2nd Annual Middletown Hillside Cemetery Historical Bus Tour
May 10, 2025
May 10, 2025
The people portrayed in this bus tour appear in the order in which they lived, from our earliest settlers to our 21st century contemporaries.
Together, their stories tell the story of Middletown...
Together, their stories tell the story of Middletown...
CAST
in order of appearance:
Hepzibah Moore...........................................Morgan Cardinal
David Moore.................................................Zacchary Pierre
Esther Stephens Fullerton ...................................Alyssa Brady/Courtney Soanes/Norah Cardinal/Nancy Paredes
David Hanford................Aaron Melamed / Ariel Perez Altamirano
Eliza Day Robinson ...........................................Lacey Dwyer
Mary A. Moore.........................Alyssa Brady / Norah Cardinal
Sophronia B. Corwin.....................Courtney Soanes / Nancy Paredes
Lucy Ann White McMullen.......................................Gigi Dawe
Frank Lindsay...................................................Arthur Dawe
Josephine Reilly Schild......................................Eliana Decker
W.Sayer Beakes..............................Ben Grazier / Nate Domingo
Isabel Garcia............................................................Lizbel Lopez
Little Sammy Davis................Ollie Spence / Sirr Maximus Carrion
Poems by Fred Isseks Dialogue by Jim Schofield
ABOUT THE PEOPLE:
in order of appearance:
Hepzibah Moore...........................................Morgan Cardinal
David Moore.................................................Zacchary Pierre
Esther Stephens Fullerton ...................................Alyssa Brady/Courtney Soanes/Norah Cardinal/Nancy Paredes
David Hanford................Aaron Melamed / Ariel Perez Altamirano
Eliza Day Robinson ...........................................Lacey Dwyer
Mary A. Moore.........................Alyssa Brady / Norah Cardinal
Sophronia B. Corwin.....................Courtney Soanes / Nancy Paredes
Lucy Ann White McMullen.......................................Gigi Dawe
Frank Lindsay...................................................Arthur Dawe
Josephine Reilly Schild......................................Eliana Decker
W.Sayer Beakes..............................Ben Grazier / Nate Domingo
Isabel Garcia............................................................Lizbel Lopez
Little Sammy Davis................Ollie Spence / Sirr Maximus Carrion
Poems by Fred Isseks Dialogue by Jim Schofield
ABOUT THE PEOPLE:
• David & Hepzibah Moore, the first non-native inhabitants of what is now Middletown, arriving from Southold, Long Island, 1754
• Esther Stephens Fullerton (1792-1877) matriarch of an early farm family who lived near present day Slate Hill
• Dr David Hanford (1786-1844) Middletown’s first doctor; he set up a practice on West Main Street
• Eliza Day Robinson (1803-1868) wife of Reverend Phineas Robinson, poet and first principal of the Wallkill Academy
• Sophronia Corwin (1837-1923) and Mary A. Moore (1848-1905) 2 of the 5 Middletown women first elected to public office in N.Y.
• Lucy Ann White McMullen (1829-1917) mother of a railroad worker killed in a train wreck in Otisville
• Frank Lindsey (1854-1930) prolific Gilded Age architect who designed some of Middletown’s finest buildings
• Josephine Reilly Schild (1892-1971) mother of World War II pilot who lost his life while saving his crew
• William Sayer Beakes (1909-2012) member of an old Middletown family who owned a travel agency on North Street
• Isabel Garcia (1927-2022) matriarch of the family that established Garcia’s Market on North Street
• Little Sammy Davis (1928-2018) blues harmonica player and vocalist who spent his last years here
• Esther Stephens Fullerton (1792-1877) matriarch of an early farm family who lived near present day Slate Hill
• Dr David Hanford (1786-1844) Middletown’s first doctor; he set up a practice on West Main Street
• Eliza Day Robinson (1803-1868) wife of Reverend Phineas Robinson, poet and first principal of the Wallkill Academy
• Sophronia Corwin (1837-1923) and Mary A. Moore (1848-1905) 2 of the 5 Middletown women first elected to public office in N.Y.
• Lucy Ann White McMullen (1829-1917) mother of a railroad worker killed in a train wreck in Otisville
• Frank Lindsey (1854-1930) prolific Gilded Age architect who designed some of Middletown’s finest buildings
• Josephine Reilly Schild (1892-1971) mother of World War II pilot who lost his life while saving his crew
• William Sayer Beakes (1909-2012) member of an old Middletown family who owned a travel agency on North Street
• Isabel Garcia (1927-2022) matriarch of the family that established Garcia’s Market on North Street
• Little Sammy Davis (1928-2018) blues harmonica player and vocalist who spent his last years here
Morgan Cardinal and Zacchary Pierre as Hepzibah and David Moore
Hepzibah climbs the stairs of the bus. David remains outside. Hepzibah, from the top stair in the bus turns to him.
Hepzibah: David! Come on!
David: I’m scared, Hepzibah!
Hepzibah: I told you there’s nothing to be afraid of. Now come on; you’re keeping everyone waiting.
David: And you’re positive there are no Indians?!
Hepzibah: For the one hundredth time, no; there are no Indians. And they’re not called Indians anymore.
David: Savages?
Hepzibah: (angry) David! Do you want these people to think you’re an ignorant racist?! They’re called Native Americans or indigenous people, and they were here long before you or I arrived.
David: I’m sorry.
Hepzibah: No one on this bus is going to hurt you. Except maybe me. Now come on! (she yanks him up the stairs next to her. She gives him a look, he turns away. She turns to face the people on the bus and gives them a big smile.) Hello. My name is Hepzibah Moore. (she nudges David)
David: And I’m David Moore.
Hepzibah: We will be your guides for the tour of this beautiful and historic cemetery. We arrived here in Middletown in 1755, along with David’s cousin, Samuel Wickham. We traveled here from Southold, Long Island--of course, that was long before it became, as many of you say (uses a thick Long Island accent:) “Long Island.”
David: But back then, Middletown was nothing but deep forests and rocks--rocks everywhere!--and of course filled with wild-- (Hepzibah gives him a look; he looks down, ashamed:) Native Americans...
Hepzibah: David, look: here comes Esther Fullerton! I think you should listen to what she has to say; you might learn something.
David: Alright, I shall!
Hepzibah: David! Come on!
David: I’m scared, Hepzibah!
Hepzibah: I told you there’s nothing to be afraid of. Now come on; you’re keeping everyone waiting.
David: And you’re positive there are no Indians?!
Hepzibah: For the one hundredth time, no; there are no Indians. And they’re not called Indians anymore.
David: Savages?
Hepzibah: (angry) David! Do you want these people to think you’re an ignorant racist?! They’re called Native Americans or indigenous people, and they were here long before you or I arrived.
David: I’m sorry.
Hepzibah: No one on this bus is going to hurt you. Except maybe me. Now come on! (she yanks him up the stairs next to her. She gives him a look, he turns away. She turns to face the people on the bus and gives them a big smile.) Hello. My name is Hepzibah Moore. (she nudges David)
David: And I’m David Moore.
Hepzibah: We will be your guides for the tour of this beautiful and historic cemetery. We arrived here in Middletown in 1755, along with David’s cousin, Samuel Wickham. We traveled here from Southold, Long Island--of course, that was long before it became, as many of you say (uses a thick Long Island accent:) “Long Island.”
David: But back then, Middletown was nothing but deep forests and rocks--rocks everywhere!--and of course filled with wild-- (Hepzibah gives him a look; he looks down, ashamed:) Native Americans...
Hepzibah: David, look: here comes Esther Fullerton! I think you should listen to what she has to say; you might learn something.
David: Alright, I shall!
Alyssa Brady as Esther Stephens Fullerton
|
Courtney Soames as Esther Stephens Fullerton
|
I am Esther Stephens Fullerton and I lived for 85 years
On farms in Slate Hill and Dolsontown, about three miles from here.
Born after the revolution, in 1792,
Not many settlers lived here then; Middletown was brand new.
After I died they wrote in the paper, that I was a strong matriarch,
And a passionate storyteller, who practiced the healing arts.
It’s true. I retained all the stories and skills I learned at my mother’s knee
Her parents were some of the first to arrive in this section of Orange County.
They came in the early 1700s, before the French and Indian War
My grandpa Cooley bought lots of land. The Dolson farm was next door.
They built a house, raised chickens and cows, and started a family
Their lives were rough, but they were tough, and they passed it down to me.
Grandma Cooley was out in the yard, at the oven baking bread
A small group of angry Indians came by, robbed her, and shot her dead.
They stole away three of her children; two were never seen again.
The third came back once to say hello when he was a grown man.
I learned to hate the Indians; I cursed them all my life
I even learned to hate them more when I became Judge Fullerton’s wife.
His mother Polly and his grandfather Will had Indian trouble as well.
They fled from the massacre in Wyoming Valley when Polly was only 12.
Another year later and Polly escaped from an Indian battle once more
Minisink warriors stormed into the house, but Polly hid under the floor.
We raised 12 children who all were blessed to hear their grandmothers’ stories
Of Indians, wolves, and the pioneers’ life filled with its hardships and glories.
I lived to see my children grow, while some had kids of their own:
Lawyers, a captain in the Civil War, and even a writer of songs.
Being dead for one hundred and fifty years can alter your point of view:
I now see that it wasn’t a wilderness that my grandparents wandered through.
