About Connections: Love it or hate it, history is a map. Those who hate history think it irrelevant; many who love history think it escapism. In truth, history is the clearest road map to how we got here: America in the 21st century.
Reflecting on town meetings, a Stockbridge resident said, “Recently, it seems, every issue becomes a war.” Another resident used a word rarely heard in Stockbridge: the word was “vitriol.”
Once, Stockbridge was what Norman Rockwell painted it: America’s hometown; what Catharine Sedgwick called it: one step from heaven; what Dr. Austen Riggs relied upon: an extension of the healing process for his patients. The love, the charm and the simple good manners of Stockbridge were infectious. They compelled tourists to become residents and encouraged visitors to act with civility: not quite so loud, not quite so insistent – it wasn’t necessary.
How did we move from idyllic to contentious? Before I attempt an answer, first, a question: did something fundamental change? When Rick Wilcox was chief of police, he tried to get us to lock our doors – an unheard of practice in Stockbridge. To convince us, he said “Anything out there can come here; it just takes longer.” So maybe Stockbridge has not changed fundamentally but is just reflecting the national divide, the national bad manners.
For example, those passing judgment may not be accustomed to the inherent messiness of pure democracy. For example, by law, our selectboard must argue in public and never collude in private. It is a little louder, a smidge less elegant, but it is the way the town-meeting form of government is done: for the benefit of all. It is the ultimate in transparency. Not because the elected officials are amateurs, as someone suggested, but because democracy is “of, by, and for the people” – you know the people, those amateurs who are governing themselves.
So perhaps nothing fundamental has changed but, if it has, for what it’s worth and remembering I could be right or wrong, here is my take. At either end of the village were the school and town hall. Stockbridge lost them both. I believe it was the fact that we lost them and how we lost them that could have changed Stockbridge.
In addition to being anchors of the town, the buildings had this in common: each had a restriction on the deed. Deed restrictions restrict, or limit, the use or activities that may take place on property. These restrictions appear in the real property records and are binding.
The Stockbridge Plain School was a gift to the town with the deed restriction that it belonged to the town only as long as it was a school. If no longer a school, ownership reverted to the family. Putting aside whether we could find a family member to give it to, we broke covenant with the past. In order to make the school our town hall, we sought to legally remove the deed restriction. We viewed it as an obstacle to get around rather than a limitation to be honored.
Children’s voices no longer floated down the village Main Street from the playground. The children no longer walked the village streets, solemn during school hours and skipping after the school day ended. Even more important, villagers no longer grew up together.
When people grow up and old together, it is easier to understand that maintaining relationships is more important than any single decision. Folks argue without defamation. They can imagine that those who disagree are not stupid, inept or villainous. It is possible that all people on all sides of an issue are committed to serving the town and finding the best solution to the current conundrum.
The appeal for release from the restriction allowed conversion of our school into a town hall and left our town hall a building without a purpose. It, too, had a deed restriction: The Congregational church owned the land and, by Massachusetts law, would therefore own the improvement on the land – that is, the building. However, they deeded the building to the town for as long as it was town hall. Now, it was not town hall. Putting aside whether or not the Congregational church wanted it, we went forward as if we owned it. Again we broke an ancient agreement.
We acted disreputably. We broke faith because we thought we knew better. Ironically all projections were wrong: conversion of the school into a town hall cost the town a fortune, as did maintenance. The town bled dollars while the old town hall sat idle. Nonetheless, at the time, we believed we were making a “wise” decision; we ignored a legal limitation and allowed practicality to trump honor.
Long ago we were a church town – a mission. The Congregational church taught the importance of hanging together and coming back together after a dispute. True, it was a small community with their backs against the wilderness. True, without cohesion their very survival was at stake. Today, we may not know each other as well or depend on each other for survival, but the lesson is still a good one. Friends and neighbors don’t agree on every issue, but they need each other and the relationship is more important than any single decision.
The job of selectboard is to form a working unit – utilize three minds to make the best decisions for the town and listen to the citizens along the way. That does not mean perfect agreement. It just means perfect mutual respect. We benefit from differing opinions; we are harmed when we destroy relationships.
