True Tales: Kicking Over a Fire Hydrant

Members of the Canton Planning Board in 1993 at a festive wedding: Scott Lenhart, George Jenkins, June Alfano, George Comeau and Patricia McDermott.

I’m sharing a more personal story this week, and one that has certainly had me thinking deeply about relationships, friendships and growing up in a community where “everyone knows your name.” As a writer who focusses on local history, much of the time preparing and researching stories is spent with the dead. The yellowed and brittle newspapers where obituaries are found, or at Canton Corner wandering through the gravestones in search of more accurate dates of births and deaths. In short, working with the dead is a big part of being a historian and through this work I will often meet our ancestors in a way that few people can fully experience.

To touch the uniform of a soldier, read the letters home or even handle the personal effects more than 200 years after they have passed from this place is both an honor and a pleasure. There is something profound in the collection and sharing of the stories of our citizens long-gone that is a source of pride. And, in telling their stories here in print, it is such that they live again. Sometimes, I will be with the dead for weeks on end as the story emerges of their life, love and contributions to Canton. It can be troubling when the deceased ended their time with us in a difficult fashion, such as a murder or suicide. And other times their passing comes at the end of an amazing life of contribution to our heritage and our way of life.

In all cases, as I have grown older in the company of remarkable men and women, it has been the friendships, both casual and close, that have helped me understand Canton as it is today. And, most recently with the passing of George Jenkins, I have been melancholy and rather moody contemplating what it means to lose a good man of Canton. Much has been written of the work that George has done in this town, but my perspectives are to be added to the record.

I first ran for Planning Board when I was quite young. At the time it was likely hubris that suggested I could win, and to be fair I did not win so much as the opponent lost that race. A young upstart taking on an incumbent of 10 years who in turn really did not campaign as such likely yielded me the victory. As I sat at the far end of the table at the Planning Board in the spring of 1988, George was the chairman, and to be honest he did not even look at me that night. It was a political upset that unseated his friend and now I was sitting there — barely 23 years old and without a doubt in over my head.

At one of my first meetings, George spoke to me ahead of time and told me to give an applicant a “hard time” when he was before us. I literally took my cue and began grilling a local policeman who was now before us as a developer. That older man was incredibly irascible and burst into a tirade, spewing forth his anger through a thick Irish brogue. I could see the veins on his neck pulsing as he screamed at me. I was freaked out by the outburst and looked to George, and without blinking an eye, he laughed as he banged his gavel. George knew how to ensure I was baptized in fire at the altar of a public meeting. At yet another meeting after an applicant left, George looked to me and asked if I still had my socks, because “he will steal the socks off your feet and you will never notice.” Wow, I had a lot to learn from this “townie.”

The mid 80s were heady days for the Planning Board. In a single year we reviewed 46 plans, 11 subdivisions, and 20 site plans. There were 20 meetings on average and we met in six work sessions and had nine public hearings. It was imperative that we all work together to make Canton a better place to live and work. The growth was exponential, and George as the chairman of the board held tremendous sway over the work we did in those days. I decided to take on the task of managing two areas of interest: scenic roads and building height. The latter was of great interest to George as there was a plan afoot to transform a parcel of land at the end of Royall Street into a mega-building as high as the Custom House Tower in Boston. Imagine today a building nearly 400 feet tall — as a right — along route 128 in Canton. The regulations were that loose that a zoning bylaw was needed to correct the absurdity.

The height bylaw was a long-fought victory for George Jenkins and continues to protect the town of Canton.

The plan was called “Towermark” and the site was the former Blue Hills Nursery. George and I championed a bylaw that would cap the height of buildings at 40 feet throughout the town. It was that bylaw that cemented our friendship. Together, George and I spearheaded the movement that resulted in one of the largest special town meetings in recent memory. That October Article 33 vote was contentious and highly spirited on both sides of the question. In the end, we prevailed, but not without high drama when the town clerk recorded the actual vote weeks later as shy one vote. The battle raged on into the winter and victory was declared in the following spring.

George and I became friends through that entire process; after all, we met more than 55 times throughout that single year. In time we discovered a mutual love of the history of the town. There was a bond formed and literally hundreds of hours discussing the intricacies of zoning, planning, road construction and, of course, loopholes. I recall the day that George and I went to inspect a subdivision that was requesting a release of lots for construction. A beautiful new road off of Washington Street with the asphalt freshly pressed and sidewalks along with fire hydrants. George knew the builder had a less than stellar reputation, perhaps shady was a kind word, and knowing the reputation, George was suspect of the work. Within a few moments of the visit, George walked up to a fire hydrant and kicked it over with his boot. The builder had tried to pull a fast one, he merely planted the hydrants in the fresh soil with the intent to hook them into the water system when the money came from the sale of the lots. George knew all the tricks of the trade; perhaps in his younger days he had even employed them.

I came to love George and my formation and understanding of the town has a lot to do with this man. George and his wife, Marla, were at our wedding. It was a time that I refer to as when “we were so young.” And now we are no longer young. The world around us is both focused and blurry. I sat quietly in Saint John the Evangelist Church last week, and all the memories flooded back. The gravelly voice, our performance in Damn Yankees, all the bidding wars he and I were in on eBay securing Canton artifacts, and of course our Planning Board days. I had not seen George in quite some time, and that makes me sad. The town is a bit less interesting without that man.

I looked for some meaning in the loss and found the following passage by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry: “Bit by bit … it comes over us that we shall never again hear the laughter of our friend, that this one garden is forever locked against us. And at that moment begins our true mourning, which, though it may not be rending, is yet a little bitter. For nothing, in truth, can replace that companion. Old friends cannot be created out of hand. Nothing can match the treasure of common memories, of trials endured together, of quarrels and reconciliations and generous emotions. It is idle, having planted an acorn in the morning, to expect that afternoon to sit in the shade of the oak. So life goes on. For years we plant the seed, we feel ourselves rich; and then come other years when time does its work and our plantation is made sparse and thin. One by one, our comrades slip away, deprive us of their shade.”

I know that George made a tremendous impact upon Canton, and I wanted to share my feelings with the town so they too could know what I know about this man and how together we made Canton a bit better.

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