Cooperstown Crier - Your Source for Hometown News - Cooperstown, Baseball Hall of Fame

Columns

December 4, 2009

Jim Atwell: Chance or plan?

What about the swirling currents that move us through our lives? Sometimes, like a floating leaf, we tumble over shallows and rocks; sometimes we snub briefly against a shoreline. What about those currents? Is some plan spinning itself out, or are we carried on and to the end by sheer chance?

Beats the hell out of me, friends! But when I look back across my decades, I’m awed by what has brought me (so far) and has beached me happily in Fly Creek.

Maybe I’m only snugged temporarily here; maybe some errant wave will swing me out and on, down the stream. I don’t think so. I believe Fly Creek, more like home than any previous place, is where I’m beached for good. But, oh, how I got here! You know much of the story: a boy from Annapolis, Maryland, a sleepy southern town back in the `fifties, goes off to be a monk. Then thirteen years praying, studying, teaching. Then two-dozen years at a fine Maryland community college as professor and dean; eighteen of them happily married to another academic, Gwen Vosburgh.

After cancer took Gwen, a few more years at the college, and then answering an urge to move north, to what had been our planned retirement home in Fly Creek. And, months before leaving Annapolis, meeting Anne Geddes, product of her own sweep of events that had carried her, south and east, all the way from Calgary, Alberta, to southern Maryland.

And then our happy marriage, already a dozen years old, and our blessed life in our hamlet, our town, our county, our home.

It dizzies me to think back on my sweep down the stream, and the improbable surges that moved me from one setting to another. I’m tempted to change the image, think of myself as a pool ball, caroming from other balls and from cushioned sides till I come to a temporary rest — only to be rapped and sped on my way again.

Here’s an example, not from my life but from Gwen’s. For her childhood’s events ended up defining my later life, and Anne’s, too.

Gwen’s dad, pastor of Edmeston’s Second Baptist Church when she was small, accepted a call to a church in Cameron, South Carolina. That’s a village about the size of Edmeston, though its wide streets and lawns are shaded by live oaks festooned with Spanish moss, and the old houses all have deep porches and rocking chairs. Rev. Vosburgh had moved his family a thousand miles south, from peaceful Edmeston to another village of peace.

Cameron’s peace had been shattered once, though, a decade before. Sheriff George Tilley, a man in his thirties, had been called out of bed in the middle of the night. An escaped murderer had been recaptured and needed to be hauled back to the jail. A generous man and widely respected, Tilley dressed and headed out to do the job.

Whoever turned Willie Gideon over to Sheriff Tilley had not properly searched him. Out on the highway, though in handcuffs. Gideon pulled a pistol from his boot and shot Tilley. The mortally wounded sheriff was found in his wrecked car. Rushed to the hospital, he died soon after. Gideon was later caught, still in his handcuffs, and returned to prison, now to face a second murder charge.

That story was already legend in Cameron when the Vosburghs and their three daughters arrived in town. And the sheriff’s widow, Miss Johnny Tilley, as everyone called her, rocked on her front porch as the Vosburgh girls played around in the shaded yard with her own adopted niece Nancy.

The Rev. Vosburgh, by all accounts, was a selfless pastor; he took on two poor country churches as well as his Cameron charge. And he was a witty man and a practical joker, too. But strong of will, he began to lock horns with his oldest daughter as she entered her teens. That was my Gwen.

When Gwen was fifteen and the tension was high, the pastor still carried on a practical joke that had long since become old hat. He’d come in, exhausted from his schedule, stagger towards the bed, and fall on it, gasping and holding his chest. ``This is it! Goodbye all! I’m gone!’’

This act had long since brought only a dismissive ``Oh, dad!’’ from the girls and his toddler son. But one dark evening he fell on the bed, gasped, and fell silent. It was ten minutes before they realized that this was no joke. He was dead of a coronary.

My Gwen, shocked, grieved, guilt-ridden that she’d somehow caused this, ran screaming into the moonlit streets. People poured out of houses; and down her own porch steps came Miss Johnny, the dead sheriff’s .38 revolver in her hand. If something awful was happening again, by God, she was going to stop it!

Gwen ended up moving north again to spare expense to her widowed mother, two sisters, and a baby brother — and perhaps to flee undeserved guilt. She lived with Edmeston’s Chesebrough family, who generously supported her first years in college. Gwen eventually earned an M.B.A., taught first at Alfred, then was recruited down to Anne Arundel in Maryland, the same year a young ex-monk joined the faculty.

That’s how an awful night in Gwen’s childhood changed the current of her life, made it overlap with mine, and brought me to Otsego County. From grief over her death, I later fled north, too.

Mere chance or plan beyond grasping? I don’t know. But, sharing life with dear Anne, who gave me life again, I’m awed, humbled, grateful.

Read about Jim Atwell’s book, From Fly Creek--Celebrating Life in Leatherstocking Country, at JimAtwell. com.

Text Only
Jim Atwell: Chance or plan?
by Anonymous , , Fri Dec 04, 2009, 03:21 PM EST
Columns
  • From Fly Creek: Passing fronts and settled weather

     (I owe the first part of this column to an informal writers’ workshop sponsored by the Smithy Pioneer Gallery. The small group, led by Gallery Director Danielle Newell, meets Sunday afternoons and is open to anyone interested in the writing craft. As a warmup exercise on that very rainy afternoon, we each wrote a few paragraphs on the weather and emotions. Here’s what that keen group prompted me to scribble down) The dour old Scotsman, the one featured in jokes without number about buying lottery tickets, pinching pennies, scorning worldly ways, etc., once silenced a friend who was praising the beautiful weather.

    Continued ...
    7 days
  • In These Otsego Hills: We're back from Michigan ...

