Missionaries to Hawaii (1997)

by Jeffrey Bingham Mead
Greenwich History, Volume 2, Fall 1997. Pages 17-26.
Published by the Greenwich Historical Society,
Greenwich, Connecticut USA

If the early years of the nineteenth century, events in two widely separate parts of the world foretold the future of the American foreign mission movement. In August of 1807, near a grove of maple trees standing in Sloane's Meadows in Massachusetts, Samuel J. Mills, Jr. and five other Williams College students sought protection from an impending thunderstorm in a haystack. They devoted their time to fasting, prayer, and discussion of ways and means of converting the world's "heathens." It was here, in what would later be known as the Haystack Meeting, that the American foreign mission movement had its beginnings.

At about the same time but a world away from the rolling hills of New England, an American trading ship, Triumph, anchored in Kealakekua Bay off the western shore of the island of Hawaii. A young Hawaiian boy named Opukahaia, who dreamed of sailing to distant climes, swam out to the ship. Captain Caleb Brintall of New Haven invited the Hawaiian youth to go with him to America as his cabin boy. Opukahaia (known thereafter as Henry Obookiah) eagerly accepted the invitation. Eventually arriving in New Haven,  Obookiah learned to read and write under the tutelage of Edwin Dwight, son of Yale president Timothy Dwight. Receiving extensive religious training, he became the first Hawaiian-born Christian. A book of his posthumously published memoirs became a bestseller, and soon missionaries were preparing to carry on the work Obookiah had inspired. 

A most important event in the effort was the arrival in 1820 of Congregational missionaries and several American-educated Hawaiians. They were welcomed by the Hawaiian people and met with gratifying success in the decades that followed. Some of Greenwich's citizens were enthusiastic participants in this educational effort.

The first half of the nineteenth century was a period of great social, religious, political change in America. With advances in technology, the far corners of the world were becoming more accessible. Yankee clipper ships and those of other nations plied the oceans opening up markets in far-flung places. Religious revivalism was also facilitated by improvement in communication. The Great Awakening, the 1720s revivalist enthusiasm among primarily Congregational and Presbyterian denominations, was echoed a century later in the Second Great Awakening. The missionary movement was an outgrowth of the second wave of religious zeal.

The missionaries of the Second Great Awakening sought to construct and perpetuate a global Protestant Christian commonwealth using a network of volunteer local, state and national societies outside the realm of government control. The American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions (ABCFM) coordinated mission activities across the continent and the world. Gospel truth, the absolute sovereignty of God over mankind, and Christ's atoning love through direct conversion were believe subscribe to by participants.

Religious enthusiasm was widespread in the New England states, America's Bible belt in the early 19th century, and Greenwich was no exception. The vitality and devotion of New England-led missionary activism was unprecedented. 

The Female Foreign Mission Society of Greenwich's Second Congregational Church was founded in April, 1815. The Female Heathen School Society was founded on June 11, 1817, with Mrs. Hannah Lewis elected to the office of first directress. In 1825, with Benjamin Brush, Jr. as president, the Stanwich Gentleman's Association was founded. The chief purpose of all these societies was to raise funds for the mission cause and to provide moral support. (Also, click here). 

A few individuals in Greenwich dedicated their lives to missionary service in the Hawaiian Islands under the auspices of the ABCFM. Among them were Horton Owen Knapp of Round Hill and his wife, Charlotte Close, and Dr. James William Smith of Stamford and his wife, Millicent Knapp, a sister of Horton Owen Knapp. Another sister, Deborah, went to the island of Kauai for several years. Amos Starr Cooke and his wife Juliette Montaque, though not born in town, had family ties there and left Greenwich for Hawaii in 1836 with Horton and Charlotte Close Knapp. All lived out their lives in Hawaii.

The Hawaiian Mission Houses Historic Site and Archives, Honolulu. 

What motivated young people like those from Greenwich and elsewhere to forgo the comforts of life and the familiar surroundings of New England for a total commitment to the cause of foreign missions? 

Sarah Lewis, daughter of the Rev. Dr. Isaac Lewis of Greenwich's Second Congregational Church and secretary of the Female Foreign Mission Society from its founding in 1815 until her death in 1861, provided one answer to this question. In 1815 she wrote that "it is the duty of those who enjoy the precious privileges of [the] gospel to make vigorous and united efforts for its  propagation among the benighted heathen… [W]hen God hath been pleased again to restore the blessing of peace to our beloved Country… shall we refuse to lend a helping hand to those who would carry the light of the gospel to such as now sit in darkness and see no light?" (1)

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The Hawaiian Islands
The Hawaiian Islands, inhabited by the descendants of Polynesian settlers, were opened to Western contact on January 18, 1778 by Capt. James Cook. He named them the Sandwich Islands after the Earl of Sandwich. In time, the islands became a stopping place for whaling ships and fur-trading vessels. The native population, estimated to be 250,000 in 1778, welcomed its visitors. The Hawaiians, however, had no immunity to smallpox, measles and the venereal diseases that these visitors brought. The population began to decrease substantially, and word of the plight of the Hawaiians reached the far shores of America.

Local chiefs ruled the Hawaiian Islands until about 1800, when they were united under King Kamehameha. His son, Liholiho, became king in 1819 and abolished the local Hawaiian religion. Protestant Christianity, brought by the Rev. Hiram Bingham and his New England missionary colleagues in 1820, was embraced by most Hawaiians. Mission stations throughout the islands were established, with reinforcement sent by the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions over succeeding decades.

Change soon followed. A system of schools a written language, and constitutional government, and a judicial system were reforms the missionaries helped create.

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Those Greenwich residents about whom Sarah Lewis wrote fervently felt the need to dedicate their lives to the missionary movement in Hawaii. Here are some of their stories.

HORTON OWEN KNAPP 

Horton O. Knapp was born in the Round Hill section of Greenwich on March 21, 1813. A contemporary account described him as descended from a pious ancestry, although his parents did not embrace religion until the "time of those extensive revivals of religion which prevailed throughout the United States in 1831." In 1836, Knapp abandoned his goal of studying for the Congregational ministry, deciding to go to the Sandwich Islands as a teacher in response to a call published by the ABCFM. (2)

Horton and his new bride boarded the barque Mary Frazer in Boston and, as members of the Eighth Company Reinforcement, set sail for the Hawaiian Islands. (The first groups of missionaries, sent out in 1820 as "companies," were augmented by subsequent groups of "reinforcements.") The ship became a floating community for the missionaries with morning and evening prayer in the passengers' cabins. By the end of the voyage, about half the crew was converted, including Captain Charles Sumner. Charlotte Knapp noted in her journal that the captain "used to think the subject of religion of little importance…but he had been led by our examples and teaching to examine the subject…and there was a change in his views and feelings." A vote among the missionaries during the voyage put Knapp in charge of the Singing School. "I immediately objected to being their chorister," he wrote home to Deacon Silas Hervey Mead. "My objections, however, were unsuccessful." (3)

Horton and Charlotte were assigned to the mission station at Waimea on Hawaii, where Horton worked as an associate to Rev. Lorenzo Lyons. About this time, an upswing of religious fervor swept the Islands and Reverend Lyons was often absent on "preaching tours." Knapp then took on the labors of the station. He conducted the school in the Hawaiian language and ran religious meetings for the native population. The meetinghouse was a grass shelter.