For I observed as a girl growing up, we were not the first ones in this place:
We could tell by the orchards, the names in the valley, the faded paths we could trace.
The Lenape people lived here before us, made gardens and tended their homes.
We chased them away, we built our own farms, we often plowed over their bones.
They killed my grandmother, I cannot forget, but the big question now seems to be,
Not really so much if I can forgive them, but if they ever can forgive me.
Often in dreams, I am back in the orchard, with spirits of old who live there
We gather the apples, we cut them and bake pies, then sit down together and share.
On farms in Slate Hill and Dolsontown, about three miles from here.
Born after the revolution, in 1792,
Not many settlers lived here then; Middletown was brand new.
After I died they wrote in the paper, that I was a strong matriarch,
And a passionate storyteller, who practiced the healing arts.
It’s true. I retained all the stories and skills I learned at my mother’s knee
Her parents were some of the first to arrive in this section of Orange County.
They came in the early 1700s, before the French and Indian War
My grandpa Cooley bought lots of land. The Dolson farm was next door.
They built a house, raised chickens and cows, and started a family
Their lives were rough, but they were tough, and they passed it down to me.
Grandma Cooley was out in the yard, at the oven baking bread
A small group of angry Indians came by, robbed her, and shot her dead.
They stole away three of her children; two were never seen again.
The third came back once to say hello when he was a grown man.
I learned to hate the Indians; I cursed them all my life
I even learned to hate them more when I became Judge Fullerton’s wife.
His mother Polly and his grandfather Will had Indian trouble as well.
They fled from the massacre in Wyoming Valley when Polly was only 12.
Another year later and Polly escaped from an Indian battle once more
Minisink warriors stormed into the house, but Polly hid under the floor.
We raised 12 children who all were blessed to hear their grandmothers’ stories
Of Indians, wolves, and the pioneers’ life filled with its hardships and glories.
I lived to see my children grow, while some had kids of their own:
Lawyers, a captain in the Civil War, and even a writer of songs.
Being dead for one hundred and fifty years can alter your point of view:
I now see that it wasn’t a wilderness that my grandparents wandered through.
For I observed as a girl growing up, we were not the first ones in this place:
We could tell by the orchards, the names in the valley, the faded paths we could trace.
The Lenape people lived here before us, made gardens and tended their homes.
We chased them away, we built our own farms, we often plowed over their bones.
They killed my grandmother, I cannot forget, but the big question now seems to be,
Not really so much if I can forgive them, but if they ever can forgive me.
Often in dreams, I am back in the orchard, with spirits of old who live there
We gather the apples, we cut them and bake pies, then sit down together and share.
After she exits. Hepzibah is clearly moved by Esther’s speech; David, not so much.
David: See?! She hated the Indians as well!
Hep: Is that what you took away? We took their land, David.
David: Took? Why, I paid good money for that land! I took nothing from no one! Hep: And whom did you pay?
David: You know as well as I do that I paid George Clark!
Hep: Yes, but he didn’t own the land--and he didn’t pay the natives! He got them drunk, is what he did--got them drunk and had them sign over their land without ever paying them! Does that seem fair to you?
David: Well...
Hep: They had every reason to be angry.
David: But they attacked me, Hepzibah! We had to retreat to Goshen--you know that as well as I!
Hep: Look! Here comes another fellow. David: Oh no! Who is it?
Hep: Relax. I believe it’s Dr. David Hanford. He arrived in Middletown 21 years after you died.
David: How do you know that?!
Hep (thinks about it:) I don’t know!
David: See?! She hated the Indians as well!
Hep: Is that what you took away? We took their land, David.
David: Took? Why, I paid good money for that land! I took nothing from no one! Hep: And whom did you pay?
David: You know as well as I do that I paid George Clark!
Hep: Yes, but he didn’t own the land--and he didn’t pay the natives! He got them drunk, is what he did--got them drunk and had them sign over their land without ever paying them! Does that seem fair to you?
David: Well...
Hep: They had every reason to be angry.
David: But they attacked me, Hepzibah! We had to retreat to Goshen--you know that as well as I!
Hep: Look! Here comes another fellow. David: Oh no! Who is it?
Hep: Relax. I believe it’s Dr. David Hanford. He arrived in Middletown 21 years after you died.
David: How do you know that?!
Hep (thinks about it:) I don’t know!
Aaron Melamed as Dr. David Hanford
|
Ariel Perez Altamirano as Dr. David Hanford
|
Soon after Yale in 1810, I first came to Middletown,
Margaret Bailey, my future wife, was the only good thing that I found.
She was the daughter of Captain Bailey who fought in the Revolution,
Because of her, I stuck around, tried to make my own contribution.
Several log cabins, a handful of shops, a few barns where hay was stowed,
That’s all there was, clustered about, along a narrow dirt road.
The road was here first, before the buildings, a native thoroughfare,
Connecting the mighty Hudson River with the swift flowing Delaware.
Horses and oxen, wagons and coaches, loaded with goods for trade,
From Pennsylvania to the docks in Newburgh, their way through our hamlet made.
This road today, from here toward Port Jervis, is what you call West Main Street,
And it’s named East Main from here toward Goshen, the Orange County seat.
A few short years before I arrived, the first folks in this neighborhood
Built a church, and then decided, a name for this place might be good.
They chose “Middletown,” the place in the middle, that four other hamlets surround,
Called Shawangunk, and Philipsburg, Scotchtown, and Dolsontown.
When I came to town and married Margaret, only thirty families
With approximately one hundred fifty people had arrived there before me.
We had the wood church, a small library, and shops that made wagons and brooms,
Abel Woodhull’s store, a blacksmith, a tannery, and a couple of small saloons.
But the hamlet was lacking the care of a doctor, so that’s where I came in
Straight from New England, great greats on the Mayflower, a brand new physician.
Though I must admit the practice of medicine was still in a primitive stage
Louis Pasteur had not even been born yet. The pre-microbiology age.
We treated diseases with powders and plasters, ointments, and various lotions
No anesthesia, not too much hygiene, and morphine and quinine in potions.
I set up my office on West Main Street where the road just starts up the hill.
My patients would trade me geese, pigs, wood, or labor, to satisfy their bill.
I pulled teeth with keys, used leeches for bleeding, but many a life I did save.
Often I made house calls on horseback. Some of my patients were slaves.
I served Henry Wisner and Isaiah Vail, both justices of the peace,
And Eliad Tryon the cooper, the first postmaster Stacy Beakes.
Temperance Brown and Lydia Smith, who sold ginger cakes and beer,
The folks who owned the fanning mill, and everyone else who lived here.
I bought 47 acres of land, a large parcel along West Main,
Later our son would develop it, with a street that now bears our name.
I’m glad I stayed here and lived through the changes I got to see in my life,
And all the good things I found here in Middletown, including Margaret, my wife.
Margaret Bailey, my future wife, was the only good thing that I found.
She was the daughter of Captain Bailey who fought in the Revolution,
Because of her, I stuck around, tried to make my own contribution.
Several log cabins, a handful of shops, a few barns where hay was stowed,
That’s all there was, clustered about, along a narrow dirt road.
The road was here first, before the buildings, a native thoroughfare,
Connecting the mighty Hudson River with the swift flowing Delaware.
Horses and oxen, wagons and coaches, loaded with goods for trade,
From Pennsylvania to the docks in Newburgh, their way through our hamlet made.
This road today, from here toward Port Jervis, is what you call West Main Street,
And it’s named East Main from here toward Goshen, the Orange County seat.
A few short years before I arrived, the first folks in this neighborhood
Built a church, and then decided, a name for this place might be good.
They chose “Middletown,” the place in the middle, that four other hamlets surround,
Called Shawangunk, and Philipsburg, Scotchtown, and Dolsontown.
When I came to town and married Margaret, only thirty families
With approximately one hundred fifty people had arrived there before me.
We had the wood church, a small library, and shops that made wagons and brooms,
Abel Woodhull’s store, a blacksmith, a tannery, and a couple of small saloons.
But the hamlet was lacking the care of a doctor, so that’s where I came in
Straight from New England, great greats on the Mayflower, a brand new physician.
Though I must admit the practice of medicine was still in a primitive stage
Louis Pasteur had not even been born yet. The pre-microbiology age.
We treated diseases with powders and plasters, ointments, and various lotions
No anesthesia, not too much hygiene, and morphine and quinine in potions.
I set up my office on West Main Street where the road just starts up the hill.
My patients would trade me geese, pigs, wood, or labor, to satisfy their bill.
I pulled teeth with keys, used leeches for bleeding, but many a life I did save.
Often I made house calls on horseback. Some of my patients were slaves.
I served Henry Wisner and Isaiah Vail, both justices of the peace,
And Eliad Tryon the cooper, the first postmaster Stacy Beakes.
Temperance Brown and Lydia Smith, who sold ginger cakes and beer,
The folks who owned the fanning mill, and everyone else who lived here.
I bought 47 acres of land, a large parcel along West Main,
Later our son would develop it, with a street that now bears our name.
I’m glad I stayed here and lived through the changes I got to see in my life,
And all the good things I found here in Middletown, including Margaret, my wife.
Hep: Wasn’t that wonderful?
David: I’ll bet he didn’t have to worry about dodging arrows and surprise attacks...
Hep: Did you know that Dr. Hanford was a direct descendant of the Reverend Thomas Hanford, who arrived on the Mayflower?
