The first five-member board

Part Two: A tenth generation Cape Codder partners with 'the cosmic garbageman'

If you missed part one, find it here: Five fingers make one board

They were as unlikely a pair of allies as you could ever find in a small town like Dennis, their backgrounds, skills, experience, and temperaments wildly different. Yet between them they created a little revolution, changing their town and then setting the example that changed the face of government Cape-wide.

No one can out-Cape Cod Henry Kelley, except maybe a Crowell or Nickerson. Henry can trace direct lineage on the peninsula back 10 generations, to 1655, though most of the Kelleys were not of wealthy persuasion. Soft-spoken, careful, a Quaker and high school teacher for a bit, Kelley, now 83, has always had a passion for his hometown and a wide streak of political activism. His family roots should have put him among the locals driving the big building boom, profiting off growth and development, but his intelligence coupled with instincts you could call conservative (in the sense of protecting and conserving) drove him toward environmentalism, land protection, a belief that government – and democracy -- should be inclusive.

Then there was Joe Merchant. Some people called him “the cosmic garbageman,” because he owned a trash collection business but clearly his mind was occupied with a lot more than tipping fees. As the psychedelic Sixties evolved into the Seventies, Merchant seemed to be expanding his own consciousness, and contacts; one night, after a meeting in Dennis town hall, the story goes that Merchant went around to his business buddies and hit them up for loans, not saying where the money was going, only that he needed it right away. Those funds supposedly made it to Mexico and into the hands of acid guru Timothy Leary, who was on the run.

Years later, after Merchant’s untimely and suspicious death, few thought it was a coincidence that the name of famous songwriter Jimmy Buffett’s novel invoked a question, prompted by an apparent suicide: “Where is Joe Merchant?”

But I digress.

Kelley was done with the good old boy approach to town government. Merchant, coming out of that good old boy world, was intrigued with mixing it up, expansiveness, political power, getting away from status quo thinking. The two decided to run for the board of selectmen as a team, with a promise: If elected, we will abolish the full-time three-member board we are running to join.

Kelley, a savvy strategist, saw that if they could transform that board into a five-member, part-time, volunteer group, suddenly the whole profile of what it means to be a selectman would change. It wouldn’t be a “real job” anymore, no financial incentives. New people, experienced and skilled, could bring their public-spirited energy to the town, not beholden to deep families ties and subtle conflicts of interest. And if the board was all-volunteer, money would be freed up to hire a full-time executive secretary or town administrator to professionalize operations.

It took a few years, during which Joe Merchant died from what was deemed a self-inflicted shotgun blast in his home atop Scargo Lake, but the vision these two brought to Dennis succeeded. Consider the makeup of the town’s board of selectmen by 1976:

Kelley as chair. Richard “Baldy” Shea, hardworking earthmover and blunt businessman from the town’s more workingclass south side. S. Russell Kingman, recent arrival to a top lending position at a local bank from the more staid north side. Henry Boles, an accomplished Black architect in retirement. Don Moncevicz, an engineer working at the big military base a few towns over.

Five digits, five strengths.

Change at the top also encouraged townspeople to engage at other levels. Conservation commission, planning board, appeals board, all saw new faces and perspectives, many recruited by Kelley. The town became the Cape leader in purchasing open space for conservation, more than once battling developers on the brink of ambitious subdivision plans. The town’s professional executive secretary actually had staff expectations, and held people at least somewhat accountable.

It took until the 1980s, but every town on Cape Cod that had a board of selectmen, meaning every town but Barnstable, threw in the towel and went to five members.

There we remain – and there are still a few people around who wonder about Jimmy Buffett’s question.

NEXT UP: GETTING PAST COVID MEANS KEEPING VENUES LIKE PAYOMET ALIVE

Illustration by Ellen LeBow