April 27, 2024 Historic Hillside Cemetery Bus Tour
In Celebration of the 200th Birthday of Calvert Vaux
The first ever bus tour of the cemetery was produced in cooperation with Middletown Schools.
Approximately 225 people went on the tours which departed every hour from noon until 5pm. We thank everyone who joined us.
We give special thanks to Amy Creeden and the Middletown School District; Dan Higbie and Mid-City Transit;
Chief Kyle Slingerland and the MHS NJROTC; and Jim Schofield, MHS English Department.
Approximately 225 people went on the tours which departed every hour from noon until 5pm. We thank everyone who joined us.
We give special thanks to Amy Creeden and the Middletown School District; Dan Higbie and Mid-City Transit;
Chief Kyle Slingerland and the MHS NJROTC; and Jim Schofield, MHS English Department.
Calvert Vaux (1824-1895)
and Mary McEntee Vaux (1830-1892)
Calvert holds a small sketchbook and pencil; he gazes off into the distance.
MARY: CALVERT! Come on, already! The bus is about to leave.
CALVERT: What’s that? Oh, I didn’t realize. (getting on the bus) I was just admiring how the trees have grown...
MARY: Yes, well, it’s been a hundred and sixty years since you’ve seen them; trees grow, you know.
CALVERT: It’s even more beautiful than I’d imagined it...
MARY: Yes, yes. Well now, let's greet these nice people who’ve come out to see us.
CALVERT: Hello...
MARY: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Hillside Cemetery designed by none other than my dear husband here, Mr. Calvert Vaux.
CALVERT: Don’t forget Frederick, Mary. He helped, too.
MARY: Yeah, yeah... Frederick Law Olmsted. I never met a man who tooted his own horn like Fred.
CALVERT: Come now, Mary, you’re not being fair.
MARY: I’m sorry, but you always let him take all the credit. You were the Sonny to his Cher. The Captain to his Tennelle. The Shields to his Yarnell.
CALVERT: I don’t know who any of those people are...
MARY: Neither do I... But my point is, you should get some credit too!
CALVERT: Well,--
MARY: (to the passengers:) Good afternoon, everyone! Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mrs. Calvert Vaux.
CALVERT: Dear, that’s not exactly your name. Your given name is Mary--
MARY: I know my own name, thank you very much! I was born Mary Swan McEntee in 1835--
CALVERT: (interrupts): 1835? You were born in 1830, my dear.
Mary glares at him.
MARY: Did I say 1835? How foolish of me. But I am proud to be called Mrs. Calvert Vaux. And I’m so happy that all of you could join us today on our little tour.
CALVERT: I can’t get over the trees...
MARY: Did any of you know that while Calvert was designing this beautiful cemetery, he was also designing Central Park in New York City? And then after that, he designed Prospect Park in Brooklyn!
CALVERT: With Frederick, Mary.
MARY: Yeah, yeah, with Fred.
CALVERT: Why don’t we just tell everyone what we’re doing here?
MARY: (annoyed:) Fine... (recomposes herself; smiles) We’re here today to celebrate not only this glorious cemetery that my husband designed, but also to learn a little bit about some of the people who are buried here.
CALVERT: Look! (points out the window at ANN VAIL:) There’s someone now. MARY: Yes, why don’t we invite her aboard and see what she has to say? Hellooo!!!!
Ann enters the bus and delivers her monologue.
Ann Vail (1921-2019)
Thank you folks for coming, now please listen to my tale,
For I’m your first encounter: I go by the name Ann Vail.
I was almost 98 years old, when my life ceased to be,
But of all the dead you’ll meet today, I’m the youngest you will see.
Despite my years, I am the one, who passed most recently,
Not too many years ago in this 21st century.
And I’m surely not the only Vail who is resting at Hillside,
I’m surrounded by family members, who long before me died.
In fact, with all the graves you see in rows spread out around us,
The very first, in this whole place, was a Vail named Theophilus.
And though he was the first to be interred here on the hill,
There are other Vails who are buried here who are much older still.
Like Captain Isaiah Vail, who fought in the revolution,
And other members of our family’s early evolution.
Nathanial and Hannah, Abigail and Dave,
Were originally buried elsewhere, now are here in their second graves.
So many Vails have followed them, 50 or more in truth,
Walter, William, Nellie, Sarah, and Aunt Ruth.
Moses, my grandpa, and grandma Eveline,
Lydia and Phebe, Adelia, Annie Jane.