David: Yes.
Hep (surprised:) You did?
David: ...No...
Hep: And his son named a street after him. Isn’t that wonderful?
David: Hmph! We had eleven children; you’d think one of them would have named a street after me...
Hep (with thick Long Island accent): Oh my Gawd! Would’ja stop for Gawd’s sake? You’re such a cry baby!
David (looks at her in shock:) What?!
Hep (back to normal:) Oh my! I don’t know what came over me. But look! Here comes Eliza Day Robinson!
David: I’ll bet he didn’t have to worry about dodging arrows and surprise attacks...
Hep: Did you know that Dr. Hanford was a direct descendant of the Reverend Thomas Hanford, who arrived on the Mayflower?
David: Yes.
Hep (surprised:) You did?
David: ...No...
Hep: And his son named a street after him. Isn’t that wonderful?
David: Hmph! We had eleven children; you’d think one of them would have named a street after me...
Hep (with thick Long Island accent): Oh my Gawd! Would’ja stop for Gawd’s sake? You’re such a cry baby!
David (looks at her in shock:) What?!
Hep (back to normal:) Oh my! I don’t know what came over me. But look! Here comes Eliza Day Robinson!
Lacey Dwyer as Eliza Day Robinson
My husband, Phineas Robinson, chose a reverend’s life and career
He spent his time preaching and teaching, everyday for about 50 years.
From town to town we were shuffled, in accord with the church’s demands
The contingencies of a minister’s life are never quite in his own hands.
How do we end up where we are? Destiny or somebody’s whim?
I bore a dozen children, three are buried here with him.
How did we end up in Middletown? How did this come to be?
Phineas was named the first principal, of the Wallkill Academy.
Middletown was no more than a hamlet, around 1841,
Soon to incorporate as a village, and with a rail line soon to come.
But there wasn’t a school for the older youth, just one for the younger grades
The community leaders made the decision and building plans were made.
They would name it the Wallkill Academy, a prestigious private school
To educate Middletown’s young adults; where learning and piety rule.
They wanted a gifted head master, one who commanded respect,
It soon was a matter of record, Phineas was the one they’d select.
For he had a good reputation, for temperance and being well read.
And he spoke several different languages, both living ones and dead.
We, in turn, felt right at home here, for a town filled with churches is blessed.
Congregational - Episcopal - Methodist, Presbyterian, and Baptist.
They built the new school on the edge of town, in a pasture not far from the track,
Clearly in view of the passengers, who would see it and want to come back.
One hundred fifty four students passed exams the first year without fail.
The children of Middletown families, like Horton, King, Little, and Vail.
The second floor held the two classrooms, where all the lessons were learned
The top floor had rooms that were rented to girls for fifty dollars a term.
Our family lived on the first floor; the basement was ours to use too
We lit our rooms with whale oil lamps. Even the outhouse was new.
The faculty had but six teachers. Our daughter Ellen was one.
She got married a couple of years later to David Hanford’s son.
Another daughter, Eudocia, married a factory owning man,
Edward Millspaugh Madden, who with Wheeler a steel works ran.
Madden sat on the board of ed when the Wallkill Academy
Became a State backed public school for all to attend for free.
Phineas, by then, was no longer teaching but writing poetry,
His longest work, a four hundred page poem, called “Immortality.”
Here he expounded at vigorous length about how our souls are saved.
Offering insights and argumentation for life beyond the grave.
Now all of you have the right to ask, “What are his views on that now?”
But I promised him that I would keep it a secret, and of course, I will honor that vow.
He spent his time preaching and teaching, everyday for about 50 years.
From town to town we were shuffled, in accord with the church’s demands
The contingencies of a minister’s life are never quite in his own hands.
How do we end up where we are? Destiny or somebody’s whim?
I bore a dozen children, three are buried here with him.
How did we end up in Middletown? How did this come to be?
Phineas was named the first principal, of the Wallkill Academy.
Middletown was no more than a hamlet, around 1841,
Soon to incorporate as a village, and with a rail line soon to come.
But there wasn’t a school for the older youth, just one for the younger grades
The community leaders made the decision and building plans were made.
They would name it the Wallkill Academy, a prestigious private school
To educate Middletown’s young adults; where learning and piety rule.
They wanted a gifted head master, one who commanded respect,
It soon was a matter of record, Phineas was the one they’d select.
For he had a good reputation, for temperance and being well read.
And he spoke several different languages, both living ones and dead.
We, in turn, felt right at home here, for a town filled with churches is blessed.
Congregational - Episcopal - Methodist, Presbyterian, and Baptist.
They built the new school on the edge of town, in a pasture not far from the track,
Clearly in view of the passengers, who would see it and want to come back.
One hundred fifty four students passed exams the first year without fail.
The children of Middletown families, like Horton, King, Little, and Vail.
The second floor held the two classrooms, where all the lessons were learned
The top floor had rooms that were rented to girls for fifty dollars a term.
Our family lived on the first floor; the basement was ours to use too
We lit our rooms with whale oil lamps. Even the outhouse was new.
The faculty had but six teachers. Our daughter Ellen was one.
She got married a couple of years later to David Hanford’s son.
Another daughter, Eudocia, married a factory owning man,
Edward Millspaugh Madden, who with Wheeler a steel works ran.
Madden sat on the board of ed when the Wallkill Academy
Became a State backed public school for all to attend for free.
Phineas, by then, was no longer teaching but writing poetry,
His longest work, a four hundred page poem, called “Immortality.”
Here he expounded at vigorous length about how our souls are saved.
Offering insights and argumentation for life beyond the grave.
Now all of you have the right to ask, “What are his views on that now?”
But I promised him that I would keep it a secret, and of course, I will honor that vow.
David: Funny. I haven’t seen Phineas around in the afterlife. Perhaps he went to--... someplace warmer, shall we say?
Hep: David! It isn’t polite to speak ill of the dead.
David: Hepzibah, everyone here is dead!
Hep: Not the fine people on this bus!
David: (looks at the people) Well, not yet...
Hep: (to the audience:) Phineas Robinson wasn’t the only author to live in Middletown. So did Stephen Crane, and Zane Grey---even Hunter S. Thompson! He worked for a very brief period of time as a reporter at the Middletown Daily Record. But they fired him for vandalizing a vending machine.
David: I knew that.
Hep: You did?
David: ... No...I don’t even know what a vending machine is...
Hep: Neither do I, but look! Here are our next guests. Help them in.
Hep: David! It isn’t polite to speak ill of the dead.
David: Hepzibah, everyone here is dead!
Hep: Not the fine people on this bus!
David: (looks at the people) Well, not yet...
Hep: (to the audience:) Phineas Robinson wasn’t the only author to live in Middletown. So did Stephen Crane, and Zane Grey---even Hunter S. Thompson! He worked for a very brief period of time as a reporter at the Middletown Daily Record. But they fired him for vandalizing a vending machine.
David: I knew that.
Hep: You did?
David: ... No...I don’t even know what a vending machine is...
Hep: Neither do I, but look! Here are our next guests. Help them in.
Nancy Paredes as Sophronia Corwin with Norah Cardinal as Mary Moore
MM: Go ahead, Sophronia, tell the people who we are.
Relate to them our story. You be the one to start.
SC: Very well then, Mary. Pleasant day to our company.
Are any of you folks familiar, with the sign by the armory,
Honoring Lydia Sayer Hasbrouck, a resident of our town,
A champion of women’s rights, dress reformer of renown?
MM: Right! A suffragist, a journalist, a woman who wouldn’t wait,
The first female elected to office in all of New York State!
The Middletown Board of Education is where she won her seat
But explain the rest, the entire story, this version is incomplete.
SC: Yes, while it’s true that Lydia won, there is a little more
She was not the only winning lady, she was joined by another four!
MM: The number of women elected that day made a grand total of five,
Harriet Morgan and Persis Marvin, the Congregational minister’s wife.
Lydia, of course, was the third candidate. Who, then, were the other two?
You don’t have to look any further than here, because it was both me and you!
Mrs. Sophronia Corwin...
SC: and Mrs Mary A. Moore!
Together we did something that had never been done before.
MM: But the credit is due to Lydia, a woman of courage and cunning
SC: Who never bothered to ask us if we had any interest in running!
Oh she was strong, I will admit, but her clothing was a sight,
Bloomers and a baggy skirt, nothing she wore fit her right.
MM: You’re not the only one to notice her outrageous costumery,
Because of her clothes she was denied admission to the Seward Academy.
Thanks to this kind of discrimination her commitment would improve
To her lifelong fight for sensible clothing which allowed a woman to move.
She hated that women are all bound up, in corsets of whale bone and steel,
Swaddled in dry goods to such an extent, the struggle to breathe can be real.
SC: And she spoke out for our right to vote. She had a progressive view.
But, she was wise to live in Middletown where other folks felt that way too.
Our village was forward thinking. We kept up with the times.
New York City was a short ride away on the Erie Railroad line.
We had gas lights and running water from the reservoir flowed through a main
And a state homeopathic hospital, specifically for the insane.
We even had Bull’s Opera House with actors like Edwin Booth
When his brother John shot the President, Ed’s acting career went poof.
Middletown went through a growing spurt right after the Civil War
Many new people were living in town who hadn’t been here before.
