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Fall Reporter 2007
(250k. Click here to access color, illustrated version in PDF file format)

Old South Church
Boston MA 02116
http://www.oldsouth.org

What's inside? (Text only version)

A CLOWN ON THIS SIDE by Liz Olson
. . . you may have noticed a strange face in the crowd. It was a face with a big bright smile and a rather large, red nose. . .

A HAIR-BRAINED SCHEME by Will Palmer
 . . . the conversation almost always started in this way: “Hi, Will. Hey, you got your hair cut!”. . .

A TRIP TO PANAMA by Karla Makholm
This summer I spent 7 weeks in a remote village in Panama . . . .

THE PAN CHALLENGE by Pam Holland
This summer, I did something I never thought I would find myself doing.

TO EVERYTHING THERE IS A SEASON by Jan Monsma
“To everything there is a season,” says our Bible in Ecclesiastes, “and
a time for every purpose under heaven”. . . .

JOHN SALEM LOCKWOOD & OLD SOUTH  by Elinor Lockwood Yeo
My father, John Salem Lockwood . .  . grew up in Shanghai . . . .

MOHAWKS, THE GREEN DRAGON AND THE BOSTON TEA PARTY
by Liz Rice-Smith
Dec. 16, 1773.  What a day! . .

COLORS OF COPLEY IN THE FALL by Joey Santosuosso
Hey John, over here bro, check this out . . . .


A CLOWN ON THE SIDE
by Liz Olson


For those of you who ventured to Hartford this summer for the UCC Synod, you may have noticed a strange face in the crowd. It was a face with a big bright smile and a rather large, red nose. Indeed, it was my face, and also the face of my good friend, Dr. Fun E. Bones.

Dr. Fun E. Bones came to be after touring Russia for two weeks with Patch Adams and 36 clowns from six countries.  As a clown delivering peace, love and joy to the general public, retired musicians, and children in orphanages, hospitals and cancer wards, I learned to speak in a new language without words (I spoke no Russian, and only a few spoke English). It was fascinating to see the smiles created, the shouts of joy emerging from a population with so little happiness in everyday life. My act? Smiling, hugging, singing and creating balloon animals.

It all started after seeing the movie, Patch Adams and then reading his two books that I had immediately bought.  I wrote to the real Patch to tell him how much I was inspired by his story and asked if I could visit his free hospital. As a result, I was invited to clown in Russia as one of 36 clowns from Japan, England, Germany, the Netherlands, Russia, and the U.S. The only requirement to go was to don full clown costume for the entire trip, including the flight out from the airport. The mission was to clown for children in orphanages and hospitals in Moscow and St Petersburg. I felt a calling to which I could not say no.

Once in Russia, we traveled by our own bus to distant places which housed children who had become wards of the state. By 2007, there were a reported 750,000 such children, about 95% of whom had parents but were abandoned due to inability or unwillingness to care for them. These children had been labeled at age two as “debil,” or mentally handicapped, yet many had simply been deprived of love, education and support needed for growth. In the orphanages, they receive little education; toys were for sitting on shelves as there were not enough to go around. When they are asked to leave at age 16, they will be denied a driver’s license, higher education, or training for a good paying job, and many will commit suicide or become prostitutes.

Also devastating was the status of the hospitals and cancer wards. There were grim brick and concrete walls, multiple beds to a room, outdated technology. My first stop was a pediatric burn unit where I had my first hug. She was a young girl with short boyish hair and a huge smile, yet underneath her smile were all bones -- I felt no flesh. The reality hit hard. Visiting the cancer ward was even harder.

However, our mission was to spread peace, love and happiness to these children who had so little. The universal language of love made this task less daunting. Smiles, hugs, singing, balloon animals and other props created more smiles and laughter. It was incredible what happened when the clowns went marching in.

Also, years prior to my visit, Patch partnered with a woman named Maria who opened her heart and her home to some of these children in an art program called Maria’s Children. She and volunteers were able to offer a safe and loving environment for children from orphanages to create murals and paintings and eventually learn domestic skills. She and some of her children traveled with us on tour and we had an auction for their artwork. I ask you to visit Maria’s Children at <www.MariasChildren.org> to see (and buy) their miraculous and beautiful artwork.

I hope I have not painted too dismal a picture for you — the trip was truly filled with positive light and many happy faces in which you cannot see the pain of the reality. Patch continues to go back every year and more institutions are accepting his crowd, allowing laughter and humor in the door. Maria’s Children has expanded with new programs. Please visit the website and feel free to ask me anything about my trip to Russia with Patch.

When I returned to Boston I was told about a brand new program at Dana Farber Cancer Institute: hospital clowning. I joined in the training and the Humor-Us Healers were created. I couldn’t do balloon animals because no latex is allowed in the U.S. hospitals, but simply walking around smiling and listening to patients and families does wonders.

I had many costumes in Russia, but I have since made the short gingham dress, lace bottoms and hat ring my official outfit (all of which came from a costume shop in New Orleans before Katrina). Oh, and of course, the red nose and big shoes are must haves. The lab coat is added when the “Dr.” name deems appropriate and the pockets become handy for gizmos and “first aid” smiley faces.

