Kat Kooreyby Kat Koorey
First published in February/March, 2005, Volume 2, Issue 1, The Hatchet: Journal of Lizzie Borden Studies.
Soon after our hugely stressful hurricane season, Stefani was contacted by Michael Martins and invited to come to Fall River to give a lecture in the Centennial series jointly sponsored by the Fall River Historical Society and the First Congregational Church. Harry Widdows, our friend and sometime collaborator, agreed to meet us in Boston from his home in South Carolina. I think he knew he would have a blast with the Koorey sisters as guides, and I believe we all did. Additionally, we arranged with Sherry Chapman, resident Borden humorist, to meet us in Fall River as well—she being on a research trip to the region with her husband, son, and dog Dusty.
Tuesday, October 26th
Harry, Stef and I got immediately lost trying to leave the airport property because the map didn’t warn us of all the construction and one-way streets and detours. I think we actually took the tunnel twice, or was that three times—out of the airport, into the airport, and then out of it again. It took the efforts of all three of us to get us out of Boston, into the car pool lane and on the road to Fall River. That’s when we saw what a pretty day it was. It was sunny and mild and welcoming.
We were booked into the Hampton Inn in Westport but were anxious to show Harry some city highlights before it got dark. We drove straight to the Borden house on Second Street. We again got lost several times on the way, which gave Harry a chance to see some of the city. With the crazy way the one-way streets are laid out, maybe this is Fall River’s plan for newcomers. Since our getting lost was becoming a regular occurrence (every time we started the car) we decided not to fight it anymore and just enjoy the sights we otherwise would not have seen. We parked temporarily at the bus station across the street from the house and Harry and I crossed over, went up the driveway, and stood just below the side steps to the house, discussing his first impressions.
The windows are so very high and we tried to picture Bridget washing those windows with a pole and a dipper. Deep into the conversation, I happened to notice a curtain blowing next to the steps, and commented that the window was open and if there was anyone inside, we could be heard. At that moment, the side door and screen door opened and as we craned our necks way up to get a glimpse—a person was revealed, backlit, who asked us to introduce ourselves. A pretty young blond introduced herself as Lee-ann. We knew her to be the new owner of the house and I quickly mentioned Dr. Stefani Koorey standing across the way with the car and that she was in town for the lecture series. Lee-ann replied that she knew of Stefani and the plans and invited us in! I waved Stef over and, instantly, there we were inside the Borden kitchen! I can’t describe the feeling of gratitude I had that Harry’s first visit to Fall River should begin so graciously.
Lee-ann explained that she was very tired, else we could stay longer. She had just spent loads of time at the zoning board meeting, going over the proposed demolition and re-building plans of the Leary Press area, seeking permission and permits which was granted. She was vastly relieved that now the project could proceed and was drained by it all. I was of the impression that the press building was a huge, inconvenient dinosaur and possibly in her imagination it was already cleared out and gone—yet there it still was, every day that she had to look at it—like the monster in your dream you can’t quite kill. She allowed us to wander unescorted around the downstairs of the house at will, and Harry was quietly agog and thrilled to be in the Borden house just 12 hours after getting up that morning in South Carolina!
It never ceases to surprise me that such a phenomenon can occur—wake up in Florida and at dinner time you’re standing in that deceptively tranquil crime scene. Traveling 1,000 miles north and 100 years back in time, it’s as if the intervening problems in logistics in getting there never really happened, and, after physically being there, I now can think myself back.
After poking around a bit and getting to know our hostess, we ended up in the Leary Press. Lee-ann did wish for us to experience it and drink in its atmosphere before it was gone. She was right in bringing this to our attention, because the Press was also a part of the history of the house. There we met Dee, who is wonderful, and she surprised us by informing us that she had been a member of our Lizzie Borden Society Forum in the past. We are always very glad to meet our members who are a great group of devoted enthusiasts. We felt very welcomed by everyone, and so I must declare, because I have been asked this before, with all this good will and all the smiles and wonderful people, one cannot even begin to think about some “deadly” atmosphere or residue in the place. At least I can’t, as I am enchanted with the living!
The size of the Leary Press building is impressive and that was not something I could have anticipated. We lingered talking near the lighted places but I was concentrating on how far back into the gloom I could see. Harry commented that this area encompassed the yard and barn building sites, and I realized this was the closest I’d come to experiencing the size of what was the whole Borden property. To be standing, inside a building, imagining the pear trees and the grass and the barn of long ago, was like entering an alternate reality.
We were invited back the next day at regular tour hours, and at that moment we decided this was where we should meet our other good friend and cohort, Sherry and her family, if they could make it. Sherry is our Dear Abby staff writer on the magazine, and she and her family drove here from Michigan, to do some research, meet us and see Stefani’s presentation.