We were not wanting for culture, with Lyceum lectures at Gothic Hall...
MM: Yes! ...but we’re drifting away from the story, the thing that started it all.
In 1880, Governor Cornell finally gave women the right
To run and to vote in school board elections, an important step in our fight.
Some women ran first, up in Rochester, but sadly they did not win
Lydia then asked both Middletown parties to allow at least one woman in.
But at the last moment, without saying a word, the republicans named 5 men
Lydia was livid, contacted her allies, and told them to meet there and then.
SC: Wasn’t the meeting, so I have been told, in Lydia’s octagonal home?
And maybe her friends had been summoned there, using those new telephones?
And that’s where she worked on The Sibyl, right? Her semi-monthly magazine.
And practiced hydrotherapy as part of her health routine...
MM: Whatever she did, she got their approval for her five-lady ticket idea
SC: Maybe so, but it would have been nice if at least one of us had been there.
MM: The newspapers in town all thought it a joke and laughingly gave us support
SC: Like me, they were under the false impression, we were only in it for sport.
MM: But we won, by a lot. They called it a landslide, and it must be noted
That most of our votes were cast by men; only 100 women voted.
SC: The results were met with surprise and pride: hooray for Middletown!
We were at the center of the women’s movement, an historic battleground.
In another few years the village would grow enough to be a city
And all the new trolleys and electric lights would make everything look so pretty!
MM: The school board did fine with women involved. We were nobody’s fools.
Steering the course for Wallkill Academy and five elementary schools.
SC: So thank you to women like Lydia, who worked their entire careers
In the long fight for the right to vote, though it would take 40 more years.
MM: And when bicycles were invented, then bloomers finally won out
It must have brought joy to Lydia, you could almost imagine her shout:
Abandon the petticoats ladies. You can’t lift your leg over the wheel
When you’re swaddled in dry goods. Get rid of the whale bone and steel.
Relate to them our story. You be the one to start.
SC: Very well then, Mary. Pleasant day to our company.
Are any of you folks familiar, with the sign by the armory,
Honoring Lydia Sayer Hasbrouck, a resident of our town,
A champion of women’s rights, dress reformer of renown?
MM: Right! A suffragist, a journalist, a woman who wouldn’t wait,
The first female elected to office in all of New York State!
The Middletown Board of Education is where she won her seat
But explain the rest, the entire story, this version is incomplete.
SC: Yes, while it’s true that Lydia won, there is a little more
She was not the only winning lady, she was joined by another four!
MM: The number of women elected that day made a grand total of five,
Harriet Morgan and Persis Marvin, the Congregational minister’s wife.
Lydia, of course, was the third candidate. Who, then, were the other two?
You don’t have to look any further than here, because it was both me and you!
Mrs. Sophronia Corwin...
SC: and Mrs Mary A. Moore!
Together we did something that had never been done before.
MM: But the credit is due to Lydia, a woman of courage and cunning
SC: Who never bothered to ask us if we had any interest in running!
Oh she was strong, I will admit, but her clothing was a sight,
Bloomers and a baggy skirt, nothing she wore fit her right.
MM: You’re not the only one to notice her outrageous costumery,
Because of her clothes she was denied admission to the Seward Academy.
Thanks to this kind of discrimination her commitment would improve
To her lifelong fight for sensible clothing which allowed a woman to move.
She hated that women are all bound up, in corsets of whale bone and steel,
Swaddled in dry goods to such an extent, the struggle to breathe can be real.
SC: And she spoke out for our right to vote. She had a progressive view.
But, she was wise to live in Middletown where other folks felt that way too.
Our village was forward thinking. We kept up with the times.
New York City was a short ride away on the Erie Railroad line.
We had gas lights and running water from the reservoir flowed through a main
And a state homeopathic hospital, specifically for the insane.
We even had Bull’s Opera House with actors like Edwin Booth
When his brother John shot the President, Ed’s acting career went poof.
Middletown went through a growing spurt right after the Civil War
Many new people were living in town who hadn’t been here before.
We were not wanting for culture, with Lyceum lectures at Gothic Hall...
MM: Yes! ...but we’re drifting away from the story, the thing that started it all.
In 1880, Governor Cornell finally gave women the right
To run and to vote in school board elections, an important step in our fight.
Some women ran first, up in Rochester, but sadly they did not win
Lydia then asked both Middletown parties to allow at least one woman in.
But at the last moment, without saying a word, the republicans named 5 men
Lydia was livid, contacted her allies, and told them to meet there and then.
SC: Wasn’t the meeting, so I have been told, in Lydia’s octagonal home?
And maybe her friends had been summoned there, using those new telephones?
And that’s where she worked on The Sibyl, right? Her semi-monthly magazine.
And practiced hydrotherapy as part of her health routine...
MM: Whatever she did, she got their approval for her five-lady ticket idea
SC: Maybe so, but it would have been nice if at least one of us had been there.
MM: The newspapers in town all thought it a joke and laughingly gave us support
SC: Like me, they were under the false impression, we were only in it for sport.
MM: But we won, by a lot. They called it a landslide, and it must be noted
That most of our votes were cast by men; only 100 women voted.
SC: The results were met with surprise and pride: hooray for Middletown!
We were at the center of the women’s movement, an historic battleground.
In another few years the village would grow enough to be a city
And all the new trolleys and electric lights would make everything look so pretty!
MM: The school board did fine with women involved. We were nobody’s fools.
Steering the course for Wallkill Academy and five elementary schools.
SC: So thank you to women like Lydia, who worked their entire careers
In the long fight for the right to vote, though it would take 40 more years.
MM: And when bicycles were invented, then bloomers finally won out
It must have brought joy to Lydia, you could almost imagine her shout:
Abandon the petticoats ladies. You can’t lift your leg over the wheel
When you’re swaddled in dry goods. Get rid of the whale bone and steel.
Hep. (To David): Did you recognize Mary? (To the audience) She was a descendant of ours.
David: She is? (He looks at Hep.’s face) Funny, she doesn’t look anything like you...And did I hear her correctly? Five women were elected to the school board?
Hep. Yes, five women.
David: Well, I suppose that’s alright. I mean, how much damage could a woman do on a school board?
Hep: I’ll have you know that in the future, a woman will be elected Mayor of the City of Middletown.
David: Egads! A woman mayor?!
Hep: Yes, Gert Mokotoff will be elected mayor in 1990 and again in 1992.
David (pointing out the window:) Hepzibah, look. Who is that forlorn looking woman?
Hep: I do believe that’s Lucy McMullen. Help her, David.
David: She is? (He looks at Hep.’s face) Funny, she doesn’t look anything like you...And did I hear her correctly? Five women were elected to the school board?
Hep. Yes, five women.
David: Well, I suppose that’s alright. I mean, how much damage could a woman do on a school board?
Hep: I’ll have you know that in the future, a woman will be elected Mayor of the City of Middletown.
David: Egads! A woman mayor?!
Hep: Yes, Gert Mokotoff will be elected mayor in 1990 and again in 1992.
David (pointing out the window:) Hepzibah, look. Who is that forlorn looking woman?
Hep: I do believe that’s Lucy McMullen. Help her, David.
Gigi Dawe as Lucy Ann White McMullen
My husband Jonas fought the rebels with the New Jersey Cavalry,
Our boys and I were fortunate, he came home in one piece to me.
But our luck ran out in ‘88: we lost George, our middle son
Crushed in a three train accident on the Erie Port Jervis run.
He was in the caboose with another brakeman who shared a similar fate
Without any warning, hit from behind, by a speeding Newburgh freight.
There was nothing to do but send home his body. No one could have done any more.
Ironically, George had buried a coworker, just a few hours before.
Train accidents will happen, of course, but with too much frequency,
It indicates the worst kind of neglect and moral delinquency.
I’m not totally blaming the owners, like Morgan and Vanderbilt,
But they sure took some dangerous gambles, and lots of young men were killed.
Take John Smith here, a brakeman, who fell off a moving freight,
Or George Freer, a fireman: death by derailment his fate.
Some jobs required running on box cars, others meant working with steam.
When boilers blew up, pieces flew through the treetops, incredible as it may seem.
But I do not want to be negative and go on about accident rates,
If it hadn’t been for the railroads, there would be no United States.
The railroads opened the country up and enabled internal migration.
The tracks made all the connections, that bound us up as a nation.
The steam engines were the drivers of the Industrial Revolution.
They also played a major role in Middletown’s evolution.
The Erie lay down the first tracks through the hamlet in 1843
A line from the Seaboard to the Great Lakes, by way of Depot Street.
Next was the New York and Oswego Midland which later then became
The Ontario and Western, or O and W, its more common name.
The Middletown, Unionville, and Water Gap was railroad number three--
Becoming the Middletown and New Jersey the following century.
The Middletown and Crawford to Pine Bush was the last to come to town,
Not counting the spur lines and trolleys. There were lots of those around.
The trains turned the hamlet into a village, and then a bustling city
From a small cluster of houses and farms to something more vibrant and gritty:
A trade and industrial center, with brick pavements, brick factories and stores
Stage coaches, liveries, and stockyards, and buildings with more than three floors.
The large railroad yards needed workers; the O&W hired hundreds of men
Overnight there were many new houses, and new families in town to fill them.
New neighborhoods, theaters and parks, along with the new Thrall Hospital.
New churches for the railroad families: St Joseph’s and North Congregational.
