Christy Williams
When I was a young child there was a dour, and frankly, scary oil painting of my great, great grandmother, Julia Elise Morerod LeClerc at my grandmother’s house. It was on the wall at the top of the stairs and we had to run past it, full of fright, to get to the bedroom when we were staying there, and just forget about nighttime bathroom visits!
I don’t know if it was the dark hair, clothes and background, or that together with the pale face coming out of the darkness, that was so terrifying. It was definitely the fashion of portraiture at the time, around 1870, because the photo this portrait was made from shows a less frightening granny. When my mother cleared out the home of her mother, she brought back this portrait, where it stayed propped against a wall in the attic, preventing any more trips up those stairs.
After my parents died, we had to figure out what to do with it. I had visited the Switzerland County Historical Society and Museum in the little town the LeClercs pioneered, and had met Martha, who was in charge of collections there. I thought a handy way to find a home for the portrait, which is to say, get rid of it, was to call Martha and tell her the family wanted to give the painting to the Museum on loan from the Williams family. She said, “Uh”. . . searching around for a way to tell me, no thank you, but I ran right over that and said, “Great, I’ll be right down.” I threw the painting in the car and was at the museum by the end of the day.
Martha called sometime later to tell me that some other family members from California had offered to donate the same painting of Julia Elise Morerod LeClerc! I guess one was made for each of her ten children, so there are probably eight more somewhere in the world that have scared other small children down the years.
On a recent visit to the museum, I asked Martha about the painting. She led me up the stairs into the sanctuary of the old Presbyterian Church which is the home of the Switzerland County Historical Society and Museum now. There, Julie Elise was leaning against a pew, waiting for the next time she would be displayed. I had been thinking that I could make room for her in my apartment. I asked Martha if I could take her home with me. She said she would have to clear it with the board.
A few weeks later, I came to my senses, and emailed Martha to tell her to forget about it. I don’t really want the old woman, the nightmare specter of my childhood, looking over my dining table, scaring any small children who might visit.