Closing the book on Thought Club

The Boston Globe

Beverly Beckham

I met them for the first and only time eight years ago. I don't remember who invited me, but I remember the house where the meeting took place. There was a parlor connected to another parlor with big, comfortable chairs; then a bigger room, light and airy with a long banquet table dressed for a party.

There were china plates and linen and pansies at every seat. And when it was time for dessert, there were fresh strawberries and ice cream and chocolate sauce. "A certain amount of tradition holds things together," someone said. A tall man with white hair sat across from me and a woman to my left told the group how she walked up and down her steps 15 times a day on the days when she couldn't get out to exercise. And everyone nodded the way people do in church, all together, unanimous in their opinion that this was a great idea.

The men and women who had invited me to attend their meeting and share their lunch were members of a club that had been in existence since 1881. "Thought Club" was started in Hyde Park, they told me. And for most of its years, its members had been all women.

"Thought is the lever that moves the world" was the club's motto. It also was its impetus. For the desire to think and to share these thoughts was the lever that moved a group of women to found this club - to create it out of scraps, to use what they had, the way they used what they had to feed their families, to fashion quilts for their beds, to make butter and jam and can peaches.

They didn't have a lodge where they could meet. And they didn't have the time, either. Nights didn't mean the end of their work. There was always something to do.

But they had their homes. And if they rearranged their schedules and kept their fingers crossed, they could manage an occasional work-free afternoon.

They took turns hosting meetings. And they took turns leading the discussions. At every meeting, one woman would read a book - no fiction allowed - and prepare a report. The rest of the group would listen and then discuss what they'd heard. In the 1900s, the women dressed for the occasion. Even into the 1970s, they wore dresses and hats. Thought Club was serious business, but friendships were forged around it.

In 1881, when Thought Club began, there were only 38 states. James Garfield was president and Alexander Fleming had just been born.

There were no cars, no highways, no telephones, no airplanes, no radio, no TV, no Internet.

Women couldn't vote. Races were segregated. And the term "interfaith" did not exist.

But Thought Club existed. It existed through two world wars, the Great Depression, Korea, Vietnam, the Cold War. You had to be recommended to join. There was a maximum of 30 members. And there was a waiting list, even in 1977, when Frances Atkins joined. She'd been a teacher. She was retired. She'd been recommended. And she had time for the club.

But everything changes.

Thirteen days ago, the Thought Club met for the last time. The son of one of the members wrote to tell me. The meeting was held in Plymouth and six of the remaining eight members attended. Lunch was seafood, squash, and rolls, followed by the traditional ice cream, strawberries, and chocolate syrup. And then the book report was given - a biography of David Brinkley.

The members are in their 80s and 90s now. They don't live in Hyde Park anymore, and most don't drive.

Younger people were invited to join. But younger people aren't able to attend a club that meets in the middle of the day. They're working, and driving their children everywhere. Plus, they don't have a need for this kind of club because they can talk politics and books and news anywhere they like. They don't have a need for the club's friendships, either.

Thought Club lasted longer than Filene's and Woolworth's and Remick's and Flavor Straws and penny candy. It saw three centuries. And its dues were only $5.

Frances Atkins, her blue eyes bright, says she will miss the club. They'll all miss the club. And one another.

But she can talk to her friends on the phone. And she has church. Someone picks her up. And someone brings her library books. She's reading Tom Brokaw now; it's on her kitchen table. "It's good, she says. "Have you read it? I like reading about the news."