Executive Etchings

Surname origins

2011-11-04T07:11:00.000-04:00

The following information is from The Internet Surname Database. (© Copyright: Name Origin Research www.surnamedb.com 1980 - 2011.)

Brigham
This is an English surname which seem to be particularly well recorded in the county of Yorkshire, and specifically in the eastern part around Hull, Beverley and York. The spellings are usually Brigham and much more rarely Brigam and Briggam. It is has two possible places of origin, being Brigham in Cumberland near Cockermouth, but most likely from Brigham near the small town of Driffield in East Yorkshire. The latter place seems to have been "diminished" in the 17th century, through changes in agricultural practices, and specifically drainage of the wetlands. Between the 14th and 19th centuries huge areas of East Anglia, Lincolnshire and as far north as Northallerton in North Yorkshire were affected, when lands which were formerly meadow cattle pasture, after draining became arable or were used for sheep, who required dry lands. It is estimated that as a result over one thousand villages disappeared completely or became diminished, the villagers forced to leave for other places. When they did, they took or were given, as their surname, the name of their former village. Brigham means the settlement by the bridge, that in Yorkshire being recorded in the famous Domesday Book of 1086, and in Cumbria two centuries later. An early example of the surname recordings is that of Ellen Brigham. She conveniently married a Robert Briggs at Pocklington, East Yorkshire, on May 1st 1505, in the reign of King Henry V11th (1485 - 1509).

Snowden
Recorded in several forms including Snowden, Snowdon, Snodin, Snoding, Snoden and Snowding, this is a surname of English origins. It is locational from any of the places called Snowden in West Yorkshire and Hertfordshire, or Snowdon in Devonshire, but not Snowden mountain in Wales. All derive from the Old English pre 7th century word 'snaw', meaning snow, and 'dun', meaning hill, the general meaning of the place name is 'The hill where snow lies long'. The places called Snow Hill in Berkshire, and Snow End in Hertfordshire were also formerly called 'Snowden', and they may have given rise to surnames. Early examples of the recordings include Matthew de Snoudon of Somerset in 1278, Elizabeth Snoden of Kent in 1551, Sara Snoddin also of Kent in 1655, Ellen Snodin in the registers of the city of London in 1677, Elizabeth Snowdin and Ann Snowding also of London in 1695. The marriage of Thomas Snowden and Helen Abbey was recorded at the church of St. Martin and St. Gregory, in the city of York, on November 25th 1593. The first recorded spelling of the family name is shown to be that of Henry de Snewedon. This was was dated 1277, in the Fines Court Rolls of Essex, during the reign of King Edward 1st known as 'The Hammer of the Scots', 1272 - 1307. Throughout the centuries, surnames in every country have continued to "develop" often leading to astonishing variants of the original spelling.

Behold Your Son

2010-04-04T03:30:00.003-04:00

This was a sermon for the Easter season written and delivered by David A. Brigham (my father) sometime between 2000-2002.

BEHOLD YOUR SON
David A. Brigham

Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother, his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdelene. When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, 'Dear woman, here is your son,' and to the disciple, 'Here is your mother.' From that time on, this disciple took her into his home.

"Mom, can I go out and play now?"

"No, Jesus, you promised me you'd do your school work before you went outside."

"Mom, Mom, can I have a piece of fruit?"

"No, Jesus, that fruit is for our dinner and besides, you promised you'd sweep your Father's workshop before dinner."

It's not easy to imagine those types of real life scenes playing out in the life of Jesus and his mother. Did you ever stop to think about Jesus the Christ having those kinds of talks with "Mom"? Isn't it hard to picture the real Jesus as a child, as a teenager? Isn't it hard to see Him in real life episodes,in family settings, in conflict and uncertainty? Isn't it hard to think about the daily dialogue he had with his mother and father, his siblings, his friends?

After all, this is the Savior, the Messiah, the Son of God!

But the essence of our faith is that God gave his Son to this life for us--subjecting Him to the real world, and all its relationships, all its reality, all its ups and downs, all its pain.

The story of Jesus begins with his mother. Through Mary, the mother, we come to understand Jesus--the loving child, the dedicated son. The gospel story finds the real life Mary, not a story book figure, there for her Son, from childbirth in a stable, to death on a cross, and the incredible joy of resurrection. Loving always, faithful always--Mary was there, always.

Not every mother and son relationship is perfect. Some are failures. Occasionally we hear of a mother who abandons or mistreats a child, or cares little for her children. But this is rare. A mother's love is, generally, an extraordinary thing--and there is undoubtedly as special bond between mother and son.

I have always been very close to my own Mother. But I never understood the powerful bond of Mother and Son so clearly until I hear my own Dad's last words to me as he prepared for death's passage. Those last words: "Take care of Mom."

I was prepared to do that anyway. After all my Mother and I were close; I was the oldest living child; and I was her neighbor. But, at that moment, my obligation to her become so real, so personal, so spiritual. The Father passed the care of the Mother to the Son. "Take care of Mom."

Mary, the loving Mother, supported her Son throughout his life, and suffered unmercifully at his death. We can hardly imaging the physical pain of the crucifixion. Equally, there is no way to know the pain of heart which Mary felt as she stood at the foot of the cross and saw her Son.

Jesus, the loving Son, felt the special bond between Mother and Son, never waivered in his respect and compassion for Mary, and reached out to her at his death, seeking to make sure that she was cared for emotionally and materially. He gave her care over to others and acknowledged her special place in the history of the Christian faith.

This was Mary, the mother of God's Son. What an exalted title! This was Mary, the loving mother of Jesus. What an exalted role! "Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear... Blessed is she who has believed what the Lord has said to her will be accomplished!"

There is no doubt that Mary was a tower of strength for all around her. There is no doubt that she knew exactly the role that Jesus would have to fulfill. There is no doubt that she loved him as deeply as any mother could ever love a son, and more.

Washington Irving captured Mary and all who would be like her when he wrote, "There is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother to a son that transcends all other affection of the heart! It is neither to be chilled by selfishness, nor daunted by danger, nor weakened by worthlessness, nor stifled by ingratitude. She will sacrifice every comfort to his convenience; she will surrender every pleasure to his enjoyment, she will glory in his fame, and exult in his prosperity--and if misfortune overtake him, he will be the dearer to her from misfortune...and if all the world beside cast him off, she will be all the world to him."

Equally, while Jesus would preach the importance of putting God's work above even our family, no son ever loved a mother more than he loved Mary. She was a constant in his life. She was there for him. He was there for her.

The words at the cross are so few. We are left trying to imagine what it was all really like, to sense the overwhelming tragedy, to wonder how it could possibly be. In Jesus' few words, though, he speaks volumes.

As Mary stands at the foot of the cross looking up at her son, I think she is saying this: "Jesus, my Son, I love you dearly. I cannot bear to see you suffer like this. If I could, I would take your place right now. I have loved you since the moment God place you in my womb. I have understood my special role and responsibility. I know you are the Messiah. I can't understand why all this is happening. My heart is breaking. But I will never stop loving you."

Jesus hangs on the nails that pierce his hands. He can hardly speak, but he looks down and sees his mother. I believe he is saying to all of us: "My beloved friends, no matter what happens, we must love each other and take care of each other. I'm sorry you have to see me in such pain, an sorry this all has to happen this way. But it does! I ask you to look after my mother. I ask all of you to help your mothers and fathers and friends, to have special care for the elderly and the infirm, to reach out and lend a hand, to feed others spiritually and physically. I love you."

Jesus left us a sermon, a hundred sermons, a thousand sermons, in just a few words.

On Calvary, Jesus gave his mother over to the care of his friends, and gave all people in need over to the care of others. Her strength and her example help us to come to God, just as God came to us through her.

Notwithstanding the torture and pain, there is time and ability to take care of things that matter, to tie up the loose ends, to look after others, to pour out a heart, to show unending love...

"Take care of Mom."

Rocky Gap Veterans Cemetery

2010-01-15T06:00:00.002-05:00

My father, David Arthur Brigham, is buried in Flintstone, Maryland, in the Rocky Gap Veterans Cemetery just down the road from Rocky Gap State Park. He died seven years ago today at Glyndon in Ashton, Maryland, at the age of fifty-nine after a prolonged battle with metastatic prostate cancer.

October/November 1971

2010-01-13T07:33:00.037-05:00

Some wag has said, "For God so loved the world that He did not send a committee." Another has dealth with the peculiar construction of the camel and expressed the conviction this was a horse designed by a committee.

The great American game has become service on committees. If we want something lost in the shuffle, buried and forgotten, with only a little backwash, we turn it over to a committee. If we want others to share responsibility in the decision or a criticism, we spread the base by assigning a committee to take the matter under advisement.

Conversely, we can focus the best talent and dedication on a worthy objective by carefully selecting those who will relate to all the angles and come in with the answer.

Don't frighten and frustrate yourself by thinking out the number of hours in each month you spend on committees, sub-committees, and committee related activities. When someone calls or taps you on the shoulder and says, "Will you serve on the committee to...," is the your mouth always set to say YES?

Is you family proud of your committee involvement? Do they ever see you at home? Are they just as glad it is this way? Or, are they constantly upset and nagging because you are never home.

There is always a reason for dealing with a subject. The trigger which fired this shot was a mention of the hours and hours given by individuals serving as committee members in the interest of the League of Federal Recreation Associations, all 62 of the agency members, and the 150,000 individual federal employees who are known as participants.

Committee members are always subject to the judgement of those who do not like the conclusions, wish they had been asked to serve, or who know they could have done a better job. So, who can you please and why do you agree to serve? Probably it's because you care, you have pride, and you know that someone must do or nothing is done.

Oliver Wendell Holmes once said, "A man should share the action and passion of his times at the peril of being judged not to have lived." Each generation has an obligation to make whatever sacrifices are necessary to preserve the great privileges which were given us.

We now know that a Constitution to be followed must first be written, a Prayer to be answered must be given, and to be gained Membership must first be sought.

Now you have the inspiration and you are ready to reach out for your challenge and opportunity. You want to serve on a committee.

Fine, we have just the spot for you. To be successful as a committee member, you must be a man of vision and ambition: a diplomat, after-dinner speaker, after-dinner guzzler and a night-owl.

You must continue to work all day, take phone calls all night, and be on the job next morning early.

Oh yes, you must be able to please all organizations and auxiliaries. You must be both a Democrat and a Republican, be a man's man and a ladies man, a model husband and father, a devoted son-in-law, a good provider, psychiatrist, manager, and magician.

You must attend all meetings, tournaments, union sessions, funerals and visit jails, hospitals and credit unions. In you spare time you will be expected to review the constitution, by-laws and organizations structure of LFRA.

When you have related to your committee assignment, given it the best you have, there will be those whose soft tones will credit you with sincerity of purpose. Your loyalty will be cited and friends will recognize that some pretty ordinary persons have become very substantial leaders because you had the uncanny ability to get teamwork out of the group.

But you are not unique. There have been many committeemen. Historically, each one has been caught up in the ageless pattern of freedom, which is always revolutionary. Freedom is always alive, marching on many fronts... The ferment of freedom never ends.

David L. Brigham
Committeeman Extraordinary

September 1971

2010-01-05T07:33:00.004-05:00

The Water Witch was novel to some who reviewed this spot last month. It caught Jim's eye and he traced the Executive Witch to his den. If you don't believe in coincidence you can hop off right here.

It all began back in Iowa. A young Maryland lad had just gone to the tall corn State to do some broadcasting, some news reporting and some public relations. He wound up with the old AAA (Agricultural Adjustment Administration) and met Jim of the AP (Associated Press). Who could forget the battered felt hat, the crisp verbiage and the urgency of effort fostered by hungry days as a stringer and cub reporter. We related like a magnet and he was soon with USDA and AAA also.

Both boys moved from Iowa at the request of Uncle Sam. One found a home in Missouri and the other in Minnesota. They kept in close touch and crossed paths with some frequency. Then came the big events. Two baby girls arrived within days of each other. Both struggled for life and lost. The two families were drawn even closer together.

The surprise was a little understandable when the two wives compared notes. Yes, indeed they were. So within a few weeks of each other a couple of young men saw the light of day. They were worth waiting for! Within ten days of the even the Missouri Dad was heading for infantry service in World War II. Before leaving he called Jim to tell him of the "Greeting from the President."

You guessed it... Jim had just enlisted in the Seabees. Both wound up in the Pacific until it was over there. And who do you think made it home fro Christmas in 1945? Both did!

Next the Christmas card from Jim to Dave in 1946. Mine's due in April, when's yours? A hurry up reply informed Jim the other arrival had been scheduled for May. And so the two girls began their almost joint journey.

No one would expect you to believe there was a girl apiece the following summer. There were other similarities like the wives being sick at the same time and the work changes which sent both to the Washington area a few days apart. Then, as the years and activities have a way of doing such relationships in, the two families lost contact.

There was a call last week. Jim wanted to speak to Dave. He had read a column in a thing called the Recreation Register. It was about a witch or something. Was this the same Dave? Well... Well, if it is... Well, Jim, how old is your Grandson? Well, how did you know I only had one grandchild and it is a boy? Well, that's easy. I have a grandson myself and my oldest daughter is the Mother... Same with you I'm sure? Exactly the same!

It was country talk about finding water and digging a well that brought us back together. We began our renewed visit with well... And when he asked something about LFRA and my interest in the future of this association of and for federal employees, it was easy to use the same thought collecting delay, well...

I had to begin with the deep well of despair some of us have battled hard to overcome. There was the shortage of interest, the limited funding and the primary responsibility of willing horses to their own agency associations rather than to an overall League.

It made you feel like the frog in the bottom of the well who thought the entire world was the patch of sky he could see when he looked up. We didn't get the full view and begin to realize the potential until we looked over the top edge of the well.

Then, there was a the bucket of cream lowered par way down into the well to keep cool. Two frogs fell in. One pushed the panic button, folded up and sank to the bottom. The other kicked, scrambled and struggled. He churned the cream, created a pat of butter, hopped upon it, gave a great leap from this floating perch and escaped the well.

Is there any word we use more? This is the most convenient and versatile of the four-letter words. How do we begin when the boss says, "Why haven't you...?" Perhaps the wife would like to know what kept you at the office? Or, the preacher why you missed services? What's the reason payment is a little slow this month? Did you get a check-up? There's a problem with your kid and we'd like to know... The first thing to come to mind as we stall for the answer to meet the situation is WELL... Well eh!

There was Jacob's Well..the Well of Bethlehem, Abraham, Issac and the "well of living water." There is the Artesian well form which water flows of its own pressure. Some are purported to go to the well once too often and find only disappointment.

There are tales of those who bought an interest in a dry well. Others invested in prospecting for a productive oil well. Some made it with a well and some lost it. There's been many sunk in or drawn from a well.

Well, how are you feeling? Well, I hope!

There are other "wells" like Fargo and Wellington and wellsweep, wellbeing, well meaning, welldoer, welldisposed, well born, and well head. The last supplies water to a spring or well and the flow begins the circuit.

Why dwell upon the well? Jim started it and I want to tell him why I pursued it. You see, even before we heard of each other, I found the right girl and gave her a ring. She ran through the big farm house to the back porch where her Dad was taking off his boots. The skinny college lad followed...at a most reasonable distance.

"Look Daddy, look!" I guess he saw the little diamond. The response drifted back into the kitchen, "My Lord child, that boy's not dry behind the ears yet!"

Then you know who came on the scene and gulped..."Well...Sir...ah...eh...mmmm...."

And the 230 pound, six foot plus recognition followed:

"WELL...That's a deep subject when you get to the bottom of it."

David L. Brigham
Executive Director

Maryland Roots

2009-10-13T06:08:00.003-04:00

Luckily most of our Maryland ancestors were Quaker and, thus, meticulous record keepers. In this post I have traced each family connection as far back as I could and pinpointed the initial emigrants to America in the Brooke, Johns, Snowden, and Thomas families. As you see I still have a way to go filling in the blanks and will update this post as I continue my research. [Originally posted 8/26/09; updated 10/13/09.]

Genealogy notations:
b. - born
d. - died
bur. - buried
m. - married
m1. - first marriage
m2. - second marriage
div. - divorced
Names appear as First Middle "Nickname" LAST.
Dates appear as Day Month Year (1 Jan 1900).
Blanks indicate missing information.
Connections between generations appear in green.
Initial emigrants and arrival information appears in red.

1st Generation

Robert BROOKE, son of ____________, b. 3 Jun 1602, arrived in Maryland from England on 29 Jun 1650, d. 20 Jul 1655, m1. Mary BAKER, daughter of ________, b. ___, 4 children, d. ___, m2. Mary MAINWARING, daughter of Roger MAINWARING, b. ___, 10 children, d. 29 Nov 1663
1. Baker BROOKE b. 16 Nov 1628, d. ___
2. Mary BROOKE b. 19 Feb 1630/1, d. ___
3. Thomas BROOKE b. 23 Jun 1632, d. ___
4. Barnaby BROOKE b. ___, d. ___
5. Charles BROOKE b. 3 Apr 1636, d. ___
6. Roger BROOKE, Sr. b. 20 Sept 1637, d. 8 Apr 1700, m1. Dorothy NEALE, m2. Mary WOLSLEY
7. Robert BROOKE b. 21 Apr 1639, d. ___
8. John BROOKE b. 20 Sept 1640, d. ___
9. Mary BROOKE b. 14 Apr 1642, d. ___
10. Ann BROOKE b. 22 Jan 1645/6, d. ___
11. Frances BROOKE b. 30 May 1648, d. ___
12. Elizabeth & Henry (twins) BROOKE b. 28 Nov 1652, d. ___
13. Basil BROOKE b. 1651, d. 1651 (same day)

Hugh KENSEY, son of _______________, b. ___, d. ___, m. Margaret ___________, daughter of ____________, b. ___, d. ___
1. Elizabeth KENSEY b. ___, d. 1 Feb 1715/16, m1. Thomas SPARROW (d. 1674/5), m2. Richard JOHNS

2nd Generation

Roger BROOKE, Sr., son of Robert BROOKE and Mary MAINWARING, b. 20 Sept 1637 at Bretonew (Brecknock) College, England, d. 8 Apr 1700, bur. at Battel Creek Plantation, MD, m1. Dorothy NEALE, daughter of ________, b. ___, mother of Roger BROOKE, Jr., d. ___, m2. Mary WOLSLEY, daughter of ________, b. ___, mother of Cassandra and Mary BROOKE, d. ___
1. Roger BROOKE, Jr. b. 12 Apr 1673, d. ___, m. Eliza HUTCHINS
2. Cassandra BROOKE
3. Mary BROOKE

William COALE, son of __________, b. ___, d. 30 Oct 1678 , minister of Society of Friends, resided in Anne Arundel County, m1. Hester ---, b. ___, 1 child, d. ___, m2. Hannah ---, b. ___, 1 child, d. 20 Nov 1669, m3. Elizabeth THOMAS, daughter of Philip THOMAS and Sarah HARRISON, b. ___, 3 children, (after William COALE's death, Elizabeth THOMAS married Edward TALBOT), d. __ 1726 (see Note A)
1. William COALE b. 21 Sept 1655, d. __ 1700, m. Eliza SKIPWITH +
2. William COALE, Jr. b. 20 Oct 1667, d. __ 1715, m. Elizabeth SPARROW +
3. Elizabeth COALE b. 30 Aug 1671, d. ___, m. Nathan SMITH
4. Philip COALE b. 6 Sept 1673, d. ___, m. Cassandra SKIPWITH
5. Samuel COALE b. 9 Apr 1676, d. ___
[+ Need to research further which William Coale was the father of Elizabeth Jane Coale, daughter of William and Eliza Coale, b. 1692, d. 1713, m. Richard Snowden the Youngest]

Garrard (Gerard) "Planter" HOPKINS, son of ___________, b. ___, d. ___, made will 12 Oct 1691 describing property in Anne Arundel Co., m. Tomsin ---, b. ___, d. ___
1. Gerrard HOPKINS b. ___, d. __ Jan 1743/4, m. Margaret JOHNS
2. Ann HOPKINS b. ___, d. ___
3. Thomson HOPKINS (f.) b. ___, d. ___
4. Mary HOPKINS b. ___, d. ___

Francis HUTCHINS, son of _____________, b. ___, d. ___, made will 20 Feb 1698/9 in Calvert County where he was a Burgess, m. Elizabeth ---, b. ___, d. ___
1. John HUTCHINS b. ___, d.___
2. Margaret HUTCHINS b. ___, d. ___, m. Abraham JOHNS
3. Eliza HUTCHINS b. ___, d. ___, m. Roger BROOKE, Jr.
4. Sarah HUTCHINS b. ___, d. ___, m. Nehemia BIRCKHEAD
5. Frances HUTCHINS, b. ___, d. ___
6. Priscilla HUTCHINS b. ___, d. ___, m. Richard JOHNS
7. Mary HUTCHINS b. ___, d. ___, m. Benjamin HANCE

Richard JOHNS, son of __________, b. ___, d. ___, arrived in Maryland from Bristol, England in 1675, settled near Calvert Cliffs, m. Elizabeth KENSEY, widow of Thomas SPARROW (d. 1674/5), daughter of Hugh and Margaret KENSEY, b. ___, d. 1 Feb 1715/16
1. Thomas SPARROW b. ___, d. ___, m1. Ann BURGES, m2. Sophia RICHARDSON
2. Elizabeth SPARROW b. ___, d. ___, m. William COALE
3. Abraham JOHNS b. 24 Jun 1677, d. 10 Dec 1707, m. Margaret HUTCHINS
4. Aquilla JOHNS b. 30 Sept 1679, d. 11 May 1682
5. Priscilla JOHNS b. 21 Mar 1681/2, d. 1 Apr 1725, m. Robert ROBERTS
6. Margaret JOHNS b. 11 Oct 1683, d. ___, m. Gerrard HOPKINS
7. Aquilla JOHNS b. 5 Feb 1684/5, d. 16 Jan 1709, m. Mary HOZIER
8. Richard JOHNS b. 4 Apr 1687, d. 16 Aug 1719, m. Priscilla HUTCHINS
9. Kensey JOHNS b. 12 July 1689, d. 2 Apr 1729, m. Elizabeth CHEW
10. Isaac JOHNS b. 10 May 1692, d. 29 Nov 1728, m. Ann GALLOWAY
11. Elizabeth JOHNS b. 26 May 1694, d. 19 Dec 1772, m1. Henry TROTH, m2. John STEVENS

Sir George SKIPWITH, son of _________, b. ___, d. ___, m. Elizabeth ___________, daughter of ______________, b. ___, d. ___
1. Cassandra SKIPWITH b. 29 Oct 1678, d. ___, m. Philip COALE

