Tag Archives: Maine history

The dark-eyed little girl in the picture: Old photos tell the story of an immigrant family from Greece

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school photo of Mary Gekas

Mary Gekas, circa 1919-1921 (Digital Maine).

Browsing through the archives of Digital Maine, this photo of young Mary Gekas invites questions.  Born in 1915, she would have been 5 or 6 when this photo was taken at the Mark Dennett School in Kittery, Maine, and saved by a teacher in  scrapbook. Mary seems very serious for such a young girl. She lived on a farm on Dennett Road with her parents, Sophie and George Gekas, Greek immigrants from Turkey who were probably illiterate, at least in English.

When Mary’s mother Sophie registered as an “alien” at the Kittery Town Office in 1940, she signed her registration form with an X, and her husband George scrawled a rough approximation of a signature.  All of the four Gekas children went to school in Kittery. Like  many immigrant families, the Gekases probably highly valued education.  Mary eventually became a buyer for Kimball’s Department Store in Portsmouth, as well as a mother and grandmother. She was a passionate gardener and loved animals — perhaps the legacy of farm life.

Tony Gekas, circa 1919-1921 (DigitalMaine).

Mary’s brother Tony, a year younger, looks equally serious in this photo taken at the same school. Later, at Traip Academy, Tony played on the football team, graduating in 1934. He began his career as a welder at Portsmouth Naval Shipyard, and served his country during World War II in the 361st Infantry Regiment, 91st Division in the Italian campaign. After the war, he married, became a father to three children, and eventually landed in the Tilton, NH area, where he worked in insurance and, with his wife, operated a well-known pizza shop, and, according to his obituary, “was known for the many kindnesses shown to the area youth.”

In the school photo below, Mary and Tony’s younger sister Esther appears a bit mischievous — perhaps the family rabble rouser.  By age 19, at the time of the 1940 census, Esther was managing a dress shop in Portsmouth, so she was a go-getter. She married, but never had children, and was probably well-known at St. Nicholas Greek Orthodox Church in Portsmouth.

Growing up on a farm in the Great Depression, these three children understood hard work. At the time of the 1940 census, when Maine and then the federal government required their parents to register as aliens, all three of these by-now young adults had jobs off the farm.

When these photos were taken, these siblings had no inkling that eventually they would welcome a baby sister, Garifelia, born in 1938. She’s still around,  living in the Midwest.

Undated class photo, Wentworth Dennett School, possibly around 1930, when Esther would have been 9 years old. She is in the second row, 1st child on the right. Note her stylish bob cut, and big smile — a contrast to her somber siblings.  Esther appears to be wearing jeans or leggings — very rare for a girl circa 1930. Was she a rebel? (DigitalMaine)

Their father, the farmer George Gekas, came to America around 1908, from Turkey. Their mother Sophie followed a couple of years later. Eventually, after spending time in Connecticut and New Hampshire, the Gekases bought a farm on Dennett Road. Two years later, they were joined by another Greek family, who bought a neighboring farm: the Vourvases, from Smyrna, Turkey. Smyrna was a tense spot in the Mediterranean, a Greek city in Turkish territory. Eventually, in 1922, the Turks burned the city in their drive to claim it as Turkish. Were these families fleeing the tensions that eventually flared into the Greco-Turkish War and the burning of Smyrna? Or were they economic migrants, heading to America for a better life?

Traip Academy football team, 1931 season. Tony Gekas is in the 2nd row, 2nd from right.

I suspect that the Gekas and Vourvas families, stood out in Kittery, with their dark eyes, hair and skin. At the time, anti-immigration nativist politicians and their supporters were stirring up a frenzy against the “yellow menace” — the flood of immigrants arriving from Italy, Greece and other countries in southern Europe.  The country, they said, was being overrun by these “dirty undesirables.” To stop them from turning America into a mongrel nation, in 1924, Congress passed the National Origins Act, which outlawed immigration from Asia and imposed quotas that discriminated against immigrants from southern Europe.  As a result, in the 1920s,  immigration from countries like Greece and Italy was sharply curtailed for almost 30 years, until modifications in 1952 eased the quotas somewhat by basing them on the 1920 census (instead of the 1890 census, the original basis for determined quotas). But the Act was not abolished until passage of the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965.

By then, America had mostly forgotten that Greeks, Italians and others from southern Europe had once been “undesirables”. I wonder if the George and Sophie Gekas remembered.