We agreed to meet the following morning and bade our good-byes and tumbled into the car all babbling excitement at what had just happened. We drove straight to Maplecroft—as straight as one can when the streets are torn up and there are detour signs and one-way streets seemingly all going the opposite way to the way we want to go . . . and then, There It Was! We parked and got out and loitered on the sidewalk, talking and looking around at the neighboring houses to get a feel of the surroundings. Harry is good at seeing the big picture, and in putting things in context, so we discussed the street itself as well and it’s relationship to other landmarks. Then we drove over to the Fall River Historical Society mansion, which we actually found right away without much detour and then over to the B.M.C. Durfee High School, where we got out and marveled at its size and the fact that there was a tunnel directly under the road from there to the building where we were standing. The High School is now converted to a Court House, which probably saved its life in that city. I could say we approached the place by car, but really it seems to approach you. It’s just there, all of a sudden, massive and impressive, and it takes over the whole field of vision—brooding and looming. There are three modern authors, historians of the Borden case, who all graduated from the high school: Arnold Brown, Victoria Lincoln, and Leonard Rebello, which make an interesting group. The building itself was modeled after the City Hall of Paris, though I think it lacks the French finesse, which might be due to the usage of that solid, and popular local stone, Fall River granite.
After an awe-inspired perusal from different perspectives, we headed off to the motel to check in, and on the way saw the Central Congregational Church and the adjacent Abbey Grille and International Institute of Culinary Arts, at 100 Rock Street. In fact, we saw it several times, whether we wished to or not, on the way to leaving town.
Finally arriving in Westport, we were delighted with our accommodations. The staff was young and personable and the morning buffet was ample and varied. We dumped our stuff in our rooms, and I finally called Sherry who was staying in Somerset. She likes the Quality Inn there and their breakfasts, plus they accept her dog, Dusty. After driving a huge van from Michigan and doing research in Providence every day from the early hours, they passed up this first night’s chance to meet and made arrangements for touring the Borden house the next day. They would forego the next morning’s work and instead replace it with a visit with us at the house, returning to Providence in the afternoon and then meet back at the Church hall for the lecture. Then I called Len Rebello and he was ready to roll.
It was about 7 PM when we met Len in the lobby and piled into his car to take his Fall River tour of Lizzie Sites. He asked us what we’d like to see, and he was amenable to anything, as long as he was home and in bed by 10:30. We were all of a sudden at a loss, our minds blanked out, and then Stef and I piped up with the list of every place he had shown us last March and that fired up his imagination and we were on our way. Len not only took us places, he described where we were going, where we were, how to get there and the history of the place! His knowledge is exhaustive. He asked, “Do you want to see the Augusta Tripp house?” and we would all chime in “Yay! Augusta Tripp!” and off we’d go. (Augusta Tripp was Lizzie’s old school friend who was called to the inquest, and the sister of Carrie Poole. Mrs. Tripp said she last saw Lizzie at the Borden house for less than an hour the past spring before the murders). Then Len asked, “Do you want to see Bertha Manchester’s place?” and we all chimed in, “Yay! Bertha Manchester’s place!” I think he was a bit impressed that we knew of these people and could discuss them with him. Bertha Manchester’s murder is a little sideline hobby of all of ours as we find that crime very interesting. Last March Len had asked if we wanted to see the property where Sarah Cornell’s body was found (in 1832), and Stef and I had yelled “Yay! Sarah Cornell!” as we were very involved at the time with that case as well. That is an unsolved murder case and there are several books on the crime. One of the better ones, Fall River: An Authentic Narrative, by Catharine Williams, was written by a contemporary of the victim and is usually available at the FRHS gift shop. It was Durfee land upon which Sarah’s pregnant body was found hanging so long ago, and it became known as South Park, renamed Kennedy Park.
That night we visited Borden case-related sites, including places where the relevant buildings no longer stand. One of these was Granite Street where the old jail, police station and court where Lizzie was first taken on Tuesday, August 9th are no more—even the street is rearranged—and we drove slowly through that narrow area imagining the crowds which had congregated outside during the inquest and preliminary hearings of Lizzie Borden, awaiting first news of guilt or innocence, or any sight of their celebrity. These pictures are in my memory from Porter’s book, Fall River Tragedy, which shows the large gatherings outside the Central Police Station, pages 88 and 95. They are fuzzy, black and white photos that are as real as the actual place, as in modern day it also resembles black and white and shades of gray, surrounded by walls of buildings, except for the bright red Cocoa Cola truck parked along the alleyway to lend a more modern splash of color.
Another of these empty places was the Ferry Street house, which was considered the Abraham Borden homestead. It is now a parking lot, but if one concentrates, one can connect with the atmosphere of 100 years ago. It seems a decent location, as it’s on a sort of rise, and the street inclines down to the wharf area and it is a nice nighttime view with the lights down there.
