A New England Ghost Teaches the Reason to Give Thanks (1986)

The Benjamin Mead House, Cos Cob. Circa 1697. Photo: August 2014. 

*Note: This is a fictional story I wrote for publication in Greenwich Time. This historical setting is authentic, but this is not based on a story of an actual historical event. Please enjoy -and Happy Thanksgiving (November 6, 2014). 

by Jeffrey Bingham Mead
Greenwich Time, Greenwich, Connecticut
November 26, 1986. Page A9.

Many, many years ago, in those days when the majestic maple trees that emblazon the autumn foliage  and shed the numerous homes of Cos Cob today were nothing more than the height of a country gentleman of yesteryear, a young girl named Emeline lived with her family in what is now the historic Benjamin Mead homestead on Orchard Street.

The old salt-box styled house has stood on its foundations since the early 18th century. (Note: the Benjamin Mead House was built in 1696) Young Emeline was born there along with all her younger brothers.

For a 12-year-old girl, she was quite phenomenal. Generally shying away from playing with the other girls from school, Emeline was a tomboy of sorts, who preferred a game of stickball with the boys. Besides school, playing with the boys of Cos Cob and grudgingly helping her mother with household chores, she spent time at her father's carriage repair shop on the Boston Post Road, where she harassed and groomed the horses.

One Thanksgiving holiday was quite memorable for little Emeline. Thanksgiving arrived seemingly early that year for everyone. The weather was cold, just as it said it would be in the Old Farmer's Almanac. Yet the anticipation of this great holiday New England can call its own brought warmth and joy throughout the village. Though the trees had long before dropped their leaves, and the frost had hardened the earth, the fireplaces in all the old homesteads that dot the farms burned with an invitation for one and all to enjoy the cozy warmth of the holiday brought for family and neighbors. Even the most moody and glum souls wore a smile on their faces.

Except Emeline. Thanksgiving did not thrill her very much. For her, there were endless chores, her mother always ordering her about, preparing the feast and watching over her younger brothers. Family and friends of her parents would be constantly in and out the door, and there would be no time to play.

So, the night before Thanksgiving, Emeline went off to bed, her mother and father ushering all the children to their rooms. Later, with the table set and everything ready for the next days' feast, Emeline's parents let the hearth-fire die out ad went upstairs to sleep.

Many hours passed in the night when Emeline awakened to the sounds of footsteps coming from the living room downstairs. Rising out of her bed, she quietly tip-toed past her parents room and went downstairs.

To Emeline's astonishment and surprise, an old man stood next to the living room hearth, which was blazing once again. The old an had white hair on his head and a beard. He wore a long black cloak and carried a walking stick, which he leaned against the wall next to the fireplace.

He turned and saw Emeline watching him.

"Did  wake you?" the old man asked.

"Who are you?" gasped Emeline.

"Who am I?" the stranger asked, his arms folded defiantly across his chest. "Who are ye?"

The little girl stood in silence, suddenly noticing that the stranger did not cast a shadow from the light of the blazing hearth.

"I, young lady, am the ghost of Benjamin Mead, and I built this house a long time ago. I now who ye are, little Emeline."

"What do you want, why are you here?" queried the little girl. Her eyes were wise open with shock.

"Oh, I come by pretty often, though you can't see me unless I want you to. I come by the check up on things. The place looks pretty good, except for that small leak in the roof over the kitchen. Tell your father to take care of that."

Benjamin Mead went over to the dining room, where the table was set for the Thanksgiving Day. "You must be excited," said the ghostly figure.

"No, I don't like Thanksgiving much at all. It's all work and shores, and people coming in and out of the house all the time," said Emeline.

"What?" the ghost bellowed out. "Thanksgiving is a day to be thankful for all the blessings we all have. Good health, a good harvest, family who take care of you. Just think how bad the Pilgrims had it back in the early days."

"What happened to them?" asked Emeline.

The ghost of Benjamin Mead sat down in a rocking chair next to the hearth and motioned for Emeline to sit near him.

As the fire continued to blaze, he told the little girl about the story of the Pilgrims in Massachusetts.

