s charge also overlooks the outstanding nonfiction books that reflected the experience, such as Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.
Moreover, I still feel that many of the difficulties in the current political scene arise from a failure to clearly understand the demons raging from the Vietnam conflict, both for those who fought in the army and those who fought the unjustified war itself.
So here we were, struggling through disco without having faced the lessons of either the hippie outbreak or the Vietnam disease. Hippie had become a dirty word, and many who had been happy to be one were no in psychological denial. It was something nobody wanted to relive either, apart from maybe Woodstock.
As others have observed, an ignorance of history carries a heavy price.
… the senate, who will merely sanction the choice of the executive, should feel a bypass towards the objects of that choice, strong enough to blind them to the evidences of guilt so extraordinary as to have induced the representatives of the nation to become its accusers.
I’d love to know the story. Every time we travel to or from Bangor or beyond, we pass this well-maintained memorial along Maine Route 9, “the Airline Highway,” in Township 24. It’s just east of the Wilderness Lodge. I finally stopped to investigate but found no names or dates. Do any of you Mainers know more?
So far, I’ve found nothing solid.
One person said something about a hit-and-run that’s never been solved.
As former radio newscaster Tom McLaughlin said, “There are plenty of places around here where something happened and there’s no memorial at all.”
He added, “Jnana, there have been so many crashes and fatals on Route 9 in the time I was covering news (1992-2016). That may have been from a crash in July 2002 that killed a guy from Perry and injured his brother who may have succumbed later. Also in that general area, a dad, mom and older son from Calais died in a head-on crash on a snowy night 20 or so years ago. Guess I haven’t given you anything definitive, here. Not sure who I can ask. All the troopers I knew back then are long retired.”
The state’s fatal crashes web site turned up nothing.