These days I don’t get to clown around much, so I am very happy to don the outfit and entertain anyone willing to laugh and smile. Volunteering at the UCC Synod in the Park was a blast. A group of teenagers formed a circle around me dancing to Mexican music; we laughed and danced and they happily accepted some very bizarre looking balloon animals. Peaceful, happy feelings, and an almost magic atmosphere were present as groups of people — UCC members, Hartford citizens, young folks, old folks — all came together to find smiles and laughter. This feeling will always be remembered by all who were there.

If you would like to know what it is like to be a clown on the side, I present to you this idea: find yourself a bright red nose and walk around in public with a big smile on your face. I guarantee you will receive many smiles back, and perhaps a few laughs as well.



A HAIR-BRAINED SCHEME
by Will Palmer


As we return to Old South from our summer vacations, we greet old friends and make new ones. We catch up on what our friends did over the summer, and we make plans for the new season. Now, in most of these conversations, a subject for discussion is not always readily apparent. In my case, however, the conversation almost always started in this way: “Hi, Will. Hey, you got your hair cut!”

And my response would be a short version of the following story.

Until last June, my last haircut was in November of 2006. Mind you, it was not a short haircut. It was a moderate haircut. Some people would say it didn’t take enough off, that it was still too long. In hindsight, I believe I should have said, “You ain’t seen nothing yet!” My hair was long, so long in fact, that people said things like, “Hey, Will, I’d give you $5 if you cut your hair.” Sometimes, it was closer to $20. To these remarks, I usually responded, “Hey, I value my hair at more than $20.” As time would show, it was worth a lot more that that!
   
Last year, in 8th grade, my hair was a sort of trademark of mine at my school, North Attleboro Middle School. It was also often a subject of discussion in my classes, though, thankfully, it was never a malevolent discussion. One day, my hair came up in discussion in algebra class. My teacher, Mr. Hale, said, somewhat in passing, “You know, Will, you could probably make a lot of money for the charity of your choice, if you cut your hair.”
   
In fact, I had been turning something like that over in the back of my mind for a while, but I had always dismissed it as unrealistic. But then, to hear Mr. Hale, a man who had experience with this sort of stuff, say that my idea could become a reality was, well, very encouraging.
   
In May, I approached my English teacher, Mrs. Thompson, with an idea. (Teachers and students at my middle school are grouped into academic “teams” with a teacher from each subject on board.) I had decided that I wanted to go forward with Mr. Hale’s idea, a fund-raiser for a charity with the promise of my haircut as the motivator. I chose the Jimmy Fund as the charity, because of the help that Dana-Farber and the Jimmy Fund gave my sister, Frannie, in the aftermath of her operation (six years ago) to remove what eventually turned out to be a benign brain tumor. My thought was to challenge my team to raise $500 (or more) for the Jimmy Fund, and if they did so, I would get a serious haircut. Mrs. Thompson loved the idea and brought it to the team. They all thought it was great and we were off.
   
Mrs. Thompson and I discussed the “Hair-Brained Scheme,” as we dubbed it, at some length. We debated how much money would be our goal, when our deadlines would be, what sort of other, smaller incentives we could have along the way. A few days into planning, our team’s U.S. history teacher, Mr. Karwin, volunteered to shave his infamous goatee for the “Hair-Brained Scheme,” as an added incentive.

The final plan was along these lines: we would announce the “Hair-Brained Scheme” to the team the Friday before Memorial Day. If the team raised $500 by June 7th, I would get a serious haircut and the team would be able to see it. If the team raised $600, Mr. Karwin would shave his goatee. In addition to any cash brought in, there would be a spare change bucket in the Science Room, where people could toss their extra change after lunch. All money raised would go to the Jimmy Fund, although knowledge of Frannie’s surgery would not be made public.
   
We got approval from the principal, Mrs. Ekk, and we announced the “Hair Brained Scheme” on the planned Friday to an enthusiastic response. One girl in particular, Sarah Lapointe, a Yankees’ fan, said that if we reached $600, she would wear Red Sox attire. This was huge, because Sarah is a rank Yankees fan.

Donations started coming in very soon. A friend of mine, whose mother is being treated for breast cancer, put in $100 of her own money. Not everyone was quite that enthusiastic, so, as an incentive, we sold freeze pops during study hall for 50¢ each. We also pushed the deadline back a week to the 14th. In the final days of the fundraiser, the money really started to pile up. Everyone involved was thrilled. We announced the “totals-of-the-moment,” as donations mounted.

That weekend, my family and I went to our local Fantastic Sam’s barber shop and videotaped my hair being cut. On Monday, the videotape was shown to the team, and everyone saw my new, short haircut. Sarah wore Red Sox gear, and Mr. Karwin got rid of the “goat,” effectively shaving off 10 years of his appearance, which meant he looked about 16. Seriously.

At the end of the school year, our total was $727.07! We sent the money to the Jimmy Fund, along with “before and after” pictures of my hair, and a letter from me, explaining the fundraiser and the school’s role in it.

We went away on vacation. But when we came back in early August, I found a letter from the Jimmy Fund waiting for me. It turned out to be a personal letter from Mike Andrews, Chairman of the Jimmy Fund, thanking me for the donations! I shared this with my teachers (some of them didn’t believe it wasn’t a boilerplate thank you letter at first) and they were thrilled.

There’s something special, though, about our final total: $727.07.    I can assure you it was not a planned upon amount. It was completely by chance. It is a special total because Frannie’s birthday this past year was July 27th, 2007 or 7/27/07. Okay, cue the X-Files music!

