Spring 2009
Transformation 101
How higher education revived Royalton
By Tom Slayton
Photographed by Jon Gilbert Fox
Through much of the 19th century and into the 20th, Royalton quietly prospered as a farming and railroad town on the banks of the White River. But by the 1960s, like many other Vermont communities, it was in decline. Symbolizing the change was the construction of Interstate 89, which bypassed both Royalton and South Royalton on a hillside high above them. The superhighway offered nice views of both little villages, but no direct access.
Things got quieter and quieter. Businesses began to fail. People found jobs out of town or moved away.
Then, in an almost unbelievable sequence of events in the 1970s and '80s, things changed. A small college was founded in the dying railroad village of South Royalton; the college quickly redefined itself as Vermont Law School, and eventually developed an environmental law program that has been frequently rated the best in the United States.
Today, Vermont Law School is Royalton's economic engine. Though dairy farming is in decline and the trains don't stop in town anymore, Royalton is prospering again.
In fact, its economy could be seen as the economy of today's Vermont, writ small. There are still several farms operating in town, both traditional dairies and specialty organic growers. There are also some small, high-tech industries, several contemporary shops and restaurants, a health-care center, a food co-op and various other small businesses rounding out the community of 2,600 people.
But it's clearly higher education that is now the major economic force in Royalton and the upper reaches of the White River Valley. How did that happen and what might it mean for the rest of today's Vermont — and tomorrow's?
• • •
Virtually everyone in town agrees that in the middle years of the 20th century, Royalton was struggling.
"The town was in rough shape then," says David Ainsworth, a fifth-generation Vermonter who represents Royalton in the state Legislature and runs the family farm, located on the town's far-southern border with Sharon.
"Things were pretty desperate. There weren't many stores open, and the school building had been condemned by the state."
Selectman John Dumville agrees. By the early 1970s, he notes, South Royalton was a sleepy collection of little stores, a bar or two, and not much else. "Once the interstate came through, the local businesses couldn't compete," Dumville says.
Dairy farming was struggling and most of the town's residents began to find jobs in White River Junction and Hanover, N.H., south of town, or the Barre-Montpelier area to the north.
It was in the mid-1960s that Anthony Doria, perennial political candidate and self-made entrepreneur, showed up in town, bought the decaying school building and other properties, and founded Royalton College, a liberal arts college that focused on the study of international affairs and later included the fledgling law school. The college had its moments, but never really prospered until its trustees reformed it as Vermont Law School and hired Thomas Debevoise in 1974 to be the law school's first dean and president. (Doria had stepped down.)
The law school began in 1973 with an entering class of 113 students and tuition of $2,100 per year. Its prospects were shaky, at best. It was not certified by the American Bar Association or the state of Vermont. State certification followed in December of that year, but approval by the national association — crucial to success, since most states require it to practice — was only granted provisionally in 1975, with full approval not arriving until 1978.
However, by then, Vermont Law School had gained students and plenty of momentum. Perhaps even more important, it had gained an area of focus — environmental law — that fit in perfectly with its Vermont location on the banks of the White River.
Vermont Law School's Environmental Law Center opened its doors in 1978 with eight master's degree students. Last year, 87 students received degrees. Over the years, U.S. News and World Report came to rank the program the best in the nation 11 times since ranking began 18 years ago.
Most observers credit the unlikely success of the law school with the quality of leadership it received from Debevoise and other early deans, including Douglas Costle, one of the architects and a former administrator of the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency.
Now the school has grown to include some 635 students, 44 faculty members plus adjunct professors, and 83 full-time staff, and it is no coincidence that South Royalton is busy and booming.
"The coming of the law school is by far the most important thing that's happened in town since I've been here, says novelist Tom Powers, a longtime Royalton resident. "It's the most important thing — and the most transformative thing."
Powers, who maintains an office in The Block, a row of 10 brick commercial buildings that dominate the north side of the South Royalton village green, had come to Royalton as a boy beginning in the '40s and liked the place so much that he eventually moved there. He now owns three of The Block buildings and has been working for The Block's revitalization for more than 20 years.
Now that the law school is going full steam ahead, students live in town, walk the streets and green, and patronize local businesses. Virtually every commercial space within The Block is occupied. One of the more recent tenants is the South Royalton Market, a locally owned food co-op, which sells groceries, sandwiches, organic foods, baked goods and other items, and is thriving.
Businesses around the green range from florist shops and a video store to a deli, a health center, The Chocolate Moose (a candy shop) and The Barrister's Bookstore. The old railroad depot building now houses the South Royalton branch of the Randolph National Bank, and just up the street is the refurbished South Royalton House, a hotel.
Chelsea Station, an unpretentious downtown restaurant in The Block, is filled most noons with local townspeople, law school students and officials of both the college and the town. Other instances of the town's strong community life are an active farmers' market on the green five months of the year and weekly band concerts on Thursday nights in the summer, led by longtime conductor Dick Ellis.
Though there has been occasional friction between Royalton and its new economic partner, ongoing town-gown issues are either hard to find or nonexistent. Geoffrey B. Shields, the current dean and president, says that may be because the law school has made a long-term commitment to be a good neighbor to the town.
Students serve on the town rescue squad and the fire department, and through the South Royalton Legal Clinic offer their services to local people who cannot afford a lawyer. With guidance from faculty members, the students help townspeople who come to the clinic resolve issues involving family law, housing, welfare, contracts, wills and other matters. Students take on community "externships," Shields says, and they also work on community projects, "planting trees along the river, or pulling refrigerators out of the river."
And the community partnership works both ways, according to Shields:
"South Royalton has affected the culture of Vermont Law School to a tremendous degree," he says, over lunch at the bustling Chelsea Station restaurant. "The opportunity to live in a small, rural community on the banks of a pristine river deeply affects students and faculty, and ties in with our environmental focus."
• • •
All this is not to say that everything is perfect in Royalton. The town suffers many of the ills common to all Vermont rural communities: loss of dairy farms, a dwindling public school population, many residents having trouble making ends meet economically.
Several people noted that apartment houses catering to students probably outnumber single-family residences in South Royalton now. That's testimony to the new economic activity in town, but also to the social change that Vermont Law School has brought.
"The displacement [of native residents by newcomers who move to Royalton and stay on] seems to be happening steadily," says Powers. "Bit by bit, body by body, the longtime residents are moving away."
Change, in other words, happens. And it is not a simple thing.
But Rep. David Ainsworth, one of the longtime residents who has stayed, is clear and direct: "I think the law school has been a big asset to this community," the white-bearded, ruddy-faced farmer declares. "It has allowed us to be not just another bedroom town. Overall its influence has been good."
All of Vermont is changing, he notes. Farms like his have had to change to survive. (His dairy farm added a farm stand and began selling tomatoes, sweet corn and other vegetables some years ago.)
Yet with all the changes, Royalton has held onto many of the good things it has treasured through all its ups and downs: a strong community life, a lively downtown, neighbors who know one another and who (generally) get along. It remains a historic town that has restored a surprising number of its heritage buildings and maintained its community integrity.
Most of the interstate traffic still bypasses Royalton. But the town today is prosperous, contented and doesn't seem to miss the busy flow of traffic on the hillside above it. The White River, flowing as it always has, may have showed the way to the future after all.
