The Joy of Christ in Christmas was never so real as the evening our neighborhood in Connecticut got together for caroling and refreshments.
We lived in a new 88-acre development, and we were all corporate gypsies. Its residents came from every corner of America, and we cherished the geographical, cultural, ethnic and religious diversity of our roots, especially our local Christmas traditions. None of us had family close by, so we neighbors were one big family. One Christmas season, someone organized a neighborhood gathering for Christmas caroling and a time of refreshments. About fifty people showed up.
We gathered, after dark, at the turnaround of a cul-de-sac. The air was frigid, so the men had built a fire in a 55-gallon drum. The neighborhood “friendship leader” had the foresight to hand out copies of the words to the carols. We read the words by firelight or flashlight. Nearly all the carols we sang honored Christ—I don’t remember singing about Rudolph or Mommy Kissing Santa Claus. We sang about Christ In a Manger, about a Little Town Called Bethlehem, about a Silent and Holy Night, about Joy, about Angels Singing, about Merry Gentlemen Resting. It thrilled my soul to see and hear my neighbor’s families joyfully singing about Christ. Godliness and practicing Christianity aren’t very high priorities in New England. That night, the presence of Christ came to the end of Horse Stable Circle, and I saw the love of Christ on the faces of my friends and neighbors. I heard the love of Christ in their voices. The Johnsons opened their home to us, and when we finished singing our praises to God for the babe in the manger, we filled their house with laughter and joy.
Corporate gypsies move on. None of our families live there anymore. But every Christmas, I’ll bet there are a dozen or so families that fondly remember the love they felt for their neighbors and the presence of Christ at the end of Horse Stable Circle one Christmas eve.
John (Jack) Luckey, husband of Camilla [Dayton] Luckey, has published a new book.
Relationships: The Real Estate of Heavenis available on Amazon.com for all to enjoy (click here). Please take time to read those reviews too. Jack has done an excellent job in allowing us to consider the daily involvement we have with God through relationships whether they be casual or prolonged. I was touched by his quote from Brendan Brusse, a Jesuit priest, “Of two things I am certain; God is less concerned with being understood than with being known and we will come to know God more by experience than by explanation.” Jack allows us to explore this thought through his own personal experiences and encounters. It is a quick and enjoyable read that you won’t be able to put down. Give it a try.
Jim Dayton comments: I’m in the process of reading it and am inspired by Jack’s etherealand very game changingencounter with God through his bicycle experience. Jack teaches us what it means to have relationship with God. A teaching and touching read. He knows what relationships are about and inspires us to want them too. Each of my newsletter readers needs a copy of this book. (only $9.97 plus shipping). Buy extra books for your friends and relatives. Offer it in your Church’s bookstore. Put a copy in your church library. And don’t forget to go back to Amazon to leave a review after reading it. Every review left on Amazon is an encouragement to increase sales and readership. This book should be mandatory reading for all Christians seeking a more intimate relationship with our Lord. Thank you, Jack, for teaching us such a very valuable lesson.
John’s Memorial Service and graveside burial were captured on video. To view them click Here. To view a musical-photo tribute, Click Here
John’s Eulogy
Good Afternoon, I’m John’s brother Jim, from Byron Center Michigan. I moved away from Corinth when John was thirteen, so my contacts with John were infrequent. We never spent much time together, but as I reflect on John’s life, I realize that I know a lot more about him than I thought I did.
Less than three weeks before John passed away , Judy and I were in Corinth, and had the privilege of spending a full day with him and his wife Lori. It was a happy occasion for all of us, a day I’ll always cherish. That day, it really struck home what an intricate, complex and giving man John was. As the day progressed, it became apparent what made John tick
his love for Jesus
his love for Lori
and his love for his family.
John’s frequent mention of his love of God in the year before his death, thrilled us, his brothers and sisters.
During his last year, when he faced his own mortality head on, John recognized how soon he could be in the presence of his Heavenly Father, and it was obvious that he had made his peace and was looking forward to his eternal homecoming.
