Charles Edward Putney Part 1

Charles Edward Putney.

by Various.

FOREWORD

This memorial to a great Vermont educator is the happy thought of one of his pupils, Miss Caroline S. Woodruff. The idea immediately found favor wherever it was known that such a tribute was contemplated. An organization was perfected known as "The Charles E. Putney Memorial,"

to arrange for the publication of this book. Hon. Charles W. Gates of Franklin, Vermont, was selected as chairman, and the preliminary expenses of the enterprise were taken care of by a finance committee consisting of Hon. F. W. Plaisted of Augusta, Me., Mrs. Fletcher D.

Proctor of Proctor, and J. F. Cloutman of Farmington, N. H. The committee in charge of securing the material for the book and its publication were Miss Caroline S. Woodruff of St. Johnsbury, Rolfe Cobleigh of Boston, and Arthur F. Stone of St. Johnsbury. The publication committee realize that there are many former pupils of Mr.

Putney who would have been glad to have contributed to this memorial, but believe that the tributes in the following pages are representative of the sentiments of all who sat under his inspiring teaching, and are stronger and better men and women because of his marked influence upon their lives.

TO CHARLES E. PUTNEY

On His Seventy-fifth Birthday

February 26, 1915

Still, still a summer day comes to my call,-- A room wide-windowed, bright with girls and boys, A wrinkled Homer craning from the wall, A bee-like murmuring of _ai's_ and _oi's_; And you, a king, dark-bearded, on your throne,-- A king of gentle bearing and soft speech, No scepter ringing and no trumpet blown, But nature's own authority to teach.

A stranger-lad I steal into my place And five and thirty years are quickly gone.

The same sweet balsam breathes upon my face, The old h.e.l.lenic brook is purling on.

See with how bright a chain you hold us true: We that would think of youth must think of you.

Wendell Phillips Stafford.

BIOGRAPHICAL

Charles Edward Putney, the son of David and Mary Putney, was born at Bow, New Hampshire, February 26, 1840. He was one of fourteen children, of whom ten lived to grow to manhood and womanhood. David Putney was a farmer, and Mr. Putney's early years were spent on the farm. He attended district school and went later to Colby Academy, teaching district schools from time to time, and preparing himself to enter Dartmouth College, which he was about to do when the Civil War broke out.

He enlisted in the Thirteenth New Hampshire Volunteers, and later became a sergeant. He was in the war over three years and took part in the battles of Fredericksburg, siege of Suffolk, Port Walthal, Swift Creek, Kingsland Creek, Drewrys Bluff, Cold Harbor, Petersburg, Fort McConhie, Fort Harrison, and Richmond. He was one of the first four men to enter Richmond after the surrender.

At the conclusion of the war he entered Dartmouth College, and was graduated with high rank in 1870. Directly after his graduation he was married to Abbie M. Clement of Norwich, Vermont, who died in 1901. He taught in Norwich until 1873, when he became a.s.sistant princ.i.p.al in St.

Johnsbury Academy under Mr. Homer T. Fuller, whom he succeeded in the princ.i.p.alship. In 1896 he resigned on account of ill health. He went to Ma.s.sachusetts and became superintendent of schools in the Templeton district, where he remained until the spring of 1901, when he took up his work in the Burlington High School. He died in Burlington at the home of his daughter, February 3, 1920, after an illness of two weeks.

DR. SMART AT COLLEGE ST. CHURCH AT THE FUNERAL OF MR. PUTNEY

It takes a man to adorn any calling; callings require or bring special fitness, but manhood crowns the fitness, gives it added scope, completeness, power and beauty--rejoicing the heart. Good doctors, good lawyers, good men of affairs, good teachers, are better if they are beyond reckoning. Wisdom is an intellectual thing, a property of the mind, but when it is perfect the heart pours through it as the rivers flowed through paradise. A poem in the Scriptures says that Wisdom created the world, not as a task, but as a pastime. Speaking of G.o.d, Wisdom says, "I was daily his delight, sporting before him, sporting in his habitable earth." When one sees a man investing his work with personal charm, one knows the difference between a photograph and a painting--a photograph with its hard, incisive fidelities, and a painting with its living colors, its appeal to feeling, its lovely beauty, something luxuriously human in it. A teacher has a special reason for floating his service, if it may be, upon a stream of personal worth and personal charm, because he deals with children and youth who respond to what he is, as well as to what he teaches. Daniel says, "The teachers shall shine as the stars." Our friend here had much of the oak, much of the granite in his make-up; something also of the morning scattered upon the hills, something of the son of consolation.

He mellowed with the years. He planted climbing roses beside his strength, and in the heart of it a tender and delicate consideration; some of you loved him more and more to the end.

In his early youth he had the happy fortune to serve his country during the Civil War. The ardors of that crisis glowed in his heart to the end; the scorching heat gone, the flashing lightning gone, but never the remaining glory of those years when he enn.o.bled his young manhood by risking his life for his country. He might have said what Galahad said of the Holy Grail,

"... Never yet Hath ...

