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Ben Stone
My wife, Mary, and I first met Ben Stone in the late 1970's when we were doing the regional folk music circuit. At that time, Ben was active in promoting folk music in the region. He started the Montrose Folk Music Society and the Old Mill Village Folk Musicians Contest. Ben was a first rate craftsman making mountain and hammer dulcimers that were sold throughout the nation. Marv and I visited Ben's home in Dimock to see his dulcimers. Through my work as a free lance reporter and environmentalist, I worked with Ben Stone on a wide range of environmental issues over these many years. Ben worked on some of the toughest, most grinding environmental issues anyone could ever encounter and through it all, Ben Stone always maintained his noted kind and gentle demeanor. Often during environmental battles when faced with almost insurmountable odds, when everyone was ready to throw up their hands, get in their cars and drive off, Ben Stone stayed and used his steady rational course to try and work things out. Always the peace maker. Ben Stone was a true believer in doing what was good and right for man and environment. He was a man of principle and substance and character. Always caring, always giving. Whether it was serving as president of the regional environmental group RESCUE, president of the Elk Lake PTA, Resident Naturalist at the Woodboume Forest and Wildlife Sanctuary, fighting against the citing of landfills and trash incinerators in the county, organizing a recycling program in his hometown and for Susquehanna County, Ben Stone was always the consummate volunteer who you could trust and count on. Driven by a need to make the world a better place for his three daughters, Ben's accomplishments in promoting a better environment in Susquehanna County are immeasurable and his work in promoting folk music will travel long past his time. We all loved Ben Stone. He will be sorely missed. Benjamin B. Stone - Montrose
During the energy crisis in the 1970's, he turned his skills to custom building energy-efficient wood burning stoves and built over 400 stoves, most of which are still in use in the County and elsewhere. Although his stoves would have passed all of the EPA Pollution Guidelines in 1988, the costs for undertaking the tests forced Benjamin to discontinue the business and he returned to work as a foreman for a private road building company in Cortland, NY, work that he had begun as a college student. Benjamin was a staunch, dedicated conservationist and fought together with Return Susquehanna County Under Ecology (R.E.S.C.U.E.), of which he was president, to keep closed the Clymar Landfill and other landfflls in the county. He organized the Dimock Recycling program and manned its collection for three years. Benjamin was an instrumental figure in establishing the county's recycling program and had seen it through to its completion having served on the county's RESWAP Committee. He was an active member of the Woodbourne Forest Committee, Endless Mountains Forum, Old Mill Village Association, a past president of the Elk Lake PTA and secretary for the Laborers Local #7 in Binghamton. He was the beloved father of three daughters, Lila May Barnes Stone, Violet Whitney Stone and Jill Mildred Stone all still residing at home. He also leaves behind a brother Fred D. Stone, sisters Mrs. Beth Stewart, Ms. Laura Stone, and Ms. Nancy Hutto, two brothers-in-law Frank W. Barnes and Charles W. Barnes, several nieces and nephews, and many close friends. An outdoor memorial service is planned for him at the family's home in Ditnock at 2 PM, Saturday April 17th, in which his friends and associates are welcome to participate. Individuals wishing to remember Ben may send a contribution to the Benjamin Stone Scholarship Fund, R.E.S.C.U.E, c/o Dot McPherson, RR# 1, Box 1025, Nicholson, PA 18446 or to Woodbourne Forest Preserve, Dirnock PA, 18816.