Benjamin Mead turned to Emeline. "When times became good they had a feast, like the one people have every year at this time. Tell me, child, what do you have to be thankful for?

Emeline took a deep breath. "Well, I have my folks and my brothers, even if they do annoy me sometimes. I am doing good in school, too, and I have my friends. Then there is my grandmother. She likes me more than the boys 'cause she says I have "spunk" as she calls it.

"That's good," said the ghost. "Thanksgiving is a time for togetherness and thanking God for our good bounty and harvest, and the blessings of the past year."

With that, Benjamin Mead's ghost got up out of the chair.

"It's getting late for a young lady like you to not be in bed. Happy Thanksgiving to you, Emeline," said the ghost.

"Happy Thanksgiving to you, too, Benjamin Mead," smiled the little girl.

Emeline was halfway up the stairs when she ventured back down to the living room, having forgotten to let the ghostly visitor out the door. She was bewildered at the encounter she had just had with the stranger. Having forgotten her manners for guests, she walked around the corner into the living room, only to discover that the ghost of Benjamin Mead had departed, and to her astonishment, that the hearth fire was out, and its coals without a shred of warmth in them.

Jeffrey B. Mead, who lives in Greenwich, is a direct descendant of one of the founding families of the town. He is a free-lance writer and a member of the Greenwich Historical Society. 

To the Editor: Burial Grounds Cleanup (Greenwich Time, 1987)

Photo: November 10, 2014. 

To the Editor:

In the continuous efforts by the Historical Society of the Town of Greenwich to coordinate cleanups of the neglected historic burial grounds of Greenwich, I wish you take this time to express my sincerest thanks to members of the Brunswick Key Club. These teenagers came out in the spirit of serving the community, volunteerism, teamwork, and energetic enthusiasm on Dec. 13 to engage in the preservation of the Butternut Hollow Hill Cemetery.

I want very much to tell you how we appreciate the tireless efforts of these young people. I extend special thanks to Brunswick Key Club President Joe Donahue, faculty advisor Peter Kashatus, and club members Jimmy Young, James Farrell, Peppi Nitta, Peter Kashatus and Reggie Claus.

They participated in the worthwhile cause preservation, worthy of praise by their community and the Historical Society. They represent fine examples of young people fulfilling a valuable service to our town, and in working constructively together met the challenge and achieved the goals at hand.

The success of the Historical Society's historic burial ground cleanup program is largely due to the corporation and support of its many members, town officials, and school and civic sponsors. I am grateful, as always, for the energetic support of Historical Society President Claire Vanderbilt, Vice President Brooks Hoffman, William Finch, Jr., and the staff and members of the Historical Society. Likewise I am grateful for the support of Frank Keegan and Bob Waggoner, and the selectmen.

It has truly been a special privilege to work with the Brunswick School Key Club and other young people in our efforts to preserve the historic burial grounds. I offer my sincerest thanks for your hard work, enthusiasm, leadership, maturity, energy and teamwork in the cleanup of the Butternut Hollow Hill Cemetery. It is with special gratitude that I salute that these fine young people, and  urge my fellow Greenwich citizens to do the same, and encourage others among you to join us in our efforts to preserve the historic burial grounds of the Town of Greenwich.

Jeffrey B. Mead
Burial Grounds Committee Chairman
Historical Society of the Town of Greenwich

Innovations Keep History on the Move: Ebenezer Mead House Moved from High School Campus (1986)

by Jeffrey Bingham Mead

Greenwich Time, Greenwich, Connecticut

Wednesday, July 30, 1986. Page A9.

With the costs of Greenwich real estate going up and the proliferation of commercial development around town, one must wonder sometimes whether the preservation test is possible. It was 10 years ago that the historic Maher house, built by General Ebenezer Mead in the 18th century, was moved from the foot of Put's Hill on East Putnam Avenue to the new site on Salem Street in Cos Cob.

From Frederick A. Hubbard's book Other Days in Greenwich, we are told "it was from the front porch of this house in the early morning of February 26, 1779 that General Ebenezer Mead saw General Israel Putnam make his famous escape from the British dragoons." It was Ebenezer Mead who later established the first Greenwich Library in the house and served as its president.