This Holy thing fail'd from my side nor come Covered, but moving with me night and day."

He was a faithful member of Stannard Post, and long its commander. He kept the Friday night of the Post meeting for the Post. Every Sunday afternoon he pa.s.sed my house, going to visit a comrade whom illness kept at home. And he was a religious man--a Christian man. Faith was mixed with his life. G.o.d strengthened him with strength in his soul. He was a deacon of this church, and while his strength permitted, a teacher in the Sunday school. He lived by his faith, and he thought about it. It was one of the great interests of his mind. There is plenty in every man's experience to limit him, to confine him, to make him small and petty. This man had at least two enthusiasms which lifted and broadened his spirit, his patriotism and his religion. The last word he spoke was the name of his native town in New Hampshire, Bow. A great light came into his eyes with the name, as if he saw the place in a vision. He loved his old home and visited it when he could. He went back at last in imagination and desire to the roothold of his life, and that was well and fair, for he represented the fineness of that New England inheritance. One perhaps should not boast, but at least one may say that it is a goodly inheritance of solidity, fidelity, seriousness, fitness to live in a community and take part in its affairs.

It is said of Elisha that he took up the mantle of Elijah. The mantle was a symbol of the spirit; it had become almost a personal thing.

Elijah had wrapped his face in it when he stood in the cave's mouth and heard the small, still voice of the Lord. He cast it upon Elisha when he called him from his plow to be a prophet. He smote the waters with it, when he went to the place where he was to go up in the whirlwind, and they were divided hither and thither so that they went over on dry ground. When he went up in the storm, his mantle fell on Elisha. That mantle lay close to the secrets of the prophet's heart; he wrapped his face in it when G.o.d spoke to him. It was the symbol of his influence; he called Elisha with it. It was the symbol of his power; he divided the waters with it. A mantle lies upon the shoulders. It may fit another as well as its owner. If it could be said that the mantle of this man has fallen upon the teachers of Burlington, he would need, he could desire, no other memorial.

LETTER TO MR. PUTNEY'S GRANDDAUGHTER, MARY LANE

South Weymouth, Ma.s.s., February 6, 1920.

Dear Mary:

May I tell you a little story? It has largely to do with one whom you loved and who loved you very much. You called him "Grandpa."

The story begins sixty-four years ago this coming spring, when two brothers, a big brother of sixteen years and a little brother of eight years, started out together one morning for school. They were going to attend a private school, for a few weeks, in a strange district about two miles from their home. The little brother would have been afraid to go that long distance alone; but he had all confidence in his big brother, whom he loved very dearly.

They had not been in that school very long when the teacher discovered that the big brother was the best scholar he had. Very soon the teacher asked him to help him in his work. Do you think the big brother refused?

One day the teacher was ill and could not attend school. He sent word by one of his pupils that he wanted his best scholar to take charge of the school for the day. Well, that was a trying experience for a boy of sixteen; but that boy commanded the respect of all the pupils of that school; so he undertook the task and with wonderful success. He had no difficulty with any of the pupils although some of them were older than himself. Perhaps the little brother wasn't proud to have such a big brother! It was about this time that the little fellow began to notice how earnestly his older brother was trying to do right in every way; it made a great impression upon him.

The few weeks of private school ended and the big brother soon opened the summer term of school in his home district. In spite of his youth he was appointed teacher and all the people of the district seemed very glad. Among his pupils were little brother, two other brothers, and a sister.

The teacher was so successful in his work that the parents in the district wanted him to teach another and another term. He did so; but all the time he was studying to prepare himself for larger work. He took advantage of every opportunity to attend school for a term or two at a time in some academy, until he became fitted for college. Meanwhile he was deeply interested in his younger brothers and sister and doing all he could to help them along in their studies.

About the time he was sixteen years old he heard a voice that seemed to say to him, "Go, work in my vineyard!" That voice meant everything to him; he was eager, therefore, to obey it. To work in the vineyard meant doing good, helping others, being unselfish, giving strength and cheer when needed. We all know how well he did his work in the Master's vineyard and through how many years he sowed the good seed.

A few weeks ago, the little brother, to whom I have referred, was looking forward to the coming of big brother's eightieth birthday and wishing that he could give expression to something worthy of the brother and his wonderful life-work. While he knew that he was not equal to an ideal accomplishment of such a pleasant task, he made one of his attempts and wrote the few lines enclosed, finishing them a very few days before the sad news of Grandpa's fatal illness reached him. He has made no change in them, realizing that you will understand that he was fondly hoping that his eightieth birthday would find big brother in his usual health and strength. So, with a heart heavy with grief, yet full of loving and grateful memories of my dear big brother, I am telling you this little story and sending you the accompanying tribute to one of the best men that ever lived.

And now, with much love to yourself and all the members of your home, the little brother of sixty-four years ago wishes to sign himself

Your affectionate UNCLE FREEMAN.

And the Sheaves Are Still Coming In

"Go, work in my vineyard!" The Master spoke To the list'ning heart of Youth; "The world is my vineyard; go forth and sow The Life-giving seed of Truth!"