All that remains of the grand old City Hall are 2 pillars that at least were preserved, standing sentinel, as portals to the past. Apparently the newer version, built over the highway, is having structural problems that will be expensive to fix. The Herald News, online edition, dated Dec. 5, 2004, stated that $11 million had been earmarked for repairs and that in 1999, pieces of concrete slabs fro the Government Center had fallen onto cars on the road below, injuring motorists. The old City Hall with it’s massive 4-sided clock tower, was an historical landmark to Bordenites as it’s clock played an important part in the timeline of events of that summer day, August 4th, 1892.
We saw many places that did still exist and were thankful for that. We saw the Whitehead house on Fourth Street that had been moved back on the lot—though we were also shown a small house on the other side of the property that may have been the Whitehead house, as all three of these seem to occupy the same lot. They are all very nice and well preserved, and as long as we knew one of them was where Abby’s half-sister and mother had lived, we were thrilled. We went by the house of Dan Emery, on Weybossett Street, where John Morse spent Thursday morning visiting his niece who was in town from Minnesota. We were shown the house on Pine Street where Charles Holmes had lived and where Emma and Lizzie were invited to a reception immediately upon the jury verdict of acquittal in New Bedford. The house is in good repair but sits very close to the street and surrounded by a harsh chain link fence. We drove to Swansea to see the farmhouse and though it was night, the moon was very bright and the building is immediately recognizable. We saw Luther’s Four Corners building which used to be a gathering place set right on the street, but which had been moved discreetly back on the lot when it became a post office in modern times, by Grace Howe, the first-ever postmistress. I can’t imagine being first postmistress and I can’t imagine anyone approving her idea of moving a whole building and I wonder what her reason was! I know the FRHS building was moved brick by brick from Columbia Street up to Rock and remodeled along the way! These Fall Riverites are ever resourceful.
We passed and turned around in front of the Cousin Gardner’s Swansea home in order to see it from different angles. This is the home from which Emma was waked sometime after her body was returned by train from Newmarket, N.H. on the day she died. Emma had been living with an Annie Connor, as researched by Len, and I suppose if you are not a relative, and a famous Borden sister dies in your house, you ship that body out pretty darn quickly! This is a beautiful home, peaceful in the moonlight that shimmered and reflected off the water across the street. It was a lovely view, with a calming atmosphere.
Somewhere along the way, we had also been taken by the Smith’s Drug store location to see how close that intersection had been to Second Street, and we also were shown what little there was left of Sargent’s Dry Goods Store, still attached to another building. Some landmarks are just gone, which is sad, but enough places are still extant that a tour is extremely worthwhile. If you visit Fall River and Len himself can’t take you around, take his book with you: Lizzie Borden Past & Present.
We headed back to town to get our host to bed by 10:30. I think we were back in the lobby of our hotel a bit early too, because we were able to settle in there with the group gathered and watch the last several innings of the Red Sox series. After a winning day and a winning ball game, we retired. And this was the first day!
Wednesday, October 27th
I never went to sleep until 4 am, as I was going over everything exciting in my mind, and it turns out Harry gets up at 6 and came innocently tapping at out door. Little did he know I’d had a long wakeful night, and little did I know that he never went to sleep at all! He did what I did which was to relive the day over in his mind and he was like a kid at Christmas, ready to start opening the packages at 6 am without sleep! I grumbled a bit and made a deal that the next morning don’t call us, we’ll call you—and if you’re not in your room, we’ll expect to see you at the buffet—to this big kid with his Christmas expectations.
This morning we dined in the lobby and the immediate consensus was to drive out toward South Dartmouth and around Westport to find Augusta Tripp’s house in the daytime, get some pictures, and then later see if between us we could find Bertha Manchester’s place which had a seemingly new house, or newly renovated one on the property. This is when the sunshine was most brilliant, the air was most crisp and the leaves had turned full color. The area was beautiful and we spent a while lost and just loving it. The nicely spaced properties, the low stone walls, the little stream, the gorgeous colors blooming everywhere—I remembered what had so appealed to me about living in Massachusetts in my college days—getting out into the country and just inhaling the beauty. It was close to Halloween and everywhere were scarecrows and pumpkins and harvested fields with hay ricks. It was postcard material, designed by Martha Stewart with that added Halloween decorative touch. New England goes all out for this holiday, I hear. It was the only place where Halloween seemed to be a truly authentic tradition! Later in the day, on the way to the Manchester property, we stopped at a local roadside diner so I could verify directions. I love running into little local places, using the rest room, scoping the place out and getting an idea of the natives by overhearing their conversations. Asking directions gives me a better sense of atmosphere as the interaction with strangers, and watching their interactions with each other, gives me a connection. When I travel, it’s like I’m starving to get the feel of a place by interacting somewhat with those who live there. I suppose I seem like a vanishing sprite, flitting in and out of people’s ken. I am just a naturally curious person.
