Newspaper Page Text
Paul
Smith’s
College
S
E
Q
U
E
L
S
U
M
M
E
R
,
1984
The
Paul
Smith
-
Trudeau
Connection
By
Charles
Alexander
During
this
centennial
celebration
of
the
Trudeau
In
stitute
in
Saranac
Lake,
it
is
timely
to
recollect
the
vital
role
of
Apollos
A.
Smith
in
the
eventual
success
of
this
world
famous
center
for
medical
research.
The
ironies
abound,
of
course,
for
“
Old
Pol,”
despite
be
ing
central
to
the
founding
of
two
learned
institutions
—
one
educational,
the
other
medical
—
never
really
cared
much
for
such
“
goings
on”
among
educated
fools,
as
he
called
them.
Many
years
after
his
death,
his
son,
Phelps,
conceived
of
a
college
to
perpetuate
his
father’s
name.
Paul,
however,
had
a
more
direct
hand
in
the
founding
of
the
Trudeau
Sanitarium
in
that
his
resort
and
his
friend
ship
“
saved”
Dr.
Edward
Livingston
Trudeau
from
suc
cumbing
to
tuberculosis.
More
dramatically,
Paul
saved
Trudeau’s
life
in
a
terrible
blizzard.
Apollos
A.
Smith
Years
before
his
illness,
Dr.
Trudeau
met
Paul
Smith
during
hunting
trips
to
the
Adirondacks.
They
once
com
peted
as
marksmen
on
Long
Island.
The
Frenchman
and
the
Yankee
found
they
liked
each
other’s
company.
Given
this
friendship
and
Trudeau’s
love
for
the
Adiron
dacks,
the
doctor
chose
to
come
to
the
shores
of
St.
Regis
after
learning
that
he
was
“
hopelessly
ill.”
He
came
to
die,
but
stayed
to
recuperate.
“
The
sun
was
just
setting
as
I
caught
sight
of
the
great
pines
around
Paul
Smith’s,”
Trudeau
wrote
about
that
May
day
in
1873.
He
had
undergone
an
exhausting
trip
from
New
York
City
by
train,
boat,
and
horse-drawn
wagon.
Fred
Martin,
Lydia
Smith’s
brother,
had
to
carry
him
upstairs.
Putting
him
down
on
the
bed,
the
burly
woodsman
said,
“
Why,
doctor,
you
don’t
weigh
no
more
than
a
dried
lambskin.”
Surprising
everybody,
the
frail
physician’s
health
seem
ed
to
stabilize.
“
Little
by
little,”
he
wrote,
“
while
lying
under
the
great
trees,
looking
out
on
the
lake
all
day,
my
fever
had
stopped
and
my
strength
slowly
begun
to
return.”
such
as
long
bouts
of
whist
playing,
racing
trotters
on
the
lake,
and
fishing
through
the
ice
for
trout.
After
many
years
of
separation,
Trudeau
and
his
mother
were
reunited
that
winter.
This
cosmopolitan,
refined
woman,
who
had
travelled
all
the
way
from
France,
found
Paul
Smiths
every
bit
as
charming
as
did
her
son.
Almost
immediately
she
got
out
her
paint
and
palette.
“
The
first
thing
she
painted,”
Trudeau
recalled,
“
was
the
old
hostelry
as
it
was
then,
with
the
gigantic
pines
on
all
sides
of
it
and
the
frozen
lake
in
front,
of
it
.
Mrs.
Smith
took
such
a
fancy
to
the
picture
that
Mother
gave
it
to
her,
and
it
still
hangs
in
the
parlor
at
Paul
Smith’s.”
Today,
of
course,
it
can
be
seen
in
the
Cubley
Library.
A
Test
of
Endurance
In
January,
with
his
mother’s
visit,
over,
Trudeau
decid
ed
to
drive
her
in
a
cutter
pulled
by
a
little
mare
to
Malone
forty
miles
away,
where
they
would
meet
her
train
and
at
the
same
time
pick
up
his
wife
and
children
who
had
been
visiting
downstate.
After
seeing
his
mother
off,
Trudeau,
his
family,
nurses,
and
Paul
Smith,
who
had
come
up
later
with
a
teamster
and
two
sleighs,
set.
out
the
next
day
on
a
perilous
journey
It
had
snowed
heavily
throughout
the
night.
They
decided,
therefore,
to
go
only
as
far
as
Duane.
As
they
left
the
outskirts
of
Malone,
it
became
evident
that
this
was
going
to
be
a
test
of
endurance.
Paul’s
team,
which
led
the
way,
repeatedly
bogged
down
in
the
snow.
Often
the
pilgrims
had
to
walk.
With
winter
night
coming
on
fast,
it.
seemed
that
Duane
would
never
be
reached.
The
horses
were
swallowed
by
the
snow.
The
wind
blew
ice
into
everyone’s
eyes.
The
children
cried.
At
the
foot
of
a
menacing
hill,
Paul
decided
to
dig
a
hole
in
a
drift
to
shelter
the
family
while
he
and
teamster
Brink
went
ahead
to
try
to
break
a
track
up
the
hill.
When
that
task
was
done
he
returned
for
the
Trudeaus
and
led
them
to
a
Duane
farmhouse.
The
next
day
Paul
reconnoitered,
returning
to
report
that
they
ought
to
wait
until
the
next
day
to
make
the
re
maining
28
miles.
On
the
last
leg
of
their
journey,
they
encountered
drifts
piled
upon
drifts.
It
was
particularly
tough
around
Mc
Collums.
Their
sleighs
often
overturned.
By
Barnum
Pond
the
weather
got
murderous
and
the
night
began
to
move
in
on
them.