Knapp was one of thirteen founding members of the Hawaiian Association of Teachers in 1837. This organization was dedicated to discussions of science and to the advancement of education and Christianity in the Sandwich Islands. At each annual meeting members were required to submit an essay. Knapp proffered one entitled, "Should the Conversion of His Pupils be the Teachers Highest Aim in Giving Instruction?" In the essay he answered that the question with a persuasive "Yes."

In January 1839, plagued by respiratory problems, he and Charlotte moved to Honolulu where better medical care was available. He also assisted in the schools there, taking over the duties previously assigned to Amos Starr Cooke. On November 26, 1844, Charlotte Close Knapp wrote in her journal, 

"Today is the anniversary of our marriage and it is more than probable the last we shall ever see. Eight years of past rapidly and happily away, but the future seems dark and uncertain. But I would trust in Him who can bring light out of darkness, that He will cause light to shine on my path and give me the consolation I need in every hour of trial."

Horton Owen Knapp died in Honolulu on March 23, 1845, and was buried in the Missionary Cemetery behind the Kawaiahao Church. He was 32 years old. 

His obituary, published by the [Rev. Samuel Chenery Damon in 'The Friend'] of the American Seamen's Friend Society, used the language of the time. "His heart seemed to overflow with affection for those who stood around his bed," wrote Rev. Richard Armstrong, "and in fact for all the members of the mission generally to all whom he sent messages of love, not forgetting even the children. He mentioned the name of his far distant and aged mother, together with his brothers and sisters, expressing a strong desire that the native church members might grow in grace and walk worthy of their high calling, and that his beloved pupils might be brought to Christ." (5)

CHARLOTTE CLOSE KNAPP DOLE

Charlotte Close was born on May 26, 1813, the daughter of Gilbert Close and Sally Howe Close. Both Charlotte and her mother were members of the Female Foreign Mission Society of the Second Congregational Church, and Mrs. Close was a major influence on her daughter's decision to commit her life to mission work in the Sandwich Islands. "To You, my beloved Mother," Charlotte wrote at the beginning of her journal, "these pages are dedicated."

That Charlotte was an unusually bright and accomplished woman we can see from the letter of candidacy written to the ABCFM by Rev. Chauncey Wilcox. "She is a person of more than common natural abilities," he wrote. A postscript added to the letter by a former teacher, H. Doane, stated that "her present education and her ability as a scholar were unquestionably good. She reads fluently in Latin and Greek…As a writer perhaps she is inferior to few of her sex."(6)

The Second Congregational Church, Greenwich, Connecticut. Mary Mason. Early 19th century. 

Charlotte's record of her journey to Hawaii gives evidence of her keen powers of observation and her true talent in articulating them. Soon after their marriage on it November 24, 1836, Charlotte and Horton Owen Knapp sailed to Hawaii on the barque Mary Frazer. Charlotte recorded her impressions of the risky voyage. After departing from Boston the ship sailed south, through the Straits of Magellan, to Tierra del Fuego and around Cape Horn, the north in the Pacific to Hawaii. 

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Charlotte Knapp recorded in her journal the meeting, shortly after her arrival in Honolulu with Kamehameha IV's and Queen Emma Kaleleonalani [CORRECTION: Kamehameha III, also known as Kauikeaouli, and Queen Kalama] at the home of Oahu's governor, with the Rev. Hiram Bingham acting as interpreter. "We were received with all the cordiality and dignity that could be expected," wrote Charlotte, "He pledged us his protection an extended his warmest salutations. [The Queen] rejoiced that God had sent us from an enlightened land to use/ 

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Of Tierra del Fuego she wrote, "Its lofty hills were in full view and the sun was just setting behind them. It was indeed a novel site to us to see the sunset behind the hills, and my thoughts quickly reverted to my native hills behind which the sun had so often retired from my view. We had the additional pleasure of seeing it twice. After it had sank behind a mountain peak as we sailed along it again became visible at its side. There was a sensible difference in the smell of the atmosphere. I perceive the smell of a shore the moment I came on deck." 

On the morning of February 12, 1837, they passed Cape Horn. As Charlotte stood surveying the scene her thoughts returned to home again. "I thought of the friends I had left as they gather, more probably assemble, for public worship. I thought that perhaps they were at that very moment sending up their petitions to God, that He would cast us prosperously on toward our destined port. I also thought if they could know where we were and how we were prospered they would let their thanksgiving ascend with their petitions." (7)

After eight years as wife and helpmate, Charlotte was widowed. One year after Horton's death, she married the Reverend Daniel Dole, the first principal of Punahou School. For twenty years, Charlotte worked with her husband at this school for the children of the missionaries, sharing his teaching chores. 

Charlotte Close Knapp Dole's gravestone in Honolulu, behind Kawaiahao Church. 

She died in Honolulu on July 5, 1874. Her funeral service was held in the historic Kawaiahao Church, and she was laid to rest in the Missionary Cemetery, not far from the grave of her first husband.

DR. JAMES WILLIAM SMITH 

AND 

MELICENT KNAPP SMITH

James William Smith was born July 8, 1810, in Stamford, son of Philander Smith and Clarissa Holley. Smith studied medicine in Stamford and at the New York College of Physicians and Surgeons.

Since the ABCFM felt that Christian homes were models to the islanders the missionaries served, it required all departing missionaries to be married. James Smith found his bride in Horton Knapp's sister Melicent, born on October 15, 1816. James Smith wrote to his future mother-in-law of his desire to marry her daughter and to take her far away from home.

"I know it is rather hard question to ask a mother to part with a beloved daughter, especially to part with her for the purpose of going far hence to heathen lands… I presume, that as a Christian mother, you have often considered that you might be called upon to part with one...of your children for the Gospel's sake. May I then feel…that I have the consent and approbation of her dear mother?"

Within three weeks of their wedding, James and Melicent were on the brig Sarah Abigail out of Boston for the 143-day journey to Hawaii, arriving in Honolulu on September 12, 1842. (8)

In November they were stationed at Koloa on the island of Kauai, where from 1842 to 1882 Dr. Smith was the only physician. It one "house call" he made in February 1866, he rode forty miles in four and a half hours to attend to a young boy at Princeville Plantation. Dr. Smith was fifty-six years old at the time.

