Newsgroups: alt.rhode_island Subject: South County/History/Amusement Date: 7 Oct 1994 17:33:05 -0400 Organization: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) Lines: 134 Sender: news@newsbf01.news.aol.com Message-ID: <374eqh$4hq@newsbf01.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: newsbf01.news.aol.com Folks familiar with South County (particularly the Wickford area) may find themselves amused by what follows. Or not. Whatever. ********* Discovering history (sort of) with a seven-year-old By Edward J. Renehan, Jr. Sitting in front of the television with my seven-year-old son recently, I tried to think of a way to wean Billy from the screen on which Swamp-Thing romped through a foliated Hollywood sound-stage, gun-shots and the screams of terrified women following in his wake. "You know," I said, turning down the volume slightly with the remote, "there was once a lot of shooting around here, too. There were bloody battles fought all over North and South Kingstown. Maybe right in our own yard." "Is that so?" said Billy warily, not genuinely interested but deciding to humor his historian Dad so long as this could be done without taking his eyes from the screen. (Swamp-Thing was climbing a tree while at the same time carrying a scantily-clad heroine whom he clutched under one large green arm.) "Yup," I continued. "They called it King Philip's War and it happened way back in 1675." "Dad," said Billy patiently, turning briefly from the screen where Swamp-Thing was now swinging from tree to tree, ala Tarzan, still holding the woman. "Do you think you could tell me about it later? This is Saturday. I am trying to watch my show." "Sure, later," I said, deciding to take my next cue from the strange allure of Swamp-Thing. "By the way, did you know that war also had another name? They called it the Great Swamp Fight." Billy perked up. "The Great Swamp Fight?" "Sound cool?" "Yeah!" enthused Billy. "Sounds way-cool. Who was fighting?" "Oh, some settlers were fighting with the local Indians. The Indians had the crazy idea they owned the joint. There's a place right near here called Smith's Castle where one of the biggest battles in the Great Swamp Fight took place." "Castle? There's a castle? Near here? Can we go see it?" Swamp-Thing was having a hard time competing with the Swamp Fight. Billy had forgotten the television was even there. "Sure," I said. "But Smith's Castle is not really a castle. It is more like a fortified house where Richard Smith lived when he and Roger Williams came down here to Rhode Island from Massachusetts and set-up their trading post." "Oh, so it's just a house," said Billy, obviously disappointed. His eyes were back on the television in no time. Swamp-Thing was regaining the lead. "You know, they have a wonderful replica of an 18th century flower and herb garden there," added my wife, the gardener, unhelpfully. Even I was inclined to take Swamp-Thing over that. I would have to come up with an intriguing rejoinder, and quickly. Otherwise Swamp-Thing would win the day. "Yeah, the herb garden is not far from the mass grave where they buried those forty colonial soldiers who got massacred by the Indians." "Mass grave! Massacre! Outstanding! Why didn't you say so in the first place?" announced Billy, jumping up and turning off the television as I grinned victoriously. "Let's check it out!" he said. During the three-minute drive from our house to Smith's Castle - which lies at Cocumscussoc, on the other side of Wickford from where we live - I aimed a quick information-download at what promised to be a brief opening of the seven-year-old's interest-window. I told Billy of Richard Smith and Roger Williams, their exile from Massachusetts, and the important role of Williams (and therefore Rhode Island) in the genesis of American religious freedom and the development of the notion of the separation of church and state. I also explained how it was ironic that this place where religious freedom took root was for so long devoid of other freedoms. (Smith's Castle became the main house for one of the northeast's first great slave-holding plantations, owned by the Updike family.) In the midst of the download, I was interrupted with a question from Billy about whether the Roger Williams I had in mind was the same man who owns the zoo where we go to see the electronic dinosaurs every summer. (Answer: "Well, sort of ... ") When we got to Smith's Castle, Billy ignored the imposing old house. His one fascination was with the grave. "OK, Dad," he said the moment we got out of the car, "where is the skull-orchard?" A sign directed us to the place. A nondescript boulder marked the spot. The look in Billy's eyes told me he'd been hoping for something more. As Billy circled the boulder and furtively dug a bit with a stick at the base, I told him about how Roger Williams actually never wanted war with the Indians, how he respected them, had lived with them, took the time to learn their tongue, and even wrote a book about their language. "In fact," I told Billy, "one of the reasons Williams was thrown out of Massachusetts in the first place was that he'd attacked the authority of the royal charter under which the Puritans of Plymouth and Salem settled their lands, calling the charter an imperialistic expropriation of Indian rights." Billy's eyes glazed over. He interrupted me once more. "Are we talking about the same Indians who want to build the casino?" he asked. Answer: "Well, yes, sort of ... " I sensed, at last, that he was too young for this. But I was still glad for having made the effort. Walking away from the place with my son, I said "Wasn't that interesting?" "Well, yes, sort of ... " he answered, being politic about what he surely believed was an anticlimax. "Say, can we stop at Blockbuster on the way home?" ###