Amidst a sky of pouring tears and cold temperatures, over 200 friends and family members created a wake for Ben Stone that was all that it could have been for one of the greatest men that ever lived. We held the Celebration in two large connecting tents in the front yard of our home that Ben had built. Many musicians played songs and his three daughters and nieces led the audience in singing a very sad song that had rounds. Cars were parked on our dirt road for almost a 1/2 mile away. His family members and friends each took a turn standing in front of the mic for 2 1/2 hours and spoke on all the enormous contributions and effects Ben has had on their lives and of his fine attributes... Hello, to all those to whom Ben's life might have touched from his heart-broken wife. We had been married for almost 29 years. I am still in the early stages of this shock but wanted you to know that we deeply appreciate your efforts to reach out to us. The flower arrangement from Ben's Creek Boating Association is breathtaking. Thank you so much. How ironical that the name of your club is Ben and the creek that he died in is called Stoney. I never should have let him go there. Ben was just the most wonderful husband, father, environmentalist and advocate for so many causes. I had tried repeatedly to send out this obituary a few days ago and invite you to the Gathering we had for him but our connection to the internet has been down. I haven't been able to find Ben's password to have access to the Paddling Board. I knew Fred Lally was going to send out an invite and I'm so glad he did because five men who were with Ben last weekend attended our farewell. Our experience with this tragedy is that river boat drownings are exceptionally hard for a family to comprehend and accept. Because they are an accident, the family is totally unprepared for the news. My three daughters and I were over 400 miles from home, out on the Oberlin College campus in Ohio having one of the best times of our lives, when I was told over the telephone by the coroner. There was no one around us who even knew Benjamin. Secondly, an accident implies a death that could have been avoided. Knowing how strong and intelligent Ben was made it further inconceivable. It was him against nature, not another car that swerved into him where he had no chance. And lastly, everyone this week has supplied us with a different interpretation of what happened at the end. Ben's life would have been saved if different decisions had been made. I will relate those at a later date, and hope that those with Ben will give their own accounts so the chances of this terrible tragedy happening again are lessened. As of today, seven days after the accident, I can only say this: Robert, Tom, Jon, Lee, and Ed came to the Celebration yesterday and politely stood at the back through it all. They represented two of the 4 paddlers with Ben, and two of the individuals who paddled in the group that were behind him. John had only talked to Ben for five minutes the day before and he was the individual who had pulled my husband's body out of the creek. They waited for us to say our good byes to Ben's friends until my three daughters and I could sit down with them more quietly. They politely and respectfully answered every question they could regarding the accident. They revealed themselves to be of sterling natures and any feelings of anger we may have had for them vanished and made me feel guilty. We quickly removed Ben's dulcimers, pictures and other items related to Ben's life and I insisted that we all sit around the table that Ben had built (He had also built our home, garage, the woodburning stove that was keeping us all warm, etc., etc., etc.) and share some dinner. It was really important to me that they should become a part of our family, if not forever, at least for that full day of our lives. I gave them a tour of our home, and brought them into Ben's room to see it as he had left it, with the bed half made and clothes still on the floor and also to see our daughters' rooms and even my bedroom which holds Ben's hammered dulcimer. When we came downstairs, I asked that we hold hands in a circle, close our eyes, connect and send our love to each other. We embraced each other and I told the individual feeling the worst to stop feeling badly about not doing more for Ben and that I wanted him to go on and lead a full life. I don't think that any of us will ever forget that night. We want Ben back…we can't accept it. I don't have time to write anymore now. Joyce Stone to be continued ...
Some of us, if we're very, very lucky, get one opportunity in our lifetimes to meet and know an individual who is so extraordinarily special that his impact on this Earth is far greater in so many ways than the combined impact of the rest of us. Ben was such a person, and we are all so very, very lucky to have known him. Rare is the man who has goals and dreams far greater than fame and wealth. Rare is the man who follows his heart in his every move and thought. Rare is the man who remains focused and calm when others have long since crumbled or raged. Rare is the man who thinks before he speaks. Rare is the man whose consideration of others is always of greater import than his own needs. And rare is the man who listens. Ben was such a man. We cannot begin to comprehend the loss you now must reckon with; a loss far greater than that which any of us face with Ben's death. Yet the loss I feel, and I personally know dozens who share that loss, is unbelievably powerful. Excepting