Another in the Men, Women, and Things Series, sub-category Hotels and Stately Homes, The Old Tavern in Unionville was once a stagecoach stop on the route along Lake Erie between Buffalo and Cleveland, and during the Civil War it also served as a stop on the Underground Railroad.   When I was very young the Old Tavern was an antique shop and popular family style restaurant, famous for its collection of Tiffany lampshades hanging over the tables in the dining room and for the corn fritters (served swimming in maple syrup and sprinkled liberally with powdered sugar) which came with every meal.

In that long ago time I was one of a number of young boys, chosen for our good manners and not unappealing looks, who served as busboys, dishwashers, kitchen help and chef's assistants, attendants in the shop, and even occasional tour guides (there are tunnels in the cellar which were used to smuggle the runaway slaves down to boats on Lake Erie and thence  to Canada and freedom).  As you can imagine, it was an incredibly  important job, not to mention a valuable opportunity at an early age for someone like me, with my sensitive nature and taste for beautiful things.  Here at the Old Tavern I learned so much and had so many significant experiences which would shape the very course of my life.  Here I began my first serious collecting -- of art pottery (Rookwood, Roseville, Fulper, Grueby, McCoy, Van Briggle); here I acquired my first "Made-In-Occupied-Japan" figurine; here I tasted my first corn fritter and one momentous afternoon, my first beer.  And from there, as you can well appreciate, I was off and running.

Primitive societies, woefully unsophisticated in many regards, nevertheless have managed to hold on to certain truths about the human experience that our modern world has in some instances lost sight of.  Chief among these is the time-tested belief that an individual's first time doing something can shape that individual's entire journey, his destiny, his course in life, depending on what that something is.  Hence, primitive societies create elaborate rituals for, say, a child's initiation into the wonders of adolescence, carefully choreographing and orchestrating the introduction to the role the individual will play in his community as he grows up.  Rites of passage, like marriage and so forth, are taken very seriously. 

We in the modern world are more ambiguous about these matters, enjoying the ceremony but uncertain about the point of it all, conflicted about who can be allowed to enjoy these rituals even if they want them (for instance, gay people and marriage) but apparently unconcerned with how our young people find out about the facts the ancient rites were intended to introduce them to.  Consequently we tend to opt for either denial (abstinence programs) or, well ... denial (Don't Ask Don't Tell, as in , I-don't-want-to-know-what-you-kids-are-doing-and-for-the-love-of-god-don't-let-me-find-out).

Thinking the other day of young footmen who went on to explore their love of the finer things in life because the Duke's sister held classes in her sitting room made me realize that there are serendipitous moments in life when our horizons are broadened, precious turning points in time when we are allowed a little glimpse through a window of opportunity onto a world undreamed of.  And that is why in the tumuluous era at the turn of the last century, a fellow in personal service might be inspired to take off to London and work in an antique shop, or as a museum guard, or a clerk in one of the nicer department stores.  Or in another era, a young man in some remote rural community might have experiences, not with a Duke's sister certainly but with some other kindly interested older person with power and authority, that steered him toward dreams of a life of Art in the Big City. 

Of course, because we all know how secretive youth can be, (especially before reaching the age of consent), that youth will imagine he is an anomaly; he will think himself unique and special.  You think you are when you're that age.  You think you are the only one who's ever experienced what you are experiencing.  And if you believe in secrets (and who doesn't when you're young), then you don't want to tell anyone what you've discovered, what you've done (and can't wait to do again), what you're thinking about.  You become separate from everyone around you.  You can't help thinking you are different.  

But then one day, thanks to the magic of the world wide web, and thanks to Google, you begin to wonder if you were really the only kid it happened to.  You ask yourself, was I the only one?  And if you don't know what I mean, then never mind.  But if you do, then write to me and let me know.  It's okay now.  It was a long time ago.

And by the way, if you are thinking that the 1904 connection is Charles W. Fairbanks (1852-1918) who was elected Vice President with Teddy Roosevelt in 1904, then you are close but not quite.  Fairbanks was born near Unionville Center in Union County, Ohio.   This is the Unionville in the northeastern part of the state, on Route 84, on the line between Madison and Ashtabula Counties.