John and Lori had a passion for teaching and working with kids. On that inspirational day we spent with them, conversation frequently returned to children’s ministry, and the crafts that were such an important part of it. Crafts don’t just happen. Many loving hours were spent making each piece of each unit. John’s last craft was an eight-piece wooden frog. He admired those frogs as if they were his masterpieces. Come to think of it, they were. All 90 of them. He invented and produced different equally creative crafts for those children year after year.
I’ve shared only one example of John’s generosity. His was not only a generosity of time; it was also a generosity of money. Once, in this very church you were part way into a fund-raising campaign for a building maintenance project. You were still a stretch from meeting the goal. John told the fund raisers, “Don’t worry about covering the gap to the goal. I’ll make up the difference.” He told me the amount and it was impressive. That speaks to three noble traits he possessed;
1. His Generosity.
2. His faith that God would help him achieve his commitment.
3. His love for his community of faith… this local church.
On that special day we spent together, his number one priority, by far, even if he didn’t get anything else accomplished, was to give us a tour of his church and to introduce us to his pastor. The rest of the day was secondary.
One day, within the last four years, I received a lengthy email from John. That was most unusual. He had never written more than one or two sentences. Judy and I read it together and just looked at each other. We asked, “John wrote that?” I don’t remember the contents, but I remember that it was the most eloquent email that I had read in a long, long time. I remember saying to Judy, “Wow, I wish I could write that well.” I’ve come to realize over the years just how intelligent John was. He lacked self-confidence, and that masked a lot of what he was capable of.
John was a mechanical genius. He took wrist watches apart and put them back together just for fun. He made a wooden clock which kept accurate time. Rubics cubes and other 3-dimensional puzzles were no challenge at all. The man was brilliant.
John was fanatical about his New York Mets. He wore Mets clothing wherever he went. Years ago, he had a chance encounter with Howard Johnson, who was 3rd baseman for the Mets in the 1980’s. The way John carried on you’d have thought he met the pope. He was far more impressed with his oncologist’s passion for the Mets than for his ability to save John’s life. You knew he was a true fan because he even watched the west coast games till 1:30 in the morning.
John loved puttering of any kind. His creations were classics of clever and unusual design. He had one of the best equipped workshops anywhere in Corinth.
Well, That’s just a small peek into what my brother was all about.
Hey John… keep the lights on up there. I’ll be visiting you again soon, and I’ll be staying quite a long-time the next time we get together. We will bow in awe before the face of God forever.
Last week I asked you if you remembered this building. I think probably only those born before 1960 would remember it. The tabernacle was rebuilt by the time that most of us attended there, but it was similar enough to the old one that most of us knew what it is. It is the West Chazy Champlain District Tabernacle located in West Chazy, New York. The following description of the campground came from the Sun, Jan. 12, 2008, WEST CHAZY “Since the turn of the last century, the Wesleyan Bible Camp has been a fixture in West Chazy. However, mounting finances and decreasing revenue have put the camp in danger of closing permanently. The camp, which was first established in its current location in 1901, consists of 145 private cottage sites, three dormitories, a tabernacle, dining hall, 16-room motel, maintenance directors residence, and 24 campsites spread over nearly 35 acres off West Church Street.” I’m nearly certain that the campground actually dates to about the 1870’s. Most of you attended there summer after summer but have amnesia when it comes to remembrances which others would enjoy hearing about. Three of you have sent me some of your fond memories. Here are some of the favorites.
Priscilla recalls
standing by the open window in the girls’ dorm bathroom and hearing Keith play the piano in the nearby Youth Tabernacle. I remembered how he played the previous year and very distinctly remember thinking, “Hmm.. the Tyler boy is coming along pretty well with his playing…must’ve practiced a lot this year.” I had no idea we would end up together. (Keith and Priscilla were married in 1979. Keith passed away in 2007).
wondering if Dorrie Lamos ever did anything else at West Chazy besides play the organ or piano for services. She was so faithful, always there to play for EVERY service. I’m sure her husband was there, too, but mostly I remember her always in position.
me trying not to touch anything in the ladies’ shower- it looked so gross from age and many months of non-use between camps although I know someone spent time scrubbing for the next season.
watching for UFOs because it seemed like such a logical place for one to be.