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"It is twenty-one years since we left home. I remember the morning well. It was cloudy with some showers, we took breakfast, had prayers, bade you 'goodbye,' got in the old two-horse wagon, cast a last look at the old family cottage and proceeded to Rocky Neck. Too the steamboat to New York, and there bid goodbye to one of my brothers and other friends, and then embarked for Boston. Towards evening we passed Greenwich. Sw Horseneck meeting house and took our last look at those familiar shores, by the light of the setting sun. Twenty-one years have passed since that day, how strange it seems, and how much, too, they have passed. I am now fifty-two years old and begin to feel myself almost and old man"

Dr. James William Smith to his mother-in-law April 20, 1863.

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From 1854 to 1869 Dr. Smith also served as the first ordained minister on Kauai and as pastor of the Koloa Mission (Hawaiian Church of Koloa). In 1862, he and his wife established the Koloa Boarding School for Girls. Melicent served as teacher and superintendent for ten years. Her sister Deborah came from North Greenwich to serve as her assistant teacher.

Dr. and Mrs. Smith had nine children, with seven surviving to adulthood. All spoke the Hawaiian language fluently. Descendants of the Smiths still live on Kauai.

In 1880 Dr. Smith made a brief visit to his old New England home. He died in Koloa on November 30, 1887. Mrs. Smith never left the Hawaiian Islands after her arrival. She was confined to bed for twenty months preceding her death, a month before reaching the age of seventy-five in 1891. Both are buried in the Smith Waterhouse Cemetery in Koloa.

AMOS STARR COOKE 

AND 

JULIETTE MONTAGUE COOKE

Amos Starr Cooke, born in 1810 [in Danbury, Connecticut], and his wife, Juliette Montague, born in 1812, were missionary teachers in the same company as Horton Knapp and Charlotte Close Knapp. Cooke had been recruited by his brother-in-law, Reverend Chauncey Wilcox of the North Greenwich Congregational Church, to serve as a teacher in the Sandwich Islands. Cooke taught for two years in Honolulu before being asked to educate the young members of the Hawaiian royal family. For most ten years, Amos and Juliette Cooke were responsible for the education of the young Hawaiian chiefs. Their students included Prince Lot, later Kamehameha V; William Lunalilo, first elected Hawaiian King; Princess Victoria Kamamalu; David Kalakaua, last reigning king; Lydia, Kamakeha Liliuokalani, last monarch of Hawaii; and Princess Bernice Pauahi, the last of the descendants of Kamehameha I and founder of the Kamehameha Schools. During this busy period of their lives the Cookes had five children of their own.

In 1849 Cooke became ABCFM's Assistant Superintendent of Secular Affairs. He was released in 1851, and with Samuel N. Castle began the mercantile firm of Castle and Cooke, known until recently as one of Hawaii's "Big Five" conglomerates. He died on March 20, 1871, in Honolulu and is interred in the Missionary Cemetery, located between the Mission Houses and Kawaiahao Church. Juliet Montague Cooke died on August 11, 1896, and is buried next to her husband.

Amos Starr Cooke's gravestone, Missionary Cemetery, Honolulu.

Mary Atherton Richards, a Hawaiian resident of descendant of those early missionaries, succinctly summarized the missionary creed that drove her ancestors. Writing in 1987, she explained that to "understand New England, one must always remember that the impulse which found it was religion. In the early part of the nineteenth century, its children still grew up conscious that they had souls, and God-fearing fathers and mothers labored to the end that their children might dedicate themselves early in life to the service of God. And upon some of these young people, more sensitive perhaps than others, came to rest not only the responsibility of their own souls, but the burden of the unsaved portion to whom the Gospel was not being preached – the heathen."

This legacy is preserved in Hawaii today by the Hawaiian Mission Children's Society, formed in 1852, which owns and operates the Mission Houses Museum in Honolulu. The on-site library contains nineteenth century records from the Congregation missionaries, including those from Greenwich, Connecticut. (12)

That 1807 meeting in a New England haystack and the adventures in New Haven of the Hawaiian youth Opukahaia had consequences which effected profound change in the Sandwich Islands. Residents can feel a connection with Hawaii today because of those Connecticut – born Congregationalists of so many years ago.

Jeffrey Bingham Mead is a direct descendant of several founded of Greenwich. He wrote Chains Unbound: Slave Emancipations in Greenwich, Connecticut. His column "Looking Back" appears in the "neighbors" section of Greenwich Time. He currently resides in Hawaii.

ENDNOTES

1. Sarah Lewis, secretary, The Minutes and Reports of the Female Foreign Mission Society/Second Congregational Church, 1815. Second Congregational Church, Greenwich, Connecticut.

2. The Friend. (Honolulu: American Seaman's Friend Society), 18 April 1845.

3. Charlotte Close Knapp, unpublished journal, volume I, 12 February 1837. Horton Owen Knapp to Silas Hervey Mead, 25 December 1836. Hawaiian Mission Children's Society, Honolulu.

4. Charlotte Close Knapp, unpublished journal, volume 4, 26 November 1844. Hawaiian Mission Children's Society.

5. The Friend.

6. Reverend Chauncey Wilcox, unpublished letter of candidacy, Hawaiian Mission Children's Society.

7. Charlotte Close Knapp, unpublished journal, volume I, 11 February and 12 February 1837.

8. Dr. James William Smith to Mary Owen Knapp, 30 April 1841, Smith Family papers, Hawaiian Mission Children's Society.

9. Smith Family papers.

10. Smith Family papers.

11. Reverend Chauncey Wilcox, unpublished letters, Cooke Family papers, Hawaiian Mission Children's Society.

12. Mary Atherton Richards, Amos Starr Cooke and Juliette Montague Cooke: The Autobiographies Gleaned From Their Journals and Letters (Honolulu: The Daughters of Hawaii, 1987), 22. 

Greenwich Folklore Has Deep Roots (1986)

by Jeffrey Bingham Mead
Greenwich Time, Greenwich, Connecticut
April 30, 1986


The folklore and legends of our historic New England harkens us to the days when the hardships of every day life were borne out by our persevering settlers. These humble folk who lived off the virgin landscape were hard-working, dedicated pioneers. The resolve, work ethic and faith in God spurred their efforts to shape new destinies in a New World.

In the days after Peter Minuet and his company of Dutchman bought the island of Manhattan from the local Indians there, another group of colonials trekked north along the shores of Long Island Sound and planted their roots here. The Dutch of the New Netherland colony traded extensively with Indians which consisted of bartering for furs. It is unfortunate to say that some of this trade involved rum.

Intoxicated tribesmen often were victims of unscrupulous traders who stole the furs or bargained unfavorable transactions with the Indians. It was not long before the Indian tribes realized that all was not fair at all. Tempers burned like an uncontrolled brush fires sweeping across a hot summer landscape. The sachems decided that the colonists had to go, had to be punished, no matter what the cost.

One of the legends we have been left with to remind us of the times is the story of Cornelius Labden and the famous rock in Old Greenwich named for him. Mr. Laddin, as he is now called, his wife and daughter of "16 summers" where amongst those who inhabited the early colony here in the 1640s. He was a thick set man, solid and muscular. The unrelenting summer sun had burned his face during those cloudless days he spent working his fields beyond the outskirts of the village nearby. Laddin, his wife and lovely daughter, who was blossoming into the threshold of young womanhood, worked diligently on their farm. They, like other settlers, were God-fearing people working God's earth in a new promised land.

