Rutter

Nick Rutter
ProfessorHeatherJohnson
wRT 305-0002
October12,2011
Between a Rock and Tall Place /
With the exception of the signaturegraffiti dotting this mysterious tower off Route 1 like
the inside of a summercamp cabin,there is no other kind of designationto what this place is. A
sectionof woods besidethe tower is framedby what would have held a bulletin of information
about what is known as Hannah Robinson Tower, one hundred feet of worn wood first built in
1938. Much of the original materialwas usedin the rebuild fifty yearsand sixty lessfeet later,
the last recordedrenovations.It always struck me on my many drives to and from the University ,
as being similar to a queue for a waterslidil)robably wishful thinking.

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While there is no water-lubricatedplastic winding aroundthis ominous stackof thick,f

criss-crosslogs, there are two beautiful views to make up for the burning in my kneesand soles
steel tube grates
after five steepstaircases.My two friends and I lean againstthe ru..s,t;nafched
that corral climbers and vandals,taking in the two trails of lights on'either side of us. The
luminous early evening traffic of Route 1 makes a good appetrzerfor the sparkling Newport
Bridge, flowing acrossthe black glassywater into the warm peachyglow of its namesake.
Betweenthesesightsis a cushionof plush evergreensthat dominatethe surroundings;indeed
they are the culprit of stealingwhat was once a magnificentview from a ground level ledge,
what H.P. Lovecraft called "the finest rural prospectI have anywhereseen".

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So besidestrying to recapturea view claimedby nature,why doesthis towb?stand?And

how come I'm able to make it wobble by shakingthe rail to the nervouslaughterof my friends?
Twenty-three years without major maintenanceand the small concretebasesof the supportsmay
have somethingto do with the unnervingflexibility of the lumber skeleton.This tower saw
observationduty during World War II after being built by the Civilian ConservationCorps,and
consideringits extra height then, I imagine that you could spot an intruding U-boat literally a
mile away. Carefully stabbingour way back down the sharplyset slats,pastthe spritzesof
mildew-white spray paint, we dive into the undergrowth behind the tower, hunting for Hannah
RobinsonRock.

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The rock and the ledge aheadof it is purportedlywhere the daughterof a successfuland
importantNarragansettplanter stoppedon her pilgrimage back to her home from Providence,
after eloping with her lover. HannahRobinsonmet her husband,teacherPeterSimon when she
was sentaway for schoolingNewport between 1764-65.The classdifferencebetweenthe two
was the causeof secrecyof the relationship from Hannah's father Rowland, who was known to
be extraordinarilystrict and stubborn.However, their guisewas aidedby many other membersof
Robinsonfamily, culminating with an escapeto Providencefrom an aunt's ball at Smith's Castle
somemiles north of the Robinsonresidence.
At leastthey had a plan. After the concreteslabsembeddedin gravel endedin front of a
vine-encrustedgap in the thickets,so did our senseof direction.The disheveledclumps of leaf
and branch are suspectresidue of the Hurricane earlier this year. I take up the rear with a
penlight in one hand and a notebookin the other,ducking under the thin, wispy branchesof the
young trees which make navigating what once was a clearing very difficult in the dark. The first
thing we stumbleon, in both senses,is the ledge,flanked by hints of two houses.We're very
fearful of oversteppingthe boundsof public land, and have spenta good twenty minutesblindly
ambling about in the pitch dark of the forest.While I lamentthe fast and loose decisionand
resignmyself to choosinganothersite, Jake,the owner of both flashlights,the notebook,and the
car that got us herediscoversthe right path, which seemsmore like just a generalareaof the
but I think it's more appropriateto
forest with slightly iesstrees.I'd call him a jack-of-al1-trades,
alter the expressionto Jakeofall trades.
My slenderpipe-smoking,computer-buildingand tabletop-gamingguru had graciously
that
suggestedthe site in the dimming sun on the quad,and kept up the necessaryencouragement
I could squeezesomethingworthwhile out of this gambit. He even offers to take me to the rest of
her grave. "My
the sites related to this lu:agictale of Hannah Robinson, the Robinson house-,..and
dad dateda girl in collegewho lived there lthe Robinsonhouse]," he mentionsconversationally.
"Also, her gravesiteis literally acrossthe streetfrom my housefRiverdell Drive]." I would have
liked to explorethe chain of sitesthe legacy of Hannahhad left acrossSouthCounty, but time
and considerationof Jake'shospitality as well as mJcomfort leavethosesitesfor anotherday. ,
I appreciatethe value of a historic cemetery-indeedmy high schoolactually unearthed
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one right on their groundswhen I was a freshman-lut this site is truly deservingof the title "final
resting place", especiallywhen we finally found the damn thing. I was able to actually sit on the

