Courthouse, ballroom, theater, jail

Renovating the Lenox Library

By Julius Rosenwald

If Captain Isaac Damon could emerge from the past and stand at 18 Main St. in the heart of Lenox, he might say to a passerby, "It was a long time ago that I designed and oversaw the construction of that building." Actually walking into the space would leave him shell-shocked.

Captain Isaac Damon would mount the marble steps, open the main door and say, "This is a library! What happened to my courthouse?"

Surely Damon would marvel at the twists and turns taken by his edifice over the last 186 years. Currently undergoing total renovation and restoration, the Lenox Library has a history as rife with change as the four seasons in New England. Every brick in the building could tell a different tale.

During a recent visit to the Lenox Library Association's temporary headquarters, executive director Denis Lesieur shed light on the bulding's various incarnations and uses.

"Lenox had been the county seat since 1787," said Lesieur. "The town leaders wanted to build a courthouse that Lenox could be proud of; a structure that would express the value their community placed in the law. But they did not want to build a monument. In true Yankee, practical fashion they wanted their courthouse to be functional. It was built with a fairly quiet, warm elegance, not some gradiose edifice with granite and marble."

Local authorities hired Captain Damon, an architect from Northampton, who specialized in drawing up plans for public buildings.

"Damon had an innovative approach," observed Lesieur. "Most courtrooms at the time were on the first floor with offices on the second. He figured that most visits to the building would be for routine, everyday reasons, to see the register of deeds or the county treasurer. Why trudge up to the second floor? So he put those offices downstairs. The courtroom itself was on the second floor. Upstairs he created a space to reflect the loftier, more impressive aspect of the law."

Forty years after completion of the courthouse, Lenox officials found themselves in a tug-of-war with their counterparts in Pittsfield. The latter, citing rapid growth and its central location, wanted their city to become the county seat.

To stave off the competition, the town fathers authorized an addition to the rear of the courthouse. The new space incorporated an expansion of the judge's chambers, a room for the probate court, office space and a law library (a portent of future development).

"Having the town be the county seat brought business into the community," said Lesieur. "And they wanted to keep it. Lawyers, reporters, those involved in court cases came and that meant the merchants, restaurant owners and those who offered lodging had an expanded audience."

Lenox managed to hang on for a scant 13 years. The Berkshire County seat moved to Pittsfield, leaving Captain Damon's legacy vacant.

The sound of pounding gavels and whispering juries gave way to silence.

Enter Mrs. Adeline Schermerhorn. "She had been a long-time summer resident of Lenox and she loved the town," explained Lesieur. "She was in Rome when she found out the courthouse was to be auctioned off. So she arranged to buy the building and donate it to a group of townspeople to operate as a free library. She died before the deed was executed but luckily her son, Augustus, fulfilled her wishes."

In a centennial history of the Lenox Library compiled by Helen and Mary MacDonald in 1956, they write, "According to Mrs. Schermerhorn's desires, the building was to bear the name of 'one of Lenox's most useful and beloved townsmen, The Charles Sedgwick Library and Reading Rooms.' "

Ironically, Adeline Schermerhorn's largesse left the small town of Lenox with two libaries: the one created at her bequest and the Lenox Library Association which had operated since 1856.

In 1874, the latter decided to give up their quarters and move into the old courthouse. According to the MacDonalds, "They were assigned two rooms on the north side of the building, formerly known as the Grand Jury Room and the Office of the Clerk of the Courts, for the nominal rent of one peppercorn a year." Who could turn down that kind of lease?

From that point on, Captain Damon's courthouse became home to all manner of idiosyncratic events, tenants and happenings. For example, imagine his thoughts had Damon witnessed townsfolk reeling the night away at a ball given in the very spot where the judge's bench once stood. The old court room played host not only to dances, but lectures and theatrical performances as well.

Perhaps the space saw too much entertainment and frivolity. "The trustees responsible for the building began to worry about the age of the bulding, the weight of a big audience upstairs and the strength of the floors," said Lesieur. "Adeline's son, Agustus, generously donated money to build a new auditorium, Sedgwick Hall, which was completed in 1889."

