chapter 4 - the family
the people:
the timeline:
the story:
George Parlin
He couldn’t figure out why he kept running into this wall.
Get off the train, turn right, walk 132 paces, feel for double pillars, turn right, walk 76 paces, arrive at the ferry dock. He had practiced with Howard numerous times, so why did he keep running into this wall?
“Hey fella I think I know the problem,” he heard from behind him. “You’re running into the back of a luggage carriage that they left in the middle of the walkway. Here, you let me help you out”.
George was blind. He couldn’t put an exact date on the day he went blind because it was a progressive condition that kept getting worse as he got older. George was rather stubborn about the whole thing and never let his bad vision get in the way of living.
In fact, it wasn’t until George was eight years old that anyone knew anything was wrong, despite the fact that he had less than one-tenth of normal vision. That summer his father returned from Europe where he had been conducting tours and lecturing on European history and art. He had acquired a pair of opera glasses from the Palais Garnier and the kids were passing them around pointing out how clearly they could see things so far away.
When it came to George’s turn, he looked at a calendar with numbers over an inch high that was hanging on the wall ten feet away from him.
“Well these certainly are good glasses,” he said, “I can see the numbers on that calendar just as clearly as can be.”
“Very funny, George,” his mother said.
“What do you see when you look down there?” inquired his brother Charles, pointing down a long hallway that had a bookshelf at the end of it.
“Just kind of a fuzzy wall,” said George. They all looked at each other quizzically and started asking George what he could see — this table, that chair, a painting. He couldn’t see anything clearly. So his father took him to the ophthalmologist and had him fitted for a pair of powerful glasses.
George Parlin.
As a young man, despite his handicap, George wanted to serve his country. Eager to join World War I, he applied with many different departments, but was rejected because of his poor vision. On one occasion he tried to memorize the eye chart by listening to the boys ahead of him being tested. But when his turn came, they swapped out the chart.
When the recruiting officer found out how little George could see, he said, “You’re not near-sighted, you’re blind! Go back home until we need blind men!”
George kept trying, pleading with departments to take him and he eventually found one: the Motor Transport Corps. George thought it odd that the army would trust him and his bad eyes to drive a truck but not perform other duties, but he wasn’t going to ask any questions. This was his big chance! Fortunately for the world, but unfortunately for George, the war ended six weeks later. George claimed he won the war.
He got another chance to serve his country during World War II and served in the American Military Government. After Allied Forces got control of towns in North Africa and Italy, George would oversee the town; adjudicating business problems, ensuring basic services were back in place, and re-establishing law and order.
The army doctors diagnosed George’s degenerative vision condition as a detached retina. While today, detached retinas are treated through basic laser surgery, at that time the only solution was to surgically sew the retina back into place.
It was a high-risk surgery and, unfortunately, it was not successful. George was left completely blind. He spent weeks in bed recovering from the surgery surrounded by sandbags so he wouldn’t move or try to touch his eyes. Unbeknownst to the doctors and George at the time, he was also allergic to penicillin. So in addition to being in a great deal of pain and not being able to see, his skin was aflame with itching. He had to remain perfectly still.
His only solace was visits from his kids, nieces and nephews. His nephew John (Ruth’s son) would record Sunday services with a wire recorder, and they all would listen to it together a few weeks later when Ruth’s family could get down from Glen Ridge, NJ for a visit.
After months of recovering in the hospital, George was finally discharged. The Army sent him to a school for the blind in Chicago so that he could learn how to get on in life with no sight. There he learned to use a cane, read braille, and generally get by.
He also learned to count his steps as a means of getting around in the real world. When walking away from a known place, for instance your front door, start counting your steps because if you have a problem you can always turn around and count your way back, they told him.
This is why George was so thrown off by the luggage carriage sitting in the middle of the walkway. He had walked this route dozens of times with his next-door neighbor and brother in-law, Howard Sanborn, on their way to work in New York City from their home in Glen Ridge, NJ. He had memorized the steps and turns over and over in his mind because he knew that while Howard and George’s sister Ruth were away at Lake George, he would be on his own.