Richard SNOWDEN Sr., son of ____, b. ___ 1640, Birmingham, England, emigrated to Maryland in 1659, d. ___ 1711, m1. Deborah ABBOTT b. ____, d. ____; m2. Elizabeth GROSSE b.____, d. __ 1675
1. Richard SNOWDEN, b. __ 1666, d. __ 1720, m. Mary LINTHICUM

Philip THOMAS, son of Evan THOMAS of Swanslea, Glamorganshire, Wales, b. circa 1600, Bristol, England, d. ___, made will 9 Sept 1674, arrived in Maryland from England in 1651, settled near West River, m. Sarah HARRISON, daughter of ___________, b.___, d. __ 1687
1. Philip THOMAS, Jr. b. ___, d. bef. 1688
2. Sarah THOMAS b. ___, d. __ 1675, m. John MEARS
3. Elizabeth THOMAS b. ___, d. __ 1726, m1. William COALE, m2. Edward TALBOT (see Note A)
4. Martha THOMAS b. ___, d. bef 1688, m. Richard ARNELL (or ARNOLD)
5. Samuel THOMAS b. circa 1655, d. bef. 10 Feb 1743, m. Mary HUTCHINS

3rd Generation

Roger BROOKE, Jr., son of Roger BROOKE Sr. and Dorothy NEALE, b. 12 Apr 1673, d. ___, m. 23 Feb 1702 Eliza HUTCHINS, daughter of Francis and Elizabeth HUTCHINS, b. ___, d. ___
1. Roger BROOK III b. 3 Dec 1703, d. 28 May 1705
2. James BROOKE b. 21 Feb 1705, d. ___, m. Deborah SNOWDEN
3. Eliza BROOKE b. 23 Nov 1707, d. ___
4. Dorothy BROOKE b. 3 Jul 1709, d. ___
5. Mary BROOKE b. 29 Dec 1710, d. ___
6. Ann BROOKE b. 29 Mar 1712, d. ___
7. Roger BROOKE b. 10 Jun 1714, d. ___
8. Cassandra BROOKE b. 3 Apr 1716, d. ___
9. Priscilla & Basil (twins) BROOKE b. 16 Nov 1717, d. ___

Philip COALE, son of William COALE and Elizabeth THOMAS, b. 6 Sept 1673, officer in British army, d. ___, m. 6 Apr 1697 Cassandra SKIPWITH, daughter of Sir George SKIPWITH and Elizabeth ---, b. 29 Oct 1678, d. ___
1. Cassandra COALE b. ___, d. ___
2. Elizabeth COALE b. ___, d. ___
3. Skipwith COALE b. ___, d. bef. 1759, m. Margaret HOLLAND

William COALE, son of William COALE and _________, b. ___, d. ___, m. Eliza ___________, daughter of ______________, b. ___, d. ___
1. Elizabeth Jane COALE b. ___ 1692, d. ___ 1713, m. Richard Snowden the Youngest

Gerrard HOPKINS, son of Garrard (Gerard) HOPKINS and Tomsin ---, b. ___, d. __ Jan 1743/44, m. Margaret JOHNS, daughter of Richard JOHNS and Elizabeth KENSEY, b. 11 Oct 1683, d. ___
1. Margaret HOPKINS b. ___, d. ___, m. Aquilla JOHNS
2. Elizabeth HOPKINS b. 13 Jun 1703, d. 27 Feb 1772, m. Levin HILL
3. Joseph HOPKINS b. 2 Nov 1706, d. ___
4. Gerrard HOPKINS b. 7 Mar 1709, d. ___, m. Mary HALL
5. Philip HOPKINS b. 9 Aug 1711, d. ___, m. Elizabeth HALL
6. Samuel HOPKINS b. 16 Jan 1713/14, d. ___
7. Richard HOPKINS b. 12 May 1715, d. ___, m. Katherine TODD
8. William HOPKINS b. 8 Aug 1717, d. ___
9. Johns HOPKINS b. 30 Oct 1720, d. ___, m1. Mary GILLISS, m2. Mary RICHARDSON, m3. Elizabeth THOMAS (see Note B)

Richard SNOWDEN Jr., son of Richard SNOWDEN Sr. and ____, b. ___ 1666, d. ___1720, m. Mary LINTHICUM, daughter of _______, b. ___ 1667, d. ___
1. Richard SNOWDEN b. __ 1688, d. __ 1763, m1. Elizabeth Jane COALE, m2. Elizabeth THOMAS
2. Elizabeth SNOWDEN b. ___, d. bef.1749, m. John THOMAS

Samuel THOMAS, son of Philip THOMAS and Sarah HARRISON, b. circa 1655, d. bef. 10 Feb 1743, m. 15 May 1688 Mary HUTCHINS, daughter of Francis HUTCHINS of Calvert Co., b. ___, d. __ Jul 1751
1. Sarah THOMAS b. 31 Mar 1689, d. ___, m. Joseph RICHARDSON
2. Samuel THOMAS b. 1 Feb 1691, d. as infant
3. Samuel THOMAS (2d.) b. 11 Mar 1693, d. as infant
4. Philip THOMAS b. 1 Mar 1694, d. 23 Nov 1762, m1. Frances HOLLAND, m2. Ann CHEW
5. John THOMAS b. 15 Apr 1697, d. __ Feb 1749/50, m. Elizabeth SNOWDEN
6. Elizabeth THOMAS b. 28 Dec 1698, d. ___, m. Richard SNOWDEN
7. Mary THOMAS b. 6 Nov 1700, d. ___, m. John GALLOWAY
8. Samuel THOMAS (3d.) b. 12 Nov 1702, d. ___
9. Ann THOMAS b. ___, d. __ 1743, m. Edward FELL
10. Margaret THOMAS b. __1710, d. ___, m. William HARRIS

4th Generation

James BROOKE, son of Roger BROOKE Jr. and Eliza HUTCHINS, b. 21 Feb 1705, d. __ 1784, m. Deborah SNOWDEN daughter of Richard SNOWDEN and Elizabeth Jane COALE, b. __ 1710, d. __ 1758
1. James BROOKE b. __1731, d. 21 Aug 1767, m. ___
2. Roger BROOKE b. 9 Aug 1734, d. ___
3. Richard BROOKE b. 8 Jul 1736, d. ___, m. ___
4. Basil BROOKE b. 13 Dec 1738, d. 22 Aug 1799, m. Elizabeth HOPKINS
5. Elizabeth BROOKE b. 22 Mar 1740/1, d. ___, m. Thomas PLEASANTS
6. Thomas BROOKE b. 8 Mar 1743/4, d. ___

Skipwith COALE, son of Philip COALE and Cassandra SKIPWITH, b. ___, became a Baltimore Sheriff in 1742, d. bef. 1759, m. Margaret HOLLAND, daughter of __________, b. ___, d. ___ (birth order is uncertain)
1. Philip COALE b. ___, d. ___
2. William COALE b. ___, d. ___, m. Sarah WEBSTER
3. Skipwith COALE b. ___, d. ___, m. Sarah HOPKINS
4. Samuel COALE b. ___, d. ___
5. Cassandra COALE b. ___, d. ___
6. Sarah COALE b. ___, d. ___, m. Richard THOMAS
7. Susan COALE b. ___, d. ___

Gerrard HOPKINS, son of Gerrard HOPKINS and Margaret JOHNS, b. 3 Mar 1709, d. 3 Jul 1777, m. 7 May 1730 Mary HALL, daughter of _________, b. ___, d. ___
1. Margaret HOPKINS b. 11 Jan 1730/1, d. ___, m. John THOMAS
2. Gerard HOPKINS b. 25 Aug 1732, d. ___
3. Mary HOPKINS b. 11 Nov 1734, d. ___, m. Philip GOVER
4. Sarah HOPKINS b. 20 Sept 1737, d. ___, m. John COWMAN
5. Richard HOPKINS b. 7 Feb 1739/40, d. as infant
6. Elizabeth HOPKINS b. __ 1741, d. 17 Aug 1794, m. Basil BROOKE
7. Rachel HOPKINS b. 30 Dec 1742, d. ___, m. Evan THOMAS
8. Joseph HOPKINS b. 11 Jan 1744/45, d. ___, m. Elizabeth HOWELL
9. Richard HOPKINS b. 20 Mar 1747/48, d. ___
10. Hannah HOPKINS b. 29 Aug 1749, d. ___
11. Elisha HOPKINS b. 15 Oct 1752, d. ___, m1. Hannah HOWELL, m2. Sarah SNOWDEN

Richard "Youngest" "Ironmaster" SNOWDEN, son of Richard SNOWDEN Jr. and Mary LINTHICUM, b. ___ 1688, d. ___ 1763, m1. 19 May 1709 Elizabeth Jane COALE, daughter of William and Eliza COALE, b. ___ 1692, 3 children, d. ___ 1713; m2. 19 Dec 1717 Elizabeth THOMAS, daughter of _________, b. ___ 1697, 7 children, d. ___ Aug 1775
1. Deborah SNOWDEN b. ___, d. ___, m. James BROOKE
2. Eliza SNOWDEN b. ___, d. ___, m. John THOMAS
3. Mary SNOWDEN b. ___ 1712, d. ___, m. Samuel THOMAS
4. Richard SNOWDEN b. ___ 1719, d. 18 Mar 1753, m. Elizabeth CROWLEY
5. Thomas SNOWDEN b. ___ 1722, d. ___ May 1770, m. Mary WRIGHT
6. Ann SNOWDEN b. ___, d. ___, m. Henry Wright CRABB
7. Margaret SNOWDEN b. ___, d. ___, m. John CONTEE
8. Samuel SNOWDEN b. ___ 1728, d. ___
9. Elizabeth SNOWDEN b. ___, d. ____, m. Joseph COWMAN
10. John SNOWDEN b. ___, d. ____

John THOMAS, son of Samuel THOMAS and Mary HUTCHINS, b. 15 Apr 1697, d. __ Feb 1749/50, m. __ Apr 1727 Elizabeth SNOWDEN, daughter of Richard SNOWDEN, Jr. and Mary LINTHICUM, b. ___, d. ___ (predeceased husband)
1. Richard THOMAS b. __ 1728, d. ___, m. Sarah COALE
2. Samuel THOMAS b. ___, d. ___
3. Elizabeth THOMAS b. ___, d. ___, m. Richard RICHARDSON
4. John THOMAS b. __ 1734, d. 15 Feb 1826, m. Margaret HOPKINS

5th Generation

Basil BROOKE Sr., son of James BROOKE and Deborah SNOWDEN, b. 13 Dec 1738, d. 22 Aug 1794, m. Elizabeth HOPKINS, daughter of Gerard HOPKINS and Mary HALL, b. __ 1741, d. 17 Aug 1794
1. James BROOKE b. 5 May 1766, d. ___, m. Hesther BOONE
2. Gerard BROOKE b. 12 Aug 1768, d. __ 1821, m. Margaret THOMAS
3. Deborah BROOKE b. 4 Sept 1770, d. 21 Feb 1835, m. James Brooke PLEASANTS
4. Basil BROOKE Jr. b. 28 Apr 1772, d. 1 Aug 1851, m. Mary PATRICK

Thomas PLEASANTS, son of ___________, b. ___, d. ___, m. Elizabeth BROOKE, daughter of James BROOKE and Deborah SNOWDEN, b. 22 Mar 1740/1, d. ___
1. James Brooke PLEASANTS, b. ___, d. ___, m. Deborah BROOKE
2. Deborah PLEASANTS b. __ 1763, d. 27 June 1845, m. William STABLER
3. Thomas Snowden PLEASANTS b. ___, d. ___
4. William Henry PLEASANTS b. ___, d. ___
5. Mary PLEASANTS b. ___, d. ___
6. Elizabeth PLEASANTS b. ___, d. ___

Thomas SNOWDEN, son of Richard SNOWDEN the Youngest and Elizabeth THOMAS, b. ___ 1722, d. ___ May 1770, m. bef. 1744 Mary WRIGHT, daughter of Henry WRIGHT and Elizabeth SPRIGG, b. ___ 1728, d. ___ 1770
1. Henry SNOWDEN b. ___, d. ___ Apr 1775
2. Richard SNOWDEN b. ___, d. ___, m. Eliza RUTLAND
3. Thomas SNOWDEN (Major) b. ___ 1751, d. ___ 1803, m. Anne Dorsey RIDGELY

Richard THOMAS Sr., son of John THOMAS and Elizabeth SNOWDEN, b. __ 1728, d. ___, m. Sarah COALE, daughter of Skipwith COALE and Margaret HOLLAND, b. ___, d. ___
1. Samuel THOMAS (3d.) b. 2 Dec 1753, d. bef. 1808, m. Mary COWMAN
2. Elizabeth THOMAS b. 28 Oct 1755, d. ___, m. Roger JOHNSON
3. Richard THOMAS Jr. b. 21 Feb 1758, d. 6 Nov 1821, m. Deborah BROOKE
4. John THOMAS b. 27 Sept 1760, d. ___
5. Mary THOMAS b. 12 Mar 1762, d. ___, m. William ROBERTSON
6. Sarah THOMAS b. 26 Nov 1764, d. 29 Apr 1805, m. Bernard GILPIN
7. Henrietta THOMAS b. 17 Feb 1767, d. as infant
8. Margaret THOMAS b. 11 Jun 1769, d. Mar 1797, m. Gerard BROOKE
9. William THOMAS b. 11 Dec 1771, d. 22 Jan 1851, m. Martha PATRICK
10. Ann THOMAS b. 25 May 1774, d. ___
11. Henrietta THOMAS (2d.) b. 7 Mar 1777, d. ___

6th Generation

Gerard BROOKE, son of Basil BROOKE and Elizabeth HOPKINS, b. 12 Aug 1768, d. __ 1821, m. 22 Apr 1789 Margaret THOMAS, daughter of Richard THOMAS and Sarah COALE, b. 11 Jun 1769, d. 5 Mar 1797
1. Richard BROOKE b. 6 Jan 1790, d. ___ 1862, m. Mary BROOKE
2. John Thomas BROOKE b. 12 Nov 1791, d. ___
3. Elizabeth P. BROOKE b. 12 Aug 1794, d. ___, m. Thomas Pleasants STABLER

Major Thomas SNOWDEN, son of Thomas SNOWDEN and Mary WRIGHT, b. ___ 1751, d. ___ 1803, m. Anne Dorsey RIDGELY, daughter of _________, b. ___ 1754, d. ___ 1824
1. Richard SNOWDEN b. ___, d. ___, m1. Eliza WARFIELD, m2. Louisa Victoria WARFIELD
2. Thomas SNOWDEN b. ___, d. ___
3. Mary SNOWDEN b. ___, d. ___, m. John C. HERBERT
4. Nicholas SNOWDEN b. 21 Oct 1786, d. 8 Mar 1831, m. Elizabeth Thomas WARFIELD
5. Caroline Eliza SNOWDEN b. ___, d. ___ (died at the age of 8 years)

William STABLER, son of Edward STABLER and ___, b. ___ 1767, lived at Cherry Grove, d. 24 Jan 1806, m. 4 Jun 1789 Deborah PLEASANTS, daughter of Thomas PLEASANTS and Elizabeth BROOKE, b. ___ 1763, d. 27 Jun 1845
1. Thomas Pleasants STABLER b. 5 Nov 1791, d. 30 Apr 1864, m. Elizabeth P. BROOKE
2. Edward STABLER b. 26 Sept 1794, d. 1 Sept 1883, m. Ann R. ---
3. James P. STABLER b. 14 Sept 1796, d. 13 Feb 1840, m1. Elizabeth GILPIN, m2. Sarah B. BRIGGS
4. Caleb Bentley STABLER b. 24 Jan 1799, d. 26 Oct 1888, m. Anna MOORE
5. William Henry STABLER b. 13 Apr 1802, d. 22 Feb 1883, m. Eliza THOMAS

William THOMAS, son of Richard THOMAS and Sarah COALE, b. 11 Dec 1771, d. bef. 20 Dec 1799, m. Martha PATRICK, daughter of ___________, b. ___, d. ___
1. Anne Poultney THOMAS b. 14 Apr 1801, d. 5 Mar 1830
2. Eliza THOMAS b. 10 Apr 1803, d. 18 Dec 1883, m. William Henry STABLER
3. Maria R. THOMAS b. 23 Nov 1804, d. ___
4. Henrietta THOMAS b. 21 Feb 1807, d. 14 Oct 1821
5. Richard THOMAS b. 19 Apr 1809, d. 15 Oct 1820
6. Edward THOMAS b. 22 Jun 1811, d. 4 Sept 1882, m. Lydia S. GILPIN
7. William John THOMAS b. 15 Sept 1813, d. 21 Mar 1884, m. Rebecca M. ---
8. Samuel Patrick THOMAS b. 23 Jan 1816, d. 12 Dec 1898, m. Elizabeth Gassaway PORTER
9. Jane THOMAS b. 20 May 1818, d. 8 Dec 1896, m. Charles G. PORTER
10. Martha THOMAS b. 3 Feb 1822, d. 9 Jul 1881, m. Thomas P. HARVEY

Samuel WARFIELD, son of ____________, b. ___, d. ___, m. Anna THOMAS, daughter of ___________, b. ___, d. ___
1. Elizabeth Thomas WARFIELD b. 14 Nov 1790, d. 16 Jun 1866, m. Nicholas SNOWDEN

7th Generation

Joseph E. BENTLEY, son of ______, b. ___, d. ____, m. _____________, daughter of _______, b. ___, d. ___
1. Alice Ann BENTLEY b. ___, d. ___, m. John STABLER

Nicholas SNOWDEN, son of Major Thomas SNOWDEN and Anne Dorsey RIDGELY, b. 21 Oct 1786 at Montpelier, Laurel, MD, d. 8 Mar 1831 at Montpelier, Laurel, MD, m. 7 Oct 1806 Elizabeth WARFIELD, daughter of Samuel WARFIELD and Anna THOMAS, b. 14 Nov 1790, d. 16 Jun 1866, Avondale, MD.
1. Ann Elizabeth SNOWDEN b. 3 Jul 1808, d. ___, m. Francis M. HALL
2. Thomas J. SNOWDEN b. 12 Feb 1810, d. 3 Jul 1835
3. Louisa SNOWDEN b. 3 Jun 1811 , d. 27 Mar 1849, m. Col. Horace CAPRON
4. Juliana Maria SNOWDEN b. 28 Jan 1813, d. 15 Dec 1866, m. Dr. Theodore JENKINS
5. Adeline SNOWDEN b. 9 Oct 1814, m. W. W. W. BOWIE
6. Edward SNOWDEN b. 29 Oct 1816, d. ___, m. Mary Thomas WARFIELD
7. DeWilton SNOWDEN (Dr.) b. 19 Aug 1818, d. ____, m. Emma C. CAPRON
8. Henry SNOWDEN b. 29 Sept 1820, d. ____, m. Mary C. COWMAN
9. Eliza SNOWDEN (Sister Anna Maria) b. 8 __ 1822, entered Georgetown Convent in 1847
10. George SNOWDEN b. ___, d. ___
11. Emily Roseville SNOWDEN b. 24 Jun 1824, d. ___, m. Charles C. HILL
12. Nicholas SNOWDEN (2nd Lt.) b. 7 Apr 1828, d. 6 Jun 1862, m. Henrietta STABLER
13. Arthur Montieth SNOWDEN (Dr.) b. 30 Dec 1830, d. 28 Aug 1869 (drowned), m1. Ella SNOWDEN, m2. Mary VAUX

Thomas Pleasants STABLER, son of William STABLER and Deborah PLEASANTS, b. 5 Nov 1791, d. 5 Nov 1791, m. 2 Jun 1813 Elizabeth P. BROOKE, daughter of Gerard BROOKE and Margaret THOMAS, b. 12 Aug 1794, d. ___
1. Brooke STABLER b. 25 Apr 1814, d. ____
2. Sarah STABLER b. 31 Jan 1816, d. ___, m. Augustus JORDAN
3. George STABLER b. 18 May 1818, d. ___, m. Mary W. PAXTON
4. John STABLER b. 13 Apr 1820, d. ___, m. Alice Ann BENTLEY
5. Deborah STABLER b. 7 Apr 1822, d. ___
6. James STABLER b. 30 May 1827, d. 13 Jan 1909, m. Phebe A. RUSSELL
7. Howard STABLER b. 5 Aug 1829, d. 18 Jul 1876, m. Esther G. MOORE
8. William STABLER b. 11 July 1831, d. 19 Nov 1832
9. William Henry STABLER b. 6 May 1833, d. ___
10. Deborah STABLER b. 27 Jun 1836, d. ___
11. Thomas Pleasants STABLER, Jr. b. 30 Aug 1840, d. ___

William Henry “Henry” STABLER, of William STABLER and Deborah PLEASANTS, b. 13 Apr 1802, d. 22 Feb 1883, m. Eliza THOMAS, daughter of William THOMAS and Martha PATRICK, b. 10 Apr 1803, d. 18 Dec 1883
1. Martha STABLER b. __ Feb 1826, d. ___, m. Thomas Moore REESE
2. Joseph STABLER b. 24 Jan 1827, d. 3 Jan 1915
3. Henrietta STABLER b. 27 Jan 1829, d. 21 May 1907, m. Lt. Nicholas SNOWDEN
4. Lucy STABLER b. __ Sept 1830, d. 28 Apr 1897
5. William STABLER b. 16 Mar 1832, d. 9 Feb 1867
6. Ellen STABLER b. 16 Feb 1834, d. 6 Jan 1924

8th Generation

George BEALL, son of ______, b. ___, d. ___, m. Margaret BARBER, daughter of ______, b. ___, d. ___
1. William Vernon BEALL b. __ 1857, d. 22 Oct 1931, m. Mary Elizabeth PURDUM

Lieutenant Nicholas N. SNOWDEN, son of Nicholas SNOWDEN and Elizabeth WARFIELD, b. 7 Apr 1828 at Montpelier in Laurel, MD, d. 6 Jun 1862, Harrisonburg, VA, m. 28 May 1850 at Philadephia, PA, Henrietta STABLER, daughter of William Henry STABLER and Eliza THOMAS, b. 27 Jan 1829, Sandy Spring, MD, d. 21 May 1907, Sandy Spring, MD
1. Emily Roseville SNOWDEN b. 7 Apr 1851, d. ___ m. Gerard HOPKINS
2. Marion SNOWDEN b. 28 Jun 1853, d. 7 Jan 1857
3. Lucy SNOWDEN b. 13 Mar 1855, d. ___, m1. ______ LEA, m2. William W. MOORE
4. Helen SNOWDEN b. 7 Apr 1857, d. 18 Sept 1927, m. Augustus STABLER
5. Francis SNOWDEN b. 19 Mar 1859, d. 11 Sept 1936, m. Frances Brooke STABLER
6. Mary Thomas SNOWDEN b. 3 Jun 1861, d. 31 Dec 1932, m. Charles Dorsey WARFIELD

