ADIRONDACK LODGE by Alfred Donaldson published in 1921

A FEW miles south of Lake Placid is Heart Lake (formerly Clear Lake), on whose shores stood the once famous Adirondack Lodge, one of the largest log structures in the world. It was a unique building, erected and dominated for many years by a unique man—Henry van Hoevenberg.

For many of the details of his career I am indebted to one of his most intimate friends Mr. Godfrey Dewey of the Lake Placid Club, who wrote a lengthy obituary article concerning him for the "Lake Placid News" of March 1, 1918. Mr. van Hoevenberg, or "Mr. Van," as he was popularly called, came of Dutch Huguenot ancestry, and was born at Oswego, N. Y., on March 22, 1849. His family later moved to Lansingburg, and then to Troy, where he attended school. At an early age he showed a marked bent for mechanical invention. Obliged to go to work in his teens, he secured a position as telegraph messenger boy. His interest centered at once around the keyboard, and he soon became an expert operator. Telegraphy was then in its infancy, and the gifted young Van was not long in devising and applying schemes for its improvement. He was one of the first to see the possibilities of a printing telegraph, and ultimately contributed to its development some of the basic principles in use to-day. He rose rapidly in his profession and became chief electrician of the Baltimore & Ohio system. Later he was called to England to supervise one of the first printing telegraphs installed there. He is said to have taken out over one hundred patents in his lifetime, and to have received over $100,000 from them. Nearly all of this went into his Adirondack Lodge, and was ultimately lost. Like most inventors he was not remarkable for commercial shrewdness, and was prone to get into lawsuits. 23 About the time he built the lodge, he began to suffer from a virulent form of hay-fever, which gradually forced him to spend all his time in the woods and to give up all outside activities.

 After losing his ownership of the lodge, in 1895, he was engaged by the newly organized Lake Placid Club as its first postmaster and telegraph operator. Later he became manager of the telegraph office in the village of Lake Placid. In 1900 the Lake Placid Club bought the lodge and reinstalled Mr. Van as superintendent and host in his former home. He stayed there till it burned in the destructive fires of 1903. Again he went back to the club, acting in various useful and popular capacities. His interest at this time and his duties centered largely in promoting the objects of the Adirondack Camp and Trail Club, which was organized through the combined enthusiasm of himself, Mr. Edward A. Woods of Pittsburgh, and Mr. Godfrey Dewey. The purpose of the club was to blaze and keep open trails to the higher peaks and strategic points of outlook; to build lean-tos and huts, and to furnish them with a communal supply of blankets and cooking-utensils. Mr. Van's fondest dream was to erect a permanent stone shelter near the summit of Mount Marcy. This, however, he did not live to accomplish. Feeling the necessity of going into business, he moved across the lake and opened an electrical store in the village in 1917. Soon after, he was taken suddenly ill while off on a tramp one Sunday afternoon, and his friends at the club induced him to return to it for rest and recuperation. For a week he seemed to improve, but he died suddenly on February 25, 1918. Services were held at Lake Placid, and the body was taken to Troy for burial. He was survived by only one near relative, a sister, Mrs. Gilbert Knight of Gilbertsville, Mass.

The building of Adirondack Lodge traces back to romantic beginnings. Mr. Van's first visit to the mountains was in 1877 when, with some friends, he camped on Upper Ausable Lake. In the party was a Miss Josephine Scofield, to whom he became engaged. The young lovers were naturally under the spell of the Adirondacks, and wove them ardently into their plans for the future. They decided to climb the highest mountain and from its summit select the most beautiful spot in sight as the location for a future home—a home that was also to be a house of entertainment for friends and acquaintances. They ascended Mount Marcy, and found in the outlook some embarrassment of beautiful spots. Finally, however, they agreed upon one. It was a tiny lake that looked to them like a heart-shaped sapphire deeply cushioned in the velvety green of primeval tree-tops. It lay in utter seclusion, the mountains rising sheer from its shores. One of them was immediately named Mount Jo, in honor of Miss Scofield. The spot she chose became the site of the lodge, but she did not live to see it built. She died suddenly within the year. In the following summer of 1878, Mr. Van returned to the woods, having resolved to carry out alone, as a form of memorial, the general scheme that had been planned. He bought  640 acres of land surrounding Heart Lake and including Mount Jo.

He cleared a bit of level ground near the lake, and began the erection of the lodge. First of all, a road had to be built to it from the highway at North Elba. This new road was of corduroy construction, and traces of the massive logs that were used are still visible to-day. All the building material for the lodge, except the big logs, had to be hauled in from Ausable Forks, thirty-five miles away. The exterior of the house was formed of giant spruces, many of them measuring over two feet in the lower courses. The main building had a frontage of eighty-five feet and was thirty-six feet deep and three stories high, with a rear wing of almost equal size. A very high, built-in observation tower rose above the gabled roof, and broad piazzas stretched on every side. The interior was inlaid with every refinement of rustic work that skill and ingenuity could devise. It also contained every comfort and sanitary convenience that the times afforded, and was one of the first Adirondack hotels to offer bath-rooms to its guests. It was finally completed and opened to the public in the summer of 1880, and for fifteen years enjoyed a quiet but steady popularity. This was largely due to the personality of the owner, who made it play an important part in the entertainment of his guests. An indefatigable tramper himself, he opened and kept open over fifty miles of wood trails, diverging from the lodge to the many points of scenic beauty in the neighborhood. He believed, moreover, that a tramping- expedition should be made as comfortable as possible for all concerned.