And that is the full version of my “What I did this summer” story, to which most people tell me, “That was a cool summer!” And they’re right. God bless the Jimmy Fund, and God bless long hair. Peace.




A TRIP TO PANAMA
by Karla Makholm


This summer I spent 7 weeks in San Pedro, a remote village in Panama, where I lived with a family and volunteered to carry out community projects through an organization called Amigos de las Americas. There was one other girl from the program, Anna, from San Francisco, who stayed with a different family in my community and lived about 20 minutes away.

From an outside standpoint there could have been several reasons for which I chose to travel to Panama. Yeah, it might look good on a college application or allow me to speak in a language to my mother that my father cannot understand. However, for me there were other reasons that were more personal.

This past February, I went on a mission trip to Chile for one week through the UCC churches in Massachusetts. A group of ten kids and I traveled there with the idea we would be helping a group of underprivileged kids by building a community center. However, I was very disappointed. We hardly interacted with the kids at all and got very little work done on our project. However, I did get something out of this experience — I saw the possibility of what could be done in a place like this. I was inspired to go on another trip where I could take more of a leadership role and really interact with the people. And that’s exactly what I did.

San Pedro is a rural community spread out among the mountains where almost everyone farms to grow their own food. There is no electricity, (except, of course, in the church, where they use a car battery), no floors, (only mud), and it rains at least once daily, (causing the rivers to flood, making them impossible to cross). I lived in a thatched roof hut on the top of a hill with my two abuelos (grandparents in Spanish) my 13-year-old host brother, Danièl and my pet cockroach who I named Tito.

During these seven weeks I taught classes with Anna, my partner, at the local school about health and the environment. We also carried out a community project in which the whole community pitched in building and creating a Cento de Informaciûn, literally translated as “Information Center” with community gardens and mural benches. We worked mainly with a group of youths from the area, but kids, adults and even old men pitched in to make it happen.

You know, many people think about what they will be giving or teaching people who are less fortunate than themselves when they do service. However, this trip made me realize how much more the people there actually taught me. I learned so many incredible and valuable lessons while I was there and, although the community projects were an important part of our stay, the most important part was learning from each other and bridging the gap between ourselves and our different ways of life.


THE PAN CHALLENGE
FOR PAM
by Pam Holland


The first weekend in August this summer, I did something I never thought I would find myself doing. I rode 161 miles with over 5,500 other bicyclists in the Pan Massachusetts Challenge to help raise money for the Jimmy Fund at the Dana Farber Cancer Institute. The PMC intrigued me a year ago when a friend rode it in memory of a neighbor’s daughter, Erika Gould, who had just died at age seven from brain cancer. Erika and my daughter, Aine, were only a year apart in school and rode the bus together. It was heart breaking to lose Erika after her courageous battle and I started to think about my own family and its brushes with cancer.

Suddenly cancer seemed to be everywhere. My father died in 2001 from complications of lung cancer. My grandfather, great-grandmother and great-great-grandmother died from cancer. Looking through my genealogy notes, I found many other close family members touched by cancer as well. What had always seemed something I did not need to worry about was actually all around me. I realized I could not ignore the effects of cancer on my own family and potentially myself. I wanted to do something and then recalled I had a great role model to help me.

Some of you may remember my grandmother, Catherine Dauber, who was very active at Old South Church for many, many years. Catherine beat breast cancer at age 67 and for the next 27 years until she died at 94 was an active volunteer and fundraiser for cancer research. She was one of the first volunteers in the American Cancer Society’s Reach to Recovery program and at age 91 was the oldest walker in the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer fundraising walk in Boston in 1999. I wanted to do something as meaningful and I decided to physically and financially challenge myself by riding in the PMC.

The PMC is the largest single fundraising athletic event in the world and the biggest contributor to the Dana Farber Cancer Institute in Boston. Last year, the PMC raised $26 million for cancer research and treatment — an average of over $5,000 per rider. This year, thanks to corporate sponsors to cover the event expenses, over 99% of all the tax-deductible donations to the PMC go directly to cancer research and treatment at Dana Farber — an unprecedented pass-through rate in charity events. The overall PMC goal this year is to raise $27 million.

In January, I signed up for the two-day ride from Wellesley to Provincetown on August 4th & 5th and committed to raising $3,600 by October 1st. This serious committment meant that if I was unsuccessful in gathering enough donations, I was still personally required to make up the difference in funds. The ride covered 82 miles on Saturday from Wellesley to Bourne and 79 miles on Sunday from Bourne to Provincetown. Although the furthest I had ever ridden before the PMC was around 30 miles with friends, I knew if I trained during the summer, I could do it. It took many training rides and the support of my family but it was worth it!

It was an amazing two days starting in Wellesley at 7:30 a.m. on Saturday morning with a very moving opening ceremony. A throat cancer survivor, who feared she might never talk again, let alone sing, gave us a beautiful rendition of the Star Spangled Banner.  All the riders held hands for a moment and it was hard not to cry. Then, with U2’s “Beautiful Day” playing on the loudspeakers, we were off!  We stopped at rest stops every 20 miles or so -- the most memorable for lunch where the sides of the road were lined with pictures of “pedal partner” children. (Pedal Partners are Jimmy Fund Clinic patients who are matched up with PMC riders who ride in their honor.)  All along the way, we were cheered on and given loud thank yous by well-wishers.  It was like being in a parade.  It was a steamy day and my favorite moments were riding through sprinklers set up by people along side the road.  I cycled into Bourne about 2:30 p.m. in the afternoon — hot but only a little bit tired after riding 82 miles. 
 