the death of my parents, never have I felt such grief and emptiness. We have all lost a powerful influence. For somehow, in his own quiet way, Ben had a tremendous impact on all of our lives. His accomplishments and credits alone make a formidable listing. He did more good for Earth and all of Her inhabitants in his all too brief lifetime than most of us would be able to claim credit for in five lifet imes. He filled his life and the lives of those around him with joy, and love, and music. He took adversity in stride; to him it seemed to be just another wonderful opportunity. Ben reminded us on at least one recent occasion that when walking in the woods and fields we should leave nothing but footprints. I'm afraid that this is perhaps the only time he didn't follow his own advice. He has left us with so much more than footprints, perhaps because with every ounce of his being he truly lived lightly on the Land. But with all of his assets, credits, and accomplishments, when I think of Ben the adjectives that are always first in my mind are quiet, kind, and gentle. He had sent an e-mail message to me on Friday, April 9, concerning R.E.S.C.U.E.'s involvement in some Earth Day activity. His closing words were: "It's great weather. I hope you can get out to enjoy it. I planted peas, spinach, potatoes and onions last week. " Dorothy B. McPherson
It wasn't really a funeral. At least not in the traditional sense of the word. It was called a Memorial Service. Yet it wasn't a service, either -- not in the traditional sense of the word. But a memorial it surely was. The weather probably kept some folks from attending. Nonetheless, some two hundred people gathered at the home of Ben's wife and daughters on April 17th, under the cover of a huge tent, despite the rain, the mud, the cold, and the damp. Benjamin B. Stone. Just "Ben" to most of his friends, but always "Benjamin" to Joyce, with whom he'd shared the last twenty-five years or so. Who was he, this man whose death brought hundreds of people to an outdoor memorial service in such inclement weather? Many of his family, and Joyce's family, got up and told us of their thoughts, their loss, or their remembrances. A dozen or so of his friends also spoke of their experiences with Ben. Some spoke of his human qualities, his ethics, his morals. Others spoke of his talents, his craftsmanship, his leadership. We laughed together at the tales of some of Ben's foibles, and we wept together as we listened to his three beautiful daughters tell us of their love and their loss. And we marvelled at Joyce's strength as she rose and spoke to us about her best friend, their marriage, and their family. All of these people spoke about Ben. But the best picture of Ben, and who he was, came simply from looking at those two hundred some-odd friends who had come to say goodbye. Some had known Ben through his craftsmanship. He built dozens of beautiful dulcimers which are now in homes throughout the country. He built the home that Joyce and daughters now occupy without him. He built the wood-burning stove that warms them . . . along with some 400 other stoves, most of which are still undoubtedly in use throughout Susq uehanna County. (Ironically, the EPA regulations which came into being at that time forced Ben to stop making those stoves. Although they would have passed with flying colors, he couldn't afford the $17,000 it would cost to test each one, for they were all custom-made.) Some people knew Ben for his love of folk music. Because of that love, he started the Montrose Folk Music Society, arranging monthly concerts for five years straight. He also originated the Folk Musicians Contest at Old Mill Village in New Milford and organized each annual event for 22 years. Some will remember him as an educator. Indeed, Ben had taught high-school science for more than a decade. He knew the value of education and spent a dozen years or more on his local school board fighting all the way for what was right for both the students and the teachers. Yet others will recall Ben's union involvement, having fought for many years with his union for improved medical benefits. And of course, some will remember Ben as an environmentalist. Ben loved this Earth and all things Natural. He not only enjoyed hiking, camping, boating, and all the other oudoorsy things that we of that ilk enjoy, but he served on the Board of the Nature Conservancy's Woodbourne Preserve for many, many years. . . not only attending and actively participating in each meeting, but physically working on each and every project that developed. Ben was almost solely responsible for developing the recycling program in Dimock Township. Although many others helped out on a Saturday now and then when the recyclables were collected, Ben was there, working and teaching each and every Saturday for a good three years. And, of course, Ben agreed to take on the duties of President of R.E.S.C.U.E. for a term of two years. That was in May of 1994, and he remained our President until his death on April 10. And so there were people at Ben Stone's memorial from all walks of life: old and young, wealthy and poor, handsome and plain, up-tight and laid-back, boisterous and shy. In fact, at some point, each person in attendance was struck by the diversity of that large group, and knew at that moment that Ben had been a very special man, indeed. Ben Stone, at age 53, left us all too soon. But this Earth is one helluva better place for his having passed through. We all have some mighty big shoes to fill. Goodbye, Ben.