We shared so many stories and were part of Middletown,
I guess we Vails all liked it here, and chose to stick around.
With roots like these I fell in love with Middletown’s history,
An active lifelong member of the historical society.
And I served on the cemetery board here at Hillside,Every time we gave a tour, I acted as the guide.
So take in all the scenery, all the monuments and plants,
And as you go, please say hello, to my uncles and my aunts.
For I’m your first encounter: I go by the name Ann Vail.
I was almost 98 years old, when my life ceased to be,
But of all the dead you’ll meet today, I’m the youngest you will see.
Despite my years, I am the one, who passed most recently,
Not too many years ago in this 21st century.
And I’m surely not the only Vail who is resting at Hillside,
I’m surrounded by family members, who long before me died.
In fact, with all the graves you see in rows spread out around us,
The very first, in this whole place, was a Vail named Theophilus.
And though he was the first to be interred here on the hill,
There are other Vails who are buried here who are much older still.
Like Captain Isaiah Vail, who fought in the revolution,
And other members of our family’s early evolution.
Nathanial and Hannah, Abigail and Dave,
Were originally buried elsewhere, now are here in their second graves.
So many Vails have followed them, 50 or more in truth,
Walter, William, Nellie, Sarah, and Aunt Ruth.
Moses, my grandpa, and grandma Eveline,
Lydia and Phebe, Adelia, Annie Jane.
We shared so many stories and were part of Middletown,
I guess we Vails all liked it here, and chose to stick around.
With roots like these I fell in love with Middletown’s history,
An active lifelong member of the historical society.
And I served on the cemetery board here at Hillside,Every time we gave a tour, I acted as the guide.
So take in all the scenery, all the monuments and plants,
And as you go, please say hello, to my uncles and my aunts.
MARY: Goodbye, Ann! Thank you. (to the passengers:) As you can see, the Vail family has long had roots here in the city of Middletown. When Theophilus Vail was buried here in 1860, Middletown wasn’t even a city. (to Calvert:) Did you know that, Calvert?
CALVERT: (to Mary:) Why of course I knew that! Middletown didn’t become a city until 1888.
MARY: Oh look! Isn’t that your old friend James Pronk?!
CALVERT: I believe it is! James was a great civic leader in Middletown, and the first president of Hillside.
MARY: And most importantly, he was the man who hired you to design the cemetery! CALVERT: Well I don’t know about most important--
MARY: (interrupting) HI, JAMES!
James enters the bus and delivers his monologue.
James Pronk (1822-1895)
Hello Calvert.
Good evening Mary.
Look at your handiwork, Calvert
See all the new stones on the hill,
We set out to create a jewel,
And it is beautiful still.
Remember when we first got started?
I had approached you with a plan
A resting place here in the village,
I knew you were the landscaping man.
Do you remember the details
Of the time when both of us met?
I don’t remember them either,
But Downing’s place is a safe bet.
For Downing often had parties
In Newburgh, for young architects,
And artists, their sisters, and others
Whoever walked through the door next.
I knew you and Olmsted were famous
Designers of buildings and grounds
My goal was to capture your interest
For this spot here in Middletown.
For I was involved with the village,
And got us to incorporate.
I was once president of the village,
All this I must humbly state.
I paved the first streets in our village
The crossings and all the sidewalks.
I started the Middletown Lyceum
For concerts and cultural talks.
I also invested in railroads,
And directed their routes through our town.
It was my great love for this village
That made me, go get you, for these grounds.
The hills and the roads and the statues,
The pond and the stream and the trees,
The view of the town in the distance,
The quiet, the sunlight, the peace.
Did you know it was here I was fallen?
Digging the grave of a friend?
Here in the place that I loved most,
A sweet spot to come to my end.
So farewell Calvert and Mary,
And all of your fine company,
Enjoy the rest of your bus ride
And the beautiful things you will see.
Good evening Mary.
Look at your handiwork, Calvert
See all the new stones on the hill,
We set out to create a jewel,
And it is beautiful still.
Remember when we first got started?
I had approached you with a plan
A resting place here in the village,
I knew you were the landscaping man.
Do you remember the details
Of the time when both of us met?
I don’t remember them either,
But Downing’s place is a safe bet.
For Downing often had parties
In Newburgh, for young architects,
And artists, their sisters, and others
Whoever walked through the door next.
I knew you and Olmsted were famous
Designers of buildings and grounds
My goal was to capture your interest
For this spot here in Middletown.
For I was involved with the village,
And got us to incorporate.
I was once president of the village,
All this I must humbly state.
