Small Town Hero
In the summer of 1916, the people of Harmony, Massachusetts, were busy preparing for the celebration of their town's two-hundredth anniversary. Mayor Clarence Rollins, who could not organize the annual Easter egg hunt without the aid of a group of advisors, appointed the town chief of police, Bradley Quirk, to head a bicentennial committee.
"And just what is this committee to do?" Bradley asked.
"I don't know," the befuddled mayor replied honestly. "Perhaps arrange a parade or maybe a fireworks display. I want you to come up with an event that the town will remember for the next two hundred years."
Bradley gave the matter serious thought. A parade was an excellent idea. However, Harmony was a community that had hosted dozens of parades in the past, and he wanted something more memorable. One evening he mounted his horse and rode down Main Street, racking his brain to come up with an appropriate event. As his mount cantered through town, the police chief passed children playing ball in front of the school and couples walking hand in hand along the riverbank.
Harmony was a quiet, peaceful little town, far from the noise, filth and crime of the big cities. The only thing that spoiled its scenic beauty was the burnt skeleton of the old Standish Hotel, which had been destroyed by fire the previous year. The owner had perished in the flames, and his children, who now lived in New York, donated the land to the town. Unfortunately, the mayor and council had yet to agree on a use for the property.
Suddenly, Bradley had a brainstorm. With a small expenditure of capital, the land could be turned into a park, a traditional New England town common. He envisioned a bandstand, benches, an ice cream stand and a duck pond.
"We could call it Bicentennial Park," he told Mayor Rollins when he met with him the following morning.
"Splendid! Splendid!" the mayor replied jovially. "My wife's garden club can plant some flowers and shrubbery to help spruce it up."
Inez Rollins, the mayor's rather portly wife, dove into the project with a great deal of enthusiasm. A few days after she was approached by Bradley Quirk to undertake the task, she proudly presented him with a sketch she had made of the proposed gardens.
"Rhododendron bushes are perfect for the spring—a nice mixture of reds, pinks and lavenders," she elaborated. "I also want to plant several varieties of tulips and daffodils along the walkways. For the summer months, impatiens, marigolds and petunias will add a lot of color. And in the fall, we can add to the beauty of the autumn foliage by planting chrysanthemums."
On and on she went about color schemes and growing seasons. Bradley smiled politely, wishing she would return home to her husband; but Inez was not yet finished.
"... and, of course, we must have rose bushes! We can plant those around the base of the statue."
"Statue?" Bradley echoed. "What statue?"
"Why, every town park needs a statue."
"Of whom?"
"I don't know. A founding father, I suppose, or perhaps a local war hero."
Bradley considered the idea for several moments.
"I like it," he concluded. "A statue will be an inspiration for generations to come."
The following week Bradley again met with Mayor Rollins to discuss the progress of his preparations for the celebration and to decide who would be immortalized by a statue in Bicentennial Park.
"I think it should be Egon Bartholomew," the mayor suggested. "After all, he founded the town."
"Are you forgetting that Bartholomew went mad, murdered his wife and was hanged in front of the old town hall?"
"I guess he's not much of a role model at that," the mayor said sheepishly. "Who do you think we should honor with a statue then?"
"It just so happens that our little town was the birthplace of a very successful American: a war hero, a leader of industry and, in his later years, a pillar of New York society."
"Wilson Ferriday. Of course! He's a splendid choice—a hero to people across the country, not just our little town. Wilson Ferriday ranks up there with the Astors and the Vanderbilts."
"And to think he started out life as nothing more than a poor farmer from Harmony," Bradley said with respect and admiration.
* * *
Plans for the new town common progressed smoothly. The old Standish Hotel was leveled, new trees were planted and the ground was covered with grass seed. Walkways were built so that ladies could stroll through the park without getting grass stains on the bottoms of their skirts. The mayor's wife and her friends from the garden club were hard at work preparing the flower beds for planting.
"I see the benches have arrived," Mayor Rollins noted when he met Chief Bradley Quirk at the site for a progress meeting. "How is our statue coming along?"
"The artist tells me he's making good progress, and the grammar school teacher has written a poem that will be inscribed on the base."