P.S. I hope commenters can shed more light on these photos and share family stories. I hope to locate obituaries for George and Sophie once libraries are open and I have access to other archival sources.

 

 

 

 

Related posts:

The summer when Kittery aliens landed at the Town Office

Fragments of history: When the the KKK marched in Kittery, Maine

Sources and resources

Historic photos from the Mark Dennett School are from the DigitalMaine archive, and are part of a print collection held by the Rice Public Library, in a scrapbook titled ‘Reminiscences’, gathered by Mrs. J. Evelyn Woods when she was a teacher at the School. The original source for the Wentworth Dennett School photo and the Traip Academy  football team is unknown, but both photos are in the collections of Rice Public Library and Digital Maine.  See all names associated with the photo below and let me know if you can fill in any of the question marks!

Mary Gekas Kyrios obituary, Legacy.com, 2011.

Anthony Gekas obituary, Seacoastonline.com, 2002.

Esther Gekas Karayianis obituary, Legacy.com, 2014.

Wentworth Dennett School photo:

First row left to right: Bud Symonds, Sterling Cook, ?, Phil Gerry, ?, Robert Grogan. Second row: Vanetta Cutten, ?, Phyllis Blaney, ?. Barbara Wilson,, ?, ?, Esther Gekas. Third row: Henry Bowden, ?, ?, …Seaward, ?, ?, George Nickerson, …Curren, Clayton Edwards, Charles Plaisted, Stephen Robbins.

Traip Academy football team, 1931 season:

First row left to right: A. Ricker, Capt. Locke, R. Williams, Wilson, Blethrode, Bilbrusk, Boston, E. Obrian. Second row: Coach Slayton, Charles Neal, R. Hatch, Vinton Prince, Wm. Robins, Warren Wurm, Arthur Goodwin, Lersy Shea, Fr., Tony Gekas, Mg. Ford. Third row: Edw. McCloud, Bob Weaver, Jeff Cook, Leland Riley, Don Chick, Edw. McCloud, Bob Weaver, Jeff Cook, Leland Riley, Don Chick, Robert Stewart, Harold Hayes, Kenneth Newson, Gerald Obrian. Fourth row: F. Hatch, Fernald, Perry.

The summer when Kittery aliens landed at the Town Office

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Image of Governor's ProclamationIn late June of 1940, 39 aliens officially called Kittery home. Some had dwelled among the town’s residents for more than 50 years, others for just a few weeks. When Governor Lewis E. Barrows signed an executive order requiring all non-citizen immigrants to register at their town office, these foreign nationals followed the rules and completed the forms, which were collected, compiled and then analyzed for statistical data by the the Adjutant General’s office.

At the time, the idea of an illegal or undocumented alien did not exist. In 1924, Congress had passed legislation imposing the country’s first-ever immigration quotas. These quotas favored immigrants from northern Europe, since one goal of the legislation was to curb the number of “undesirable” immigrants flooding the country from Italy, Greece and other southern European countries. But immigrants didn’t need papers or a green card; they pretty much just showed up. And the quotas did not apply to the thousands of migrants coming from Canada each year.

Many of Kittery’s 39 aliens had been here for decades, but had eschewed citizenship, perhaps wishfully thinking that some day, they would return/retire to the old country, as some do today.

For example, Walter MacDonald, age 57, born in Digby, Nova Scotia, had  lived in Maine since he was 2. The father of five American children, he worked as a loftsman at the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard, but had never become a U.S. citizen. But his registration form indicates that he had just submitted citizenship application paperwork. Citizenship offered protection from deportation and separation from his family.

But Annie G. Simmons, age 75, retired and the mother of four, didn’t bother applying for her citizenship, at least not in 1940. A widow, Annie hailed from the Azores Islands and spoke Portuguese. She had lived in Maine for 58 years, perhaps long enough to feel that she had nothing to fear from the registration order.

Kittery’s aliens hailed from about 10 different countries, including the usual suspects — Canada (Quebec, and the Maritime Provinces), England, and Ireland, along with some outliers, such as Turkey, Greece and Finland.

Registration form Eero Akerston

Eero Akersten, age 53, a widower from Finland, had only been in Kittery for a few weeks. He worked as a butler on Gerrish Island for Mrs. Edward Crocker, so I suspect he was only in town for the summer, along with Margaret Auchterlonie, from Scotland, who worked as a nurse for Mrs. Fergus Reid.  Another summer resident, Elisabeth Menzel, originally from Chateau de Prangins in Switzerland, worked as  governess for the William W. Howells family.