    Unfortunately, we once again find ourselves stuck in a time warp. When we look at the calendar, we realize that Labor Day is fast approaching. Yet, we seem to be operating under the misconception that it is still early July due in large part to the fact that we spent the almost five weeks from July 15 to August 17 in Grand Rapids, Michigan. We feel the summer has sailed by and we, unfortunately, have not kept pace.

    Continued ...
    7 days
  • Otsego Herald: Censorship?

    All those indebted to John Lawrence, Post-rider, and do not settle the same IMMEDIATELY may rely upon having to pay cost!! Otego, Aug. 24.

    Continued ...
    7 days
  • In These Otsego Hills: 1984 comes to a close ... finally

    As we continue traipsing through 1984, we realize that even though we were supposed to be covering the comings and goings of Cooperstown, we actually were able, even then, to touch on a number of pressing community, as well as personal, issues. Of course, much to the relief of the powers that were at CCS, the school was not among them. The he-we ran for the school board in 1984 and was elected. Thus the school was deemed off limits by the powers that were at the paper. But we discovered there was still a wide range of issues upon which we could write.

    Continued ...
    14 days
  • Otsego Herald: New school book

    From the Otsego Herald for Saturday, Aug. 18, 1810

    Continued ...
    14 days
  • Book Notes: Books offer tennis insights

    Professional tennis sometimes seems to be the ultimate life. Where else could you travel the world, earn gobs of money, get in great shape, and have groupies from the opposite sex chasing you all the time? And you get all your equipment free to boot (which may explain why players smash racquets without remorse). Quite a glamorous life, isn’t it?

    Continued ...
    14 days
  • In These Otsego Hills: Continuing our 1984 musings

    Now that we have undertaken the beginnings of this column, we fear we find ourselves unable to stop our review of the early writings. In fact, we seem to be completely addicted to the project. And thus, we will continue to explore the very foundations on which this column has been built.

    Continued ...
    27 days
  • Book Notes: Burnett's book recalls 'Golden Age'

    It’s a shame that today’s young generation missed the golden age of television from the 1960s and 70s. The fact that Hollywood studios with their ``original’’ ideas of constantly remaking hit TV shows from that era into new movies and reunion specials is quite telling. Even Fox with its ``That 70’s Show’’ is a reminder of that whimsical time.

    Continued ...
    27 days
  • Home Notes: A place to cherish

    As we enter into the middle of summer, let us pause and relish in the fact that we have been blessed with such lovely weather.

    Continued ...
    27 days
  • From Fly Creek: Hurray for Mother Bassett!

    Just back from my annual week at Lake George’s Silver Bay, in company with about 600 other Quakers. As always, it was a great time: Friends shared silence in the early morning by the lake and during the day in the big brown-shingled tabernacle. (Silver Bay is an old YMCA camp.)
    Plenty of fine stringed music and singing in the evenings; lots of daytime rocking-chair stints on the deep veranda, facing across rolling lawns and lake to green mountains and skies of startling blue.

    Continued ...
    34 days
  • In These Otsego Hills: In the beginning

    Our remembering Jerry in last week’s column has now lead us to muse about our early days of writing a weekly newspaper column.

    Continued ...
    34 days
  • Book Notes: Prohibition should not be ignored

    I was an American history major in college and one topic that my professors never discussed was prohibition.

    Continued ...
    34 days
  • Otsego Herald: Elopement

    From the Otsego Herald for Saturday, July 21, 1810 Compiled, with comments BY HUGH C. MACDOUGALL

    Continued ...
    42 days
  • Home Notes: Personal Care is a rewarding occupation

    When I was a young girl in the early 50’s my family would often take rides through Cooperstown and the Cherry Valley area.

    Continued ...
    42 days
  • In These Otsego Hills: Remembering Jerry ...

    Difficult as it is to believe, we have been a widow for eleven years this week. And yet it seems as if our late husband Jerry just died yesterday. The memory of it remains most vivid in our mind. We suppose there is much that we don’t remember about July 20, 1999. But we do remember just how much that day changed our life forever. We lost not only our spouse of 28 years, but also our best friend.

    Continued ...
    42 days
  • Otsego Herald: Celebrating the 4th

    From the Otsego Herald for Saturday, July 14, 1810 Compiled, with comments by

    Continued ...
    49 days
  • Our Opinion: What’s good for the goose...

    The board of trustees has decided to hire an engineer to review the work of CLA Site, the firm hired to do the site assessment and design work for the Village Gateway Project _ now known as the Cooperstown Intermodal Transit Project. That review will cost up to $12,000.

    Continued ...
    49 days
  • From Fly Creek: ‘Thump-thump, dum-lum’

    Since I last wrote to you I’ve been several times embraced to Mother Bassett’s bosom.
    (Oh dear, I hope that’s not a disrespectful metaphor. But if you’ve seen photos, you know she was a handsome, dignified woman with an ample superstructure.) This time, for variety, the hospital visits at first seemed to have little to do with Parkinsonism. But a new problem had turned up that had me tested in every part of the hospital except obstetrics.

    Continued ...
    49 days
  • In These Otsego Hills: Travels with The Widge...

    We have decided that the role of grandmother is quite to our liking. As we have been told any number of times, as a grandparent it is perfectly acceptable to hold, play with and fawn over the grandchild until such time as said grandchild becomes fussy. And then, and this is the best part, it is completely within the purview of the grandparent to return the fussy grandchild to the parents. We love it.

    Continued ...
    49 days
  • Otsego Herald: Shocking accident, American arrested

    On Wednesday last, as Joseph Faulkner, esq. of Middlefield, was returning home from Cherry-Valley, a gust of wind arose up suddenly, a large Elm was blown across the road, directly on Mr. Faulkner, who, together with his horse was instantly killed.

    Continued ...
    56 days

New Today!