I paved the first streets in our village
The crossings and all the sidewalks.
I started the Middletown Lyceum
For concerts and cultural talks.
I also invested in railroads,
And directed their routes through our town.
It was my great love for this village
That made me, go get you, for these grounds.
The hills and the roads and the statues,
The pond and the stream and the trees,
The view of the town in the distance,
The quiet, the sunlight, the peace.
Did you know it was here I was fallen?
Digging the grave of a friend?
Here in the place that I loved most,
A sweet spot to come to my end.
So farewell Calvert and Mary,
And all of your fine company,
Enjoy the rest of your bus ride
And the beautiful things you will see.
MARY: They sure don’t make leaders like him anymore...
CALVERT: Indeed! Did you ever go to one of Downing’s parties?
MARY: Did I ever go to one of his parties?! We met at one of Andrew’s parties! (to the passengers:) We’re referring of course to Andrew Jackson Downing, the great landscape architect from Newburgh. He and Calvert worked together on a number of projects! (to Calvert; hurt:) I can’t believe you don’t remember that...
CALVERT: (changing the subject) Ah, look, Mary! Who is that up ahead? MARY: I don’t know; she doesn’t look very happy, though...
CALVERT: Oh, I think perhaps she’s walked from those graves over there (points out to the right) I know! She’s probably one of the poor souls that was buried twice.
MARY: Calvert, are you feeling alright? Why would anyone be buried twice?
CALVERT: Remember the Congregational Church and cemetery up on the square? Well, as the town grew, they needed the room, so they dug up the cemetery. Some were ancestors of Ann Vail, some were even Revolutionary War veterans...
Mehetable enters the bus and delivers her monologue.
Mehetabel Brewster (1774-1845)
It isn’t quite seemly, and certainly not nice,
That I only lived once, but was then buried twice.
These stones you see here stacked in close concentration,
Keep watch over the bones of our old congregation.
We were settlers all, and had come from far places,
We had left our old worlds and had the sun in our faces.
Just a half mile from here sits the fruit of our search,
Where we made all our homes and built our new church.
For we were among the first generation
Who established our town and built a new nation.
Congregational Church, it’s still up on the square,
Where we lived, worked, and prayed and were all buried there.
For when each of us passed, we were placed in the ground
Near the church, by the square, in the center of town.
Church and town both grew bigger on account of the train,
We all had to be dug up, then buried again.
Now here you will find us, we have a new home,
No more will our bones ever be forced to roam.
Mills, Corwin, and Carpenter, Tuthill, and Vail,
Old Middletown names leave a long and proud trail.
Some fought in the Revolution, or the War of 1812,
Like private Tartalus Bruster; I’m his wife, Mehetabel.
That I only lived once, but was then buried twice.
These stones you see here stacked in close concentration,
Keep watch over the bones of our old congregation.
We were settlers all, and had come from far places,
We had left our old worlds and had the sun in our faces.
Just a half mile from here sits the fruit of our search,
Where we made all our homes and built our new church.
For we were among the first generation
Who established our town and built a new nation.
Congregational Church, it’s still up on the square,
Where we lived, worked, and prayed and were all buried there.
For when each of us passed, we were placed in the ground
Near the church, by the square, in the center of town.
Church and town both grew bigger on account of the train,
We all had to be dug up, then buried again.
Now here you will find us, we have a new home,
No more will our bones ever be forced to roam.
Mills, Corwin, and Carpenter, Tuthill, and Vail,
Old Middletown names leave a long and proud trail.
Some fought in the Revolution, or the War of 1812,
Like private Tartalus Bruster; I’m his wife, Mehetabel.
MARY: That’s a shame...Imagine moving someone’s final resting spot...
CALVERT: (to the passengers:) In addition to Mehetable’s husband, there are also one hundred and ninety-two veterans of the Civil War buried here at Hillside.
MARY: Yes, and unfortunately, some of the soldiers who fought in that war were not treated as fairly as others.
CALVERT: There are a number of black Civil War veterans buried here at Hillside... MARY: And I think one of them is about to join us.
William Hasbrouck enters the bus and delivers his monologue.