How did these immigrants feel about being compelled to register their status at the Town Office? Were they frightened that news about the war in Europe would subject them to extra scrutiny? Or did they willingly comply with registration, feeling that they had nothing to hide or fear from this documentation, or even viewing the act of registration as a patriotic duty?

The evidence suggest that registration made Kittery’s aliens nervous about their future: 25 of Kittery’s 39 registrants immediately applied for citizenship (according to their forms). In 1940, the United States was determined to stay out of the war in Europe, but rumors abounded of foreign intrigue.  The Governor’s executive order also encouraged Maine’s residents to report suspicious activity, and some did (although not in Kittery). Becoming a citizen was the best route to a secure future.

Compared to other towns in Maine, like Biddeford or Sanford, Kittery had only a few aliens. Kittery’s population had remained stable — or some would say stagnant — since the early 1800s, with little in-migration.  That would soon change, as the Shipyard ramped up its workforce during World War II, but in 1940, most of Kittery’s residents had lived here for generations.

Some of these aliens likely stood out more than others. Walter MacDonald’s neighbors might have been surprised to learn he wasn’t American. When Annie Simmons first arrived in town as a young woman from a far-flung island, she must have been an exotic presence, but after 58 years, she was an older woman with a touch of a foreign accent. And Albert Maillett, operating a restaurant on Route 1, probably still had a strong French-Canadian accent, but serving up food and drink for 13 years likely had transformed him into a local.

All of these immigrants probably thought of themselves as ordinary people who lived unremarkable lives. We get only glimpses of their stories from the Maine Alien Registration forms, and other documents, like lines from the US census of 1940. I wonder what stories these aliens would tell today about going to the Town Hall to fill out the registration forms.

(P.S. I’m hoping some local commenters might have heard parents or grandparents talk about the registration process and what it meant to their relatives).

Related posts:

The dark-eyed little girl in the photo

Fragments of history: When the the KKK marched in Kittery, Maine

Sources and resources

At Digital Maine’s Alien Registration Order Archive, of the Maine State Library, visitors can browse through 20,000 non-citizen immigrants registration forms; this extensive collection of documents is searchable by town and name. To learn more about the Order, see this article by Maine State Archivist Samuel Howes: Maine’s Alien Registration of 1940.

The 1940 Census can be searched online via a National Archives database. However, it appears that census data is only available from larger cities in York County.

Fragments of history: When the KKK marched in Kittery, Maine

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This photo by early 20th century photographer and businessman Frank Walker documents one of the KKK "Konclaves" held in Kittery in the 1920s.

This photo by early 20th century photographer and businessman Frank Walker documents a large KKK parade held in Kittery in the 1920s (courtesy of the Kittery Historical & Naval Museum).

Why and how did Kittery-ites join the Ku Klux Klan in the 1920s? The Foreside parade in this undated J. Frank Walker photo likely took place on either June 30, 1924, or August 17, 1925, when Portsmouth Herald articles document these two “Konclaves” .

The 1924 parade concluded with a “naturalization” ceremony — an initiation ritual that echoed the ceremony for becoming a U.S. citizen.  The festivities wrapped up at Locke’s Cove with a cross burning.

But even though these two parades are fairly recent events, we have only fragments of history about the Kittery Klan.  Were the marchers — an estimated 400, according to some — all from Kittery, or was this a region-wide gathering?  Kittery was a small town of 4,700, so it seems unlikely that a single organization would draw 400 locals, especially at a time when many belonged to one or more fraternal organizations. Then again, 1924 lacked the myriad entertainments of the current era, so maybe the Klan parade provided an opportunity for a summer social event. On Labor Day, 1924, a Klan parade in Saco drew 300 marchers–reportedly a mixed crowd of locals and Klan members from throughout New England–so perhaps Kittery’s parades drew a similar crowd.

Some say–and again, this is hearsay based on fragments of talk and memory — that the parades were organized to protest the construction of St. Raphael’s Catholic Church in Kittery.  But in the 1920s, no construction was happening at St. Raphael’s, established in 1916 to serve the town’s small community of 77 Catholics.  Parishioners celebrated Mass in a small chapel, constructed in 1916 within the existing foundation of a one-time stable; the church was built in 1933-1934 at the same Wentworth Street location.  St. Raphael’s history book mentions that Catholics faced some bigotry, including the burning of a cross on the grounds of the basement church, but includes no dates.