At the time Mr. Hubbard visited the house it was owned by Theodore Mead, grandson of the general. Theodore Mead was the one who had transformed the meadow behind the main house into a pond. It was known for many years as "Ten Acres," a place for leisurely ice-skating and ice harvesting during the winter months. A mill site was located close by at Brothers Brook. Many homes in Horseneck and Cos Cob were warmed by firewood from Theodore Mead's woods.

After his death in 1876 the property was sold in 1881 with Cornelia Mead, widow of Theodore, given a life use of the house and four acres of land. She died in the autumn of that year, and the property subsequently went to Henry Webb and then sold to John Maher.

Many years passed until the Board of Education purchased the property for the new high school campus. In doing so the board permitted a life use for Dorothy Maher, who passed away in the autumn of 1974.

The Board of Education formed the Maher House Committee, which is chaired by H. Edward Hildebrand, Jr. The purpose of this group was to "conduct a study to explore the possible alternative long-term and short-term uses for the Maher House… and to make specific recommendations to the Board of Education."

The committee found the house unsuitable for educational purposes and too expensive to turn into a museum. The recommendation, which was rejected by the Board of Education, stated that it should remain a private residence. Subsequently the house was turned over to the Board of Selectmen.

Then-First Selectmen Ruppert Vernon reconvened the Maher House Committee. In a vigorous effort to preserve the house, he asked the committee members to review their findings, emphasizing the desire of the Board of Education for a speedy resolution of the fate of the house so that a use for the land underneath could be found. With the committee again recommending the house stay as a private residence and upon receiving the proper legislation from the RTM, the selectmen began to accept bids on the house.

They excepted the bid of Charles Danks in April 1976 for the timely price of $19.76.

Mr. Danks, a mortician by profession, decided to relocate the house to Salem Street behind his proposed funeral home. The move itself, reported to cost about $50,000, was not without problems. The roof was removed so that the house could pass under high tension wires, with a new roof to be built according to current building codes. It was also necessary to move some traffic signals and telephone wires.

On the day of the house moving many bystanders lined the post Road to witness the event. At the time I was among those who saw the majestic house traverse its route to the new site. As I recall the relocation went smoothly on the late spring sunny day. A number of police officers detoured traffic. The house, raised on cribbing, took several hours to make its journey.

The task of moving historic houses is not new but can be of great importance. A house of historic value is preserved but the original site can be used for other purposes. The relocation of the Maher House is an example of an innovative way for individuals and government to work together for the common good of maintaining the physical aspect of our past.

Jeffrey be Mead, who lives in Greenwich, is a direct descendent of one of the founding families of the town. He is a freelance writer and a member of the Greenwich Historical Society.

The History of Greenwich Part of New England Lore (1986)

by Jeffrey Bingham Mead

Greenwich Time, Greenwich, Connecticut
Wednesday, July 16, 1986

Crossroad Farm, North Greenwich. Photo: November 10, 2014.

On Friday Founders' Day arrives again marking Greenwich's 346th anniversary. It was nearly three and a half centuries ago today in the year 1640 that local Indians sold the land between Asamuck, which is the stream flowing through Binney Park, and Patamuck, the river dividing Stamford and Greenwich.

The buyers, Capt. Daniel Patrick and Robert Feaks, by today's real estate prices received quite a bargain for 25 English coats. Robin Feaks's wife, Elizabeth, bought what is now Greenwich Point. Jeffrey Ferris, who claimed some land to the west of Patamuck Cove, is the early settler who gave Greenwich its name, after the town in England famous as the site of the prime meridian line.

During these last 346 years the town has been under the rule of three nations; the Netherlands, England and the United States, all of which, coincidentally, have flags colored red, white and blue. Ever since the Declaration of Independence in 1776 the town of Greenwich has been a part of United States of America, an incorporated town in the State of Connecticut, one of the original thirteen colonies the formed the basis of the new nation.

The entrance to Putnam Cottage. August 2014. 

