Bishop William Lawrence led the 1912 restoration of Old North and describes the process his 1926 autobiography, Memories of a Happy Life. Chaper 24 is excerpted here.
Paul Revere’s ride and the lanterns aloft in the Old North Church kindled the patriotism and touched the sentiment of the youth of the country, even before Longfellow wrote his poem. The restoration of the church in 1912 gave me such satisfaction that I believe the story will interest others.
Apart from the ‘lantern’ episode, Christ Church has historic associations. It is the oldest church in Boston, and except the Old State House, the oldest public building. Built in 1723, its architecture is of the best Colonial type; its lines without and within are true, its proportions good; its exterior is of imported English brick, its walls two and one half feet thick. After 1740, when the spire was built by the bounty of Honduras merchants, it dominated the North End of the city and was ‘a guide to the mariners.’
Major Pitcairn, of the Royal Marines, who led the redcoats out to Lexington, was to us schoolboys the embodiment of all that was brutal and cruel, shooting the farmers and insulting the women. In truth, he seems to have been a good soldier who did his duty in a soldierly way.
Two months later, he led his men at the battle of Bunker Hill. As he was scaling the redoubt, he fell mortally wounded into the arms of his son, who carried him on his back from the field to the boats, and then, kissing his father farewell, returned to his duty. Pitcairn bled to death, and his body was laid in a tomb in Christ Church, where, for any evidence to the contrary, it now rests.
I now come to modern history. Fifty or more years ago the native American population began to leave the North End; within a generation their houses, having become tenements, were occupied by recent immigrants. The people of Christ Church moved to other parts of the city and the suburbs. Hence the affairs of the parish fell into the hands of a small group of men who were unable to support its services adequately or to keep it in repair. As it was visited by thousands of strangers every year, its condition became a source of scandal and its usefulness as a house of worship meagre.
Sometime in the eighties, Bishop Paddock, supported by a few public-spirited churchmen, tried to gain a hold on the parish, but those in power, suspicious that the control would go from them, refused all advances. Bishop Brooks in his day tried again, but without success.
The parish, being a corporation consisting of owners of pews, had full control of the property, and when I came on the scene there were eleven proprietors who were, of course, proud of the historic church and of their ownership of it. The senior warden, Mr. Thomas Hall, a worthy man, dominated the situation. He kept the valuable records under his bed in East Boston. The Communion Service, given by King George II, was stored in a dwelling-house and later in a jeweller’s vault, and was carried on the first Sunday of each month to the church, where after Holy Communion the silver was shown to the congregation, which in expectation of the show was somewhat larger than at other times. The Bishop could visit the church, and hold confirmations, but was otherwise powerless.
After I became Bishop, I received letters from strangers in various parts of the country, who had visited the church, protesting against its condition, the charges of the sexton for entrance, and the fact that the breath of one vestryman passing the plate emitted fumes of whiskey. I determined to change the conditions and to put the Church under such authority as would ensure its safety, dignity, and usefulness. It took me eighteen years.
When, at my occasional request, Mr. Hall came to see me, I would state in strong language the disgrace to the Diocese in allowing an historic monument to be so neglected, but Mr. Hall was suspicious, saying, ‘Bishop Paddock and others tried that on, but they did not succeed.’ To which I replied, ‘Why might I not enlist a few well-to-do, public-spirited men to buy pews and cooperate with you in carrying on the church?’ ‘We are not selling any pews,’ was his answer. ‘Why should I not buy a pew myself and take part?’ ‘You cannot buy one, Bishop. We are in possession and we are going to hold the fort.’ And ‘hold the fort’ they did, year after year.
Feeling some responsibility for the welfare of the neighborhood, the Diocese placed in a tenement near by one or two social workers. My astonishment was great when in May, 1911, I received word from one of them that the proprietors of Christ Church had plans for the construction of a four-story tenement, close to the church, on the site of a dwelling-house in the churchyard. There was no time to be lost, for, if the tenement were once built, it would provide income for the support of the church and for the unlimited control of the present group.
I then discovered that an interested citizen had been allowed to buy a pew, had been elected treasurer, and was supplying the ingenuity which Mr. Hall lacked. He was Mr. John D. Bryant, a lawyer in excellent standing, a man of high character, and an acquaintance of mine. He had been for many years a member of Trinity Church, Boston, but when in Dr. Donald’s rectorship the choir had been moved from the rear gallery to the chancel, Mr. Bryant’s hatred of ‘ritualism’ prompted him to transfer his allegiance to old Christ Church, where the choir sang in the rear gallery. It was he, I discovered, who invented the tenement-house scheme, whereby Christ Church would gain added income and remain under its present control. I therefore called upon him immediately, told him of my patient waiting, and of my efforts so to change conditions that the church could be restored and supported; offering at the same time to do anything in my power, but with the understanding that I must have a part in the administration. He was courteous, but adamant. ‘As soon as you get control, Bishop, you will do what all the Episcopal churches are doing, move the choir from the gallery down to the chancel.’ In vain I protested that, while I had no power to promise for future generations, I felt that in a church of such Colonial architecture the choir belonged in the rear gallery. He was not satisfied. When he complained that his office as treasurer was irksome, I offered in vain to be the treasurer myself. I finally came to the real point.