William Hasbrouck (1852-1926)
Born here in Middletown, William Hasbrouck am I
A 12 year old drummer boy not quite ready to die
Scooped onto a train down to Rikers Island New York
Headed into the war, life was about to uncork
Drummed my way through the battle of Honey Hill eighteen sixty four
Came home alive once the war was no more
Some called me a hero but I took it in stride
I lived a long life, now I rest here in Hillside
A 12 year old drummer boy not quite ready to die
Scooped onto a train down to Rikers Island New York
Headed into the war, life was about to uncork
Drummed my way through the battle of Honey Hill eighteen sixty four
Came home alive once the war was no more
Some called me a hero but I took it in stride
I lived a long life, now I rest here in Hillside
MARY: His story is so moving. Imagine being kidnapped into the army.
CALVERT: It happened to many boys and young men...
MARY: It would make a great movie...
CALVERT: What’s a movie?
MARY: I have no idea...
CALVERT: Something seems off...
MARY: What do you mean?
CALVERT: I’m looking for my pond. It should be here (points) but it’s not. It’s turned into a swamp, I’m afraid.
MARY: (to Calvert) Well, maybe they can restore it to its former grandeur. (to the passengers:) I’m sure all it would take is a little money! (she gives a knowing wink)
CALVERT: Perhaps... or perhaps they should just let it grow over. A sign of nature’s inevitable conquest of humanity...
MARY: (rolls her eyes:) Yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking. But look! Who is that? Isn’t that Alice?
CALVERT: Do you mean Alice Grey?! The mother of one of America’s most prolific novelists, Zane Grey?!
MARY: Yes!
CALVERT: I have no idea.... I died in 1895, Mary. Zane Grey and his family didn’t live in Middletown till some 20 years later...
MARY: Oh yes. (She looks at him confused: if he was dead, how did he know when the Greys lived there?!)
Alice Grey enters the bus and delivers her monologue.
Alice Zane Grey (1839-1917)
My name is Alice, the last name was Zane, until I married a Grey,
We came from Ohio, out in the midwest, in what’s known as Zanesville today.
My husband was Lewis, and he was a dentist, we both raised 2 girls and 3 boys,
But Lewis was hard, took it out on the children, a home filled with anger and noise.
Zane and Romer liked baseball, hiking and fishing, and Zane always wanted to write.
But Lewis would scold him, tear up his stories, I never did think that was right.
Zane got a scholarship, by playing baseball, at school he developed his mind,
He did lots of reading, and kept writing stories, of the historical kind.
Then he married Dolly, moved to Pennsylvania, the place where they raised their 3 kids,
One boy named Romer, a girl they named Loren, and another girl whom they named Liz.
Zane’s house at the mouth of the wild Lackawaxen, was home for his small family,
Lewis had died, so Zane offered shelter to one of his sisters and me.
Zane had been writing western adventures, cowboy and Indian stories,
Cattle rustlers and sheriffs, miners and farmers, shootouts and gunslinger glories.
He had a good eye and kept very good notes of the things that he saw in his travels,
His experience, he turned into books, just about 100 novels.
Like The Man of the Forest, The Call of the Canyon, and Tales of the Lonely Trails,
The Rainbow Trail, The U.P. Trail, Tappan’s Burro and Other Tales.
The Desert of Wheat, The Mysterious Rider, with guns and romance on each page.
The Last of the Plainsmen, The Lone Star Ranger, and Riders of the Purple Sage.
One of his books called The Day of the Beast told of 3 men come home from the war,
Their time in the trenches had made them half crazy, they didn’t fit in anymore.
Zane wrote that book right after the Great War, finished up in 1922,
We lived here in the village, over on South Street, right there on the hill behind you.
Zane liked it here, spent time walking in Hillside, having long talks with some vets,
Hearing their stories, reliving their nightmares, their hopes and their fears and regrets.
He took all their stories, made them part of his novel, set in a place called Middleville,
It was based on right here, our streets and our houses, and places that you can see still.
Zane made a fortune, his books became movies, he moved with his family out west,
But I stayed behind, buried at Hillside, where I take my eternal rest.
We came from Ohio, out in the midwest, in what’s known as Zanesville today.
My husband was Lewis, and he was a dentist, we both raised 2 girls and 3 boys,
But Lewis was hard, took it out on the children, a home filled with anger and noise.
Zane and Romer liked baseball, hiking and fishing, and Zane always wanted to write.
But Lewis would scold him, tear up his stories, I never did think that was right.
Zane got a scholarship, by playing baseball, at school he developed his mind,
He did lots of reading, and kept writing stories, of the historical kind.
Then he married Dolly, moved to Pennsylvania, the place where they raised their 3 kids,
One boy named Romer, a girl they named Loren, and another girl whom they named Liz.
Zane’s house at the mouth of the wild Lackawaxen, was home for his small family,
Lewis had died, so Zane offered shelter to one of his sisters and me.