Another view of the parade, which shows the marching band that also participated. The photo is undated, but The lighting suggest that this is a different shot of the same parade as above (courtesy of the Kittery Historical & Naval Museum).

Another view of the parade, which shows the marching band that also participated (courtesy of the Kittery Historical & Naval Museum).

Between 1923-1925, Klan membership surged in Maine to over 20,000 people (as reported by the Klan, with other sources reporting higher numbers), mostly due to a charismatic leader, F. Eugene Farnsworth, and a fear that French-Canadian immigrants might gain political power. Thousands of Quebecois were working in the mills of Biddeford, Saco, Sanford and other Maine towns, with more crossing the border each year.

What was happening in Kittery at this time? The town didn’t have the large mills with hundreds of employees.  However, U.S. Census records show a population surge in Kittery from 1900, when 2,872 people lived in town, to 1920, when 4,763 residents were counted–an increase of 66%.  U.S. immigration as a whole peaked in these years.  Was Kittery’s population increase fueled by immigrants? Or was the surge due to expanding job opportunities at the Shipyard as it built up during World War I?

In the early days of St. Raphael’s, the parishioners were not French-Canadians; the original membership list includes names such as Curran, Witham, Bridges, and Drake. This small group had been around for years, initially rowing to Portsmouth to attend Mass and then later traveling to South Berwick’s St. Michael’s Church.

Further north, in Portland and beyond, King Kleagle F. Eugene  Farnsworth, a one-time hypnotist best described as a huckster, had capitalized on fears of French-speaking Canadian immigrants to generate interest in the Klan. In 1923, Governor Percival Baxter, a Republican, spoke out against the Klan, predicted that the organization would fail to influence the “level-headed citizens of Maine.”

But he was wrong. Two years later, Republican Ralph O. Brewster became Maine’s governor, thanks in large part to the support of the “White Knights” who backed him.

This circa 1910 postcard shows an Atlantic Shore Line trolley crossing Locke's Cove. The KKK ceremony and cross burning occurred somewhere in this vicinity (Postcard from collections of Seashore Trolley Museum).

This circa 1910 postcard shows an Atlantic Shore Line trolley crossing Locke’s Cove. The KKK ceremony and cross burning occurred somewhere in this vicinity (Postcard from collections of Seashore Trolley Museum).

Farnsworth promoted “100% Americanism,” by which he meant White Anglo-Saxon Protestantism. By this time, Irish Catholics were mainstream in East Coast cities, and politically powerful, and Maine had a small Irish-Catholic population (the oldest Catholic church in New England, Saint Patrick’s, was established in Newcastle in 1808).

But a new horde of non-English speaking Catholics in a rural state like Maine posed a threat. They might take all the jobs or spread diseases in their tenement houses. They might gain political power and demand funding for parochial schools, or worse.

These sentiments echoed national anxieties about immigrants, especially the “yellow swarms” from Italy and other southern and eastern European countries.  By the early 1920s, the Klan claimed 6 million members, many recruited with its “100% Americanism” rhetoric.

This 1924 Portsmouth Herald article...

This Portsmouth Herald article describes the parade on June 30, 1924, including the cross-burning at Locke’s Cove. A similar short article describes a parade on August 30, 1925.

Today, when I see these photos of ordinary citizens marching in white robes, I wonder who they were and why they marched. Were they “old Kittery” residents, fearful of being displaced by industrialization and a changing economy?  Were they suspicious of French-speaking immigrants, even if they didn’t know any of these “outsiders” who didn’t speak English, practiced a “foreign” religion, and allegedly owed their allegiance to a religious leader in a faraway country? Were they seeking connection and community with others who made them feel safe?

During the Gilded Age of the 1890s, the outside world rediscovered Kittery, which became a popular summer destination for tourists who stayed in the town’s five large hotels.