John STABLER, son of Thomas Pleasants STABLER and Elizabeth P. BROOKE, b. 13 Apr 1820, d. ____, m. 8 May 1851 Alice Ann BENTLEY, daughter of Joseph E. BENTLEY b. ___, d. ___.
1. Florence M. STABLER b. 24 Jun 1852, d. ___, m. Charles M. BOND
2. Alice Evelyn STABLER b. 14 Aug 1854, d. ___
3. Cora STABLER b. 6 Oct 1856, d. ___
4. Anna B. STABLER b. 24 Feb 1859, d. ___
5. Frances Brooke STABLER b. 25 Oct 1860, d. 25 Mar 1943, m. Francis SNOWDEN
6. Eliza Brooke STABLER b. 15 May 1863, d. ___
7. John STABLER Jr. b. 15 Nov 1865, d. ___
8. Alice Bentley STABLER b. 8 Jan 1868, d. ___
9. Evangeline STABLER b. ___, d. ___, m. William H. GILPIN (23 Oct 1902)

9th Generation

William Vernon BEALL, son of George BEALL and Margaret BARBER, b. __ 1857 at Cedar Grove, d. 22 Oct 1931, bur. Rockville Cemetery, m. Mary Elizabeth PURDUM, daughter of ________, b. 24 Mar 1859 at Cedar Grove, d. 18 Dec 1920, both bur. at Rockville
1. Infant BEALL – unnamed (bur. at Rockville)
2. Forrest Purdum BEALL b. ___ 1888, d. 21 Aug 1963, m. Flora M. DILL

Francis "Frank" SNOWDEN, son of Lt. Nicholas SNOWDEN and Elizabeth WARFIELD, b. 19 Mar 1859, d. 11 Sept 1936, m. 18 May 1886 at Ingleside in Sandy Spring, MD, Frances "Fannie" Brooke STABLER, daughter of John STABLER and Alice Ann BENTLEY, b. 15 Oct 1860, d. 25 Mar 1943
1. Elsie Brooke SNOWDEN b. 4 Mar 1887, d. 21 Dec 1945
2. Miriam SNOWDEN b. 14 Apr 1891, d. 26 Nov 1950, m1. Samuel P. THOMAS Jr., m2. James H. LAMPTON
3. Edward SNOWDEN b. 13 Dec 1893, d. 15 Oct 1955, m. Nellie KELLY
4. Anna McFarland SNOWDEN b. 27 Jul 1896, d. ___, m. Louis Theodore "Doc" BUSSLER
5. Marjorie SNOWDEN b. __ 1888, d. __ 1970, m. Reuben BRIGHAM

Arthur Amber BRIGHAM, son of John Winslow BRIGHAM and Mary Rebecca PUTNAM, b. 6 Oct 1856, Marlboro, MA, d. 12 Nov 1938, Lakeland, FL, m. 6 Oct 1881 Charlotte Warren BRIGHAM, daughter of Dennison BRIGHAM and Sarah WEEKS, b. __ 1857, Marlboro, MA, d. __ 1933
1. Reuben BRIGHAM b. 13 Dec 1887, d. 6 Dec 1946, m. Marjorie SNOWDEN
2. Ruth Putnam BRIGHAM b. 12 Sept 1892, d. ___ (bur. at Woodside)

10th Generation

Forrest Purdum "Blue" BEALL, son of William Vernon BEALL and Mary Elizabeth PURDUM, b. ___ 1888, d. 21 Aug 1963, m. Flora M. DILL, daughter of ____________, b. ___ 1891, d. 13 Jun 1934, both bur. at Rockville
1. Gladys Lucille BEALL b. 7 Oct 1915, d. 29 Dec 2008, m. David Lewis BRIGHAM
2. Dorothy BEALL b. __, still living, m. Vernon SWIGER
3. Anna BEALL b. ___, d. ___, m. Dr. George HOPKINS
4. Miriam BEALL b. ___, d. ___, m. Arthur HORNER
5. Dolores BEALL b. ___, still living, m. Joseph KNOWLAND Jr.
6. Flora BEALL b. 22 Feb 1934, still living, m. Gil MOORE
7. Elaine BEALL (Flora’s twin) b. 22 Feb 1934, d. same day (bur. at Rockville)

Reuben BRIGHAM, son of Arthur Amber BRIGHAM and Charlotte Warren BRIGHAM, b. 13 Dec 1887, Marlboro, MA, d. 6 Dec 1946, Chicago, IL, m. 7 Jun 1915 at Ingleside in Sandy Spring, MD, Marjorie SNOWDEN, daughter of Frances SNOWDEN and Francis Brooke STABLER, b. 1888, d. 1970
1. David Lewis BRIGHAM b. 10 Dec 1916, d. 6 Sept 1999, Olney, MD, m. Gladys BEALL
2. Francis Snowden BRIGHAM, b. ___, d. ___, m. Dorothy LEMON
3. Marjorie Amber BRIGHAM b. 22 Feb 1922, still living, m. 18 July 1944 Robert Whitney MILLER
4. Arthur Putnam BRIGHAM b. 29 May 1928, d. 22 Jan 1992, Bella Vista, AR, m. Helen CASE

References:
1. The Annals of Sandy Spring (1863-1883), by William Henry Fahrquhar, Cushings & Bailey, 1884 (full text and pdf scan of book)
2. The Annals of Sandy Spring Vol. 2 (1883-1895), by Eliza N. Moore, Thomas & Evans, 1902 (full text and pdf scan of book)
3. The Annals of Sandy Spring Vol. 3 (1895-1909), by Rebecca T. Miller, King Brothers, 1909
4. The Annals of Sandy Spring Vol. 4 (1909-1929), by Annie B. Kirk, The Times Printing Company, 1929
5. The Annals of Sandy Spring Vol. 5 (1929-1947), by Herbert O. Stabler, American Publishing Co., 1950
6. Genealogical Notes: containing the pedigree of the Thomas family of Maryland, and of the following connected families: Snowden--Buckley--Lawrence--Chew--Ellicott--Hopkins--Johnson--Rutherford--Fairfax--Schieffelin--Tyson and others .., by Lawrence Buckley Thomas, 1877 (full text and pdf scan of book)
7. The Thomas Book: giving the Genealogies of Sir Rhys ap Thomas, K.G., the Thomas Family descended from him, and some Allied Families, by Lawrence Buckley Thomas, published by The Henry T. Thomas Company, New York, NY, 1896 (Googlebooks scan of book)
8. Burials at The Sandy Spring Friends Meeting Graveyard and at The Woodside Cemetery, 1754 to 2003: A listing of burials and the writing on grave stones of a Quaker Community, published by the Sandy Spring Friends Meeting

Note A: Among the 2nd Generation offspring I have highlighted Elizabeth Thomas (daughter of Philip Thomas and Sarah Harrison) in green to indicate that she is a connection between generations. But she married William Coale who was among the 2nd Generation parents, the same generation as her own parents. Elizabeth Thomas was William Coale’s third wife and must have been quite young at the time of their marriage. They had 3 children together before William Coale’s death in 1678. Elizabeth Thomas went on to marry Edward Talbot. She died in 1726--forty-eight years after the death of William Coale.

Note B: Among the 3rd Generation offspring Johns Hopkins born 30 Oct 1720 was the grandfather of Johns Hopkins the Quaker philanthropist born 19 May 1795. Here is the progression: Gerrard Hopkins married Margaret Johns and named their ninth child Johns Hopkins, "Johns" being Margaret's family name. Johns Hopkins and his third wife Elizabeth Thomas named their oldest son Samuel Hopkins. Samuel Hopkins married Hannah Janney, and their second son was called Johns Hopkins. This Johns Hopkins was born 19 May 1795 and died 24 Dec 1873 without issue but left behind a significant legacy.

August 1971

2009-10-09T07:32:00.002-04:00

They were both big men and the muscles vibrated in the forearms above the clublike hands. One had just called the other a water witch and I backed up to the honeysuckled fence row. A boy didn't belong too close at that moment.

A kid raised in the country learns some words the city kids never hear. A clodhopper or just a plain clod; a briar jumper or a hick; a hawg jaw or an apple knocker; a slew foot or a hay seed. I knew 'em all and could take each one from the bigger kids who had walked a furrow or jumped a black berry patch while chasing a rabbit. It was routine to slop the pigs and easy to use a long stick to shake the apples off the tree.

You don't mind being a hay seed when you have mowed, raked, loaded, forked and worked hay into the mow of the old barracks. Still fresh in memory are the wheat shocks, the pitch forks, the bundles pitched up to the top of the wagon, and the "first and last snake" tossed up with the last bundle. Tass Carter sailed off that topped out load and was running before he hit the ground. He said something about k-k-killin' the next boy who did that trick. But, he was kidding, or was he?

Anyway, this was country talk and farm boys understood. There was always work and time for fun. The oversized, old felt hat was a trademark. The ever present hound could handle the rabbits, quail, squirrels and even a skunk. The collie brought the cows in for milking and there was always a horse to ride or work as the occasion might demand. There was no real need for parks, golf courses, organized recreation, and planned activities by associations and organizations.

Most of us lived in the country and knew what those folks who drove out to see us on Sunday were called. We whispered about city-slickers with fancy suits and tourin' cars. They needed watching a little but they didn't have the real smarts a county kid comes by kinda natural.

We showed 'em the birds and bees and the stock and the chickens. What was the use of talking about things you lived with every day of your life. If they were half-way with us, we steered them around poison ivy, beggars lice, sumac and chuckle burrs.

It was fun to try the young fellow from town our on corn silk, Indian cigars, grape vine and Brown's Mule. Smokin' and chewin' was all the same, they got white, wobbly and then sick to the stomach. That was good clean fun and recreation the old way. We didn't mean no harm by it and they had something to talk about when they got back to the city.

I guess they talked about Dad rollin' his own and the checked dress Mom had made from some feed sack goods. We got in our licks about the patent leather shoes, the striped pants and the starched collars.

But all of us enjoyed the coming and the going. Those city words that identified a nationality and degraded many first generation Americans were lost on our untrained ears. It was better that way. We walked the country roads and they walked the city streets.

Once in a while the youngsters were afraid of the dark and needed some reassurance. But there was always someone to make you feel safe and not much happened to make newspaper headlines. I guess it happened some but when you have a piece of hay in the corner of your mouth and whistle up your dog a fellow feels mighty comfortable and secure.

So I watched the two big men. You don't call a man a Water Witch, even in the country and get by with it. There had to be the inevitable collision.

The one stood sort of sizing up the antagonist and then fondled the forked peach stick. It looked sort of like a sling shot without the leather cup and rubber innertube strips. I thought of David and Goliath. Perhaps history would repeat. Then the startling first words, "It's a gift, sort of like extrasensory perception."

The forked stick is held in both hands with the bottom of the Y pointed upward. It is known as a Divining Rod and when the gifted carrier walks over a good stream of water the stick turns over and points to the water. Next the "witch" takes a limber twig and holds it over the spot selected by the peach stick.

Like a pump handle the twig dips down and then comes back to the starting position. Each circuit indicates 10 feet and if it bows 8 times you must go 80 feet to strike water. At the end of the measurement the twig will shake sideways before staring over again.

Fantastic? Perhaps it is. But, this same man told me where to drill and that I would need to go down 128 feet to strike water. I believed and hit at 126 feet. We have good water in a country well and if you understand the meaning of the title even a Water Witch can be a mighty regular guy.

If some of my city colleagues feel like being a LFRA Witch, we'll let them use a Diving Rod to find discounts, travel opportunity, recreation and more members. Success is fun!

David L. Brigham
Executive Witch

Tombstone Transcription Projects

2009-10-02T09:22:00.001-04:00

Some days I love the internet. While surfing around for genealogical information, I stumbled upon a terrific resource in the National Tombstone Project. Volunteers transcribe the inscriptions of headstones suffering the ravages of time, sometimes taking photographs and adding information found in the cemetery's records, and share their findings in a national database. Here is the Maryland site, which I used to locate the Beall Family Cemetery off of Bel Pre Road.

Family Cemetery at Glyndon

2009-09-28T05:30:00.000-04:00

Each Memorial Day the gravesite is groomed and bedecked with fresh flowers and an American flag. But most of the year it is quiet and plain and tucked in the edge of the woods.

The monuments here are as follows: headstones for Reuben Brigham and Marjorie Snowden Brigham; a bench given by University of Maryland class of 1908; and a sundial "from friends in agriculture."

The inscription on Reuben's headstone is "The Old Knight's Vigil" by Alfred Noyes:

ONCE, in this chapel, Lord,
Young and undaunted,
Over my virgin sword
Lightly I chaunted,
" Dawn ends my watch. I go
Shining to meet the foe.

" Swift with Thy dawn," I said,
Set the lists ringing !
Soon shall Thy foe be sped,
And the world singing :
Bless my bright plume for me,
Christ, King of Chivalry.

War-worn I kneel to-night,
Lord, at Thine altar.
O, in to-morrow's fight,
Let me not falter.
Bless my dark arms for me,
Christ, King of Chivalry.

Keep Thou my broken sword
All the long night through
While I keep watch and ward.
Then, the red fight through,
Bless the wrenched haft for me,
Christ, King of Chivalry.

Keep, in Thy pierced hands,
Still the bruised helmet.
Let not their hostile bands
Wholly o'erwhelm it.
Bless my poor shield for me,
Christ, King of Chivalry.

Keep Thou the sullied mail,
Lord, that I tender
Here at Thine altar-rail,
Then let Thy splendour
Touch it once . . . and I go
Stainless to meet the foe.

The inscription on Marjorie's headstone reads, "To thine ownself be true."

July 1971

2009-09-26T14:32:00.001-04:00

It was June and a beautiful afternoon as I slipped across the parking lot apparently unseen. Then came the well recognized voice of the Duty Guard. "Watch that cuttin' out early and leaving the rest of us to carry on!"

This meant a little slow-down and a valued minute or two of conversation and rich, homey philosophy. You can't beat it for relaxing frayed nerves, cutting life into focus.

He didn't know I was about to spend some money I didn't really have. Some things are essential even if you are scratching for the change it takes to accomplish the responsibility. That's why I was wishing for the new LFRA Buyers Guide, wondering where I could find the best price for something appropriate, and asking myself why money seemed so hard to come by.

So it's June and we began our "expert" conversation with that fact; after we had covered the weather. June is the month when we spend more money for gifts than any other except December. There are the many graduations and weddings by the dozen. Those bright eyed girls are experts at removing ribbons and seals and colorful wrapping from multi-shaped packages. The guys just look dumbfounded, ill at ease or like the floor should separate and make room for them in the basement.

Then there is Father's Day and more is spent on the old guy than the family release to make Mother's Day perfect for the best. It isn't that we think more of Dad, he just costs more to buy for. Mom likes the blouse, stockings, perfume, some costume jewelry and a pretty card with the right words.

But Dad is something else...a shirt and tie perhaps, something for libation purposes, golf togs or equipment, possibly a rod and reel, or a box of cigars. It costs to keep Dad and it costs more to find a card that will tell the truth about him than it does to shower love on Mom.

I reached down in the pocket which had been worn through by change and car keys. Nothing there! The other side held the reassuring feel of soft leather over three or four dollars. How was that going to guy a graduation present today?

It was easy to drop the question and start with the days when we had even less in our pockets, if we had pockets at all. June was that great month when you kissed school goodbye for a few weeks and headed for the Patuxent River. There were mud slides, tadpoles, dragon flies, snapping turtles, box turtles, frogs, eels, sun perch, catfish, craw dads, black snakes, a raft and rapids, land nettles on bare legs and the buzz of a mosquito.

The home cut poplar pole, an earthworm, hook, sinker, some green line and a cork from the vinegar jug did the trick for the young fisherman. If they didn't bite there was always skinny dippin in the deep hole, until the neighbors came around the bend in a canoe very much unannounced.

How about the heavy rains and the river jumping the banks, coming across the marsh and right up to the mouth of the pup tent placed on the knoll just off the woods road. We answered that one by jumping in the main current at Mink Hollow and flying downstream to Snells Bridge. Over and over this thrill was repeated and nobody was lost in the flood or snagged by an under the water tree limb. The blankets got wet and moldy, dry wood was hard to come by, and the oil off the top of a jar of peanut butter served as lubricant for the pancake griddle.

This was the same river, still a little muddy, and it was June 1971. The Guard had wanted me to tell him about our neighborhood minister and the river.

There had been a confirmation class for 10 teen age youngsters. They learned about baptism and were given a choice. The unanimous decision for kids whose parent had been sprinkled some years before was immersion. Now the choice was where it would be done. The prompt verdict was the Patuxent River behind Dave Brigham's place. Shades of the Jordan and a man named John.

It had rained and the banks were muddy, right where the old slide used to be. The minister walked out in his good shoes and suit, waist deep in the center stream. Parents and friends sang "Shall We Gather At The River" and one by one the white robed ten made their sometimes shaky way to a memorable experience and a new hope. Once safely back on shore, a fellow who had not been as unsure as the rest peeled off his robe to reveal a T-shirt bearing the inscription "Aqua Club - Expert Swimmer."

So, it is June and I am in the parking lot going to buy a graduation present. The Guard waned to know if it was high school or college. He was coming out next year from high school. I told him this was a college graduate in nursing, the third to finish the University. My three were all out of the nest and going along. That's why I was ducking out early to get a present for the last one. It was June I told him.

"My, my," he replied, "You must feel like the man that has gone and swum the river!"

Funny how a guy can put it so you just can't help but understand it. There is so much uphill in life and we struggle along. All of a sudden it is over, done, accomplished and completed. The old river that you fought so hard to swim has been conquered. Now you are on the other side. What's the next move?

Turn around and start back. You must cross again. Life is always a struggle and both Home and Success are on the other side.

David L. Brigham
Executive Director

Annals - Volume V

2009-09-24T05:09:00.003-04:00

I am in the process of combing through The Annals of Sandy Spring for family history tidbits and started with Volume V, 1929-1947, edited by Herbert Osburn Stabler, published by American Publishing Co., copyright 1950. As always, I welcome corrections and additions. First I have pasted in a couple branches of family tree for your reference, followed by passages from the Annals. For convenience sake, I designated the generations by their relation to me. I have highlighted individuals mentioned in Vol. V of the Annals.

Third Great Grandparents

Lieutenant Nicholas N. SNOWDEN, son of Nicholas SNOWDEN and Elizabeth WARFIELD, b. 7 Apr 1828 at Montpelier in Laurel, MD, d. 6 Jun 1862, near Harrisonburg, VA, married 28 May 1850 at Philadephia, PA, Henrietta STABLER, daughter of William Henry STABLER and Eliza THOMAS, b. 27 Jan 1829, Sandy Spring, MD, d. 21 May 1907, Sandy Spring, MD
1. Emily Roseville SNOWDEN b. 7 Apr 1851, m. Gerard HOPKINS
2. Marion SNOWDEN b. 28 Jun 1853, d. 7 Jan 1857
3. Lucy SNOWDEN b. 13 Mar 1855, m1. ___ LEA, m2. William W. MOORE
4. Helen SNOWDEN b. 7 Apr 1857, m. Dr. Augustus STABLER
5. Francis SNOWDEN b. 19 Mar 1859, d. 11 Sept 1936, m. Fannie Brooke STABLER
6. Mary Thomas SNOWDEN b. 3 Jun 1861, d. 31 Dec 1932, m. Charles Dorsey WARFIELD

John STABLER, son of Thomas Pleasants STABLER and Elizabeth P. BROOKE, b. 13 Apr 1820, married 8 May 1851 Alice Ann BENTLEY, daughter of Joseph E. BENTLEY
1. Florence M. STABLER b. 24 Jun 1852, m. Charles M. BOND
2. Alice Evelyn STABLER b. 14 Aug 1854
3. Cora STABLER b. 6 Oct 1856
4. Anna B. STABLER b. 24 Feb 1859
5. Frances "Fannie" Brooke STABLER b. 25 Oct 1860, d. 25 Mar 1943, m. Francis SNOWDEN
6. Eliza Brooke STABLER b. 15 May 1863
7. John STABLER Jr. b. 15 Nov 1865
8. Alice Bentley STABLER b. 8 Jan 1868
9. Evangeline STABLER m. William H. GILPIN

Second Great Grandparents

Arthur Amber BRIGHAM, son of John Winslow BRIGHAM and Mary Rebecca PUTNAM, b. 6 Oct 1856, Marlboro, MA, d. 12 Nov 1938, Lakeland, FL, married 6 Oct 1881 Charlotte Warren BRIGHAM, daughter of Dennison BRIGHAM and Sarah WEEKS, b. 1857, Marlboro, MA, d. 1933
1. Reuben BRIGHAM b. 13 Dec 1887, d. 6 Dec 1946, m. Marjorie SNOWDEN
2. Ruth BRIGHAM b. 12 Sept 1892

Francis "Frank" SNOWDEN, son of Lt. Nicholas SNOWDEN and Elizabeth WARFIELD, b. 19 Mar 1859, d. 11 Sept 1936, married 18 May 1886 Frances "Fannie" Brooke STABLER, daughter of John STABLER and Alice Ann BENTLEY, b. 15 Oct 1860, d. 25 Mar 1943
1. Elsie Brooke SNOWDEN b. 4 Mar 1887, d. 21 Dec 1945
2. Miriam SNOWDEN b. 15 Apr 1891, d. Nov 1950, m1. Samuel P. THOMAS, m2. James H. LAMPTON
3. Edward SNOWDEN b. 13 Dec 1893, m. Nellie KELLEY
4. Anna McFarland SNOWDEN b. 27 Jul 1896, m. Louis Theodore "Doc" BUSSLER
5. Marjorie SNOWDEN b. 1888, d. 1970, m. Reuben BRIGHAM

Great Grandparents

Reuben BRIGHAM, son of Arthur Amber BRIGHAM and Charlotte Warren BRIGHAM, b. 13 Dec 1887, Marlboro, MA, d. 6 Dec 1946, Chicago, IL, married 7 Jun 1915 at Ingleside in Sandy Spring, MD, Marjorie SNOWDEN, daughter of Frances SNOWDEN and Francis Brooke STABLER, b. 1888, d. 1970
1. David Lewis BRIGHAM b. 1916, d. Oct 1999, Olney, MD, m. 28 Dec 1938 Gladys BEALL b. 7 Oct 1915, d. 29 Dec 2008, Mt. Airy, MD
2. Francis Snowden BRIGHAM, deceased, m. Dorothy LEMON, deceased
3. Marjorie Amber BRIGHAM b. 22 Feb 1922, still living, m. 18 July 1944 Robert Whitney MILLER, deceased
4. Arthur Putnam BRIGHAM b. 1928, d. 22 Jan 1992, Bella Vista, AR, m. Helen CASE, still living

Excerpts from The Annals of Sandy Spring, Volume V, 1929-1947:

p. 16 - Sept. 15 [1930] a large number of people visited the unusual and beautiful detura plants of Elsie Snowden at Engleside [sic]. During the night of bloom two plants had 90 bell-shaped blooms, six inches in length and three inches in diameter, and very fragrant. There was also a night-blooming cereus with fourteen blooms. The garden lovers of the neighborhood visiting this unusual sight felt that this was the most beautiful display of floraculture ever seen in Sandy Spring.

p. 47 - Mary Snowden Warfield was my friend and the friendship strengthened and deepened with the years. As a homemaker, a mother, and a friend she lived a life so fully ripe in good deeds, she must have been tenderly gathered into the great Garner House of the Lord when on December 31 [1932], with the dying year, she passed into the Great Beyond. She lied in the family lot in Oak Grove Cemetery at Glenwood, Maryland.

p. 84 - The obituary for Miriam Snowden Lampton is tucked into the pages here, about October 1935. Although the article contains no date of death, I believe that she died in November 1950. She was married to Samuel P. Thomas and widowed before she wed James H. Lampton. The text of the notice is as follows:

Miriam Lampton Buried Saturday. Burial services were held Saturday for Mrs. Miriam Snowden Lampton, of Ashton and Washington, D.C., at the Friends Meeting House, Sandy Spring. A native of Montgomery County, Mrs. Lampton was employed by the Atomic Energy Commission in Washington. She was the daughter of the late Mr. and Mrs. Francis Snowden, of Ashton. Death came at the Sibley hospital in Washington last week, following a brief illness, brought on by a severe brain hemorrhage. Mrs. Lampton is survived by her two sons, Evan S. Thomas, of Seattle, Washington, and Edward P. Thomas, Wheaton. She is also survied by two sisters, Mrs. Reuben Brigham [Marjorie], of Ashton, and Mrs. Louis T. Bussler [Anna], also of Ashton, and a brother, Edward Snowden of Sandy Spring.

p. 106-7 - Francis Snowden was born at "Avondale" near Laurel, Maryland, March 19, 1859. His grandmother, Elizabeth Warfield Snowden, tiring of so large an establishment as "Montepelier" [sic] divided her possessions among her six sons and six daughters reserving five hundred acres of the manor upon which she built a brick house and asked her son Nicholas to live with her. He was to inherit it at her death. In 1850 he took his bride Henrietta Stabler there. When the Civil War was declared, Captain [sic] Nicholas Snowden and his militia company joined the Confederate ranks, providing their own horses and uniforms. He lost his life in an engagement at Harrisonburg, Virginia, June 6, 1862. Three years later his mother died and Henrietta Snowden returned to her birthplace, Sandy Spring, to occupy, with her five children "Ingleside" a house her father Wm. Henry Stabler built for her and there Francis was reared.

