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Robed in black, Rev. Albert Penner, 31, mounted the pulpit to conduct a service as simple as the dead man. There was no eulogy, for the widow had said: "Everyone knows what Mr. Coolidge has done and who he was." A quartet sang "Lead, Kindly Light." . . . The Minister pronounced the benediction. "The Lord bless you and keep you . . . give you peace both now and forevermore." President Hoover lifted his head. In 22 minutes the service was over.
Afterwards President Hoover and Chief Justice Hughes called briefly at "The Beeches." John Coolidge went to the door with them as they left to take their train directly back to Washington. Now it was raining hard.
At Plymouth, 100 mi. north, Sexton Azro Johnson had a new grave ready in the Hillside Cemetery where lie six generations of Coolidges. Twenty motorcars made the trip through a wet, cheerless afternoon. Their tires droned a dirge on the rutty mud. From the last road the coffin was carried up the knoll to Plymouth Notch's stony "God's Acre." Mourners followed in single file. Across the road in respectful silence villagers who had known Calvin Coolidge since his birth in yonder farmhouse watched their stark outline against the grey tapestry of winter clouds. The rain changed to hail. Someone held an umbrella over Mrs. Coolidge. Down from Salt Ash Mountain whooped a blast of icy wind, flapping the brown canvas canopy over the grave, wrenching the floral wreaths. Bareheaded in the storm. Mr. Penner pronounced the committal. The wind snatched at his strongly-spoken words, whirled them away. . . . "Earth to Earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust." The winches creaked. Down into the earth went all that remained of Calvin Coolidge to sleep between his father and his son. His widow turned away as the gravediggers started to shovel in brown, rain-soaked dirt. For the first time tears overflowed her brave grey eyes.
That night snow fell blotting out all trace of the new grave.
In 1928 at Bennington, Vt., Calvin Coolidge read the following poem, his own: Vermont is a State I love. I could not look Upon the peaks Of Ascutney, Killington, Mansfield and Equinox Without being moved In a way that no other scene Could move me!
It was there That I first saw The light of day; Here I received my bride, Here my dead lie, Pillowed on the loving breast Of our everlasting hills.
*Clogging of one of the heart arteries.