We made it to Second Street about 10 minutes late and there seemed to be a crowd outside. It turned out to be Sherry and hubby and son, and a house representative, which really wasn’t a lot of people after all. I thought, how could John Morse come upon this place with only 4 people outside and not consider it a crowd? We added ourselves to the ranks that made seven (with Dusty staying in the van). We finally got to meet each other in person! It was like a joyous reunion, though we were so far only phone, mail and e-mail buddies. We work together on the Forum and on projects for the magazine and here we were, finally, at the Borden House, in person—a perfect piece of historical symmetry.
Our tour guide was Emily, a new intern, and she had been reading Len’s book preparatory to guiding people through the house, which we were glad to hear. She had initiative, and wasn’t overwhelmed by our collective Borden wisdom—in fact she let us give her parts of the tour—and she kept her professionalism by keeping us on track and pretty much on time, while still being patient and courteous. We did, of course, split up, as some had been to the house a few times, and others not at all. I grabbed Sherry and made sure she saw special things I pointed out to her that I had gained knowledge of by my earlier experience of touring the house with my guide being Bill Pavao. Bill has the most extensive knowledge of the place, being resident curator there for several years. Sherry had been in the house before, but had not seen it vicariously through Bill’s eyes, nor had she seen the cellar. It was just wonderful to have my Borden friends around me while we were poking into nooks and crannies and cupboards and fireplaces!
We were allowed extra time in the cellar, which usually is not open to the daytime tours—reserved for the privilege of overnight guests. Emily had her hands full with us down there, and I peeled off and went around on my own, again offering Sherry bits of information I had gleaned from the master. We had a great time, and probably overstayed about 20 minutes, as when we exited into the Leary Press we noted the time and that another group was waiting. It turned out the other group was Doug Parkhurst and his lovely bride! Doug is a member of our Society Forum and is very knowledgeable with a good mind, and it seems his wife could hold her own in Lizziedom! We were very happy to meet them, not knowing they planned on coming to town from Connecticut to see Stefani’s lecture! They were surprised to know that the tour group that had delayed them for a good 20 minutes was our group and were very pleased though to find out that we had been given the run of the cellar, that they themselves would be treated to this experience and so were not too disappointed that we had just missed each other. They had whiled away the overtime by perusing the gift shop and getting a look at an empty Leary Press. An EMPTY Leary Press. To those of you who have seen it in its heyday, this must be a sight to behold! According to a Herald News item on the renovations of the house, dated 11/26/04, the Press building is 9,000 square feet! Can you imagine all that emptiness and the effort involved and the logistics to empty it? [For the descriptive story of the Borden house viewings combining March and October visits, please see Hatchet articles, “The Borden House: Frame By Frame”, issues Vol. 1, Issue 2; Vol. 1, Issue 3; Vol. 1 Issue 4; Vol. 1, Issue 6, 2004, by this author].
Our next plan, after repeated heartfelt thank-you’s and good-byes to our hosts at the Bed and Breakfast, was to follow Sherry and crew over to Oak Grove Cemetery—so of course now we were a car and a van, six people and a dog, with two maps and navigators lost in Fall River. We made almost a full square of the streets surrounding the cemetery and were later told that by the time Sherry had found the place they had decided to just circle it because eventually they knew there would have to be a way in, and that’s what we did. Steve was driving and relying on Sherry with the map, and so it turns out were we all. There might have been some husband-wife bickering going on about her lack of direction, but I believe it’s all just a test, and a bizarre joke the town had pulled on outsiders. If a marriage, or a friendship, is strong, it will survive getting lost in Fall River while clutching a map. I think we saw sections of town we wouldn’t ordinarily see, and we all had faith that there had to be an opening somewhere and sure enough, it finally did open. We stumbled out at the Borden plot and Dusty immediately peed on Abraham’s grave!
Well, that exacerbated some tension of the van occupants, because there were no dogs allowed and there was maintenance going on and lawn mowers at work all around. It was thought we’d get kicked out but no one paid any attention. Sherry thought Dusty was very bright to hold it during our house tour and to let loose at a perfectly fine place like the graveyard. She got the last word in with the wisdom, “When a dog’s gotta go, he’s gotta go!” There’s no faulting that logic.
We had all been here before, except for Harry, and while he was very interested in Oak Grove, a cemetery is a cemetery and we didn’t stay too long. We did drive around and look at other Borden related grave sites, like Hiram and Lurana Harrington, and others close to the case. Each visitor to Fall River likes to find these graves themselves—it is like bumping into old friends, so I will not enumerate who is there.