Both fact and fiction are intertwined in the many of the rich stories of early Greenwich featuring its settlers and landmarks. As we pause for just a moment landmarks such as Putnam Cottage, the Bush Holley House, Laddin's Rock, Put's Hill and the many historic burial grounds that dot the town come to mind. We are reminded of people like Cornelius Labdin, General Israel Putnam and General Lafayette, of the founding proprietors of the town, and of men who at the call of duty fought for those who died for their country.

Situated on Long Island Sound, our town enjoys a superb natural setting over rolling wooded hills framed to the south by its shoreline. It is a town whose people have over the course of time made many contributions to the life and progress of our state and nation.

Along with our love for achievement and advancement many of us, like many Americans in general, reserve in our hearts a romanticized wish for the small town. Just picture for yourself portraits of white clapboarded houses enhanced by majestic oak and red maple trees amid rolling hills in autumn, or if you prefer, on old saltbox shut snugly against a cold, windy winter snowfall, with an open hearth whose blazing fire within invitingly warms the body and soul.

The importance of history and safeguarding our valuable heritage is part of what Founders' Day in Greenwich is about. The desire to preserve is for the most part motivated not only by a sense of tradition but also out of practical necessity due to the commercial and residential building boom over recent years. Many historic buildings and land exist no more except in the volumes of local history books and in the fond memories of the old timers. It is for this reason that historical societies in their members are emissaries of a counter-movement that has brought about the restoration and safeguarding of many landmarks around the town.

It is a people's movement, whose love and dedication for history of the quality-of-life this town offers is motivated by tradition and purpose joining men and women together to work for the common good.

It is indeed quite a task to summarize the spirit of Founders' Day Eve evokes. I have to wonder sometimes what Captain Daniel Patrick, Jeffrey Ferris and Robert and Elizabeth Feaks would think and say if they saw Greenwich today. Could they ever imagined that a simple transaction involving 25 English coats would have paved the way for the town we know, honor and endeavor to preserve today?

Jeffrey B. Mead, who lives in Greenwich, is a direct descendent of one of the founding families of the town. He is a freelance writer and a member of the Greenwich Historical Society.

Freaks and Phantoms Cavort at the Holley Inn (1986)

Bush Holley House. Photo taken: October 2014.

by Jeffrey Bingham Mead

Greenwich Time, Greenwich, Connecticut
November 2, 1986. Page A15

History, a dull subject to some, when revealed to its fullest is colorful, stimulating and even humorous. This recent Halloween holiday brings back to this diligent writer-historian an incident he ran across which occurred in the annals of local history at the turn of the century in Cos Cob.

The occasion was a rather unique Halloween party at the Bush Holley House on Strickland Road. In those days it was the home of notable ladies and gentlemen who had stayed during the preceding summer season at this famous historical landmark.

For an autumn evening, the Holley Inn was transformed into a haven for freaks, spirits, demons and poltergeists.

With the arrival of each guest, he or she was given a pumpkin and knife with instructions to carve the pumpkin into the features of a face resembling one of the other celebrants. As one could imagine, with so many sculptors, artists and portrait painters present, the faces on the pumpkins surely were realistic and works of arts in themselves, as the Holley Inn was a favorite artist colony in those distant days.

In no time at all, the autumn sun dipped low in the western horizon, yielding to the hours of darkness. With the window shades down, the many fireplaces that dot the interior of the Holley Inn were kindled with inviting, blazing fires. The rooms were decorated with the carved grotesque jack-o'-lanterns sculpted by those in attendance, with illuminated faces flickering with ghoulish laughter as evening set in.

At 6:30, a gong reverberated throughout the halls. The time to dress for dinner in costume arrived, and the many guests clamored to the nearest dressing room available. The costume worn by each guest was kept in strictest confidence until the dinner hour. To say the least, the costumes worn that night bordered on the eccentric. The guest list that night read like a "who's who" of artists and Holley Inn patrons.

