I have never written a love letter to a building before, but the spirit moves me now.
Provincetown Town Hall is doubly beautiful, first for her physical attributes but even more so for the values she represents. She stands, regal and majestic, and at the same time modest and demure. She is our grand matriarch, but with a gentle demeanor, a welcoming building in a friendly town.
The Pilgrim Monument behind her pierces the sky resolutely; Town Hall, although large, makes a subtler statement. Set back from Commercial Street, she is guarded out front by the doughboy statue in its patina; along her flank on Ryder Street, the slab of the AIDS memorial lends gravitas.
Inside, the building greets visitors with understated grace. There is a reverent silence, unless public meetings are going on. In the hallways and all the offices, above the dark wainscoting, is artwork worthy of the finest museum. Massive paintings by Charles Hawthorne, Ross Moffett, Henry Hensche, and many others adorn the walls. The worn wooden floors creak and groan under your feet. Your footsteps are added to those of the many thousands of others who preceded you in walking these same halls.
Town Hall was dedicated in 1886. What a modern edifice it must have been compared to its predecessor up on High Pole Hill, which burned down in 1877. (The current Town Hall was lovingly, and expensively, restored in 2010.)
Swaybacked stairs on two sides lead to the grand auditorium with its vaulted ceiling and ornate chandelier. A balcony overhangs the room and mostly encircles it. Up front is a curtained stage. Light streams in from the high windows on either side. Used for concerts and shows, the room’s primary purpose is to accommodate town meeting. You can almost hear the voices reverberate from well over a hundred years of such meetings.
To call this room a holy arena for participatory democracy is not an overstatement. From the uncomfortable wooden seats many issues have been debated, positions defended, battles lost and won. Many great orators, from Herman de Silva years ago to our own Barbara Rushmore more recently, have spoken here.
I can describe the room but not the experience of stepping up to the microphone for the first time to persuade my fellow citizens to adopt my point of view. The act of publicly doing the town’s business in this way is a privilege. Those who merely opine on Facebook and think they are accomplishing something don’t know what they are missing.
The real crucible of town service is the Judge Welsh Meeting Room on the first floor. Much smaller than the auditorium, it serves as the principal forum for most town business. I served for 12 years on the conservation commission, which met in that room twice a month to hear from those seeking permits for various projects. I spent many hours listening, reflecting, deliberating, explaining, and ultimately voting on the limits of their activities.
Telling people what they can and cannot do with their property never came easy to me, and I don’t think it should. I learned a lot about myself in those 12 years. Town Hall was a second home to me. To paraphrase Neil Young: many of my changes were there. I therefore have a great fondness for that beautiful building and for what she allowed me to do: to be a full citizen of the town I love.
Today, as I was leaving, a tourist came in out of the blustery wind and said to her companion, “I love this building!” Me too.