There was one silver lining of being blind though: Everyday George experienced the kindness of strangers. Just like the man who helped George find his way around the luggage carriage and get him back on track, George had numerous stories just like this.
The last leg of his commute to the office required crossing a wide, busy street. This was well before the day when traffic lights were equipped to assist the handicapped with crossings, so George really had no way of telling when the light was green or red. He would approach the crosswalk, cane in hand, and inevitably someone would offer him assistance. Having seen first-hand the evil side of human nature during his time in the war, these small offers of kindness renewed George’s faith in humankind.
Tragedy at Lake George
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George had two sons, Steward and Edward. The story of Edward’s death is one of the saddest stories surrounding the history of Pudding Island Farm, and George Parlin specifically. Rather than rewrite the story, below is the story as told on the Silver Bay Blog by Kihm Winship:
“It was September 3rd, Labor Day, 1945. The war in Europe had ended in May; Japan had surrendered on August 15th. Mrs. George Parlin, whose husband and older son were both in uniform, must have thought she was in the clear. She was living at Silver Bay with her younger son, Edward Parlin; he was working as an assistant hike leader for the Silver Bay Association. He was 16 years old, but looked older. He was on his way to becoming an Eagle Scout, and his hiking merit badge was next. For that, he needed to take a 25-mile hike. On Labor Day, he set off on his own, wearing blue jeans and a white “Silver Bay” sweater.
When he did not return the next day, he was declared missing. Rumors flew. A local sheriff said he’d seen rattlesnakes on Tongue Mountain; the boy must have been bitten. Someone else suggested he had hitch-hiked home to Glen Ridge, New Jersey. Major George Parlin was stationed in Italy; one can imagine Edward’s mother’s feeling of helplessness as the hours turned into days. The boy’s uncle, Charles Parlin, a New York City attorney, offered a $1,000 reward for information leading to Edward’s return, and searchers began ranging farther and farther from Silver Bay. Finally, on September 16th, a party of six — three from Hague and three from Silver Bay — found the boy’s body on Catamount Mountain, at the base of a 75-foot cliff. After setting up his camp, he had gone to gather firewood, lost the trail and plunged to his death.
The site was about seven miles east of Silver Bay, and seven miles from the nearest road. One man stayed behind to guard the body while the others hiked out with the news. The next day, 14 men spent six hours cutting a trail to carry the body back out, taking it to a funeral home in Bolton Landing. The coroner ruled that the boy had died of shock and multiple fractures. Edward Parlin’s body was buried at the Valley View Cemetery in Ticonderoga.
In 1946, George Parlin donated $2,500 for a dormitory to be built in his son’s name at Silver Bay. Employees and guests made generous donations as well. Edward Parlin Men’s Dormitory was dedicated in 1952.”
- Kihm Winship, Silver Bay Blog
Steward (brother), Dorothy (mother) and Edward Parlin.
Edward Parlin
Many Happy Years at Pudding Island Farm
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Despite tragedy in their lives, George and his wife Dorothy enjoyed summers at Lake George with their son Steward well into old age. In the 1950s, Charles converted the Barn into a residence and gifted it to George and Dorothy’s son Steward. Then in 1975, Steward bought Ms. Stevenson’s house, which was the last remaining non-Parlin house on Pudding Island Farm. Uncle Charles then gave the Barn to the Sanborn “boys”: Howard, John, and Don. Today the Barn is owned and cared for by Bill and Sue Rigger (John’s daughter).
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Read More Stories from the family history books:
Dorothy's Youth and Education (By Dorothy)
Everything was perfect. The view, the setting, the structure — it all was perfect. It was the summer of 1972 and Ruth was sitting in the newly minted “Tea House” with her brothers George and Charles and George’s wife Dorothy. There were a few other relatives and family friends there, all enjoying their afternoon tea.