He was among the first to realize that the charm of unavoidable hardships is not increased by unnecessary ones, and he was most successful in demonstrating the theory. His tramping and camping parties were always provided with dainty food and the best of bedding. His companionship and leadership on the trail were always eagerly sought. His enthusiasm, his cheerfulness, his knowledge of the woods, made him the best of guides, and his gift for weaving and telling a tale made him a boon companion. His story-telling—which extended to writing and publishing, and often took the form of verse—soon became an institution and tradition of the lodge. Special evenings were set apart for it and the out-of-door stage was artistically prepared around a huge camp fire. On these occasions the minstrel would appear in his famous suit of genuine Indian smoke-tanned buckskin, ornamented with gay Mexican beadwork. Mr. Van was small of stature, but stocky and muscular, and had the dogged endurance of an Indian. He wore a grizzly beard, and his keen eyes were shadowed by bushy brows. The eyes reflected a general gentleness of character, but could flash with the fire of righteous anger. His dress was the material expression of his outdoors disposition.

 Early in his Adirondack career he had originated the idea of wearing leather clothing, and this unusual but durable attire became distinctly associated with his person. It was the outcome of his constant tramping and working in the woods, and the inadequacy of ordinary clothing to withstand rough usage. He had a dozen leather suits, each of a different color. One of these lasted him for twenty years. Another familiar link with his appearance was a beautiful pet saddle-horse which he used for making his almost daily trips between the lodge and Lake Placid village. He lost the lodge in 1885 through litigation that was connected with some of his patents, and being reinstated as manager in 1900, there followed three happy summers there for himself and his many friends.

Then, in the spring of 1903, came the fearful fires that destroyed it. No one who was living in the Adirondacks at the time will ever forget the dread and suspense of those days. The whole woods seemed ablaze, and there were actually fires in every section of them. They started during a long drought, and continued through a spell of almost windless weather. The result was a dense pall of smoke that settled everywhere and obscured the outlook a hundred feet away. This, continuing from day to day, caused a nerve-racking uncertainty. No one not definitely informed could tell where the fires were, which way they were creeping, or when they might flare up suddenly near camp or cabin. It was thus that they stealthily stormed the lodge. On June 3d, the fatal day, there was no one there but a gang of workmen. Mr. Van had been off camping for the night and scouting for danger. He returned home in the belief that none was near. Hardly had he entered the house, however, when a telephone call for help came from South Meadows, a mile away to the east. The fires were there and headed for the lodge. Horses and men were at once dispatched to the rescue, but were soon forced to turn back before rapidly advancing smoke and flames.

Mr. Van, meanwhile, had mounted his seventy-foot outlook tower, and tried to peer over the smoke-smothered tree-tops. He could just see the flare of inevitable doom surging down from Mount Jo. He was being hemmed in by two fires. He saw that the lodge was doomed and that his own escape was already problematical. He called to his men to help him carry down his large telescope and place it in a boat, which he pushed out into the lake. Then he threw the table silver into shallow water. Next he brought out the unfinished model of his "Kemigraph"—his latest invention—and placed it on a rock in the clearing. Finally, he emptied the stable of horses, and locked the doors. These things done, he turned his thoughts to escape. By this time the men sent to South Meadows had returned, and Mr. Van started with them all on the trail around the lake leading to the Indian Pass. It was the only avenue of retreat left open. They had not gone far, however, when one of the men—Frank Williams, the caretaker—discovered that Mr. Van had disappeared. Guessing the truth, he ran back to the lodge and there found the captain determined to go down with his ship. It was a foolish bit of bravado, if you like, and directly traceable, no doubt, to over strung nerves, but, showing a touching depth of affection for a place—and a place he no longer owned but merely loved. The colloquy that followed was short. Mr. Van drew a revolver and bid Williams begone. The latter sat down and refused to budge without his employer. This restored reason to the fanatic. He hastily gathered a few things together and consented to go. The two men started on a run. They were none too soon. The flames were already leaping across their path. Mr. Van's condition can be judged from the fact that a red-hot ember embedded itself in his hand, but he was not aware of it till security was reached and relaxation set in.

The party gained the borders of the Indian Pass at nightfall, and rested there in a coign of safety. The darkness was lined with a lurid silence. Few, if any, slept. Suddenly,  about midnight, the nervous watchers heard a distant crumbling crash. They gazed at each other with a sure surmise. They knew the voice and read the message right.

The Adirondack Lodge had passed into the Land of Things that Were.