Dogtown & Hanovertown

A sign along the road at Hanovertown
On Sunday, I rode out to an antique mall northeast of town with Morris to visit a vendor who has a massive collection of magazines, postcards, photographs, and ephemera. Morris looked at postcards, which I usually look at also, but Sunday I got caught up in a box of old bills, report cards, business correspondence, advertisements and the like.

One 1956 company newsletter featured the story of Susie, a squirrel who would come to the back door & knock until someone brought her peanuts & "peacans." A letter from 1938 complained haughtily that the electrical work had not been completed when the writer & his wife went to their river home for the weekend. Another business letter from a firm's president extended get well wishes to one of the owners, and said he'd enjoyed seeing him at the fox hunt when they "rode to hounds." An invitation from St. Benedict's School announced their Final Ball at Tantilla Gardens, a long-gone Richmond ballroom, where you could "dance beneath the stars" courtesy of a roof that rolled back above the dance floor. A receipt from a local bakery showed that someone thought a half-dozen of their eclairs was well worth forty-six cents.

It's caused me to wonder over the past few days at all the slips of paper that have passed through my hands over the years.

Retirement for an Old Farm Hand
When we left Antique Village, we rode out through the countryside of Hanover County, turning off the highway onto River Road. We were searching for Hanovertown, a dot on the map and a place of which we had never heard. Sure, there's Hanover Courthouse, with the Houndstooth Cafe at the intersection of Routes 54 & 301, but Hanovertown? It seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, and there was little to indicate that there had ever been a town there.

Grocery shopping in downtown Hanovertown.
This market featured self-checkout, like many of the large grocery stores in town. Instead of an automated cash/credit card machine, there was an old metal breadbox with a slot cut in the top.
Hanovertown, not even a wide spot in the road these days, was a thriving village in the late 1700's. Originally settled in 1676 as Page's Warehouse, it was Hanover County's first major settlement. When the House of Burgesses decided to relocate Virginia's Capital, Hanovertown lost by only a few votes to Richmond. The quiet, bucolic landscape today does not hint that Cornwallis burned warehouses here in his failed Virginia Campaign in 1781, or that this land saw another bloody battle during Grant's Wilderness Campaign in 1864. Prosperity of landowners was made possible through enslavement, when the lives of some human beings were considered simple investments. Here is the text from a newspaper advertisement:

Fifty dollars reward. Runaway from the subscriber, on 21st instant, a mulatto man named John, alias John Strange. He is rather of small stature, well set, has a round and remarkably pleasing visage, and is an excellent house servant, hostler, and driver...He has a wife at Mr. Mann Pages, near Hanover-town, where he may probably lurk for some time. If apprehended, great care should be taken to secure him, as I expect he is desperate as well as vicious.
--Spencer Roane, May 28, 1805


The previous evening, Saturday, I was invited to speak at an AA meeting in the Manchester section of Richmond. Manchester, now part of the city of Richmond, was a separate town until it consolidated with Richmond in 1910. Manchester sits opposite the James River from downtown Richmond, and was a working-class town from early times. Its nickname, Dogtown, can be found as early as 1887 in a Richmond Times newspaper article. Today, Manchester is starting to show signs of renewal but its revitalization, though promising, is still tenuous. In general, most people would not want to walk the sidewalks in this area at night.

Saturday night, a few friends & I went to Belle's studio (shown below) for a meeting of the Dogtown Drunks. Belle had invited me to speak on the 4th & 5th steps. The room was packed. Most in the crowd had walked over from The Healing Place, a men's treatment & recovery center that takes in the homeless with addiction problems.

Belle's studio in Manchester, home of the Dogtown Drunks
It was the first time I had been to this meeting. When I was introduced to speak, I looked at the faces that surrounded me, mostly of younger, African-American men, and hoped that I would have something to offer them in the way of hope & recovery. Our life experiences differed, but we had at least one thing in common: alcoholism or addiction.

Belle's collection of driftwood from the banks of the James River
4th Step: Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
5th Step: Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

I talked briefly about how each step provided me with a foundation for the steps that followed, and the principles behind each step. I mentioned how my first sponsor looked over my 4th step list, and gave it back to me, telling me to include my good qualities in addition to my faults so that the moral inventory would be complete.

Mostly, though, I told them about the gift I received when I finished my 5th step.