trying desperately to keep my eyes open during marathon meetings.
trying to get away with something—anything…!
hearing a little camper excitedly shout, “Look at the birdie!” as Robin Mattoon and I (Crusaders counselors) laughed and pulled the blankets over our heads because the bird was a bat and was flying around the dormitory.
wondering if the world was going to end when I went to bed… 1967, the 6-day War—is this IT?!
being on the 2nd floor of the Crusader dorm when a huge airplane skimmed the top of the trees. It was deafening!.
checking out the merchandise at the “book store” in the tabernacle (now I manage a Christian book store at church).
the day Dad was trapped under a lumber pile at the sawmill and The Hayes family came to the rescue…. I could go on and on, but I guess I have already.
Judy Dayton recalls
Listening to the metal box springs at night.
Peeking through the knot holes into the room next door.
Best hot dogs ever.
Listening to an etiquette “sermon” by Aunt Jo in the missionary tabernacle.
Having to wear dresses all the time (no gym wear).
Walking the back lanes of the camp grounds where there was no lighting holding hands.
Sleeping over the dining hall….wondering what to do if there was a fire.
Listening for the dinner bell…Pavlov’s dog training.
Looking over my shoulder to see what relative was watching me and reporting to my parents.
Going to the mail window to get any cards from home.
Jim Dayton recalls
Good, Good memories. Memories that, in a small way, gave me some spiritual roots I have cherished for my lifetime. I wouldn’t trade these memories. I suspect you feel this way too. Why not join in the conversation? After all, they’re our memories too.
Taking up residence in the unfinished boy’s dorm; the walls were half finished concrete block walls (about four feet high) and the roof was the starry sky.
Marching from the West Chazy tabernacle to the West Chazy church to attend bible school [see photo above]
“Dating” girls and holding hands during the evening service. Then buying them a hot dog and coke at the snack bar— with sticky fly paper everywhere above the food and ice cream
Going to St. Armand beach and hoping we would see a French Canadian in a bikini (this was the 1950’s).
What counselor, in his or her “right mind” would take 50 to 100 kids on a mountain climb to a summit, where, if you walked a very short distance, to the eastern side, you could climb back down the mountain with one step?
US Air Force 8-engine B-52 strategic bombers [armed with a nuclear payload] flew directly over the tabernacle in the direct flight path to Plattsburgh Air Base. They were flying at perhaps 500 ft over the tree tops. It was cool when it would disrupt the evening evangelistic service with a sound so deafening it had the potential to permanently damage your hearing.
Trying to find a dark place after the evening service where you could attempt to kiss your date. The campground had a militia that walked around with flashlights to prevent that very thing. Rev. “stubby fingers” led the posse, and Rev. Ed “the peeker” Elliott was a pretty good hunter too. I don’t remember the rest, but they had so many hunters that we kids didn’t stand a chance.
One year, rumors started to circulate among the younger kids that I had signed a contract with the New York Mets.
Trying to “score a date” with the coolest of the camp meeting girls.
Jackie Tyler and Mary Jane Murray wearing baseball gloves on their heads to the evening evangelistic service.
Dorrie Lamos playing the organ.
Carl Timpson playing a musical solo on the saw.
The bookstore in the tabernacle
Getting your meal ticket punched by Rev. “Stubby fingers” Chapman
Fund raising by uncle Chop during the service with public financial pledge commitments from the floor. “Dayton Brothers will give $1,000” brought gasps all over the congregation.
Saturday night was “Sunday School night” during the evening service. It was “Statistics evening” and I loved stats…I still do. (Glens Falls had highest average attendance at X, with Corinth finishing at Y….rats, we’ll beat ‘em next year)
Sneaking out during the Sunday Ordination service to be first in the outrageously long dining hall line (always Turkey).
Buttering the toast with a paint brush.
Gary Tyler, Rich Cook, Dwight Hayes and a fourth, in a very good quartet singing Down by the River Side.
Roger Rounds, a teen evangelist with muscles bulging from one end of the platform to the other end— (A “wannabe” Arnold Schwarzenegger)
Don Klob – a pastor with a heart for youth and a very good man.
