Living the life of a nomadic military family had its ups and downs. Sure, we got to see so much of the country and even sampled some life overseas. But when it came to the holidays, we were more aware than ever of being far from the “North Country” and the family we loved. The other service families were in the same position, so we became a sort of “surrogate family” for each other. Still, we missed seeing grandparents, aunts & uncles and lots of cousins!
Enter Grampa Charles Dayton! No matter where we lived, Grampa, Gramma Jo and Cammie always came to visit us. I remember their visit to Killeen, Texas, accompanied by Rev. Floyd Tyler & his wife, Helen, where they continued south to Mexico and returned with a large bull whip which they enthusiastically demonstrated in the front yard. It’s a wonder no one was hurt! They also visited us in California. We ushered them to the redwoods, the seashore, the town wharf with its stores and restaurants, one of the string of California missions, and many other local sites of interest. And they even came to Italy, where Grampa helped Dad to lead the Easter Sunrise Service on the shores of the Mediterranean Sea. We made a quick trip to Rome to see the Sistine Chapel and several other monuments and sites, and they even got a bonus trip up through Germany to see the windmills and tulips in Holland and the lovely gardens in Belgium. Now that was a whirlwind trip!
For us, these visits were a crucial tie to the family we had left behind! But it was also a reminder that we were loved and cherished and certainly not forgotten. My father’s devotion and patriotic service to his country as well as our family’s sacrifice of a life surrounded by our extended loved ones were honored with each remote stay. Cammie became more than our aunt…she became a friend and a remembrance that, even as kids, Keith and I had roots deep in the hills of upstate New York. Grampa & Gramma Jo brought news from the home front and dived into the local culture and customs wherever we were, fully enjoying themselves in a distant or foreign locale. It tied us together more strongly, and that lasting bond is still unbroken. What a gift it was to greet my grandparents at my house and to know that they were bringing the love and caring of a family we loved so much, there in the Adirondacks!
Thanks, Grampa & Gramma Jo & Cammie for those treasured times!
By Camilla [Dayton] Luckey, daughter Of Rev. Charles and Josephine Dayton.
Gerald Ralph was there, old guard and “extended family”— his mother was sister of Charles Dayton’s first wife, Gladys MacDonald, making him cousin of Izzie Hayes. Gerald was putting vinyl siding over the wood siding my Dad and I long ago salvaged from Chazy’s Miner (Minor?) Institute as it was being razed, early ‘60’s (same era as the cement block frenzy began; same era as my dad built that whole row of four or five cottages). The oak flooring throughout the Ralph cottage is still tight and gorgeous. I remember helping lay it. Gerald has changed the windows to vinyl and added an interior partition. He even has installed a hood above the stove!
Gerald stopped for a break, and we enjoyed a leisurely chat about various Daytons and about campground changes. Gerald told me about the Baptist youth group, I believe numbering a few hundred, that rents the grounds for a week or so annually. The kids are quite the “Jesus Group,” he says. Sounds to me they are what everyone wished my generation to be. Gerald and I also talked about Gerald’s fabulous collection of vintage woodworking hand tools and his and Carol’s recent move from Corinth to a Queensbury condo. They spend a lot of the summer season on the campground. “It’s home,” he said. They’ve had the cottage for more than forty years, first owners.
Carol was antiquing in Canada with Beth and Amy until Sunday morning, when I caught her in her bathrobe on my last lope, my third that morning, ‘round the grounds, looking and listening for sounds of people stirring so I could say good-bye before my own departure. There were lights and sounds (these cottages aren’t soundproof) at the Ralph’s. Carol had been awake for hours, she said, but just relaxing in bed, where Gerald serves her coffee every morning!. My intended five-minute chat became a two-hour heart-to-heart; I was her flower-girl in the ‘fifties.
Saturday afternoon I slipped into the tabernacle, closed but not locked. I sat for a while on the platform steps. They seemed in the exact same place, maybe even the same steps, as in the former tabernacle, the one that collapsed under a heavy snow and was rebuilt as The Charkas Dayton Tabernacle in 1970(?). Lots to remember, lots to regret, lots to wish to re-live. Then I worked out a little minor-key melody on the old upright (piano), right next to a timepiece organ (surely not the Stevenson original?!), and finally I dared stand at the pulpit to pray and pretend. Lots of noise in those rafters and that metal roof when the place is empty, and the trees fan the wind. Of course it wasn’t really empty!