He married Fannie Brooke [Frances] Stabler May 18, 1886 in Sandy Spring Meeting House. They went to "Ingleside" to live with his mother where their four daughters and one son were born. There they lived for a little over fifty years. He passed away on September 11, 1936, and was laid to rest at Sandy Spring. (E.T.S.)

p. 137 - E. Clifton Thomas bought a tract of woodland adjoining Ashton from Fanny B. Snowden [1937-8].

p. 148-9 - Nov. 12th [1938]. Arthur A. Brigham, aged 82 years, died in Lakeland, Florida, where he had gone to spend the winter; his remains were interred a few days later in Woodside Cemetery. Mr. Brigham was a Past Master of Massachusetts State Grange. For a time he was Professor of Agriculture at the Imperial College of Agriculture at Sapporo, Japan. Later he received the degree of Doctor of Philosophy at Goettingen, Germany. He then occupied the position of Professor of Agriculture at the Experiment State of Rhode Island. He went from there to Ithaca, New York, where he became general manager of the Cornell Incubator Co. he then moved his family to South Dakota where he became the organizer and first Principal of the South Dakota School of Agriculture. Mr. Brigham was largely responsible for the establishment of the Grange in Rhode Island and was instrumental in the formation of two in Florida.

p. 151 - Dec. 28th [1938]--David Lewis Brigham, son of Reuben and Marjorie Brigham and Gladys Beall, daughter of Forest and the late Flora Dill Beall were married in Rockville. The young people have gone to live in Des Moines, Iowa, where David has a position.

p. 181 - On June 7th [1940], the Brigham children gave Reuben and Marjorie a reception in honor of their 25th anniversary.

p. 194 - [April 1941] About this time Reuben and Marjorie Brigham returned from an extensive trip to Mexico and the South.

p. 198-9 - [August 1941] Through Reuben Brigham, it seems the Agricultural Dept. has become interested in the Sandy Spring Community as an advanced social and agricultural section; so for several months they have been preparing an educational film based on our past history and the efforts of the three farmers' clubs and especially the Farmers' Convention from which so much of our advancement in agriculture has emanated. They have taken shots on farms at Rockland, Plainfield, Willow Grove, The Highlands, Oakley, The Briars and perhaps some others along with some of the old Meeting House and Community House where the first Farmers Convention was held over seventy years ago. When completed and rounded out it ought to make a very creditable showing of the records and accomplishments of Sandy Spring farmers.

p. 205 - Augustus Stabler was born at Roslyn, near Brighton August 25th, 1858. As a young man he took courses at Johns Hopkins University and studied medicine at Howard University. On September 18th, 1884 he married Helen Snowden and went to live in Lawrence, Mass. where he practiced medicine. In Sept. 1888, he returned to Roslyn to live, bringing his wife and two children, Isabel and Austin. He practiced medicine and farmed until the summer of 1911, where he entered the service of the U.S. Dept. of Agriculture. In 1915 he went to Fairfax County, Va. where he operated a nursery with his son Henry. He died March 27th [1942] and is survived by five children, Isabel S. Moore, Sydney Snowden, Henry, Nicholas Snowden and N. Graham Stabler. Interment was at Woodside. (E.H.L.)

p. 207-8 - Fannie B. Snowden and daughter Elsie again spent the winter [1941-2] at the home of her daughter and son-in-law Louis and Anna Bussler at Ashton.

p. 210 - I feel it is fitting that we should record here the names of our neighborhood boys who joined one or another branch of our Nation's services: Francis Brigham... [1941-2]

p. 224 - Frances Brooke Snowden, daughter of John and Alice Bentley Stabler, was born Oct. 15th, 1860 at "Oreola" near Brookeville, Md. She received her education in the schools of Philadelphia. Returning to Sandy Spring she made her home at "Harewood" with her cousins Arthur and Anna Stabler, and from there was married May 18th, 1886, to Francis Snowden. As a bride, she went to Ingleside where she lived until her death on march 25th, 1943, having survived her husband by over five years. She faithfully performed the duties of the busy wife and helpmate and gave the loving care of a mother to their five children. The latter years of her life were spent as a partial invalid. She was always cheerful and uncomplaining, an outstanding example to all who knew her. (M.S.M.)

p. 252 - The following is a list of the Community young men that are now serving their country in one or another branch of the armed forces. These are the boys and men that went in during the year [1943-4] or who were inadvertently missed from last year's record: ...Francis Snowden...David Brigham...Francis Brigham...

p. 257-8 - On July 18th [1944] Marjorie Amber, daughter of Reuben and Marjorie S. Brigham was married to Staff Sgt. Robert Whittley Miller, son of Mr. and Mrs. Robert W. Miller of Silver Spring, Maryland. Later, Sgt. Miller was stationed at Ascension Island with the weather division of the Army Air Corps and Marjorie went to Camp Swift for basic training in the Army Nursing Corps as a 2nd Lieutenant. During July the Fifth War Loan was largely oversubscribed by the Sandy Spring section.

p. 260 - On Aug. 28th [1944] a telegram was received by Louis T. Bussler from the War Department bearing the sad news that his nephew Paul Bussler had been killed in action in France on Aug. 11th.

p. 262 - Oct 21st [1944] Virginia, daughter of Edward and Nellie Kelley Snowden was married to Mr. Rudolph Bouquet, son of Mr. and Mrs. G.P. Bouquet of Houma, La.

p. 271 - A list of Sherwood High School graduates discloses the fact that during the past year [1944-5] the following have entered the service of their country:...Marjorie Brigham Miller.

p. 278 - About this time [Sept. 1945] Marjorie Brigham Miller went to the Pacific Coast in her capacity as an Army nurse; she sailed from New York by way of the Panama Canal.

p. 279 - Elsie Brooke Snowden passed away Dec. 21st [1945] after a brief illness at Garfield Hospital in Washington. The daughter of Francis and Frances Brooke Snowden, she was born at Ingleside March 4th, 1887. After training at the Corcoran Art School in Washington and the Academy of Fine Arts in Philadelphia, she twice traveled abroad on scholarships from the Philadelphia Academy. She received recognition in the United States and Europe for her landscape and portrait paintings, and the Corcoran School honored her with its Annual Gold Medal. Interment was in the Friends Meeting House grounds at Sandy Spring. (E.T.S.)

p. 301 - On Dec. 6th [1946] Reuben Brigham died suddenly on a trip to the midwest where he had gone in his capacity as an extension worker in the Agriculture Department. This huge, somewhat gaunt, somewhat Lincolnesque fellow, who lumbered along like an old fashioned farm wagon, was biological mass of electronically fortified atoms. Born in Marlboro, Mass. in 1887, he grew up all over the world, wherever his father taught agriculture. In 1908 he graduated from the University of Maryland and spent the next five years farming in this state.

In 1913 he turned up as secretary and general assistant to Pres. Harry J. Patterson of the University of Maryland. Two years later he became Maryland's extension editor and also assumed charge of boys 4-H Club work. In 1917 he entered USDA to develop visual and editorial materials for extension work. He himself developed into a human institution. But all that doesn't say it. He was more than a man. He was a force. Warm, human, friendly, dynamic, as earthy as his pure farmer name, he was known all over the nation where many times he seemed to be the Department of Agriculture personified. No place was too small, no individual too inconsequential for him. He passed none by. Indefatigable, boundless in energy, incredible in production, outstanding career employee, Nature's own nobleman, a product of the soil--is interests never once flagged--until Dec. 6th when Reuben Brigham took off for more boundless horizons where his restless mind will find many unfinished tasks. (From USDA.)

p. 308 - On Friday, Feb. 7 [1947], a "Talent Show" was presented in the [Sherwood] auditorium. Barbara Woodward won first prize with a ballet dance, Dolores Beall, who sang and accompanied herself on the piano won second prize and the Heil sisters were third when they harmonized "Ol' Buttermilk Skies."

p. 308-9 - Among the transfers of property during the year [1946-7]... Robert W. and Margery [sic] Brigham Miller built and moved into a house on a portion of the Brigham property...

June 1971

2009-09-22T05:32:00.004-04:00

It was just a short article in a promotion booklet. I took time to see it had been written in, for and about conditions in another country. Nevertheless, I could hum the opening lines:

"Everybody's talkin' at me
Don't hear a word they're sayin',
Only the echoes of my mind."

The message kept ringing as I walked alone on the streets of the Capital City of the greatest nation on earth.

These words were from the them song of the film Midnight Cowboy telling of a lonely young man in a big city. The small town boy had lost his ability to communicate and thereby the essential ingredient to keeping one spiritually alive. To me they asked what happened? Why do we experience such uncertainty? What is there for us to hold to? What gives life direction? Who sets the pace? Who leads? Why make the effort? Who botched up what? Why am I urged to straighten out some of the mess?

Several of my friends had a vital discussion over a simple lunch. Can't you hear the reaction? What's the use of writing a column, or even a letter? People don't take time to read anymore. A glance through the newspaper and never a good book!

We are in a great rush to nowhere and we have the means to pay for things to be done for us. Why fight it?

These thoughts don't help when you are looking for the right way to communicate something you want to say or that you hope folks will want to hear and relate to.

Then came the bold. YOU ARE PART AND PARCEL OF THE PILL GENERATION. It all began with that aspirin your mother gave you years ago. Certainly your kids have known nothing else. Every shape and color; in fancy containers and plain; but always handy.

True, it all began with mom. She tranquilized by reading stories children liked to hear, reciting poetry by the hour and re-telling those "hand-me-downs" from previous generations. All were designed to relate to the peace of mind and the education of the upcoming generation.

We were supposed to be a little poor, maybe a little hungry, clothes a little worn and torn, hands grubby on occasion, and discouragement part of a regular diet.

If treatment was needed, there was a home remedy--like lemon, sugar and kerosene for coughing spells; iodine that stung for cuts and scratches; mustard plaster for congestion; argerol and ipicac [ipecac] (can't spell 'em but sure can taste 'em); and then the spring "line up kids and we'll clean out the winter"--each in turn gulped a tablespoon of castor oil.

What happened to the Sunday visits? The picnic trips with the whole family? Are there still places to go and things to do--as a family? Do we need a pill to escape or to relax? Do we need another to sharpen the intellect, to reassure, to give courage? Whey do I need to be confused to boost my morale and pull me out of a depression? My old Sunday School teacher used to say, "Don't count sheep; talk to the Shepherd." Sometimes that worked.

So many are worried. Things are already distorted and we either don't know how to face our times or we don't want to. It's so easy to pick up the many-sided safety valve "The devil made me do it." There's a pill for everything and we are the generation of pills.

It's tough to relate when the terms are over your head and the kids see you and your limited exposure as the root of the problem. To you a trip is travel, a pot belongs under a bed, and hooked is something mom did to make a rug.

The youngsters can't relate to the hydraulic ram, the wooden water tank, a stopped overflow and water from the attic to the basement with plaster falling behind. Coal oil lamps and candles, chunk stoves and feather ticks, soap stones and crocks, three point two and Goose Goslin, all need explaining.

So they come back with kicks and distortions, pot and love-in, beautiful and Hotline, grass and hard rock music, Mary Jane and free love.

Maybe we need to find the time to study our vocabulary. We who are older have made the journey and we know. Those who are younger will soon be the ones who can recount the experience and just hope the even younger generation will not go quite as far and fast as they did. But they know they will!

Somehow, I don't mind telling you about a 19 year old boy and his dad. They related and understood, although the language was a shade different. The young fellow came down to breakfast on Sunday morning. He was greeted with "Son, you turned in mighty late last night." There was a ready explanation for the 2:00 a.m. arrival. "Don't you see, Dad, the ole Model-A froze up and she boiled over. I took the radiator cap off to see what happened and it blew off in the big snow drift over on the middle pike. I looked and looked but never did find it again."

The response was unexpected. "Yes, Son. Well some years ago your Mother and I were courting. We had old Nancy to the buggy and came around past Highland and over Mink Hollow Road. On the way the lap robe bounced out of the back of the buggy, and it took up tow hours to locate that darn thing."

Sometimes there are older people who have a story to tell. I remember the same 19 year old boy who managed to get pifilated on 3.2 beer when he was two years below the legal age limit for purchase and consumption.

I have seen parents who must cap a difficult and frustrating week with "just a few" to put the memories away for a spell. Then they wonder what makes a kid seek escape from a hard and frustrating week at school with a slightly different approach.

There is a role for recreation in our society. Simple things like walks in the woods, picnics and croquet. Maybe we can read a little to relax. When did you learn you last poem or listen to the birds sing early in the morning.

There is a free society and we do have a free life. There is even freedom to self-destruct if we don't find the way to relate and communicate and love in the broadest sense.

Don't look for answers in terms of economic or social levels. Race and religion are both involved and concerned, nor have they found all the answers in the image of man or the hope of faith. When I was a youth I asked for guidance. My college professor said, "You are often guilty by association." From my mother came, "A man is known by the company he keeps." Dad got right to the point, "If you lie down with dogs, you will get up with fleas."

David L. Brigham
Executive Director

Auction Alert

2009-09-19T04:55:00.001-04:00

Elsie Brooke Snowden (1887-1945) -- or "Aunt Elsie" as we think of her -- is hitting the auction block on Sunday, September 27th, 2009, at 10:00am EST, at Sloans & Kenyon located at 7034 Wisconsin Avenue, Chevy Chase, MD 20815, 301-634-2330. The painting to be auctioned, shown here, is called "Misty Market Scene." It is similar in many ways to a painting that used to hang in my grandparents' home, except that was an image of immigrants arriving at Ellis Island. At any rate, "Misty Market Scene" is an oil painting, unframed, 41" x 54". The painting is in Sale Number 45, as Lot Number 1337, minimum bid of $350, with an estimated auction value of $700-$900. According to the auctioneers:

Snowden, from Ashton, MD, studied painting at the Corcoran School of Art and the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, where she won the prestigious Cresson Traveling Scholarship in 1914. Exhibiting regularly with the Society of Washington Artists and Washington Watercolor Club, and at the Corcoran Gallery Biennials, Snowden became known for her atmospheric landscapes and city scenes.

I do not know who the seller is, but it would be great to see this stay in (or come back into the family). Makes me wish I had some disposable income! Here is a link to the auction house and to the details about the auction lot.
--Barb

Confederate Field Trip

2009-09-17T05:37:00.008-04:00

Lieutenant Nicholas Snowden was the last in our branch of the Snowden line to be born (7 Apr 1828) at Montpelier Mansion in Laurel, MD. He was a graduate of Georgetown University and enlisted in the Confederate army in 1861. Nicholas served in the Ist MD Infantry, Company D and fought in the First Battle of Manassas. In the Battle of Harrisonburg, he charged into gunfire from Yankee troops concealed behind a fence. He fell pierced by three balls and died in the arms of his cousin Capt. James R. Herbert. The date was June 6, 1862. General Jackson posthumously awarded Nicholas the rank of Major for his valor in battle. He was briefly buried next to the Harrisonburg road and then interred at Union Church Cemetery in Cross Keys, VA. In 1884 his body and tombstone were transferred to Loudon Park Cemetery in Baltimore, MD, to the Confederate Hill section.

There are several historical markers that commemorate the Battle of Harrisonburg. I borrowed a map from Google Maps and indicated the locations of three of the relevant markers. You will note that all three of the sites are related to the place of death of General Turner Ashby. It is doubtful that we would be able to determine the place where Nicholas died with any certainty. But we do know that he was fighting under Ashby, that they both perished in this battle, and that Nicholas was temporarily buried near the Harrisonburg road (present day Route 11). So we can infer that Lt. Nicholas Snowden met his death in the vicinity of the triangle made by the three historical markers, just south of the present day campus of James Madison University. Since the battle map shows the Ist Maryland at the south end of the Confederate line, perhaps Lt. Nicholas Snowden was fighting closer to Port Republic Road.

A-30 - Located on Route 11 (S. Main Street) Harrisonburg, VA, between Edgelawn Drive and Port Republic Road. This marker indicates that General Turner Ashby, the "Black Knight," fell 1.5 miles east of the marker site, on Chestnut Ridge. The text of the marker reads:

"Where Ashby Fell. A mile and a half east of this point, Turner Ashby, Stonewall Jackson's cavalry commander, was killed, June 6, 1862, while opposing Fremont's advance."

A-35 - Located on Route 11 (S. Main Street) in Harrisonburg, VA, between Miller Circle and Rocco Drive, near the railroad crossing. The text of the marker reads:

"End of the Campaign. Here Stonewall Jackson, retreating up the Valley before the converging columns of Fremont and Shields, turned at bay, June, 1862. A mile southeast Jackson's cavalry commander, Ashby, was killed, June 6. At Cross Keys, six miles southeast, Ewell of Jackson's army defeated Fremont, June 8. Near Port Republic, ten miles southeast, Jackson defeated Shields, June 9. This was the end of Jackson's Valley Campaign."

Chestnut Ridge - Located on Turner Ashby Lane, off of Neff Avenue (as direct access from Port Republic Road has been closed). The text of the marker reads:

"Chestnut Ridge - Death of Ashby - 1862 Valley Campaign. On June 6, 1862, the vanguard of Union Gen. John C. Frémont’s force, pursuing Confederate Gen. Thomas J. 'Stonewall' Jackson’s army south up the Shenandoah Valley, reached this point near Harrisonburg. Jackson’s rear guard, led by Gen. Turner Ashby, engaged Federal cavalry here and captured Col. Sir Percy Wyndham, the English commander of the 1st New Jersey Cavalry who had earlier boasted that he would 'bag Ashby.' The 1st Maryland Inf. and 58th Virginia Inf. set an ambush for the Federals. At about 6 p.m., however, Union forces appeared not in the road as expected, but in a concealed position near Ashby’s force. When Ashby’s horse was shot from under him, he rolled off the mount, regained his footing and ordered his men to stop shooting and use the bayonet, shouting, 'Charge, men! For God’s sake charge!' Then a Union bullet pierced Ashby’s side and passed through his chest. He fell dead while his men cleared the Federals from the woodline. The next day, Ashby’s body lay in state in the Frank Kemper house in Port Republic, where a brief funeral service was held. Jackson viewed the body there in private. Although Ashby’s lack of discipline had drawn Jackson’s sharp rebuke two months earlier, he later praised Ashby. 'As a partisan officer I never knew his superior,' Jackson wrote. 'His daring was proverbial ... his tone of character heroic, and his sagacity almost intuitive in divining the purposes of the enemy.'"

Ashby's forces were defending Jackson's progress from the rear and did battle with Fremont's cavalry led by General George Bayard. Among that Yankee force were the Ist Pennsylvania Rifles, Company B (a.k.a. the Bucktails, the Morgan Rifles, Kane's Rifle Regiment, 13th Pennsylvania Reserve, etc.). The Bucktails claim credit for felling Turner Ashby after his horse was killed and he continued to do battle on foot, although contemporary accounts also claim that Ashby was a victim of friendly fire. The Bucktails history website features an excerpt from the Southern Historical Society Papers called the Fight with the Bucktails, which I have reproduced here in full. It appears to have been composed by General Bradley Tyler Johnson for the Southern Historical Society Papers 10 (1882: Jan/Dec) 103. The emphasis is my addition to highlight portions that refer directly to Lt. Nicholas Snowden.

Memoirs of the First Maryland Regiment
FIGHT WITH THE BUCKTAILS

On the evening of the 5th of June we arrived early at Harrisonburg, and leaving the Valley road turned to the left and went into camp. For the last two days we had been marching leisurely along closing up stragglers, and feeding the horses and men pretty well with the provisions the country afforded. Fremont had been very pertinacious, and was continually on our rear. From Strasburg up, the artillery---either of the pursuer or pursued---sounded continually in our ears from day-light until dark. But as we diminished our pace he slackened his, and indicated that though eager to strike a flying foe, he was not so well prepared to fight one which faced him. Since leaving New Market, such had been our attitude, willingness to fight him whenever the position suited us. On Friday morning, June 6th, we marched late. General Steuart had been relieved of his cavalry command and returned to the " Maryland line," consisting of the regiment, the Baltimore Light Artillery, Captain Brockenbrough, and Captain Brown's cavalry company, which had joined us just after the fight at Winchester. He had also assigned to him the Fifty-eighth, Forty-fourth, and two other Virginia regiments.