"Splendid! Splendid!" (This was the mayor's favorite expression, and he used it often.) "Well, keep up the good work, Bradley."
As Harmony's bicentennial neared, Police Chief Quirk decided to forego the idea of a parade in lieu of a more dignified dedication ceremony. A band would play in the new bandstand, and several guests were invited to speak at the unveiling of the statue. Bradley's only concern was that people might accuse him of turning the event into a ceremony honoring a single man, but he thought that every town—even Harmony—needed a local hero.
* * *
The day of the celebration finally arrived. The sun shone brightly, much to everyone's relief. The members of the band, their uniforms cleaned and pressed for the occasion, gathered at the bandstand, awaiting their cue. Inez Rollins' roses were in full bloom. Their red, pink and yellow blossoms were a sharp contrast to the rich green of the newly planted grass. The statue of Wilson Ferriday, put in its place of honor the day before, was concealed by a drop cloth and would remain covered until the time of the unveiling.
By 1:55 most of the residents of the town were assembled in Bicentennial Park. Precisely at 2:00 p.m. Bradley Quirk gave a signal to the band. "The Stars and Stripes Forever" sent a wave of patriotism and hometown pride through the spectators' hearts.
"Splendid! Splendid! I knew I could count on you to get the job done right," the major declared, patting Bradley on the back.
When the band stopped playing, Mayor Rollins opened the ceremonies. First, he welcomed the residents of Harmony to the new Bicentennial Park. Then he thanked several people—Bradley Quirk, in particular—for their hard work in making the park a reality. Finally, he introduced several elderly speakers who had known Wilson Ferriday personally. The first of these was a seventy-eight-year-old Civil War veteran who extolled the bravery of Ferriday during the War Between the States.
"As many of you know," the former Union sergeant proclaimed, "Wilson Ferriday was decorated for his valiant heroism at Gettysburg. He was later captured and sent to Andersonville Prison. A strong and courageous man, Ferriday survived both the prison and the war. Yet, unlike most soldiers who returned to their homes and families here in the North after Appomattox, he stayed on and helped rebuild the war-torn South."
The former Yankee soldier told several amusing and inspirational anecdotes about the man they were honoring. Then, after acknowledging the applause of the spectators, the old man sat down, and one of Wilson Ferriday's business associates rose to speak.
"Few men in this country had the business acumen that Wilson did," he recalled fondly. "With nothing but his brains and the sweat of his brow, he built an empire with investments in railroads, steel, and oil. He was a man of vision who knew where the economy was headed. Sometimes," the speaker laughed, "I honestly believe he had the Midas touch."
A bearded man in the crowd laughed heartily at that remark and nodded his head in agreement.
"Furthermore," the speaker continued, "Wilson Ferriday's innovative management techniques inspired many of today's leading industrialists."
The man with the beard listened intently to the speaker. A half-smile appeared on his face and remained there while three more men stood before the crowd and praised Wilson Ferriday.
Finally, the mayor stepped up to the statue, and after a musical salute from the band, he ceremoniously yanked the cloth and revealed the sculpted image of Harmony's favorite son. The spectators applauded loudly, despite the fact that not one of them had ever met Wilson Ferriday. Yet they were all proud of him. He was a war hero and an icon of their cherished free enterprise system.
When the applause eventually dwindled and stopped, one person—the bearded man with the half-smile—continued to clap his hands. Heads turned in his direction. No one recognized him.
"Bravo!" the man cried out. "Or as your mayor would say, 'Splendid! Splendid!'"
People stared at the bearded stranger and wondered who he was.
"A statue honoring Wilson Ferriday," he laughed. "Only in America."
Bradley Quirk bristled at the man's mocking tone.
"Have you something to say, sir?" he asked.
"I do, but I doubt very much any of you will want to hear it."
"I've never seen you before," the mayor commented. "Are you from around here?"
"I travel quite a bit, but I have been to this little town of yours once or twice."
"Did you know Wilson Ferriday?"
"I knew him quite well. Much better, it seems, than any of you did."
The mayor twitched nervously. He did not care for the stranger's attitude, but he did not want to create a scene by having him forcibly removed from the park.
"Then perhaps you would care to say a few words about the man we're honoring."
"Indeed, I would."