Zane had been writing western adventures, cowboy and Indian stories,
Cattle rustlers and sheriffs, miners and farmers, shootouts and gunslinger glories.
He had a good eye and kept very good notes of the things that he saw in his travels,
His experience, he turned into books, just about 100 novels.
Like The Man of the Forest, The Call of the Canyon, and Tales of the Lonely Trails,
The Rainbow Trail, The U.P. Trail, Tappan’s Burro and Other Tales.
The Desert of Wheat, The Mysterious Rider, with guns and romance on each page.
The Last of the Plainsmen, The Lone Star Ranger, and Riders of the Purple Sage.
One of his books called The Day of the Beast told of 3 men come home from the war,
Their time in the trenches had made them half crazy, they didn’t fit in anymore.
Zane wrote that book right after the Great War, finished up in 1922,
We lived here in the village, over on South Street, right there on the hill behind you.
Zane liked it here, spent time walking in Hillside, having long talks with some vets,
Hearing their stories, reliving their nightmares, their hopes and their fears and regrets.
He took all their stories, made them part of his novel, set in a place called Middleville,
It was based on right here, our streets and our houses, and places that you can see still.
Zane made a fortune, his books became movies, he moved with his family out west,
But I stayed behind, buried at Hillside, where I take my eternal rest.
MARY (to the passengers:) You know, it’s rumored that Zane wandered around this very cemetery while working on his novel, The Day of the Beast.
CALVERT: Yes...
MARY: Now this next fellow we’re going to meet met with a tragic end--
CALVERT: More tragic than yours? You were in a horse-drawn carriage in the Palisades, when that crazy horse got spooked and took off; your carriage turned over, killing you instantly!
MARY: Yes...Even more tragic than that.
CALVERT: It certainly can’t be more freakish...
MARY: Anyway! This next fellow worked on the railroad, as did many people from Middletown, including John’s father and brother.
CALVERT: John?
MARY: John Minshull. Our next guest.
John Minshull enters the bus and delivers his monologue.
John Minshull (1849-1879)
I worked on the old Midland railroad. John Minshull was my given name,
I died at only 29, which was a crying shame.
My dad worked on the railroad, taught me what I needed to know
On the N.Y. and Oswego Midland, Weehawken to Ontario.
I did a good job for the railroad, and my prospects started to climb
From a kid in the shop in Oswego, to mechanic right down the whole line.
Miss Moore taught school in the village, and one day I made her my wife,
We lived in a house on the hill here, for the last two years of my life.
Midland kept a small car on the railroad, that was used for inspecting the track,
Superintendents Purdy and Danforth, rode in front while I stood in the back.
We tore round a bend in the railroad, the boiler pouring out steam,
When just up ahead was a farmer, crossing the tracks with his team.
It looked to me like they were frozen, as it did to Danforth and Purdy,
For they both stood in great agitation, making it real hard to see.
The team bolted off of the railroad, to their seats both my bosses then slumped
In relief that a crash was avoided, but I had already jumped.
Feet first was the way that I landed, but then I fell hard on my head.
I tried to wake up but I couldn’t. After two days I was dead.
Then all of my friends from the railroad, from Oswego and on down the track
Gathered here, said farewell and we miss you, and wish that you were coming back.
I died at only 29, which was a crying shame.
My dad worked on the railroad, taught me what I needed to know
On the N.Y. and Oswego Midland, Weehawken to Ontario.
I did a good job for the railroad, and my prospects started to climb
From a kid in the shop in Oswego, to mechanic right down the whole line.
Miss Moore taught school in the village, and one day I made her my wife,
We lived in a house on the hill here, for the last two years of my life.
Midland kept a small car on the railroad, that was used for inspecting the track,
Superintendents Purdy and Danforth, rode in front while I stood in the back.
We tore round a bend in the railroad, the boiler pouring out steam,
When just up ahead was a farmer, crossing the tracks with his team.
It looked to me like they were frozen, as it did to Danforth and Purdy,
For they both stood in great agitation, making it real hard to see.
The team bolted off of the railroad, to their seats both my bosses then slumped
In relief that a crash was avoided, but I had already jumped.
Feet first was the way that I landed, but then I fell hard on my head.
I tried to wake up but I couldn’t. After two days I was dead.
Then all of my friends from the railroad, from Oswego and on down the track
Gathered here, said farewell and we miss you, and wish that you were coming back.