"THE" Ben Stone After receiving the phone call from my brother, Dave, at 8:30 Sunday morning, I felt like I'd gotten kicked in the stomach. After all, I had just paddled the morning run with Ben on the Tohickon two Saturdays ago. Ben was paddling better than I'd ever seen him paddle. He was much more relaxed, and side surfing nearly every hole with ease. The times that I did see him go over he rolled up with a smile on his face. I can only share with you all another day on the Tohickon with Ben in the fall of '97. Reggie Clapper and I paddled both runs with Ben that day. His skills were still kinda shakey at that point, and he swam at "no fish or swim" rapid both runs. Other than that one spot on the river, Ben paddled pretty well that day, that is until the final rapid on the final run. If you are a Tohickon vet, you know that the very last rapid has a large rock on river right with a fairly strong eddy line running towards the center of the creek. When Ben reached that rapid he got crossed up on the eddy line and attempted to bottom brace to keep from being flipped. Well, he succeeded in not flipping, but he separated his right shoulder in the process. This is where Ben's spirit came into play. We asked Ben if he felt that he could paddle the 200 or so yards to the take out, and he replied that he could not. About this time a couple of open boats appeared from upstream, and the paddlers stopped to see if we were OK. A couple in a tandem canoe offered Ben a ride to the take out, she paddling his kayak, he paddling Ben in the front of the canoe. Upon arriving at the take out a woman appeared explaining that she was a doctor. She examined Ben on site, and re-set his shoulder as I looked on in amazement and dis-belief. I then drove Ben in his old VW rabbit to a spot near my home (about 1/2 way home for Ben) with Reggie following us. After retrieving my truck, Ben explained that his shoulder felt OK, and he continued the remaining 1-1/2 hour ride home on his own. When I spoke to Ben by phone later that week he explained that he went to work the next day and, aside from a little soreness, he felt great. While paddling the Tohickon again with Ben two weeks ago he reminded Reggie and I of the rapid where he dislocated shoulder. I pointed to the big rock on river right and explained that I had told my brother the story about him getting flipped next to that big rock over there, and that my brother and I agreed that from now on we should call that rock "the BEN stone". Well folks, from now on in my heart I will never pass that big Ben stone without thinking of Ben. His spirit will truly be missed by all of us.
I met Ben formally a few months prior to our gaining office at Local 7. Being a woman in a traditionally male occupation I am always aware of that certain subtle undercurrent of resentment. How refreshing then, to meet and serve with a gentleman who held no such resentment. Here was a man of intelligence and reason. And something even more rare in today's society-someone not in it just for himself. His efforts on behalf of the Union's members were tireless and truly monumental. As a result, many of our present and future members will enjoy a retirement far more secure and comfortable than would have been the case had it not been for his dedication. The National Pension Fund is now in place and funded, with all the contractors having signed. Thank you, Ben. On a more personal note, I always enjoyed talking with him about the natural world. The new barn at Salt Springs, bald eagle sightings on the Susquehanna River. I will heartily miss his distinctive voice and manner of speech, the way his eyes crinkled and sparkled when he laughed. He was a wonderfully diverse, capable and talented man who had an accepting tolerance of others despite their ability or opinion. And, as was said with highest compliment and regard-he was decent....He probably wouldn't be out front leading the throng, but there behind; making sure no one got lost or left behind, and encouraging everyone forward. It can be difficult to measure a man's worth, but a single glance around your gathering confirmed that Ben was a very wealthy man. I feel quite fortunate to have known this unique individual and am grateful for his example. May we all carry on half as well, and the world will surely become a better place. Roberta Vana
Three weeks ago Saturday, Joyce (Barnes) Stone telephoned "Fred, your brother Ben is dead, drowned while kayaking". I wasn't able to go to the memorial services, in Freetown, NY (the family homestead) and Dimmock, PA (home of Ben, Joyce and their three daughters, Lila, Violet and Jill). The many people who went to the services were a testimony to Ben's influence on many diverse groups. My first memory of Ben was just after he was born, after Christmas when I was 7 years old. Our Mom (Lois Doren Stone) had gone to the hospital for the past few days, and a neighbor came over to cook and look after us. Then, Dad (Gerald Stone) announced that I had a brother, a new playmate. I wanted to name him Bruce, after my best friend Bruce Cristopher, but Dad said they had already decided to name him Benjamin. After some negotiation, we settled on Bruce for his middle name. When he was brought home a few days later, it was clear that all my plans for my "playmate" would have to wait--he was just a tiny baby, far too little to do much. It took many years before he was old enough, and poor "Little Benjy Pufferbelly" was often left home crying while Nancy and I ran off to the woods, or to the creeks to have adventures. OH--the name came from one of Benny's favorite books about trains called "Pufferbellies", and one was named "Little Benjy Pufferbelly". The book had a song with it: Down by the station, early in the morning See the little pufferbellies all