By Ray A. Mowers
Silent and alone, through the blistering heat of
Summer and the smashing attacks of Boreas,
Gloversville fire bell, "Big Ben," slumbers atop of
City Hall.
Glancing upward from North Main street, its
graceful, satiny curves glisten in the sunshine but
its voice of Stentor has been silenced- silenced by
the edict of those who guide affairs from their
leather cushioned chairs in the Council Chamber
thirty feet nearer to terra-firma.
Unlike the Bell of Liberty in Independence Hall, the
massive metal body of Big Ben of Gloversville is
still whole. Though dumb, it holds within its brassy
form the same note of alarm which radiated shivers
of apprehension up and down one hundred
thousand spines of successive generations
throughout a half century.
Big Ben was silenced when his supporting timbers
and the very walls of City Hall trembled with vigor of
his shout.
It has been 50 years since first the children of the
city gazed wonderingly aloft at the giant bell's lofty
station, their faces reflecting their awe of its
portent and its purpose.
But for this half-century, they have looked with
admiration at the polished surface of the giant bell
hanging there. Most of that time the big bell has
been silent. But when it has found its voice upon
occasion, it always has spoken in tones of alarm.
For half a century this huge bell has played a
magnificent role in the lives of Gloversville people.
However, so much time has elapsed since the bell
was young, it is becoming increasingly difficult to
find folk among the living who can recall the many
exciting episodes with which its metallic voice has
been linked. Through all of this time, the
thunderous tones of Gloversville's Big Ben has
been the signal to suspend breathing for a moment
- to drop the shears or the maul and give heed with
good reason.
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