I stayed at the Massachusetts Maritime Academy on the Cape Cod Canal on Saturday night and then was up and on my bike along with thousands of other riders at 5:00 a.m. on Sunday.  It was beautiful crossing the Bourne Bridge in the pre-dawn darkness and then winding our way along the Cape Cod Canal bike path as the sun came up!  I crossed the finish line in Provincetown at about 11:30 a.m.  It was hard to believe it was not quite lunchtime and I had just cycled 79 miles that morning.  However, I felt great -- all the training rides paid off.  I was not sure how the second day would feel but except for a few saddle sores, I was fine.  It is amazing what your body can do sometimes.
 
It is hard to describe the whole event.  The sheer number of people is almost unbelievable — almost 10,000 people with riders and volunteers.  Every rest stop was packed with food, water, mini-massages, medical attention and porta-potties. The people lining the road with cowbells, horns and screams never seemed to stop. All the “Thanks to you, I’m a survivor” signs along the route were so uplifting and filled with hope for the future. It makes you want to be a part of the event again and again.



TO EVERYTHING
THERE IS A SEASON
by Jan Monsma
Congregational Care & Support Committee


“To everything there is a season,” says our Bible in Ecclesiastes, “and a time for every purpose under heaven” echoes the familiar folk song. “There is a time to be born and a time to die. . . “
 
We do a lot of planning for the seasons of our living. We plan where, how, by what means, with whom and by which values we will live. Planning for a season of dying comes harder. Because the whole subject can be a painful one, we may ignore, try to deny, or in other ways run from the fact that death is very much a part of every life. We may neglect making decisions that would ensure that we have some control over the circumstances surrounding a terminal illness and death. Making some decisions early on, while we are healthy in body and mind, can mean that during a terminal illness we will be cared for in ways that suit our personal preferences. Making some decisions now can mean that we experience a good death; one in which our wishes and values are honored and carried out.
 
For our families and those closest to us, making some end-of-life decisions is most helpful and comforting. It protects them from having to make the hard choices without knowing what we want. It protects those who love us from disagreeing about our care and final arrangements surrounding our demise. There is yet another and perhaps most important benefit to making decisions early on. It frees us to be at ease, to live fully and joyfully, knowing that illness and death, when they come, will not find us unprepared.
 
The Congregational Care and Support Committee sponsored two workshops on End-of-Life Issues in the spring of 2007 that worked to accomplish the following:

 1. Put the decisions regarding our spiritual, emotional, and physical care during the time of terminal illness and death in the context of our faith; and
 2. Offer help in the making of those important decisions in the form of two workbooks.

The first workshop focused on personal care during a terminal illness and made use of the booklet Five Wishes, published by Aging with Dignity. This session was ably led by our Old South member, the Rev. Dr. Ken Orth, who is both an ordained minister and a licensed therapist. Five Wishes deals with such subjects as the following:

•    The person I want to make care decisions for me
    when I can’t (health care proxy);
•    The kind of medical treatment I want or don’t want;
•    How comfortable I want to be;
•    How I want people to treat me (and where);
•    What I want my loved ones to know

Five Wishes begins: “There are many things in life that are out of our hands. This booklet gives you a way to control something very important -- how you are treated if you get seriously ill. It is an easy-to-complete form that lets you say exactly what you want. Once it is filled out and properly signed, it is valid under the laws of most states [including Massachusetts].” This booklet guides your thinking in choosing a health care proxy, completing your living will, and offers step by step guidance in talking with those closest to you about your end-of-life stage wishes.
 
Five Wishes is for anyone 18 or older. Over six million Americans of all ages have used it. Because it works so well, lawyers, doctors, hospitals, hospices, faith communities, employers, and retiree groups are handing out this document. Besides guiding us through such questions as were listed earlier, this well thought through workbook will guide personal and medical caretakers as to how to respond to such conditions as irreversible coma, brain damage, severe pain, and more, according to our specific wishes.
 
A companion guide Next Steps helps us plan how to talk about our decisions with our doctor, family members and other loved ones who will impact our care during a serious or terminal illness. For them this completed document will be an essential gift. They will know exactly what we want, when and if we cannot advocate for ourselves.
 
Our second Old South workshop revolved around making choices and caring for ourselves emotionally and spiritually at life’s end stage. A booklet entitled, God with Us, written and compiled by a subcommittee of the Congregational Care and Support Committee plus the Rev. Quinn Caldwell was presented to each attendee. This document focuses on care from our pastors and support from the congregation during serious illness as well as descriptions of worship opportunities that are offered by Old South Church and clergy at the time of and after death.
 
This session was beautifully led by Quinn Caldwell using the above booklet. In it, organ and tissue donation, burial, and cremation, are touched on. Graveside and memorial services, and funerals plus the contents for these various worship opportunities are listed and described to help us in our preplanning. Suggestions are included for a choice of Scripture readings and hymns, music, poetry and other selections. A form is included that allows us to file our choice of service and its contents with our family and clergy. Where to find grief support and a bereavement bibliography are also given.