That morning being the rear-guard we were late starting, and delayed by the enormous trains which were carrying off the plunder of the expedition, by the afternoon we had not marched more than three miles. The head of this column was then at Fort Republic, five miles distant, where a bridge spans the Shenandoah. While the cavalry under Ashby had dismounted, during one of those numerous halts, which render the movement of a long column so tiresome, a regiment of Yankee cavalry suddenly dashed through them. Quick as the Yankees were, however, they were not quick enough for Ashby, who instantly formed and charged, routing them totally, and capturing prisoners and horses.

Among his prizes was Sir Percy Wyndham--an itinerant Englishman-a soldier of fortune, who though without rank or position at home, had served in the Italian campaign of Garibaldi, and was a man of gallantry and courage. He was eagerly caught up by the Lincoln Government, when personal courage and dash were at a premium, made Colonel of cavalry, and sent off to the Valley to meet Ashby. His only interview with the Virginia Cavalier was when he was riding bareheaded behind one of Ashby’s troopers---a prisoner. He expressed profound disgust at the arrant cowardice of his men, to which he attributed his whole disaster. As soon as Ashby chased the remnants of the Yankees back he returned, and reported to General Ewell that he had discovered an infantry force coming rapidly on us, and showed him that by a quick detour through the woods he could strike them in flank. Ewell, delighted at the prospect, ordered Steuart's command back at once. The regiment in the order of march in the morning had been last. In thus reversing the direction it should have been first, but having been placed to support a battery, two Virginia regiments got ahead of us. The Colonel however soon managed to cut in. and got up next to the Fifty-eighth Virginia. Ewell and Ashby rode at the head of the column---the latter explaining to the former the nature of the ground, the position of the roads, and the direction of the enemy. Though too far off to hear what he said, his dark face was lit up in a blaze of enthusiasm, and his eloquent gesticulation indicated his meaning as intelligibly as words. "Look at Ashby," said the Colonel to the Adjutant, "see how happy be is!" In a few moments we entered a thick wood, then changed direction in line of battle. Companies D and G of the regiment out as skirmishers under Ashby's immediate command. Moving cautiously along, in the quiet woods, every sound was exaggerated in the stillness, and at last without a moment's warning the Fifty-eighth gave way and ran back. " Steady there men, steady First Maryland," shouted our Colonel as pistol in hand he headed the broken mass. " Form behind there!" pointing to our solid ranks. The panic was only momentary, one of those strange accidents which occur in battle, and almost immediately the Fifty-eighth re-formed and went on. In a minute the sputter of the skirmishers was heard immediately followed by the volley of the Fifty-eighth. "Charge, Colonel." cried General Ewell, who was just by us---" charge men," said Colonel Johnson, and down the hill we went with a cheer, in a run. But we found no enemy. The fire on our right was excessive we were made to lie down, but balls began exploding and smacking among the men on the rocks. "Those Virginians are killing our men." Off galloped General Ewell and the Colonel, both to stop the firing, but directly returned finding out they were Yankee bullets. " I see one, Colonel can I kill him," cried Southoron of Company H. Assent was given, and he pulled away, but his cap snapped. Coolly putting on another he fired. "There I've killed you," said he. "Let us charge them, let us charge them, Colonel," came from several. " Very' well," said he. "Up men, forward, file right, march"-and as soon as the colors came into line, " By the right flank charge!!!” in a voice that could be heard far above the crash of small arms. The right companies and colors went in on a run, the left companies catching up, they closed with the Bucktails, who were strongly posted behind a worm fence full of undergrowth and briars, and drove them out, and as they ran across the open field, poured a most deadly fire into them, which melted them away like frost before the sun.

We afterwards heard that of over 200 Bucktails who went into that fight only fifty came out. After driving them off, a brigade of infantry was seen a short distance off, and a six-gun battery of brass pieces with an apparently large force of cavalry. They had had enough though for the evening, and it only being General Ewell's instruction to check Fremont sharply, he retired. The fight, short as it was, had cost us dearly. Ashby's horse fell at the first fire, immediately jumping to his feet, he half turned round to the Fifty-eighth, in front of whose second company he was brandishing his right hand with his pistol, ordering them to charge. The confusion was such that they did not obey him, and he fell, a ball entering his right side just above his hip and passing diagonally upward, came out under his left arm, showing that the ball was fired by someone lying down. Though in front of the Fifty-eighth, he was not more than thirty yards from the enemy, who were lying flat behind the fence. The opinion of Lieutenant Booth, who saw him fall and was closer to him than anyone, is that a shot from the Yankees killed him. We lost Captain Michael S. Robertson, Company I, killed instantly; as he fell, he said, " Go on, boys, don't mind me." He was a native and resident of Charles County, one of our oldest families---wealthy and highly educated. At the same time fell Lieutenant Nicholas Snowden, Company D, from Prince George of that well known family. At the time of the Baltimore outbreak he a cavalry company, which he immediately put under arms until, like so many others, he found Hicks had betrayed the State, and he came to Virginia. No braver, or more gallant gentlemen than these have died for Southern Independence. With them fell six or eight more dead, Color-Sergeant Doyle was shot down, Color-Corporal Taylor caught the colors, but soon went down, the next Corporal to him caught them, but instantly falling, Corporal Shanks, Company H, seized them, lifting them arms length above his head, carried them safely through the fight.

Colonel Johnson had been that afternoon to see General Jackson, and was in full uniform, rather an unusual sight in that army where few officers wore any sign of rank. As the regiment charged, his horse was shot in the shoulder; then directly received in his forehead a ball, intended for his rider, and as he fell, another in the pommel of the saddle. His uniform doubtless procured him these compliments, as he was not more than thirty yards from the Bucktails. Captain Nicholas, Company “G,”- found Lieutenant-Colonel Kane, their commander, sitting on a stump with a broken leg, who invoked the Captain to shoot the cowardly hounds who had run off and left him. Although this fight was quickly over, it was one of the bloodiest of the war, considering the time and number engaged. Our loss was about one hundred killed and wounded, and that of the enemy probably one hundred and fifty in all, including prisoners, of whom there were very few. Dr. Johnson, the surgeon of the First Maryland, the next morning had Lieutenant Snowden buried near the Harrisonburg road, and his company buried Captain Robertson in Union church-yard by the brick wall opposite the gate the first church on the road from Harrisonburg to Port Republic. Feelings of sorrow at the loss of so many friends strongly impressed us all, and Saturday was quietly spent in taking position and going into camp near the Shenandoah. General Jackson had the day before directed the Colonel to pick out a good camp and recruit his men. " Drill them four hours a day," said he. Friday evening we had one drill, which has just been described. Fate had reserved such another in store for us.

May 1971

2009-09-15T05:31:00.003-04:00

It was a conference of sorts...In fact, it was a big meeting under the auspices of the President's Committee for the Employment of the Handicapped. People came from all over the world, for disability and rehabilitation cannot be walled in for only a few to endure or enjoy.

Recreation entered in as wheelchair athletes demonstrated the fruits of competition and the therapy of physical activity. Fertile minds exposed ingenious devices and a grim determination to achieve in spite of...The strength, desire and grit of the real man was never better demonstrated. You can do so much with so little. We who have so much with which to meet life may indeed feel shame.

Somehow you are convinced recreation is something you must earn. And what was happening on the streets outside? Not all of the handicaps and disabilities were in the hotel. Not all of the mental capacity of the city was assembled on the concourse level. Much was on the streets of our Capitol. Vets against the War, controversy about sleeping in a national park, women talking about liberation for the ladies, youngsters saying that the establishment failed to recognize the grey area where truth really lies, and the obvious contrasts...

There are the beards, the mutton chops, the blue jeans, sandals, bare feet, thongs, micro-mini skirts and maxi coats on the same frame, and an unmistakable gleam in a number of old eyes. Who is right and who is wrong? Who's old fashioned and who just plain nuts?

They are sleeping in the park tonight. The supreme judicial body of our greatest country on the globe says they cannot. But, they are and they did and I guess they will. Some are physically handicapped. They left a part of themselves overseas. They were in the battle. They have a right to speak. I'm talking about the Vets. There are times when I'm proud to be identified as one of them; and then there are times when I want to join the kids who ask some of the authorities to justify all of it. My response about a different war and purpose has a hollow ring. I want a real answer for it all.

These amputees and the paraplegics who zip about and do things. These guys who complain so little and smile so much. I carry a big torch for those who find one of the greatest challenges in life is working with the handicapped.

The flag must have been flying from my pole as I went to lunch with three friends - all handicapped. One had to take the elevator because crutches don't work on escalators. Another has a victory over cancer and calls himself one of those successful colostomies. The third had just received the golden word and his handicap was unemployment.

Our placemat was "The Story of Our Flag." In the center was the Star Spangled Banner of Fort McHenry fame. On the flanks were such colorful reminders of our heritage as the Viking Flag, Cross of St. George, Royal Standard of Spain, French Fleur-de-Leis, British Union, Bunker Hill, Rattlesnake, Alamo, Confederate, Betsy Ross Flag, and more...

In bold letters the caption spoke - "I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."

I kept my thoughts to myself, but I thought! Yes, we are a long way from home sometimes. And we are a long way from base, and truth, and right, and giving, and dedication, and devotion, and faith, and trust, and charity, and love. We must be worthy of our keep and earn what we enjoy. Maybe recreation means re-Creation.

Congressman Jack Marsh of Virginia shared a situation report with me some months ago. I drew on this as I ate with my friends who have suffered, with men who had known war, and with the symbol of our great America adding nourishment. Why are we there? Why here? Who has a right to question? Was it earned? Will it be?

The emerging nation in question has a population of about two and one-half million spread along a coastline of about twelve hundred miles. Forests are perilous due to hostility of indigenous natives.

Loyalty to the home government is unquestioned but for the past few years, civilian unrest has been growing due to economic exploitation of local products and markets.

Continued petitions by the populace for a revision of policy have been rebuffed. This has led to outbreaks of armed conflict against the regular troops throughout the territory. The dominant nation is a foremost world power. Their army, although below wartime strength, nevertheless, is substantial in size.

There is no political cohesion or political stability. Privately, many influential supporters of the insurgency are pessimistic of success and some blandly forecast defeat, at best hoping for some compromise which more radical leaders are fast making impossible.

Knowledgeable foreign observers predict a quick, crushing military defeat, with severe penalties to Rebel leaders as an example to others harboring aspirations of Independence.

THE TIME -- 1775. THE PLACE -- America.

David L. Brigham
Executive Director

This I Believe

2009-09-11T03:12:00.002-04:00

NPR's revival of the 1950s This I Believe series concluded earlier this year. Selected essays from the project were shared on NPR from 2005 to 2009. Among them was Frank Miller's essay "That Old Piece of Cloth," originally aired on September 11, 2006. The following transcript is reproduced from this page, and you can listen to Frank reading his essay here.

(Photograph from Collider.com)

That Old Piece of Cloth
by Frank Miller
September 11, 2006

I was just a boy in the 1960s. My adolescence wasn't infused with the civil rights struggle or the sexual revolution or the Vietnam War, but with their aftermath.

My high school teachers were ex-hippies and Vietnam vets. People who protested the war and people who served as soldiers. I was taught more about John Lennon than I was about Thomas Jefferson.

Both of my parents were World War II veterans. FDR-era patriots. And I was exactly the age to rebel against them.

It all fit together rather neatly. I could never stomach the flower-child twaddle of the '60s crowd and I was ready to believe that our flag was just an old piece of cloth and that patriotism was just some quaint relic, best left behind us.

It was all about the ideas. I schooled myself in the writings of Madison and Franklin and Adams and Jefferson. I came to love those noble, indestructible ideas. They were ideas, to my young mind, of rebellion and independence, not of idolatry.

But not that piece of old cloth. To me, that stood for unthinking patriotism. It meant about as much to me as that insipid peace sign that was everywhere I looked: just another symbol of a generation's sentimentality, of its narcissistic worship of its own past glories.

Then came that sunny September morning when airplanes crashed into towers a very few miles from my home and thousands of my neighbors were ruthlessly incinerated -- reduced to ash. Now, I draw and write comic books. One thing my job involves is making up bad guys. Imagining human villainy in all its forms. Now the real thing had shown up. The real thing murdered my neighbors. In my city. In my country. Breathing in that awful, chalky crap that filled up the lungs of every New Yorker, then coughing it right out, not knowing what I was coughing up.

For the first time in my life, I know how it feels to face an existential menace. They want us to die. All of a sudden I realize what my parents were talking about all those years.

Patriotism, I now believe, isn't some sentimental, old conceit. It's self-preservation. I believe patriotism is central to a nation's survival. Ben Franklin said it: If we don't all hang together, we all hang separately. Just like you have to fight to protect your friends and family, and you count on them to watch your own back.

So you've got to do what you can to help your country survive. That's if you think your country is worth a damn. Warts and all.

So I've gotten rather fond of that old piece of cloth. Now, when I look at it, I see something precious. I see something perishable.

April 1971

2009-09-08T03:31:00.001-04:00

Life is what we work for, talk about, and hold tight to. Often the thread is thin and sometimes there is a regeneration. Spring does follow the dead of winter. We breathe deeply of the fresh breezes and express pleasure in being alive. We look for the first swelling buds and the initial spikes of green forcing their way between the frosty layers of earth. Yes, it is spring and life leaves that dormant state and flows fully again.

The old walnut was dead. At least is was very far gone, and there was no hope of recovery. It stood at one corner of the church. As if showing that even a tree cared about such things, it leaned toward the sanctuary. The trustees who know about such things felt the seventy-five year vigil had been sufficient. The patriarch must come down.

Then came the bulldozer to push out the stump and do the grading. Some sleeping grubs and a few sluggish fishing worms were turned up. They worked their way back into the earth, to shelter, protection, and survival. Even the stump of the tree fought to hang on, preferring to rot rather than be rudely dislodged.

My week had been like this. The economy was tight both from a personal and business standpoint. I had listened to someone say austerity a dozen times. He wanted me to know the sky was falling, and I had best shore up the dike if a part of my existence was to continue. I thought of this as I cut that walnut.

For a couple years my heart and effort has gone into a federation of associations know as the League. Many have tried to breathe life and strength into LFRA. They have pleaded with the larger members who do not need the strength of numbers to reap benefits to lend a hand for the lift they can give the smaller organizations. To the lesser agency associations, they have said the banding together gives strength and purchasing power. Use the Buyer's Guide for discount buying and as you save for yourself you will strengthen the League.

If you are planning a trip, make your travel arrangements through an LFRA contact. This will save you money and help the League do more for its members. Read the Recreation Register and see that others in your association receive a copy. They are still free.

My mind had wandered, and I returned to my tree. The stump and one of the larger sections of trunk were side by side. I knelt to view the ants searching for retreat. There it was!

At the edge of the more than 75 rings...the wood, each denoting a year of life, there was a half inch of new and green growth. The tree was as dead as dead could be. No doubt about it.

But to the trained eye, that tree fought to the bitter end. When it was 98 percent destroyed there was still the will to struggle and fight on. One of the basics is survival, and life is what life is all about.

David L. Brigham
Executive Director

Origins of Troop 264

2009-09-05T03:10:00.001-04:00

This history was written by David L. Brigham, the "First Scout" of Boy Scout Troop #264, and it appears on the Troop's homepage:

Troop 264 had its start from a summer 4-H State Camp near Blacksburg, Virginia. Ernest Thompson Seton, the greatest of nature writers including Wild Animals I Have Known, was a special invited guest. His role was to tell Indian stories and experiences at the campfires. He brought his friend Dan Beard, who had set the stage for the Boy Scout movement in the United States. My Dad, Reuben Brigham, was the U.S. Director of Information for the Agricultural Extension Service and had arranged for Thompson to participate. This was the early summer of 1927.

The inspiration of visits with these two youth and nature leaders during the idle daytime hours resulted in long talks about the Scouting program and all it provided young men age twelve and above. As a result, Brigham returned to his American Legion Post in Sandy Spring and asked his fellow veterans of World War I to help him set up a Troop for this community. They agreed, providing he would be Scoutmaster. The Washington Council sent professionals to assist from their very small staff. By fall, a Troop with 12 to 15 boys was in place. Dad was Scoutmaster, I was a Tenderfoot Acting Patrol Leader, and the Troop with a Sandy Spring address was #130.

There were Montgomery County Camporees, summer journeys to Camp Roosevelt on the Chesapeake Bay, fourteen mile hikes, fifty yard swims upstream in the Patuxent, wet wood and only two matches, first aid, cold nights, wet bodies, tests, games, and pledges (which I still remember). We sang Clemantine and went on Snipe hunts, climbed hills and slid down banks, wore shorts most the year and britches once in a while.

The troop lost the original number when several years of inactivity occurred. Charlie Hines served first as Assistant Scoutmaster. John Bancroft later served for several years. Original Scouts who come quickly to mind include Tom Hallowell, Francis Brigham, Fairman and Billy Fussell and Malcolm Thomas. Dick and Johnny Thomas had had other Scouting experience and for a period acted as Senior Scouts and advisors for us.

Norman Price Post #68 of the American Legion has been the sponsor of a Boy Scout Troop for nearly sixty years and during most of that period the present Troop 264 is in the record. It is a matter of mutual satisfaction when man and boy, Scout and Scouter, organization and organization, can work together for God and Country in a community of rich heritage and strong faith.

David L. Brigham

March 1971

2009-09-03T03:30:00.000-04:00

One of the young folks reads this column. I know, for it was he who placed me squarely behind the eight ball with, "Dad, it was interesting, but what did it have to do with the League?"

This was a time to talk about life, the uncertainty of each undertaking, the personalities involved in most organizations, the goals and dreams of officers and committees, and the relationship of time, talent and efforts of individuals. The League is a great example. So many have worked so hard and done so much, yet the struggle always lies ahead.

The problems are compounded with growth. There is more and more to absorb, understand, and solve. The first bruises, cuts, and frustrations pile on. Suddenly, you find that not everything objectionable is dissipated by someone patting you on the head or kissing where it hurts. Now that you are somebody, you have problems and at least you must share in their solution.

Most are aware of the urgent inner call to push forward to the next plateau. Never are we quite satisfied or secure.

So it has been for this association of some 150,000 federal employees, many of whom do not know a thing about the League or its function. They only hear indirectly that it might lend a big hand if you are planning a trip or wanting to buy something at a discount. Who really relates to the other 54 agencies and their employees? We have our own niche and that's enough for anyone to chew.

Like the young man with all the dreams and ambitions, the League has grown and stumbled. It has plunged forward, made great strides, fallen and gotten up to try again. The potential is always the incentive. That many people and that many agencies and a central interest and dedication--Think of the possibilities if that many spoke with one voice. Yes, mountains could be moved. Hope springs with some real justification.

The League is not at that point yet, but our little pattern of a life example must take a man into those years he calls the prime of life. He has learned that the late teenager who was ready to save the world at 18, is now 30 and can't save fifty cents.

The mortgage payments and the rent are always due; the grocery costs mount; the car needs unexpected repairs; there must be insurance in case something happens to the head of the household...

We want the best for each one and can't always convince each component that we are doing the best we can, have stretched the resources and income to the best advantage, and next year we will have the time and the money to take that long anticipated trip with the entire family. Yes, the pot is at the end of the rainbow.

If the struggle of life for an individual never ends as long as there is life, what of an organization that is in effect a loose federation with many of the components more interested in the immediate backyard of the own R&W?

Such thoughts took me back to boyhood. Old Charlie Scott sat on an oak stump. He had been laying a flagstone walk around our house, and he was both hot and tired. A young chap sat at his feet to show him the toad frog which had hopped out from under the porch.

Gently he lifted the toad into the cup of a powerful, calloused hand. Then he explained the superstition that warts would come off the toad and onto the hand of the little boy who picked him up. No, not on a big, tough, black hand. After all, warts are white. That's what he said anyway.

I didn't believe Charlie, and I told him so... But I did watch my hands for a couple of weeks. And I do go out the same door I came in when I'm visiting someone, and don't want to break a friendship. Charlie said I should do that.

Maybe some of you will understand that I do not believe any of this stuff about being born under a certain sign that makes me jovial, and bright and capable and understanding and happy and willing and... I just glance at the Farmer's Almanac to find out when the bad storms are coming. I don't set any store by what it says.

I don't think there is anything to Friday the 13th, but I was in a banzai attack in World War II on April 13th, a Friday. I had an accident on such a day and was in the middle of a severe wind storm on another...and in the center of a violent confrontation between two strong arm groups of men on a Friday the 13th. I don't believe in such things.

On my desk is a round, black object. It has a white circle with a black eight in the circle. They call it an eight ball. If you shake it soundly and ask a question it give an answer. I don't really believe the things it indicates... Or do I?...

I asked about the prospects for the League of Federal Recreation Associations in 1971 and turned up the window in the bottom of the eight ball. There seemed to be an eye looking back at me. Then, an eyelid opened and closed a couple of times (I saw the eyelashes). Then suddenly it was there. The answer which I must believe flashed forth...OUTLOOK GOOD.

David L. Brigham
Executive Director

A Case Rides Again!

2009-08-31T03:32:00.003-04:00

His work for WSSC in the area of water conservation was groundbreaking and served as a model for municipalities across the United States. But did you know that Arthur Putnam "Brig" Brigham (or "Uncle Cee" as I think of him) was a regular contributor of articles and photographs to the Gas Engine Magazine family of publications? So much so that his passing was mentioned with deep sorrow in the April 1, 1992 letter from the publisher and again noted In Memorium in the following issue:

ARTHUR P.' BRIG' BRIGHAM, 63, died January 22, 1992 at home in Bella Vista, Arkansas. Husband of Helen Case Brigham, great-granddaughter of J. I. Case, Brig had been the editor of the Eagle, newsletter of the J. I. Case Heritage Foundation.

Born in Washington, D.C., Brig grew up in Montgomery County, Maryland and graduated from the University of Maryland as a journalism major. From 1959 until his 1981 retirement, he served as Public Affairs Officer of the Washington Suburban Sanitary Commission.

While reading a Gaithersburg, Maryland weekly newspaper, Brig spotted the item (a picture of a Case steam engine) which led him and his wife into their intense involvement with antique machinery and the engine collecting hobby. He was a frequent contributor to IMA and GEM [Gas Engine Magazine].

Here is an article that I particularly enjoy, both for his lively description of the event and for the photograph of his wife, Helen Case Brigham, driving a tractor that accompanied it. The article (found here) is titled "A Case Rides (and drives) Again!", and it was originally published in the March/April 1984 of Steam Traction.

A Case Rides (and drives) Again!
Steam Traction Magazine
March/April 1984
Arthur P. Brigham

Helen Case Brigham, great-granddaughter of J. I. Case, recently enjoyed the opportunity to follow in his footsteps when she took the helm of Thomas R. Gingell's 50 HP Case at the Mason-Dixon Historical Society's Steam Gas Round-Up.