But before the tourists came, Kittery, along with the rest of the Piscataqua region, was a sleepy backwater, in decline since Jefferson’s Embargo in the 1800s killed off the merchant economy (Kittery lost 35% of its population between 1800 and 1810).  Although many stayed and got by with farming, fishing, building ships, more than 100 years passed before the Kittery reached its pre-Embargo population of about 3,100 people.  Vital records in the Town Reports — births and deaths — show the same names over and again,  many from families who had settled here during colonial times.

kkk at the Grange 1933 (2)

This January 19, 1933 update on Kittery Grange news mentions Kittery Klan No. 5 as contributing to an upcoming Unemployment Bazaar.

The last documented Klan event in Kittery is a 1933 notice about a social event at the Kittery Grange.  By then, the Klan’s national membership had dropped to 45,000, with 225 members reported in Maine in 1930. The Klan had imploded, due in part to the murder trial and unveiling of King Kleagle D.C. Stephenson, a one-time salesman who had murdered his girlfriend, along with a variety of other allegations of corruption and abuse of power. In some parts of the country, the Klan continued to terrorize its victims, especially African-Americans, but it had lost its force as a national organization.

But before its implosion, the Klan had achieved several goals: it had helped to secure the passage of the 1924 National Origins Act, which limited the number of immigrants, especially non-Protestants from southern and eastern Europe. Then in 1928, the Klan helped to defeat presidential candidate Al Smith, a Catholic.

Still a small group in Kittery hung on.  I wonder who these ordinary people were, and why we have forgotten about Kittery Klan No. 5 so easily.

Sources and resources

I welcome all additions, corrections, comments, or suggestions for further information about the Klan in Kittery, via the Comments section.

Many thanks to Kim Sanborn, Executive Director of the Kittery Naval & Historical Museum, for sharing her insights on the Klan’s presence in Kittery.

U.S. Census data is compiled in an easy-to-read format on the Kittery, Maine Wikipedia page, but I have not been able to verify the accuracy of this data.

“The King Kleagle of Maine’s Ku Klux Klan was an opportunist,” by Sharon Cummings.  SoMeOldNews: Surprising Southern Maine History.  Cummings’s research suggests that anti-immigrant King Kleagle Farnsworth was himself a Canadian immigrant from New Brunswick, although he claimed Columbia Falls, Maine as his birthplace.

“The Ku Klux Klan in New Hampshire, 1923-1927”, Stephen H. Goetz. Historical New Hampshire, Vol 43, No. 4, Winter 1988. Goetz also looks at the brief time of the KKK in New Hampshire, where long-established French-Canadian communities had largely assimilated into the mainstream.  He speculates that the national “social hysteria” over immigration and other issues fueled Klan membership (which required the significant expenses of a $10 initiation fee and $5 for the white robe), as well as the general popularity of all fraternal organizations.

“The Nativist Klan.” Maine Memory Network of the Maine Historical Society.

Not a Catholic Nation: The Ku Klux Klan confronts New England in the 1920s, by Mark Paul Richards. Amherst/Boston, MA: University of Massachusetts Press, 2015.

Richards’s book offers insightful and evidence-filled chapters on the rise of the Klan in Maine in the 1920s.  By the mid-1920s, Roman Catholics were the largest single religious group in the state, with 173, 893 adherents, compared to the Northern Baptist Convention, at 32,031, and the Methodist Episcopal Church, at 22,938.  Richards also cites a 1930 Washington Post article claiming a peak membership of 150,141 Klan member in Maine, the largest in New England, and almost 20% of Maine’s population, or 30% of the white native-born population.

U.S. Immigration Legislation: 1924 Immigration Act.  U.S. Immigration legislation online. The National Origins Act set limits on immigration and set up a quota system based upon the current population of the United States which basically guaranteed that the majority of immigration slots would go to immigrants from northern Europe (Ireland, Germany, Scandinavia).

“Uncomfortable History,” by Candace Kanes. Maine History Online. Maine Historical Society.

Related posts:

For more on Kittery history during the Gilded Age of the 1890s (especially on the PK&Y Trolley), see my posts “On Bridges and the Jet Set” and “Remnants of the Gilded Age at Brave Boat Harbor.”

On early 20th century immigration in Kittery: The little girl in the photo and The summer when Kittery aliens landed at the Town Office.

Skulls of history in a forgotten tomb

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Where was he, the most noteworthy man who ever called my town home?

Back and forth I wandered, searching. Where was the life-sized portrait of Sir William Pepperrell?

At the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, Massachusetts, nobody seemed to know, at least not the two young gallery guards I asked. At last, an older gentleman led me through American Decorative Arts to my baron.

