Yale’s Harkness Tower is, by my estimate, the finest tower in the United States and its designer, James Gamble Rogers, one of the best American architects of his day. JGR is in the Pantheon of his craft, though not quite as highly appreciated as Bertram Grosvenor Goodhue or Ralph Adams Cram.

Harkness Tower is a monument to verticality: from the ground up at each and every stage you expect it could end right there in completeness and beauty — but then it goes another stage higher. Rogers was inspired by the “Boston Stump” of St Botolph’s Church in Lincolnshire but he took that form and creatively expanded and elaborated upon it.

The tower rises 216 feet — one foot for every year Yale existed by the time of its construction.

Yalies – “Elis” – are inveterate founders of drinking clubs which, in order to cultivate a deliberate air of inscrutable mystery, they call “secret societies”, even though many of them are (thankfully) nothing which might rightly be called such.

It was years ago on one of my occasional stays in New Haven for some convivial merriment organised by just such a cabal that my old friend A.B. and I were passing Harkness Tower and I was expounding upon its beauty.

“You know, of course,” A.B. alleged, “it has a secret chapel in it.” I had no such knowledge, and pressed for more information. “Well it’s not quite a chapel, but it feels like one. The university almost never lets anyone use it.”

Universities never do. Once a university has anything, they do their best to stop people using it. (Anyone at Edinburgh University: just try throwing an event in the Raeburn Room in Old College and find out.) (more…)

The Connecticut town of Lebanon is known for many things. It is the birthplace of Jonathan Trumbull, the only colonial governor to turn traitor during the American Revolution, as well as of his son the famous painter. The Rev. Eleazar Wheelock founded Moor’s Charity School in the town to teach Native Americans, later moving it to New Hampshire where it became Dartmouth College. Prince Saunders, the Free Black socialite and later Attorney General of the Empire of Haiti, was probably born in Lebanon too.

The town’s most famous feature, however, is its mile-long town green: the longest village common in the world. New England is famous for its town and village greens, originally enclosed land held in common and put to practical use for locals to use as pasture for their animals. Given the size of farms in New England, this purpose quickly faded and the green became a meeting or strolling place. Usually the most important buildings could be found either on or bordering the green: the church, the school, the town hall or court house, and eventually the library.

Part of Lebanon Green is still worked as a hay field, which means this is the last town green in New England that is still in agricultural use. There is even an adjacent vineyard, God bless them.

The green also provoked a recent legal case of some interest. When the Town of Lebanon proposed expanding the public library, located right on the green alongside the Congregationalist church, a problem arose.

Before a permit could be issued, the State of Connecticut required proof of ownership of the land on which the library to be submitted. Alas, no proof could be found, the green having been held in common more or less from the town’s incorporation in 1700.

The last known owners of the green were believed to be the town proprietors listed in 1705, and delineating their heirs or assigns over the dozen or more generations that had passed in the meantime was deemed impossible, or at least strenuous beyond any desirable effort. The town historian estimated there may be as many as 10,000 descendants with a potential claim.

In January 2018, the Town of Lebanon instead requested the court grant them quiet title to three parcels of the town green hosting the library, the town hall, and the town’s public works facilities. In March 2019, their request was granted, and the First Congregational Church likewise took legal action to see it recognised as the owner of the parcel of the green it has occupied for centuries.

Courts have also granted the local historical society conservation authority over 95 per cent of the green — excluding the church, town hall, and library. This means the local histos will have a say on any future use, though the courts declined extending this to the whole of the green. So it looks like the future of Lebanon Green will be safe for some centuries yet.

One of my favourite American flags is the war flag of the State of Vermont, better known as the banner of the Green Mountain Boys. The Boys were a ragtag militia founded in 1770 to prevent the encroachments by the Province of New York upon what was then known as the New Hampshire Grants — land west of the Connecticut River that was claimed by both New York and New Hampshire.

The dispute between the two was eventually settled in favour of a third party: the state of Vermont which declared its independence in 1777 (as the Republic of New Connecticut) and in 1791 was the first state to be admitted to the Union that was not one of the original thirteen colonies.

During the Revolution, the Green Mountain Boys fought under Ethan Allen and at the Battle of Bennington they marched under a green flag with a blue canton bedecked with thirteen stars. The canton of this original flag still survives at the Bennington Museum.