Sherry and family were going to Providence and we arranged to meet at the Church lecture hall later that evening. We had a date with Michael Martins and Dennis Binette, our hosts, and were to meet them at the Fall River Historical Society and have an early supper and proceed to the Church where Stef would speak. Before that, though, we decided to try to find the Manchester place, which Len had taken us to the night before. Through good memory and perseverance we accomplished our goal of getting some pictures of this area. The Manchester murder was almost as lurid a crime as the Borden case, and happened the year of the trial—with some of the same police and county personnel investigating this third hatchet murder to be enacted within two years. Dr. Dolan, for example, was the Medical Examiner on the case, and he took the victim’s head for evidence just as he had the Borden’s, for further examination, and then he had to appear at Lizzie’s trial during this time. The probable culprit was an immigrant who was bilked by Mr. Manchester of his wages. This is considered a solved crime, but it is still a seemingly huge coincidence to have such butchery in the area of Fall River in so short a period of time.
By now, I was literally keeling over from exhaustion in the back seat, but couldn’t lie down because of those darn seat belt holders that stick out, uncompromisingly. I suppose they are cemented in there to keep a person buckled up and discourage lying down. I could have napped in any warm place that allowed me a smooth surface with no bumps. Stef knows when I’ve just had it, and takes me where I need to go and gives me time to regroup, with no argument. I ended up in our room, in bed with all my clothes on, and I had a deep six minute nap. I was awakened, had about a minute to freshen up, and we made it to the Historical Society about 10 minutes late. Dennis and Michael were running late as well, so that worked out fine.
We were invited to see the Borden exhibit which was housed in long glass cases in a large side room. We perused the exhibit cases in the Borden room, but since I was the last one in, I made my own way around without joining the group with Michael and Dennis. Consequently, I got to see a bit more than Harry did because he was politely listening to the experts. I didn’t find this out until later, but he thinks he missed seeing the handleless hatchet head! We were so tired though, I think he could have seen a topiary rabbit come alive and hop away without making mention of it! I noticed the bedspread with Abby’s body’s blood showing as slight brown dashes, her false hairpiece, her little bitty red speck of dried stomach content mounted on a glass slide and another in a small glass vial, and the hatchet head which Stefani and I had been privileged to handle and inspect last March. Every Bordenite should become a member of the Society. They provide research assistance on matters relating to Fall River society’s past, material on the Lizzie Borden case and related topics, offer a neat quarterly report filled with interesting items and small photos from their collections, and provide a discount at their amazing gift shop and at events which they sponsor during the year. It’s definitely a unique experience to drop by the Historical Society, as the mansion is so beautiful.
We next went to a long, late lunch in a restaurant in a converted mill, which the Society had helped decorate providing the old pictures of the mills and workers that were blown up into huge pictures framed on the red brick walls. I sat between Dennis and Harry in a booth, facing Stefani and Michael. If you ever get to dine with Michael you might want to consider the seating arrangement and sit across from him. He is definitely the cutest thing around and the meal just tastes better with that view.
After lunch we grabbed our jackets and followed Dennis and Michael to the First Congregational Church on Rock Street, which I hear is the richest church in Fall River. It’s certainly an imposing edifice, seemingly a block long. Inside, the ladies and gentlemen of the area who had already gathered were involved with a wonderful piano recital and sing-a-long. It was great old-time music, the player was very talented and it brought the turn-of-the century atmosphere into the large hall. While Stefani and a knowledgeable technician set up her audio and visual equipment and her laptop computer, our friends all mingled and we got to know each other a bit better. This is when I introduced myself to my seat neighbors and they were Eleanor Thibault and her granddaughter representing the Borden house. I had heard so much about her and was very glad to finally meet her. In a bit I excused myself, as I had spied our friend Shelly, who also had had a long and distinguished career at the Borden B&B. She is a real kick, lovely and intelligent with a passion for fabrics and costume, and she was magnificently draped tonight in a rich deep green velvet gown. I told her I admired her dress and I’d be wearing it too if I had it, all the while feeling her sleeve. She has a long history with Lizzie and appeared in the video documentary Hash and Rehash, in period costume. She has compiled multiple photo albums of her life in Lizzieland and graciously offered them to Stefani for possible future use in collaboration in this publication. We really look forward to working with her.
I went over to meet our Fall River lad, Mark Amarantes, who also writes for the Hatchet and is basically on call for Fall River expeditions to the library and such. He is always so helpful and so kind, and we very glad to see him here, especially after he told us he had had to choose between the (hopefully) last game in the World Series with his beloved Red Sox and attending Stefani’s presentation. He said it was an easy choice and we did value his presence. Stefani made a point later, on stage, to inform everyone that we would be getting out in time to see a good portion of the ball game and everyone appreciated it. Mark is very cute and charming and we got to introduce him to Len Rebello and to Michael Martins and to Sherry and her crowd and to Mr. and Mrs. Parkhurst and to Harry. Lizzie brought us all together and we never would have met these wonderful friends without this love of Lizzie-lore which we all share.