Chow Line at Old Dining Hall in early 950’s
The dining hall was closed except for the men on retreat, so I bought a terrific country breakfast at Guma’s, a sort-of-new (new to me) local restaurant on the edge of town and a fave for campers. Best raspberry jam I’ve ever tasted. I assumed Guma’s was empty, as I walked in at seven a.m. Mine was the only car in the front parking lot and I didn’t know there was another lot at the side. So I was extremely startled when I heard “Cammie! Come join us!” Whoa! Where’s the ghost? And who would immediately recognize me after decades of absence? But the voice was Phil Hunter’s. He and the campmeeting association president were seated, nearly hidden, in the corner booth. After introductions we three embarked on a conversation so engaging my eggs were cold before I touched them Truthfully, I don’t think we really did finish the conversation, just put it on pause. That’s what I hope. I can hardly wait for more. The subject was holiness camps and the Holy Spirit. No chitchat breakfast, that one! I liked both guys and I am pretty sure the new president liked me. He certainly seemed to enjoy our discussion. He is relatively new to West Chazy camp life. His name is Paul Robar.
As you exit the campground, if you turn your head left (as a driver always should, before turning right) you can see, looming large, a silver silo with … ears?…propellers?…antennae for receiving messages direct from heaven? No!….there’s a newly built windfarm on yon hill, in the direction of Altona!!
Other than that, the whole area seems as economically depressed as ever, except for the deservedly popular Guma. But the fields and hedgerows are heaven if you love native plants.
Old, Original Tabernacle
The cow creek (remember the swimming hole in the back pasture?) has shifted course a little and has filled in quite a bit. I can’t imagine Bud Hewitt, nephew of Reginald and childless Jo, taking a dive, as I once saw him do. I think Dad dared him. They use the creek for baptisms now. Looks to me they’d have to prostrate themselves to get their bellies under! And they mow to the creek! The place is packed with lovely buzzing creatures, a few flowers and ferns that look to be on steroids, so rich and free.
Shirley Pauling (in his 90s and, as mentioned above, owner of Dad’s fireplace cottage near the tabernacle, between the Seaman and Stevenson cottages) is the association volunteer who mows the “back forty,” the former cow pasture that stretches to the creek. He has an eye—beautiful job, nice balance between mown grass and waving wildness. We must remember, of course, it was the time of the annual men’s retreat, so the grounds were what is probably unusually spiffy. (Meaning: freshly mown.) I hope the Paulings eventually offer Dad’s cottage to me. I have no idea how much they paid or to whom. Or why they chose my dad’s! I told Shirley Pauling, perhaps not wisely, of the night the priest at St. Joseph’s (across street) noticed a car convoy slowly rolling, lights out, down the campground road beside the dining hall. The priest, good neighbor, called the cops. But by the cops’ arrival the crowd of kids already in the attic of my dad’s cottage was heavy enough that some kids downstairs heard a rafter crack, I learned later. It could have been a catastrophe.
Anyway, before the dissolution of Wesleyan ownership several years ago, long before the association’s re-organization, I, not being Wesleyan, was not allowed to own, either through inheritance or purchase. How things have changed! This summer I recognized approximately half the cottage names. I wonder, how many are still Wesleyan? The president of the board is not Wesleyan. This year’s men’s retreat speaker was. And the Charles Dayton Tabernacle no longer has pews but cushy, stackable chairs!!
“Everybody” was kind enough to welcome me, a non-member never mind a non-man, at the Saturday night end-of-retreat campfire. Imagine, a crackling, ember-tossing open fire right under those trees! And my dad was the pyromaniac?! It was a beautiful stacked-stone pit with a Scout-worthy blaze, located midway between the Perry Motel and the kiddie tabernacle area. That area is now furnished with various genuine playground equipment, gone the stony sandpile and its few rusty toy trucks.
Many Dayton readers won’t see much that is immediately personal or relevant in this West Chazy report. Never mind; I didn’t write it for you but for your grandchildren and my own.
Remembering Corinth, by Dave Hayes, is a ten-part series about Dave’s remembrances of Corinth in the late ‘50s. Dave, a retired elementary teacher and guidance counselor (36 years), and part time adjunct professor in the Counseling Dept. at nearby West Chester Univ. (24 years-8 after his “first” retirement) lives in Pottstown, PA. He and his wife, Kathleen, had four children, Heather, Jeremy, Emily (d.2008) and Benjamin. He descends from Wilber Sr. as follows: Wilber Sr., Rev. Charles “Chop” Dayton, Isabelle “Izzie” [Dayton] Hayes, David Hayes.