One July day Laddin was working in his fields, occasionally slapping his cheeks and his brow against the menacing hum of mosquitoes, when the sweet aroma of the hayfield yielded to the stench of thick black smoke. The Indians, with screams of vengeance blazing, mercilessly attacked the settlement, burning its cabins and butchering those souls who dwelled in them. Sensing impending peril, Laddin ran back to his cabin to protect his loved ones. Taking is flintlock in hand, he prepared to resist the calamity of the massacre.

Several warriors approached the cabin, falling dead from the shots of Laddin's flintlock. As the braves fell one by one, others came until there were too many. Further enraged by Laddin's efforts to defend himself and his family, the Indians surrounded his cabin and began to burn it.

It was this tragic moment that almost all hope was lost. Laddin's beloved wife and daughter realized that the only chance for survival from the Indian wrath was in obtaining assistance to repel the mad redmen. They hoped that by some divine providence the Indians would spare the women. After a tearful farewell Laddin stormed out of the cabin to his mighty steed in the woods nearby.

As Laddin began to ride off he looked back to the scene at his cabin. To his horror and shock, Laddin saw the Indians in cold-blooded rage scalp is lovely wife and young daughter. A vail of darkness descended over him and a cold chill shot up his spine. He watched in silence has his loved ones lay dead on the ground next to the burning cabin. Dazed and grieving for his family and neighbors, Laddin saw the Indians began to pursue him and urged his horse on.

Hope and his willingness to live on evaporated from his tormented soul as he rode toward the rock now famous with his name. In sudden desperation he plunged over the cliff. As legend has it he cried to his pursuers, "Come on ye foul friends. I go to join your victims!" Death with gruesome, too cold to describe, but it was quick.

While the fable of Laddin's Rock is mere legend, the story of Laddin and his family is a rich reminder, albeit an unhappy one, of the harshness of those early days of our local history. 

A new menace threatens this place today. It is hoped that the blemish of development and the indifference of those who support such a tragedy defacement of the community will be overcome by those amongst those who seek to preserve its natural beauty, its historical legacy as part of the effort to preserve the town of Greenwich.

Jeffrey Bingham 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.

Drop Out of the Status Quo, and Hit the Yellow-Brick Road (1989)

by Jeffrey Bingham Mead
Greenwich Time, Greenwich, Connecticut
May 12, 1989

Many of us from time to time thirst for new adventures and experiences to broaden our horizons, to be enriched and grow in renewal and reflection. The untraditional franticness and abrasiveness which has crept up on us over the years can easily necessitate such a move to cleanse the soul and enjoy life. If you don't know what I mean, just get in your car and drive the speed limit on I-95 during the Friday afternoon rush hour, and when you vacate your car you'll have a pretty close idea.

When I travel, those homogenized, prepackaged tours are not for me; after all, being bounced around hurriedly from place to place is just the kind of living I seek to escape from. I desired adventure to a less-traveled and out-of-the-way place in our world where I could taste, feel, listen and touch a new place and people on my own.

Recently I took such a trip to Australia, an immense land of many contrasts, of pristine seas, majestic landscapes, clean, safe, exciting cities, a youthful civilization of wholeness ageless traditions that reminded me fondly of life here years ago. It is said of Australia  up that "more than anywhere, humanity had a chance to make a fresh start." I left behind the previous winter's coldness, the snobbery and smugness of this area of America and, with just a duffle bag in tow, I went off and on my merry way.

In this land of Oz, I enthusiastically greeted the fresh breezes that blew on those endless warm summer days. The exhilarating sunshine beamed its benevolent rays on my shoulders, a feeling that was reflected by the priceless congenial warmth and sincere hospitality Australians are so known for.

I have lived my life here in Greenwich as my forbearers have done for more than the last three centuries, and when I returned I realized that I had changed. My soul had been moved in so many ways as never before, my heart refreshed, and my character cleared and filled with a unique warmth I thought never before existed in me, a phenomenal a number of my friends have noticed. I feel a sense of homesickness now, for I love the land of Australia, and I miss her so.

The weeks I ventured with a sense of awe in Australia were by far the happiest days of my life, without equal anytime or anywhere. I have found upon returning how hard it is to let go of all of that for wife you're in Fairfield County, Connecticut. My eyes have been opened to something different, to new perceptions I find somewhat painful to admit. I have chosen, perhaps at some risk of offense, to share this with you, for with new perceptions one observes new realities about this bastion of affluence I now find tarnished, both in substance and in image. For it was upon my return that I experienced my greatest culture shock.

We landed at 6:17 a.m. at Kennedy Airport in New York City in mid-January. The dawn sky was cloudless and chilly  a stark contrast to what I left behind in the land Down Under. The airport was stark, dirty and cold. I took the Connecticut Limo back to Greenwich. I noticed the skyline of New York, the tall apartment complexes which reminded me of lifeless forgotten tree stumps on the winter's frozen landscape. All sorts of litter and debris blew like sage brush in a desert. Burnt out and stripped-down cars sat along the roadways in grotesque decay that imposed itself as an eyesore on the onlooker. Around us cars and trucks darted relentlessly, cutting each other off, their driver shouting obscenities. Could you imagine the shock those visiting our nation for the first time would feel on seeing this? I thought it was repulsive and repugnant, making me feel ashamed – this was not the America I was brought up to believe in.

It's not that I don't love America. I love and respect the values and institutions of this nation very much. Our laws and values are sacred, our patriotism necessary channel in order to express that appreciation. Yet my return to this part of the nation has caused me to view things differently and, I think, more realistically. There is a lot of America to be glad about; yet there is much to to be mad about as well. When I returned home, I turn on the television and before my eyes and sensationalize fashion, I learned of the thoughtless murder of innocent children in Stockton, Calif.,  by a deranged man with an easily bought automatic weapon. Since that time I have seen more than our share of rapes, murders, drug busts, political scandals and much more. It all seems so alien to me these days. What kind of nation do we have when citizens prey upon each other like this? Throughout my time in Australia I encountered safe streets, stable families and a lifestyle rich in traditional values, a friendliness that left here long ago, indeed a land in so many ways content with itself. This was the case in the cities and towns of New South Wales in Queensland that I visited.

This part of America to me is today a strange place – so very typical of the rest of the country I feel almost like a stranger here, as I know many of you who have lived here your entire lives do as well. There is something about the personality of this area that has changed over the years, an inch or two at a time. Once upon a time Fairfield County was a place content with itself. It was a quiet refuge cultivating the classical Yankee New England Way of life – of quiet neighborhoods where all knew each other, and of the secluded byways of small farms and grand estates, which sadly have melted into history in favor of overdevelopment for the temporary rewards dollars can bring it. It was quiet and peaceful, and traffic snarls on the scale we have today were unthinkable. The richness of the heritage of Yankee Connecticut was a virtue symbolizing the continuity modern society here seems deprived of. Even the celebrities who came sought the sanctuary of privacy that most of us take for granted, and such wishes were given. Our natural landscape was admired like sacred heirlooms passed with care from previous generations. The old mom-and-pop stores, which for the most part exist only in the memories of older folks, were trusted institutions of a sort, all this constituting an extended family of community life that today has been replaced with something impersonal and alien to me.