Chomping
on
a
cigar
and
laughing
at
the
wind
and
the
wake,
Paul
tried
to
cheer
them
up:
“
Doctor,
don’t
you
know
Napoleon
said
‘The
dark
regions
of
Russia
is
on
ly
fit
for
Russians
to
inhabit’?
”
Paul
decided
to
let
them
rest
at
Barnum
Pond
while
he
went
on
to
get
new
horses
a
half
mile
away
at
a
farm
house.
Later,
after
what
seemed
an
eternity,'the
sight
of
Paul’s
l.-ntern
heartened
them.
The
weary
caravan
got
underway
once
again
and
finally
reached
Paul
Smith’s
at
10
p.m.,
three
days
after
they
had
started
from
Malone.
Recalling
that
journey
through
the
blizzard,
Trudeau
ad
mitted
that
without
the
resourcefulness
and
energy
of
Paul
Smith
they
all
would
have
suffered
terribly.
Sixty
miles
from
the
nearest
doctor
and
railroad,
Trudeau,
along
with
his
wife
and
two
young
children,
sur
vived
that
long
winter
of
massive
snowstorms
and
knifing
cold.
The
children
often
cried
from
cold
hands
and
feet
while
playing
on
the
floor.
Five
foot
drifts
muffled
the
nature
all
around
them.
Despite
such
things,
and
thanks
to
the
Smiths,
the
Trudeaus
endured.
Work
and
Play
In
1876,
Dr.
Trudeau
began
wintering
in
Saranac
Lake,
but
continued
his
practice
at
Paul
Smiths
and
the
camps.
Lydia
Smith
loaned
the
Trudeaus
furniture
for
the
house
they
rented
in
Saranac
Lake.
“
Saranac
Lake
is
my
workshop,”
the
doctor
wrote
later.
“
When
I
want
to
get
away
from
work,
I
go
over
to
Paul’s
to
play.”
While
doc
toring
and
playing
at
Paul’s,
he
made
friends
with
the
guides
and
woodsmen,
who
eventually
contributed
money
to
buy
the
sanitarium
land
at
Mt.
Pisgah,
and
with
the
wealthy
resort
guests
and
camp
owners,
who
funded
the
building
of
the
sanitarium.
Over
the
years,
whenever
his
illness
flared
up,
Trudeau
would
return
to
the
“
magic
spell
of
the
place”
and
revive.
This
unlikely
union
—
Paul
Smith,
the
woodsmen,
the
wealthy,
and
Dr.
Edward
Livingston
Trudeau
—
also
com
bined
forces
to
build
the
St..
John
of
the
Wilderness
Episcopal
Church.
Paul
Smith
gave
the
land
and
the
logs,
“
and
what
logs
they
were!
—
the
finest,
of
white
pine,
of
full
growth,”
exclaimed
Trudeau.
Today,
next,
to
the
church,
one
can
see
the
graves
of
the
Smiths
and
the
Trudeaus.
From
humble
beginnings
the
Trudeau
Cottage
Sanitarium
and
the
Saranac
Laboratory
for
the
Study
of
Tuberculosis
became
world
famous,
expanding
over
the
years
and
drawing
the
hopeful
stricken
from
all
walks
of
life.
In
1984
Trudeau
Institute
continues
the
work
of
heal
ing
with
honored
research
into
many
diseases,
including
tuberculosis.
In
a
sense,
this
was
made
possible
by
that
beloved
character,
Apollos
Smith.
As
it
turned
out,
these
two
friends,
so
different
in
background
and
sensibilities,
became
twin
beacons,
attracting
to
the
Tri-Lakes
area
those
in
need
of
the
comforts
both
men
so
liberally
provid
ed.
Something
in
the
Air
The
formula
of
cure
that
he
was
to
preach
to
the
rest
of
the
world
—
fresh
air,
rest,
and
good
food
—
was
here
in
abundance.
Trudeau’s
friend,
author
Thomas
Bailey
Aldrich,
once
observed
what
generations
of
resort
guests
and
college
students
have
also
observed,
“
There’s
a
charm
about
the
place,
something
in
the
air
to
heal
the
heart
of
sorrow.”
The
patient
thrived
on
Lydia
Smith’s
vittles,
which
included
eggs,
brook
trout,
pancakes,
venison,
and
partridge.
Often
he
would
be
taken
out
on
St.
Regis
Lake,
and
comfortably
reclining
on
soft
boughs
placed
in
the
stern
of
the
boat,
he
would
rest
his
rifle
on
the
side
of
the
boat
and
hunt.
Once,
while
sailing
“
kind
of
slow”
down
to
Keeses
Mills,
from
this
recumbent
position
he
picked
off
a
buck
200
yards
away.
Trudeau
felt
so
revived
that
he
returned
the
next
sum
mer
—
this
time
with
his
family.
He
did
so
well
that
he
decided
to
stay
the
winter,
an
unheard
of
idea
even
for
the
healthiest
of
the
Smith’s
guests.
Paul
and
Lydia
tried
in
vain
to
dissuade
him.
“
The
truth,
I
imagine,”
he
confess
ed,
“
was
that
Mrs.
Smith
feared
I
never
would
live
through
the
winter,
and
I
know
they
both
thought
it
a
most
rash
and
foolish
thing
for
such
a
sick
man
to
do
.
.
.
my
staying
in
so
rough
a
climate
seemed
to
them
little
short
of
suicide.”
The
Smiths
and
their
three
little
boys,
Henry,
Phelps,
and
Paulie,
did
their
best
to
make
the
daring
outsiders
happy.
They
passed
their
time
in
a
variety
of
pursuits,
Cephise
Berger
Trudeau's
painting
of
Paul
Smith's
Hotel
in
1874.