‘Mr. Bryant,’ I said, ‘I understand that you and the vestry are planning to tear down the dwelling-house next to the church and build a tenement there.’ He acceded, saying that it was necessary in order to increase the income. ‘You as a lawyer know,’ I continued, ‘that I have no legal power in this matter: I am, however, the Bishop of this Diocese and of Christ Church: I am also a citizen. I shall not allow the church to stand before the community responsible for covering one more foot of open land with a building. The people at the North End need all the open space and sunlight that can be given them; nor shall I allow the church for whose safety I stand in some way responsible to be endangered by fire from a near-by tenement. Your building will not go up.’ To which he answered that it would, that they were arranging to borrow enough money on a mortgage to construct it. I closed the interview by saying, ‘Mr. Bryant, if you allow this plan to go through, I will publish you and what you and the proprietors of Christ Church are doing over my own name, in every newspaper in the City of Boston.’
At my request a friend kept a sharp eye on the City Building Inspector’s office, in order to report to me if any such plans came in for approval. Meanwhile, I tried to discover who was lending the money. This latter took some days, for Mr. Bryant was wary. One noon, when I was presiding at an Archdeaconry meeting in Winchester, word came to me giving the name of a bank in a neighboring city. I surrendered the chair to another, went to the telephone, called up the bank, and by good fortune found that I was talking to an old parishioner whom I had not heard of for years. In response to my question, he replied that the President had the loan in hand, and that the title was now being looked up. I then said, ‘You may tell the President that I have no legal power in the matter, but that I am Bishop, and that if his bank lends that money, I will publish it in every paper in Boston’; and hung up the receiver. On inquiry a few days later, I learned that the bank had declined to make the loan. Thus far the church was safe; but we were in no better situation than we had been for years before. However, the summer was at hand, and Mr. Bryant had gone away. So I went to Bar Harbor. They still ‘held the fort.’
On July 24, 1911, Mr. Hall died, and while his funeral service was being held in the church, Mr. Bryant died in his summer home in New Hampshire. Two worthy but stubborn men passed on. A cancelled bequest of ten thousand dollars to Christ Church in Mr. Bryant’s will reveals an interesting cast of mind.
Article 55. . . . Half of the net income of such fund and of its accumulations, is to be applied through the Rector, Wardens and Vestry or otherwise as the trustees for the time being may think will best accomplish my purpose, to keep in repair the historic edifice known as Christ Church, on Salem Street, Boston. … So long and only so long as said Christ Church edifice remains under the control and management, as at present, of the corporation known as Christ Church, or as the Rector, Wardens and Vestry of Christ Church (I am at this writing not sure of the exact corporate name, but whatever name that is, I mean), and to improving the musical service of the said church, so long as and only so long as the present form of service in said church — musical and otherwise — is maintained, which form I understand has been in use in said church since its foundation, namely so long, and only so long as the choir is made up of male and female singers, not vested, and is located in the organ and choir gallery where the same now is, at the westerly end of the church, opposite the chancel and so long, and only so long, as the Divine Presence is recognized as pervading the church and encompassing the worshippers that it is not necessary to turn about, and look into any corner in order to find the Deity, or to acceptably declare belief, or to render homage, or to implore benediction. Whenever a narrower belief of the Divine Presence in His Church is taught, or is indicated by the habitual practice (‘habitual,’ as contra-distinguished from some sporadic or exceptional use by a stranger), as by the habitual or customary turning about of the clergy in reciting the creed, or in invoking the benediction, or whenever the musical service in that church shall be habitually conducted by a vested choir at the chancel end of the church, or elsewhere therein, or whenever, if at all, (quod Deus advertat) the church edifice shall pass out of the control of the corporation and pew owners; then, and in either of said cases, this trust as to Christ Church shall cease. … I hope there will be no occasion for any diversion of this fund from the purpose herein originally intended, and that others similarly minded will similarly aid in the preservation of the Historic Christ Church, and in maintaining the simplicity and dignity of its worship.
In September, at the call of the clerk of the parish, the proprietors, ten or twelve in all, met at my house. Some of them were devoted members of the parish; others living at a distance belonged to other parishes; one had just returned from a few weeks’ sojourn at Deer Island in the harbor. They did not want to carry on the fight, so after conference it was agreed that they would exchange their pew proprietorship for a life right in their pews; that they would elect twelve persons whom I should name and who would have equal rights in pews; thus enabling me to control the situation. In return, I pledged my best efforts to raise such amount of money as would put the church and other property in good condition and would give it my support as a church and an historic monument.
These conditions were carried through: almost every pew was taken by an interested supporter, and for the only time in my life I solicited a public office, that of Rector of Christ Church, to which I was elected in order that I might carry on the work. The office of Rector of Christ Church, by the way, includes this interesting responsibility: he as the pastor of one of the three churches of Boston named in the will of Benjamin Franklin is one of the trustees of the Franklin Fund.