MARY: Hundreds of people attended John’s funeral; there was a lot of solidarity among railroad workers. (When the bus nears the top of the hill:) Look, Calvert! Isn’t this where you wanted to build a 40 foot observation tower?
CALVERT: I believe it is...
MARY: I can’t believe the board rejected the idea.
CALVERT: Ideas are free, Mary, but turning them into reality costs money, I’m afraid.
MARY: Still... when someone of your stature suggests something, surely they should have listened...
CALVERT: (pointing at headstones:) Oh look! Now there’s a name I know. Clemson!
MARY: Yes! George Clemson invented the hacksaw! The Clemsons were well known
in Middletown and beyond; their name can still be found on buildings.
CALVERT: I don’t recognize this person, however. I dare say it’s not George.
MARY: Oh Calvert, don’t be a dolt; that’s George’s wife--Elizabeth.
Elizabeth Clemson enters the bus and delivers her monologue.
Elizabeth Clemson (1854-1945)
To most I was Mrs. George Clemson, but I was born Elizabeth Dow.
Our estate on Highland Avenue had been purchased from Senator Low.
My husband was one of three children of Amelia and William Clemson.
His brothers, Frank and Richard, lacked George’s determination.
George invented the hacksaw. It was a revolutionary feat,
Then he opened a business with his brother Frank near School and Ogden Street.
A little known fact about me: I was George Clemson’s second wife.
The first was Frances MacFarland, but tuberculosis took her life.
Who would have thought such a small thing, a disposable hacksaw blade,
Could generate so much money? That’s how our fortune was made.
George built the Star Hacksaw factory, right next to the new railroad track,
The orders poured in, we shipped our blades out, not once have we ever looked back
That’s when we bought the mansion, and 125 acres of land,
With a pasture, a stable for horses, and a new country home that we planned.
We built a three story doghouse, who could ask for anything more?
The garage where we kept all our autos was equipped with a rotating floor.
George and I both loved to travel, and early on learned how to drive,
Cross country in a horseless carriage, the summer of 1905.
Three years later we left on a journey, and brought along both of our daughters,
We traveled around the whole world, and saw many new lands and new waters.
In Japan I absorbed all their culture, the Buddha and tranquility
The shrines, the plantings, the sculptures, were all so lovely to me.
So when we returned to our manor, on the northern edge of Middletown,
We built our own Japanese garden, and erected a fence all around.
But the neighborhood children climbed fences, and came into our garden to play,
George and I never were bothered. We both thought that it was okay.
Our estate on Highland Avenue had been purchased from Senator Low.
My husband was one of three children of Amelia and William Clemson.
His brothers, Frank and Richard, lacked George’s determination.
George invented the hacksaw. It was a revolutionary feat,
Then he opened a business with his brother Frank near School and Ogden Street.
A little known fact about me: I was George Clemson’s second wife.
The first was Frances MacFarland, but tuberculosis took her life.
Who would have thought such a small thing, a disposable hacksaw blade,
Could generate so much money? That’s how our fortune was made.
George built the Star Hacksaw factory, right next to the new railroad track,
The orders poured in, we shipped our blades out, not once have we ever looked back
That’s when we bought the mansion, and 125 acres of land,
With a pasture, a stable for horses, and a new country home that we planned.
We built a three story doghouse, who could ask for anything more?
The garage where we kept all our autos was equipped with a rotating floor.
George and I both loved to travel, and early on learned how to drive,
Cross country in a horseless carriage, the summer of 1905.
Three years later we left on a journey, and brought along both of our daughters,
We traveled around the whole world, and saw many new lands and new waters.
In Japan I absorbed all their culture, the Buddha and tranquility
The shrines, the plantings, the sculptures, were all so lovely to me.
So when we returned to our manor, on the northern edge of Middletown,
We built our own Japanese garden, and erected a fence all around.
But the neighborhood children climbed fences, and came into our garden to play,
George and I never were bothered. We both thought that it was okay.
MARY: You know, Calvert, Elizabeth’s father was a doctor. In fact, her father was the doctor who took care of George's first wife--the one who died of tuberculosis.
CALVERT: Yes?
MARY: Think about it... (Calvert is confused; doesn’t understand what she’s hinting
at) Oh forget it. Just look at the trees...
CALVERT: I believe we have another visitor!
Moses Stivers enters the bus and delivers his monologue.
Moses Stivers (1828-1895)
My name is Moses Stivers, I have influenced many lives
When young I was a teacher, then a druggist curing men and wives
Soon I owned a newspaper during the country’s civil war
I fought for abolition and published ”Slavery No More!!”