Today I find the lifestyle we have surrounds one like a vice slowly closing. I have to admit that the Greenwich I recall in particular when growing up does not exist anymore. I see many people all over the area frantically going about their business, driving in a hurry to be in line first at the red traffic light without concern for others around. I have seen more than my share of rudeness and snobbery since my return, and I feel ashamed. I am appalled that young people of my generation are primarily bent on clamoring to the top, requiring excessive materials and getting their names in the social register, as if their egos could not live without it. I see young people not able to live in their adult years independently in the town which is spent so much to educate them.

How strange it is that we nurture this vital resource at high expense, in effect, for export, without allowing them to reinvest the talents and hard-earned dollars to further nurture and sustain this area. No wonder the characters of Greenwich and towns like it have changed. Thoreau said it best more than 125 years ago on the banks of Walden Pond, where he warned his contemporaries that, "most men lead lives of quiet desperation." To see some elbow others in their quest to reach the illusion of the top of the heap is like watching spoiled children running against each other on a spinning carousel to see who gets to sit up front first.

President Bush, who so many call our own, some believing they deserve personal credit for his election, has eloquently and to my relief called for a kinder and gentler nation. The reputed snob appeal of this area of America does not and never has enthralled me; perhaps that is part of being a Yankee descendant who has not forgotten the humble beginnings and sacrifices made by his forbearers long ago.

I submit, especially about myself, that while we are busy people I don't think that the majority of us enjoy life very much. My time in Australia, though brief and covering only a small part of the nation, reminded me that life was meant to be enjoyed and that the goodness that dwells in our hearts should not be squandered away for some artificial or egotistical goals. The heroes I admire are those of you of wealthy and humble means who unselfishly give yourself to goals and projects of constructive and cooperative purposes -those of you who put the mission, purpose and goals ahead of your egos and public postures- those of you who care about the lives of your loved ones and neighbors, and who offer a helping hand for the sheer pleasure such an exchange can give to the heart.

I find myself both envious and sympathetic to the senior population of this area. You are living history of what was more traditional here, and you know firsthand of the dimensions of that type of contented and subtle life that once existed here. You have my sympathies, for you and seen the vast changes in the landscape of the area and the changes in the hearts and activities of many citizens. Some of you have conferred your frustration and grief at the changes of recent years. You must stand up and speak out – it is your duty and obligation, as it is for us all. Apathy is our greatest enemy within us – in a democracy, power does belong to the people, yet that power must be exercised without hesitation.

In the very near future, people must decide what kind of a society this area should be as a part of a cooperative consciousness for the future. With this town nearing its 350th anniversary, this might be a good time. Australians are not friendly, kinder and gentler people because a prime minister called for it. Why we should wait for a president to set this agenda for us is totally beyond me. I think in our hearts we know better.

For opening my heart to fresh breezes, I am grateful to the folks of Australia I met, and to you I send my deepest thanks. Since returning, I have found myself wondering whether history may be repeating itself. My ancestors came to New England in 1635 and up until now I never asked why they came. Were they discontented with life in England? Did the New World of America present a new opportunity to make a fresh start? Like the sirens of Greek mythology, I find a calling of the sort beckoning me to return to this newest of New Worlds.

To Australia and her find people, I thank you for allowing me to find something in myself I thought non-existent, for allowing me to touch your lives and enjoy the hospitality of your homes. Yours is the kinder and gentler place this nation could learn from, and where I now aspire to be, to discover and cherish happiness for me and my future descendants – happiness I find so elusive in this area of my homeland. 

I love America. As a Yankee, this is the core of my soul, the preservation of this heritage here my calling. I have seen in America selfishly become carved up by special interests, a violent society that contradicts itself by inspiring the best the world has to offer. I grieve inside, for I find it not possible that our founders and those who fought and sacrificed to save our freedoms from tyranny and ignorance could in many ways be betrayed.

I looking enthusiastically forward to the day I return to Oz, perhaps to stay, and I hope she will have me. For Australia is now my home away from home, where I felt a wholesomeness lacking in America today. 

If I leave, it is out of frustration and despair, and in quiet rebellion against the elites of this nation whose agendas are apart from the mainstream of this democracy. I leave to protest the contradiction between the visions of the Founding Fathers and what we have today. To the pretentious social climbers and seekers of superficial status, as well as the selfishly vindictive, I leave you to your misery. For me there is a place over the rainbow, where skies are blue when dreams I behold will come true. To my mates and friends in Australia, please just keep one more shrimp on the barbie, I'll consider it for dinkum of you. Cheers, and thanks!

Jeffrey Bingham Mead 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.  

The Invasion of Afghanistan Influences American Policy (1985)

by Jeffrey Bingham Mead
Greenwich Time: January 20, 1985

On Dec. 27, 1979, the Soviet Union committed an act it had never committed before. The event was the invasion of Afghanistan. Almost 100,000 troops of the Soviet army stormed across the rugged frontier of this Asian nation. What was unprecedented about this milestone was that for the first time since the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917 the Soviets used their own war machine to invade a neutral nation.

Afghanistan was and still is, for most of us, one of the most remote countries in the world. Likewise, the effects of Soviet-inspired scorched earth policy and atrocities aggressively committed against Afghan men, women and children plus the mass exodus of one-third of these frightened and exhausted people is still viewed as a continuing tragedy with no end in sight. It has been a little over five years since the Russians rumbled into Afghanistan, and despite the superior resources of the Soviet army, the Afghan mujahedin warriors have managed to hold out armed with a tribal swords and guns, antique rifles, and even sticks and stones. 

Why should we care? Why should the invasion of such a distant land such as Afghanistan matter to us? The answer to those questions lies in the fact that political relations around the world were changed, and this will continue to be the case. The invasion has brought to light goals stretching back to the days when the czars held court in the imperial palace and ruled over the Russian Empire.

Today, under communism, the advancement of Soviet interests, along with the enhancement of Russian power of the national security of the Soviet Union, have become more ambitious and solidified. The fact that the Soviets have stayed as long as they have despite overwhelming opposition shows us just how resolute and committed to their goals they really are. Like it or not, the rebellion of the Afghan people against Soviet a Gemini Don's relate very closely to the American foreign affairs in the region, and the outcome of the Afghan struggle for freedom, which is powered by a high devotion to Islam, against a belligerent, atheistic Soviet Union will inescapably charge of the course of American foreign-policy, if not also that of the West itself. 

