The Debating Society

SO FAR AS SCHOOL was concerned my shift back to Wallingford was opportune. The school in Wallingford was to have a new principal, Professor Shaw. I cannot remember ever having heard him called by any other name, nor can I remember anyone's having spoken of him as an intimate friend though he had been brought up in Wallingford. We knew that his given name was Will and that he had worked at manual labor for a time in one of the cities to the south of us to earn money for his higher education and that he had eventually graduated from Middlebury College, where he was known as the most powerful man in college.

When he became principal of the Wallingford school, he was twenty-six years of age. His salary was six hundred dollars a year. He was high-principled, vigorous, handsome, well dressed-a perfect specimen of young manhood. He walked between his home and school on exactly the same schedule, year in and year out. I can see him now as he passed our house, his Latin textbook in hand, shoulders thrown back, chin thrust forward and looking neither to the right or left. He seemed the very opposite of Professor Ichabod Spencer with his shuffling gait, bristling eyebrows and malevolent deep-sunk eyes. Professor Shaw loved boys and he seldom had to use the rod of correction.

The debating society of the Wallingford High School was the inspiration of Henry Lincoln ("Inky") Ballou, the first and only President. There was every reason to believe that it would have continued its valuable services to society for generations to come had it not been for one untoward event. At its first meeting one of the members conceived the idea that the deliberations of so august a body ought to be in secret session in order that members might feel that they could express themselves fully and without regard to what effect it might have on their future political aspirations should they happen to run for Congress or for President of the United States.

Another member said that in order to accomplish the desired purpose, it would be necessary to have the members take an oath of secrecy and allegiance. In the final analysis this meant that all members, old and new, would have to be initiated if we were ever to get anywhere with Inky's" idea. So the next meeting was set aside for the purpose of initiating each other in the sacred rites. During the intervening weeks, the members naturally spent most of their time figuring out what they would do to each other when the time came.

To all intents and purposes, the debating society was already extinct; nothing of it remained but the joint and several resolution to do each other up nice and fancy on the great night of the initiatory ceremony.

When the appointed evening came round, the members were divided into two squads, those who, for the time being were supposed to be members, and those who were to be candidates. Some chose to be candidates, reasoning that it would be best to have their initiation over with as soon as possible so that they might concentrate on what they would do to the others when their time came.

After the candidates had been excluded, the board of strategy held a powwow and decided upon their maneuvers, which were simple enough. The lights in the school room were to be put out and the candidates were to be admitted, one at a time. The candidates were to be blindfolded and informed as to the solemnity of the undertaking and told that it would be necessary for them to go through a trying and horrible ordeal to demonstrate their fitness for membership. Albert Mandigo was the first candidate and he was not long held in suspense as to the nature of the ordeal. One of our most distinguished members had been elected Chaplain and another as Undertaker, and, as soon as Albert had been suitably blindfolded, the Chaplain administered the last rites, ending with what we thought to be a beautiful prayer. I cannot recall the exact wording, but I remember that he ended every sentence with the brief imprecation, "God have mercy on his souls."

The Undertaker then informed Albert that every provision had been made for a suitable interment; that all details had been attended to and that even if he came apart during the trying ordeal, each part would be picked up and all put together again insofar as they could make the parts match.

At this point Albert informed the committee on admissions that he would have to be going home; that he had promised his mother that he would be home early and that he had already overstayed his time; that he would come down some other night for the rest of the ceremony.

To this arrangement "Inky" Ballou, the lord High Executioner replied with an emphatic, "NO," that no reprieve could be granted except by the King, and that, unfortunately, the King had died a week ago Thursday.

Without further admonition Albert was seized by the slack of his pants and the scruff of his neck by the two powerful hands of the Lord High Executioner and rushed around and around the darkened hall with a speed at which he had never traveled on his own feet before, and, in the meantime, "Inky's" trusty knights and nobles thrust baseball bats, stove pokers and other impediments ad lib between his flying feet punctuating their efforts by groans, shrieks, maledictions and imprecations in which the candidate unreservedly and wholeheartedly joined.

Candidate Albert was the one and only candidate initiated into the debating society of the Wallingford High School. When the Lord High Executioner went into the anteroom for candidate number two, he found nothing but a row of empty chairs; the candidates, having heard too much of what was going on inside the hall, had left for parts unknown.

When this discovery was announced, Albert the only certified and bonafide initiate, put up a dismal howl. Up to that point he had been sustained through his agony of bruised shins and strained back by the thought of what was coming to his fellow candidates. Now he found that he had been manhandled by the members. betrayed and deserted by the candidates; life was no longer worth living. Some of the members held with him and some against him but none found satisfaction in the thought that the day of his own initiation must Inevitably come if this thing was kept going.

Eventually President "Inky" arose and said, "I move that this debating society of the Wallingford High School be adjourned sine die." What "sine die" meant, none, with the possible exception of the Lord High Executioner, knew, but all except Albert voted in the affirmative and thus perished a noble cause.

Spelling was given much study in the Vermont schools of my day and some of the students were exceedingly good while others were exceedingly bad. Among the good spellers was George Hitt and among the poor spellers was 'Inky" Ballou., though "Inky" was excellent in everything else.

To make amends for his deficiency, "Inky" devised the plan of sitting next to George in the spelling class so that George could covertly prompt him. George became "Inky's" crutch, as it were, much to "Inky's" advantage on all occasions save one. "Inky" never studied spelling any more but became entirely dependent on George. In course of time, George became curious to know just how far he could lead "Inky" off the track. The opportunity was not long deferred. Professor Shaw pronounced the word, "Mississippi" for "Inky" to spell and George realized that his time had come; the word was full of possibilities. We had been In the habit of spelling the word sing-song fashion, "Mis-sis-sip-pi" so George, in order to throw "Inky" up In the air, changed the order and began, "Mi-double s, i-double s, i-double p. 1" "Inky" followed him slavishly to the end of the word but George continued on, syllable after syllable in endless succession. How far he would have gone no one knows but eventually George ran out of ammunition and "Inky" sank into his chair exhausted.