While Vermont’s state flag has undergone a variety of transformations, the state has preserved the Green Mountain Flag as its war flag, used by both the Army and Air components of the Vermont National Guard and the Vermont State Guard.

The flag is also popular amongst supporters of Vermont’s reclaiming its independence, an issue explored by Vermont Public Radio as well as in a book by Bill McKibben and a collection of essays.

A reminder that Russell Kirk once described the piano nobile of the Old State House in Hartford, Connecticut, as:

“perhaps the most finely proportioned rooms in all America”

Given the elegant restraint and classical detail of the old Senate chamber, it’s hard to disagree.

Yale University announced in 2008 that it would erect two new residential colleges in order to expand its undergraduate population without putting further strain on the twelve residential colleges that currently exist. Reportedly, Yale officials took a look at the new Whitman College at Princeton University, designed by traditional architect Demetri Porphyrios and decided even that wasn’t traditional enough. They commissioned Robert A. M. Stern, an architect who has, on occasion, proved exceptionally capable in traditional styles (the American Shingle style in particular), to design the two new colleges at the Connecticut university.

While the new colleges are currently being referred to as ‘North College’ and ‘South College’, there is little doubt that each college will find a generous benefactor who will endow it with funds and in return deign to allow the college to be named after the deep-pocketed soul.

The new colleges will, appropriately, be built in the Collegiate Gothic style, but will be faced in brick instead of stone. Brick facing in Gothic-style buildings always leaves one with a slight dissatisfaction, I’m afraid. Still, the decision to build in a traditional style is of course commendable.

For a commentary on the Collegiate Gothic of today, see this bit from Dino Marcantonio.

Here follow a few of the architect’s renderings of the new colleges. (more…)

Massachusetts is all over the news of late as the northerly state holds a special election to fill the seat left empty by the death of the notorious Senator Edward Kennedy. The Democratic Party outnumbers Republicans by three to one in the land, but their candidate is fighting tooth-and-nail against the G.O.P. challenger. Crucially, half of Bay State voters are independents, and the Republican candidate is polling well among floating voters. But, of course, the pedantry of politics does not normally fall under the purview of this little corner of the web. Rather, let us consider the heraldic achievement of the Bay State. The most handsome and successful arms are marked by their simplicity. (For a host of excellent examples, consult the roll of Sweden’s provincial and town arms). The heraldry of the American states can tend toward the over-complicated, but the coat of arms of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts is a noble exception.

The central motif of the Indian with bow and arrow has appeared almost consistently from the beginning. A native appears in the seal of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, in which the appeal “Come over and help us” pours from his lips. The arms of the neighboring Plymouth Plantation likewise depicted a native, in Plymouth’s case quartered between the arms of a Cross of St. George. Disregarding the earlier attempt to form the Dominion of New England, the Massachusetts Bay Colony and the Plymouth Colony were finally united in the Province of Massachusetts in 1691, and received a seal depicting the English royal arms.

Late in 1774, revolutionaries established the Massachusetts Provincial Congress to subvert legitimate authority in the province, subversion which erupted into open warfare in April of the following year. The rebels created their own emblem depicting an English colonist instead of an Indian, now armed with a sword and a copy of Magna Carta. The motto Ense petit placidam sub libertate quietem (“By the sword we seek peace, but peace only under liberty”) was chosen, a quote attributed to the English republican Algernon Sydney.

In 1780, the rebel provisional government adopted a new device created by Nathan Cushing. The Cushing design resurrected the Indian, and added a single star symbolizing the province’s statehood to accompany the native. Paul Revere engraved the design, the original impressions of which are preserved in the Archives of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. (more…)

A journey to the shining city of Saint Botolph, and return

THE PERIOD OF MY removal to South Africa sometimes inclines me to think that time stood still during my absence from the northern hemisphere. It is as if the mental chronicle of my brain simply ceased, and took up writing in a different book, and then went back to the end of the old page upon my return. But time indeed did pass, and many were the old friends and acquaintances with whom we had not combined in some time. Communication was no better than intermittent while exiled in southerly climes, but, freshly returned, the tom-toms were beat and the smoke signals sent to the usual suspicious characters of note. A convocation of cohorts and old confederates was then proposed, to take place in Boston — caput and urbs maxima of God’s own province of New England.