Mrs. Edward Holley came as a beautiful Circassian lady, with artist Elmer MacRae as a bearded lady and his wife as a "wild woman of Borneo." Miss A. Barlow and Miss Louise Cameron Walter came as Siamese twins, with Miss Mary Annabel Fanton as a serpent dancer; Miss Theodosia de Riemer Hawley as a Japanese "giantess"; Miss Katherine Metcalf Moody as a Bulgarian princess; Mr. H.F. Taylor as the "king of the Cannibal Islands"; Mr. George Gilman Hall as a Chinese warrior; Mrs. Kate Jordan Vermilye as a vampire; plus many others.

The infamous gong chimed once again at 7:30, alerting the trick-or-treaters to organize in the upper hall for parade which world itself down the south stair case and through the rooms and veranda below to the dining room. The procession was led by Mr. Holley, owner and proprietor of the Holley Inn, who carried a gramophone playing the brass band version of Ludwig von Beethoven's Turkish Patrol March.

Later the costumed guests played at games of 'Hide and Seek,'  'Blindman's Bluff,' and 'Happy is the Miller.' As the clock struck midnight the bewitching hour began. The celebrants descended into the cellar, where they bobbed for apples, consulted the magic mirror, and engaged in the mystical art of palm reading, and also forecasted fate and fortune through tarot cards. 

At long last the evening came to a close, as hideous, ghoulish ghost stories were told, sending many a chill up-and-down the spines of those present, who listened squeamishly in the eerie flickering lights of the Holley Inn cellar.

A bewitching weathervane off Field Point Road, Greenwich. Photo: August 2014.

Jeffrey B. Mead, who lives in Greenwich, is a direct descendent of one of the founding families of the town. He is a freelance writer and a member of the Greenwich Historical Society.

Founders Day in Greenwich 1988

Greenwich Time, Greenwich,  Connecticut
July 18, 1988. Page A9, Col. 1

The entrance to Putnam Cottage. August 2014

Today Greenwich commemorates its 348th birthday, on the occasion known as Founders' Day. This day's importance means that those who observe it hold in high esteem our local heritage and those throughout our history who preserved it for future generations.

Greenwich is in old town, dating from 1640. Our landscape is still dotted with him some old homestead, churches and meeting houses, majestic gardens and carriage houses, burying grounds and other vestiges of our New England culture and history.

While history is the study of the past, Founders' Day has a more personal significance, especially to people like myself and other descendants of old families in this town, whose forebears got things started way back when.

Round Hill Church. October 2014

The phenomenon of our "New Englandness" is still strong, despite the positive and negative aspects of modernization. Alexis de Tocqueville eloquently wrote in 1835 in Democracy in America that "the very existence of townships of New England is, in general, a happy one. Their government is suited to their tastes, and chosen by themselves… The conduct of the local business is easy… No tradition existence of a distinction of ranks; no portion of the community is tempted to oppress the remainder... The native of New England is attached to his Township because it is independent and free; his corporation and its affairs insurers his attachment to its interests; the well-being it affords him secures his affection… He takes part in every occurrence in the place; he practices the art of government in the small sphere within his reach… He acquires a taste for order, comprehends the union of the balance of powers, and collects clear practical notions on the nature of his duties and the extent of his rights."

For me the preservation of our local history is motivated by personal interest, a desire to learn, family tradition and a sense of duty. I belong to the Historical Society of the Town of Greenwich, and as one of the youngest members I have found many people who work there out of love for this town and its history, so that our heritage can and will be preserved for future generations.

Sound Beach Avenue, Old Greenwich. August 2014.

With the opening of the William E Finch, Jr Archives, a treasure trove of history grows in volume every day. I am grateful for the contributions of our members, especially our president, Claire Vanderbilt, and Town Historian William Finch, Jr, for it is these individuals, and the elders of my family, most of whom are now deceased, who, with their stories of ancestors I never met except through their oral histories and artifacts kept as tangible reminders of the past, have laid the groundwork of inspiration for those of us who follow tradition of preservation.

It is important to remember and preserve the past, for all too often we realize how much we have to lose only once it is gone. Many homesteads that once graced our hills and streets now exist merely in photographs and the memories of old-timers. This can also apply to the rapid development of our open spaces, which is a sad manifestation of "progress."