Two days after I sat down with my sponsor to complete my 5th step, I was at home alone after an early meeting. Without warning, a tide of anger rose up in me that was all-consuming. Anger, undiluted & elemental, at the man who had molested me when I was five. It burned through me, and left me shaking and weeping. I felt drained, and I sat and sobbed. I finally cried for the first time for the little five-year old boy inside me who had been betrayed by a neighbor. I had finally let myself feel the anger.

The emotions and conflicting feelings I had tamped down, suppressed, and ignored for years came up and out. I felt like I had gone over a waterfall in a wooden barrel. The wave of profoundly visceral feeling passed, and I dashed the tears from my eyes, blew my snotty nose, and just sat there. I felt clean and empty. And I had another gift coming.

I sat there, still a little stunned, and an awareness dawned. I realized that, up until that moment, I had held a deep & unacknowledged resentment against my parents. It was a revelation. Now, finally, I could understand that my parents did the best they knew how to do at the time. I saw that when they asked me "Why didn't you tell us?" it was not an accusation. They were also hurt & bewildered. They were first-time parents in the 1960's thrust into a situation with no frame of reference. As a sense of forgiveness grew in me, my shame & guilt slipped away. Those feelings had become obsolete; I was the only person who had ever given them form & substance.

I shared an abbreviated version of my 4th & 5th step experience to the Dogtown Drunks, and I told them why I thought it was important. It is estimated that roughly 80% of alcoholics and addicts experienced abuse in some form as a child. I do not understand the correlation, but I knew that the chances were good that a fair number of the men & women in that room had suffered mental, physical, or sexual abuse as children. I also knew that the 4th and 5th steps are a pathway to freedom, and that the secrets we keep...keep us sick.

The 5th step was scary for me; more frightening than my moral inventory. Sure, I could make a list of my character defects. But, to sit down with another human being and share all that stuff? I put it off as long as I could, until I started feeling restless, irritable, and discontented - in other words, sick again.

I could not have predicted the outcome of taking the 4th and 5th steps beforehand. It took a leap of faith to do something I did not want to do. When it was all said & done, I could look the world in the eye. I could be alone at perfect peace and ease. My fears had fallen from me, and I could feel the nearness of my Creator. I felt like I was in the midst of something spiritual. A few readers will know exactly what I'm talking about.

On Saturday night, in the dim light of Belle's studio after I'd sat down, men began to share. I had been guided by something other than myself. I had shared once again what was uncomfortable for me. One by one, from here & there around the room, the secrets began to be told. It was a very humbling experience for me to be in that room Saturday night. Some men left that meeting afterwards to return to The Healing Place. Some left to spend the night outdoors, wherever they could find a little shelter. I hope they slept peacefully.

I Cover the Waterfront

There's that damned view from the porch again. Don't worry; this is the last of the 2010 Great St. Lawrence River Vacation blog posts. We're just going to cruise up & down the river a little bit today.

This "little white cottage" was all decked out for the Fourth of July weekend with patriotic bunting, and a flag snapping in the breeze.

When I was a kid, I would have flipped out if we had suddenly moved from our 1950's suburban rancher to a place like this. Houses like this had towers and spooky hallways. Cobwebby attics. Dark, drippy cellars. Nancy Drew & the Hardy Boys couldn't turn around in an old house without finding a secret passage or a trap door, so surely there'd be a few of those in a house like this one.

Here's a bigger view. This house is on a private island, and the private island has its own little private island! The whimsical footbridge leads to a button-shaped islet with what looks like a croquet lawn in the middle.


Meanwhile, ships cruised past Sadie's place...





The freighters & tankers were nearly silent, surprisingly. If I had my head stuck in a book, they were easy to miss. The pleasure boats, on the other hand, sounded like bees or mosquitos buzzing by.


This house had all kinds of flags flying around the perimeter of its island.

This island had no house on it, and was a big hunk of granite rising up from the water. We watched people diving from the cliff into the water.

The water was choppy on the morning we took the boat to the town of Alexandria Bay for breakfast. We ate at Chez Paris, which is a funny name for a plain ol' all-American diner.
This picture shows Heart Island, with Boldt Castle poking up from the trees, directly across from town.

A view of the waterfront at the Village of Clayton, taken from the deck of La Duchesse.

Just around the bend from Sadie's place, the Carrier home overlooks the river. That's Carrier as in Carrier air-conditioning. Notice that the third floor windows on a very hot afternoon are open. Perhaps they need a service call. Nothing stops a Trane.

