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Tale of a school that almost wasn’t

By Staff | Aug 6, 2016

If a rich uncle died and left you a ton of money – with the stipulation that it be used for a certain purpose – and gave you 20 years to carry out his wishes, you’d pretty likely say, "Cool, I’ll take care of this later."

You’d put it on the shelf and all but forget about it, until one day you’re spring cleaning and come across the big envelope with the official paperwork and instructions. "Ah, I still have 14 years to take care of it."

Then one day, you wake up and it suddenly hits you: "OMG! I totally forgot!" You panic, rip open the envelope, fumble for the page that gives the date and exact time the 20 years expires, and find you’ve got all of eight whole hours left.

I mean, I’m a procrastinator, but seriously?

The scenario is real: It played out right here in Hudson almost 70 years ago. To cut to the chase, had a bunch of motivated, dedicated townsfolk – educators especially – not leapt into action on that now-historic June 7, 1948, Alvirne High School may not exist today.

Dave McNeil, a ’61 Alvirne grad who returned 10 years later as a teacher, forwarded me the other day a fascinating account of the "Drama on Derry Road," authored some years ago by the late Maude French, a well-known Hudson teacher and youth group leader.

French described what did – but mostly, didn’t – happen during those 20 years, and how a civic-minded group made up of lawyers, school district officials, teachers and three dozen Hudson teenagers ultimately founded Alvirne High School with only eight hours to spare.

How that 20-year deadline came about is at the center of French’s fun little tale: Dr. Alfred K. Hills, one of Hudson’s most prominent residents back in the day, bequeathed in his will nearly $1 million to the town for the purpose of building a secondary school to which Hudson could send its young men and women rather than have them cross the river each day to attend Nashua High.

The caveat: Said school must be established within 20 years of the date the will was probated – June 8, 1928 – or the funds would revert to the Hills heirs.

Interestingly, French points out, the fact that Hills used the term "industrial school" in his will may have contributed to the lack of action. Town and school leaders, she wrote, may have thought he meant a place for wayward and troubled youth, rather than a typical high school.

My guess is that the heirs of Hills – a prominent big-city doctor who summered at the Derry Road mansion that today bears his name then retired there with his third wife – laid low and silently hoped the town would drag its proverbial feet long enough that 20 years would come and go and they’d cash in.

Sometime in the early 1930s, French wrote, then-Superintendent of Schools Fred Hall gathered some like-minded folk and tried to get a school project off the ground, but after a couple of public hearings the effort fizzled.

That Hills, the benefactor, was known to favor practical (what we now call vocational) courses – such as agriculture, dairy or livestock farming and the building trades – prompted some townsfolk to suggest turning the bequest over to UNH to help grow its programs.

"Fortunately for Hudson, this plan did not go through," French noted.

The years slipped by. Nothing happened. World War II came and went. Still nothing. I envision the Hills heirs figuratively checking off the months, the days, in their minds – each keeping their thoughts to him or herself in much the same way one never mentions a pitcher is throwing a no-hitter for fear of putting the whammy on him.

But with 14 months till deadline, on an early March evening, the Hudson Grange held its regular meeting – the topic of which was education.

Discussion turned to the need for a high school in town; some wondered why Hills’ bequest was still sitting around after nearly 19 years. A committee was assembled to investigate and, to paraphrase French, to light a fire under the school board.

The little committee gathered steam. Town and school officials jumped on board. A lawyer was hired; French identifies him as Mayland Morse and called him "prominent at the time."

The ninth-inning rally was on.

Another lawyer – Nashua attorney Bob Hamblett, likewise prominent – was brought in. This is great stuff: He told French to round up as many of her "4-H girls" as possible, referring to members of the agricultural club French headed at the time. She was to get them to the Hills House by 4 p.m. on June 7.

A former county agent was recruited to teach a boys’ program. In all, French wrote, 15 boys and 22 girls were present come 4 p.m. that day. Each filled out a registration card for what became the first session of the new Alvirne High School.

The lawyers made sure the T’s were crossed and the I’s dotted and everything was official. The pioneering students attended a six-week school "year," each graciously sacrificing their summer in a gesture that would earn them a place in Hudson history.

So pop the bubbly, right? Well, not so fast, the lawyers cautioned.

Intent on finding an uncrossed T, undotted I or any loophole big enough to jump through, the heirs and their lawyers – get this – showed up at the Hills House, and, French wrote, "circled the building and caused some excitement in the classroom."

They later departed, but shortly after graduation day, they and their lawyers dragged then-Superintendent Herbert Canfield, Principal Kenneth Gibbs, teachers including French and others into court, apparently hoping a judge would find something improper with the effort.

French was deposed for two hours, she wrote. Exhausted, she rode home alone on the bus, "still wondering if I had helped to save, or to lose, the school for Hudson."

At home, French wrote, "my patient husband and neglected family rejoiced with all of Hudson that at last we were to have the school that Dr. Alfred Hills had dreamed of – and financed 20 years earlier."

Dean Shalhoup’s column appears Saturdays in The Telegraph. He can be reached at 594-6443, dshalhoup@nashuatelegraph.com or @Telegraph_DeanS.

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