In 1850, Jerome Increase Case the founder of the J. I. Case Company and pioneering inventor/manufacturer of agricultural equipment was traveling the Midwest selling his machines, trading horses and standing behind every deal he ever made.

A letter 'J. I.' wrote to his wife, Lydia, on September 5 of that year from Madison County, Indiana, described how some purchasers of one of his machines abused the equipment so badly that 'they condemn it as worthless ... say they could not thrash 30 bushels of good winter wheat in a day with it and that they will have nothing more to do with it.

'If I can get horses, I will show people that the machine is just as I recommended it to be,' Case wrote. 'It is going to detain me longer than I expected, but I shall make every possible effort to return (home) as soon as possible.'

Five days later, he wrote Lydia again to report: 'The men who had the machine got it so much out of repair that I was not able to put it in order, try it and get away again until this morning. They had completely murdered the reputation of the machine. Could only average whilst thrashing some 30 bushels of wheat per day.

'They utterly refused to pay me for the machine,' Case continued, 'and the neighbors (Hoosiers in full), supposing the machine to be Yankee humbug, advised them to sue me for damages.'

Case settled with the complainers, refunding money and taking back the machine.

'Then, in order to show the 'cattle' that the machine would thrash 200 bushels a day, as recommended by me,' he continued, 'I thought it best to put it in operation; and, after much trouble, I succeeded in getting good hands and horses to make the trial. All (witnesses) united in saying that, if the machine could thrash 200 bushels in a day, it could not be equalled by any in the country.

'We got the horses broke to the machine and ready to start at 12 o'clock,' Case noted. 'That afternoon, we thrashed and cleaned nicely 177 bushels of wheat and stopped to take our dinner and tea in the time. This seemed to please and surprise my friends, the Quakers.'

It was this tradition of pride in any equipment that carries the Case name that brought J. I. Case's great-granddaughter, Helen Case Brigham, to the Mason-Dixon Historical Society's 21st annual Steam and Gas Round-Up Days at the Farm Museum in Westminster, Maryland, this fall.

Helen heard about the event, after reading about a similar rally of old farm machines in 'The Gaithersburg Gazette,' a Maryland weekly which ran a story with photos showing a Case steam engine owned, beautifully restored and operated by Thomas R. Gingell of Emmitsburg, Md. In a telephone conversation, Gingell invited Helen to the Mason-Dixon gathering to see and ride on his Case engine.

From the minute she arrived at the Farm Museum grounds until she headed for home five hours later, Helen Case was in a state of ecstasy. Throughout her 50-plus years, she had read about her great-grandfather and had heard family stories about him. In her youth, on the Case Ranch in Eldorado, Texas, she had driven a gas-fueled Case farm tractor; and she had seen the old J. I. Case steam engine on display at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C.

But, at Westminster, Tom Gingell took her aboard his operating, 50-horsepower Case Traction Engine. He took Helen for a ride in the machine, circling the Round-Up site wide open at two to three miles an hour. Then, Tom stoked the fire box to get up a good head of steam and after a few basic instructions put old J. I.'s great-granddaughter in the driver's 'seat' (not a seat at all, you have to stand to operate this machine!).

Helen had a blast, as farm machinery buffs gathered around at the Mason-Dixon Historical Society's Round- Up to meet J. I. Case's great-granddaughter.

If the 'Old Man' happened to be looking down on the scene from Heaven (or wherever) on that day, he probably smiled broadly to see 'a chip off the old block' at the throttle of Gingell's shiny black, circa 1920 Case steam engine.

Helen certainly smiled broadly, flushed with Case pride and responding to the enthusiastic greetings of Round-Up visitors who came to meet her and shake the hand of 'old J. I.'s great-granddaughter' after the public address announcer introduced her to the crowd.

'Listen to that engine ... That's beautiful,' Helen shouted over the sounds of the energizing steam while she remained at the helm of Gingell's machine. Later, when Tom took over to hook up to a belt and demonstrate the engine's power, Helen's description of the belt's 'whomp ... whomp ... whomp' in combination with the engine's powerful, steamy throbs was: 'That's magnificent!'

Toward the end of 'her day' at Westminster, Tom invited Helen to drive his Case engine in the Round-Up parade; and, by this time, she was handling the machine like a veteran throttle wide open, whistle blowing, waving and smiling to the crowd.

'If anybody in the crowd had said a bad thing about that engine when I was driving it in the parade, I would have crawled down from the cab and punched him in the nose,' she reported at the end of the day, her Irish jaw jutting out and her blue eyes flashing much as J. I. Case's jaw must have jutted and his eyes must have flashed when he fixed the machine in Indiana and showed the complainers and their witnesses that the Case thresher could 'thrash' 177 bushels in half a day (almost twice the production he had promised) and that J. I. Case was a man of his word.

In addition to getting her first opportunity to operate a Case steam engine at Westminster, while there Helen also heard about the 'Big Event' the Annual Reunion of the Midwest Old Settlers and Threshers Association in Mount Pleasant, Iowa, where Tom Gingell and others say she might get to ride possibly even drive a Case engine with the power of more than 100 horses.

Since Helen is a Case, as in J. I. Case, she probably will never rest easily again until she journeys to Iowa or wherever she has to go to drive one of those big machines. The Case pride and the Case love of useful, reliable, powerful machinery are in her blood. If there is a Case machine bigger than Tom Gingell's 50-horsepower beauty, then, DRIVE IT SHE MUST! How do I know this? Why, I've been married to J. I.'s granddaughter for 33 years.

Author's Note: Helen Case is the daughter of the late Percival Fuller Case, formerly of Racine, Wisconsin, home of the J. I. Case Company. P. F. Case moved his family from Evanston, Illinois to Case-held ranchland in southwest Texas in 1938. Helen was raised on the family ranch, an active participant in the care of herds of sheep and cattle. Since 1950, when she married a Marylander, she has lived in Silver Spring, Maryland.

Jerome Increase Case, founder of the J. I. Case Threshing Machine Company, one of America's pioneering inventors/manufacturers of farm machinery in the late 1800's.

January/February 1971

2009-08-28T03:30:00.001-04:00

There is always a gate. Sometimes it is swinging in, and at other times, swinging out. For every gate there is an experience. There are people to relate to the gate whether it be of wood, metal, or stone.

Some gates are ornate, and others brightly painted. Some are rusty, creaking, and only half on an abandoned post. Always the gate is engaged in a struggle against the elements created by both nature and man.

At the gate there are always hopes, memories, ambitions, and experiences. Of all the creations, these vital ingredients have been reserved for man alone. Both the generosity and the responsibility of these gifts are overwhelming. Thankfully, there is a balance which causes the gate to swing in one direction with pressure, and in another with pull.

As we reach into the tomorrow of yet another year, we must close our gate on some great events which are now history. All of us have our own reflection as we see an old year out and anticipate the new. I trust that you will have your own parade of thoughts as I relate my own gate experiences.

In the past year a gate was opened for a member of our family. This was a farewell gate for one who had seen nearly 82 years as a treasured component of our inner circle. She was the one who had laughed with such understanding when a small boy on a very black night was encouraged to set a new record for the 100 yard dash. The route was from the barn to the back porch and was initiated by the groan of a rusty hinge supporting a sagging gate.

She it was who often summed up the ambition of this youth with the impossible goal, "He's all too often reaching for the moon." She lived long enough to hear her little granddaughter say, "I used to think Daddy was so tall he could walk up on a stepladder and touch the sky." In the time of that grandmother, other young Americans opened the impossible gate--reached the moon and walked upon it. It couldn't be done and yet is was...in 1970.

Hardly had that departing latch dropped before another was being lifted to accommodate someone coming in our gate. For those who are interested, there is a grandson. We have our miracle and he picked my birthday to enter the gate.

Undoubtedly, gates are important, and for some 17 years I sat on a great campus where I could watch the arrival of young men and women as they walked between the great brick posts and under the identifying ironwork. For many this was a giant step which would be appreciated and assimilated.

The bricks and mortar were there, the knowledge of generations waited in the library, and many fertile minds were ready to share the largest word in research and discovery. Like the structure of bricks and the mortar, knowledge is built on fact and finding, a step at a time.

Each generation adds a segment to the great mosaic of life. All too often there are those who exit through the gate after a short struggle, for the campus hills offer a challenge. Others see the green grass which borders the pathway lading to the great outside and depart. For some, it will remain green, but for most, it will lose its vigor as the distance from the gate increases.

Fortunately, there are many who have the means, the stamina, and the desire to complete the experience and enjoy not only the climax parade before family and friends, but also the fruits of effort.

It is difficult for us to look at the interesting experience we call life without realizing that each generation and each year goes beyond that which preceded it. Somehow the combination of the certainty of yesterday gives the hope that is required for tomorrow.

Indeed the story is an old one, but deeply significant...So many have not heard it yet...The young man left home and walked through the gate to seek his fortune in his own way. For a time those who had contributed most to his preparation were forgotten and ignored.

The years passed and an aging mother and father received a letter. Briefly it stated, "I will be on the train next Wednesday. If I am welcome at home, after the years of heartache and neglect I have caused, please hang a white cloth on the cherry tree at the edge of town. If there is no cloth, I will know I am not welcome."

When the train reached the town limits, a passenger viewed an old tree completely covered with bed sheets.

It has been good to re-live old days, but it means even more to be a part of the preparation for an unexplored tomorrow. I think I'll spend a few moments with the thoughts of the English school teacher in India.

She faced an uncertain road, and her answer may well have a message for the League, for the leadership, for 150,000 members representing 58 federal agencies and for you and for me...

"And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: 'Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.' And he replied, 'Go out into the darkness and put thy hand in the hand of God. That shall be to you better than a light and safer than a known way.'"

David L. Brigham
Executive Director

November 1970

2009-08-24T03:32:00.000-04:00

There is a nail at the top of the basement steps. It's just like the old one in the house across the field. This is where my newer "handy cap" hangs.

Early morning in an interesting time. In the mad scramble of jumbled thoughts as one attempts to find that pin point of focus for the activities of the day, there come memories, ambitions, frustrations and concerns. There is family, work, Thanksgiving, welfare, recreation, income vs. out-go, health, memory and hats.

How can you separate one from the other and make your day and your reason for being make sense. Like the Alice of Wonderland you are in a maze of mirrors, trying to find the looking glass to walk through, and knowing that unlike the Mad Hatter you will not be able to balance all of the shapes and styles upon your whirling mind at once.

So, to the nail and the cap. The dogs knew the signal of a bolt sliding in the lock and woke up the neighbors in anticipation of a run in the woods.

The collies led the way in a joyful dash. They had been to the sassafras stump before and were content to lie quietly for the moments the fellow wearing the handy cap seemed to relish as he sat. This morning there was a dew covered spider web and the owner worked back and forth to leave a perfect lacework pattern. The handiwork was perfection and much like others I had seen before. How do they know to follow a path similar to those who have deposited their thread in like fashion over so many years? Nature has such a way of balancing things out...maybe we'd better try to straighten out our own disorganized thinking.

There are bonnets and caps and hats. Some fit and are attractive while others are better relegated to the foot of the basement steps or the corner of the attic.

For years the urge to try on hats has overwhelmed me. There is always a laugh in a hat when it is deposited upon the wrong head.

For a period the LFRA hat was my vocation. It is still one of my strong interests and hopes. The first birthday of the Recreation Register is a happy occasion for me and I join the 75,000 readers of our 140,000 membership in a salute. The long struggle is not over but the vital communication link is alive and rendering great service. For this we can all be thankful.

And on to another hat... This one is the Committee for the Handicapped, People-to-People... This is a mighty comfortable fit. Those who have such a variety of problems make life so worthwhile for all of us. This was the fleeting thought on that sassafras stump and I almost left it there to complete my walk.

Then the colorful leaves and pine needles sifting down told me it was fall...November...the month of Thanksgiving... We gather the family together then...all of us...past and present...the well and strong, the sick and lame, the blind and deaf, the young and the old, the paralyzed and the voiceless... All of us... And we each have a pad and pencil to go with a ten minute time limit. We write down those things for which we are thankful.

This Thanksgiving we are thankful for those who care about the Recreation and Welfare of others. That there is a League and a union of the employee associations. Then we are thankful for those around us who give so much inspiration and make out problems seem so small. I am thankful for the hat of service to the disabled that so many wear, even for just the moment of helping someone up the stairs or across the street.

Before me is the note from the paraplegic who says, "Each person is an individual and we do not sit in our wheelchairs like so many blobs, smiling incessantly...I am not always patient and cheerful...I criticize, I knock, I get mad and swear, I seldom have time to smile..."

I'm wondering how many of us would trade our lives for the life of any other individual we know. Remember, you would be trading all of the life, not part of yours for part of his. Not every lid that fits another man's kettle will go on yours.

All of a sudden the sun is getting brighter; there is no insect in the web and the spider is resting. This is a good time to be saying thanks to --

The God that gave me eyes that I might see,
And ears that I might hear,
A voice that I might tell to all
His story far and near.
To me He gave a heart too full
To pass my brother by,
Two legs, two feet, two arms and hands
To use to serve my fellow man.
A mind, a looking back, a soul set free
Thank God! He gave these gifts to me.
So I my duties must not shirk
For God made man to do His holy work.
The young, the lame, the old and gray,
The boys and girls who cannot play
Extend to us their searching hands.
To know the touch of one who truly understands.
Empathy, compassion we ask of Thee,
To help us do and see
The tasks which Thou hast given
That we might know the taste of Heaven.

I guess I better put my cap back on and go now. It's funny...after a few minutes on the Thanksgiving stump the "handy cap" really feels good when you are relating life to handicapped. I am thankful for my love of hats!

David L. Brigham
Executive Director

Profiles of Reuben Brigham

2009-08-20T05:21:00.005-04:00

From the website of the Association for Communication Excellence in Agriculture, Natural Resources, and Life and Human Sciences:

The Reuben Brigham Award is offered in memory of Reuben Brigham (1887-1946), a native of Marlboro, Mass., and graduate of the University of Maryland. He served as an extension editor and 4-H Club agent in Maryland and was called to the Federal Extension Service office in 1917 to develop an editorial and visual aids service for extension editors. Brigham traveled the nation, conferring with editors and directors, and helped states develop their own editorial offices as separate units.

He organized the American Association of Agricultural College Editors and served as its president, secretary and treasurer. He established the Extension Service Review in 1939 and participated in the Farm and Home Hour of the National Broadcasting Company. During the Depression, he helped develop action agencies of the Agricultural Adjustment Administration. As head of a regional section of the AAA information office, he ensured that extension staffs were involved in that organization’s information plans. He later was appointed assistant director of the Federal Extension Service and was associated with extension directors, the land-grant college association and policy-making committees of the U.S. Department of Agriculture. Brigham died in Chicago while attending a meeting at the National 4-H Club Congress.

The Reuben Brigham Award, established in 1947, is reserved for a communicator, including a public relations or advertising professional, who has made a a major contribution in the field of agriculture, natural resources, or life and human sciences at the regional, national or international level. Active and retired members of ACE, a land-grant college or university staff, or USDA staffs are not eligible for the award. (Click for a list of past winners.)

* * * * *

A profile from the ACE retirees website:

Reuben Brigham. President 1924-25. U. S. Department of Agriculture

Reuben Brigham was born Dec. 13, 1887 in Marlboro, Mass. He was the son of a farmer and professor of agriculture. He graduated from the Maryland Agricultural College (later the University of Maryland) in 1908. For the next five years he operated a farm in Maryland, then returned to the university in 1913 to serve as secretary of Alumni Affairs to the university president. When the Smith-Lever Act established the extension service later that year, he joined the Maryland College of Agriculture staff where he was their first extension editor and 4-H club agent.

In 1917 he joined the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s extension service in Washington, D.C. to develop an editorial and visual-aids service for extension editors. He also started the Extension Service Review magazine in 1930.

During the depression years of the 1930s, he joined the Agricultural Adjustment Administration (AAA) where he was in charge of a regional section of the “Triple A” information office. In this position, he “saw to it that the college editors of the nation were used in all information plans and that the local state extension staff, including the editor, was not by-passed. . ..” He later returned to the extension service and was named assistant director.

He died unexpectedly Dec. 6, 1946 while attending the National 4-H Club Congress in Chicago—one week short of his 59th birthday. Following Reuben Brigham’s death, Past President Frank Jeter (North Carolina) said, “Brigham has as much to do with the successful formation and organization of the American Association of Agricultural College Editors as any other one single person.” Since 1947 AAACE/ACE has given the annual Reuben Brigham Award to honor the contributions in agricultural, home economics, and rural communication of a person outside its membership—the organization’s highest award.

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And finally the culmination of a recent research project by Scout Jim Bikel titled "Reuben Brigham: Legend Unveiled," dated March 21, 2009, about the founder and first scoutmaster of Boy Scout Troop #264. He presented his project to the 10th annual Montgomery County gathering for National History Day. I had the pleasure of meeting Jim Bikel--a very nice young man--and I think he did a great job here. I have inserted two minor corrections into the text, which appear within brackets and are italicized:

Introduction

As part of a competition for an extracurricular activity known as National History Day, I did a research project on Mr. Reuben Brigham, commonly known to you as the troop’s founder. National History Day is a competition that is similar to a science fair for history. This year, the NHD had a theme of legacy. They recommended that we each pick a person from any period of history to research, and to focus on their lasting impact on the community, nation or world. While others focused on more well-known characters such as John Wilkes Booth, Walter Reed or Dr. Bird, I chose a lesser known character that I knew impacted me. Reuben Brigham, I knew, founded our scout troop in 1927. I knew nothing else about him, and didn’t expect much. Instead, I found he left much more than a scout troop behind. Be aware that I write about only what I was able to find out, and it is likely that some information is missing.

Childhood Years and Early Background

Reuben Brigham was born in Marlboro, Massachusetts, on December 13, 1887. His early years were spent growing up on a farm. His father taught him the farming methods himself, and Reuben also went to many different schools. He grew up not only in America, but in several other nations, including Germany and Japan. Sometime, he moved to the United States again and settled in Ashton, MD. He went to the University of Maryland (known back then as the Maryland Agricultural College), and he then graduated in 1908. After his graduation, he farmed for five years until his life became interesting.

Parcel Post

Ever wonder how that package came to your door? Ever wonder who started the Parcel Post? Farmers in the United States long wanted a government parcel service, due to the high prices that private companies would require. You often had two choices with items. You could pay more than half the worth to ship your products east or you could let them rot while you haul them yourself over the Appalachian Mountains. The reverse was true with getting something. If you needed, say, a Model-T car-to-tractor conversion kit so you could use a gasoline engine instead of a stubborn mule to plow your fields, you would have to pay the evil railroad companies more than twice the value of the kit to ship it to where you could pick it up, or you could take the dangerous route east yourself to get the part, leaving your farm unattended and spending hard-earned cash on gasoline and such. The National Grange, a large nationwide organization that farmers used to unionize and advocate for farmer rights, had turned a blind eye to it. Mr. Brigham, of the Olney Grange, wasn’t about to let a good plan go to waste. (The Olney Grange was a branch of the Maryland Grange, a branch of the National Grange, which was formed as unions won battles in industry while envious farmers still struggled.) By encouraging congressman David J. Lewis to test its soundness in Congress, he managed to get it through. There were many points at which the Honorable David J. Lewis admitted he felt like giving up. He said that through Mr. Brigham’s bottomless enthusiasm, he managed to gain enough support to get the legislation passed. Farmers and city folks nationwide loved it. A farmer now did not have to spend near as much to get a stupid part, so he was able to expand his farm more rapidly, and the customers ended up paying much less due to the significantly lowered shipping costs. The only downfall to this legislation was that the railroad companies were going bankrupt (eventually leading some of them to unite as CSX.) So next time you receive a package at the door, think about how it all started-from that same man who founded our scout troop.

The Agricultural Department

Ever hear about the United States Department of Agriculture? (You know, that government agency that inspects meat, leaving a sticker on it if it looks good enough?) It was originally started to help farmers and ranchers become educated about their actions, work, and sanitation, and to clean up the meat-packing industry scandals. According to the Agricultural Extension Service, he was called to the Department of Agriculture in 1917 to take charge of producing visual and editorial materials. After serving a year in the army, he returned to the agricultural department. He worked in the Agricultural Extension Service, which was created for the purpose of gathering the above stated materials. In the Extension service, he created a magazine which is still published today, known as the Agriculture Extension Service Review. In 1933, he was placed in the Agricultural Adjustment Administration (remember learning about FDR’s New Deal in History Class?). There he developed a regional contact division, which was used as a public relations committee for the AAA and other depression and wartime agencies. (The AAA was later deemed unconstitutional by the Supreme Court.) Another of his extension jobs was being the 4-H Club leader to Maryland, and he eventually became the top figure in the national 4-H Club. The 4-H Club was an organization founded to teach farm youth the basics of farming and how to do it the right way (preventing another Dust Bowl), and to give farm youth a proper education and upbringing. In his work, Mr. Brigham was very dedicated. He would not give the people he needed to contact a telephone call or a proper letter, but instead he would go out there in person and talk and become friendly with the farmers. He was so attached to his work that he died of an ailment when he went out west to contact a few farmers in 1946.

Mr. Brigham and War

In 1918, a year after Reuben joined the Agricultural Department, he joined the army. He fought as one of millions of “doughboys” fighting in WWI for the Allies against the Central Powers. He only fought for a single year, and not too much is known about his actions, most likely because he was no one of high rank. Reuben’s children were all involved in WWII. His son, David Brigham, served in the Pacific, and his other son served in Europe. His daughter became an army nurse. Mr. Brigham understood how the Axis Powers saw the war from their point of view, instead of just the Allied view, having grown up in Japan and Germany himself.

Mr. Brigham and Family

As stated before, Mr. Brigham’s father had dragged Reuben’s childhood all over the world. Mr. Brigham married Marjorie Snowden on June 7, 1915 at Ingleside ~~(Queen Anne's County, MD)~~ [*correction by Barb - Ingleside was the name of Francis Snowden's home located south of Ashton, MD, on what is now Route 650 New Hampshire Avenue]. Mr. and Mrs. Brigham were devout Quakers, and played a role in the Sandy Spring Friends group. As stated before, Reuben had three children. His first son, David Lewis Brigham, was named after Congressman David J. Lewis, a friend to Mr. Brigham. He had a second son, whose name I cannot find [*correction by Barb - Reuben had two more sons named Francis Snowden Brigham and Arthur P. Brigham, both of whom are deceased]. His daughter, born on February 22, 1922, was named after her mother, to become Marjorie Amber Brigham [now Marjorie Brigham Miller]. Marjorie, (the daughter) is still alive. She lives in Vermont, and helped me with my MDHD project. David Brigham married Gladys Beall in Rockville on December 28, 1938. David and Gladys Brigham had a son, who was also named David. This David Brigham, grandson of Reuben Brigham, is the person who has his name on a plaque on the bell structure in front of Sherwood High School. David Brigham Sr. died in 1999, and he had written a memoir about his father for the troop (also posted on the website). Reuben, having died in 1946, is buried on his property in Ashton next to his wife, Marjorie.