Going west from Sadie's dock, around the rocky point of Gypsy Island, the river took us by Point Vivian. Here we see the old store with the town social hall upstairs. I don't know what it is used for today. I believe the store is closed, but it figures into the dark but colorful history of Point Vivian that you really should read next.

Pleasant homes line the shores of Point Vivian, which was a late 19th Century vacation haven for the middle class. Although there are many examples of summer homes of the wealthy along this stretch of the St. Lawrence, Point Vivian is still a vibrant community of more modest resort homes.

The final photograph shows a small island off the west bank of Point Vivian. This is clearly someone's playground. There's no house, but there are little buildings and a gazebo, lawn furniture and umbrellas, a little footbridge, a swimming platform, and a small dock. I could have stayed here all day when I was little, and it would have been a pirate's hideout or an enchanted island.

I'm really grateful that I was able to return to the Thousand Islands this year, thanks to Sadie's hospitality. I saw sites familiar from last summer's visit, and discovered new places. I traveled with a group of friends who also enjoy a life of sobriety, and like to live each day to the fullest. We had a marvelous time together relaxing, exploring, eating, reading, boating, swimming, napping, and laughing.



When I got back home, I ordered a thank-you gift from Canvas on Demand for Sadie to hang in her office. It really looks sharp, and the customer service couldn't have been better.

How Big Is Your Rowboat?

Another day quietly begins on the St. Lawrence.
I was usually up in the mornings by five o'clock while on vacation, but one morning I was wide awake at four. I tried to get back to sleep, but I gave up at 4:20 and got out of bed. I started a pot of coffee, and got the ingredients out to make a coffee cake. A friend gave me this recipe, and I like it for its old-fashioned taste. It is quite plain, no bells or whistles, but that's what makes it so good. I enjoyed being in the kitchen before the sun was up, baking a homemade treat while my companions slumbered. This cake is easy to make, and it was still warm from the oven when they wandered out of their bedrooms, looking for coffee.

Swiss Coffee Cake
¾ cup butter
1-1/2 cup sugar
2 cups flour
2 tsp baking powder
2 eggs, beaten
½ cup milk
1 tsp vanilla

Cream butter & sugar. Add flour & baking powder – crumble together with hands like you would pie dough.
Take out 1 cup of crumbs and set aside for top.
Now add eggs, milk & vanilla.
Place batter in a lightly greased 11x7 pan. Top with crumbs.
Bake at 350 about 30 minutes.

Once everyone was coffeed & caked, scrubbed & dressed, we drove to the village of Clayton. On the way into town, we stopped and made Robespierre pose beside Paul Bunyan's golf bag. Robespierre is a good head taller than the rest of us, so we don't get to see him looking short very often.

The land around Clayton was originally held by the Algonquins, but then the Iroquois told them to get out. Then the white man came along, and we all know how that turned out. Clayton experienced boom times with the installation of a railroad line in 1873. During this era, the concept of vacationing became popular and accessible to the middle-class, not just the wealthy. Tourists came from the cities, and many hotels were built in Clayton to accommodate them and lighten their wallets.

Clayton was the northern-most point on the New York Central Railroad, and during July & August over 30 trains per day arrived & departed Clayton. Tourists either stayed in town, or boarded steamships for other points along the St. Lawrence River.

Clayton argues with nearby Alexandria Bay over which town is the true birthplace of that condiment we all know so well - Thousand Island dressing.

We spent some time shopping along Riverside Drive, and bought hot dogs from a stand to eat alongside the river. Then Sadie bought us all tickets to the Antique Boat Museum, which was a first-class operation. Thank you, Sadie! The museum was a vacation highlight, and I recommend a visit to anyone who travels to the area.

Museum tickets include a guided tour of George Boldt's houseboat, La Duchesse, built for him in 1903. Cameras were allowed, so I have a bunch of pictures to show you.

La Duchesse
After George Boldt died, the houseboat was purchased by Edward John Noble, a candy industrialist who popularized Life Savers candies and was the founder of ABC, the American Broadcasting Company. You need a lot of money to float a boat like La Duchesse.

The galley was updated after the boat was sold by George Boldt's estate. It was large and efficiently laid out. Robespierre is walking through the butler's pantry, which is about the size of my kitchen.
However, keeping La Duchesse afloat proved problematic, no matter how much money was available. You also need reliable plumbing. In 1943, a pipe burst under a bathroom and flooded the hull, sinking the vessel up to the top of the first deck. When the houseboat sank, it rested on two submerged pilings which pierced the wooden hull.