The turnout was gratifying and Stefani presented a professional and entertaining lecture to Fall River citizens about their native daughter. Stefani hopes that Fall River can finally come to terms with the legend that is Lizzie Borden and embrace her as an incentive to their local economy. As she reminded the audience, “Lizzie Was acquitted!” Stefani opened up the floor for questions and people were very interested in this segment of audience participation. At that point they were the ones determining how long we all would stay speaking on the topic of Lizzie, and the whole show was very satisfying. I swear though, that I sang that song under my breath for the next few days, even when I was back home in Florida feeding the cats: “You can’t chop your papa up in Massachusetts!”
It was wonderful to meet everyone after the show, like Anna from the FRHS, who is always interesting and interested, and Len introduced me to Mr. Cummings as a relative of Bridget Sullivan’s lawyer, which I knew made him direct descendent of the Mayor, John W. Cummings, and he was very pleased to find out that I knew this about his family. Soon it was time for the rest of us to leave and baseball was calling, and we made it back to our hotel lobby where the TV was blasting and a small party was in swing, drinking beer and cheering. We soon were caught up in the game and the crowd and it seemed surreal that we were here, in New England, in time to root for the Red Sox in the World Series. It was a full moon and a total eclipse as well, and around the seventh inning stretch everyone trooped outside to see the moon’s full coverage. Of course we won, and that meant that Massachusetts had won the Super Bowl that same year and now the World Series! Stef was the one who remembered that tidbit and mentioned it to the crowd, and so everyone was very pleased with these winning teams, and maybe these would have been Lizzie’s teams as well!
By now, exhaustion had set in and after about an hour to unwind in our room, there was lights out and bed. I still couldn’t sleep! There was again just so much to go over in my mind, so much to relive, a lot of experiences to marvel over and commit to memory. I suppose, since I took no notes, that this mental review each night, which kept me wakeful, also helped me later be able to write it all down here.
Thursday, October 28th
Stef’s pressure to perform was now off and she was ready to relax. We made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, wrapped them in napkins and hit the road on our way back into Fall River, to park near the Borden house at Second Street so we could attempt Andrew’s last walk, or a facsimile of it, as buildings and streets had changed. This was Harry’s idea and he escorted us on the walk, with commentary, and pointed out the difference between 1892 and 2004 landscapes. We started within about an hour of Andrew’s leaving his home, about 10:15 am, plus it was deep autumn, not deep summer, and the other differences were the wind tunnel effects created by the buildings at the bottom of Second Street and the blast was very cold in the shady areas. I had on a down parka with a hood which I tied close around my face, but once we got out from the shadows of these buildings it turned almost mild. I then carried my coat the rest of the walk, and by the time we were approaching Second Street again from Spring, it seemed almost hot. Puffing my way up Spring Street I realized what an incline this was and remarked to Harry that Andrew must have been in decent shape if he took this walk every day. Harry replied that Andrew probably kept in shape because of this walk and he didn’t see any reason for Andrew to be made to move away from his routine and the area of his business interests. We thought, poor Andrew, being pressured by those ungrateful girls! Let him live out his life with his own money and his own way of doing things. Andrew had ordered his life the way he wanted it, and who should deny him that?
We had popped into several buildings along the route and maybe Harry will write about the walk sometime, as he was our guide based upon his research and information he gleaned from Len Rebello’s seminal work on the case, which includes a map of the walk and description, pages 565-567. Harry has been collecting local addresses for a long time, also, and so he could further our knowledge as to what buildings Andrew would have seen, where the roads had changed and what buildings were missing. He explained that this was an approximate walk, and we found it fascinating.
After this, we hung around town for another half an hour as I was waiting to hear from Shelly whether Mr. Dube of French Street felt like having us visit. Our friend had primed him, but we awaited his ultimate decision, because, after all, this was his home we wished to tour. We did see the exhibit at the bookstore in the back, of the newspaper’s materials that were on display and which had been promoted in the papers, while we lingered. We also stopped outside St. Mary’s Cathedral and I went inside the Chapel that was the only place open. I sat and meditated until it was time to rejoin the others in the car and phone Shelly for her answer. Mr. Dube had politely declined today after all, but we had so much still to look forward to that it was not a set back in any way. There was an element of disappointment, but we knew more adventures waited around every corner.