Property and House

Mr. Brigham bought his property from Francis Snowden in 1921. He built his house, named Glyndon, and that house still stands. It is visible at 1022 Olney-Sandy Spring Road, Ashton, MD. Our troop used to do our annual primitive there, but due to a problem with the neighbors, we have used the Haviland property as a substitute. (I will not discuss this too much, because I am bound to get it wrong, not knowing all the details.) On his property, he and his wife are buried as previously stated side-by-side. Besides the grave markers, there are different memorials honoring him, one from the American Legion Post #68, (which he helped found after WWI and which is still the sponsor of the troop), another from the University of Maryland Class of ’08 (1908, not 2008), and another from “Friends in Agriculture”.

Brigham and Youth

Mr. Brigham believed in the proper upbringing of rural youth. This is visible through the 4-H clubs he was involved with. David Brigham Senior has already written his brief memoir about the Troop’s history, so I shall not restate that. To access it, follow this link.

* * * * *

Correspondence from the late 1940's between Reuben "Shorty" Brigham and John William Firor are housed in Duke University Library's collection of Firor's papers, indexed here but not available online. Measuring in at 6'6" tall, this "Shorty" must be our Reuben.

October 1970

2009-08-18T18:31:00.015-04:00

It was a massive desk with a thick glass over the entire surface. This was fitting since Dad was a big man in my life, in his work with the government and in physical appearance. Under the glass were three items of interest to a young lad who loved to visit "the office" on a Saturday morning when school was out and federal employees only worked a half day.

After some paperclips, a wide rubber band, and a pencil you could screw the point in and out of had been secured in the deep recesses of corduroy knickers and the ladies of the office had their "making over the boss's kid," I could study that desk top. Prominent was the quotation, "The wheel that does the squeaking is the one that gets the grease." A baby held a bottle over the caption "Milk Makes Men."

There was the young mother in blue and white gingham at the clothes line hanging the beautifully fluffed and I am sure already dry clothes. Those words still drift back: "The clothes line is a rosary of household love and care. Each little saint the mother loves is represented there." That must have included me!

Then, there was the picture of Mr. Lewis. I remember that one the best. In typical executive style, I stretched out in the swivel chair, placed my spindle legs on the glass desk top and leaned back. I was a wheel for a few moments but hadn't counted on some other wheels having to do with the stability of the chair.

As my foot left the desk in somewhat of a hurry, the heel dragged across the glass and much of the black rubber remained to distort the picture of Mr. Lewis. I don't recall that Dad was upset at his son, but I do recollect he was six-six and weighed two-sixty. Somehow the little fellow on the floor always remembered the words of that moment, "Mr. Lewis made his mark, and I reckon the boy wanted to make his."

So much is said, partly in jest and to make conversation, but in the routine and unexciting maze of government service. Perhaps this makes a little story very much in order. My Mother made the long journey just a few weeks ago. She left so much with us, as every mother should. She understood the strength of love and how you gave direction to life with it. So, quite obviously, she would say tell the story about the big man and the little Welsh coal miner from Cumberland.

Dad was bright and finished college in three years. I didn't know until many years after I finished that when you had a high school diploma in his day it meant you started in the sophomore year at college. Anyway, he started farming and became active in the Farm Grange. This farm organization gave support to Dad's contention that shipping costs for farm folks were out of all reason. There was no competition for private rail shipment by one very large company.

With a directing resolution from the Grange the young farmer approached the members of the Congress from Maryland. The only response came from David J. Lewis, a mite of a man stunted by labors in the coal mines of Allegany County. This self-made lawyer with less than a fourth grade education, began nearly a year of research, writing, and developing the case for parcel post legislation. At his side and request there worked a young farmer who was later to become the nation's Assistant Director of the Agricultural Extension Service.

In the midst of the legislative preparation the farmer had his first child. He took time out to give him a name. It was David Lewis, in honor of the little man with whom he walked down Pennsylvania Avenue each Wednesday for some thirty years. After a weekly luncheon the tall man and the almost dwarf relaxed by letting the public gawk as they walked.

The first parcel post bill was enacted into law by the Congress. Mr. Lewis, who later was honored as the Father of Social Security, was first recognized as the Daddy of Parcel Post. There is now among my prized inheritance a copy of that bill with the inscription, "To Reuben Brigham - to whom this legislation owes its life - David J. Lewis."

I went to see Mr. Lewis in Cumberland some years ago. He was in his mid-eighties working in the basement of a law building, and his clothes were wrinkled and spotty. The lawyers upstairs did not want me to go down into the basement retreat. He had failed so. I told them I was his namesake and knew him well. This was my pass key.

He was involved with blocks of wood and a jigsaw. After the warm greeting that was to be our last, he said, "David, they think I'm a little off." Then he explained, "I always wanted to know something about higher math and the books all assume you have had the basics. The only way I can work out the mathematical equations and physics is to cut blocks the way I think and then fit them together to prove the formula."

This was not too important until he added, "David, when you stop appreciating other people and when you stop desiring to improve you own knowledge, the world no longer needs you."

I am glad there is work ahead for all of us, that there is yet knowledge for us to acquire, and that there are people to relate to. Oddly enough the quot next to the Mr. Lewis picture read, "Life is a series of little packages from which the strings are always coming untied." If you can't handle it you might send it Parcel Post.

David Lewis Brigham
Executive Director

September 1970

2009-08-06T03:17:00.004-04:00

Vacations are mighty important. A good case can be built for the short ones and the long ones. The in-between are also much to be desired. It is a matter for debate when one says the anticipation is often worth more than the actual leave time. Another will stress the real pleasure is in reliving the away moments through pictures and the telling to the poor stay-at-homes.

Well let me say a word for right in the middle of a vacation. Someone must want to know how much I enjoyed catching that big fish. The game warden landed on the lake by our boat and taxied over in his plane to be sure we had a license and that the boat was properly registered. Then, he asked the question I was waiting for... "Mind showing me your catch?" That stringer came out of the water mighty easy and the warden seemed impressed. I was sure he would have more to say about my big fish because it was the largest caught off Owl Island this summer.

Next, he paddled over to the boat where the younger generation was having a go at the bass and perch. The kids were within the length limit on their string, but just barely. It was good to bask in the light of success when the professional eye was on the scene. The old man had put it on 'em once again. Surely the warden wanted to see my fish again but he took off without further notice of that big guy who took my bait.

Many others have taken vacations and are now safely back. Not many came back with a badly sprained ankle from slipping on a rock and falling into the lake. Not many limped around in an off-white tennis shoe and had a boss full of sympathy and understanding who drew a parallel to the hippie in the same one shoe situation. The businessman who saw the one bare foot and the sneaker on the other admonished, "Hey fellar, you lost one of your shoes!" Came the snappy reply from the long haired youth, "Naw, I just found one!"

So we had a great time and we did relax, got a new grip on our problems and began to plan for another year. It's funny how easy it is to be your real congenial, wholesome self when you are a little distance from the problems of the office and the trials of keeping the home fires burning.

As we looked ahead to another day before this one was over, we did the logical thing. As League members the obvious move is to inquire about the LFRA Travel Program.

You can write for suggestions or ask for prices on trips you think you would like to try. If the League does not have what you want there is no problem about looking to other travel avenues. Our thinking is that we want to start where the discount is available. That means LFRA and the travel numbers.

So why do we spend time on vacation plans when we are just back from this ten day spree? That's easy! We had so much fun planning for this year that we want to get the kick to be realized from anticipating once again. Then we want the joy of another relaxing time and the best of all lift of telling friends like you about it.

We are thinking about a cruise or a flight to Europe. Maybe we'll settle for a See America tour by bus. Several short jaunts to Williamsburg, Hershey, and New England wouldn't be bad. I'd sure like to see Yellowstone again. then there's Hawaii and the far east. How about Tokyo?

There was lunch last week with a friend who had just returned from Tokyo. One of those combined business and fun trips. The highlight was a visit to a department store where he was greeted by a lovely English speaking, kimono clad Japanese hostess. In perfect English she welcomed, advised and hoped the visit would be flawless.

The elevator door by which the American stood quietly opened and the operator who appeared to be a duplicate of the greeter gave her welcome. The visitor was not to be outdone and after thanking the two girls he posed a question: "Do you take turns?" From the elevator operator, "No. So sorry. Just up and down."

Travel can be fun even when you are misunderstood. You can always tell someone about something, and they will laugh with you. Maybe that is the reason I had such a great time this year. You must go to Maine and hear the spice of a real "down easterner" before your travels are over.

Yes, I did almost forget about that fish. He was a big one and the game warden had noted my luck. So we went down the lake to Meddybemps with the six houses, church and general store. Had my picture taken with my fish and then went into store to see the old cracker barrel sitters who had told me the fishing was best "on the rain line." You watch for spots where the rain stops on the lake and the big ones are there.

The word was ahead of me. They knew about the big fish and told me so. I felt good and showed it. Then one of them, the deaf guy in the corner by the chewin' tobacco said, "Son, that was a mighty fine male fish you got." I agreed.

Then I began turning wheels...how does he know it is a male? I made the wrong move and asked... He couldn't hear the question but another old native did. Came the answer...

"Of course it's a male, son. It's a small mouth bass ain't it?"

David L. Brigham
Executive Director

Mythbusters

2009-06-01T08:01:00.009-04:00

Project on Hold

2009-01-29T03:00:00.000-05:00

I have decided to suspend this family history project for the time being. When I started typing up the Etchings I was pretty gung-ho about the project. But Grandma's death really knocked the wind out of my sails. Yes, I expected to grieve, but no, I did not anticipate feeling so sad every time I picked up the red binder and tried to type up an essay. Sorry to disappoint. Hopefully I will come back to this with the passage of time. --Barb

July/August 1970

2009-01-10T19:35:00.004-05:00

Mike is only four. You might say he is typical with a baseball cap and closely cropped hair. Sometimes he comes on too strong for the establishment. Kids have a way of saying it like it is...no camouflage or veneer.

This young man is one of the sizable entourage of youngsters who are in the niece and nephew category for Uncle Dave. Some call him Uncle Brigham since he is the oldest of the circle of the older generation curiosities. Daddy is a federal employee and mighty important. Mother is alright also. She does a little work on the side and cooks a pretty good meal.

But Daddy is the one. He may be a number on the government payroll or just one of 400,000 folks in the Washington arena. Then again, he is something special and Mike will tell you so if you ask him...or if you don't.

A recent copy of the Recreation Register came into the family circle. This was natural since the head of the house, in addition to running the agency to which he reports each morning, also belongs to a "recreation sumpin." I know because Mike told me.

So, the paper was passed around and scanned. There was talk of what the League is all about. Not very many seem to have the full picture and it was natural to turn to Uncle Dave as one who had lived with the situation for a couple of years. Of course he didn't know as much as Daddy but he might be able to tell us something. Four years old and bugging the dickens out of me! Oh boy!

In unity there is strength. I seemed to remember that from somewhere. This was a good place to begin and it could confuse and quiet a four-year old.

Wouldn't it be fine if all public servants were like Daddy and belonged to their own agency Recreation and Welfare Association, and these in turn all joined the League of Federal Recreation Associations? Now we would have 400,000 all working for the same thing and doing something about the many benefits which are waiting in the wings for such a group. Look at the purchasing power, the influence, the ability to bargain and the meaning such a unified voice could express. There is no limit if someone can just strike the right chord.

As if this were not enough to overwhelm bright-eyed Mike, there came urging to get down to cases, sort of a "what can this thing do for Daddy right now" type of explanation. As this one turned around to avoid being charred by the heat of the child's frankness, the nuts and bolts seemed to be dropping all around.

Yes, this has been a bad year for travel and the many who were expected to take advantage of good opportunities and discounts through the League have not been knocking down the doors. Money is tight and budgets are pinched. If the trip is over $300, it is just too much and there is not that kind of money running around loose.

The Buyer's Guides are out and there is another good reason to have Daddy in this thing called R&W. This is what we meant about the buying power of large numbers. And there were some tulip bulbs from Holland that Daddy could buy for a good price because he had his membership card.

There is no way to tell a four-year old about ways in which groups of Uncle Sam's people work with and find advantages in making or saving money through parking lots, cleaning facilities, barber shops, stationary and book stores, snack bars and cafeterias. He painting a guy into the corner with more questions about the time it takes to be a member of something. He thought he knew why some interest and dedicated service by a few hardy workers had breathed life into organizations that struggled to succeed and at time survive.

This matter of wanting to do for others and of feeling a responsibility caught the fancy of a young man. You don't have to be more than four to relate to that. So, the League does have responsibility and potential and we are going to hear more about it from Daddy. Right?...Right. came the answer.

Now it was time for a parent to respond and there was a picture at the top of the page for Mike to see. It should be obvious after this long talk about mice and men and recreation and things. The question came from a Mother who related well to the guy who has something to do with this League.

"Alright Mike, these are Executive Etchings and there is a man in the picture at the top of the page. Who is that man in the picture?" Mike loves Uncle Dave!

The answer was just what we all expected... "Don't worry, Mother, I know who that is alright... He's got problems! That's President Nixon."

David L. Brigham
Executive Director

June 1970

2009-01-06T08:47:00.002-05:00

Crisfield is about as far as you can go without running out of land on Maryland's Eastern Shore. The purpose of the trip was to address some of the finest young Americans from the local high school classes who were being honored by Rotary Clubs. The riding partner wanted to talk about the League of Federal Recreation Associations in terms of both investment and insurance opportunities. He knew many had worked for the betterment of LFRA and had become somewhat discouraged and to a degree disillusioned.

My friend stopped at an antique shed to pick up some"depression glass." I saw a Martin House and thought it might look well and serve a purpose in my country vegetable garden. These birds live and work together in goodly numbers and close interdependence. They are not destructive and consume great quantities of insects, mosquitoes and bugs.

So, the Martin House found its new home at 2:00 A.M. and rested quietly in the yard. It had no inhabitants, no mobility and no reason for thinking it might in any remote way relate to this League business the two men had been talking about.

Then there came a fifteen foot hickory pole, a two by four and plywood platform, much lifting and a few nails. Now the house was up, overlooking the countryside and ready for tenants. It was early afternoon and there were two very much unresolved questions: Would the house stay on the pole if the wind blew? Would the Martins come?

By 4:00 P.M. there were two Martin scouts checking each of the 20 entrances and compartments. They heard the Bob White call in the pines below. The Robin sat peacefully on her nest with confidence each of the four blue eggs would be productive. A Cardinal sang from his bush where his mate was busy with her brood.

The Wren had hauled thousands of twigs into the winter feeder and could flutter wings and whistler like a flute with the pride of the mission accomplished.

The test was not to be long in coming. As the inspection of the Martin house continued and old sticks from another flock and generation were hauled away, there were flashes of lightening and the unmistakable rumble of the thunderstorm which had been predicted.

The duel of the jagged flashed was not an unfamiliar sight. Nor were the dark clouds. The Martins left the house and one wondered if they felt the insecurity and the uncertainty of quarters perched upon a pole.

The wind whispered through the pines. It spoke louder. Then came the rain, more wind and pellets of hail. The white pine grove rocked, the hail stones increased to the size of marbles and continued to beat down for twenty-five minutes. A large pine was twisted off some fifteen feet up. Another was broken in two and took a spruce with it.

The cherry in the garden was torn up. Gullies of water rushed by the house and the basement was filled to three and a half feet. The water couldn't run into the drain or under the door as fast as it was rolling down the steps form the backyard.

There were two more heavy cloudbursts and the garden was only a stripped down sea of mud where the strong and promising young plants had been. In the desolation and discouragement of it all there walked a man who had helped get it all planted, nourished, financed and on its way.

At this low point a Bob White called form the white pines. It was then I thought of the birds. The Martin House was still riding high, but would the Martins come back?

At the front of the picture window which the hail stones had pounded, the little feeder was standing the Wrens were safe. The singing told me so.

The news was not so good with the Cardinal. There was no longer a nest in the bush. The young were lost and the female was a distance away. The redbird sat on his limb and gave his throaty message of strength and assurance.

What about the Robin's nest in the pine. It was still intact after the coaster dip experience. But the eggs were gone and so were the parents. They must have given up! Then the first big surprise... One of the Robins flew up to her nest. She took the sting from her beak and began to weave it into the nest. There will be eggs next and then the brood. She still believes.

Back to the garden and the Martin house. It looks more black and white in the distance. Funny...only the roof was painted black. The rest was white...

The house is moving...or is it? There are no longer two Martins. There are now forty Martins! The Martins came back.

Nature has something to say to those who have worked so hard, attempted to accomplish in the face of real obstacles and given of themselves in the service for all federal workers. A little twister can provide a lot of inspiration. The Martin House is up and the Martins are building.

David L. Brigham
Executive Director

May 1970

2008-12-31T05:33:00.004-05:00

It's a long way down. At least that was the thought as I watched several workmen in the chill drizzle of a late winter morning. They were in the park eleven stories below and the things they were planting looked very dead and the labor hopeless.

Now a month has passed and the leaves are starting out on the trees. The red of the azaleas, the red, yellow and white of the tulips, and the blues of the border plants are saying something.

There is something to be said for starting with nothing, or almost nothing. You can add some faith and hope, a portion of TLC, the warmth of the sun, a well prepared seedbed, and the overwhelming spark of LIFE. The result can be anticipated is you are willing to wait the appointed time. It's not nearly as far down when there are colors in such perfect patterns to relate back to you.

How satisfied are you? Does the title "Federal Servant" bug a little? This is one thing the League of Federal Recreation Associations is all about. We want the world to know something about these folks who make up the great heartbeat that is the United States of America. True, we cannot all be identified, singled out and honored in the niche in which our talents are utilized. But...

But, aren't we part of the structure which placed men on the moon and brought three safely back from almost certain disaster? Is you position one calling for support of these proud young Americans on the line for their Country in Viet Nam? Or, are you in the services area making sure the mail goes through on time, that there are jobs for those who need them, that the production in this nation is in line with the needs, and the natural gifts of our environment are protected as we relate more and more to air and water conditions.

Perhaps you are involved in transportation and the moving of men and materials over, under and around. Roads, rails, airways and waterways tell us something about America and your role in her progress. Or, is it communications for defense or peace, business and pleasure? Could be you are in the midst of telling where we have been and projecting where we are going through a census survey, in interstate commerce, or by a relationship to our Interior?

As the stock market rocks around seeking level, you suddenly become fully appreciative of your position in the essential financial structure of the most blessed of the globe. Without the "me" in government what happens to budget, treasury, general accounting, federal deposits, home loans, small business, and securities to be held or exchanged?

You are a vital part of making things better for people everywhere. The health, the education, and the welfare of all are in your hands. Housing and the improvement of our cities occupy your time and ability. You are helping someone else through an immigration or naturalization maze just like someone in your own family experienced. You are part of the philosophy making certain there is equal justice under the law for all. Yes, even our friends in Internal Revenue give us that assurance.

My cup of tea is also in the heritage of our land and I reach out to those who want to hear about us, read about us, and see us in action yesterday and today. That's why I am enthused when I identify with the Library of Congress, the Archives, the Gallery of Art, Bureau of Standards, Patent Office, and the great and grand Smithsonian Institution.

A goodly number hit us where we live...We want to live longer, have less pain, and be able to enjoy what all these other government friends have done for us. That's why we direct a nod of pride to those who man the hospitals, research all areas of health and science, give us rehabilitation opportunities, and then economic security through gainful service to others.

David L. Brigham
Executive Director

Gladys Beall Brigham

2008-12-29T21:51:00.010-05:00

Grandma passed away in her sleep this morning. She was 93 years old. Please check back in the next day or so, as I will post information on the funeral arrangements as soon as I have it. Thanks.
--Barb

12/30/08 - Edited to add:

The service for Gladys Brigham will be on Saturday, January 3, 2009, at 11:00 a.m. at the Oakdale Emory United Methodist Church in Olney, Maryland. The funeral service will be preceded by a private family burial at 9:30 a.m. No viewing is planned. There will be a reception in Brigham Hall at the church following the service. In lieu of flowers, the family asks that you send a donation to the Oakdale Emory UMC Music Fund. Thank you for all of the kind wishes.

Gladys Brigham is preceded in death by her husband David L. Brigham, her son David A. Brigham, her daughter Frances Ann Brigham, and her sisters Anna and Miriam. She is survived by her sisters Dorothy, Dolores, and Flora, sisters-in-law Marjorie and Helen, daughter Julie and her husband Rich, daughter Pat and her husband Tom, daughter-in-law Liz, grandchildren Paul and his wife Maria, Alison and her husband Scott, Barb and her husband Robb, David, Daniel, Georgi, and Robin, and great-grandchildren Anna, Christina, and Kelly.

The Sandy Spring Museum

2008-12-24T05:15:00.017-05:00

I visited the Sandy Spring Museum last week and snapped a few photographs. I remember when the museum first opened in a small brick home in Olney. My father, David A. Brigham, was a charter member and somehow designated as the first person that the security company called every time the wind blew and set off the alarm. Many a late night got dressed and drove up over to reset the security system. It must have been a little like being in the fire department again. Both he and my grandfather lived to see the new facility open. And it is really a testament to the Sandy Spring community. I want to share some of our family's images from the museum and the website. Many of these appear in the book Sandy Spring Legacy, which you can purchase directly from the museum. (I also found used copies listed on Amazon.)

This photograph and text about Reuben Brigham is part of an exhibit at the museum. Reuben and David J. Lewis worked together on the Parcel Post bill.

Sherwood's first tackle football team, fielded in 1944, smiles despite a disastrous initial season. Coached by math teacher Dwight Hurley, left, they are, front row from left: Mike Conner, Jimmy Frenzel, Willard Derrick, Fred Fry, Tom Benson, Calvert Heil, Keith Himebaugh, and Charlie Morris; second row, William Miller, Kyle Cantwell, John Johns, Robert Franklin, Sonny Johns, Louis Bussler, and Arthur Brigham; back row, Dick Kimmel, Pete Black, and David Haviland.

Girls' tennis flourished at youthful Sherwood High of 1910. The players are, front row from left: Polly Janney (Shields), Lydia Chichester (Laird), and Katherine Nichols; second row, Deb Iddings (Willson), Barbara Miller, Irene Kimler (Miller), Helen Barnes, Annie Miller, Edith Shoemaker; third row, Gladys Brooke (Tumbleson), Lydia Tatum, Anna Snowden (Bussler), and Henrietta Waters.