Rev. Ed “the Peeker” Elliott who never shut his eyes during prayer.
Rev. Howard Chapman’s VW pickup, the envy of all young boys
My heart throbbing over Judy Potter who was too popular (and uppity) to date me. She’s been my soul mate for 55 years and my wife for 51 years. Thank you, West Chazy, for Judy Potter.
Teens vs. Preachers softball games in a cow pasture.
Dirt poor, dedicated pastors with hearts of gold.
“thou shalt not’s” seemed to be the theme of every camp meeting.
Sword Drills…a race to be the first to find a bible verse and read it.
Praise ye, the lord, hallelujah. During the evening service we played calisthenics. Now that I look back on it, I cannot believe that grownups, did that during a church service. It certainly seems like trivializing worship.
Shouts of “Amen” or “Praise the Lord” or “well, glory” during the service.
Scary altar calls with “tarrying”, “just one more verse”, “with every eye closed raise your hand.” Altar call theme songs: ”Just as I am” and “Lord, I’m Coming home”.
Dirt floors, with wood shavings over the dirt to keep down the dust and dirtiness, and you were still expected to kneel.
Rev. Charles Alexander Dayton standing tall in the pulpit.
Trying 24×7 to get away with something.
“I’m in the Lord’s Army” with hand and body motions.
Good food in the dining hall.
Bare naked men in the public restroom…there were two shower’s which were just shower heads mounted on the wall…no curtains or anything. We boys stayed dirty for two weeks.
My dad ‘s largest cottage located on “Board walk” (near Mediterranean Ave).
Doc Steven’s “mansion” including a TV.
Missionaries displaying poison dart blow guns, and 20-foot snake skins.
You knew you were at the end of a missionary slideshow because the sunset picture appears on the screen (sometimes you were glad and sometimes you wanted more)
“chalk artists” drawing the abracadabra black light sunset scenes during the offertory.
Youth night choir and youth dress up. I got to wear my red sports jacket!
Accordions galore.
Dormitory pillow fights.
A knot hole in the floor of the boy’s dorm. We poured sand on the bunk bed below.
Pauline Streeter…the camp meeting nurse dressed in her nurses’ uniform and staying in the infirmary near the tabernacle.
Cammie Luckey had a different perspective on Camp Meeting life because her father [my uncle Chop AKA Rev. Charles Dayton] oversaw the Camp Meeting facilities, its conference meetings, the overall administration and much of the physical labor for keeping the camp meeting apparatus functioning properly and dynamically. Chop was “the glue that held the thing together.” He did the job well, and Cammie had an eyewitness view of the “goings on.” Here some of her remembrances:
That West Chazy tabernacle roof was a lot higher and steeper than it appears from the photograph’s perspective.
I was up there on the upper roof, once to shovel off the heavy snow that threatened to bring down the entire structure, and at least once to shutter tight (slide- and wing-bolts) those square roof vents, not visible in this front-on photo, that ran along below the soffit on both sides of that upper roof and were only open during the campmeeting season.
These were just two chores unseen by typical camp-goers. Most campers left West Chazy on Sunday to return to their 9-5 lives in Watervliet or Glens Falls or Springfield or wherever, oblivious to what happened on the WC grounds the rest of the year. Only a few, mostly clergy, for whom 9-5 lifestyles were rare, waited till Monday to pack and leave.
So what may have been the camp season’s most holy moment, an annual sacred rite even if the participants would probably be appalled at that four-letter “r” word, was never experienced except by a relative few. Most people remaining on the grounds late Sunday night, the hour of that sacred rite, were scrambling to pack or were saying sentimental farewells or, if they were of a certain age, trying to catch one last canoodle behind some bush as far away as they could get from the tabernacle.
