Murder Mansion

Fifteen years ago today, Steven Hill and I bought a house locally known as the Murder Mansion. Murder Mansion because it is a big house and, you know… MURDER. In the mid-1950s, a man called Tex Perkins killed his estranged wife and then himself in the front yard. In 1979 a woman named Joyce died in the front entryway at the hands of her roommate, Tom, a man with one leg— relevant because of the tremendous number of stairs in the 3-story plus a tower house. Tom made his way to the tower with a gun and wouldn’t let the police in to help Joyce. It was a standoff that lasted for hours. He finally surrendered for a six-pack and McDonalds. You can’t make this stuff up. The Sandwich Historical Society didn’t want to talk about the history of our new home. The truth was gleaned from obituaries found in the library— old obits are FULL of fun facts and gossip. A neighbor filled in a lot of the missing pieces a couple of years after we moved in.

The Murder Mansion became Center Street Clay (CSC), my brainchild, starring my guy Steven Hill. Steven was/is a well-known, talented, and most importantly, charismatic potter. We created a residential Ceramic Arts Center, converting the huge garage into a studio with a dozen wheels, gas and electric kilns. We had 1-2 residents that lived on the first floor/dorms. They helped in the studio in exchange for housing and mentoring by Steven. The second floor had a beautiful gallery with top-notch pottery for sale. Steven had a room on that floor along with our office and a dining room for our guests. My kids and I lived on the 3rd floor. I think the spirits were on the first floor, in the entryway and the tower.

People traveled from all over North America for our ceramic workshops. They would eat and sleep and make pots at CSC for a week or two. The workshop would end with a public show in the gallery and a bash including a band, usually Redhorse. We had so much fun. We always said it was a good party when the police came due to noise complaints. I loved building community even more than I liked making pots. I liked entertaining. I was proud of CSC. It was like magic while it worked.

Like magic when it worked and a disaster when it didn’t, like Steven and I. We inspired the extremes in one another. The last time I saw Steven, I threw a brick at his van. I actually took a breath before I threw it so I would miss. I didn’t want him to stop. I was done talking to him. I am not proud of that goodbye gesture. I mention it because it illustrates perfectly why we couldn’t be together.

I moved from a 6000 square foot house to an 800 square foot apartment. I sold all the studio equipment and went to grad school. I didn’t want to live in the shadow of Steven. The clay community is too small, so I said goodbye to our home, my guy, and my career. I was angry for a long time.

I woke up today certain that I wanted to write this story. I rarely talk about any of this. I want to say that 15 years later, I wouldn’t change one thing. Not one. I learned a lot. Community matters to me and I continue to help build groups. I still love art and music. I have a fantastic clay collection. My kids grew up with a lot of people that care about them. MANY young women found a safe, fun place on the third floor. Two of our residents fell in love, got married, have a child and are thriving artists. I have a few loyal friends that stuck with me through all of this. I have a meaningful career. I get to help people. I am independent. I am blessed.

Every step we have ever taken leads us to where we are. I am happy exactly where I am.