Fort Allen Park [4/30/2013]

It was an absolutely beautiful April afternoon, and I was making my way through Fort Allen Park, discovering memorial after memorial just feet from my front door. Many people littered the park-- but none of them payed much attention to the cannons, decorated benches, maps, and memorials. There was a group of teenagers tanning-- which made for an awkward situation when I was photographing the park. I finally confessed that I was not a creep, but rather a local history student (unfortunately, I don't think that helped my case any). There was the usual gathering of middle aged men looking longingly to the sea on their lunch break, as if recalling fond memories or taking a moment to figure out their lives. I remember my dad driving us down to Fort Allen park to watch the sailboats. I would be quick to point out the first white triangle I saw in a sea of blue, expecting to have fulfilled my boat watching duties, but much to my dismay my dad would stare out at the bay for an eternity longer than a seven year old could stand. However, today I did not mind watching the sailboats. And to perfect the boat watching atmosphere, there was a young woman with headphones in, who boisterously sang along to her own tunes. 

I started at the top of the park and worked my way down the hill. The first historically significant items I came across were two unmarked cannons that stood guarded behind a grassy embankment on the top of the hill. (It gave me a very strange sense of security to think if Portland was ever attacked via the bay, I could hop behind a cannon and defend the city). As I made my way down the hill, I found the most perfect reading bench. The bench read: Eternal Vigilance is the price of liberty, one country and one flag, in memory of the grand army of the republic, dedicated September 9, 1929 by the Daughters of Union Veterans of the Civil War 1861-1865. So at this point, I was under the impression that Fort Allen Park is yet another celebration of the Civil War. However as I continued down the hill, I found another monument tucked away in a blissful looking garden (that I would have missed altogether if I had not directed a look of disdain toward the condominiums that obstruct the Prom's view of Casco Bay).

The memorial commemorated the lives lost in the September 11th terrorist attacks. It read: "If but one life be saved and one soul be comforted, all gave some, some gave all, and some still give. In honor and memory of all those who lost their lives in the rescue efforts of September 11, 2001. In a bronze plaque laid in the brick work are names of seven Maine men and women who gave their lives to the rescue efforts of 9/11: James M. Roux, Robert Norton, Jacqueline Norton, Robert Jalbert, Stephen G. Ward, Commander Robert A. Schlegel, and Carol Glyzik. I had finally found one monument my parents didn't exhaust in my childhood, but it was especially spooky because of its presence in the not so distant past. When I think of 9/11, I largely associate it with New York, and this monument encouraged my to broaden my understanding of the devastating impacts of the terrorist attacks-- their pervasive and far reaching consequences. I often think of Maine as a lone, isolate, safe state (to which there is certainly truth), but this memorial is proof that national events affect Maine peoples, and Maine peoples affect national events.

Recovering from a rather melancholy viewing of the 9/11 memorial, I encountered another canon and the bottom of the hill. But this cannon was decorated with a bronze plaque, unlike the ones at the entrance of the park. The plaque read: "gun recovered from the USS Maine, sunk in the harbor of Havana, Cuba, February 15, 1898." Finally! My horrible, non-historian-conducive-memory recalled a lesson from a high school history class. I smiled as I remembered learning about yellow journalism and how the USS Maine's untimely demise was not the fault of any foreign entity, but arguably a staged precursor to a desired war. It's amazing how much more exciting historical monuments are when you've learned about their context. 

Now that I'd made it down the hill and through the majority of Fort Allen Park (the 1890's bandstand was occupied by tanning teenagers as mentioned previously, and the USS Portland Memorial is another post) I decided that it was a military park, aimed at celebrating the contributions of Mainers throughout centuries of militaristic encounters: Revolutionary War, Civil War, Spanish American War, and the September 11th terrorist attacks. Upon further research, I learned that Fort Allen Park is a 4.5 acre area and was originally built as a fort in 1775. It was named after Commander William Henry Allen who was in the US Navy from 1784-1813. And in my favorite sentence ever written on a memorial's description "No shots were ever fired in anger from Fort Allen" but perhaps in joy, fright, or apathy? 

The Friends of the Eastern Promenade are currently working to restore the park with "historic landscape elements while balancing current needs such as ADA accessibility."

Sources:

http://easternpromenade.org/project-priorities/fort-allen-park-restoration-2/