The Little State House
We’ve got our own version of The Tortoise and the Hare right here in the North Country. The race started eighty years ago. It wasn’t a traditional race with two contestants and a finish line. No, it had to do with the life stories of two objects as varied as, say, a tortoise and a hare. They were both born in 1929 and related in a round-a-bout way. Heck, most folks wouldn’t even recognize it as a race, but I do.
In this race, the hare was a huge bridge made of hundreds of tons of steel and concrete, built strong enough to carry traffic across Lake Champlain way into the future. It should have won this race, but was deemed unsafe to cross in October of 2009 and died two months later when a demolition company imploded it in a matter of seconds.
The tortoise was a simple idea that became a parade float. You see, the bridge was so big and important that many of the cities and towns around Vermont and New York State wanted to send floats for the gala parade that would open the bridge. The idea had risen from a group of Montpelier citizens, quicker’n the tap of a speaker’s gavel. A capital idea it was: Montpelier’s float would be a replica of the Vermont State House.
The parade was held on a hot day in August of 1929. Thousands of excited folks lined the roads on both sides of the lake to welcome the bridge that would enliven tourism and commerce in the North Country. Governors John Weeks of Vermont and Franklin D. Roosevelt of New York shook hands in the middle of the bridge and the gala parade made its opening official. Afterward the floats all returned to their villages, diminished to memories and photographs, except for one.
The little state house lived on. Chalk another one up for the tortoise.
It was built by carpenters of the A.K. Baird Company on a volunteer basis out of scraps of lumber from the jobs they were on. That was back in the days when law making was simpler and work ethic was strong. They immediately started with their hand tools working only during their noon hours. Even though it was only a parade float they were building, those guys drove home both quality and pride with every nail. After all, it was the state house they were building.
Over the summer of 1929, the structure grew from its eight by twelve foot frame to include two Greek Revival porticoes and a gold leaf dome that would rival the real one. Well before the big day, they had applied the last of the ornate trim and placed a foot-tall Ceres, Roman Goddess of Agriculture atop the dome. When the big day arrived, it was placed on a platform farm truck for the trip to Addison.
After the parade, the little state house came back to Montpelier, appeared in a few other parades, and then rested in front of Toy Town, a group of roadside cabins on US Route 2 just down the street from the real state house. Many a Montpelier area resident of my vintage remembers passing that little state house every time we went toward Burlington back in the days before Interstate 89. Ironically, it was the opening of I-89 in the 1960s that both drove modern travel, including traffic over the Champlain Bridge, and hastened the decline of the little state house. Toy Town went out of business soon after the interstate highway opened, necessitating a change of home for the little structure. It went down Randolph way for a spell and then migrated over toward Burlington where it jumped from home to home. After its twenty-plus year spell at Toy Town, however, the little state house model never quite received the care and attention it needed. In the year 2000, Montpelier resident, Paul Guare located it out in back of a cement warehouse over in Williston. It was dilapidated almost to the point of no return.
Paul Guare’s father-in-law was Nelson Paxman, one of the original carpenters, and Paul had always had a special place in his heart for the little state house. He arranged for the broken and rotting pieces to be picked up and trucked back to Montpelier where the Montpelier Historical Society took ownership. The minute those pieces arrived back home, another group of carpenters reached for their tools, once again on a volunteer basis and a “shoestring” budget. Those guys belonged to the Montpelier Kiwanis Club and, according to my Kiwanian friend, Fred Bushway, invested upwards of two thousand hours in bringing the local treasure back to life.
These days the model state house rests proudly right here at Morse Farm under a shelter that was built with Montpelier Historical Society funds. It’ll never be out in the weather again, except possibly on one of the occasions it’s appearing in parades or at historical functions throughout Vermont. Yes, it’s permanently mounted on a trailer so that it can be made available for all to enjoy. In a couple years, in fact, it’ll be traveling to a very special place, Addison, Vermont for the opening of the new Champlain Bridge. It’ll be a huge day for lots of folks, folks who have been seriously inconvenienced by the bridge’s two year absence. There will be none more excited, however, than a large contingent from Montpelier who remember the history of it all...long live the little state house that could!