We headed to New Bedford then to visit the Court House. Now, I’m a believer in things happening for a reason and also that timing is everything. Once we parked in New Bedford and made our way to the Court House, we found that the security would allow us in to see the courtroom where Lizzie’s trial had been held! We turned immediately to our right and were shown a long, enclosed stairway, which was the portal to this room from the past. After navigating the steep stairs we entered the courtroom from the rear and the whole place opened out in a beautiful vista in front of us, the perfect vantage point, at the higher elevation near the spectator seats, and the view was breathtaking! An immediate and collective “WOW!” came instinctively from us, as we drank in the atmosphere. It truly is something stupendous, though I have heard locals grumble about the place—they who have been called to jury duty there! We were allowed to wander around, unescorted, for about 20 minutes and we found out that court was in recess just at the exact time we arrived. They were ready to come back just as we were leaving, having taken tons of pictures and also after having sat quietly drinking in the atmosphere, imagining Lizzie here, on exhibit in all her shame, and Emma’s shame too. I stood on the witness stand and grabbed the bar which was soft and sanded by a hundred years of sweaty palms, and immediately thought of Alice Russell standing here trying to maintain her dignity while she told on Lizzie—her burning of the dress. These two who had been friends may never have met face to face again after this scandal. I imagined Eli Bence standing here pompously, upright and firm in his conviction that Lizzie tried to buy poison from him on August 3rd, with no jury in their seats, just empty places. He told his story but the men in whose hands Lizzie’s fate was cradled, did not hear, so it no longer mattered. Since that time, the court room had been switched to an opposite layout, where now the jury box is situated on the left as is the witness stand—whereas in the old days it all was on the right. We figured out where Lizzie would have sat, but I read that she had been allowed to move within the bar after the first couple of days and so she had been sitting in 2 different places—first in the narrow pew, and then later in a chair near her lawyers.
We tried to imagine a field outside and a cow lowering, disrupting the flow of the proceedings with audience laughter to relieve the tension. The room was remarkably quiet and it was easy to imagine the days of 1893, even though we were in the midst of a busy workday, in a functioning courtroom in a downtown area of a decent sized city. We were comparing our impressions as we made it outside and were loitering, talking. Just then the side door opened—the same door that had accepted Lizzie each morning and discharged her as a prisoner each evening—when several guards emerged from the building, escorting shackled inmates down those same steps into a waiting van, secured by guns. We turned away and made no movements until this display was over. We instinctively turned away from their shame, so as not to stare, and to pose no threat to the guards. It made me contemplate the attitude of the crowds who came to gawk at Lizzie—comparing that to those who gape at car wrecks.
We made it to the car and drove around touring the town, eating our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. New Bedford is a picturesque place with a wonderful old whaling community ambiance, but I have heard that after dark it can become a bit of a dangerous place as the crime rate is unfortunately growing. It’s a shame that I heard this from Massachusetts’ natives who made it a point of informing me of this. I’d also heard about it from Sherry as she and her family had visited here the year before. Earlier in March, Stefani and I had made a foray into the New Bedford Free Public Library and got a bit of work done on a story and met the ever-helpful Collections Department head, Paul. He is a wonderful character from the area and was very amusing in his dry Yankee way. Be prepared to lean on the counter and jaw a bit as he has good stories that he does not tell hurriedly. Also, the hours of operation should be checked before any investment in time is to be spent there as his department now has a very defined and limited schedule.
Stefani now wanted to show us Newport and the famous mansions along the coastline. Sherry had also recommended this trip and had earlier also found a Lizzie site on Farewell Street, by following Leonard’s book information. She had provided pictures of this location in the Aug/Sept edition of The Hatchet, and we wanted to see this for ourselves. This was the Covell-King house where Lizzie was invited for R&R after the trial. We had maps and a good idea where it was but it was a bit hard to find, in the older section of Newport amongst a neighborhood where the streets were small and winding and the homes are close together. There is a special charm in getting lost in Lizzie-land, and so my recommendation is just to allow extra time and go with the flow. The house is attractive, like a seaside cottage or a farmhouse, and its allure is it’s bright red paint and it’s great location. I thought surely there had been extra tourist visits to the property since the article appeared, but the lady who popped her head out the door asking my business said no. She gave permission to take photographs and then popped her head back inside the door and she was gone. The place was certainly not a mansion and so it seems that Lizzie’s real friends did not show much outward signs of affluence, as the Dr. Handy cottage appears somewhat humble as well. (See Sherry’s article in the Oct/Nov 2004 Issue of The Hatchet). We wandered around the back and met a real character just accidentally, and after a chat we found out he claimed to have been related by marriage to Dr. Dolan! What a small world. He had a story he told about the Dolan kids, or grand kids, playing with the Borden’s skulls in his attic, which story was passed down in the family. We knew the skulls had been buried in the graves and told him that, but he stuck to his memory. Later, it was opined to us that he might have been referring to the plaster casts of the skulls that were anatomically correct, as far as we know. That’s a possibility, but we didn’t think of it then. We enjoyed talking to him—another dry Yankee wit and his eyes twinkled whenever he knew we got the joke. He generously gave us an older modern map of the area, much creased and worn and it had the names of the mansions on the cliff that was useful to us on our drive exploring the wealthy areas by the waterfront.
It was nearing sundown and the light was exquisite, showing off the mansions in a warm glow and the breakers on the stark black rocks seemed less ferocious. The wind whipped up the sea into foam and there were fearless fisherman out standing on the jutting jetties, and serious walkers who could keep their balance. I did miss being able to promenade on the main street and pop in the nice shops, but that is for next time, as the day was fading fast. It is a nice, easy distance from Fall River and worth the trip. We did wish to get back and call Len, as he made sure to make his time available to us again, this our last night in town.