I understand the economic realities of this, and yet I wonder why our town and the New England character must be compromised in the name of "progress" for the almighty dollar. I have seen buildings become piles of rubble in a short time. I desire to see a speedy adoption of the Delay of Demolition ordinance sponsored by the Historical Society and the Historic District Commission.

The Ferris House, Old Greenwich. August 2014.

What makes this Founders Day especially significant is that the movement to preserve and call attention to the historic nature of Greenwich has grown tremendously in recent times. When we stand in the parlor room of the 17th or 18th century homestead, we are placing our focus on the same environment architecturally that our forebears created and were a part of.

For some time now, the Historical Society has had a "Signs of the Times" program of researching and giving plaques to historic homesteads in Greenwich, which has been underwritten by William Raveis Real Estate, Inc. I am especially proud of this for the longevity of this, for the longevity of these places, many built by founding families, attests to just how well-built they were compared to some contemporary structures.

Tomac Cemetery, Old Greenwich. August 2014.

I have also embarked on the active preservation of our historic burying grounds. Although it is not as glamorous as old homestead tours and the like, it is significant, for not only is the problem of neglect of these site being addressed, is being undertaken primarily by the young people of the town. I can state from personal observation and experience that many have contributed greatly to this specialized area of historic preservation, and in doing so have broken many myths I have heard about young people. To all those who have taken part in this I am grateful, for I have seen these special citizens actively involve themselves it with the Founders Day tradition is all about. It is a special sense of community and service as well as a natural desire to learn and contribute, that propels the young people who have taken part.

By preservation activities, whether it be through genealogy, archival work, house restoration, burying ground clean ups and a multitude of other things, we can educate and bring to the forefront an enlightened reflection and reverence of our history, and a renewed significance to the traditions that help us understand where we are, why we are here, and what direction we may choose to take in the future as a town and as a nation. We must continue to educate and inspire others to sit by the warmth of the open hearth open their hearts and minds to the relevance of preserving our past.

The interior of the Round Hill Store. July 2014. 

In reflection on this Founders' Day, we can it back and close our eyes and evoke from our sentiment the idea of what New England is.

There is a meeting house across from a town common surrounded by majestic maples and elms, illuminated every autumn by a kaleidoscopic mosaic of colors, with framed homesteads and barns in the distance, and an old burying ground, with names carved in stone in an attempt at immortality for future generations to ponder on a  hillside.

Such an image is evocative of freshness and innocence characteristic of a new civilization. It all seems so pure and wonderful. Even  de Tocqueville said that "the township seems to come directly from the hand of God."

Yet we have witnessed an erosion here in Greenwich of this image and the reality. More often than not, I see greed winning out, such as the recent case of the Laddin Rock property. I lament the break up of the great estates and the old family farms, especially when it is proposed by descendants of those who held it for so many years. I wonder why dollars must prevail over the prcielessness of our heritage.

The Thomas Lyon House. August 2014. 

Yet the vision and the ideals, as well as the work to realize the preservation of our heritage, goes on. The strength and endurance of such a movement in Greenwich and elsewhere attests to the traditions passed down by our forebears and the sanctity of the ancestral way of life.

With the 350th anniversary of the founding of Greenwich just two years away, on July 18, 1990, we must be forever diligent and persistent in preserving the character of our town for all to revere and enjoy not just on Founders' Day, but every day.

Jeffrey B. Mead, who lives in Greenwich, is a direct descendant of one of the founding families in town. He is a freelance writer and a member of the Greenwich Historical Society. 

Humble Spot Holds Piece of History: Town Farm or Potter's Field Cemetery (1991)

Greenwich Time, Greenwich, Connecticut
August 7, 1991

People often characterize Greenwich as a place for landed gentry, a town of palatial estates and wealth and influence of people. Yet there are many who do not make headlines who have been part of the history of the town.

Greenwich has among its cemeteries a burying ground dedicated solely to interring the destitute and poor. This is the Town Farm or Potter's Field Cemetery, located off Parsonage Road behind the Parsonage Cottage and the Nathaniel Witherell Nursing Home.