Facts and true assessment of the events in Afghanistan are distorted when historians and other specialists merely convey the invasion as a local, quarantined act of aggression, or compare it to America's war in Vietnam. In the realm of international relations and global politics, nations act the way they do out of self-interest and self-preservation. The motives behind the 1979 invasion and subsequent occupation of Afghanistan by the Soviet Union is no exception, and those motives are things we as Americans ought to be more aware of and concerned about for our own self-interest and self-preservation.

For more than a century, the Russians have had a certain geographic vital interest in the land of Afghanistan. Russia, despite its vast territory, fertile agricultural lands, and a wide assortment of mineral assets, had the problem of no year-round seaports. The exception today is on the Pacific coast in the Soviet Far East, but some of this territory is claimed by the Chinese. The northern coast is frozen throughout the winter season, and axis to the Black Sea is controlled by Turkey, a NATO ally, at the Bosporus and Dardanelles straits. In the previous century, the Russians had attempted to expand southward only to be thwarted by a "containment" policy by the British in India.

Afghanistan is also close to the Persian Gulf, an area processing the world's most prominent source of oil. With the Soviet occupation forces in Afghanistan now merely 400 miles from the Indian Ocean, a Soviet presence in southwest Pakistan or in Iran with access to the warm waters of this area would permit the Soviet navy to function for extended periods of time and a great distances from the Soviet Union itself. Soviet naval vessels could easily be serviced, and this would contribute to a substantial Soviet military presence close to the oil tanker routes that carry much of the oil to the United States, Western Europe and Japan. 

Consider this as well: the Soviet Union, after embarking on an unprecedented naval build-up of its conventional forces, today has the largest navy in the world. The Soviets, who are also the largest producers of oil in the world, are faced with an increase in domestic consumption as well as in their satellite countries in Eastern Europe. Thus, within time, the Soviets may have to acquire oil from the Middle East.

Soviet access to the Indian Ocean through Afghanistan, southwest Pakistan or Iran would able the Russians to establish a corridor giving them the ability to reach valuable resources in Southern Africa. Denying these resources to the West would, indeed, put the Soviets in a very advantageous position.

Politically, the United States inherited from the British since World War II the responsibility of containing the Soviets on their southern border. Iran, Turkey, Pakistan and Afghanistan provided the barrier against Soviet expansionism. Of these nations, Iran under Shah Mohammed Reza Pahlavi, was the main pillar of this barrier. The Shah's role was considered so vital that the CIA returned him to power after he was ousted by Premier Mussaddiq in 1953. In 1975, with United States help, Iranians had the fourth most powerful military machine in the world. Afghanistan functioned as a buffer state, not at all the military bastion that Iran was. As long as the Shah was strong, the U.S. was content with having Afghanistan remain friendly and neutral. It was generally assumed that the Soviets, likewise, were content to see Afghanistan remain neutral. Or so it seemed.

However, in 1978, Marxists led by Nur Muhammad Taraki overthrew the Afghan government, and the overthrow of the shah and the Pahlavi dynasty certainly was a break for the Soviets. Had he stayed on, I am convinced he would have been able to deter any desire on the part of the Soviets to establish a more active presence in Afghanistan. 

The subsequent hostage crisis and American problems with Ayatollah Khomeini's Iran are certainly linked to the decision by the Russians to make their move. In all the years since the 1917 revolution, it should be pointed out, not a single country that had turned to communism with Soviet help had ever reversed itself and abandoned the communist system. More than likely, with popular resentment exceedingly high, the anti-communist forces could easily have overthrown the communist government in Kabul. The absence of the shah, the vulnerability of the Americans, and the fact that the hostage crisis caused a sordid power struggle in Iran certainly made it easier for the Kremlin leaders to do what they did. The warming of American-Chinese relations certainly could have pressured the Soviets into retaliating against such a coalition as well.

The Soviet invasion of Afghanistan certainly has been more costly to the Soviets than they first thought. The Soviets could not possibly walk away from the embarrassment of having a superpower defeated by a hodge-podge of tribal warriors and villagers with primitive weapons. The Soviets are entrenched and have a very tight hold on the country. Considering all the facts and reasons for the continued occupation one very important circumstance should not be forgotten: the Afghan mujahedin warriors are now the most important force deterring the Soviets in the Afghan homeland. Taking into account the implications of a possible Soviet advance to the Indian Ocean, their struggle deserves more attention and support from all the Western democracies.

Jeffrey Bingham Mead is a resident of Greenwich and a direct descendant of one of the founding families of the town. he graduated recently with a degree in English from Pace University. 

Exercising the Right to Vote is a Privilege and Responsibility (1984)

by Jeffrey Bingham Mead
Greenwich Time, Greenwich, Connecticut
Friday, November 2, 1984

'The disinclination to vote occurs not because the electorate feels it is not getting its way, but because it is not being represented.' 


In 1984, the election has managed to attract both established and new members of the electorate to taking a more participatory interest in the democratic process of choosing our leadership. The proliferation of new registered voters is indeed a very positive note when one looks back at the past trends of voter apathy and alienation.

It is interesting that in the past two decades, despite the liberalization of suffrage rules, voter turnout declined so considerably. Such past obstacles as literacy tests were largely, if not wholly, eliminated, and residency requirements -along with complicated registration procedures- were streamlined as well.

The competition among individuals seeking public office in the political arena is more widespread than ever before in the history of the United States. While more needs to be done, the spirit of competition is probably recognized by the public and candidates alike as the best in available stimulus for voter participation.

So while the race down on the homestretch of the 1984 campaign, with all its spectacle, rhetoric and suspense, I wish to address the importance of a voting ethic, and to discuss some reasons for the previous decline in voter turnout.

Measures need to be taken to ensure that voter participation remains high and sustainable. I not only address myself to readers at large, but also to young voters who, studies show, have not in the past exercised their right of suffrage in large numbers. I hope to speak not just to those here in Greenwich, but also to those who have made the exodus to colleges and universities.

Some of you may ask, does it matter whether the people vote or not? The low turnout at the polls in the past has caused a few political observers and pundits to comment that it represents an indictment of democracy in so far as that form of government fails to inspire the electorate to participate in even an elementary way. I have heard some say that we are better off without the votes of those least interested and poorly informed, prone to making the wrong choices if they were in a voting booth. In addition, low voter turnout perpetuates the view that a government elected under such circumstances is not quite legitimate.

What we all must keep in mind is that democracy itself is not to blame. With the growing influence of the mass media, especially television, campaigning for public office is shifted from being face-to-face and interpersonal to being more detached and impersonal. We are bombarded daily when election campaigns are in full swing with sophisticated, prepackaged, cleverly created presentations of candidates.

True, they do attract our attention, but these masterpieces of public relations do not by themselves motivate some people to become a habitual voter. What we should not doubt that concern for issues does motivate people to vote, many political strategists might say that peer pressure also pays plays a significant role.

I sincerely doubt that the reason for the sense of alienation in the electorate is any "failure" on the part of the government to meet the particular needs or desires of individuals voters. The discrimination to vote occurs not so much because the electric feel it is not getting its way, but because it feels it is not being represented. And to feel represented, these people must be sure that in someway they are being heard.