To General Van Wyck I was an aide, helping lead his troops to glory
The cause will not fade as owning a person is wicked and gory
My brother died while fighting in an act of bravery
At Fair Oaks Virginia while battling the demon slavery
At last the war was over and done
Twas elected to congress as was my son
My publishing house still stands tall in town
A monument to life’s work and my renown
When young I was a teacher, then a druggist curing men and wives
Soon I owned a newspaper during the country’s civil war
I fought for abolition and published ”Slavery No More!!”
To General Van Wyck I was an aide, helping lead his troops to glory
The cause will not fade as owning a person is wicked and gory
My brother died while fighting in an act of bravery
At Fair Oaks Virginia while battling the demon slavery
At last the war was over and done
Twas elected to congress as was my son
My publishing house still stands tall in town
A monument to life’s work and my renown
CALVERT: Didn’t we see an historical marker on King Street for Mr. Stivers?
MARY: Indeed we did--his publishing house still stands there--all these many years later...
CALVERT: How many years is it, exactly?
MARY: I have no idea. But I’m sure you’ll agree--it’s been many!
CALVERT: Yes.
MARY: Now, this next fellow we’re about to meet has traveled far and wide before ending up here in Hillside. He was born in Ireland and became a very popular artist.
CALVERT: I hope it’s not that scoundrel Oscar Wilde!
MARY: No, Calvert! I said artist; not writer! It’s Launt Thompson. The sculptor?
CALVERT: Ahh, yes!
Launt Thompson enters the bus and delivers his monologue.
Launt Thompson (1833-1894)
I stand before you,
Wild eyed and gaunt.
My last name was Thompson,
My folks called me Launt.
My life was a blessing,
At least the first part,
For I made a good living
Through the practice of art.
I studied anatomy,
Human muscle and bone,
Then learned how to carve
Their likeness in stone.
I sculpted in Albany
And soon achieved fame.
In New York and Europe
They all spoke my name.
I made many statues
Of poets and kings,
Of generals and horses
And fanciful things.
With each bust that I made,
My circle grew vaster,
I was friends with great people
Like Bryant and Astor.
But drink overcame me
And knocked me right down.
Into the asylum
Here in Middletown.
For I had been gifted
My work was well known.
In the end it all left me..
I died here alone.
Wild eyed and gaunt.
My last name was Thompson,
My folks called me Launt.
My life was a blessing,
At least the first part,
For I made a good living
Through the practice of art.
I studied anatomy,
Human muscle and bone,
Then learned how to carve
Their likeness in stone.
I sculpted in Albany
And soon achieved fame.
In New York and Europe
They all spoke my name.
I made many statues
Of poets and kings,
Of generals and horses
And fanciful things.
With each bust that I made,
My circle grew vaster,
I was friends with great people
Like Bryant and Astor.
But drink overcame me
And knocked me right down.
Into the asylum
Here in Middletown.
For I had been gifted
My work was well known.
In the end it all left me..
I died here alone.
CALVERT: Funny: he didn’t sound very Irish... But tell me Mary, didn’t your brother Jervis McIntee pal around with Launt?
MARY: Yes, my brother Jervis was a painter--Hudson River school.
CALVERT: Jervis and Launt were friends with the Booth brothers, weren’t they? Edwin and John Wilkes, the actors?
MARY: Yes, but we don’t like to talk about that...
CALVERT: Did you know that Edwin Booth and his father, Junius performed here in
Middletown in a production of Julius Caesar at Bull’s Opera House? MARY: I did! And according to Chris Farlekas, John Wilkes was also in that production!
CALVERT: Chris Farlekas? Who, pray-tell, is that?
MARY: I have no idea.
CALVERT: I think we’re nearing the end of our tour. I believe this last gentleman is from a very well known Orange County family.
MARY: He certainly is! It’s Lewis Wisner. From the Wisner family.
CALVERT: Yes, I got that...
Lewis Wisner enters the bus and delivers his monologue.
Lewis Wisner (1841-1906)
Can you see what I’m wearing right here on my chest?
It’s the Congressional Medal of Honor
Two cannons, a saber, an eagle at rest
Are the symbols that are engraved on her.
My name’s Lewis Wisner, I’m part of the clan
Descended from patriot Henry
Whose gunpowder mills played a part in the plan
To overthrow the British enemy.
My role came much later, in a different war
Between the two halves of our country
I joined as a sergeant of the 124th
New York’s Regimental Infantry
The scene of the battle where I did the deed?