At this point my labors really began. Upon my first visit of inspection, we found the flues of the four furnaces so riddled with rust that we immediately smashed them, so that no fires could be built. The tombs containing a thousand to twelve hundred bodies were many of them gaping open, while the coffins within were crumbling to pieces. Tons of ashes choked the passages. No burials had been permitted by the City for some years. It was an interesting fact, however, that there were no fresh air ducts to the furnaces: the worshippers for generations had been breath¬ ing air direct from the tombs. However, these things were expected in ‘the good old days’: but I do not understand how the custom of burial in tombs can be regarded as more reverent than that of cremation.
The tombs were, of course, carefully and permanently sealed, the cellar cleared, and the church closed until a new heating-plant was installed; after which worship continued through the winter. Expecting at first simply to clear up, repair, and renovate the church and other buildings, I started to gather ten thousand dollars; but as the work went on, my interest and that of friends and citizens in the complete restoration of the Old North Church was such that contributions poured in up to thirty-six thousand dollars, besides thirty-two thousand for endowment. R. Clipston Sturgis gave himself and his experience in architecture to a study of the reproduction of the church along its pristine lines; while Charles K. Bolton contributed his antiquarian knowledge. He also as senior warden has served the church with great devotion to this day.
In 1804, much that was beautiful about the church had been destroyed by so-called improvements. A rounded plaster wall of Pompeian red with a brilliantly frescoed ceiling had filled in the chancel. The nave, too, enjoyed Pompeian red, so popular at one time. Long slip pews stretched across the centre of the church, destroying the broad aisle; and modern furniture took the place of the old pulpit and clerk’s desk. Fortunately the small-paned clear glass windows had not given way to colored glass. Outside, the rich English brickwork had been painted a dusty gray.
The plans and construction of the ancient interior had first to be discovered, and then the lines followed.
When the slip pews were taken apart and the modern floor ripped up, the old floor revealed the lines of the square pews which with their paneling had gone into the slip pews of a century ago. The box pews were reconstructed in their exact proportions and by a study of the records the names of the original owners were placed on them. A hole in a roof timber showed where the chain of the ancient sounding-board had hung; under this the pulpit must have stood. The records said that the pulpit had been given to Saint Paul’s Church, Otis, in Berkshire. At my request friends drove to Otis, took a photograph of the present pulpit, which, alas! turned out to be a modern affair. Christ Church pulpit had doubtless gone to kindling wood long ago. Hence the ancient pulpit in Trinity Church, Newport, with sounding-board, was taken for the model. The clerk’s desk was reconstructed, the whole in¬ terior adapted to the original plans, and a chaste white paint covered all except the mahogany edges of the wood¬ work. No one had suspected the existence of the large east window, until the plaster mask had been removed and a piece of timber found in the brick wall. Then a study of the Burgis print of 1725 of the North End and Christ Church revealed this window, and a joint in the brickwork gave its size.
The peal of bells, the first imported into this country, was rehung, and the framework so repaired as to enable eight men to ring them, as originally intended. The two houses were made habitable, and the yard attractive. The Sunday School and side buildings of wood gave way to brick. A few years later the Dillaway House next the church, which had been a fire hazard, was bought by the Diocese, and by the generosity of a few friends of the Italians, the beautiful little Chapel of Saint Francis of Assisi, designed by Sturgis, was built.
Sunday, December 29, 1912, the one hundred and eightyninth anniversary of the opening of the church in 1753, when Dr. Timothy Cutler preached from the text, ‘For mine House shall be called a House of Prayer for all people,’ was a day of great satisfaction to the faithful group that had stood by the church in dark days, to myself, and to many of the citizens of Boston. For my sermon I took the same text.
Great crowds packed the Church, standing in aisles, inter¬ esting congregation. All sorts of people, from all parts of city and of the country. Theodore Roosevelt came in during the sermon and was put in the Senior Warden’s pew, being the tenth person in a pew made for five. Fine, simple, hearty service; volunteer choir. After Service, told the congregation in ten minutes what we had done to restore the Church. Then they went over the Church, shaking hands with Roosevelt in pew and me in reading desk. Everyone keenly interested and much pleased.
In 1914 the Reverend W. H. Dewart became rector and has administered the church in harmony with its ancient traditions, as a spiritual home for citizens and strangers, and a priceless memorial of patriotism. Tens of thousands of people from over the country and beyond visit it every year, and as they read the tablets and history are reconsecrated to liberty and their country.
Each year on the evening before Patriots’ Day a great company assembles for the services. Last year the two addresses were by Vice-President Dawes, great-grandson of William Dawes, who rode as messenger, ‘an express by land,’ to Hancock, and Adams at Lexington by way of Boston Neck, while Paul Revere was riding from Charlestown; and by Mrs. Nathaniel Thayer (Pauline Revere), a great-granddaughter of Paul Revere. Then, as has been the custom, a descendant of Paul Revere hung the lanterns from the belfry tower.