The Emancipation of Mabel Dole

Mabel Dole was a menacing presence in my childhood even though I never met her. When my brother or I would fight over the television or leave our crap laying around, my mom would screech at us that she was going to call Mabel Dole to babysit us. We’d never met this chick, but the very mention of her name evoked enough fear that I would gather up my Barbies in the living room and quietly listen to my New Kids on the Block cassette in my bedroom for the rest of the afternoon. 

Mabel was a fabled creature in the tiny town where I grew up. During my childhood in the 1980s, we were told she lived in the old-folks home where my elementary school class would visit once a year to sing Christmas carols. I remained on high alert throughout our serenade of Jingle Bells and Holly Jolly Christmas in case Mabel Dole was hiding behind the curtains waiting to snatch and eat me Hansel-and-Gretel style. Convalescent homes were scary enough in the 1980s without adding the element of abduction or cannibalism. Part of her mystique was not knowing how she would torment me, so I couldn’t eliminate any risk. 

With age and reason I began to doubt her existence. Parents use a menagerie of empty threats and I’m no exception. I would pretend to call Santa Claus when my son was 3 years-old to inform him that SJ was giving me the business about getting dressed to go to Kindermusik. His eyes would well up with tears and say, “No! Don’t call ‘Santna!’” And then do what I asked. (Pro-Parenting Tip: If your kid won’t get dressed in the morning, put them to bed in their clothes for the next day the night before. Then you don’t have to fight). So I understand if that was the line of reasoning my parents were using. But was Mabel Dole an actual person or just a figure my parents made up to utilize a little light psychological trauma to get me to put my stuffed animals in the Pet Net? 

So I texted my mom.

Me: Was Mabel Dole real? 

Mom: Yes, she was absolutely real. Why? Are you threatening SJ with her?

Me: Um, no. That’s bonkers parenting. But why was she so scary? What was the deal with her?

Mom: It’s too much to type. I will tell you the next time we get together.

In the meantime she recommended I reach out to one of my aunts who she claims has a treasure trove of stories to unmask this real-life witch. 

So I emailed Aunt Sue*, and asked her if she could give me some good Mable Dole stories. She obliged her favorite niece.

According to Aunt Sue, Mabel Dole lived cadi-corner from the home she and my mom grew up in. It was the late 1950s and early 1960s so it was still acceptable to refer to her as an “old maid.” Tall and slender, Sue compared her to the Wicked Witch of the West, with sharp features and always wearing long dresses. She shared the home with her mother who was widowed, until eventually her mother passed away and she lived alone. 

This all sounds like the makings of a creepy character from a movie set during that time period, but aside from her appearance, I didn’t see what the hubbub was about. Why were the kids so frightened by her? My aunt elaborated.

“She always had her blinds closed tight, so some of us kids would sneak over to her house after dark and try and watch her undress to see how many petticoats she wore.” 

Wait, what? 

“Let me assure you we never saw her naked, as it would have caused us to start laughing or throwing up!”

Hold on. So you were all terrified of this person, but you would trespass on her property and spy on her at night? And you were afraid of her? 

“One time she did catch us and she came out on her porch. We took off running in the opposite direction of our house. She hollered at us and said, ‘You’re going the wrong way!’ So she most likely knew it was us Heck* kids.” 

For sure it was the Heck Kids. I mean there were 8 of them and, by all accounts, not much supervision. So if we are keeping score of whose side I am on I would have to say, based on Aunt Sue’s story, it’s Mabel Dole:1, Heck Kids: 0. 

I was expecting my mom to have some meaty stories since she claimed her account was so complex that she couldn’t send it in a text. So I braced myself for tales of clandestine meetings between Mabel Dole and Russian spies. Or that she was a Wiccan and kept jars full of things like giraffe tongues and porcupine quills. 

But her story was not that. 

Mom recalled the night before her oldest sister, Henrietta*, was to be married. Mom was number 7 of the 8 Heck Kids, so there was a huge disparity in age between her and some of her siblings. The older members of the family had gone to the church for the rehearsal, and my grandma had enlisted Mable Dole to care for the younger children, consisting of my mom and her brothers, Ray* and Dean*. 