Greenwich is fortunate to have individuals in the various public offices who traditionally has been responsive. To their credit, these people work hard when they have the time to communicate with their constituents, and such public servants from the local level on up cannot be blamed for low voter turnout.

How ever, all elected officials are, by the nature of their role in serving the public, responsible as well to those constituent who feel ignored by government leaders and representatives. The special interest groups of recent years often spend more time talking to officials directly and are out of touch with the concerns of others. Once again, the average citizen feels left out.

Such actions do not bolster effective representation or encourage people to vote habitually. If anything, officials who cater to special interests may be discouraging voter participation.

Much is been done in the 1984 election to register more voters. Special thanks should go to the dedicated people of both major parties, and to the League of Women Voters and the Registrars Office at Town Hall. I hope such efforts can and will continue.

Nevertheless, it is interesting to note that for several years many Americans have enjoyed the benefits of government programs involving billions of dollars. But they do not care to participate in the political process by registering to vote and exercising the right on Election Day.

After all, if people are so willing to accept the benefits of the government, does it not make sense at least to require citizens to register? I do not know if it is comes unconstitutional, but I propose that we make that requirement of all 18-year-old – perhaps as a prerequisite to receiving a high school diploma.

It seems odd that all 18-year-old boys must register for the selective service, and yet the same just not apply to both boys and girls for voter registration. Is it not a necessity to participating in the democratic process? I also urge the members of Young Democrats and Young Republicans to go out into the community and seek out new voters of whatever age, including them in the organizations' activities.

Parents of young voters also must realize that their attitudes about voting and registration may have an impact on their children's attitudes about participation in the electoral process.

Finally, I believe that unaffiliated voters should have the right to vote in Republican Party state primaries as they already have in Democratic primaries. I call upon the Democrat-controlled state government to live up to its party name and allow those who wish to vote in the primary election of their choice to do so. Such action will require some political courage, but to swallow such a bitter medicine is better than denying the rights of unaffiliated voters.

As a rule, democracy is not enhanced if our leaders are elected by special interest groups and elitists may use low voter turnout to control the bureaucracy. Any government controlled by coalitions of convenience will be ineffectual and will serve to alienate voters.

The process of free election is indeed the centerpiece of the American political system. With our votes we choose government leadership and influence policy-making. We thereby legitimize a government. For most of us, voting is the only way we participate in politics. It is a precious right, and if you look at the emerging democracies around the world, you will find individuals who walk for miles and stand in line for hours just to have that precious privilege upheld.

The past has shown how we have taken this right for granted. 1984, I hope, will prove to be the beginning of a new era in voter participation. I urge all my fellow citizens who are registered to go to exercise this privilege. I also urge all those unregistered to register. Democracy depends on an electorate that values the principles and freedoms so precious to it.

Jeffrey Bingham Mead is a resident of Greenwich and a direct descendent of one of the founding families of the town. He graduated recently with a degree in English from Pace University.

Reasons to Recall are Etched in Stone (1992)

by Jeffrey Bingham Mead
Greenwich Time, Greenwich, Connecticut
July 5, 1992

At the end of the Civil War in 1865 the troops of Company I, 10th Regiment Connecticut Volunteers, were stationed at Appomattox Courthouse, Virginia, until April 15. They were among the witnesses to the surrender of Gen. Robert E. Lee to Gen. Ulysses Grant and his Union forces.

Many of the 10th Regiment were Greenwich men, citizen-soldiers who participated in this nation's most wrenching historical event. After moving on to Richmond where they remained until Aug. 26, the regiment was ordered home and formally mustered out of service in Hartford Sept. 5. They had been engaged in action at such places as New Bern, N.C., St. Augustine, Fla.; Strawberry Plains, Va., and other locales most had never visited before the war. No doubt after they returned from the war, the soldiers were embraced by their communities in much the same way we welcome back the soldiers of the Gulf War.

Private Jonathan H. Lockwood was not among those who returned to his town. He died in Salisbury Prison, N.C., on Oct. 28, 1864. His tombstone marks his place of burial in the Round Hill Cemetery across from the First Church of Round Hill. One of his fallen comrades, William Sniffen, is interred a couple of miles away in the Old Burying Ground at North Greenwich on Riversville Road. Though his marble gravestone has been worn away by the elements, its faded letters state that he was in the battles of Roanoke and New Bern, N.C., and died at the latter place June 16, 1862, age 40 years, one month and 10 days.

Sniffen's epitaph is well-faded, yet one line has defied the assault of weather and wear:

Sleep, soldier, sleep

thy duty is done…

The American soldier stands tall among the finest in the history of the world. Those who gave the ultimate sacrifice to preserve freedom are noble, tough, resolute, dedicated to country and brave in times of war. This bold tradition has helped mold our national character from the days of the Revolution to the present. The task left to us, the living, is to defy the inevitable test of time as the past becomes more remote and to remind ourselves of the highest cost of safeguarding the light of freedom and democracy.

The members of America's armed forces have fought in thousands of places around the world. Locally they clashed in the old days at the Battle of White Plains, in skirmishes with British Redcoats in Round Hill off John Street, and in Put's Hill in central Greenwich. They went off to the South in places such as Roanoke and New Bern, N.C., to keep the Union together and emancipate the slaves. Others later went on to Europe to fight a war some thought would be a war to end all wars, only to have another decades later. Americans were sent to the South Pacific, the Far East, Southeast Asia, the Middle East and elsewhere, all with the hope that their fighting would be the last.

My walks in the cemeteries of Greenwich have brought me face-to-face with sentiment inscribed in the form of epitaphs. They speak quietly of the passions of life snuffed out by war throughout our history. I have come to realize in a somber way that our citizens who participated in history. They took risks, and many paid a high price for high cost.

Lewis Palmer was one soldier who survived the carnage of the Civil War and died in 1898. The epitaph on his tombstone next to the First Congregational Church reads:

Comrades I have answered the last roll call

And rest beneath the sod

For nations honor I did my best

My country, home and God.

Nearby is the memorial stone for Capt. Clifford W. Henry, who died during World War I. As a read his stone I was struck by his accomplishments. With his life cut short at such an early age I wondered indeed what life of prominence might have been in store for him, his loved ones and community had he survived to return home:

Captain Clifford W. Henry USA

102nd Infty 26 Div. A.E.F.

Mortally wounded in action

Battle of St. Michiel

Died Oct. 17, 1918, Allerey, France

Aged 22 Years

Harvard '18, Bachelor of Science

Army Service School Lieut. Infty

U.S. Distinguished Service Cross

French Croix De Guerre with Palm

Reinterred here

Feb. 13, 1921.

At the burying ground next to the Second Congregational Church, known as the New Burial Grounds Association Cemetery, there are three gravestones of fallen heroes. 