The bearded stranger stepped forward and stood beside the statue.
"There is no doubt that Wilson Ferriday was a brilliant businessman, a successful industrialist, a true capitalist," the stranger began. "And, like many of his contemporaries, when it came to making money, he was not too scrupulous about his methods."
People in the crowd grumbled at the man's insinuation.
"You honor him with a monument in your Bicentennial Park, a place where lovers will stroll hand in hand on a summer evening and where innocent young children will come and play. I say a more fitting location for his memorial would be Pine Grove Cemetery."
"Just what are you hinting at?" Bradley Quirk asked angrily.
"I'm not hinting at anything. I'm saying quite plainly that the man you honor as a hero is no better than a thief or, even worse, a murderer."
"This is an outrage!" the aged former Union soldier cried. "Wilson Ferriday was a war hero decorated for his bravery."
"He didn't join the army to preserve the Union or to help free the slaves in the South," the stranger argued. "He enlisted because he thought his prospects were better in the army than they were on his poor farm here in Harmony, and he was right. Thanks to his cool head—and his brutal nature—he was rapidly promoted through the ranks. I know that in war it is necessary to kill the enemy, but few soldiers took as much pleasure in it as Wilson Ferriday did. And as far as surviving Andersonville, he was able to do so quite comfortably because he kept his Southern jailors informed of the plans of his fellow prisoners."
Many of the spectators were angry, but they continued to listen to the stranger's words.
"It's true that after the war, Ferriday stayed in the South—that was where the money was to be made. You've heard the term carpetbaggers. These were men who profited from the misfortune of others. To the victors go the spoils, as they say. It was from these spoils of war that Ferriday made the money to start his various business enterprises. He went on to make millions, but his wealth was built with the blood, sweat and tears of minorities, immigrants, women and children. His employees worked long hours for little pay and no benefits. His company stores charged exorbitant prices and kept his workers in debt for years. Worst of all, his sweatshops were little more than deathtraps in which dozens of women and children were incinerated."
"What you say can't be true," the mayor objected.
"Doubt me if you wish," the stranger claimed, "but my words are accurate. There was never a blacker heart than that which beat in Wilson Ferriday's breast. He was driven by greed and a lust for power that consumed his humanity.
"Not all men of business and wealth made their fortunes from the misfortunes of others. Great men such as Milton Hershey treated their employees well and earned their respect and devotion. Others, like Andrew Carnegie, became philanthropists and donated vast sums to the arts, made endowments to educational institutions and funded hospitals. These are the men who deserve statues honoring their memories."
People in the crowd looked at one another uneasily. Although they hated to admit it—even to themselves—the stranger's words rang true.
"Who are you?" the mayor asked.
"Someone who knows men's weaknesses and has seen the evil that lives in their hearts."
As the citizens of Harmony watched in stunned silence, two small horns sprouted from the forehead of the bearded stranger, and wisps of smoke curled up from the ground on which he stood.
"For centuries, I have populated my kingdom with men like Ferriday," Lucifer said sadly. "But it is not by choice, I assure you. I would much rather share my imprisonment with one honest and compassionate man than with all the legions of hell."
As the devil slowly faded from view, a smoky tear was seen falling from his eye.
* * *
The years that followed the celebration of its bicentennial were difficult ones for the town of Harmony. Its citizens had to face the First World War, the lawlessness of Prohibition, and the economic upheaval of the Great Depression; and as the Thirties drew to a close, war once again threatened the fragile peace in Europe. Throughout those trying times, the good people of Harmony looked to the statue in Bicentennial Park for inspiration. Their local hero, Wilson Ferriday, had become a symbol to them: the embodiment of the evils of greed, self-interest and man's indifference to the suffering of his fellow man.
Although the houses in Harmony were less grand than those of nearby towns and the businesses not nearly as large or as profitable, no matter how difficult life became, the people were always willing to share their blessings with their neighbors and to lend a helping hand where needed. Thus, Harmony survived industrialization and the more corrupting influences of capitalism and free enterprise, and it became a place where the best of humanity dwelt within sight of the cold, unseeing eyes of the statue of Wilson Ferriday.
Salem started a petition in our town to have the statue of founder Roger Conant replaced with one of him!