Part 8 – After Church
It wasn’t just “in” church where there are strong memories. I have wonderful recollections of times spent in the parsonage with Grampa, Gramma Jo and Cammie. We would run up and down those stairs and listen to the grownups in the kitchen through the grate in the bathroom upstairs. We would play in the bedrooms and sometimes have sleepovers, too. I loved to spin around in my grandfather’s chair in his study just inside the front door. It somehow felt like a “holy place.” After church, there were often snacks and a time of family fellowship. That was after we got back from helping Grampa take home some of the folks from church. Now THAT was an adventure. We would drop them off at their homes and then Grampa would begin to coast down the hill in neutral to see how far we could go without accelerating. We kids would laugh and encourage the car and even get out to push the extra few feet to see how far we could go. When not coasting, we would be singing a rousing rendition of a hymn or chorus or listening as Grampa told us some outlandish story. It was a magical time and I never wanted it to end! Even after all these years, those after-service trips remain a very special memory. [What got me thinking about those late Sunday evening trips was the picture in the latest Dayton Family Newsletter…the one with the map of Corinth and the corner by the Baptist Church. Grampa was in a hurry one time (surprise!) and he took that corner on two wheels! That moment is indelibly etched into my memory as is that particular corner.]
Remembering Corinth, by Dave Hayes, is a ten-part series about Dave’s remembrances of Corinth in the late ‘50s. Dave, a retired elementary teacher and guidance counselor (36 years), and part time adjunct professor in the Counseling Dept. at nearby West Chester Univ. (24 years-8 after his “first” retirement) lives in Pottstown, PA. He and his wife, Kathleen, had four children, Heather, Jeremy, Emily (d.2008) and Benjamin. He descends from Wilber Sr. as follows: Wilber Sr., Rev. Charles “Chop” Dayton, Isabelle “Izzie” [Dayton] Hayes, David Hayes.
Part 7 – Life Revolved Around the Church
School life and home life and exploring the town were secondary to the time spent in the Corinth Wesleyan Church. Most of my memories that year are associated with time there and with the special people with whom I interacted at church. Grampa would be up front in the pulpit leading the hymns with unmatched gusto or preaching with fervency & deep conviction or encouraging even the youth to give their testimonies during prayer meeting. Gramma Jo would be sitting in the pews hoping Charles would not make a personal reference or she would be leading a women’s meeting or directing Vacation Bible School each summer. I’d be in the back pews with Jimmy & Cammie & Keith trying to keep a low profile but still managing to goof around from time to time. Everyone was SO friendly and welcoming from the beginning and we felt at home here right away. There were folks that my Mom knew from her childhood & teen years, assorted cousins from both sides of her family and all those precious aunts and uncles who were glad to have Izzie around, if only for a season. They were supportive and gracious, knowing how tough it was to have a husband so far away for so long. That church enveloped us and made us “family” the minute we walked through the door. We had Sunday School and church suppers in the recently completed Education Building and played softball in the summer and went ice skating in the winter out behind the church. When it was time for Bible School, we gathered outside, lining up with our class behind our class banner. We followed the American & Christian flags and the Bible into the sanctuary and pledged allegiance to each before singing the theme song for the year. Then it was off to our classes for Bible stories, crafts, snacks and games. Those two weeks were the highlight of my Corinth summer! It wasn’t until years later, when I was directing my own church’s Bible School, that I again copied Gramma Jo’s formula for marches, pledges and opening songs. What a wonderful tradition I learned there.
