I spent most of yesterday trying to get to know the Congregationalists of the 1920s. I came in to work, took off my coat, and then ran up into the stacks for an armful of books — I had determined that this was going to be a day fully devoted to research, with as few interruptions as I could manage.
And so I sat at my desk for hours, reading through old issues of The Congregationalist, taking notes or copying off articles that caught my eye. I quickly became engrossed in some of the controversies of the day. "King of Kings" had just hit the movie theaters and many church people were outraged and perplexed by Hollywood's take on the life of Christ, a story that they thought they still owned in some fashion. Another spate of articles took on the problem of religion at Amherst College, sparked by an openly atheist talk in the school chapel. The editors defended British churchwoman Maude Royden, who had been disinvited from an event by Chicago Methodist when they learned that she smoked cigarettes. Congregationalists also worried about prohibition, about war, and about race relations. After a while I began to feel like I knew some of these people, as familiar names and faces began to form a recognizable pattern.
Hours went by like minutes, and I was deep into 1926 when Suchesta, the tenant coordinator here at 14 Beacon Street, came in with news of something I needed to see on the sixth floor. It took a minute to come up for air, and I followed her a little bit reluctantly. What she showed me was well worth the interruption.
John and David, the trusty maintenance crew at Congregational House, had taken down the large square of painted plywood that had long served as a directory of the tenants on the sixth floor, and had uncovered the original marble one underneath. The marble hadn't seen the light of day for many decades. In fact, some of the old Congregational tenants were still listed in neatly painted gold leaf letters: the Board of Pastoral Supply, the Massachusetts Conference of Congregational Christian Churches, and at least one office of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions.
But that wasn't the exciting part. As we looked at that old marble directory, we began to see other seemingly random shapes that gradually formed into letters, like ghostly figures materializing into flesh. There was the Boston City Missionary Society, the Church Building Society, and Anatolia College. The more we looked at the marble, the more names we could make out.
It was like all of those old Congregationalists I'd be getting to know while I was sitting at my desk suddenly decided to pop out from behind a bush and say "boo". They were not just figures in old periodicals, but real flesh and blood people who used to work here, who loved this building and all it stood for. It's not often that historians who study the past get to bump right up against it the way that I did yesterday — but perhaps they should. There's nothing better than reading about people who haven't gone away gracefully, but love a good surprise every now and then.
-Peggy
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