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For the last two weeks she had hosted this afternoon tea party promptly at 4:00 for tea and biscuits. It was perfect except for one thing. All the adults showed up, but the kids didn’t. Ruth wanted to involve everyone, especially the kids.
She turned to her brother George, “Why aren’t any of the kids showing up? Look at them all out there on the raft. Why aren’t they here?”
“Well it might be these stiff biscuits – this is old people food!” George said.
Ruth loved that George didn’t mince his words. She also suspected that since he was blind his other senses were heightened, maybe he overheard the kids talking. In any event, it got her thinking.
Tea House under construction 1972.
Ruth serving tea at Tea Time.
That night at dinner Ruth was holding court. She kept bringing the discussion back to Tea Time and how they could get the kids interested in it. There were a variety of ideas thrown out.
“Maybe you should serve lemonade in addition to tea?” her oldest brother Charles suggested.
“But the point is I want the kids to learn to be civilized and there is nothing more civilized than enjoying a cup of tea. Don’t forget Charles, our roots trace back to the Mayflower and the Queen,” Ruth said.
Charles rolled his eyes. He had no idea where Ruth got the idea that their ancestors were on the Mayflower, but she was convinced of it. She was also convinced that there was some lineage back to English royalty, but she never produced evidence of that. Ruth had one of those powerful personalities; she could will things to be true.
“Ruth, how many times have we….” Charles started in but was quickly interrupted by her.
“I know, I know Charles, ‘Where’s the evidence?’”
“And by the way, the Mayflower was filled with miscreants that England was trying to get rid of,” Charles reminded her.
“I’ve read my history too, Charles, but they also needed a few aristocrats on the voyage to represent the Queen. They’re our ancestors,” Ruth sparred back.
“And your evidence for that is where?” Charles asked.
“Stop being such a lawyer!” Ruth said and everyone laughed. This wasn’t the first time they had this debate. “Anyway, back to the problem at hand. How are we going to get the kids to Tea Time?”
“I know – let’s put out jars with each kid’s name on it and every time they come for tea time we put a nickel in their jar. It’s kind of like a commission,” Howard chimed in, excited by the brilliance of his idea. Since Howard was a successful stock broker, he tended to think of life in transactions.
“Oh, Howard, please,” Ruth said with a smile.
They all sat in silence thinking. Nancy, the cook, brought in dessert. It was Ruth’s favorite part of the meal. Tonight’s dessert was brownie a la mode. Before taking their first bite, Charles and Ruth exchanged a glance and then laughed so loud you could hear it from the dock.
“I think I missed the joke,” Howard said.
“It’s right in front of you Howard,” Ruth said as she pointed to his dessert. And then it struck him too. Brownies would get the kids to tea time!
That night Nancy worked in the kitchen baking up enough brownies to feed an army. She baked chocolate brownies, caramel brownies, brownies with nuts, brownies with M&Ms.
The next morning on the dock, Ruth stopped each wave of kids as they dropped their towels on the dock on their way to the raft, “Do you like brownies?”
“Yes!” they all replied enthusiastically.
“Well we’ll be serving them up this afternoon at tea time. We even have some with M&Ms.” The older kids stayed cool but she saw that spark in their eyes. The younger kids bounced up and down saying “Oh yes!”
The bait was set. Just about everyone came out for tea time that day. It’s exactly what she had envisioned.
When she and Nancy were cleaning up afterwards she turned to Nancy, “Thanks so much Nancy, you helped make this into what I’ve always wanted.”
Nancy demurred, “Oh, it was nothing Ms. Sanborn. My pleasure.”
“Where did you learn to make those amazing brownies anyway?” asked Ruth.
“Why that was from my Mama, we made them since I was a little girl.”
“Can you share the recipe with me?” asked Ruth.
“Oh it’s nothing written down,” said Nancy, “I watched my Mama so many times. I just do what she did.”
Ruth looked at Nancy and wondered just how different their childhoods must have been.