Remembering Corinth, by Dave Hayes, is a ten-part series about Dave’s remembrances of Corinth in the late ‘50s. Dave, a retired elementary teacher and guidance counselor (36 years), and part time adjunct professor in the Counseling Dept. at nearby West Chester Univ. (24 years-8 after his “first” retirement) lives in Pottstown, PA. He and his wife, Kathleen, had four children, Heather, Jeremy, Emily (d.2008) and Benjamin. He descends from Wilber Sr. as follows: Wilber Sr., Rev. Charles “Chop” Dayton, Isabelle “Izzie” [Dayton] Hayes, David Hayes
Part 4 – Our Corinth Family
The best thing about living in Corinth in 1959,while dad was on a hardship tour in Greenland, was that we were surrounded by family—grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and lots of new church friends! Grampa was now my pastor (from father to grandfather…now there’s a switch) and Gramma Jo was my pastor’s wife. My Aunt Cammie (really, more like a cousin in terms of age and relationships) was a constant companion and new best friend. Then there was Uncle Paul and Aunt Ruth and their kids—my “new” cousins—who lived across town and Uncle Chip & Aunt Lib, who lived just a few doors up from us on Walnut Street. Not only did we see Cammie & Jimmy and the other cousins on Sundays and weeknight prayer meetings, but we saw them passing in the hallways in school and we played with them as “instant family friends.” Jimmy was a year older than I, so we got to explore and bike and run around the town together. After we moved again, a year later, I didn’t see Jimmy until we were in Houghton College together 8 years later! But our time in Corinth cemented our cousin-friendship! Jimmy & Cammie introduced us to the behind-the-scenes places in Corinth, like the supposed Indian burial ground at the top of the hill from the church. Local legend, according to the Corinth kids, was that Indians were buried underneath the big rocks that were on the hillside. We ran around, jumping from rock to rock, thinking that we were somehow part of ancient history. They also showed us the famous Stewart’s Ice Cream shop, where you could eat the toppings off of your make-your-own sundae and then add more on top. Now that’s a yummy memory! And we learned that the town beach (swimming in the Hudson) was next to the town library and just down the street from the center of town. We loved the small town feel and being surrounded by family—all in all, a great place to be for a year!
Much has already been written in previous publications of this newsletter about the Rev. Charles A. “Chop” Dayton, long-time pastor and administrator in the Wesleyan Methodist Church. However very little has been written about the rest of his family. Charles married Gladys MacDonald Feb 3, 1926, in Corinth. Gladys was born in Schroon Lake. They had daughters Isabel “Izzie” (1926) and Doris “Dorie.” (1930). The young Dayton family moved to Chittenden, Vermont, in 1932, when Charles entered the ministry. Chittenden was a small, out-of-the-mainstream, church where unproven pastors were sent to be tested. He proved himself very quickly. Three years later, he was called to Glens Falls, New York, the largest church in the Champlain Conference. The family also pastored in Watervliet, New York, and Springfield, Massachusetts, before Charles became Champlain Conference President of the Wesleyan Church in 1946. His wife Gladys, a loving partner in his ministry, was never physically very strong and passed away in 1949 at age 43, due to “heart failure”
In 1948, Izzie and Quentin “Kent” Hayes were married in West Chazy, New York. Kent began Marion College in Indiana, where both sons, David and Keith were born. Seminary then took the young family to Wilmore, Kentucky, for three more years. Following his commissioning in1957, it was on to Fort Hood,Texas, as a career officer and chaplain in the U S Army. The Hayes family moved a lot. Among other places, the family spent three wonderful years in Italy in the 1960’s. Kent served a one-year tour in Greenland, while his family stayed behind in Corinth. Dave Hayes speaks to their military adventures in the series “Remembering Corinth” elsewhere in this newsletter. Izzie was graduated from Houghton College before her marriage, did graduate work at several universities and enjoyed three exciting careers: social work, teaching and editorial work on a Chesapeake Bay magazine.
Younger sister Doris “Dorie” was married to John Lamos in 1951. John joined the US Army a./ s a band member for General MacArthur in Post-War Japan. Following his graduation from Marion College in Indiana and his ordination, he served several churches including Springfield, MA, Plattsburgh Turnpike Church and Corinth, NY. Dorie’s career choice was nursing. After earning her R.N. and B.S., she worked for a time in several hospitals. She was probably known best as the mother of five lovely children, four of whom have served, or are still serving, as pastors in the Wesleyan Church.
Charles’ first wife Gladys, a loving partner in her husband’s pastoral work, was never physically strong. She succumbed to heart failure in 1949 at age 43 .
The following year, Charles married Josephine Fisher. Josephine was the sister of Donna Fisher who was Wilber Jr.’s wife. Yes, the Fisher sisters married Dayton brothers. Jo graduated from Asbury College in Wilmore, KY, and taught elementary school before joining the flood of young professional women to our nation’s capital during WWII, to help the war effort. She got her master’s degree at Northern Baptist Seminary in Chicago and taught at Nyack Missionary College. In 1951, Camilla was born to “Chop” and “Jo” during Charles’ time as pastor in Springfield, Massachusetts. A year later, the family moved to Corinth, New York, where Charles pastored the Wesleyan Methodist Church. Charles had come full circle, and he was home again. The family remained in Corinth until 1960, when once again, he was elected to another term as President of the Champlain Conference.