We turned a corner and came upon an entire wall taken up by the portrait, which easily was one of the largest on display at the PEM. But even here, Sir William was largely forgotten, just another guy on the wall.

Sir William Pepperrell, painted in 1745 by John Smibert, to commemorate the successful Siege of Louisbourg.

Sir William Pepperrell, painted in 1745 by John Smibert, to commemorate the successful Siege of Louisbourg, at Cape Breton, Nova Scotia.

Such is the fleeting nature of fame  — even when you were once one of the wealthiest and most famous men in the American colonies, and the only American-born Englishman ever awarded a baronetcy.

Reproductions of this portrait of Colonial William Pepperrell (the rags-to-riches orphan who built the Pepperrell Mansion in the late 1600s) are found in several 19th century histories. I have been unable to locate the name of the artist or the current owner/location of the portrait, which may or may not be that of the first William Pepperrell.

Reproductions of this portrait of the first William Pepperrell are found in several 19th century histories.

The Pepperrells were upstarts start-from-nothing Americans. Sir William’s father, William Pepperrell, came to New England as a teenaged orphan working on a cod fishing boat at the Isles of Shoals, just off the coast of Maine and New Hampshire.

After completing his apprenticeship, young Pepperrell used his earnings to buy his first boat. Eventually, he bought more boats, leased them out, and combined his knowledge of the fishery with his business acumen to build an empire. His 1682 Pepperrell Mansion still dominates Kittery Point’s Pepperrell Cove neighborhood today.

William, his son, expanded the empire and became a colonial real estate magnate, buying up property on Maine’s coast from Kittery to Scarborough. Both father and son, however, did more than count their dollars.  William senior helped to establish establish Kittery’s First Congregational Church, and was active in civic affairs, a legacy continued by his son, who served as a court judge and commanded the local militia.

By the 1740s, Kittery Point had little need for an active militia, as the threat of Indian raids on the coast had faded.  But Britain and France remained engaged in warfare. In 1745, Massachusetts Governor William Shirley, abetted by others, decided that the colonists should try to dislodge the French from their fort at Louisbourg, on Cape Breton Island in Nova Scotia. He asked William Pepperrell (the son) to raise an army of 4,000 men and take command of an expedition upon Louisbourg.

Pepperrell had no military field experience.  When he accepted the command of this inexperienced citizen-soldier army, he knew the outcome was far from certain.

Long story short: After a lengthy siege, Pepperrell’s force, aided by the British Navy, captured the fort, and King George II made him a baronet. The American who had commanded the force that defeated a European army returned home to much acclaim.

Three years later, New Englanders had to swallow a bitter pill when the fort was returned to France as part of a swap for a British fort captured by the French in India. But the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle couldn’t take away that fact that the colonials had learned, under Pepperrell, that they could hold their own against professional soldiers – a lesson the next generation remembered 30 years later on the eve of the American Revolution.

Sir William Pepperrell, some say, became an inspiration for New England’s patriots. Conveniently, he passed away in 1759, so he could be remembered for Louisbourg without having to declare himself a Patriot or a Loyalist, as his Loyalist grandson William Pepperrell had to do. In 1774, his fellow citizens recalled Pepperrell as a “great American.”

In the 1730s (or possibly earlier), William built a large tomb for his father – a crypt dug into the side of a hill on a field across from the Pepperrell Mansion. A slab of imported marble capped the tomb, and the first William, who lived into his 80s, was interred there in 1734.  Later, other family members joined the patriarch, including the Hero of Louisbourg.

A postcard depicting the Pepperrell Tomb circa 1910-1920, when the tomb was a tourist attraction for the thousands of visitors who stayed in Kittery’s five Gilded Age hotels.  The trees are no longer standing, but the basic appearance of the tomb today is the same (1908 postcard, creator unknown).

But by the mid-19th century, Sir William’s tomb had fallen into disrepair. Writing in 1875, popular historian Samuel Drake noted that when the tomb was repaired, at the behest of Pepperrell descendent Harriet Hirst Sparhawk, “the remains were found lying in a promiscuous heap at the bottom, the wooden shelves at the sides having given way, precipitating the coffins upon the floor of the vault. The planks first used to close the entrance had yielded to the pressure of the feet of cattle grazing in the common field, filling the tomb with rubbish. About thirty skulls were found in various stages of decomposition.”

