Sep 1, 2023
Early in August, President David Temple received an email from Beverly Dixon recounting some of her experiences living in the historic Clark Tavern. In response, David sent a photo of the Clark Tavern as it looks today. Below is her reply, as well as some of her recollections about the Tavern.
Thanks for the photo! It was so good to see the tavern in its present incarnation (considering its recent dereliction) and I am glad the footprint of the original has been so carefully maintained. Many antique buildings “evolve” during their lifetimes, often resulting in a completely different appearance based upon usage and family size, etc. I hope what is being done at this old property is positive. The Clark Tavern has a fascinating history and is worthy of being remembered.
My husband and I rented half of the Clark Tavern from 1972 – 1975 until Lorraine Laverty informed us that she wanted to sell the house and that we should move. We loved the antique features of the house and our furniture fit in so well with the original decor. I was pregnant when we moved in with our 3-year-old and my younger daughter was born in April 1973. Oddly enough, she spent her childhood and teen years obsessed with architecture and building, graduating later from Wellesley College with a BA in architecture and University of Pennsylvania with a masters in historic preservation.
A historic society member was kind enough to open the Peak House for her to research information for a thesis in her senior year at Wellesley.
When we moved in, we wanted to see if the fireplaces were usable, so Miss Laverty had the fire department inspect them. We were told they were in perfect condition, and we did indeed enjoy the fires.
We had several unusual experiences while living there. The only bathroom was on the second floor and had an antique claw-footed bathtub. The single nozzle for water had separate hot and cold handles and it took a while to get enough water in to take a bath. I wanted to bathe my older daughter, so I turned on the spigots and went downstairs for a few minutes to check something I was cooking in the kitchen.
While down there I heard the water stop running. I called my daughter, thinking she was upstairs and had turned it off, but she was on the floor sitting next to me playing with blocks. I ran upstairs and saw that the water faucets had been shut off.
This happened several times, but only when I left the room.
Miss Laverty called the original plumber, a nice old fellow, to inspect the pipes to make sure there wasn’t some leak or pinched area, and he said it was just as good as when he installed it. We asked him why it only went off when I left the bathroom. He calmly informed us that it was the ghost.
We thought he was joking but he told us that the story was that sometime in the 1890’s or so a child had been left in the tub alone and drowned. The ghost was a benevolent ghost who didn’t want another child to drown. You can’t make this up!
One time my husband was poking around in our side of the huge attic for anything he might find of value when he noticed a long, dark crawlspace beside the outgoing chimney to the roof. Of course, being small I was elected to inch down it with a flashlight and found something very heavy which I managed to drag out.
Turns out we had found two slate tombstones with a rectangular etching left blank in the middle, obviously to be used when someone died. They weighed about 300 pounds each and were at least six feet long. Both were filthy and cobwebby, so we cleaned them one at a time in the big bathtub and put them in the back hall to dry.
That night we experienced one of the scariest thunder and lightning storms ever. A huge bolt of lightning hit a big pine tree behind the house and split it in two right down the middle. We thought we had awakened some evil spirit!
Miss Laverty had said if we found anything we could have it or sell it so the next day we put the tombstones in the trunk of our little 1965 Ford Fairlane sedan along with the two kids and drove really slowly down Rt. 109 to the Dedham antique store where we arrived at noon on a hot summer day.
Court was getting out for lunch, and it was a busy intersection with the trolley and cars. The only parking spot, of course, was way on the other side of the boulevard so we calmly carried the tombstones, one at a time, across the road and endured such looks from people! They probably thought we were graverobbers.
We did sell the tombstones, and a year later I called the store to find out what happened to them. The owner said a man bought one to use for his own gravesite and the other one went to someone who had constructed an historic representation and had it for his front doorstep with his name on it.
My older daughter had a bedroom on the second floor of the house with a tiny closet that was about two feet square and could hardly accommodate a coat hanger. My husband asked Laverty if he could widen it a bit by opening up the inside wall. When he removed the wall, we discovered a room about eight feet square inside. She said it was probably an underground railroad hideaway.
The kitchen had a door at the back right hand side of the house which led to a small attached barn. The most interesting part of it was a large sliding barn door on the right side, big enough to drive a horse and wagon into. The door was on wheels at the bottom, and Miss Laverty told us it had been the workshop of a carriage-maker.
The only other thing I can add is that my late husband, who was 6’2″, had to duck his head at the top of the very steep center stairway to enter the upstairs hall. People were shorter 200 years ago. My older daughter, when three years old, once tumbled down those stairs, head over heels as I looked on horrified from the top. She jumped up and said, “I’m okay, Mommy.” I guess the resident ghost was always looking out for her.