in a row See the Station Master pull the little handle "Puff, Puff, Whoo, Whoo" off they go. Benny hated to stay home, and that led to a near fatal mishap when he was hardly more than a toddler. The Stone farm in Freetown has two small creeks which cross the road above and below the farmhouse. The upper creek ran under the road through a large concrete culvert, and where it flowed out it had formed a large, pool deep enough to swim in. This pool was probably only 10 feet wide and 4 or 5 feet deep, but it was big enough for learning to swim (or doggy-paddle). One weekend, there had been heavy rains and instead of its usual trickle, the creek was a raging torrent. The Blodgett boys, sons of Mom's friend Ann, may have been visiting too. From them, we learned how to ride the surging currents through the culvert, out into the pool, where we could grab a rock. Benny was only about 3 years old, and we left him home weeping. A while later, we were all back at the house and Benny was nowhere to be found. Someone got the idea of checking the creek--and there he was, in the middle of the torrential stream, clinging to a large rock and REALLY crying (though you couldn't hear him over the roar of the water). I have no idea how he got to the rock. He must have ridden the currents through the culvert. Had he not caught the rock, chances are that he would have been carried downstream, and might not have been seen again. I remembered this after I heard about Ben being killed in another flooding stream, and I thought how fortunate it was that Ben survived that earlier near fatal encounter to live another fifty years. Ben was always enough younger that we never did do a lot of outdoor activities together while he was little. However, when I went to college, I started to get him involved with hiking, and caving, and he joined some of the Cornell Outing Club trips. During the Spring term of 1960, Dad went to the Syracuse V.A. hospital to have an operation. We still had a small dairy at that time, and I spent the term at the farm feeding and milking the cows. I had been doing poorly in the Agricultural Engineering program and needed some time to rethink my career. I did a lot of hiking and bird-watching that spring, and Ben often joined me. On one hike, I was telling Ben about my dilemma. I had spent four years in a major that I didn't like, and I couldn't figure out what else to do. Ben said "You really like nature--why don't you switch into something like biology". I knew right away that he was right. I had taken several biology courses, and enjoyed them and did well in them. The following week, I went and talked to one of my Entomology professors, and he agreed to take me as a M.S. student if I could take another year of biology courses with A grades. He also offered me an assistantship, without which I wouldn't have been able to go back to school. So, I have Ben to thank for the rest of my life. The lesson he taught me was "Do the thing you love". I got Ben involved with cave exploring, and during the spring of 1960, we took a fairly new hay rope and went off to Cobleskill, New York looking for caves. We began looking for new passages in McFail's Hole, a deep pit with a low stream passage at the bottom. Ben was with me when we pushed through a series of pools requiring us to submerge in the icy water, with only our faces out. We discovered several hundred more feet of passage. Ben wasn't along the following year, in the fall of 1961, when two other cavers and I pushed through a last long pool, with only an inch of air, and emerged into a huge cave several miles long. However, he joined me on later Cornell Outing Club trips to help explore the cave. When Ben entered Cornell, he became an active Outing Clubber, caving, hiking, mountain climbing and canoeing. Years later, Ben began making dulcimers, and I was entranced with the simple and elegant instruments he was handicrafting. He sent me one, and got me interested in folk music. Later, I ordered two more Appalachian dulcimers and a hammer dulcimer from him. I still have them, and plan to pass them on as family treasures and heirlooms. Though I don't have the musical gifts that Ben had, he awoke in me a love of folk music and the pleasure of playing at home for myself and friends. I haven't gotten out Ben's beautiful and melodic instruments for a while, and now I want to play again to remember my brother and the gift of music that he gave me. Ben--you are gone, but you are alive in the many ways you have brought happiness to me and to so many others. Thank you Ben for all the good and kind things you have done to make our lives better. I love you and I miss you, and I won't stop remembering those great gifts you gave to me. Fred
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THE
FOREST CITY NEWS
Benjamin
B. Stone, 53, noted environmentalist, died on April 10, 1999 as a result of a
kayaking accident in Stoney Creek. Born in Cortland, New York, son of Gerald
D. Stone and Lois Doren Stone, Benjamin received his B.S. Degree from Cornell
University and taught science for four years in Orford, New Hampshire. He and
his wife, the former Joyce E. Barnes, moved to Dimock in 1975 and served as
the Resident Naturalists of Woodboume Forest and Wildlife Sanctuary for 14
years. For five years Benjamin crafted mountain and hammer dulcimers which
were sold all over the country and he conceived the idea and helped organize
the annual Mountain Dulcimer Workshop in Binghamton. As part of his strong
love for folk music, he started the Montrose Folk Music Society and every
month for five years, arranged folk concerts in Montrose which featured many
famous musicians. He also initiated and organized the Old Mill Village Folk
Musicians Contest for the past 22 years. 
Ben,
you left without saying goodbye.