“She made us all sit on a couch in the back room of the house and we were not allowed to move from the couch or talk,” mom recalled. 

This didn’t sound so bad to me. I mean, I had a babysitter who would taste the food she made for lunch then spit it back in the pot so as to not waste any of it. Sitting still on a couch is far less traumatizing than eating backwash Sloppy Joes. And another babysitter had a daughter who was a biter and I was her daily target. So unless Mable Dole sunk her teeth into the kids or spit in their food, I was not having any of this. 

I asked why Grandma would have Mabel Dole babysit if she was as wretched as everyone else claimed. She didn’t have an answer but my guess is no one else in town wanted to watch the Heck Kids because they were a bunch of Peeping Toms. Based on mom’s account of the “Rehearsal Dinner Babysitting Saga,” I have decided it is Mabel Dole: 2, Heck Kids, 0.

Nearly 40 years of my life were spent thinking the name Mabel Dole was synonymous with “torturous witch.” These stories, in my opinion, didn’t justify the reputation assigned to her. I needed more so I broadened my search.

I reached out to a family friend, Ingritte*, who grew up with my aunts and uncles. Ingritte was the perfect person to contact, because in addition to being a life-long area resident, she is also the local funeral home director, a business she inherited from her parents. Not only did I believe Ingritte would have memories of Mabel Dole, but she may have actually been involved in her funeral process when she passed away in 1990. 

Ingritte didn’t have all the stories I had hoped for, but she did have one piece of information that I couldn’t shake from my conscience: Mabel Dole never had a proper headstone at the city cemetery because no one purchased it. She said someone had inquired about getting a stone, but never followed through and then that person passed away, too. Ingritte made a generic metal marker for the gravesite that she said still stands there today. 

This was a turning point for me in my research. The person I had set out to portray as the villain of my childhood was more complex than I anticipated. I kept waiting for that smoking-gun of a story to unmask her as the villain she had been described as for decades. But my assessment of her so far was a lonely woman who was cursed with resting-bitch face, and not the monster of my nightmares.

I circled back to the term each person used in the first sentence describing Mabel Dole: Old Maid. The imagery associated with this label is so strong that her existence seemed to be reduced to this characterization. 

Amy Friode, a professor of History at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County, wrote an outstanding article called, “Spinster, Old Maid or Self-Partnered – Why Words for Single Women Have Changed Through Time” for the website, The Conversation. 

Friode references an anonymously written pamphlet from 1713 called “A Satyr of Old Maids,” that refers to unwed women as “repugnant,” “odious,” and “impure.” It went so far as to claim that when unmarried women died they would be punished by “leading apes in Hell.” Good lord! This seems like a steep punishment for someone who simply couldn’t find the right guy to share a bed with, or didn’t want the burden of birthing a dozen kids. Men who made similar choices got to be “swinging bachelors” and women were forced to an eternity of walking primates around in Hell. (Insert eye roll).

***

I had a trip planned to visit my parents and the timing lined up perfectly with my research. I began where all good writers start their research: the local library. Built in 1921, the Canton Public Library was the last of the Carnegie Libraries to be constructed. The town recently invested in its remodel as well as an addition to the existing structure. It is truly a gem in this community, as it was abuzz with locals the afternoon I visited. Much like myself, my mom seems to know people everywhere she goes so she immediately recognized a few of the patrons. She told each of them about my quest to unmask Mabel Dole and asked if any of them had stories. One sweet woman, Leslie, said her grandparents lived next door to her. 

Jackpot. 

I peppered her with questions, but she didn’t have much to give. She was certain her brother, Leroy*, would have some stories. She phoned him from our table at the library and passed him off to me. I explained my purpose and what I was seeking out, and Leroy was receptive to my mission. 

Like his sister, he recalled Mabel Dole living next door to his grandparents when he was a child. A car enthusiast himself, Leroy mostly remembered her for having the oldest automobile in town. 

“It was the oldest car around so it immediately caught my eye. I think it was a ‘36 Chevy. Maybe a dark gray color,” he said. “It was old and plain.” 