(In AA, we call these "high-class problems")

This working brass fireplace is decorated with starfish and mythical dolphins. There is another working fireplace of green marble in the grand salon on the upper deck.
The hull was patched, and the boat refloated. It was purchased by one of the many Andrews McNally of the Rand McNally publishing dynasty, who had it towed to his summer home. The McNallys used La Duchesse as a party boat for entertaining. Their summer place is across the river from Sadie's property, and she remembers seeing the houseboat docked across the river when she was growing up.

Guest cabin
The interior of the boat is finely crafted, and features Honduran mahogany for its beauty & durability. Mahogany was prized for boat construction prior to steel because mahogany does not rot in water like many other woods. The original hull of the boat used this wood, but the hull was replaced with steel in 1958.

There were plenty of bathrooms on board!
La Duchesse was constructed to serve as a residence, a true house boat, as well as a place to entertain guests. It was never self-propelled, and was towed to its desired locations. George Boldt lived on it at times during the summers he was building Boldt Castle. Andrew McNally used it for entertaining, and for overflow guest space. Speaking of overflow, I wonder if the bath water sloshed out of these tubs if a passing boat created a large wake?

Another cabin for an overnight guest.

Yet another cabin on the first deck. This boat had more guest space than most homes. There were six cabins on the first deck. Also, two servants' cabins and bath across from the galley.

The master bath on the upper deck. I love the nautical-theme hamper. Note the bathmat with the La Duchesse logo.

George Boldt's study.

The owner's sitting room on the upper deck.

A nook for a piano or small band for party music.

The promenade deck, above & below. This deck and the adjoining grand salon were the only parts of the boat that many party guests saw (or remembered).

La Duchesse was just one exhibit of many at the Antique Boat Museum. Whether you are an avid boater or a landlubber like me, there were many things of interest to see and experience.

Sadie poses on a climb-aboard exhibit.

Sheldon in the galley, thinking of what he can whip up for dinner.
This was in an old boat-of-some-type-I-cannot-remember that was used for fishing in its former life. Schooner? Trawler? Sampan? Ocean liner? It's a foreign language to me, but I appreciate the craftsmanship.

Sadie, about to be attacked by a killer whale in downtown Clayton.

We close today's post with a picture of Sadie & Sheldon, Couple of the Year.
The next post should finish up my Thousand Islands adventure series. We'll take a boat ride up & down the river, checking out more scenery and peering at people's houses. See you next time!

Breaking Bread on The Porch

There's that bewitching river view again, as seen from Sadie's porch one evening. I could spend hours on that porch. Come to think of it, I did. It was the perfect place to read a book, sip coffee, watch the ships & pleasure boats go by, and have conversations with my fellow vacationers. I hope you like the view, too, because there are more pictures to follow in later posts. One of the places we visited was an excellent antique boat museum, and I'll show you pictures from our tour of La Duchesse, a luxurious houseboat from 1903.

The St. Lawrence River separates the state of New York from the province of Ontario, Canada. In the photograph above, the distant shoreline is not Canada, but Wellesley Island. This 50-mile stretch of the river is called the Thousand Islands region, but there are actually close to 1800 islands, ranging in size from barely large enough to support a single tree to Wolfe Island (48 square miles). Wellesley Island is the second largest of the Thousand Islands, with three state parks and several residential communities.

One evening we drove over to Wellesley Island for dinner at an old resort hotel.

We had a leisurely meal on the spacious wraparound porch of the Wellesley Hotel, circa 1903. The hotel is across from a playground in the beguiling community of Thousand Islands Park. In the picture above, we have Sheldon, Sadie, and Robespierre being watched by two creepy antique dolls; they stared at every bite I took. The Wellesley Hotel has an indoor dining room, but the place to eat and be seen is on "the porch." You get a better look at the place below.

Thousand Island Park had a vaguely surreal feel, at least to me. It was mannered & manicured, impeccably clean, orderly and achingly charming. There was an old-fashioned ice cream parlor across from the front of the hotel, while from my chair on the side porch I watched two boys, one black & one white, play tether ball in the playground beside the village green. The green sloped down to a large pavilion on the riverbank. People strolled down the sidewalks, or drove past sedately in cars or golf carts. It was pleasant, so pleasant...