[This booklet (right) is now available on the Old South Church website at  <www.oldsouth.org/pubs/GodWithUs2007.pdf>.]    

During this year the Congregational Care and Support Committee also produced an emergency contact card meant to be carried, along with personal identification, at all times. These cards were made available at several meetings and at Sunday morning coffee hours. They alert hospitals and medical persons as to whom to contact should we suddenly become ill or suffer a serious accident. They also give medical personnel permission to notify our clergy as to our condition and whereabouts.
 
It is the intention of the Care and Support Committee to make these cards and workshops available periodically. In the meantime, you can request the cards or workbooks from Quinn Caldwell or Jan Monsma, chair of the Congregational Care and Support Committee.
 
“There is a time to be born and a time to die.” Some careful, prayerful decision making about end-of-life issues now will go a long way towards making the final stage of life a more peaceful time for us and those dearest to us. “To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven.” The season for some careful decision making about the end of life may be now. Help for making these important decisions is available through these valuable resources. The Congregational Care and Support Committee invites you to take advantage of them.
 



JOHN SALEM LOCKWOOD
& OLD SOUTH CHURCH
by Elinor Lockwood Yeo


My father, John Salem Lockwood, and his two older brothers were born and grew up in Shanghai, where their Dad, William Wirt Lockwood, was the Secretary of the YMCA. They all attended the Shanghai American School and the Shanghai Community Church (which is still alive and well attended). Then all three came back to the United States to attend DePauw University, a Methodist college in Greencastle, Indiana. Their maternal grandfather, both a physician and a Methodist minister, was the treasurer of the college. Upon graduation, all three came to the Boston area to attend graduate school. My father, after three years of college, came to Harvard Medical School in the class of 1931.

Imagine my surprise and pleasure when, in going through a vast collection of letters written by my father to his parents in China and his oldest brother in New York, I found a letter written about his attendance at Old South Church! He writes on February 2, 1930 as follows:

“The sermon was on the subject of ‘Religion and the State’ and elaborated on the idea that there are times when the voice of conscience must be more powerful in directing individual action than the voices of Public Opinion and the State. Dr. Stafford literally drowned the conception of patriotism as held by Stephen Decatur in a flood of well directed rhetoric. Such a sermon twelve years ago might have landed the honorable pastor in Leavenworth, and yet today there was not even a policeman in the audience. I wondered, as an aside, what would be the outcome of a declaration of war by Congress in the face of all the tide of pacifistic sentiment which has swept over the country in reaction to the last war, regardless of the apparent justice of the declaration. Of course many of the most ardent pacifists would change their consciences to jibe with public opinion, but there would undoubtedly be enough left over to embarrass the government, which might have to spend as much in the erection of prisons as in the prosecution of the war.

“After the Seven Amens, I accepted the benediction and retired from the church spiritually refreshed, but not so much because of the sermon as because of the atmosphere and because of the free play I had been able to give my thoughts during the service…… I do know that it is the beauty of the Old South Church, architectural, musical and rhetorical which attracts me there as a place where I can sit and think more than anything else, and not be jarred.”


Isn’t it wonderful that the three elements — the architecture, the music and the preaching — of great pleasure at Old South Church for the then young writer — my father — are among those same most treasured elements today by our congregation of 2007!

Author’s Note: Elinor Lockwood Yeo was born in New York City while her father was a surgical resident at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital. She grew up in Philadelphia, New Haven and suburban New York as her father practiced and taught surgery until his premature death at 42. She attended Smith College and Union Theological Seminary in New York, where she received an MDiv degree. After a year as a World Council of Churches Fellow in Geneva, she became the Associate Protestant Chaplain at Boston University where she met Dick Yeo! They were married the following summer. Since then, she has been involved in campus ministry, in reproductive rights for women, as the director of social services at City Mission Society and now volunteers in the Pastoral Care department at Childrens’ Hospital. She was ordained in the United Church of Christ. She and Dick are parents of three grown sons and have five grandsons and one granddaughter. They came to Old South about ten years ago having known Jim Crawford and loving in particular that which John Lockwood loved – the architecture, the music and the preaching. But, in addition, they found a beloved church community of friends and colleagues.



SONGS, DISGUISES & STORIES:
MOHAWKS,
THE GREEN DRAGON &
THE BOSTON TEA PARTY
by Liz Rice-Smith

Old South — “the Church of the Boston Tea Party”
December 16, 1773. What a day! And to this day, from time to time, one of our Old South sidewalk signboards on Boylston Street carries the message: “The Church of the Boston Tea Party,” catching the attention of passersby, and holding it – for a moment, an hour, or a lifetime. It is true that many of us OSCers are aware of the role of the Boston Tea Party and its importance as one of several actions along the Atlantic seacoast in North America — pathways toward the American Revolution. But did you know that other tea dumping parties were held in East coastal cities including New York, Philadelphia, and Charleston? These actions were convened and coordinated to convey response to the culmination of almost two centuries of frustration with continuing impact of English monarchy, economic control including taxation, and various forms of religious tyranny, well beyond initial and extended expansionist migrations to North America. Further, beginning signs were showing, showing subtle shifts in British land policy for the colonies. These shifting patterns in British land policy were actually acknowledged as more favorable to the inherent entitlements of the Original/First Peoples of the Atlantic Northeast. These entitlements, too, stirred intense anxieties in the expansionist settlers. They thought God had left land open and waiting for them in North America. That is what their clergy had taught them, and what they believed to be true.