Many Happy Years at Pudding Island Farm
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Every summer for the next 20 years, Ruth served tea at the Tea House every day, promptly at 4:00. And much to the delight of the children, she also served Nancy’s brownies. And much to the delight of Ruth they all got accustomed to tea, because the rule was, you had to sip your tea before you got a brownie.
She and Howard had three sons: Howard, John, and Don. All three of them worked on Pudding Island Farm at various times caring for the chickens, mowing the fields, and helping out with other farm chores. When they got married and had children Uncle Charles set aside the Farm Cottage for them to use in the summer. The three brothers would split the summer in thirds and each had a turn in the cottage. Later they moved across the street to the Barn.
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Read More Stories from the family history books:
Germantown High School (By Ruth)
Vacationing to Wisconsin (By Ruth)
Alaska and Hawaii - 1927 (By Ruth)
A Trip to Nowhere - 1931 (By Ruth)
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Ruth Parlin Sanborn
Ruth at the dock.
Ruth and her niece Camilla Smith at the annual 4th of July Picnic.
Grace Parlin Davis
She was the youngest of the four children by 7 years. Her siblings were all accomplished and successful. Charles and George were establishing their careers in law, Ruth was married with kids and a community leader.
Grace didn’t share their ambitions. In fact she was kind of a rebel. She was the youngest of four and trying to establish her own identity.
Grace Parlin Davis.
She was artistic and of the moment. Her refuge was the piano; it was where she felt most confident and centered.
She practiced hard, not because she wanted to be better than anyone else in the family (although she was). She practiced hard because she loved it. It came naturally to her. It was like the music was already inside and the piano lifted it out. Her mind would go quiet as the notes jumped off her fingers.
Her instructors thought she had the potential to become a concert pianist with a big city symphony, but she didn’t have that drive. She waited for life to come to her.
One day in 1946, she stayed at the piano longer than usual. She was troubled by a recent visit to her brother’s summer place in Lake George. For the most part, she loved Lake George – swimming around the islands and taking long hikes with her husband Wilbur.
They were married in 1935. She always suspected that her family didn’t really approve of Wilbur. It was nothing they said outwardly, but she could see it in their demeanor. Unlike her sister’s husband, Howard, Wilbur sat on the periphery of the family’s inner circle. It was likely because of his lifestyle; he drank and smoked. He was educated in the east but grew up in Bozeman Montana, which at the time was a rough and tumble frontier town.
The family didn’t understand her and Wilbur. They belonged to a different generation. Some people referred to them as Beatniks. They were part of a community of poets, artists, musicians, and philosophers that lived in Greenwich Village. This was the generation of Kerouac and Ginsberg – it was a generation that embraced a counter-culture of liberation and jazz.
Grace simply saw life through a different lens than her parents and siblings.
At times these differences caused tension with the family, especially with her older sister Ruth. Ruth was a gold star child. She won awards. She was bold and outgoing. All the adults always said what a polite and charming young lady she was.
Ruth was also staunchly anti-smoking and anti-alcohol, which just happened to be two of Grace's indulgences. Ruth was not reserved in voicing her disapproval.
So, it was no surprise one evening when Grace and Wilbur were drinking and smoking in the backyard of Charles’ place at Lake George, that Ruth got upset with them.
“It would be nice if you two didn’t do that right there where everyone can see,” Ruth said in a scolding tone.
“Oh Ruth, you’re such a party pooper,” Grace shot back.
They traded a few more barbs, which then escalated. Ruth said Grace had no respect for this place that her brother had worked so hard to build. Grace fired back that Ruth was always looking down on her and Wilbur.
The exchange only lasted a few minutes, but the aftershocks lasted days.
The next morning Grace and Wilbur returned to their apartment in Greenwich Village. Grace went to her studio at the Steinway Hall Center and was on the piano for hours, trying to exorcise her anger.
A few days later she received a letter from Ruth. In it Ruth apologized for some of the things she said but also firmly restated her disapproval of Grace’s lifestyle. At least her disapproval was couched in compassionate terms. Ruth said she was concerned about Grace’s health. Hadn’t Grace read the latest speculation that smoking may cause cancer?