"Won't you have more bread, sir?"

Oh, yes, but I will, though I shouldn't; because this bread is so good; it's everything I have ever wanted, all any of us have always wanted. Everyone on the porch, all the diners at each table, tear their bread and lift it to their mouths and, nodding, slowly chew.

"More bread, sir, and butter. You must have more. We make it right here. And the butter comes from our own cows, and the only thing the cows eat is our bread from our very own ovens. Here is more bread for you. There is always more bread."

This waiter is so beautiful; he is a portrait of salubrity. His hair is the color of butter. The flawless skin of his arm is tanned but seems bloodless, like the golden crust of this delicious bread.

"Eat as much bread as you like. All of us here in the village eat it every day. In fact, it is the only thing we eat."

"Yes, more bread," my companions murmur, reaching, "More bread, please."

"Yes, more bread," the nodding waiter assures them, "There is always more bread. And do not forget the butter. The butter is for the bread. Be sure to butter your bread. Stay. We will make more bread forever."

His eyes are so...blue. How can they be so pale and blue? They are like a vast morning sky, and I can see something there, something small and faraway and terrible soaring in his eyes as he holds a bite of crust to my lips.

I hold my lips stiff, and tug my eyes away; like a piece of cheap paper ripping from top to bottom, my vision comes in a jagged race of other diners, children in the playground, a bicyclist, all slowly chewing mouthfuls of bread; my eyes slide to a rest on the dolls in the window. The taller one blinks at me. The other doll leans against her, staring at me, as a thick trickle of saliva runs from her mouth to her rotting linen collar.

A car horn toots, and a dog dashes across the street to the park. There seems to be a suction and my ears feel as though they've popped. The dolls pose in the window just as they have been since we were seated, with one staring into a tree and the other at the porch ceiling.

"More bread, sir?" the waiter inquires, blandly.

"Good heavens, no. What's for dessert?"

The village of Thousand Island Park is undeniably beautiful. It is pristine and serene, and slightly other-worldly compared to most resort towns. Founded as a Methodist religious resort in 1875, during the Third Great Awakening, today it is a private seasonal enclave with an astounding number of Carpenter Gothic and Victorian homes. With 1760 acres and 294 buildings, I could have spent an entire day here taking photographs. By the time we finished dinner, the lighting was not favorable, so I only have a few to share with you.

Row upon row of houses emphasize vernacular architecture with wide verandas, elaborate decorative woodwork, and upper sleeping porches. The village continues to be a thriving resort community; and, despite my insistence at seeing Stepford Wives & families everywhere I looked, it was a place I would consider for a rejuvenating vacation.

By peering around Robespierre, you can see that nothing is out of place or in need of weeding or cleaning at this village shop.

The town library (below) is located by the playground. Peyton Place is probably banned from the bookshelves.

Next we see a row of homes that are typical of Thousand Island Park. I hope I can return to get some close-up shots of the craftmanship of the trimwork on these houses. Although these homes face the village green, there are many narrower streets with cottages nestled beneath arching trees. Each home seems to have a unique bit of woodwork or detailing that speaks of a carpenter's love for his craft.

Whew! We got away from Thousand Island Park with our souls intact. Completing our photo-tour today, we have some oddball pictures that I'm throwing in as a sort of lagniappe. First, we have the ramshackle old boathouse at Geraldine Island. I like how its lines are no longer square. This island has a large old summer home that Sadie's parents used to rent before her father built her current place. A private island sounds good, until I remember that I'm the type that grumbles when I'm on the first floor and need something from upstairs. I'd probably amuse myself to no end if I had to crank up a boat motor and head to the mainland.

I think this quaint brick Victorian house with Carpenter Gothic trim was in the town of Depeauville, but it may have been Chaumont. Probably home to a business nowadays. I didn't notice the Canadian flag until I looked at the photograph.

I was a little surprised to learn that this area in upstate New York was settled (by white Europeans, that is) relatively late compared to my little neck of the woods. Jefferson County was founded in 1805, when the third president was in office. Other than the land that fronts Lake Ontario and the St. Lawrence River, it is mostly a rural landscape. Lot's of cows; lots of dairy farms.

And when the farmers get tired of milk, they head into town for something stronger. This has to be the cutest liquor store I've ever laid eyes on. For some of us, cute but deadly. I'd better stick with the bread.