While many of us are well aware of our Old South ties to many of the activists who carried out the action of the Boston Tea Party as well as to the hosting of important meetings at the Old South Meeting House, we may not have been aware that the activists dumped tea, in disguise, as Mohawk Indians. What do we make of it, that they disguised themselves as Mohawks? Who were these men, and why did they disguise themselves? What does this mean to us, that just before our feisty patriots dumped tea into the Boston Harbor that December day in 1773, they donned clothing, head pieces, feathers, axes, and war paint of American Indians – specifically, the Mohawk/Iroquois people? Why did they disguise themselves this way? Why Mohawk rather than Wampanoag, Massachusett, Abenaki, or Mahican? Why did the songs they sang and the stories they told carry explicit references to the Mohawk people?

These, my friends, are not trick questions! And sorting out the answers to them is no simple task. Ask any committed activist organizer where people meet to discuss and craft strategies for their actions? What is a likely spot? A local pub. This is true now, and it was true then. The Green Dragon was the spot. The men who met at the Green Dragon pub to strategize this action were a diverse crew of Bostonians, a number of whom were members of our congregation of the Old South Meeting House. A “descendant” pub of the original, also called the Green Dragon still exists, right in the  Haymarket/Fanueil Market area in Boston, to this day. Just a few doors to the left of  the Union Oyster House Restaurant.

Who? The men who dumped tea from the Dartmouth into the Boston Harbor were a motley crew. There were 175 identified participants and most likely there were more who wanted to remain unknown. It is estimated that the work of the Boston Tea Party was the work of young people. Of those whose ages are known, two-thirds were under the age of 20. 16 of them were teenagers. Only 9 are known to have been 40 or older. Most were from Boston and its orbit, and others came from Worcester and Maine. While some were distinguished merchants, lawyers, and doctors, most were seamen, dock workers, and skilled artisans including carpenters, masons, and shoemakers. They were English, Irish, African, Portuguese, Scottish, and French.

Some worked very hard to protect their privacy regarding their involvement in the tea dumping of 1773. Many swore each other to secrecy. Lists, though incomplete, have been compiled for the Boston Tea Party Historical Society from the Boston Tea Party Chapter, Daughters of American Revolution; from the 1973 Boston Globe “200th Anniversary Boston Tea Party Special Section”; and the book, Tea Leaves, published in 1884 in Boston by Francis S. Drake.

Where? The Docks, the Green Dragon. Fanueil Hall, the Old South Meeting House, and the Dartmouth.

What? 342 chests of tea, according to the Boston Tea Party Historical Society and the website for the PBS series, Liberty! Chronicle of the Revolution. Boston 1774. The East India Company, nearly bankrupt, received permission from the British Parliament to sell tea directly to the American market and no longer required it to work through distributors in England.

What happened? As noted in the website of the Boston Tea Party Historical Society, “Despite being eyewitnesses to the event, which lasted three hours, no military authorities took any action against the Boston Tea Party. As John Adams confided to his diary,
 
This is the most magnificent Movement of all. There is a Dignity, a Majesty, a Sublimity in this last Effort of the Patriots that I greatly admire.... This Destruction of the Tea is so bold, so daring, so firm, intrepid, & inflexible, and it must have so important Consequences and so lasting, that I cannot but consider it as an Epocha in History.”

To summarize what happened immediately leading up to that day of dumping tea, it is important to remember that the ship, the Dartmouth from London, had anchored with a cargo of tea. The “Boston Committee of Correspondence” had invited those of Roxbury, Cambridge, Dorchester and Brookline to assemble in the room of the selectmen, while citizens were pouring into Faneuil Hall. They resolved unanimously, to move forward with the goal of preventing the landing of the tea. They also resolved to invite all the town-committees in the province to join in with them. The teeming crowd grew so large that the Hall could not contain them, so the meeting was adjourned to the Old South Meeting House. There the people determined that the tea should not be “landed,” that no tax would be paid, and that it should be sent back.
They also voted to direct Francis Rotch, the owner of the Dartmouth not to enter the tea, at his peril. They voted further to warn the captain of the Dartmouth “not to suffer the tea to be landed.” Orders were given for the ship to be moored at Griffin’s Wharf. Twenty citizens were appointed to serve as a guard to monitor what occurred.
The consignees sent a letter to the meeting, offering to store the tea until they could write to England and receive instructions. The meeting responded, “Not a pound of it shall be landed.” They also resolved that two other tea-ships, the Beaver and the Eleanor should be anchored alongside the Dartmouth, under the surveillance of the same volunteer guard. The meeting adjourned with the appointment of a number of post-riders to carry news to the other towns.