Spotsylvania Courthouse, Virginia,
I rose to the challenge when there was a need;
We were pinned down and couldn’t continue.
Surrounded by rebels who were shooting from trees
Our big guns weren’t able to fire
A breastwork of logs put our guns in a squeeze
And kept us from aiming them higher.
I sized up the problem, and without being asked,
I jumped up, stood exposed to their rifles,
Climbed on the top log, starting swinging my axe,
And busted the barrier to trifles.
The bullets flew fast and the bullets came quick,
In my shirt, pants, and hat they tore holes,
But nary a one of them happened to stick,
I escaped with my body and soul.
Now our cannons were able to tilt up their sights
And blow holes in the rebel positions
The tide had been turned, we were showing our might.
My act had set up the conditions.
They said I was lucky to still be alive,
But I lived a long life that was full,
I worked on my farm till I was 65,
And then I was gored by my bull.
It’s the Congressional Medal of Honor
Two cannons, a saber, an eagle at rest
Are the symbols that are engraved on her.
My name’s Lewis Wisner, I’m part of the clan
Descended from patriot Henry
Whose gunpowder mills played a part in the plan
To overthrow the British enemy.
My role came much later, in a different war
Between the two halves of our country
I joined as a sergeant of the 124th
New York’s Regimental Infantry
The scene of the battle where I did the deed?
Spotsylvania Courthouse, Virginia,
I rose to the challenge when there was a need;
We were pinned down and couldn’t continue.
Surrounded by rebels who were shooting from trees
Our big guns weren’t able to fire
A breastwork of logs put our guns in a squeeze
And kept us from aiming them higher.
I sized up the problem, and without being asked,
I jumped up, stood exposed to their rifles,
Climbed on the top log, starting swinging my axe,
And busted the barrier to trifles.
The bullets flew fast and the bullets came quick,
In my shirt, pants, and hat they tore holes,
But nary a one of them happened to stick,
I escaped with my body and soul.
Now our cannons were able to tilt up their sights
And blow holes in the rebel positions
The tide had been turned, we were showing our might.
My act had set up the conditions.
They said I was lucky to still be alive,
But I lived a long life that was full,
I worked on my farm till I was 65,
And then I was gored by my bull.
MARY: How brave of Lewis, to put himself in harm's way and dodge so many bullets. It surely was a miracle.
CALVERT: Yes, and then to get gored by his own bull when he least expected it. LIfe sure is funny...
MARY: I guess we have to live while we can.
CALVERT: And some of us are lucky enough to live even after we’ve passed... It feels like a mighty long time since we’ve been here. (to the passengers:) Does anyone know what year it is? (someone hopefully says “2024”)
MARY: 2024?! Calvert, do you realize you were born exactly 200 hundred years ago?! This is your bicentennial year!! And you’re still fresh as ever (sniffs) Well, at least your work is!
CALVERT: I believe this is the end of the line, as they say.
MARY: (to the passengers, as Calvert gazes wistfully out the window:) Yes, this is the end of our tour. I know I speak for my husband when I say we thank you for your interest in Hillside Side Cemetery. We hope you enjoyed yourselves. And please thank our wonderful driver for donating his wonderful bus.
CALVERT: Yes, an electrified, horse-less carriage; who would have thought!
MARY: And please spread the word about this beautiful cemetery--and feel free to return at any time to enjoy it!
CALVERT: (continuing to gaze out the window:) I still can’t get over the trees...
MARY: Let it go, Calvert; let it go.
CALVERT: Please watch your step getting off the bus. It would be both a tragedy and highly ironical if you tripped and fell to your death in a cemetery.
MARY: But if you did, at least it’s Hillside; the beautiful cemetery that was designed by my husband, Calvert Vaux. (Calvert gives her a look) And that other guy. Fred...something...
Calvert and Mary's dialogue by Jim Schofield
Poems by Fred Isseks except for "William Hasbrouck" by his descendant Deb Mills, "Moses Stivers" by his descendant Andy Mills, and "Elizabeth Clemson" by Jim Schofield and Fred Isseks
Additional costumes by Janet Hughes
Photographs by Denise Shelby Isseks
Poems by Fred Isseks except for "William Hasbrouck" by his descendant Deb Mills, "Moses Stivers" by his descendant Andy Mills, and "Elizabeth Clemson" by Jim Schofield and Fred Isseks
Additional costumes by Janet Hughes
Photographs by Denise Shelby Isseks