The railroad jobs, for the very first time, gave workers stability.
Brought families together, in a common endeavor, and a sense of community.
And a growing awareness, of our mutual interests, compromise and negotiation
Maintained the peace, gave us pension plans, and new safety regulations.
Technology is two sided, giving much, while it steals much away
Trains shortened some lives, made other lives better, I don’t know what else I can say.
But on some quiet days, from the city’s last train yard, floating in on the breeze,
The sound can be heard of the M&NJ whistle, sighing over our graves and the trees.
Our boys and I were fortunate, he came home in one piece to me.
But our luck ran out in ‘88: we lost George, our middle son
Crushed in a three train accident on the Erie Port Jervis run.
He was in the caboose with another brakeman who shared a similar fate
Without any warning, hit from behind, by a speeding Newburgh freight.
There was nothing to do but send home his body. No one could have done any more.
Ironically, George had buried a coworker, just a few hours before.
Train accidents will happen, of course, but with too much frequency,
It indicates the worst kind of neglect and moral delinquency.
I’m not totally blaming the owners, like Morgan and Vanderbilt,
But they sure took some dangerous gambles, and lots of young men were killed.
Take John Smith here, a brakeman, who fell off a moving freight,
Or George Freer, a fireman: death by derailment his fate.
Some jobs required running on box cars, others meant working with steam.
When boilers blew up, pieces flew through the treetops, incredible as it may seem.
But I do not want to be negative and go on about accident rates,
If it hadn’t been for the railroads, there would be no United States.
The railroads opened the country up and enabled internal migration.
The tracks made all the connections, that bound us up as a nation.
The steam engines were the drivers of the Industrial Revolution.
They also played a major role in Middletown’s evolution.
The Erie lay down the first tracks through the hamlet in 1843
A line from the Seaboard to the Great Lakes, by way of Depot Street.
Next was the New York and Oswego Midland which later then became
The Ontario and Western, or O and W, its more common name.
The Middletown, Unionville, and Water Gap was railroad number three--
Becoming the Middletown and New Jersey the following century.
The Middletown and Crawford to Pine Bush was the last to come to town,
Not counting the spur lines and trolleys. There were lots of those around.
The trains turned the hamlet into a village, and then a bustling city
From a small cluster of houses and farms to something more vibrant and gritty:
A trade and industrial center, with brick pavements, brick factories and stores
Stage coaches, liveries, and stockyards, and buildings with more than three floors.
The large railroad yards needed workers; the O&W hired hundreds of men
Overnight there were many new houses, and new families in town to fill them.
New neighborhoods, theaters and parks, along with the new Thrall Hospital.
New churches for the railroad families: St Joseph’s and North Congregational.
The railroad jobs, for the very first time, gave workers stability.
Brought families together, in a common endeavor, and a sense of community.
And a growing awareness, of our mutual interests, compromise and negotiation
Maintained the peace, gave us pension plans, and new safety regulations.
Technology is two sided, giving much, while it steals much away
Trains shortened some lives, made other lives better, I don’t know what else I can say.
But on some quiet days, from the city’s last train yard, floating in on the breeze,
The sound can be heard of the M&NJ whistle, sighing over our graves and the trees.
David: Well she was a barrel of laughs, wasn’t she?
Hep: She lived in dangerous times, David.
David: And we didn’t?! Why, I was constantly being attacked by those--(she gives him a look) lovely Native Americans whose land we stole...
Hep: The rise of the railroads was both a blessing and a curse.
David: I suppose...
Hep: Oh look! Here’s someone else! I believe it’s the architect Frank Lindsey.
David: Why, he looks as if he could be Lucy’s brother...
Hep: Don’t be silly.
Hep: She lived in dangerous times, David.
David: And we didn’t?! Why, I was constantly being attacked by those--(she gives him a look) lovely Native Americans whose land we stole...
Hep: The rise of the railroads was both a blessing and a curse.
David: I suppose...
Hep: Oh look! Here’s someone else! I believe it’s the architect Frank Lindsey.
David: Why, he looks as if he could be Lucy’s brother...
Hep: Don’t be silly.
Arthur Dawe as Frank Lindsey
They called me “the boy wonder” when I burst upon the scene
With a 3 story circular staircase, I designed when I turned 19.
I had learned the language of building, by working with my dad.
The carpentry lessons he gave me were the only training I had.
I observed just what houses were made of, the elements of design
Like hipped roofs and gables and dormers, and how to make them align.
And columns, galleries, and towers: manifestations of style
Stained glass, rare wood, and marble, imported porcelain tile.
For ours was the era of riches, America’s first Gilded Age
When commerce and factory production entered a more advanced stage.
And fortunes were made in big business, in railroads, steel mills, and coal
New millionaires wanted big houses. That became the architect’s role.
The Carnegies, Woolworths, and Astors, built huge homes on Fifth Avenue
And the trends that you saw in the City, were happening in Middletown too.
For our city was starting to prosper, with factories and railroads, and so,
It wasn’t really surprising that we had our own millionaire’s row.
Take a look at the houses on Highland, and you’ll know right away what I mean,
The mansions of bankers and statesmen, Middletown’s high society scene.
There was Desmond, and Davidge, Stern, and Bull; Merritt the lumber king,
And many more, all turned to me to design and erect a building.
Richardsonian Romanesque or Queen Ann Chateauesque, Greek or Gothic Revival,
My staff of 100 employees and I had no real architectural rival.
Residential, commercial, the old Mitchell Inn, even a church or two,
Adding some style and some grace to our city was the job I was destined to do.
They say that an architect’s work lives on, built for posterity
There is both the true and the false in that claim, some ambiguity.
Two large majestic estates I built, for two local industrial giants
Webb Horton and George Clemson were the wealthiest of my clients.
Webb made his money in tanning, then became even richer with oil
While George revolutionized hack saw blades reducing the workman’s toil.
Webb wanted his house on a hilltop, with gardens, just like a manor
George wanted his house on a hilltop too, but maybe a little bit grander.
Horton’s house still stands on the college grounds, renamed Morrison Hall
Four stories tall with stone work and towers, it could be my best work of all.
But Clemson’s house with its 50 rooms and 14 fireplaces
Has been removed, has disappeared, leaving only the tiniest traces.
The names live on with the photographs, old memories, and dreams
But even the strongest, most elegant structures must vanish from their scenes.
So whatever you happen to make in your life, even palaces for kings
Consider the durable universe, and the fragility of our things.
With a 3 story circular staircase, I designed when I turned 19.
I had learned the language of building, by working with my dad.
The carpentry lessons he gave me were the only training I had.
I observed just what houses were made of, the elements of design
Like hipped roofs and gables and dormers, and how to make them align.
And columns, galleries, and towers: manifestations of style
Stained glass, rare wood, and marble, imported porcelain tile.
For ours was the era of riches, America’s first Gilded Age
When commerce and factory production entered a more advanced stage.
And fortunes were made in big business, in railroads, steel mills, and coal
New millionaires wanted big houses. That became the architect’s role.
The Carnegies, Woolworths, and Astors, built huge homes on Fifth Avenue
And the trends that you saw in the City, were happening in Middletown too.
For our city was starting to prosper, with factories and railroads, and so,
It wasn’t really surprising that we had our own millionaire’s row.
Take a look at the houses on Highland, and you’ll know right away what I mean,
The mansions of bankers and statesmen, Middletown’s high society scene.
There was Desmond, and Davidge, Stern, and Bull; Merritt the lumber king,
And many more, all turned to me to design and erect a building.
Richardsonian Romanesque or Queen Ann Chateauesque, Greek or Gothic Revival,
My staff of 100 employees and I had no real architectural rival.
Residential, commercial, the old Mitchell Inn, even a church or two,
Adding some style and some grace to our city was the job I was destined to do.
They say that an architect’s work lives on, built for posterity
There is both the true and the false in that claim, some ambiguity.
Two large majestic estates I built, for two local industrial giants
Webb Horton and George Clemson were the wealthiest of my clients.
Webb made his money in tanning, then became even richer with oil
While George revolutionized hack saw blades reducing the workman’s toil.
Webb wanted his house on a hilltop, with gardens, just like a manor
George wanted his house on a hilltop too, but maybe a little bit grander.
Horton’s house still stands on the college grounds, renamed Morrison Hall
Four stories tall with stone work and towers, it could be my best work of all.
But Clemson’s house with its 50 rooms and 14 fireplaces
Has been removed, has disappeared, leaving only the tiniest traces.
The names live on with the photographs, old memories, and dreams
But even the strongest, most elegant structures must vanish from their scenes.
So whatever you happen to make in your life, even palaces for kings
Consider the durable universe, and the fragility of our things.
Hep: (to audience:) Webb Horton spent a million dollars on his mansion--the equivalent of 35 million dollars today!
David: I knew that.
Hep: You did?
David: ...No...
Hep: (to audience:) And it is believed that he died shortly before it was finished, and he didn’t even get to spend one night in it!
David: Everyone knows that!
Hep: Did you?
David: ...No...
Hep: Oh, and here’s someone else! It looks like Josephine Schild.
David: How do you know what she looks like?
Hep: I don’t, but here she is!
David: I knew that.
Hep: You did?
David: ...No...
Hep: (to audience:) And it is believed that he died shortly before it was finished, and he didn’t even get to spend one night in it!
David: Everyone knows that!