Then, on the 14th of December, a next meeting was held in our Old South Meeting House. It was resolved to order Mr. Rotch to immediately apply for a clearance for his ship and send her to sea. His cargo had all been unloaded with the exception of the chests of tea. Through all this, the governor had taken measures to prevent the Dartmouth from sailing out of the harbor before the tea could be unloaded; he also wrote to the ministry, advising the prosecution of some of the leaders of the Sons of Liberty in Boston, for high crimes and misdemeanors.
On the 16th of December (1773), the largest assembly then ever seen in Boston gathered in the Old South Meeting-House; Samuel P. Savage, of Weston, presided. More than two thousand men from the neighboring towns were in attendance. More than seven thousand men gathered and were overflowing into the street. The Boston Tea Party Historical Society notes:
It was reported that the Custom-house officers had refused to give Mr. Rotch a clearance for his vessel before the tea—the whole cargo—should be landed. “No vessel can pass the Castle without my permission, and I will not give it,” thought the governor, as he rode out to his country-seat at Milton; and he believed he had secured a victory. Not so thought the people. When the great assembly heard of the refusal of the Custom-house officers to grant a clearance, they said to Mr. Rotch: “Go to the governor; protest against their action, and ask him for a permit for your vessel to sail.” He hastened to the governor in the country, and the meeting adjourned until three o’clock. When they reassembled the merchant had not returned, and the question was put to the meeting: “In case the governor shall refuse his permission, will you abide by your former resolutions with respect to not suffering the tea to be landed?”    

Earnest men spoke to the question. Among the most earnest was young Josiah Quincy, a rising lawyer, with a feeble frame that was wasting with consumption, a firm will, patriotism of purest mold, and a burning zeal. He harangued the crowd with prophetic words eloquently spoken. Like a seer he perceived that a great crisis was at hand, where actions, and not words, would be required. “It is not,” he said, “the spirit that reposes within these walls that must stand us in stead. The exertions of this day will call forth events which will make a very different spirit necessary for our salvation. Whoever supposes that shouts and hosannas will terminate the trials of this day, entertains a childish fancy. He must be grossly ignorant of the importance and value of the prize for which we contend; we must be equally ignorant of the power of those who have combined against us; we must be blind to that malice, inveterancy and insatiable revenge which actuate our enemies, public and private, abroad and in our bosoms, to hope that we shall end this controversy without the sharpest conflicts—to flatter ourselves that popular resolves, popular harangues, popular acclamations, and popular vapor will vanquish our foes. Let us consider the issue. Let us look to the end. Let us weigh and consider, before we advance to those measures which must bring on the most trying and terrible struggle this country ever saw.” When Mr. Quincy ceased speaking, it was sunset and the church was lighted by candles. The question was put, and the thousands answered in the affirmative. There was a call for Mr. Rotch, but he had not returned. He came soon afterward, and reported that the governor peremptorily refused him permission to send his vessel to sea before the tea should be landed.    

A murmur ran through the vast assemblage, but the rising excitement was hushed into silence when Samuel Adams arose, and in a clear voice said: “This meeting can do no more to save the country.” At that moment a person with painted face and dressed like an Indian gave a war-whoop in the gallery, which was responded to in kind from the door of the meeting-house. Another voice in the gallery shouted: “Boston harbor a teapot to-night! Hurrah for Griffin’s Wharf!” The meeting instantly adjourned and the people rushed for the street, and pushed toward Griffin’s Wharf, following a number of men disguised as Indians. The populace cheered. Guards were posted to keep order. Among them was John Hancock. The disguised men and others then went on board the tea-ships moored at Griffin’s Wharf, and in the course of three hours they emptied three hundred and forty-two chests of tea into the water of the harbor. …   
Early the next morning the Committee of Correspondence appointed Samuel Adams chairman of a sub-committee to draw up a statement of what had been done with the tea, and then they sent Paul Revere as express to carry the document to the Sons of Liberty in New York and Philadelphia. Of the immediate actors on board the tea-ships on that eventful night, the names of fifty-nine are known. The last survivor of the band was David Kinnison, who died in Chicago in 1851, at the age of one hundred and fifteen years.   
Notably, these tea dumpers were intentional in their use of identity and symbol in making their plans, implementing their actions, and delivering their message. Their symbolic protest was one of a number of actions carried out in cities along the Atlantic coast of North America. In Boston, our forebears were intentional in pairing their vision of liberty with the identity of the Mohawk people.

So then, why is it worth our time to think about this, to try to figure this out, to attempt to read the signals of the symbols they chose for their disguises? All these years later, how do these activist men speak to us? What do their actions tell us? What do we make of the songs they wrote and sang about this action? What of their message has been lost or forgotten? Why did they dress and identify as Mohawk? And why might this be important for us to remember?

We are well aware that depending on whomever keeps track of the information, who constructs the tales, whomever is telling the stories, when the stories are told, and who is listening, with specifics of events recalled . . . depending on all that, the texture of our intercultural, intergenerational bio-histories and political understanding will be quite different. We are also aware that information withheld — whether by intention or for lack of associative integration of every piece of the puzzle — will also alter the texture and tone of the tale. Accordingly, our received ideas, narratives, and histories have distinct emphases, as well as gaps or, better said, chasms. The Boston Tea Party stories and songs of Old South Meeting House meetings to plan actions by patriots in Mohawk disguise are stories of extraordinary courage and justice from many different points of view.
Rally Mohawks, and bring your axes
And tell King George we’ll pay no taxes
on his foreign tea;

His threats are vain, and vain to think
To force our girls and wives to drink
      his vile Bohea!
Then rally, boys, and hasten on
To meet our chiefs at the Green Dragon!