Kind of like her, I thought. 

I asked him if he was frightened of her or thought she was a witch.

“No, I didn’t think she was scary. I never talked to her, but I wasn’t one to make the first move.” 

I asked if he would describe her as a recluse, but he stopped short of that. He said she just mostly kept to herself. 

A question that had been perplexing to me was how Mabel Dole supported herself. Because Leroy was so familiar with the community and its history, I asked if he had any idea what she did for a living, as I was sure “spinster” wasn’t her actual occupation. 

“Her family owned quite a bit of land outside of town. It was called Dole’s Park, named after her grandfather, Benjamin Franklin Dole,” he explained. “As I recall the land was bought for oil wells and maybe for horse racing. She probably inherited the land and lived off the money for that.” 

Dang, Mabel Dole was an heiress! I mean, not like Paris Hilton or anything, but you get the idea. 

But he gave me two of the best leads of my investigation. In the public library where I was sitting lived a book about the history of the community that had information about Dole’s Park. Leroy also believed a picture of her in a Model T car existed in that same book. I had been desperate for a picture of her, but until then I wasn’t sure if anything actually existed. 

***

I learned from the “History of Canton” book that Doles Park was founded in 1898 by B.F. Dole. It had only one street, but boasted a general store, post office, cream station, school, and a track for racing horses. B.F. Dole migrated to the area from Illinois with dreams of building the next great town. A hotel was built North of the town where transients could get room and board. A train station was never built, but mail was thrown from boxcars (without ever slowing down) onto a platform. A small schoolhouse was built and attracted many games of baseball for the younger generation. 

Mabel is mentioned in the accounts of Doles Park and is named as one of Benjamin Dole’s three daughters. There were no direct quotes, but the article summarized her by saying, “Mabel Dole recalls many experiences she had as a girl in Doles Park.” A little vague, but ok. 

Over time, the tiny town disappeared. B.F. Dole’s vision for the area never fully came to fruition. The post office closed on New Year’s Eve 1918, and the hotel shut down in 1942. 

But the land still remained valuable. The assumption I have come to is that eventually the acreage was sold and the money was distributed to the heirs of B.F. Dole, which would have included Mabel. By all accounts she lived a simple life, so perhaps that nest egg in addition to sewing and the occasional babysitting duty at the Heck home was enough to make ends meet. 

***

It was time to visit the resting place of Mabel Dole. Interestingly, the town cemetery is one of the more scenic areas in town. It’s where the land stops being so flat and the hills begin rolling. Buffalo can be found roaming on protected grounds nearby and many of my departed family members rest there. It’s actually a very comforting space. 

Spotting the Dole section of the cemetery was easy. These were some of the largest headstones on the grounds and close to the entrance. They had primo space since they were some of the original residents of the cemetery. At the first walk by, we did not see the marker Ingritte had described. Mom and I wandered to the directory of names with the corresponding plot numbers to verify the location and returned to the Dole section. To my horror, not only had Mabel not been given a proper headstone like the rest of her family, but the marker that once stood there was mangled by a lawnmower. Her name didn’t even exist on her burial ground. 

***

I read a quote once that said, “Live the life you want to be remembered by.” This struck me as a way to make choices in my life - How do you want to be remembered? I hope that when I pass, those who knew me recall me as a person who was helpful and never hesitated to stand up for a cause, was a consummate hostess who loved pouring drinks and entertaining friends, and someone who made you laugh and feel warm. 

Perhaps Mabel rightly earned her reputation as the town witch. Maybe she was mean and reclusive like my aunts and uncles described. That’s definitely a possibility. But consider that she would have also been a person with ideas and dreams and interests like all of us. And maybe she didn’t have the social skills to develop close relationships thus making her look reclusive when she was actually just lonely. Or just wanted to be left alone. 

Most of Mabel Dole’s contemporaries have long since passed. Her life became reduced to fabled tales, and eventually no one will remain to tell her tale. For now this story and my emancipation of Mabel Dole pauses, but I assure this is not where my story with her will end….