Hep: Did you?
David: ...No...
Hep: Oh, and here’s someone else! It looks like Josephine Schild.
David: How do you know what she looks like?
Hep: I don’t, but here she is!
Eliana Decker as Josephine Reilly Schild
Here’s where I lie with my husband Fred and the remains of our older son
Who preceded his parents to the grave, after his last bombing run.
Fred worked as a flagman and a conductor way out by Cadosia junction,
Moving the box cars, assembling the freights, helping the railroad line function.
We loved Delaware County, the old O&W, and a life of locomotion,
But we gladly moved here, to Middletown, when Fred earned himself a promotion.
We bought a new house, and raised four kids, we were confident and unshaken,
Fred had a good job, and belonged to a union, the Brotherhood of Railroad Trainmen.
Our house on Lake Avenue was right near the park, not far from the trolley track,
Which would take you to Goshen, or to Midway Park, and later bring you right back.
We lived near the train bridge, the state mental hospital, and a pond where we skated on ice,
We loved living here, and so did the children, we all thought it so very nice.
Some times were tough, like during the Great War, when our city lost many good men,
We read all about it, in the Middletown Press, Fred and I felt so sorry for them.
Like John Eilenberger, Private Arthur Jervis, and Cornelius Frederick Mann,
Young John Edward Terwilliger, lives ended before they began.
We felt sorry too, for all of the hobos who lived near the tracks by the park,
Casualties of the Great Depression, whose camp fires glowed in the dark.
The kids grew up, went to Middletown High School, on Academy Avenue,
They learned how to drive, all over the county, they always found plenty to do.
The Stratton, the Alhambra, the Paramount theater, and across the street, the State,
They always had so many places to be, four theaters to go on a date.
Fred Junior enlisted, to fight for his country, at the start of the second world war
Went to the Pacific, and Guadalcanal, with the United States Marine Corps.
His big brother William, played football in high school, then soon after settled down,
Married Ruth Van Tassell, had a daughter Priscilla, lived near us here in Middletown.
Then William enlisted, went into the Air Force, and learned how to pilot a plane,
Flew on a mission, above Northern Italy, and never came back home again.
The plane took some hits and started to tremble along with its crew of ten men,
Six managed to jump, parachuting to safety, William steadied the airplane for them.
With just seconds left, he made one final effort, to revive the copilot, his friend,
But the plane broke in two, and blew up in midair, bringing his life to an end.
They buried him first, in a small cemetery, somewhere behind enemy lines,
Five months later, he was buried again, with military honors this time.
So many people walked here to Hillside behind that old black limousine.
His coffin was carried by six of the players from his high school football team.
We took some comfort, simply by knowing, other parents were grieving as well,
Like the Fasanellas, Ryersons, and Lymans, whose courageous young sons also fell.
Fred stayed on with the O&W, then retired with the very last train,
That rolled through here in 1957, and never came back through again.
That’s when we returned to Delaware County, lived our days in quiet pride,
Until we both came back to Middletown to rest by our brave son’s side.
Who preceded his parents to the grave, after his last bombing run.
Fred worked as a flagman and a conductor way out by Cadosia junction,
Moving the box cars, assembling the freights, helping the railroad line function.
We loved Delaware County, the old O&W, and a life of locomotion,
But we gladly moved here, to Middletown, when Fred earned himself a promotion.
We bought a new house, and raised four kids, we were confident and unshaken,
Fred had a good job, and belonged to a union, the Brotherhood of Railroad Trainmen.
Our house on Lake Avenue was right near the park, not far from the trolley track,
Which would take you to Goshen, or to Midway Park, and later bring you right back.
We lived near the train bridge, the state mental hospital, and a pond where we skated on ice,
We loved living here, and so did the children, we all thought it so very nice.
Some times were tough, like during the Great War, when our city lost many good men,
We read all about it, in the Middletown Press, Fred and I felt so sorry for them.
Like John Eilenberger, Private Arthur Jervis, and Cornelius Frederick Mann,
Young John Edward Terwilliger, lives ended before they began.
We felt sorry too, for all of the hobos who lived near the tracks by the park,
Casualties of the Great Depression, whose camp fires glowed in the dark.
The kids grew up, went to Middletown High School, on Academy Avenue,
They learned how to drive, all over the county, they always found plenty to do.
The Stratton, the Alhambra, the Paramount theater, and across the street, the State,
They always had so many places to be, four theaters to go on a date.
Fred Junior enlisted, to fight for his country, at the start of the second world war
Went to the Pacific, and Guadalcanal, with the United States Marine Corps.
His big brother William, played football in high school, then soon after settled down,
Married Ruth Van Tassell, had a daughter Priscilla, lived near us here in Middletown.
Then William enlisted, went into the Air Force, and learned how to pilot a plane,
Flew on a mission, above Northern Italy, and never came back home again.
The plane took some hits and started to tremble along with its crew of ten men,
Six managed to jump, parachuting to safety, William steadied the airplane for them.
With just seconds left, he made one final effort, to revive the copilot, his friend,
But the plane broke in two, and blew up in midair, bringing his life to an end.
They buried him first, in a small cemetery, somewhere behind enemy lines,
Five months later, he was buried again, with military honors this time.
So many people walked here to Hillside behind that old black limousine.
His coffin was carried by six of the players from his high school football team.
We took some comfort, simply by knowing, other parents were grieving as well,
Like the Fasanellas, Ryersons, and Lymans, whose courageous young sons also fell.
Fred stayed on with the O&W, then retired with the very last train,
That rolled through here in 1957, and never came back through again.
That’s when we returned to Delaware County, lived our days in quiet pride,
Until we both came back to Middletown to rest by our brave son’s side.
David: Why are so many of these stories about death?
Hep:(turns her head to him in disbelief:) Because it’s a cemetery tour?
David: Still, an uplifting story would be nice.
Hep: Uplifting? How about this: Josephine mentioned the trolley to Midway Park. Did you know that in 1905 a Middletown resident named Maggie Dailey was dared by some friends to go up in a hot air balloon, and parachute down to earth? And she did it! And she survived! She ended up becoming a regular attraction at the park--she even married her husband there in 1907.
David: Yes! Oh, what fun! I think people want more stories like that! I know I do.
Hep: Yes, but first we need to hear from William Sayer Beakes.
David: Who?
Hep: William Sayer Beakes. He’s our next visitor, and he’s about to come aboard!
Hep:(turns her head to him in disbelief:) Because it’s a cemetery tour?
David: Still, an uplifting story would be nice.
Hep: Uplifting? How about this: Josephine mentioned the trolley to Midway Park. Did you know that in 1905 a Middletown resident named Maggie Dailey was dared by some friends to go up in a hot air balloon, and parachute down to earth? And she did it! And she survived! She ended up becoming a regular attraction at the park--she even married her husband there in 1907.
David: Yes! Oh, what fun! I think people want more stories like that! I know I do.
Hep: Yes, but first we need to hear from William Sayer Beakes.
David: Who?
Hep: William Sayer Beakes. He’s our next visitor, and he’s about to come aboard!
Nate Domingo as W. Sayer Beakes
|
Ben Grazier as W. Sayer Beakes
|
On the north edge of town, on my parents’ old farm, that’s where I first opened my eyes.
The farm is long gone, but the land is still there, now called Eisenhower Drive.
The Beakes family land was originally farmed by my great great grandfather Stacy
Then Joseph his son, his son Henry, then Spencer, all raised in sequence in this place we...
held since the years the first settlers came which to me felt like nearly forever
So the day I was freed from Middletown High School, I was ready to run off wherever.
I took a train down, looked for work in the City, summer 1929
And landed myself a great job on Wall Street, I knew everything would be fine.
But when it all crashed, sometime in October, I never shed any tears.
I learned to adapt, and studied the numbers, and did well for the next dozen years.
So I wasn’t a kid when the war was declared, did not think they would draft an old man,
But they did, and I went to a post in the heartland, under the transport command.
And lucky for me I absorbed all that math, for soon my superiors found,
That I was their man who could get the job done, moving troops and equipment around.
But that didn’t last. Next I’m in Okinawa, and somehow or other got shot,
I healed pretty quick, and then the war ended. I could reenlist but did not.
When at one time I could, not leave here fast enough, now I only longed to return
I moved myself back home to Middletown, to apply all the things I had learned.
I had seen enough mass transportation, was familiar with airplanes and ships
To anticipate an exciting new business, managing vacations and trips.
I bought a brick building on North Street, and opened my own travel store
I married Alice, and we bought a house, and we raised up a family of four.
Business was good. My clients included the biggest employers in town,
Clemson Brothers, both of the railroads, and most of the doctors around.
My neighbors were Tompkins, and Carson & Towner, Kassel Brothers, and Green’s.
And upstairs lawyers and dentists’ offices, all part of the downtown scene.
Alice and I got to see the whole world; part of our job was to roam,
And no matter how far or how long we would go, we always returned to our home.
But home started changing over the years. What was solid would no longer stay.
Some of the things we had come to depend on were rapidly drifting away.
The state hospital closed. So did the railroad, and Clemson’s locked up all their doors.
North Street was starting to look like a ghost town with all of its dark empty stores.
Ed Lloyd was the first to relocate his business, out onto the Miracle Mile
And then Orange Plaza drew quite a few others, within an extremely short while.