About a month later, the two of them met at The Russian Tea Room on West 57th Street in New York City for afternoon tea.
The Russian Tea Room was one of New York City’s iconic establishments. It was founded by the Russian Imperial Ballet in 1927. It exuded opulence. Ruth loved the place; Grace thought it was over the top. Nonetheless they both enjoyed afternoon tea so that’s where they met.
Russian Tea Room, New York City.
Despite their differences, the two sisters loved one another. It was nothing they said to each other, but both of them felt it every time they were together. Every time they had a fight — and it was becoming more often — that gravitational pull that binds sisters together, no matter how different they are, brought them back together.
They sipped tea and snacked on stacked trays of finger sandwiches, scones with clotted cream and jam, and sweet cakes.
As they said good-bye at the 57th Street Station Ruth gave her a longer than usual embrace. When she finally pulled away she said, “I just want to grow old with you – that’s why I get so upset.” Both sisters started to tear up, so they quickly walked away before their emotions surfaced.
Tragically, Grace was diagnosed with cancer six months later. She died on May 8, 1948. She spent the last few months of her life living at Charles and Miriam’s house in Englewood, NJ. In that era, the likelihood of recovering from cancer was very low. They all knew this. Even though it was a very sad time, there was the comfort of being surrounded by family. Just as Charles had cared for Grace as a baby in her first year of life, he also helped care for her in her last year.
Blackie, Charles’ 13-year-old son, spent a great deal of time with Grace in her final year. He also got to know the full-time nurse they hired to care for Grace. Like many 13-year-old boys, at the time Blackie was into baseball and followed the New York Yankees, which he would talk to the nurse about for as long as she would listen. Over time, the nurse grew quite fond of him.
A few months after Grace passed away, Blackie received a package from Grace’s nurse. He opened it to find a baseball that was signed by Babe Ruth. That was it, no more explanation. But Blackie knew immediately it was the Babe Ruth because Grace’s nurse had gone on to provide hospice care for him in the last months before his death in August 16, 1948 in New York City.
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Read More Stories from the family history books:
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Kaye Parlin
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决心. Determination:
Determination is a positive emotional feeling that involves persevering despite obstacles.
Perhaps there is no better word that captures the essence of Kaye Parlin.
Kaye’s father died when she was 5 years old. He was a highly-decorated general in the Chinese Nationalist Army, head of the Chinese Police Academy in Shanghai and eventually promoted to the prestigious position of Director of Customs in Shanghai. It was a highly lucrative job with the potential of extra income in a corrupt system. But he was a man of integrity and refused to take bribes. This was disturbing to some in the system but his comrades admired him for it. He died unexpectedly at age 40 of a mysterious gastrointestinal hemorrhage.
Kaye, her three siblings, and pregnant mother, were now orphaned and widowed. Fortunately for them, her father had been the younger son of a concubine in a rich lumber family. Eventually the family was taken in by the wife of the governor of Fukien Province, where her grandfather’s lumber family originated. Kaye grew into adulthood in this grand household.
Kaye was the oldest of the four siblings and felt a great deal of responsibility for their well-being. She would help them with their studies, scold them when they misbehaved, and comfort them through challenges. In many ways she was both sister and mother to them.
As children, they lived in comfort with all of their needs taken care of, but there was no money to support them as they grew into young adults. As a result, when Kaye graduated from secondary school there was no money to send her to university. There was only enough to send her brother, the only son.
Kaye was smart, articulate, and could create beautiful calligraphy so she was able to find jobs tutoring children from prominent households. Most of the income she made she put right back into supporting her siblings.
In 1948 she married James, who was a handsome young man training to be a pilot. Soon after the wedding, Kaye became pregnant. This was during the Chinese Civil War between the Communists and Nationalists. The Nationalists were in retreat and she knew that the Communists would soon overtake where she lived, so she fled south with her mother and crossed to Hong Kong in escape.
Kaye and her first husband James.