"Inky" was always loyal to his friends as was evident one day when someone spoke of the Mississippi. "Inky" remarked, "By Jimminy, that's a hard word to spell; if it hadn't been for George, I surely would have flunked when Professor Shaw asked me to spell it."

A few years later "Inky" became the crashing right guard of the Amherst football team and still later, he became a Congregational minister. In that capacity, he made his mark in the world hut I am not quite sure that he could spell the word, Mississippi, even now; I wouldn't bet on it.

During the autumn the political fever broke out and on years of Presidential elections the fever rose to high pitch. There was really no necessity of exciting Wallingford people over politics for Danforth Hulett, the son of Ephraim Hulett, was the only Democrat in town. Danforth was one of the leading merchants of our village and later one of the leading merchants of Rutland.

All that I knew of him was that his father always spoke of him as, "My boy, Danforth' and that Danforth wore a cape instead of an overcoat, picked his teeth with an ivory toothpick with a gold clasp, never spoke to anyone about anything except business, and always voted the Democratic ticket. He was fairly well balanced on everything except politics but in that respect only he had a curious and incurable disorder of the brain. Certainly there was little hope of showing Danforth the error of his ways.

His Excellency, Governor Redfield Proctor, made a political speech in Wallingford during one presidential campaign and all Wallingford, with the exception of Danforth Hulett, went to the station to meet the great man. The men waved their hats and cheered as the Governor stepped from the train, tall, stately, with flowing beard, high silk hat and frock coat. The East Wallingford band, swollen to eight pieces, struck up "See the Conquering Hero Comes,"

Governor Proctor had much to say about the protection of home industries, particularly the growing of sheep and the manufacture of woolen cloth. He said that Vermont hills and mountains were well-adapted to sheep raising; that Vermont farmers had formerly raised sheep in plenty but that sheep raising had been killed by the importation of cheap wool from Australia. He said that the many fast flowing streams furnished unlimited power for the manufacture of woolen cloth but that this industry had also been put out of business, except for the few mills which managed to exist on the manufacture of cloth from imported wool.

The torch light procession which followed Governor Proctors speech was a magnificent affair as most anyone would have admitted. The torches were sent down from Rutland and after being lighted were placed in the hands of Wallingford Republicans; when the supply of men ran out boys were substituted; any boy, the size of a peanut and upwards, was entitled to the privilege of carrying a torch.

The East Wallingford band led off with two men abreast of each other but on different sides of the road and the spaces between were filled with boys carrying torches, so that the eight members of the band looked more like eighty and the noise they made sounded like eight hundred.

The last feature of the procession was a boy leading a sheep, the sheep looking as if he were not in sympathy with the demonstration and wishing that the boy would lead him in the opposite direction; Jerome Hilliard said that maybe the sheep was a Democrat and naturally objected to marching in a Republican torchlight procession. The sheep bore a placard which no one seemed able to read until finally a reporter for The Rutland Herald said that it read, "I am a forlorn, helpless and almost extinct animal known as a 'Vermont sheep. Please help Vermont sheep."

When Danforth Hulett was asked what he thought about it he said he thought the best way for Vermonters to help Vermont sheep was to stop buying woolen goods made in England and smuggled over the Canadian border.

The political rally and torchlight procession was pronounced a great success and we all felt that we had done our best to show Governor Proctor that we were behind him to the last man and boy; it must have made him feel very happy indeed.

New England has always been proud of its Town Meetings at which matters of public interest are discussed. All tax payers and everyone else so far as I know were permitted to air their grievances. The modern Town Meeting of the Air, listened to by millions of people is an adaptation of the New England Town Meeting.

The Wallingford town hall of my day was not a credit to the community but through the generosity of public-minded citizens, Wallingford now has a suitable building where the meetings are held. Mr. Addison Stone, who was Moderator for many years, would have graced any legislative assembly of the country.

New England's reputation for probity in the administration of public affairs is, partly at least due to its system of holding town meetings, and where such a forum exists, the opportunity for betrayal of the public trust is minimized. Airing matters of public concern is stimulating to the thought processes of the citizens but the immediate objective of the founders of the institution was to increase the efficiency of administration through obtaining the collective judgment of the citizens.

In the final analysis we American people get about what we are entitled to in the administration of public affairs; neither graft nor any other form of political corruption can exist if the citizenry are sufficiently interested to keep themselves informed and I know of no better agency to spread information than though some form of the New England town meeting.

New Englanders are always keenly interested in matters of national importance. I shall not forget the hot summer day when the news of the assassination of President Garfield was shouted through the village. While such announcements are always a shock, in the days of my youth they possessed us and filled every cranny of our lives. The most important space in the newspapers was devoted to reporting the details and amplifying the facts, sometimes in flights of imagination according to the temperaments of the newspaper editors.

I well remember the precise spot on the Ethan Allen Highway where I stood when the cryer ran through the village shouting, "President Garfield Assassinated! President Garfield Assassinated!' It was a warm summer day, Just after dinner; all was quiet save for the hum of bees and other insects with practically no movements except the dust raised by the flying feet of the cryer. I stood transfixed; rooted to the spot as it were as I tried to grasp the significance of the event. Could America survive now that President Garfield was dead! Slowly I regained my equilibrium and made my way home to carry the sad tidings to grandfather and grandmother.