Elnathan Husted, a private in Company I, 17th Regiment, Connecticut Volunteers, died on Davids Island on March 4, 1864. He was 41 years old and left behind his wife, Sarah Lyon Merritt, and two daughters:

HE DIED FOR HIS COUNTRY

Call Him Not Back From His Home Above

Call Him Not Back To This World of Care

Leave Him In Heaven With His Saviors Love

And Earnestly Strive To Meet Him There

Henry H. Mead was another soldier in the 10th Regiment who fought at the battles of Roanoke and New Bern, N.C. He died aged 21 at New Bern of typhoid fever:

Die on the field of battle

Tis noble thus to die

God smiles on valiant soldiers

Their record is on high

Rise from the field of battle

The Saviours gone before

Who puts his trust in Jesus

is safe for evermore.

Sgt. Caleb M. Holmes was yet another Greenwich boy who volunteered for service to the Union in the Civil War. His tent mate with Silas E. Mead, Jr., of North Greenwich. It was in October 1864 at the Battle of Darbytown Road outside of Richmond that one would fall in battle.

In a collections of transcribed letters assembled by his descendent Douglas Mead in a volume titled "A Connecticut Soldier," Sile Ed, as he was called, went back at one point to help unload the wounded. He wrote in a letter:

"I stayed at the house close by all day helping load the wounded as fast as we could and we just got them as they were falling back. Helped Skip, as we used to call him, Sgt. Holmes & Hays off… I wanted to see and help all the wounded I could… I don't want to see another day like that…." 

In a footnote, Douglas Mead remarks that "Sile Ed took the death of Cale Holmes very hard. The story goes that Sile Ed turned over this mangled body and to his dismay, recognized his best friend and tent mate. When others saw it they said, 'Don't touch it, Sile, we'll take care of it." Sgt. Caleb Holmes was just under 23 years old when he was killed, and part of his epitaph quotes a letter he wrote home:

"Duty to my country comes first and I mean

To do that to the best of my ability."

Letter to his Mother

Gone in the act of duty

Gone in his glowing pride

Gone in his manly duty

Our gallant son has died."

The task of commemoration his book simple and profoundly moving. Some of us in 1990, under the banner of the Historical Society and the 350th Commission, went out as the veterans associations to do every year to please flags at the graves of some of those who fought and died. The weekend of our nation's birthday is a fitting time to take a moment from our celebrations and remember those whose sacrifice allow us to enjoy America, the Stars and Stripes and what it represents.

Jeffrey Bingham Mead is a direct descendent of one of the founding families of Greenwich.

State Looks to Its Long History Around Traditional Thanksgiving (1985)

by Jeffrey Bingham Mead
Greenwich Time, Greenwich, Connecticut
November 27, 1985

There is no doubt that the early settlers of New England had a very special and unique pride about their new lives. And acute sense of community spurred these pioneering souls to work for the common good. Theirs was a desire, reinforced by a strong work ethic and the hardships of an unknown land, to shape and mold their destinies, a common trait found in towns such as ours and others across America. It was only inevitable that a special day of thanks for the blessings of the past year be set aside, and thus Thanksgiving, a unique American holiday originating here in New England, was born.

While the American Thanksgiving holiday is essentially a time of feasting, family reunions and prayer, the holiday is sometimes more synonymous with TV football games, the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade in New York and the first avalanche of Christmas shoppers. 

Despite all this we must never forget the true value of Thanksgiving.

While it has been recently discovered Thanksgiving actually began here in Connecticut in 1639, the "harvest festival" celebrated by the Pilgrims in Massachusetts in 1621 and the circumstances that led to Gov. Bradford to proclaim a holiday serve as a reminder of the hardships our ancestors lived with. It is documented that during the previous winter months the struggling colonists had been harshly treated. Only 55 for the original 101 settlers remained alive. They suffered from a relentless scourge of disease, cold and malnutrition. One colonist told of being terrified by "lyons." wolves, it is said, "sat on their tayles and grinned at them."

Days of Thanksgiving were celebrated sporadically until Pres. Washington's nationwide proclamation on November 26, 1789. He made it clear that it was to be a day of Thanksgiving, a day for prayer and giving thanks to God. The fact that the holiday was celebrated by individuals of all religious denominations helped promote a spirit of unity and heritage throughout the new-born American republic. Later in history, President Lincoln proclaimed an annual national holiday of Thanksgiving on the last Thursday in November 1863.

A century or so ago Harriet Beecher Stowe captured in words for us the mood and color of the spirit of the Thanksgiving holiday. As she writes so well:

"The king and high priest of all festivals was the autumn Thanksgiving. When the apples were all gathered and the cider was all made, and the yellow pumpkins were rolled in from many a hill in billows of gold, and the corn was husked, and the labors of the season were done, and the warm, late days of Indian Summer came in, dreamy, and calm, and still, with just enough frost to crisp the ground of a morning, but with warm traces of benignant, sunny hours at noon, there came over the community a sort of genial repose of spirit – a sense of something accomplished."

In a sense, that is the imagery of Thanksgiving and indeed its essence – a time to be thankful after faith and principles have been tested, a time to reflect on the brighter side of life, and the accomplishment of the past.

We are very fortunate in this town to have an overwhelming majority of dedicated, law-abiding citizens whose beliefs helped guide our prosperity with continued hope for a better tomorrow. There are amongst us many unsung heroes who give time and talent conscientiously to serve others and the community. 

Let us give thanks to those who manage our social services, whose careers deal with caring about the welfare of others, young and old alike. Remember the Friendly Visitor who takes time to spend with an elderly shut-un. Also, this Big Brothers and Big Sisters who also take time to spend with our young people deserve our thanks. Indeed we do have more than our share of dedicated politicians, and let us not forget the teachers who devote themselves to training our next generation.

We also have many parents who don't neglect or overindulge their children. Let us be thankful for the doctor and nurses who care for our elderly and the infirm, the policemen and firemen who serve the public, at times risking their own lives to protect others, and our religious clergy who provide guidance in times of trouble and work to protect and instill our moral and spiritual values. The list is almost endless.

Do we not live in a society where our freedoms are preserved and protected by the Bill of Rights and the Constitution? How fortunate we as Americans are to live where we want to, vote as we choose, speak our minds and express her thoughts and conscience. Consider those around the world, in the East Bloc, South Africa, Afghanistan, Cuba and elsewhere who may live in poverty, hunger, burdened by torture and repression, unable to do those things we take for granted.

We have much to be thankful for. While it is easy to let our troubles cast a cloud over us, and we may bicker and disagree, we nevertheless have the strength, desire and drive to face our challenges courageously. 

Thanksgiving is the embodiment of so many good things for good reasons. The task of pursuing these good things entails the spirit of community virtue, hard work, faith in ourselves and others, perseverance and a special reverence for our past. Just as the colonists did so three centuries ago, our special challenge is to forge on, to jump the hurdles before us and, as tall an order as it may be, work for a better society.

Jeffrey Bingham Mead is a resident of Greenwich at 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.