North Street’s stores and its offices cleared out, only a few of us stayed:
Lounsbury’s, Serpentini the jeweler, Ayres & Galloway.
But I didn’t mind because life always changes, and living well requires trust
That we will be able to deal with what comes, and that we’ll find a way to adjust.
So right about then, we brought in computers, the first ones to do it, I know
We did bookings by phone, our customers loved it. We stayed ahead of the flow.
As I look back on my life’s reinventions through the hundred plus years I did spend,
I’m most grateful for all those round trip tickets, ‘cause they brought me back here in the end.
The farm is long gone, but the land is still there, now called Eisenhower Drive.
The Beakes family land was originally farmed by my great great grandfather Stacy
Then Joseph his son, his son Henry, then Spencer, all raised in sequence in this place we...
held since the years the first settlers came which to me felt like nearly forever
So the day I was freed from Middletown High School, I was ready to run off wherever.
I took a train down, looked for work in the City, summer 1929
And landed myself a great job on Wall Street, I knew everything would be fine.
But when it all crashed, sometime in October, I never shed any tears.
I learned to adapt, and studied the numbers, and did well for the next dozen years.
So I wasn’t a kid when the war was declared, did not think they would draft an old man,
But they did, and I went to a post in the heartland, under the transport command.
And lucky for me I absorbed all that math, for soon my superiors found,
That I was their man who could get the job done, moving troops and equipment around.
But that didn’t last. Next I’m in Okinawa, and somehow or other got shot,
I healed pretty quick, and then the war ended. I could reenlist but did not.
When at one time I could, not leave here fast enough, now I only longed to return
I moved myself back home to Middletown, to apply all the things I had learned.
I had seen enough mass transportation, was familiar with airplanes and ships
To anticipate an exciting new business, managing vacations and trips.
I bought a brick building on North Street, and opened my own travel store
I married Alice, and we bought a house, and we raised up a family of four.
Business was good. My clients included the biggest employers in town,
Clemson Brothers, both of the railroads, and most of the doctors around.
My neighbors were Tompkins, and Carson & Towner, Kassel Brothers, and Green’s.
And upstairs lawyers and dentists’ offices, all part of the downtown scene.
Alice and I got to see the whole world; part of our job was to roam,
And no matter how far or how long we would go, we always returned to our home.
But home started changing over the years. What was solid would no longer stay.
Some of the things we had come to depend on were rapidly drifting away.
The state hospital closed. So did the railroad, and Clemson’s locked up all their doors.
North Street was starting to look like a ghost town with all of its dark empty stores.
Ed Lloyd was the first to relocate his business, out onto the Miracle Mile
And then Orange Plaza drew quite a few others, within an extremely short while.
North Street’s stores and its offices cleared out, only a few of us stayed:
Lounsbury’s, Serpentini the jeweler, Ayres & Galloway.
But I didn’t mind because life always changes, and living well requires trust
That we will be able to deal with what comes, and that we’ll find a way to adjust.
So right about then, we brought in computers, the first ones to do it, I know
We did bookings by phone, our customers loved it. We stayed ahead of the flow.
As I look back on my life’s reinventions through the hundred plus years I did spend,
I’m most grateful for all those round trip tickets, ‘cause they brought me back here in the end.
Hep: William was 102 when he passed away in 2012. He enjoyed spending time reading at the Thrall library until he was almost 100!
David: The Thrall library...wasn’t that on Orchard Street?
Hep: It was, but by then the library had moved to the former Erie Depot.
David: The train station?
Hep: Yes. They renovated the empty Depot into a beautiful library. (to the audience:) Before the Erie Depot was built, the entire area on James Street was a giant pond! It had to be filled in before they could lay down the tracks.
David: I knew that.
Hep: Did you?
David: Actually, I did! It was a pond when we were alive...
Hep: Yes, that’s true. Oh look! Here comes Isabel Garcia! I think you’ll enjoy what she has to say.
David: The Thrall library...wasn’t that on Orchard Street?
Hep: It was, but by then the library had moved to the former Erie Depot.
David: The train station?
Hep: Yes. They renovated the empty Depot into a beautiful library. (to the audience:) Before the Erie Depot was built, the entire area on James Street was a giant pond! It had to be filled in before they could lay down the tracks.
David: I knew that.
Hep: Did you?
David: Actually, I did! It was a pond when we were alive...
Hep: Yes, that’s true. Oh look! Here comes Isabel Garcia! I think you’ll enjoy what she has to say.
Lizbel Lopez as Isabel Garcia
Born in Axutla, in Puebla, Mexico, my name is Isabel,
Daughter of Fidel and Maria Delgado, I have a story to tell.
I grew up in a land that is so far away, where time seemed to move much more slowly,
My parents worked hard, ran a small store, raised their kids to be pious and holy.
Our small town in the mountains was quiet and lovely, painted in colors so bright
Colibríes darted and flashed in our gardens, palomas cooed softly at night.
Graciano, a boy that I knew in the village, was to play a big part in my life.
We grew up together, grew fond of each other. One day he made me his wife.
We stayed in our village, bought our own panderia, and baked for our neighbors their bread
Tortillas, and conchas, and tasty orejas, we made sure that all were well fed.
Graciano and I raised our eight children, Alvaro, Yolanda, and Silvia,
Eloina and Leo, Luz and Elenex, and also my sweet girl Elia.
When Graciano was young, he would leave for a season. The children would help in the store.
He would work on the farms, up north In California, to provide just a little bit more.
As the children got older, they grew slightly restless, with a world so conservative and slow,
They longed for more freedom, a new life in a city, they all were so eager to go.
Graciano and I were both in our 50s, and this life was all that we knew,
Though reluctant to leave, we went with our family, where they would go, we would go too.
For family’s the bond that holds us together, that makes everyone of us strong,
We moved to New Jersey, to stay with some cousins who offered to help us along.
In just a short time, I helped my daughter Luz, open a panaderia
And Alvaro wanted to start up a business somewhere in the area.
In Newburgh, New York, he opened a market, but continued looking around,
Then he found a good building, for his brother Leo, right here in Middletown.
1988 was when we arrived, our new city’s one hundredth year,
We saw the parade and the big celebration the first summer that we were here.
But times were not good for business on North Street, lined with dark windowpanes
There were plenty of railroad tracks in the city, but rarely were there any trains.
Both my boys were smart, they saw the need for a Mexican grocery store
For a growing Spanish speaking population, it was what they were looking for.
Here one could buy all the baked goods from home, chirimoya, and fresh chilis
Guanabana, avocado, mole poblamo, and succulent nopales.
Just as we were helped, we would help others, to start up a business and grow,
Now you can see, on both sides of North Street, lots of new shops in a row.
Our market became a shining example because our store was the first
Now you will find many markets are downtown from every corner of earth.
One of the shops is my daughter Elia’s, Lissette’s Fashions, across the street,
We are all now part of a big community with the neighbors that we meet.
Yet, on the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, the little grandchildren each year
Fly south to experience sweet Axutla with the water that shines so clear.
I drew my last breath on May the 10th, three years ago today
Graciano is here, with young Leo, and Elia who just passed away.
I miss the land of my youth sometimes, regret that I had to roam,
But I know that the place where my family resides is the place I will always call home.
Daughter of Fidel and Maria Delgado, I have a story to tell.
I grew up in a land that is so far away, where time seemed to move much more slowly,
My parents worked hard, ran a small store, raised their kids to be pious and holy.
Our small town in the mountains was quiet and lovely, painted in colors so bright
Colibríes darted and flashed in our gardens, palomas cooed softly at night.
Graciano, a boy that I knew in the village, was to play a big part in my life.
We grew up together, grew fond of each other. One day he made me his wife.
We stayed in our village, bought our own panderia, and baked for our neighbors their bread
Tortillas, and conchas, and tasty orejas, we made sure that all were well fed.
Graciano and I raised our eight children, Alvaro, Yolanda, and Silvia,
Eloina and Leo, Luz and Elenex, and also my sweet girl Elia.
When Graciano was young, he would leave for a season. The children would help in the store.
He would work on the farms, up north In California, to provide just a little bit more.
As the children got older, they grew slightly restless, with a world so conservative and slow,
They longed for more freedom, a new life in a city, they all were so eager to go.
Graciano and I were both in our 50s, and this life was all that we knew,
Though reluctant to leave, we went with our family, where they would go, we would go too.
For family’s the bond that holds us together, that makes everyone of us strong,
We moved to New Jersey, to stay with some cousins who offered to help us along.
In just a short time, I helped my daughter Luz, open a panaderia
And Alvaro wanted to start up a business somewhere in the area.
In Newburgh, New York, he opened a market, but continued looking around,
Then he found a good building, for his brother Leo, right here in Middletown.
1988 was when we arrived, our new city’s one hundredth year,
We saw the parade and the big celebration the first summer that we were here.
But times were not good for business on North Street, lined with dark windowpanes
There were plenty of railroad tracks in the city, but rarely were there any trains.
Both my boys were smart, they saw the need for a Mexican grocery store
For a growing Spanish speaking population, it was what they were looking for.
Here one could buy all the baked goods from home, chirimoya, and fresh chilis
Guanabana, avocado, mole poblamo, and succulent nopales.
Just as we were helped, we would help others, to start up a business and grow,
Now you can see, on both sides of North Street, lots of new shops in a row.