She gave birth to her daughter, Jeanne, in 1949. Later in life Jeanne worked for the National Council for US China Trade and would flatter her Chinese counterparts by telling them that she had the same birthday as the People’s Republic of China — 1949. Of course what she didn’t tell them was that her mother had run away from the PRC Regime and her uncle was an operative in the Nationalist Underground.
Kaye, her Mother, and daughter (Jeanne).
In 1950, tragedy struck again. James was flying air supplies for Americans in the Korean War and was killed in an air accident. His income was all they had and now on top of dealing with the devastation of losing her husband, Kaye had to figure out how to support her one-year old daughter and aging mother.
Over the next 8 years in Hong Kong she worked as clerical staff in an airline, and then at an American relief organization, where she could get in line early for emigration to the US.
In 1959 she arrived in the US under the auspices of the US Refugee Relief Act. She found herself in a new country, surrounded by strangers (not all welcoming) with a sick mother and ten-year-old child. Once again, she had to rebuild.
Her English was poor so she could only find low level clerk jobs typing numbers on accounting charts. Her office was close to Manhattan’s public library. It was an hour commute by bus every day. From the Port Authority Bus Terminal she had to walk four long blocks along 42nd Street to get to her office, which at the time was rife with filth and crime. She kept her eyes down, her head high, and walked briskly. When she reached the library she knew she was safe.
During those years she raised her daughter and cared for her mother, who had diabetes and tuberculosis. But no matter what life threw at her, she always found a way forward. At first she lived in a room with her daughter in a friend’s house and sent her mother to Connecticut to live with a family friend. Then she made enough salary to bring the family back together, to a basement tenement apartment. From there they moved to a unit in a two-family house down the street. She slept in an enclosed porch, her mother in the dining room, and her daughter in the only bedroom, which faced a railroad track, with the commuter train rattling by twice a day.
After her mother died, Kaye moved to an above ground apartment, then later, further up to a garden apartment. When her employer moved to Connecticut, she managed to buy a condominium. For the first time in her life, she was a property owner.
In 1966, in an effort to secure scholarship money for her daughter Jeanne, Kaye was introduced to Charles Parlin who ran a scholarship program called the Epworth Fund. Charles helped secure a scholarship for Jeanne. In the process Charles’ wife Miriam took an interest in Jeanne. Miriam had been a teacher and missionary in China and took an interest in Chinese academic students. She wanted to see Jeanne succeed. The two families became friends.
Kaye was devastated when Miriam died in 1972. She had been so kind and welcoming to Kaye and Jeanne. They stayed in touch with Charles as family friends. Time passed and eventually Charles and Kaye’s relationship grew into more than just friends. They got married in 1976.
Charles and Kaye at their wedding with Great Granddaughter Nicole.
On the surface, Charles and Kaye could not have been more different. Charles was from a well-off New England family, educated at the top American universities. Kaye was from a Chinese family with no money, and a high school education. Charles was the managing partner of a prestigious New York law firm. Kaye was an accounting clerk with a pharmaceutical company.
But their connection ran deep. Charles was the oldest sibling, and de facto patriarch, of a large American family. Kaye was the oldest sibling, and de facto matriarch, of a large Chinese family. They both had to care for their siblings from a very young age, which left them with a deep sense of responsibility and paternalism. They both were boundlessly optimistic no matter what challenges life threw at them. They both had a strong sense of purpose in life and worked to make things better for themselves and others.
For Kaye, coming into the Parlin family was complicated at first. She spoke flawed English which made communications challenging. On top of that, given the culture and class that she came from, it was an unusual fit for that era and took the family by surprise.
Kaye’s daughter recalled the moment Charles told the family about their engagement.
“One cannot help but be struck by the insertion of a small non-white immigrant woman into a large Anglo-Saxon clan,” Jeanne recently said. “I think it was one of the ironies that amused Charles Parlin himself. I remember the formal family meal at which he suddenly announced to his stunned family that he was marrying Kaye.”