In my work with the Historical Society on cemeteries, I did not discover the existence of this hallowed ground until 1988, when I received a phone call from a resident of that part of town. She told me that her afternoon walks took her by the cemetery from time to time. High grass and tall weeds, like at so many burying grounds around town, were the status quo at this site, and a request was made for me to visit the site and perhaps find some young volunteers to clean up this place.

That Spring three boys in search of a confirmation project came to the rescue. Brian and Sean Joyce, with Mr. Joyce on hand with Brian Caruso did wonderful job, and additionally took down names and dates of those interred here. We did not find usual headstones, but each of the 108 people buried here between 1917 and 1969 had a block of stone with a small metal plaque attached with just the names and dates that each lived.

Not long ago, I heard that young people of the Youth Conservation Corps cleaned up the side. Our thanks should go for their hard work and worthwhile efforts.

Who are these people buried in this mysterious place? What stories behind the humble stones are yet to be told? A search of obituaries at Greenwich Library yielded little for most of these people. As I walked around the humble plot I wondered what perspectives on the history of the town they must have had.

There were people buried here with names like John Sirachuk, an immigrant from the USSR who died in 1968 at the Nathaniel Witherell Nursing Home at 80 years of age.

Nearby is Adolph Meier, who lived from 1867 to 1941. A native of Switzerland, he spent his years as a gardener at the Kent House, the famous resort where so many of Belle Haven's first modern-day residents became acquainted with the town -which sadly was demolished to make way for I-95.

I found a small headstone of Ella Rice who died in 1944 at age 75. A native of Hackensack, New Jersey, she came to Greenwich in 1909 and served for many years as a governess in the household of Mr. and Mrs. Elbert Lockwood. They lived over on Mead Avenue in Cos Cob.

Ethel Walker was another one that I found -she died in 1969 after reportedly living in town for 40 years, but like many here not much is known about her.

A retired headwaiter at the Waldorf Astoria in New York named Henry Mahrs is buried here. He came from Hamburg, Germany, and died in 1968 and age 93. Nearby is Ralph Swanson, a worker at TriColor Stables on Taconic Road who died in 1964.

Joseph Waldney, buried here too, was another immigrant from Czechoslovakia. Mr. Waldney worked at the Abendroth Foundry in East Port Chester, where stoves, coal and gas ranges, hot water and steam heaters other items were manufactured earlier in this century.

A Norwegian named Inglof Knutsen, a sporting goods salesman, is interred here.

One of the more interesting people I researched was Arvid Leatz, a Swede who lived in the last 20 years of his life here in America. He belonged to an organization I have never heard of -the Abraham Lincoln Co. #2, Sons of Union Veterans of the Civil War. I wonder how?

In my search I found the most interesting man buried here was Thomas "Shortstop" Gleason –his passing also received front page coverage in the local press when he died in 1934.

He was found slumped in a chair in a one room shack he lived in off Cedar Street in the East Port Chester section of Byram. According to the news account, he had been dead for several days -as well as a pet cat found at his feet. Two local women apparently discovered Mr. Gleason meant upon making a chance glance in the direction of his humble abode. The official cause of his death (and that of the cat, I assume) was carbon dioxide poisoning attributed to a sooty oil stove and the fact that the windows on his shack were tightly shut.

According to the written account of the time, he came from South Hampton, Long Island, and survived in a hermit-like existence by fishing, clamming, oystering and doing odd jobs – and he was also on the town relief rolls. He had been employed at the Interstate Lumber Company but was laid off in 1932 due to the Depression. "Shortstop" Gleason was characterized as being the man of "quiet, unassuming nature and well-liked by those who knew him."

In the spring of 1941, a ceremony was held up by spiritual leaders of the Jewish, Catholic and Protestant faiths to consecrate the burying ground. It was attended by staff members of the then-Welfare Department "inmates" at the Parsonage Cottage and others on a day apparently pleasant. Prayers and hymns were sung to officially hallow the cemetery.

This cemetery -simple, humble and unassuming- is one of the many such  sites in Greenwich that remain as fixtures in our continuing history in the present and as portals to the past. In this small way I hope, after years of neglect and attention, that I have given the degree of overdue dignity to those who lie interred forever in this placid spot set among the hills and trees of our town.