The calendar had just recently turned its pages to the year 1893 and everyone was still in a celebratory mood. One evening that January, a group of about 20 people were invited to climb into the party sleigh of Nelson Titus for a wintry ride. A violin player rode along to provide musical accompaniment to the merrymaking. Upon reaching the sleigh’s destination, a delicious supper was served followed by a rollicking dance. More often, it was structures – not people – which were towed along the streets by Nelson Titus.

Born in 1815 in a Connecticut schoolhouse where his family had taken shelter after a massive storm blew their house down, Nelson eventually became a carpenter. On Dec. 12, 1837, he stood before Reverend George Tillotson and pledged his eternal love to 28-year-old Jane Cummings. The couple settled in Cranston, had half a dozen children and found that their livelihood was actually rooted in Nelson’s talent for moving mountainous buildings.

On their 50th wedding anniversary, Nelson and Titus welcomed their children, 18 grandchildren, friends and other relatives to the observance. Over 200 guests arrived and they assembled within the hall of the old Messer Street schoolhouse, which stood on the Titus property.

Reverend Tillotson had been invited but sent his regrets with an explanation that he was unable to make the trip. A letter he had written to the couple was read aloud. In place of Tillotson was Reverend Thomas Cocroft who presented a small marriage ceremony whereby Nelson was able to slide an elegant diamond ring on Jane’s finger – as rings had not been part of local marriage customs back in 1837. Present for this second committal was Ella Kenyon Bussey, who had been present for the first. Now blind and widowed, her attendance was a highlight of the day. After the ceremony, a large feast was laid out at the Titus home. Music later played in the hall as voices sang out in harmony and gifts were opened and admired. The party carried on until early the next morning, the men gathering together now and then to enjoy a smoke and male camaraderie in Nelson’s office. 

A highly respected man and useful resident, Nelson was the best at what he did – moving heavy things. In January of 1890, he and his workers relocated the old Clark building from the square to Latham Plat on North Allen Street in Johnston. Fastened to two horses one Wednesday morning, the building ambled down the streets as crowds of people lined the sidewalks to watch. Employees of the electric light and telegraph companies were on hand to cut wires in order to let the house pass by without obstruction, then splice them back together once it went by. The cost to move the building was about $450 and the roads it traveled down were blocked to traffic for quite some time.

During the spring of 1893, another local spectacle ensued when Nelson’s crew hauled a large barn from the Town Farm property to be set near the residence of Charles Nichols about a quarter of a mile away. During the local Fourth of July parade, it was no surprise when Nelson’s company “float” turned out to be an actual cottage pulled by gears along with the procession. On Aug. 9, 1893, Nelson wrote his will. He left $200 to his granddaughter Anne Titus and all else to his “beloved wife.” He directed who the heirs of the inheritance were to be after Jane’s own passing. Having always regarded death as simply a part of life, Nelson involved himself in designing his gravestone long before there was a grave to place it on. He had always been in awe of the beauty embedded in the white rocks of the Killingly, Connecticut hills where he had grown up. He made a sketch of the monument he desired to have one day marking his final resting place, constructed of Killingly white stone, and gave it to his sister for safekeeping.

Nelson died on Aug. 25, 1894 in Providence. His funeral took place four days later, at noon, at the Church of the Messiah.  He was laid to rest in Pocasset Cemetery and the sketch he had long ago made was passed from his sister to his 42-year-old son Lemuel. Determined to honor his father’s wishes, Lemuel went into the hills of Killingly to search for the perfect white stone.  Once he found it, he left and returned with a sled and six horses. The fact that the beautiful rock weighed about five tons suddenly proved to be a problem. No one but Nelson Titus himself could possibly be capable of relocating something so massive and heavy. Lemuel, however, decided to prove that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. He went and secured two more horses and returned to the spot.

That Saturday evening, a team of horses pulling a sled carried the six-foot-long, four-foot-square boulder down the streets toward Lemuel’s home. Eventually it would become the main shaft of the monument while two additional stones located by Lemuel would become the base and the pedestal. The trio of stones remained on Lemuel’s property while a snowstorm was awaited. With snow on the roads, the sled could more easily transport the stones to Providence to be made symmetrical.

Soon, the artistry imagined by Nelson would be placed atop his grave. But how fitting to first draw crowds of spectators watching the massive haul move slowly past.   

Kelly Sullivan is a Rhode Island columnist, lecturer and author.