Monthly Archives: September 2012

Nathaniel Sparhawk and the art of swagger

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“A wealthy merchant of Kittery, Maine”.

Nathaniel Sparhawk, one of Kittery’s most prominent 18th century residents.

So reads the caption, at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, beneath this John Singleton Copley portrait of Nathaniel Sparhawk, one of Kittery’s most prominent citizens of the 18th century, mostly because he had the good fortune of marrying Elizabeth Pepperrell, the only surviving daughter of Sir William Pepperrell.  But the few words of the caption – which likely would have pleased Nathaniel Sparhawk — do more to obscure than to illuminate his story.  Neither the caption  nor the portrait hint at the darkness in his life: bankruptcy and financial ruin, children forced into exile, the humiliation of having his wife sign off on all checks.

I encountered this portrait of Nathaniel – I’m going to call him Nathaniel, because he feels like a long-lost neighbor  — last winter, when I visited the new Art of the Americas wing at the Museum of Fine Arts.  Unexpectedly coming face to face with Nathaniel gave me the same thrill that someone else might experience upon meeting her favorite celebrity. Here he was, maybe not in the flesh, but in a life-sized portrait that helped me to connect the dots of the Sparhawk story.  An added bonus was standing before the elaborately carved door of the Sparhawk Mansion, also on display in the new wing.

This 1764 painting was Copley’s first attempt at a life-sized portrait similar to those of royal monarchs on display at the Town House in Boston. Many of these full-length portraits came to be known as “swagger portraits,” because they were intended to create an aura of grandiosity around the subject.  Sparhawk poses before imaginary Grecian columns in a classical setting, and wears a richly textured red velvet coat, with extra buttons added to give him more girth and thus more status, since a large belly was associated with wealth.

Nathaniel is smiling and relaxed in this portrait and appears to be a perfectly contented wealthy merchant.  In 1764, he probably could smile, but only because his inheritance from Sir William Pepperrell, his father-in-law, had allowed him to settle his debts and re-establish himself financially.  In 1758, Nathaniel was forced to declare bankruptcy and much of his property was sold at public auction.

One source attributes Nathaniel’s bankruptcy to increased taxation on real estate imposed by the British to pay for the Seven Year’s War (the French and Indian War on this side of the pond), but I suspect that taxation was a convenient scapegoat for that age-old problem of buying and spending more than the purse allows.  (All of the major taxation efforts to pay off the war, such as the Revenue Act and the Stamp Act, happened in the 1760s, after the war’s end).  In the 1750s, colonial businessmen flush with raw materials and agricultural products developed a taste for imported British goods. When the supply of such goods waiting to be sold outstripped the demand, many New England merchants found themselves in debt to British vendors.

Although bankrupt, Nathaniel continued to live at Sparhawk House, a luxurious 13-room mansion that Sir William had built in 1742 as

The Sparhawk House of Kittery Point, built in 1742 and demolished in 1967.

a wedding gift for his daughter Elizabeth (and once located at the end of today’s Sparhawk Lane, next to the Congregational Church in Kittery Point).  In this house, which featured many examples of fine wood-working, the Sparhawks raised five children, four sons and one daughter (two additional children had died in infancy).

Sir William died in 1759.  Although he had a close relationship with Nathaniel, who often helped him to manage his business affairs, Pepperrell’s will suggests that he didn’t quite trust his son-in-law to provide for his family.

The will left many parcels of land formerly owned by Nathaniel to Nathaniel’s various children, but not to Nathaniel himself.  It seems that when Nathaniel went bankrupt, William Pepperrell bought up many of his properties, with the intent of keeping them in the family.  Also telling is the fact that in an age when women lacked a legal identity apart from their husband, Sir William was quite clear that while income from certain properties would go to Nathaniel for “the support of his wife and children,” the property was not his to sell or mortgage, with the will stating that Elizabeth was “required to sign all receipts and to have sole power to bequeath her legacy.”

But just because Nathaniel’s portrait suggests that he wanted to look more prosperous and more important than he truly was doesn’t mean he wasn’t a good man.  He represented  Kittery in the General Court of Massachusetts and served as a justice on the Court of Common Pleas, assuming the role of Chief Justice after the death of William Pepperrell. He attained the rank of Colonel in the local militia.

I wonder if working in the shadow of his famous father-in-law chaffed at him.  Perhaps he felt that the elite of Portsmouth and Boston gossiped about him and his financial troubles.  In 1766, he was “negative-d” from the Council of Massachusetts, probably because he no longer owned enough real estate.  In the end, being kicked off the Council might have been a fortuitous turn of events because it pulled Nathaniel out of the political fray that ultimately led to the forced exile of his sons.