My first stop was actually New Haven, and traversing the border into Connecticut I crossed myself in accordance with ancient custom, invoking the guardian angel of that jurisdiction in the usual pleas for safe travel, easy passage, and the avoidance of traffic cops & parking fines. In New Haven, I attended the meeting of a learned society (composed of both postgraduates & undergraduates) devoted to polite discourse, under the sacred patronage of the Saints Augustine of Hippo and of Canterbury, and the secular patronage of the Anglo-Irish divine Bishop Berkeley. Speaking of the divine, the society’s meeting was preceded by Mass, offered by one of the Dominicans who unofficially tend to the flock of Yale students (the official Roman chaplaincy there having a poor reputation) in an improvised chapel at the club’s quarters.

Mass was followed by port, smoking, and some cheese & finger foods for the hungry souls. I mentioned to a friend that the Choco-Leibniz cookies on offer were my favourite, the official state biscuit of the house of Cusack. “Of course they are,” the wag responded. “Choco-Leibniz are the best of all possible biscuits!” (Some jokes are so bad that the resulting chortles are both inevitable and involuntary.)

Then, the subject at hand. This meeting was convened to discuss the recently announced Apostolic Constitution establishing “personal ordinariates” to ease the reception of Anglican Christians into full visible communion with the Pope. The assembled members were by no means only Catholics, but with a significant portion of Episcopalians, and the odd Calvinist for good measure. A brief paper by an entrenched Anglican was read, and the members responded and discussed the matter with courtesy and depth as the fire crackled in the background. Which groups are likely to take advantage of the coming ordinariates? Which are least likely? Was this chiefly a pastoral move? What do the Orthodox think? What will the reaction be outside North America? All these questions and many, many more were raised and, so far as possible, answered.

The formal discussion was concluded with the invocation of the two Augustines and a toast to Bishop Berkeley. A number of members remained by the fire while others dispersed for other events. The weekend beheld the 75th Anniversary of the Yale Political Union, and so the constituent parties of the YPU were all having events for their members and alumni. (From what I can understand of the YPU’s right-leaning parties, the Conservative Party is for Republicans, the Tory Party is for decadent Anglophiles, and the Party of the Right is for conservatives.)

Following the procurement of beer and the ordering of pizza, the consumption of both, and the extinguishing of the fire, it was time to retreat for the evening to the splendid old Victorian house where a number of folks live. It’s one of those old, solidly American homes, with a swinging chair on the porch, splendid wood detailing inside, and pocket doors between the receiving rooms. Dotted around an old dining room table, more news and rumours were exchanged between the inhabitants and guests as the remnants of a bottle of Macallan was polished off. The Choco-Leibniz joke was repeated for those who were not in attendance before. A South Carolinian’s reaction to the health-food movement was recalled: “They won’t buy an egg if it ain’t free-range but they put on all manner of uh-koo-tra-mints so as not to conceive!” One of our friends, an Englishman, treated us to a rendition of “Come Thou Font of Every Blessing” on the banjo, and we were informed that a group of Yale Divinity students were officially reprimanded for having a watermelon-eating competition. (Watermelons often feature in stereotypical caricatures of American Blacks, and thus are apparently forbidden by the Monotony Monitors). We went on in such manner until the wee hours, when the assembled finally adjourned to bed.

Then the morning: breakfast — pumpkin pancakes from S.O.’s wife before she popped off to riding practice — before A.L. and I combined to continue the journey onwards to the City of Saint Botolph, Boston. The city’s name comes from the Lincolnshire town of Boston, itself a contraction of “Saint Botolph’s Town”. Many of the Puritans hailed from the East Midlands, and it was John Cotton, the controversial Vicar of Saint Botolph’s Church in Boston, who encouraged many separatist radicals to emigrate to the Massachusetts Bay Colony in New England. The New-World town of Boston was founded in 1630, and named in honor of the place associated with Cotton, who himself emigrated three years later. The Church of Saint Botolph is the most prominent landmark of old Boston, founded in 1309 and famous for its late-fifteenth-century English Perpendicular lantern tower. As coincidences go, the design of Harkness Tower at Yale University in New Haven is inspired by that of Saint Botolph’s in old Boston. New Haven’s name also harks back to the River Haven which flows just some thirty-odd feet from the great tower of Saint Botolph.