These skulls inside the Pepperrell Tomb are likely the remains of different members of the Pepperrell family, including Sir William. The photo, courtesy of the Portsmouth Atheneum, was probably taken by descendent and local historian Joe Frost, as it was found tucked into a book he had given the Atheneum.

These skulls inside the Pepperrell Tomb are likely the remains of various members of the Pepperrell family, including (possibly) Sir William. The photo was probably taken in the 1970s by descendant and local historian Joseph Frost, as it was discovered tucked into a book he had given the Atheneum (Joseph W.P. Frost Collection, Portsmouth Atheneum).

Although the tomb was repaired then, it has repeatedly fallen into a cycle of neglect and renovation. Another source notes that at the turn of the 20th century, young boys played games in and around the tomb.  For many years, the Pepperrell Family Association maintained the tomb, but that organization disbanded in 1937, probably because its members had died, or moved away, or lost interest in a now-distant ancestor. At that time, according to notes and documents in the Frost Collection at the Portsmouth Atheneum, the tomb plot was signed over to a relative in a distant state.

For years, it seems, care of the tomb has depended on happenstance and somebody taking an interest. At the time of Drake’s writing, the proprietor of the Pepperrell Hotel, which overlooked the tomb, took an interest. But because the tomb is sort of an island onto itself, not in a cemetery, not in somebody’s backyard, it is easily forgotten.

At the Kittery Naval and Historical Museum, visitors can look at mourning rings crafted to commemorate the death of Sir William Pepperrell. These rings were worn by relatives and others to show they were in mourning. We should do more of that kind of memorial today, although the cost of purchasing 14K gold rings for a large number of mourners is probably reserved to the 1%, as was likely also the case in 1759.

At the Kittery Naval and Historical Museum, visitors can look at mourning rings crafted to commemorate the death of Sir William Pepperrell. The family distributed these rings to mourners.  I like the idea of this tradition — a small but public display of mourning — although I’m sure the cost of the rings limited the practice to wealthier Americans.

In more recent times, local historian and Pepperrell descendent Joseph Frost (now deceased) corresponded with state officials and others, trying to get a person, a state agency, or some entity to take responsibility for the tomb, to assure that it didn’t again fall into a state of disrepair or neglect (Joseph W. P. Frost Collection, Portmouth Atheneum).

Back in the early 1960s, two people who claimed to represent the disbanded Pepperrell Family Association filed a quit-claim deed signing the lot over to the owner of Frisbee’s Store. He built a parking lot on the lower part of the tomb plot and carried out his obligations, per the deed, to maintain the tomb.  But eventually, the tomb was forgotten again, with brush, grass and trees growing up around it.

I’m still not exactly sure who or what “owns” the tomb, but in 2008, volunteers from the Friends of Fort McClary cleaned up the tomb.  Once again, Kittery’s forgotten hero was remembered. Today, a small American flag and the Union Jack flutter on grassy knoll across the street from Frisbee’s.

I wonder how many years will pass before we forget him again. I know that with volunteers, keeping something going often depends on one or two key people. They get sick, or move away, or die, or just get weary of responsibility.

Is forgetting the tomb an inevitable result of our on-to-go individualistic American lives? I haven’t visited the grave of my paternal grandparents since my grandmother died in the 1970s. I’ve visited the grave of my maternal grandparents once or twice in 15 years. I don’t even know the locations of the graves belonging to my great-grandparents, even though one great-grandmother lived long into my adulthood.

But my great-grandmother didn’t lead an expedition that inspired  a generation of Americans that they had it in them to win a war against a world power.  That’s a man worth remembering.

Front view of the Pepperrell Mansion, looking out towards Pepperrell Cove.

Front view of the Pepperrell Mansion, looking out towards Pepperrell Cove.  The first William Pepperrell built this house, on a plot of land given to him by his father-in-law, John Bray, who lived next door.  Sir William the son  lived here with his family until his death in 1759, when Lady Mary Pepperrell built her own more modern mansion town the street.

PS: Readers, if you know anything more about the tomb, please add your comments or email me, and I will update the information in this post.

Sources and resources

For more on the Pepperrells, I especially recommended the last chapter of my book, Pioneer on a Mountain Bike, along with my posts, “Ghost of a Pepperrell Lady“, “Globalization,circa 1807, curses the Lady Pepperrell House“and “Nathaniel Sparhawk and the Art of Swagger.”