Nonetheless over time as the family members grew to know Kaye and see her character they grew to respect and love her.
When Charles passed in 1981, Kaye was once again left widowed. She remained an integral part of Pudding Island Farm. In 1993, she had the aging Farm House taken down to be replaced by a magnificent home that she designed herself. Here she hosted members of both families and used it as a gathering place where the families could all get to know each other.
Even into old age Kaye was always looking out for members of both families. She cared deeply, never losing that sense of paternalism and family honor. She died in 2020 of complications from COVID-19. She was 97 years old.
At her memorial, Heather (Camilla’s daughter), who got to know Kaye well because she married into a Chinese family and lived in Hong Kong, summed up her relationship to Kaye most fittingly:
“She was my ‘Nabu’—my Chinese grandmother, my consultant on all things Chinese, my role model for straddling two cultures with grace, dignity and good humor. Kaye, thank you. I love you, I miss you, and I will never forget you.”
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- Heather Smith Xie, letter for Kaye's Memorial.
Nancy Wilson
There were many people outside of the direct family that helped build the spirit and culture of Pudding Island Farm, but perhaps none so much as the family cook and housekeeper, Nancy Wilson.
Nancy was hired by Charles and Miriam in the 1940s. She served the family both at their homes in Englewood NJ and at Lake George.
Nancy was both soft-spoken and larger than life. She was warm and loving with a big heart housed inside her tall, large frame. Over the years she became an integral part of the family. She was much more than an employee. She was a second mother to the kids, a confidant to Miriam – particularly as she grew ill – and a beam of pure joy that could lift anyone’s spirits.
Camilla Smith (Charles and Miriam’s daughter) tells a story that captures Nancy’s essence:
“On Labor Day it was our family tradition for many years to spend Labor Day at the Rutland State Fair in Vermont, which was only an hour away from Silver Bay. For us, it marked the end of the summer. Everyone in the household would go.
One year we stopped to watch people wield the large sledge hammer and smash it down on a round metal plate attached to a spring that sent a round disk up a track with a gong at the top. If the hammer hit the plate with enough force, the disk would hit the gong with a resounding “BONG!”
Nancy decided she would try this. Nancy was tall, and she was BIG, not fat, but just very big, probably close to 300 pounds.
Nancy grabbed that sledge hammer and BONG went the disc. The barker was thrilled! “Do it again,” he said, “for free.” And she did! Now in rural Vermont, there are not too many African Americans, and even fewer as large as Nancy. A crowd began to gather, and the barker was thrilled. He egged Nancy on to swing that hammer again. Again and again, BONG went the gong! People began to cheer. Nancy began to laugh, and she eventually was laughing so hard she could not swing the hammer anymore!
How we loved Nancy’s spirit!!”
- Camilla Smith email 8/24/2021
Nancy loved fishing. Every morning she would bring her fishing gear down to the boathouse, pull up a chair, and drop her line. Occasionally she’d catch a nice fat bass but mostly it was Freshwater Sunfish, aka Sunnys. Nancy was one of the few people with the patience to debone these small bony fish. While Nancy loved fishing and looking out at the lake, she didn’t know how to swim.
I (Peter Sanborn) personally learned this the hard way when one day my brother Bill and I offered to take Nancy and her friend Irene out in the rowboat to fish off Skippers Island, where the larger fish were. As we were getting Nancy into the boat I pulled away from the dock too quickly and with a big splash Nancy went into the lake. There was quite a ruckus with Nancy splashing around and everyone jumping in to help her out. Fortunately the water was very shallow and we got her out. I thought she was going to be angry and felt horrible. But there she was in full dress, soaked from head to toe, laughing hysterically.
“Lord, child,” she said, “I forgot to tell you I can’t swim!”
That was the end of trying to get Nancy into the boat. Much to my relief, there were no hard feelings and my brother and I fished with her at the boathouse the rest of the summer, enjoying her warm personality and stories.
Nancy Wilson.
Charles and Nancy at the Rutland State Fair.