We met Len at his house which was easy to find as a police car had just pulled over a motorist right outside and so in giving us directions it included the information that we should just pull up and park behind the cruiser with the flashing lights! Nearby was a huge hill upon which Len used to sled as a child and we shuddered at his ability to navigate that steep incline and being agile enough to stop before running off a cliff! We headed out to Providence and on the way we stopped for dinner at The Country Inn, a place Len likes. It was a very relaxing time, spent with good friends. The teacher’s talked teacher talk and the men compared health issues and I listened and tried to finish my haddock.
We were amazed at Providence as it was so clean and well lighted and preppy. Every other kid looked like John or Caroline Kennedy—a nice looking group of students, well dressed for a change. There were draped decorative lights in the shopping district, and it looked like a Christmas scene, though that holiday was 2 months away. We saw The Minden where Emma had an apartment as well as her relative, Preston Gardiner, at 121, and which is now student housing. I got out of the car to look at the Hope Street house where Emma also stayed with Preston, and which is listed as 211 in Len’s book. For pictures of these 2 sites, please see Lizzie Borden Past & Present, pages 315 and 316. The Hope Street house was the nicest I had seen yet of any house associated with the case. I walked around the corner admiring it, and then we drove over to the area where Lizzie had liked to shop—Westminster Street. There was Tilden-Thurber and Len insisted we park and look in the windows. He and I shielded our eyes and pressed our faces to the glass with our hands around our faces. He pointed out to me the upper gallery that was surrounded by what looked like an openwork wrought iron railing. Anyone up there would have a good view of the sales floor and it was his opinion that if Lizzie stole those pictures, that she was noticed and caught from above. I don’t think I would have seen the walkway up there, as it was a darkened store with the display windows highlighting some of the most beautiful glass I had ever seen. This glass radiated colors of light like the facets of a diamond. Anyone who shopped here had very good taste! It was a plausible theory if one believes Lizzie stole those items. There had been a big scandal about this in the papers of 1897, and one can only wonder at whether Lizzie had missed the spotlight, or if this new indignity was another intrusion?
The drive from Hope Street to Westminster seemed so short, I checked with a map and found it was only 1.2 miles from where Emma stayed around 1909. Emma left Lizzie in 1905 under an agreement that Lizzie would pay her for her use of Emma’s part of the French Street property. Then it was always said that the sisters never saw each other again. This may be true if Lizzie was no longer allowed into Tilden-Thurber after 1897, (which I don’t know). However, we know that one of her favorite shopping areas in Providence was Westminster Street, so it seems possible to me, being within just over a mile from Emma, that they might have met. Maybe Lizzie coming to Providence is what sent Emma farther afield to Newmarket to live with strangers?
As we finished driving around touring Providence, Len regaled us with the story of the town’s most colorful Mayor, who was scandal-ridden himself, but who seemed to impress a lot of people at how well he got things done. It was a story about corruption which greased the wheels of Providence but which also brought a new downtown, a new building boom, jobs for the residents and a revitalized and attractive area which everyone appreciated. It’s an odd story and just after returning home it was featured on A&E’s City Confidential, and I’d recommend its viewing if they re-release it.
We got back to Len’s exactly on time, said our good-byes, and massive thank-yous for all his guidance and patience with us as visitors to his town, and he had one more small gem to impart to us. He told us that in the lounge/restaurant complex, White’s, right next door to the Hampton Inn where we were staying, there was a display of artifacts from some of the defunct ships of the Old Fall River Line. Well, Harry and I were very much interested in seeing that and we had just enough time to run in there and see the old postcards, the lamps from a ship, and even a huge steering wheel, or whatever it’s called that steers the ship. There was a nice amount of relics, and we had just finished our discussion and viewing when we were about to be locked in! The manager had not noticed us and had the key in the door. We chatted with him about what we had seen, thanked him and got out to the car and Stef took us to our Inn, we parted and called it a day.
This was the end of our Fall River trip, but we still had to get back to the airport the next morning. Traffic was horrendous and when we stopped to fill the rental car tank, I asked the man if there was an easier way to get to Boston. He laughed and said if there were an easier way, everyone would have taken it! He said what Stef said, which was just wait a few minutes and with the right timing we’d get out of the rush. Which is exactly what happened. Everything is timing! Stef found the carpool lane and we just cruised into Boston, congratulating her on a good job of getting us there on time.
Homeward—where it was 82 degrees on October 29th and within one day, on the 30th, we were gathered at Stefani’s house to watch the premiere of “our” video from March, on The Discovery Channel, “Lizzie Borden Had An Axe.” A fine flourishing finale to our year so far!
Michael Brimbau