The rite was not begun until after the final “seeker” arose from the altar bench (originally sort of like a chopped-off saw horse and only eventually a genuine, polished rail) but before the lights went out for another year. Then, a circle was formed. Shoulder-to-shoulder, hand-in-hand, the circle followed the inside perimeter of the tabernacle. The circle stretched across the entire front, between the altar benches and front pew, from side door to side door. It went along both sides to the rear, actually the front, the main-entrance wall as shown in the photograph, where one corner held Rev. Ross’ Bible shop full of enticing biblical toy paraphernalia effective at keeping little kids quiet during long sermons. A personal favorite was the 2×2” flat square on which you slid little squares the size of Chiclets until you formed the verse John 3:16. Today it would be Rubic’s Cube.
Anyway, the circle closed ranks and stood still, waiting at attention. These were the league’s team captains, so to speak. This was end-of-season wrap. A few solemn words were given by “names of note” such as Ray Smith of Watervliet, who regularly delayed his own 9-5 electric utility job for this higher, holy priority. Or he drove home to Watervliet in the wee hours of Monday morning. Sometimes these were words of victory, sometimes triumphant resolve. Often they included knowing phrases of foreboding, experience having taught that the circle would never be exactly the same twice. Who would fall?
After a few shared memories of sad moments and spiritual highlights, someone, such as John Lamos, husband of Dorrie Dayton Lamos, sounded the first note of the two songs traditionally sung. “Will the circle be unbroken, by and by, Lord, by and by?” Everybody knew the answer when it came to the matter of this earthly tabernacle circle; but everyone in this holiness circle also was well aware of other ways to fall. They usually had to deal with a fall or two every year at the “annual conference” that preceded the campmeeting.
The final song was always “God Be With You ‘til We Meet Again.”
These lines sound like something straight from John Boy Walton, a family-values TV icon circa 1970. But I could also reminisce about other “nearby structures,” as Jim referred to in his request for recollections. I recollect the Sunday afternoon I, the conference president’s (aka district superintendent) daughter spent “making out” with Steve in the Special Speaker cottage behind the tabernacle while Steve’s dad stood a few dozen yards away, at the pulpit.
(In those days there were three services daily. Typically only the evening and Sunday services featured the altar-calls that perhaps unfortunately defined the campmeeting experience. The other services were for those who wanted to “go deeper,” for folks such as Ray Smith and various little old ladies, the unappreciated, anonymous spiritual powerhouses.)
“From the person to whom much is given, much will be required.” At the time and for many decades I resented that I was not among those who packed up and pulled out on Sunday to a life far distant from West Chazy. I did not appreciate the feast table at which I was feeding despite myself, reluctantly living fifty-two weeks of the year in the three-century house known as the “President’s Home” (burnt to the ground by a hair dryer) adjacent to the campgrounds. I regret how long it took me to realize the rare, rich and eternal significance of those acappella voices rising to the rafters and roof vents and way beyond.
This is the Corinth, New York Wesleyan church, completed in 1968, to replace the old church which was shown in last week’s newsletter. Most of you are familiar with it because we held our 1998 Dayton Reunion there. Chester Dayton and Paul Dayton were the two men primarily responsible for financially backing the building project, and physically constructing the church. If it were a hospital wing, it would have been named Dayton Brothers Memorial Wesleyan Church. About 2012, the church was closed and put on the real estate market. It sat idle for about two years with no offers. The price was dropped quite a bit, and our Dayton cousin, Sarah (and Chad) Jerome bought it. Sarah is the daughter of my brother John Dayton. The church meant a lot to Sarah, so Chad and she bought it, converting it into their home. They made major modifications, including converting the sanctuary into a soccer field for her young kids. They leased out the parsonage. She and Chad have since divorced, and she moved to Saratoga. Chad now has possession of the property. Tragically, the local district administration of the Wesleyan denomination just irresponsibly walked away from the property without removing and claiming anything which was in the building. Left behind were the ledgers, records of the churche’s business meetings, and the registry of births, deaths and marriages of members going back to the founding of the church in the early 1900’s. I have tried unsuccessfully, a number of times, to salvage the books on behalf of the Corinth museum. The museum curator tried to procure them too with no success. I cannot understand why Sarah wouldn’t release them.
Mark sent the following message regarding the 1968 church: “And speaking of the Corinth Wesleyan church…..I have all of the scale models grampa made of the original and proposed new buildings when the church was deciding how to build the “new” church.