Our market became a shining example because our store was the first
Now you will find many markets are downtown from every corner of earth.
One of the shops is my daughter Elia’s, Lissette’s Fashions, across the street,
We are all now part of a big community with the neighbors that we meet.
Yet, on the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, the little grandchildren each year
Fly south to experience sweet Axutla with the water that shines so clear.
I drew my last breath on May the 10th, three years ago today
Graciano is here, with young Leo, and Elia who just passed away.
I miss the land of my youth sometimes, regret that I had to roam,
But I know that the place where my family resides is the place I will always call home.
David (to Hep:) Now that’s an uplifting story! What a wonderful woman.
Hep: I agree. It’s amazing how the wilderness of the Middletown we knew turned nto a place where so many people have lived and made meaningful lives.
David: And just think: if it hadn’t been for me, none of it would have been possible!
Hep: We retreated to Goshen, David. Remember?
David: Well...
Hep: And don’t forget your cousin, Samuel Wickham. He contributed too.
David: Well...
Hep: He even has a street named after him!
David: (changing the subject:) Oh look! Here comes our last guest.
Hep: Yes, it’s Little Sammy Davis!
David: The performer who had a number one hit record called “The Candy Man” in 1972?
Hep: No. That was Sammy Davis Jr. This is Little Sammy Davis.
David: Sammy Davis the third?
Hep: No. Just let him tell his story.
Hep: I agree. It’s amazing how the wilderness of the Middletown we knew turned nto a place where so many people have lived and made meaningful lives.
David: And just think: if it hadn’t been for me, none of it would have been possible!
Hep: We retreated to Goshen, David. Remember?
David: Well...
Hep: And don’t forget your cousin, Samuel Wickham. He contributed too.
David: Well...
Hep: He even has a street named after him!
David: (changing the subject:) Oh look! Here comes our last guest.
Hep: Yes, it’s Little Sammy Davis!
David: The performer who had a number one hit record called “The Candy Man” in 1972?
Hep: No. That was Sammy Davis Jr. This is Little Sammy Davis.
David: Sammy Davis the third?
Hep: No. Just let him tell his story.
Ollie Spence as Little Sammy Davis
|
Sirr Maximus Carrion as Little Sammy Davis
|
Ask me no questions. I’ll tell you no lies.
I’m just a man, and I was born to die.
Grew up in the deep south, learned to play the blues
Never took to schooling, couldn’t follow their rules.
Been through Mississippi, Florida too,
Spent time in Chicago doing what I do.
Made most of my money in the groves pickin’ fruit,
But playin’ the blues harp was my major pursuit.
I played with Earl Hooker, and Mr. Albert King,
Just like Little Walter, I could play and sing
I couldn’t read music, and I couldn’t write,
But I’d hear a song once, and I could sing it all night.
I loved playing the blues. I loved rock ‘n roll.
I loved listening to James Brown, his music pure soul.
Even country and western, I’m a Glen Campbell fan.
And I’d listen to Sam Cooke, whenever I can.
In the 40s and 50s, I played medicine shows
Met lots of musicians, you know how that goes.
Right into the 70s, music was my whole life
Moved north to Poughkeepsie with my brand new wife.
We were happy together, then too quickly she died,
I had the blues so bad, I let my music slide,
For the next dozen years, I put down my harp,
I couldn’t make music, with my broken heart.
But sometime in the 80s, I’d start playing again,
Mostly in small bars, for a few of my friends.
A place in Poughkeepsie, they called the Sidetrack,
I was rediscovered, and began my comeback.
Hooked up with two brothers, named Brad and Fred
Breathed new life in my music, brought me back from the dead.
Doing gigs on the radio, the Don Imus Show
Fred playing the guitar while I’d sing and I’d blow.
We made people happy without really tryin’
We cut a new album, that we called “I Ain’t Lyin’.”
That was just the beginning, I was soon overwhelmed,
Playing at the Rambles, with the Band’s Levon Helm.
Lived with Fred in Port Jervis. We jammed all around
Played at a few bars that were in Middletown.
The tavern on King Street and the Corner Stage
I loved singing to people. I lived to engage.
We were ridin’ real high, entertained lots of folk
Then in 2008, I suffered a stroke.
I couldn’t make music, my singing was done
My two part career had completed its run.
The last years of my life, I was half paralyzed
But this was the time, when I most realized
That the best part of living is the friends that you make
All the love that you give, and the love that you take.
In my room at Park Manor, I’d lie in my bed
Then one of my friends, would poke in his head
Followed by other, local friends I had made
They would pull out their guitars. They sang and they played.
Middletown’s made of music. We all hold it dear
Home to many musicians, even Dylan lived here.
Music fills us in common, like we breathe the same air.
Makes us get up and move, together and share.
I’m just a man, and I was born to die.
Grew up in the deep south, learned to play the blues
Never took to schooling, couldn’t follow their rules.
Been through Mississippi, Florida too,
Spent time in Chicago doing what I do.
Made most of my money in the groves pickin’ fruit,
But playin’ the blues harp was my major pursuit.
I played with Earl Hooker, and Mr. Albert King,
Just like Little Walter, I could play and sing
I couldn’t read music, and I couldn’t write,
But I’d hear a song once, and I could sing it all night.
I loved playing the blues. I loved rock ‘n roll.
I loved listening to James Brown, his music pure soul.
Even country and western, I’m a Glen Campbell fan.
And I’d listen to Sam Cooke, whenever I can.
In the 40s and 50s, I played medicine shows
Met lots of musicians, you know how that goes.
Right into the 70s, music was my whole life
Moved north to Poughkeepsie with my brand new wife.
We were happy together, then too quickly she died,
I had the blues so bad, I let my music slide,
For the next dozen years, I put down my harp,
I couldn’t make music, with my broken heart.
But sometime in the 80s, I’d start playing again,
Mostly in small bars, for a few of my friends.
A place in Poughkeepsie, they called the Sidetrack,
I was rediscovered, and began my comeback.
Hooked up with two brothers, named Brad and Fred
Breathed new life in my music, brought me back from the dead.
Doing gigs on the radio, the Don Imus Show
Fred playing the guitar while I’d sing and I’d blow.
We made people happy without really tryin’
We cut a new album, that we called “I Ain’t Lyin’.”
That was just the beginning, I was soon overwhelmed,
Playing at the Rambles, with the Band’s Levon Helm.
Lived with Fred in Port Jervis. We jammed all around
Played at a few bars that were in Middletown.
The tavern on King Street and the Corner Stage
I loved singing to people. I lived to engage.
We were ridin’ real high, entertained lots of folk
Then in 2008, I suffered a stroke.
I couldn’t make music, my singing was done
My two part career had completed its run.
The last years of my life, I was half paralyzed
But this was the time, when I most realized
That the best part of living is the friends that you make
All the love that you give, and the love that you take.
In my room at Park Manor, I’d lie in my bed
Then one of my friends, would poke in his head
Followed by other, local friends I had made
They would pull out their guitars. They sang and they played.
Middletown’s made of music. We all hold it dear
Home to many musicians, even Dylan lived here.
Music fills us in common, like we breathe the same air.
Makes us get up and move, together and share.
Hep: Well, that concludes our tour. We hope you’ve enjoyed it.
David: Who would have guessed in 1755 that so many different types of people would settle here in Middletown?
Hep: That’s what makes it such an interesting place: the diversity of its people and their interests.
David: Yes. Diversity. What a great word.
Hep: I agree!
David: So that’s it?
Hep: Yes.
David: Seems kind of an abrupt ending, don’t you think?
Hep: Yes, well, the author couldn’t think of anything else for us to say. So that’s it! Thank you all for coming!
David: Who would have guessed in 1755 that so many different types of people would settle here in Middletown?
Hep: That’s what makes it such an interesting place: the diversity of its people and their interests.
David: Yes. Diversity. What a great word.
Hep: I agree!
David: So that’s it?
Hep: Yes.
David: Seems kind of an abrupt ending, don’t you think?
Hep: Yes, well, the author couldn’t think of anything else for us to say. So that’s it! Thank you all for coming!
Special Thanks to...
-Dan Myers, Michael Green, Martin Grabowski, Ray Ayers, and Sue Wyman for help with historical research
-Brad Scribner, Fred Scribner, Jack Geisenheimer, Laurie Anne, Tony Sky, and John Rocklyn - for providing music in the parking lot
-Dan Higbie/Mid City Transit for providing the bus
-The Middletown BID for helping with publicity
-Commander Kyle Slingerland and the Middletown High School NJROTC for assisting our guests
-Amy Creeden, William Donohue, and Kate Sheedy for their cooperation
-Chester Printing for posters
-Janet Hughes for providing costumes
-Denise Isseks for taking photos
-Brad Scribner, Fred Scribner, Jack Geisenheimer, Laurie Anne, Tony Sky, and John Rocklyn - for providing music in the parking lot
-Dan Higbie/Mid City Transit for providing the bus
-The Middletown BID for helping with publicity
-Commander Kyle Slingerland and the Middletown High School NJROTC for assisting our guests
-Amy Creeden, William Donohue, and Kate Sheedy for their cooperation
-Chester Printing for posters
-Janet Hughes for providing costumes
-Denise Isseks for taking photos
Middletown’s Hillside Cemetery is a nondenominational cemetery open to all. It is maintained by a board of volunteers who want to see this valuable community resource used and appreciated by generations to come.