The following interview by Mary Gilbert Smith ran in the Rutland Herald on January 17, 1933 following the death of Calvin Coolidge. It’s my “favorite” Coolidge story. Some day – One day, I’ll thread the microfilm of Rutland Herald back issues into the machine looking for Mary Gilbert Smith’s by-line. She seems to step aside and the subject of her interview speaks, seemingly, without interruption. If she did five more such stories I’d put them together in a performance piece that would rival Spoon River Anthology.
“FRANK WILLIAMS RODE FOR DOCTOR
WHEN CALVIN COOLIDGE WAS BORN”
- by Mary Gilbert Smith
The man who, at 22, rode for the doctor the night Calvin Coolidge was born, still lives in the village of Cuttingsville. He left the Coolidge service to enlist in the Tenth U. S. Cavalry under Custer, where he served for three years. He is Frank Williams, 82, retired carpenter.
“I don’t remember much about riding for the doctor,” he said. “No one expected then that Calvin would ever be president. They expected it less when they saw him later, a little freckle-faced, barefooted boy. But on account of having gone for the doctor I always kept track of him.
“I was born in Plattsburgh, N. Y., in 1850, and we moved to Plymouth in ’62. The Williams and Coolidges were always neighbors. There have always been Williams in this part of the country, for we are descended from Roger Williams.
“I was working for Calvin’s grandfather when I rode for the doctor. I had to go about five miles, but I found him at home. So it didn’t take me long to get him as time was reckoned in those days. It was towards morning when I got back.
“A month and a half after that I went with a fellow named Styles and enlisted in the Tenth Vermont Calvary under Custer. We went to Alabama first, but spent most of the next three years in Dakota. Custer was as fine a man as ever lived. He had a heart as big as a pumpkin. If all the officers had been like him, I’d have re-enlisted when my time was out, but I got all I wanted in three years. The best thing I saw in that time was my discharge.
“Some of the meanest men that ever lived in the world are officers, and you can’t give ‘em any back talk. If one of them gets down on a private, he can make him miserable. Our orderly sergeant was an Englishman, born and brought up in the old country. He made us see why the Revolution was fought.
“We got into our barracks one night and put out the lights. Then we shot off 15 rifles. He came at a bound to find out who did it; but we were all asleep and snoring.
“Styles’ enlistment and mine ran out on the same day. He re-enlisted and went out to get killed with Custer, but I came home. About 12 years ago I saw the name of one of our men in print. He was living in Texas at the time. I wrote to him, and he answered my letter. He was taken sick on the march, and was left behind to get well. So he wasn’t in the battle where all the others were killed. It was too bad about them.
“I worked on a farm the summer after I got home, and helped my father make potato starch. Women used a lot of starch in those days. Everybody wore starched clothes. I’ve seen my wife work after the babies were asleep ironing their long starched dresses. We had thirteen children, and we have grandchildren and great grandchildren to carry on the line.
“I’m a carpenter by trade and I’ve done a lot of building in Rutland county. I built Bond’s store in Danby, the Town hall that burnt up, the house next to ours, some houses in Russelville and three of the biggest barns in town. I helped Albert Pike build his two houses on Woodstock Avenue and built four houses in Mendon for Henry Crossman, and Orange Baker’s house on the hill in Wallingford besides a lot of others.
“I was married in Plymouth, 55 years ago in April. My wife, Minnie Smart, was an only daughter. Her people opposed the match and they never did get reconciled to it, but we’ve managed to put up with each other all these years. We’ve lived in Cuttingsville about 46 years. This was her father’s house, but we’ve lived in other ones–houses that I built for us, and sold when I had a good offer.
“We had an exciting time here in the Flood. You wouldn’t suppose it would come so high, but it nearly swept our house away. There was a hole that you could put a house in at the foot of this hill when the bridge went out. The last man that tried to cross the bridge was in over the horses’ heads before he got to it. We thought they’d all be drowned, but there were enough men to help save both the driver and his horses.
“Yes, we’ve seen a lot of things, and done a lot of work in our time, but it’s nearly over. I can’t do much now but split our stove wood. My eyes bother me some, and I can’t read as I used to. My wife says she’s nearly blind, but she’s just made a maple leaf quilt that’s good-looking work for a blind woman. Women sure take a lot of comfort cutting cloth into little pieces and sewing them together again.”
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