Our Warren’s here, and bold Revere
With hands to do and words to cheer,
      for liberty and laws;
Our country’s “braves” and firm defenders
shall ne’er be left by true North Enders
      fighting freedom’s cause!
Then rally, boys, and hasten on
To meet our chiefs at the Green Dragon.

As living, breathing, praying, humming, singing and activist members/friends of Old South Church in Boston in 2007, wouldn’t we love to know the tune to which this song was sung by our Old South Boston Tea Party forbears, 230+ years ago? Wouldn’t we also love to know, to really know, why they “sang” that their leaders were “chiefs”? To know why they described themselves as “our country’s braves”? To know why they disguised themselves as Mohawks?
[Part II on the Mohawk people to be printed in the Winter 2007 Reporter.]

SUMMARY:

Why Mohawk disguises while tossing crates of tea into the harbor? Perhaps, in part, it was an attempt to maintain secrecy about the identity of these activists, lest they be arrested for civil disobedience and actions against the Crown. Or, perhaps, it was an effort to blame the action on a third party? Historian Philip J. Deloria thinks not. Deloria suggests that it was not the disguises that protected the identity of the tea dumpers but rather the widespread support of the Boston residents and the Sons of Liberty. In Deloria’s view, the disguises were offered up specifically to impute Indian identity, to transform stories, texts, images, and ideologies into physical reality. In Deloria’s view, the actions-in-disguise occurring in Boston and other East coast cities convey the precariousness and creativity in constructing new identities, first imagining and then performing Indianness on the docks of Boston, giving material form to identities that were both witnessed and made real. In Deloria’s view, the patriots on the docks on that chilly December day in 1773 were giving a performance of American Indianness, providing a powerful foundation for subsequent pursuits of national identity.

Why Mohawk disguises, sounds, and songs during the events of the Boston Tea Party? Perhaps it was a way of signifying the colonists’ dawning awareness regarding the ingeniousness of the Iroquois Confederacy as a form of government and model to inspire the shaping of a new government amongst the colonies. Perhaps it was a way of signaling a key message to the Mohawk/Iroquois Nation regarding future alliances beyond British rule. Perhaps it was a kind of post-traumatic effort to display and reenact – in a different direction — the melee of events of exploration, invasion, wars, and raids which had been enacted over the previous two hundred years. And perhaps it was a way these activist seamen, traders, civic leaders, dock workers demonstrated on the docks a growing sense of their power as a collaborating people from diverse cultures and nations, joining together to move through and beyond horrific histories of empire with hopes toward a different future.

All this, with wide open doors, hosted by a people and place very dear to all of us – the Old South Meeting House. From the docks, to the Green Dragon pub, to Fanueil Hall, to the Old South Meeting House, to the Dartmouth – to now. Prevailing through pandemic/epidemic, searching strategies for economic justice, hosting actions for understanding amongst tribes and nations, working tirelessly for peace, searching the past for truth – faith facing forward. God is good. All the time!



COLORS OF COPLEY IN THE FALL
by Joey Santosuosso

Hey John, over here bro, check this out.
She radiates in brilliant hues,
    you should see her reds, yellow, green, and blues.
Like a song she can be a simple melody.
Notes of mind to quill I find discovery,
Starting with one, two, three
Or as complicated as a symphony.
To touch her is to bless my hand.
Imagine if I were Chopin.
John said, “Try harder.”
She’s an international potpourri of colors blending orange, hazel, high yellows, red bone and purple colors
Paintings on Newberry street sidewalk water colors that run deep into each other like oils.

Black iron handrails against a mocha brown skin contrast sharp red brick buildings
    ......against a brown chipped stone step,
She’s a Cocoa, copper, caramel, Cappuccino, cognac Skin. A burnt almond.
Throw a little orange hue on that white canvas make it warm Charlie gives it some value.
Descendents of the Mayflower mixing with flower power and lots of wall flowers
    generation X to Y there’s a texture warm and solid about her.
A black mat with an ornate frame around it. You can’t escape the drapery.
The purple in the trees coming out we find their discovery ohh dang I thought it was green.
Girls named Emily strange and curious; a yellow golden brown winter harvest more like
    honey; plentiful and lean, jazz playing softly,
She’s a subdued hue of colors.
She’s magical and tricky something queer you can’t guess she could be European,
African, Latin, Indian, Asian, island but she’s all American Colors
    that play on my perception of beauty at best.
Pure complimentary colors are placed next to each other to create harmony of impression
Her colors communicate nuances of expression type colors it’s the composition of
    behavior that screams surreal she’s no hospital green.
She’s a decedent bohemian gypsy.
She has a great scents and sensibilities.
She’s a rich color of blueberry and strawberry.

John said “She’s not monochromatic, more complimentary in fidelity. The contrast in
    visibility on this palette of Dolby, there’s a nice space around her shadows glow.”
Is she strong like a brown stone building?
Yea as majestic as the Old South Church.
Is she cerulean blue water that flows through your hand in the tropics as refreshing as a warm island rain?
Yea a blond ray of sunshine on this city corner of pain.
I like the bluez does it matter...she’s a tall glass of water.
Is she thick like chocolate....milk or would you say water over wine?
Author’s Note: Joey Santosuosso is a friend of Old South Church and close observer, first hand, of its many colors in the fall, as he operates the corner newstand at Dartmouth and Boylston. He read this poem to the Old South congregation at its 337th Annual Meeting on Feb 4, 2007.