Iced tea for 2,300 is brewed by Gladys Brigham (center) and Anne Gilpin (right) for the forty-third annual Hospital Supper and Bazaar in 1964. Mrs. Gilpin's sister, Mrs. C. Jones from England, observes. Staged by the Woman's Board, the annual supper and bazaar has been a major community event for nearly 80 years.

A childhood recollection of David L. Brigham, born 1916: "I curried the horses, mucked the stalls, milked the cows, slopped the pigs, fed the chickens, loaded the manure spreader, and cleared the barnyard and chicken house." In this photograph David L. Brigham rides up front and younger brother Francis Snowden Brigham shares the hay rake with grandfather Francis Snowden at Ingleside in 1922.

Two teams pull plows at Ingleside, just south of Ashton; the 1855 home stands at right. Gussie Holland works the plow in foreground, while Ingleside farmer Francis Snowden supervises the annual plowing ritual.

The museum website had photographs of David, Arthur, and Francis Brigham but none of their sister Marjorie.

December 1970

2008-12-21T08:27:00.005-05:00

The bumper sticker below the license plate of an Alabama auto caught my eye. It said, "Wise Men Still Seek Him."

Christmas is upon us again. The tired, but fairly good natured crowd clogs up the streets and freedom of movement is lost in the stores. Clerks are worn out and still they smile. Sales must be made and jobs need to be maintained. The joy of the season is almost buried under the crush for things. But is this what it's all about?

The temptation is to recall the orange in the toe of a stocking, wax candles on the pine tree you cut yourself, a "Flying Arrow" sled, the yule log you helped haul to the big fireplace, and the fire on the plum pudding. The woodbox in the corner by the kitchen range was a favorite spot also. Here you could drowse and absorb the first aroma of turkey and duck.

There is a definite generation gap... How many can recall stale hard candy, nuts in the shell, apples and a pair of shoe laces as the heart of the stocking loot? Or, the icy vigil at the head of the stairs while the pipeless furnace was being fired up with soft coal and the wood you had brought in?

Then we gathered in the parlor to open presents... You never heard about a parlor, or a mantle, or a kerosene lamp, or an outhouse, of sloppin' the hogs, or crows foot and standin' cedar... How about ground pine and laurel, holly and spruce, bayberry and Santa Claus?

It's no wonder we have trouble looking back some 2000 years when we can't even tell about our Christmas Past without a world of definition. Somehow this is the time of year to relate to the past, present, and future. We read about Scrooge and Tiny Tim with great feeling. We squelch our doubts by once again reading aloud, "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Clause!" At the same time we enjoy the superior smile of a boy who thinks he has found out there is no Santa and his Sister hasn't.

Tinsel and holly, Santa Claus, and children. Noise and confusion and the ring of cash registers; the tearing of credit slips (for Santa enters through a hole in the chimney and leaves through a hole in the pocket); above all these sounds are the notes of cornets and trombones playing "Holy Night" or "Little Town of Bethlehem." Wistful, little children look hungrily at shop displays; a child is made happy by a ten cent gadget (this is the season when we get the children something for Father to play with); Angels, wise men, and a special family; City lights and the light of a star. Luxury and a stable. Men of today and a manger of yesterday. Civilization and a Child.

To some the contrast seems a mockery and hypocrisy. Others there are to say romance and reality. I like the crowds and the three kings of the Orient. I like the city stores and the shepherds and the angels. Even in a world of confusion wise men see a star. Surely they say to young and old alike, "Help build a better tomorrow rather than to destroy an imperfect today."

The Wise Men following a Star, offering their gifts... This is a symbol of Christmas. If this ever be forgotten, the world will be the poorer. These Wise Men saw a Star. A radiance shone around them. Their hearts were not without wonder. These star-gazers related he brightness of the skies to the events of the earth. Even as the tides combine the waters of the earth with the pull of other planets, so these men responded to the unity and harmony of the larger universe.

These Wise Men saw a child. While it is possible to sentimentalize about childhood--or to fly off on another tangent in talk of little animals; nevertheless, most of us parents are saved by our children. The fires of our devotion are kindled around the manger of Bethlehem; or a tiny crib of a little child in any of our homes.

David L. Brigham
Executive Director

April 1970

2008-12-12T08:46:00.003-05:00

So you are doing everything you can with what you have to work with... You don't need an association of employees... You can make it on your own without a crutch... What's the matter now... What do you mean I could do more if I didn't have a handicap?

The last thing I need is a sermon to tell me a League of Federal Recreation Associations is important. After all, I have worked with and for the League and I believe. Perhaps we are too self centered and interested only in our own corner.

Maybe we don't possess the time, interest and stamina needed to do the extra of being involved in another association. I can just be a member and drift along. Let the suckers and those who can't do the other things plod along with organizations that do for others: I've got enough just to keep me snowed under!

Yes, I did hear the great Helen Hayes say it. "We are all handicapped: some physically, some mentally, some emotionally, some financially, and some spiritually." This can explain away the struggle of the League to be a forceful, dynamic and vital representative of 140,000 individual members.

All of us are handicapped when it comes to putting something of ourselves into something of a general nature. We didn't sit unmoved in the Commerce Auditorium on 144th Street as representatives of the Civil Service Commission presented the Second Annual Award Ceremony and the Outstanding Handicapped Federal Employee of the Year.

If you are wondering what you can do with what you have to do with, there are some folks close by who can tell you. Let's meet a few together...

The Marine Corps Band played "This is My Country," and we were all invited to join in singing the Star Spangled Banner as the Color Guard of the combined services advanced the Colors. So that sounds routine...

Then look on the stage... In the spotlight were braces, artificial limbs, a crutch, wheelchairs and personalities. Their owners were the 10 Outstanding Handicapped Federal Employees of the Year.

Many like you were nominated and from the search came those who were deemed to have done the most with what they had. Let's call the roll...

The Department of the Air Force sent Jimmy Adams (polio-meningitis), a research chemist with a Master's degree and an Outstanding Performance Rating; Dr. Thomas Austin (polio quadriplegic), Director of the National Oceanographic Data Center of the U.S. Navy and "Honorary Citizen" of Dade County by the Mayors Council for service as Chairman of the Greater Miami Area Equal Employment Opportunity Committee; USDA nominee Dr. Jay Basch (born deaf), an outstanding chemist and author; and Mrs. Francis Garcia (polio) deaf, mute, total blindness in one eye, and a presser with the Sandia Base Laundry in New Mexico who represented the Defense Atomic Support Agency.

Also in the footlights, Ralph Harwood (spinal meningitis) drew the nod from the Defense Supply Agency where he is a public representative and chemist although completely deaf; Mrs. Dorothy Hickey (polio) confined to a wheelchair for the past 24 years, refused to dwell on her infirmities, became an effective counselor to others severely handicapped and performs with accuracy, efficiency and cheer for the U.S.I.A.; Earl Miller (cerebral palsy) conquered a wheelchair, crutches, braces and a cane to learn to walk alone and to be named the outstanding representative from the Civil Service Commission itself.

Next, Philip Pepper (polio) who was President of his class at U.C.L.A. with a Master's degree in social welfare and presently the distinguished Chief of the Office of Program Planning and Evaluation, Indian Health Service, for H.E.W.; Miss Magdalene Phillips (blind) a dictating machine transcriber at Letterman Army Hospital takes the dictation of six medical officers and in her spare time counsels newly blinded patients.

As if this were not enough to make you proud and inspired the last of the 10 nominees was called forward for his citation. He walked across the stage. So, what's so great about walking across the stage?

Bob Smith, a combat rifleman in Korea in the winter of 1950 was presented by the Veterans Administration by Administrator Don Johnson. Bob was shot, taken prisoner, and held for ten days without food or medical attention. His wounds, aggravated by frost bite and infection, necessitate a quadruple amputation. Since 1955 he has been with the VA from tabulating machine operator to computer programmer.

Bob refused to be handicapped. With pride and determination he walked across the stage to meet Harold Russell, Chairman of the President's Committee on Employment of the Handicapped, himself a double amputee.

Someone in the audience quipped, "The Iron Men are at work," as four artificial arms and functional hooks grasped the plaque. Who could better carry the title Outstanding Handicapped Federal Employee of the Year?

Bob Smith opened his own door to opportunity and as the program said, "He's making sure the door stays open for others now traveling that hard road back."

David L. Brigham
Executive Director

Namesake

2008-12-06T05:01:00.007-05:00

My grandfather's full name was David Lewis Brigham. He was named after David John Lewis (1869-1952). The photo of Mr. Lewis to the left is from the Library of Congress. He was born in Nuttals Bank, Pennsylvania, the son of Richard Lloyd Lewis and Catherine Watkins. David J. Lewis began his career as a coal miner, studying to become an attorney in his spare time. He passed the Maryland Bar in 1892 and began practicing in Cumberland. In 1893 he married Florida Bohn. Mr. Lewis served in the Maryland state senate from 1902 to 1904 and then as the U.S. Representative from Maryland's 6th District from 1911 to 1917 and again from 1931 to 1939. He was a Democrat. Although I found no mention in any of the articles I found about him, Mr. Lewis played a major role in establishing domestic parcel post service within the United States on January 1, 1913, during the Taft administration, according to Brigham family lore. Gran tells the story of "the little Welsh coal miner from Cumberland" here.

--Barb

March 1970

2008-12-03T05:05:00.002-05:00

So what's your Thing?... I guess the young fellow was a Mod and wanted to know what I do to keep active. Did he think the League was the Establishment or was I?

My Thing was a Trip and I'd like to arrange his travel in a plane or a ship. Perhaps a bus or a train. Had he read the schedule in the Register or called the numbers for Trips he could take? Man we can give you a Fix on most any place in a hurry. Before you know it you'll Be-In, Switched-On, and finding everything Groovy. If you want something Neat why not leave your Pad and look for Grass that is really green.

You can save Bread and not rob the mint through LFRA Travel Discounts. The Roll you won't need like from the bank and a Rock is outdated to be perfectly frank. So you can be a Swinger and not Hang-Up the phone. You don't want to be a Pill, worry about being a little Hippie and going to Pot. You need to get Hooked on our Travel Program and head for the Cool breezes of the Southern Seas. Fly with the Birds of a feather and leave the Fuzz to the Chickens.

Just to let you know the League Travel Program is up-to-date and we are Psychedelirious about it... It is not a matter of sending you on some Freak Scene journey. We have something to talk about and we want to say it in language all can understand.

If we lost you somewhere along the line, join the crowd. We are really Square and don't quite know how to tell you the full story in a few column inches. Try our phones and tell us what is wanted. If we don't have the trip in a package, we can soon tie one up to suit your taste.

In addition to such down to earth things as travel discounts and discount buying, the League needs to know there are those members who want the services it can provide. It must also know there are those willing to give some time to advance the broad base upon which it is established.

All who work with the League are "part-time." Each of us has another primary responsibility and what we do for the League and its membership comes from the heart and the pocketbook.

Those who give of themselves are the planners, the organizers, the workers and the Voice. Theirs is not a voice of protest; they want no act of disrespect or defiance of the law; these are part of America, a most vital part in the role of Public Servant.

Perhaps the League is the Establishment but it represents the best that America can boast. These are folks who make our country tick and who recognize that freedom demands a price -- It Is Not Free.

We of the League roll with the times in appreciation of a goodly heritage and in recognition of a the need to be current. We are working to make things just a little better for all who serve in the government related domain.

Perhaps there is an opportunity for you to participate a little beyond yourself and your present status in serving your own Recreation and Welfare Association.

There is room for you to help lift the League. We need news, participation, people going places on our Trips and above all the understanding Name of Big League for our 140,000 members and 56 Associations. "In the soul of a seed is the hope of the sod. In the heart of a child is the Kingdom of God." To Grow we Go Right On Working!

David L. Brigham
Executive Director

At his desk

2008-12-01T05:06:00.004-05:00

This is David L. Brigham working at his desk. I do not have any other information about this photograph though. It was taken at his place of work and not at his desk at home, which was considerably more crowded. Please comment if you know the year, the photographer, and/or the location. Thanks!
--Barb

February 1970

2008-11-28T05:32:00.006-05:00

He looked me square in the eye and said, "Now tell me what the League is in a position to do for us." The Association President who said that to a new Executive Director had just treated him and the LFRA President to a fine luncheon in the fine dining area of a large agency.

Time had been spent viewing the many activities and opportunities provided R&W members of his association. There was a garage, barber shop, health room, dry cleaning outlet, discount store and a travel department. I was impressed! Then came the bomb..."What can the League do...?"

I have not forgotten the question or the President. He accepted my most inadequate answer and hopefully will note this attempt to face the same question a year and a half later for the benefit of all of the 140,000 who have at least indirect interest in what the League can do for them.

Although he is from one of the larger agency members of the LFRA, this President and his officers have continued to lend much support to the efforts of the 56 member League. They don't really need the League but they recognize a potential in the unification of all the associations with a common purpose.

The larger members can give assistance and do. The smaller ones seek direction and support. They also give some help in establishing buying power, objectives and services. All pay nominal dues which make the memberships in the respective agency associations entitle each individual member to LFRA membership also.

What Can The Leagues Do? There may be an impossible dream, an unreachable star, a new dawn for this cumbersome, overgrown and awkward youngster called the League of Federal Recreation Associations.

What the doubting Thomases don't seem to know or understand is the dedication of the hardy souls who have given thousands of hours to their volunteer time to make the League tick. They see the potential and are willing to sacrifice and struggle just to see things jell. Don't sell them short!

What makes one who has been in the depths more than once so sure of the big image and the anticipated realization of the potential of federation? The answer is people: Guys and gals who want something for the career employee in the way of credit for service, recognition for dedication, and the opportunity to enjoy social events and discount buying.

There appear to be five major divisions which make the future League worthy of your participation and backing. First there is this newspaper. Here is a means of communication which can and will tell the story as it is and to all the people. It is growing and needs help in securing more advertising, more news and pictures, and the assurance there will be someone from each agency willing to pick up the copies each month and see that they are circulated to the membership.

Second, the need is apparent for a well organized and aggressive travel program. This is being developed on an extensive scale and will mean funds with which to operate the League and to better serve the members.

Other divisions to be anticipated and now well into the planning and implementation stages are Discount Buying, Mutual Funds and Investments, and Insurance. As these last three unfold the true potential of the League will begin to be revealed. The volunteer efforts of many to whom so much is owed will be recognized.

Legislation to provide more benefits and highter morale can be sought with some degree of confidence. More agency associations will find a reason for belonging. There will indeed be a better mousetrap and businessmen with insight will indeed beat a pathway to the League door.

I am sure enough of the tomorrow of LFRA to be willing to give it some more volunteer hours. Others feel the same way. There is room for you, your interest, your suggestions and your involvement.

I want to thank the man who asked what the League can do for his membership. He started the wheels turning and one of these days I'd like to take him to dinner in The League Building.

David L. Brigham
Executive Director

The League

2008-11-25T05:13:00.004-05:00

"The League" and "LFRA" are mentioned frequently in these early essays. It appears that the League of Federal Recreation Associations is still in existence, although they do not have a website. I am going to contact them in December to see what I can find out about their history and their current mission. I wonder if they still publish a Recreation Register newspaper?
--Barb

December 1969

2008-11-23T05:13:00.001-05:00

Years ago a little lady stood on the steps of the Library of Congress beside two small boys. She gazed across a street and square to the dome of the Capitol of the United States.

The boys were too young to know the meaning of a tear and the strange awe on her face. This was her first trip to a city which represented all that was great and free in her life. She was now 80 and could recall that she had been born a slave.

While there was much I did not understand at that moment, I do recall that I was one of those two small boys. Also, still fresh in my mind are the words of explanation for the display of emotion.

Turning to my mother, old Christie said, "Miss Marg, I been standing here thanking the Good Lord for letting me live in such an up-to-date century."

She did not live to see beyond the Model-T and the crystal radio set. She did not use electricity or even hear of TV. She had no social security or retirement. She was proud of her folks and her work and she had time for her church. Perhaps this was a basic life but it was a rich one.

There has been another moon landing and a precise, safe return. The perfection of these two exploits is almost beyond comprehension for we earthlings. The accomplishments we have lived to view are fantastic. What lies ahead defies all of our Buck Rogers visions.

As a symbol of our time there is a tip of the hat to the men who dared and who conquered the uncertainty of space. At the very base of the launch, the journey and the return lies a team. In some way each of us had a part.

There was the combination of science and courage, of service and faith, of government and private enterprise, and of talent and taxes.

It has been said we in the United States can accomplish anything we set our minds and attention to. Those who report these things are aware of our capability in large wars and of our utter frustration in the smaller ones.

Somehow, we find ourselves on the big teams and full of pride concerning what we have done as a nation. Then someone indicates in a rather uncomplimentary way that we are "just another government worker." Or, "you are one of those who stays at the trough because you couldn't make it out in the rough and tumble anyway."

And we freeze and grumble and absorb the needles because we have only a small voice and we are poorly organized.

Have we forgotten the role we played in the moon landing? How far would science have progressed without people like us? What about the rights of our citizens to stand as equals? Are there benefits in terms of hospital care and pensions, social services and heal standards? What about the drug regulations and investment protection?

You can be proud you are in government and a vital part of something big. You are doing and the public should hear about it.

The League is not something brand new. Nor is the objective. In a voluntary way there is a strong effort to bring the employees of all government agencies under one tent, in a federation of organization. The purpose: to give strength to the Federal servant as someone of importance whose voice needs to be heard in unison.

For too long the members of each agency have been satisfied to enjoy the rivalry of inter-agency exchanges and a little discrediting. Now the time has come through this new medium to shout from the housetops.

Great things are being done in and by government. People are responsible for all that our nation achieves. Surely there is something or someone in your agency worth talking about.

Our problem is that we do well with the big things and the small frustrate us. Let's turn things around and with your help have more news and stories than we can possibly use for the January issue.

We need these stories from any who will take a few moments to write or send a clipping to Recreation Register, 1500 Lawrence St, N.E., Wash., D.C., 20017. Someone close to you has helped make this a time to remember.

As we grow in unity and purpose we could do worse than say from our generation and our Capitol, "I'm just standing here thanking the Good Lord for letting me live in such an up-to-date century."

David L. Brigham
Executive Director

November 1969

2008-11-18T05:00:00.002-05:00

My dad took walks in the woods with his boys. Word gems fell as often as hickory nuts. It is appropriate to recall now as we launch another venture for the League, "there are two ways to get to the top of an oak tree...you can either start climbing or you can sit on an acorn until you get there."

We are most pleased to be bringing the first edition of our Recreation Register to our members. We must depend on your interest, circulation efforts and advertising response to assure future issues.

Many local "editors" will have a hand in the tomorrow of these pages. Our well over 50 member associations have named those who will be reporting for them.

The "How it is Done" in one association will become the "How to Do It" for another. Each will be offering success stories to others seeking an new way to accomplish similar benefits for their association or membership.

SUBSTANTIAL ASSETS. So many have done so much in such a short time to give the League substance and strength. There have been generous donations of time, interest, effort, and grey matter.

The variation at this moment brings to mind Emerson's debate between the Mountain and the Squirrel. The mountain wanted it known he carried an entire forest upon his back, even the nut tree from which the squirrel ate. Who can forget the retort of the squirrel, "Yes, but you can't crack a nut."

SERVICES RENDERED. The League's sole "reason for being" is service to the membership. But, in order to fulfill its purpose, we, as any growing, thriving organization, must combine our scattered efforts.

Accordingly, the desire of the leadership is to establish a base from which to do for the members. Involvement with new ideas, up-to-the-minute needs, and suggestions for ways and means have been made the order of the day.

Good communication is the springboard from which the full potential of activity will be realized. All who have moments to spare are urged to participate in local employee associations and to stretch a little further into League participation.

Each one will have a little different approach, a slightly different talent or ability, and something special to offer. The main thrust is to have people doing and thinking. As you have thoughts or hopes, direct them to your officers, R&W Associations, League officials, or this publication.

VARIETY MOLDS. The beauty of a quilt or of an autumn landscape lies not so much in the individual patches and leaves. Rather the pattern and design and variety of color and shape make the difference.

So it is with the development of ideas, the contribution of energy and talent, the participation of each segment in the function of a "League" of folks. They come in assorted shapes and sizes. The ages vary almost from the teens to the seventies. The objectives, desires and interests are so diverse they cover, as no other group can, the cross section that makes America.

OUR POTENTIAL. The League is in its infancy of both existence and potential. Howe well those presently at the helm throw the challenge of participation to those who have not yet heard about or grasped the big image will determine how far and how fast the growth is to be.

Today a few labor for others that tomorrow they and thousands like them may be served. There are some who believe the lot, the morale and the recognition of the Federal employee can be improved. There are some willing to help bring the days of realization more rapidly to fruition. Are you? Will you?

Every voice speaks loudly to us. Every hand can lift a little, and every mind can project a thought. Together we grow...

David L. Brigham
Executive Director

An Introduction

2008-11-13T21:07:00.008-05:00

For Christmas in 1975, my grandfather--affectionately known to me as Gran--gave his family a collection of essays he had written as the Executive Director of the Recreation Register, a newspaper for Federal employees. The essays appeared monthly under the heading "Executive Etchings," and they span a period of more than a decade beginning in November 1969. Each subsequent Christmas for as long as he was Executive Director, Gran gave a supplement to the original collection. One supplement is labeled "Collectors Items" and another "Christmas Bonus." I like to think of these writings as a pre-internet blog because they provide a glimpse into my grandfather's life and times. And so, here is the preface he wrote to the collection (click on the image for a larger view):

IF I HAD MY LIFE TO LIVE OVER AGAIN...I'D LIVE MY LIFE OVER AGAIN!

I grew up hearing a Dad whom I admired like non I have ever known saying he would have no regrets if he should reach the end of his earthly road at a reasonably youn age. He reasoned that he experienced about three times as much real living in each twenty-four hours as the average man in three days. I now understand that thought for I also have lived three lives and more myself. There are no regrets and there is the bonus of having been given the opportunity to record in some small measure a fragment of a more than happy youth, a brimming young adulthood and a most satisfying tour through the mature years. The down side remains before me to be anticipated with real relish rather than fear.

To those who have in very large fashion been a warm, welcome and supporting part of this junket, I now dedicate and present touches of the past, a diary of events from one viewpoint, and a brush at some Americana as one life knew it over the last three score years - almost.

Those who shared this period with me will enjoy recalling. Those too young to have experienced all or most may be interested in how another generation lived, loved and survived. Perhaps this is one man's legacy, a trifle of heritage or just a warm heart spilling over. In any case it is for your who made the journey, wish you might have been along, or just find yourself willing to listen. Have fun!

David L. Brigham
Dec. 25, 1975

Handwritten by Gran at the bottom: To son Dave & Liz- My best critic and one who has lived the good life with us. -Mom & Dad