Cammie graduated from Houghton College, where she met her future husband Jack Luckey. Following their marriage, they moved to Washington, D..C.; Jack completed law school and began his career as an attorney at the Library of Congress. Two children were born to that marriage, J.C. and Alexis. After a Peace Corps assignment in Africa, Alexis, the younger daughter, will be married this fall. J.C. has a very rewarding career as a spokesperson for a conglomerate of hospitals in the Tampa, Florida, area. It was those two young sons, Hayden and Joe, that influenced Grandpa and Grandma Luckey, i.e., Jack and Cam, to locate in retirement in nearby Clearwater. Cammie spends large blocks of time in Israel where she is cataloging and writing a book about antiquities at the Jerusalem Library. Jack, despite a heavy-though-delightful commitment of time
to his grandfatherly duties, recently published a book of his spiritual journey. It’s well organized, extremely readable and one tender description of a man’s seeking and finding truth and meaning in life. Despite my short attention span, I didn’t want the book to end. The title: Relationships, The Real Estate of Heaven. The author: John Luckey. Address: 1828 Union Street; Clearwater, FL 33763 Ave. (amazon.com)
Last week I asked you to identify the building and tell a story about it. It was the old Corinth Wesleyan Methodist Church located at 292 River St. in Corinth, NY. The church was built around 1900 and was last used in 1968 when it was bulldozed, burnt and buried. For me that church brings back a flood of memories. I attended there from birth (in 1948) until it was destroyed in 1968. I meant to include a photo of the new church too, so most of us could participate. Therefore, next week we’ll do the new church. Let me tell you a few of my memories about the old church.
My first memory ever in my life was when Rev. Howard Chapman picked me up and deposited me on the hat rack high above the coat rack. I was amazed at how strong he must have been to do that—and—incidentally, how far away from the floor I was!
When I was about 6, I used to rush to Bob and Cora Flanders before every service. I’d check to see if they had a toy for me from the cereal box. Now as I look back on it, the quantity and variety of toys was such that they must have dumped the cereal into the trash or ate it with every meal. They were elderly and childless and they were an unusually sweet and dignified couple.
When we were teens, my friends and I sometimes sat behind “Buggy” Bosford, and we counted the number of lice in her hair for entertainment. I can’t even remember her given name because one of us called her “Buggy” and the name stuck.
Our family faithfully attended prayer meeting on Wednesday evening. We always had a long “season of prayer,” and we always knelt in our pew on the hard oak floor during prayer. That could get kids into all kinds of mischief. When transistor radios came out, they were the perfect size to fit snuggly in a pocket. Jim Elliott and I used to put in an earbud and listen to a New York Mets baseball game during what seemed an interminable time on our knees.
And who can forget sharing in a summertime march, nearly 100 kids—2×2—singing a rousing “Onward Christian Soldiers” and following the Christian flag into Daily Vacation Bible School under the watchful eye of our pastor’s wife as the trusty Drill Sergeant? It was a really a cool thing that we kids enjoyed.
My best friend was Jim Elliott. He was the preacher’s kid, and his dad didn’t want him to get into mischief, an ever present danger. So Jim sat on the front pew, left side of the church. We teens usually sat in the back right corner of the church. During one service, Bruce Madison and I had a bad case of a stomach cramps that produced noxious fumes but no accompanying sounds, which are especially disruptive in church. We were somewhat proud of our creation. All of a sudden, the pressure became unbearable, and the attendant noise rang out through the church. Jim Elliott started laughing uncontrollably. His mother kept poking him in the ribs, which only made him laugh harder. I suppose the beautiful moment ended with a hymn.
My sister Priscilla remembers “bursting through the front doors as soon as the last hymn had been sung, the concluding prayer had been said, and running ecstatically around the church and through the parking lot. Pent-up exuberance!!!”
But above all else, and in spite of the preceding casual remarks, it’s where I got my spiritual wings. I thank God for the training I got in that little church. All of the wonderful teachers and leaders that helped shape the spiritual man I am today. My parents, Paul and Ruth Dayton, Florence Timpson, Dora Washburn, Jo Dayton, Charles Dayton, Nina Madison, Laura Bolton, Harold Smith. Lela Smith, Madeline Gilbert, Chester Dayton, Elizabeth Dayton, Everett Elliott, Sarabel Elliott and a score more.
Dayton Family History 