The MacDonald sisters noted that this became the town's "principal, and practically sole, place of assembly." From the grand Horticultural Ball to high school graduations, people gathered at Sedgwick Hall. They came to patriotic meetings to rally support for the Spanish-American war, they saw amateur plays, attended church fairs, heard concerts and some saw Mrs. Grover Cleveland waltz across the floor.

A framed "Schedule of Prices" hangs in Lesieur's office, harkening back to that era. It lists different rents for various assembly rooms. For example, "Theatricals, Charades or Tableaux" cost $15. "Milliner and Dress Goods Sales (in daytime)" went for $10. "Dances or Games for children or grown people (if closed by 11:30 PM)" carried a fee of $12.

With the opening of the new performance hall, the library's trustees decided to cover what Captain Damon must have considered the true jewel in his design -- the majestic dome swooping above the original court room.

The newly installed dropped ceiling permitted subdivision of the second floor into office space, thereby touching off a new round of oddball uses. For example, in 1895 Benjamin Rogers opened the first telephone exchange in Lenox. "The switchboard operator who worked the night shift was an amateur musician," recounted Lesieur. "For practice and to keep himself awake between calls, he'd wander around the halls playing his horn [a cornet].

Besides puffing into the mouthpiece of his instrument and connecting callers, the man had another duty. The MacDonald sisters write, "The central [telephone] office was connected with the fire alarm on Sedgwick Hall. The telephone operator tripped an electric switch which dropped a pan of rocks placed on the roof of the belfry, thus causing the bell to ring and sound the alarm."

Other firsts occurred during the 1890s. Dr. E.P. Hale, the village's only physician, opened an office on the second floor. For several winters, a representative from the Boston Cooking School gave classes to ladies from town. In summers, Oriental rug makers rented rooms to craft and sell carpets. The newly chartered Lenox National Bank took space downstairs. In another agreement local folks surely questioned at the time, town leaders leased an adjoining section to serve as the local jail. "When I came to the library in 1983," recalled Lesieur, "there was a lawyer who had an office on the second floor and Recording for the Blind had a small studio, as well."

In hindsight, the cornet-playing operator unwittingly set the stage for music resounding throughout the erstwhile courtroom. "During World War II there wasn't much activity at Tanglewood," said Lesieur. "But the Boston Symphony Orchestra did hold auditions for musicians in Sedgwick Hall. And during the 1940s Maestro Serge Koussevitzky gave lectures and concerts [to benefit the Red Cross] and he had a pianist demonstrate various techniques ... It was Leonard Bernstein. Oh, [in 1960] Norman Rockwell met his future wife, Molly, at a poetry reading in the library."

Other luminaries from America's past have taken a shine (one, literally speaking) to the Lenox Library. In 1902 Edith Wharton served on the Associate Board of Managers. Sixteen years later, summer resident Andrew Carnegie picked up the tab for installing electricity and lighting in the building. And when Aaron Copland died in 1990, he bequeathed copies of all his works to the library.

Today, Lesieur positively beams at the prospect of the structure's renovation and restoration that is currently steaming ahead. Of all aspects of the project, a discovery last spring left him in awe. "We didn't know anything about the dimensions or the condition of the dome," he said. "It had been covered from 1889 until 2002. I'd seen the back side of the dome from the attic but no records, no photographs existed. It was an incredible experience to finally see it and find it was in restorable condition. The four brass corner vents and stenciling came as a complete surprise; so did the elaborate painting on the dome itself along with all the humming birds flying around."

Lesieur feels that everyone involved has struck a balance between preserving and highlighting the architectural details and historical importance of the original court house and at the same time converting it into a functioning and efficient modern library.

"Old buildings are vested with a layer of memories that people have," said Lesieur as he gazed at the same walls erected under the watchful eye of Captain Damon. "You can't replace that. If you tear the building down, the memories are gone, too. The library will become a physical representation of those memories and what life was like at that point in time. When people move to Lenox they want to get a sense of the town's history and the first place they turn is the library. Next spring, when we open the doors, people will see and feel a tangible connection with the town and county's past."