By the time of the Revolution, three of Nathaniel’s Loyalist sons, including Sir William Sparhawk Pepperrell, were living in England, exiled from the only country they’d ever known.  Pepperrell lands up and down the coast of Maine were confiscated by the State of Massachusetts. The war caused division within Nathaniel’s own family, with daughter Mary married to Dr. Charles Jarvis of Boston, an ardent patriot.

By 1775, in his early 60s, Nathaniel was suffering from poor health, which perhaps explains why he was not pressed harder to declare where his loyalties lay.  After he died on December 21,1776, the Boston Gazette and County Post wrote, “In all which Offices he distinguished himself as the Friend of his Country and frequently lamented his weak state of health which would not permit him to take a more active Part in the present Troubles.”

Although his son Samuel eventually returned to Kittery (but not Sir William or Andrew), the family never recovered from the Revolution.  According to one account, the Sparhawk mansion was sold in 1815 for a thousand dollars.  Another reports that one of the Sparhawk sons was living in a poorhouse by the early 1800s, although that seems unlikely, given the abundance of family members in the area.

In the latter part of the 19th century, Sparhawk Hall was carefully restored by an owner with an interest in preservation.  Eventually, Kittery businessman Horace Mitchell, a Sparhawk descendant, purchased the house in the early 20th century and hosted a visit from President Taft. In 1949, the mansion  had  a role in Louis de Rochemont 1949 movie, “Lost Boundaries,” serving as the fictional home of Dr. Scott Carter, a black doctor passing as  white in a small New Hampshire town (check out the movie to see the interior of the house; the exterior shots appear as if they were shot in front of  the Lady Pepperrell House rather than the Sparhawk mansion).

But by the early 1950s, the younger Horace Mitchell and his family were living in only four rooms of the house, having closed off the others. The house was a beast to heat and maintain and the Mitchells began to sell off individual pieces of it. The sculpted main staircase and much of the woodwork ended up in a mansion in Winthrop, Maine; the elaborately carved door went to Strawberry Banke.  In 1967, what remained of the house was demolished before preservation efforts could save it.

Nathaniel had every advantage in life, but also plenty of troubles. Although his portrait conceals his difficulties, the man himself seems to embody the essence of  “swagger”: someone who wanted to be successful and important, but maybe deep down always wondered  if he would have been able to make it without his father-in-law behind  him.  I can almost see Nathaniel swaggering down Pepperrell Road, calling out greetings to his neighbors.  He had many losses in his life, but puffed himself up and carried on.

Sources:

Burrage, Henry  S. “Colonel Nathaniel Sparhawk of Kittery.”  Collections and proceedings of the Maine Historical Society.  Maine Historical Society.  Read before the MHS February 24, 1898. P. 225

“The Making of ‘Lost Boundaries”

“Nathaniel Sparhawk.”  Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

Senge, Stephen V. “’The Sparhawk Effect’ in Financial Statement Analysis“.  An internet search on Nathaniel Sparhawk often links to this material from a Simmons College professor about practices companies have used or do use to make their financial statements appear better than they really are.  However, I find no evidence that anyone other than Professor Senge utilizes this term, which Senge may have coined in using the “swagger portrait” as a classroom lesson  illustrating how companies puff up their financial statements.

“Sparhawk Mansion on Death Row.”  Link to additional photos of the Sparhawk Mansion before it was demolished in 1967.

Ward, Ellen MacDonald.  “Only a Memory.”  Downeast Magazine. February 1993, pp. 53-54.

I welcome comments, additional information about the Sparhawks, and corrections.

Rangeley days, now far away

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Every summer, the town takes us by surprise.  We crest the hill on Route 4, catch our first view of the lake, and descend into an unlikely enclave of commerce:  the Pine Tree Frosty, the video store, the Laundromat, the hulking building of the Rangeley Inn.  Who would expect to find expect this vibrant lakeside village deep in the western Maine mountains?

Should we go to the equator, or the North Pole?

We’ve been coming to Rangeley for ten years now, for a week or so each summer, and the drive through town always generates the same kind of anticipation.  We feel as if we are returning home and can’t wait to get there.

As we drive down Main Street, we check the storefronts to see what’s changed.  Three years ago, Rangeley lost the pharmacy. Before that, the hardware store and soda fountain. Several restaurants have come and gone, but look, the bookstore’s still going, the movie theater is showing Spiderman.  Nancy’s Gifts has closed, but the parking lot of the Alpine Shop is full. The library has expanded its hours.  The new Moose Alley bowling alley is open for business. We’ll go there on a rainy afternoon.

After passing through town, we head up the hill on the other side of town and turn on the Mingo Loop, drive past the golf course, and turn off onto the dirt road that leads to North Camps.  Our cabin, the Silver Doctor, is the same one we stayed in last year, with the same furniture and the same view of the lake from the screened-in porch.  At the main lodge, Henry the parrot squawks as always.  Sonny, the owner, is not here, but he’s still alive andwill return by Friday.  His son Fran, who runs the place now, tells us that the lakeside campfires will be on Monday and Thursday nights, as usual. We’ve come prepared with our marshmallows, Hershey bars, and scary stories to tell around the fire.