We’ve got our own version of The Tortoise and the Hare right here in the North Country. The race started eighty years ago. It wasn’t a traditional race with two contestants and a finish line. No, it had to do with the life stories of two objects as varied as, say, a tortoise and a hare. They were both born in 1929 and related in a round-a-bout way. Heck, most folks wouldn’t even recognize it as a race, but I do.
In this race, the hare was a huge bridge made of hundreds of tons of steel and concrete, built strong enough to carry traffic across Lake Champlain way into the future. It should have won this race, but was deemed unsafe to cross in October of 2009 and died two months later when a demolition company imploded it in a matter of seconds.
The tortoise was a simple idea that became a parade float. You see, the bridge was so big and important that many of the cities and towns around Vermont and New York State wanted to send floats for the gala parade that would open the bridge. The idea had risen from a group of Montpelier citizens, quicker’n the tap of a speaker’s gavel. A capital idea it was: Montpelier’s float would be a replica of the Vermont State House.
The parade was held on a hot day in August of 1929. Thousands of excited folks lined the roads on both sides of the lake to welcome the bridge that would enliven tourism and commerce in the North Country. Governors John Weeks of Vermont and Franklin D. Roosevelt of New York shook hands in the middle of the bridge and the gala parade made its opening official. Afterward the floats all returned to their villages, diminished to memories and photographs, except for one.
The little state house lived on. Chalk another one up for the tortoise.
It was built by carpenters of the A.K. Baird Company on a volunteer basis out of scraps of lumber from the jobs they were on. That was back in the days when law making was simpler and work ethic was strong. They immediately started with their hand tools working only during their noon hours. Even though it was only a parade float they were building, those guys drove home both quality and pride with every nail. After all, it was the state house they were building.
Over the summer of 1929, the structure grew from its eight by twelve foot frame to include two Greek Revival porticoes and a gold leaf dome that would rival the real one. Well before the big day, they had applied the last of the ornate trim and placed a foot-tall Ceres, Roman Goddess of Agriculture atop the dome. When the big day arrived, it was placed on a platform farm truck for the trip to Addison.
After the parade, the little state house came back to Montpelier, appeared in a few other parades, and then rested in front of Toy Town, a group of roadside cabins on US Route 2 just down the street from the real state house. Many a Montpelier area resident of my vintage remembers passing that little state house every time we went toward Burlington back in the days before Interstate 89. Ironically, it was the opening of I-89 in the 1960s that both drove modern travel, including traffic over the Champlain Bridge, and hastened the decline of the little state house. Toy Town went out of business soon after the interstate highway opened, necessitating a change of home for the little structure. It went down Randolph way for a spell and then migrated over toward Burlington where it jumped from home to home. After its twenty-plus year spell at Toy Town, however, the little state house model never quite received the care and attention it needed. In the year 2000, Montpelier resident, Paul Guare located it out in back of a cement warehouse over in Williston. It was dilapidated almost to the point of no return.
Paul Guare’s father-in-law was Nelson Paxman, one of the original carpenters, and Paul had always had a special place in his heart for the little state house. He arranged for the broken and rotting pieces to be picked up and trucked back to Montpelier where the Montpelier Historical Society took ownership. The minute those pieces arrived back home, another group of carpenters reached for their tools, once again on a volunteer basis and a “shoestring” budget. Those guys belonged to the Montpelier Kiwanis Club and, according to my Kiwanian friend, Fred Bushway, invested upwards of two thousand hours in bringing the local treasure back to life.
These days the model state house rests proudly right here at Morse Farm under a shelter that was built with Montpelier Historical Society funds. It’ll never be out in the weather again, except possibly on one of the occasions it’s appearing in parades or at historical functions throughout Vermont. Yes, it’s permanently mounted on a trailer so that it can be made available for all to enjoy. In a couple years, in fact, it’ll be traveling to a very special place, Addison, Vermont for the opening of the new Champlain Bridge. It’ll be a huge day for lots of folks, folks who have been seriously inconvenienced by the bridge’s two year absence. There will be none more excited, however, than a large contingent from Montpelier who remember the history of it all...long live the little state house that could!