I want to be angry; I want to be outraged. But I don’t have that right. What I am is deeply ashamed of myself.
The Friends of the Ferguson, the group that has run the home and museum since, as I understand it, about 1967, is so worn out and discouraged they want to quit. Again, as I understand it, there are only a few – maybe only two – active board members.
Over the years membership has waned as people passed away or moved away. I’ve heard it said young people aren’t interested in taking up the work. There isn’t any money for maintenance or upkeep. None from the state and not much from the city. In the city’s defense, there is only so much money to go around. And the home was in dire need of repairs when the city got the deed in the last year or so.
Now, I don’t have any real money. I can’t pay for a new front porch or a paint job. But I have time and energy that I can lend.
I didn’t have to sit here on my comfy chair and do nothing. I could have stepped up before now, before the ship was on the rocks.
In hopes of being a better human being, and in hopes of honoring the man whose shoes I struggle to fill, I have let the board know I am willing to step up and serve. I am willing to scrape paint and dust collections. I will serve on the board, if they will have me.
And I am willing to beat the bushes for money. The house was bought with nickels and dimes raised by folks going door to door and asking. There are some very generous businesses in our part of the world now who will probably write a check. There are grants out there that none of us are even aware of.
It is a shame that the state is willing to walk away from the home of the sixth territorial governor. A man hand picked by President Teddy Roosevelt.
We as a city, as a state, as a nation, cannot afford to let another piece of our history disappear because people were too busy to grab a paintbrush. It is our history, dammit, and I for one am not willing to let it go without a fight.