A New Yorker is always of two minds about Boston. We consider it a somewhat uppity member of our northern periphery and despise the attitude of some of its lowlier inhabitants (the sporting fans of red hosiery), but the old Knickerbocker can’t help but envy the skill and ability with which the Bostonians have preserved so much that has been utterly destroyed in New York. Boston, despite its politics, might just be the most conservative town in the American Republic. During our stay in Boston, we never left the immediate vicinity of Beacon Hill and Back Bay, except for one foray into Chinatown for dinner. The architecture is splendid, traditional, and vernacular, and the streets are uncrowded compared to the vast hordes that swarm around Manhattan.

Our home for the time being was a handsome apartment in Beacon Hill, well-decorated and amply supplied with books and booze. A.L. and I parked the car in the garage under Boston Common, and were met by our close friend I.M.C., who is the lynchpin uniting this social circle. I.M.C. hails from north of Boston, towards Gloucester, but had arranged for his friend T.L.G. to host us in his flat overlooking the Public Garden. Upon arriving we were offered generous cups of tea, ginger snaps, and sliced mango and conversed for quite some time before we decided upon a light Saturday afternoon jaunt around Back Bay and Beacon Hill.

T.L.G. explained the creation of Back Bay from landfill as the four of us swaggered down Commonwealth Avenue, be-tweeded on this autumn day. We popped into the Boston Public Library just before closing, and gazed out onto Copley Square that was once the epicenter of the city. The square is or was, at various times, home to the Public Library, Old South Church (Cong.), Trinity Church (Episc.), the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, the Museum of Fine Arts, and the Copley Plaza Hotel. Sadly, it is now disfigured by the looming bulk of the John Hancock Tower, a modern skyscraper by I. M. Pei that is the tallest building in New England. It was so shoddily constructed that entire panes of glass began to fall off after it was completed, eventually forcing the owners to replace ever single pane of glass within just a few years. We swung by the Church of the Advent where our host is a parishioner and whose Lady Chapel and rood cross were designed by Ralph Adams Cram. Just after we exited the Church, we were introduced to the Rector, who was just coming home from the wine shop.

Returning to the apartment, it was time for drinks. The gin flowed like wine, and it wasn’t long before we were joined by J.T., A.R., and M.D. All manner of things under Heaven were discussed, from the latest exploits of mutual friends, to matters of state, and of course church affairs (this is a half-papist, half-’piskie crowd). Said discussions continued around a table for seven at the Taiwan Café in Boston’s Chinatown. (Good to support Nationalist China, but it did require crossing Boston in the rain). Our dinner of pork, dumplings aplenty, soup, and tea finished, we progressed to a certain private club for more drinks. M.D. treated us to his side-splitting imitation of Katharine Jefferts Schori and Peter Akinola having an argument before the evening finally came to it’s conclusion.

Sunday morning, breakfast of tea, sausages, and proper porridge. Despite all the previous evening’s drinks, not so much as a hint of a hangover. Stood on the balcony overlooking Charles Street in the unseasonable warmth and began to appreciate Boston’s existence. I.M.C. cordially invited us to visit his home town of Beverly, a good New England town north of Boston and on the sea. Lunch, evening Mass, dinner, more good conversation throughout. But an early morning’s rise on Monday, to make it back south home to New York, ending a fine and invigorating peregrination through at least part of New England.

Unbuilt proposal for a Redemptorist church in Boston by Edward Welby Pugin, eldest son of Augustus Welby Northmore Pugin.

Joseph DeCamp, The Steward (Lewis of the Porcellian)
Oil on canvas, 54 in. x 40 in.
1919, the Porcellian Club

The Porcellian Club at Harvard University was founded in 1791 and McKean Gate, the entrance to Harvard Yard opposite the club’s quarters on Massachusetts Avenue in Cambridge, features a boar’s head in tribute. Digby Baltzell ranked the Porc (as it is colloquially known) as the most exclusive of Harvard’s “final clubs”, and Porcellian is known for having correctly turned its nose to Harvard seniors who later turned out to be no good: Joseph Kennedy was blackballed and Franklin D. Roosevelt described his failure to be elected to Porcellian as “the greatest disappointment of my life”.

(more…)

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