History is bunk

So said Henry Ford, and he must’ve known one or two things about it.

The other evening we cut our St. Patrick’s Day revelries short in order to attend a lecture about Mme. Sherrie, a colorful local resident from the first half of the 20th century. The lecture was cosponsored by the local history society and the local American Association of University Women chapter. In passing, I will note that the membership of the two organizations seems to overlap quite a bit.

Although her biography is somewhat muddled, Mme. Sherrie appears to have started out as a vaudevillian, eventually attracting the attention of Mr. Ziegfeld, of Follies fame. She eventually bought some land, and then some more, across the river from us in Hinsdale, NH. She built a stone castle out in the woods, although apparently it was mostly used for parties, while she lived in a modest cabin on another part of the property. Eventually, the property ended up in the hands of the state, and is now a preserved forest, that we can get two by going over Mt. Wantastiquet. The ruins of the castle are still there.

Over the years, she got crazier and poorer, and died penniless and alone. It’s a fascinating story, even if there was no one there to really tell it… The invited speaker (who has published a book about her life) didn’t show up. Undeterred, one of the local history society ladies opened the book and started to read. We hung around for 20 minutes of that, but it wasn’t quite compelling enough for us to stay as long as the history society was prepared to. One gentleman in the audience said that he was the minister who officiated at her funeral, although he was new in town at the time and didn’t really know much about her. Not many people showed up, apparently, and there was no family or friend able to supply him with the story, so he only remembers saying some platitudes and sending her on her way.