The sun sets over Bald Mountain, across the lake in Oquossoc.

During our Rangeley days, we do the same things every year, usually adding a new twist or variation.  We wake up and drink coffee on the screened-in porch or on the dock. We sit in the sun and read books and swim.  We take the kids tubing on the lake. We play whiffle ball in the grassy field and pretend to play tennis on the mud court.  We mix cocktails that we never drink at home. After dinner, we watch the red glow of the sunset behind Bald Mountain, and the moon rise over Saddleback.

At least once, we pick blueberries in the lush fields at the Wilhelm Reich Museum.  Back at North Camps, I make blueberry pie.  We swim some more.

We explore. One day, a canoe trip, on the Kennebago River or somewhere new. This year, we canoe down the Chain of Ponds, up near the Canadian border, and one of the easier legs of Benedict Arnold’s arduous 1775 expedition to Quebec.

Making a few casts on the Kennebago River. To see moose on the river, you have to get out just after sunrise or at twilight.

Another day, we go for a hike, sometimes to a new mountain and sometimes an old favorite. This year, we drive north from Oquossoc village to climb Mount Aziscohos, a lonely summit off Route 17 which some say has the best views in all of Maine, of more than 25 lakes and endless green forest.  With binoculars, we can see the docks of North Camps.

We like our civilization and make many required trips to town: to the IGA for groceries, to the Red Onion for pizza, to the library to check out favorite books, to the Ecopolagian Nature Store to browse and lounge in the swinging chair on the porch.   By the week’s end, some are concerned that we might miss a visit to Pine Tree Frosty. But the weather is fabulous and we squeeze in our ice cream after an afternoon at Cascade Stream Gorge, where we jump from the cliffs into a deep pool of freezing water.

I have only skimmed the surface of Rangeley, (I haven’t even mentioned the fishing) but reading what I’ve written, I’m exhausted. How can we possibly do all this and not be? Where do we find the time?  Partly, we are on vacation, so we are removed from many of the daily obligations (although we still have meals to cook and, without a dishwasher, the dishes pile endlessly in the sink).  But here, we are liberated from our screens: our computers, our televisions, and other devices, our multiple emails and postings. We lack smart phones and don’t regret it.  If we must check our email, the library is open Tuesday to Saturday.

Jumping off the cliff for the first time was nerve-wracking, but once they were baptized, the jumpers couldn’t be stopped..

This year at North Camps, several of the cabins are empty. Business has been down all summer, a sign of the ongoing recession, and maybe also of changing tastes in vacation.  North Camps is rustic; the furniture is old. In some kitchens, the linoleum may date from the Depression.  Many travelers want their surroundings to look shiny and new and to come with WiFi and cable television.  In judging this book by its cover, they miss out on experiencing the richness of the story.

The kids roam free, devising their own activities, jumping off the docks and playing Apples to Apples in the new pavilion by the lake. They stay up late to finish books.  They bait fish hooks and fall off rafts.  Technically, my son could play with his Nintendo DS – we do have electricity – but during our Rangeley days, he puts it away without protest.

Our week at North Camps is a reasonably-priced vacation, a bargain even.  But what treasure we find in these days of alternating activity and pure laziness.

As an operation that’s been in the family since the 1950s (and which dates back to the 1890s), North Camps will hang on unless the owners decide to close it down and sell this prime lakeside property for the millions that it’s probably worth. We worry about that possibility but Fran tells us not to, because North Camps is their family’s special place, and they have no intention of selling it.

What changes will come to Rangeley over the next year? Will Books Lines and Thinkers Bookstore remain open? Will the Lakeside movie theater still be showing movies?  Can we count on the breakfast at the BMC Diner?  What I see as economic decline may just be part of the usual struggle to keep an off-the-beaten-path mountain community going. Compared to the 1950s, when Rangeley’s many grand lakeside hotels closed down in a matter of years, the ‘decline’ of today may just be a blip in a pattern of recurring small blips.  I hope so.

I imagine moving to Rangeley, maybe buying the Main Street bed and breakfast that was on the market for several years and which now appears to be in new hands.  I’ll swim every day in the lake in the summer, ski in the winter at Saddleback, and get to know the locals sitting at the counter of Moosely Bagels.  I’ll help to organize the Library Gala and volunteer to serve on the town’s Economic Development committee.  And soon my days will fill with emails and meetings and commitments, just like my life back home today

Then again, maybe not. There’s something to be said for having a relationship that is committed but not deep, consistent but not completely connected, because it offers the opportunity for the disconnection so hard to find in our lives today. Next year, I think we’ll stay two weeks.