The Kittery Naval and Historical Museum has several Pepperrell artifacts on display, including — possibly — a telescope that William might have used at Louisbourg.

For more on 18th and 19th century mourning rings, see Historic New England’s online exhibit, Not Lost But Gone Before: Mourning Jewelry.

Drake, Samuel Adams.  Nooks and Crannies of the New England Coast. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1875.

 

Why I go to church on Christmas Eve

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Growing up in an Irish-Catholic suburb south of Boston, I went to church 60 days out of the year:  52 Saturday or Sunday masses, seven holy days of obligation, and Thanksgiving, which was recommend by the church but not required, hence, we attended.

Although I enjoyed some aspects of the church community, such as our youth group “Gong Show” and ski trips to Vermont, I never liked going to church.   The service was boring and sometimes frightening.  I especially remember one sweltering 100-degree day in July, when our ancient pastor, Monsignor Sullivan, stood up to deliver his usual lengthy sermon.   “If you think it’s hot in here, “ he snarled at the congregation, “then wait until you experience HELL!”  Then he sat down, as we trembled, aware of our sin and our guilt in hoping for an early exit from the service.

By the time I was a teenager, the Monsignor had retired and was replaced by a series of kinder, gentler priests, but I never felt uplifted in going to church. Instead, my spirit felt oppressed.  Over the years, I have tried different parishes and churches, but I haven’t been a regular church-goer for many years. Sometimes feel that I SHOULD go to the church, for the sake of my son, but I really don’t want to.  I’ve told my son that belonging to a church is a good thing to do, but I just can’t quite bring myself to do it as I am ‘churched out’ from my childhood.

Still, I always go to church on Christmas Eve. Even if I’m not quite sure where I stand on the miraculous events of Christmas, I want my son to understand that Christmas exists for a reason apart from great deals at Best Buy.

The First Congregational Church, depicted in this early 20th century postcard, was built in 1730 and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

For several years now, my family and I have been attending Christmas Eve service at the First Congregational Church in Kittery Point.  Catholicism is so deeply engrained in my mental fiber that I’m not entirely at home in this austere Puritan building, built in 1730 by descendants of early Puritan migrants.  Where is the body of Christ, hanging on the cross? The statues of Mary and Joseph?  The 13 Stations of the Cross depicting Christ’s suffering as he walked towards his death?

But the Lord’s Prayer is the same prayer I recited at my childhood Catholic church. We sing “Joy to the World” and other familiar hymns.  The Christmas Eve service is family-oriented and we see many friends and acquaintances.  The sermon is both short and uplifting.

I especially like going to the First Congregational Church because the church is almost 300 years old.  As an entity, the church was organized in 1714, and the 1730 building is the oldest surviving continuously used church building in Maine.  (Knowing this, I get a little nervous on Christmas Eve when children and adults alike walk to the altar to light candles).

The Parsonage, now known as the Parish House, was built at the same time as the church. The building has been altered, enlarged, and has modern plumbing (unlike the church, which has no running water), but the Parish House still definitely evokes the feel of an 18th century building. This postcard claims that George Washington slept here, but that is probably more legend than truth. Washington’s 1789 “inaugural tour” visit to Portsmouth, NH is well-documented. The new President briefly touched ashore at Kittery Point during that visit but did not spend the night.

In this church, 18th century minister Reverend John Newmarch  offered comfort at funerals for too many children when diphtheria struck in 1735 and he provided theological reassurance to those anxious souls who didn’t feel the spirit move them during the Great Awakening.  It’s likely that the great itinerant preacher George Whitefield spoke from the pulpit.   During the Revolution, Loyalists and Patriots walked the aisles and prayed together on many Sabbaths.  Later, the morality of slavery was debated and prayers were offered for President Lincoln.  The church bells tolled to mark the end of two world wars.  In the mid-19th century, once the Puritans/Congregationalists got over their aversion to Christmas, congregants gathered to celebrate Christmas, just as they will on this year.

Maybe someday, when I go to church on Christmas Eve, I’ll feel more connected to a sense of faith.  But for now, walking in the footsteps of the churchgoers who came before me feels like a sort of faith, maybe a faith in humanity and its ability to endure, and to keep an institution like this antique church up and running for almost three centuries.  The world is often an ugly place, then and now. But on Christmas Eve, the bells still toll. The churchgoers sing the songs. The children light the candles.