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little "step-rock" and scrawl a few more notes. Peepers,probably near the waterfront aheadof
the ledge we doubled back from, steadily chirp, their pace reflecting the cooler autumn night. I
find out the hard way that the smaller rock I'm sitting on is the only meansof getting up on the
centerpiece;my friends awkwardly step around and over me. My other companion, Ryan,
i--"--"stumbles
to clamor up, wondering."How did that girl climb up it?" I wonderedthe samething,
mesmerizedby the folds and bulgesof this side of the boulder,making it look like the front side
ofan obesegranite giant.
Our miniature adventurepales in comparisonto the story of Hannah Robinson after her
marriage. Her father was naturally enragedat her actions and demandedto know who assisted
her secret marciage,but no one would come forward. He reachedout to Hannah, sendingher
messagespromising forgivenessand acceptanceback into his householdif shewould divulge the
guilty parties, but she would not sacrifice the honor of her word. Without any of her father's
wealth, Simon eventually left Hannah, who succumbedto sicknessand only saw a limited
amount of provisions sent by her mother and her maid provided by her father. Only when she
was near deathdid her assistingrelativesadviseher to revealtheir identitiesto her father, so she
senthim a messagesaying shewas now able to confess.Finally, Rowland was ableto seewhat
had become of his daughter;accountssay he was devastatedand immediately forgot about the
information he was working so hard to uncover.
Ignoring Jake'shand,I graspthe stonefolds and pull myself up on top of Hannah'srock,
face to face with a newer crack running straight down the middle. Tiny white depositsline the
inside of the fissure, breaking away from the black and green spackledgrey drab. The three of us

cars.The anniversaryof her deathis eerily close at the time of writing and of course,to
Halloween.She died at27 yearsof age on October30, 1773,finally at home andat peacewith
her father.However, our journey isn't quite finished,thanksto one last surprisefrom Jake.
After navigating a group effort to climb off of the massive stone and onto the cushion of
chronic leavesof the forest floor, Jakementionsfondly that there's a Geocachenearby,and
'

immediately summonsa plastic container from a spaceunder our perch. These hidden packages
of exchangeabletrinkets are locatedthrough GPS coordinates,and solnetimesthrough landmarks
and familiarity, like in this case.We prepareto make a little history of our own. I swap my
Senior prom portrait for a sticky graphic of angry eyes and sciawl my name in the annalsof the

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l-rl.::'
. . . . i,

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damp guestlog. An alreadyfamiliar sight has now becomeboth historichlly and personally
amplified through this experience.I'm now nostalgicfor the Geocachetreks that took my famiiy I .

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through the local wilderness.

After a celebratory Weridy's run, we make our way back to campus.On the way Jake
,:

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tells somemoreointeresting
sitesaroundour little state,most notably the only town on record
abandonedbecauseit was haunted.As we're parkedin front of his dorm, he lamentsthe lack of
RhodeIsland history at The University of RhodeIsland. "They always list it on their website,
like if you're a prospectivestudent,but it's never offered," he explains,a little frustrated."I look
for it every time and it's not there." I sharedhis frustration,after experiencinga complete
absenceof information ai a site with suchan incrediblestory behind it, so closeto campus.Our
University is also laden with history as well, but there seemsto be no interestwithin the school
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to make it known, like in the caseof the Oliver WatsonHouse,maintainedby outsideagencies.

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But it's encouragingthat thesesightsand their stories are atleastkept in the minds of peoplelike

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Jakeand passedon to peoplelike me, so we rememberthe next time we take a right onto i38,
the name of that mysterious tower, who it's for and why it's there.

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