Editor’s note: Mark Bushnell is a Vermont journalist and historian. He is the author of “Hidden History of Vermont” and “It Happened in Vermont.”
These aren’t exactly the kind of book you’d curl up with. They are real doorstoppers, volumes thick enough to stun an ox. They bear titles like “Encyclopedia Vermont Biography” and “Men of Progress.”
The books burden a shelf in the reference section of the Vermont History Center in Barre, though I’ve seen, but never cracked open, similar volumes in other libraries. For some reason – I think it had to do with my visions of an optimist era so unlike our own – I took the books down, stacked them on a table in a massive heap and leafed through them.
The books represent a sort of “Who’s Who” of Vermont, circa 1900. The entries inside are as upbeat as the books’ titles. “The beautiful city of Montpelier numbers among its inhabitants no more useful citizen than Jesse S. Viles, Jr., whose life has been one of conspicuous personal success and vastly advantageous to the community,” a typical entry reads.
It was refreshing to see a time so sure of itself. But after a few more minutes of reading, I began to grow tired of the descriptions of “the self-made men of Vermont, who have achieved success in life through honest effort, thrift and good judgment.” Surely, even then, some undeserving men must have backstabbed their way to the top. Why did the authors feel they had to lay it on so thick? The answer may have something to do with how Vermont saw itself.
The state suffered through a series of economic calamities in the late 19th century. The value of its main cash crops, wools and grain, were dropping steadily due to competition. At the advice of experts, many farmers were making the difficult conversion to dairy farming. Vermonters were abandoning unprofitable hillside farms. Communities were “quite literally ‘going downhill’ toward the valleys that provided railroad access,” University of Vermont professor Dona Brown wrote in her engaging book “Inventing New England.”
Industrial jobs that had been done in Vermont’s many workshops, factories and mills were heading south to large cities. For the last several decades of the 1800s, the state’s population hardly grew while other parts of the country boomed.
Vermont was suffering a crisis of confidence. Where would the state be if these trends continued for another 10, 20 or 30 years? Responses were varied, but each involved selling the state to the outside world.
The Legislature created the Board of Agriculture in 1871 as a clearinghouse of information for farmers. Twenty years later, however, it added to its mission the responsibility of promoting the state. The board published a series of pamphlets entitled “Resources and Attractions of Vermont,” later renamed “Vermont … a Glimpse of Its Scenery and Industries.” Soon to follow were booklets titled “A list of Desirable Vermont Farms at Low Prices” and “Report on Summer Travel for 1894.” The state’s reliance on tourists had begun. As agriculture board member Victor Spear wrote of tourists, “there is no crop more profitable than this crop from the city.”
In 1895, the Board of Agriculture gained an ally. Beginning that year, The Vermonter, a privately owned magazine, started marketing the state. Its approach was none too subtle. In its first edition, the magazine published essays by prominent Vermonters on why Vermont was “The best State in the Union. Its attractions unsurpassed. A most delightful place for a home.”
In his contribution, Gov. U.A. Woodbury wrote, “Altogether, Vermont is a good place to work in, a good place to invest money in, a good place to do business in, and, if one must die, a good place to die in.”
The magazine also quoted this piece of doggerel from Vermont poet John G. Saxe:
“Vermont is famous for four productions – Men, Women, Maple Sugar, and Horses.
The first are strong,
The last are fleet,
The second and third exceedingly sweet,
And all are extremely hard to beat.”
A few years later, Vermont followed New Hampshire’s lead in establishing Old Home Week. The idea was to lure Vermonters who had left the state back to their hometowns. In Vermont, Old Home Week included Aug. 16, Bennington Battle Day. Committees in each community would gather the addresses of locals who had gone astray and send them invitations to be honored guests at celebrations of hometown pride. At a minimum, the week would benefit the locals, some argued, because they would gain the cultural stimulation of mingling with people who had seen the larger world. Better yet, well-heeled visitors might be persuaded to donate to local charities, invest in local businesses, or, if the town hit the jackpot, buy a summer home there.
In 1902, its first Old Home Week, the town of Waterford invited Jonathan Ross, probably its most prominent native son, to speak. Ross, according to one of the biographical encyclopedias, had been appointed a member of the state supreme court – a position, the book noted, that he “worthily fills.” (These volumes never missed a chance to pack in positive descriptors.)
“It is now a little more than 76 years since I opened my eyes upon the pleasant light of the green hills of Waterford …” Ross began. He went on to recall his community’s self-sufficiency, its enjoyment of the basics, if not the luxuries, of life, and its civility.
“…There were no law suits, and few neighborhood bickerings,” he said.
In closing he asked, “Do you wonder that Vermonters have been efficient, noble, honored workers wherever they have gone, and that they turn with reverence and love to their native state; that they delight to bring back the memories of their early life and surroundings in these days of Old Home Week?”
Like the excessive claims of an arrogant person, this crowing about Vermont’s supremacy masked a deeper insecurity. Old Home Week didn’t cure of the state’s feelings of inadequacy.
Writing in 1914, Dorman B.E. Kent set out to show Vermont’s greatness in his book “1000 Men.” In it, he unveils a seemingly endless list of prominent poets, sculptors, railroad company presidents, fathers of U.S. presidents, company presidents, inventors and others who had the wisdom to be born Vermonters.
As mathematical proof of his claim, Kent calculates that for every 991 inhabitants, Vermont produced one person prominent enough to be included in “Who’s Who in America.” That put Vermont at the top of the heap. In comparison, New Hampshire, at number two, had 1,354 residents for each “Who’s Who” celebrity.
Kent admits that fully 82 percent of the 1,000 Vermonters he lists in his book had chosen to leave the state. But putting the best face on Vermont’s exportation of talent, he takes pride that Vermont is “first and foremost in her gifts to the world.”
