PerSPeCtiveS 168 P r t L a n d montHL maga ine darLene ta Lor BLair Best Civil War, according to Lee, and likely visited the Abyssinian Meet- ing House as well as the Quaker meeting house. a Lingering PreSenCe W alking into the Abyssinian Meeting House today, the probability of his visit converges so powerfully you can almost see him here. Douglass would have entered the Meeting House through a central double-door, walking up a stairway to the vestibule and onto the sanctuary. The Reverend Amos Freeman would have greeted him and escorted him to the front of the room. As an eager crowd gathered, Douglass could have watched the day- light fade from the three large windows set in the east and west walls and felt the shadow of the windowless rear wall on his back. Oil lamps would have lit the room. The keen eyes and rough hands of the men who labored as seamen, stevedores, and dock workers would have been familiar to Douglass, who had been a caulker in Baltimore. Seat- ed beside their husbands, wives, upright and proud, would have been patting the sleepy heads of children. The parents wanted their sons and daughters to read, write, and feel the dignity of a house of wor- ship where no seat was prohibited from a black person. Douglass had a large, forceful presence, and a voice that reverberated and hung in the ceiling. After the speech, Douglass would have shaken the hands of the congregation as they de- parted for home in the neigh- borhoods south of Munjoy Hill. a ne LeaSe f Life Mirroring Douglass’s footsteps on my way to the Abyssinian Meeting House, I notice how simple and quiet the Feder- al-style structures of the India Street Historic District seem compared to the condominium con- struction a few blocks down and the bustle of the Old Port beyond. As I enter the empty meeting house, built by the hands of Portland’s African American community between 1828 and 1831, I observe how time shapes a place. Notches in the wood floor and walls re- veal where the original pews were placed. Marks on the floor suggest where the pulpit once stood. Restorers have stripped away layers of wallpaper and plaster, leaving behind the exposed timber frame sup- porting the roof. Dust floats in the muted afternoon light. Despite worn-away varnish and nail holes, the building retains a scarred beauty. Since the church closed its doors in 1917, it has been re-used as a stable, a store, and tenement family housing, each renovation carving the needs of new residents into the walls as new windows and entryways. Serving as a schoolhouse for black children before the Civil War, a secret station on the Underground Railroad, and a forum for re- nowned lecturers, the Abyssinian Meeting House stands as a testa- ment to Portland’s African-American heritage, earning it a designa- tion on the National Register of Historic Places. “It’s a uniquely spe- cial place,” says Leonard Cummings, chair of the Committee to Re- store the Abyssinian. Cummings envisions the Abyssinian Meeting House as a mu- seum with a central role in teaching young people, engaging the community in cultural discussions, and welcoming new resi- dents and visitors. Now restored, the Abyssinian Museum of History and Culture chronicles the untold stories of Portland’s African-American families dating back to the 1700s, and the struggles and survival of “the people who relished their freedom and lent their voice to make it real for others.” As Julie Larry of Greater Portland Landmarks says, “The Abyssinian Meeting House is a reminder of the contributions of African-Americans” throughout Portland’s history. ■ Despite worn-away varnish and nail holes, the building retains a scarred beauty.