They were hand made using sanded scraps from the Dayton sawmill and painted white. He used to let me play with them when I was a kid in the late 60s and early 1970’s. I inherited them when gramma Dayton passed away in 1981.”
Jim Dayton recalls: “I don’t have many memories of this church. I only attended there for a few months before I moved away from Corinth.
Judy and I were married in this church. Our’s was the very first marriage in it.
The Church youth group was quite large and very active. We had a high school boys softball team which played against other churches in the area. We also had a basketball team coached by Roger Dayton (son of Chester).”
I was quite surprised that none of you wrote to me about the Dayton Family Reunion there in 1998. It was one of the most memorable and satisfying events of my life.
Here are a few of my remembrances of that weekend:
The cemetery tour and the trek into the woods to hear dad tell about the discovery and maintenance of Henry Dayton and his wife Christie’s graves. A few years after the 1998 reunion, a housing development encroached upon that little cemetery, and so Paul Dayton (with the tedious behind the scenes administrative work from Ray Orton) oversaw the interment of the graves and stones in the Dean cemetery (about 5 miles towards Stony Creek, and one of the cemeteries which we reunion attenders’ also visited as a part of the Dayton ancestors tour).
Jenn’s (my daughter) wedding shower was there during the reunion.
The last sawmill tour ever given by Paul Dayton was during the reunion.
Singing George Washington Bridge which was led by quick witted Keith. Remember how he said, “Ok, now everyone who ever worked at the sawmill sing”, and “Ok, everyone named Priscilla stand up and sing.” Keith (the late husband of my sister, Priscilla, had the funniest sense of humor. He was one of many associate pastors at a very large church in Milton, Pa. One day in their staff meeting, all of those present were going around the table telling what their favorite hymn was. When they got to Keith, he said, “my favorite hymn is Lead on O Kinky Turtle. I hope I didn’t just offend anyone. It was not my intent. It’s just that he was just a down to earth, loveable teddy bear.
Chester Dayton’s rendition of the Guido Giuseppe story (complete with English as a second language accent by an Italian immigrant).
The Kazoo orchestra.
The coffee mugs (write to me if you still have yours in the cupboard with your other mugs…we do, and Judy uses her’s every day).
The March 3 newsletter, titled No Showmanship Here-Just Toil and Labor, By Camilla Luckey, mentioned that Uncle Chop “admired a lady who was up on the barn roof helping her husband.” I’ve got a story that I think can top that one. I wish I had told uncle Chop. In 1973 at our home in Ephratah, New York, , Judy [Potter] Dayton was on the roof of our house, with me, putting up a television antenna. She was 7 months pregnant., at the time. During that same pregnancy, and a month before the antenna incident, she was under the car, with me, putting on a new muffler. She doesn’t have a man’s strength, but she’s strong in guts and determination.
Sawmiill Brides
Ruth Dyton 1980
After Uncle Chip and Roger ended their employment at Dayton Brothers Sawmill, it woud have been logical for Paul to retire too. But he loved the work, and so he kept the sawmill going. By that time, the operation wasn’t thriving enough to hire an employee, so my dad used “slave labor”..…his wives. My mom, Ruth [Carter] Dayton, worked there until she was diagnosed with cancer; then his second wife, Carolyn Ruth [Spinner] [Brabon] Dayton, worked there. Although the burden was lighter, it was still hard work, especially for women in their 50’s and 60’s. By that time, dad was selling wood for palettes, so the boards were of narrower size and only 4 foot long. The women didn’t work every day; they only worked when dad needed to fill an order.
When Judy and I were on Mt Carmel in Israel, the tour bus had to stop because a car was blocking the road. A shepherd had stopped his car to pick up a stray sheep. As he returned to his car with the sheep in his arms, I thought to myself, “How cool! Here is the parable of the lost sheep before our very eyes.” Just as I was thinking about the lost sheep, Judy shouted out so all on the tour bus could hear her, “Look, that man is stealing that sheep.” Not knowing the circumstances, either of our viewpoints could be the correct one. I think our minds should dwell more on “lost sheep” and less on “stolen sheep”.
Dayton Family History 