Deacon John Stoddard II
Son of Lieut. John and Mary (Atwood) Stoddard of Watertown, Connecticut
Grandson of Eliakim and Joannah (Curtiss) Stoddard of Woodbury, Connecticut
Great-grandson of Rev. Anthony and Prudence (Welles) Stoddard of Woodbury, Connecticut
Married Sarah Woodward in 1785 in Watertown, Connecticut
John Stoddard (also known as Deacon John Stoddard) was the catalyst that started the John Stoddard family line migration from its roots in Connecticut (Woodbury and later Watertown) westward, first to Coventry, Chenango County, New York, then, through his son Wells Stoddard, to Ohio and later to Iowa.
What caused John Stoddard to leave Connecticut circa 1800 and remove his family to New York State? It was said that the pioneers of Chenengo County left Connecticut to get away from excessive taxes and other hardships after the Revolution. Another factor could have been the death of his father John in 1795 and the death of his mother Mary in 1802: typically, the settlement of an estate would cause the land and property to be divided or sold and proceeds shared amongst the numerous heirs. From land records for Watertown, Connecticut, it is known John Stoddard sold three parcels of land to John and Abigail Bryan on March 11, 1801.
In any case, John Stoddard arrived in Coventry (or Coventryville - as both names are used interchangeably as both towns were about a mile from the Stoddard farm) circa 1802. Some sources say he arrived earlier and others say he was only there scouting for land in 1800 with Samuel Martin (whose daughter Hepsey married John's son Curtis) and he returned to Watertown before moving west circa 1802.
John and Sarah came to Coventryville with their six children and took up a tract of 250 acres of land one mile southeast of town. The First Congregational Church was finally organized in 1804 and Sarah became a charter member of the congregation. John did not join at that time...but eventually he did and he became a deacon. The story of this decision and the events proceeding it are contained in the following undated newspaper article:
FARMER'S OXEN SAVES MEETING HOUSE
By Roy Gallagher
In the tiny hamlet of Coventryville, lying peacefully near the southern border of Chenanago County, stands a majestic white church which, according to the pious community, "except for the grace of God and a pair of oxen might today be a sawmill."
It is a story told around the firesides of that quiet and God-fearing community - a story that has been expounded by many a rural clergyman in the Southern Tier to show the "many and devious ways" in which the Almighty can come to the aid of his sheep.
It was back in 1818. Since 1804 the sturdy pioneers who had come from Connecticut to get away from the excessive taxes and hardships of the East just after the Revolution had been building a church.
The church was literally hewn out of the forest in which roamed the panther, bear, and wolf. The settler's had tried to worship in the cabins of their neighbors, but as their numbers grew it was decided that a church was necessary. The first lumber was drawn by Philo Yale and his brother Onzois, and was hand hewn with an adze by Abijah Benedict. These stalwart beams and framing timbers can still be seen.
During the time the church was under slow construction, money became scarce and the congregation contributed what little money it had, but it fell short of the amount needed. Unless they could raise more, in some manner, the building would have to be sold and the hope for a place to worship would be forever lost.
Money had to be borrowed from somewhere, and the only man who had any surplus lived on a farm in the valley, a man who was not connected with the church. Oddly, this man had often approached the church board with offers to purchase the partially completed building for use as a sawmill —at a very low price. Finally, the wealthy farmer offered to loan the church the money the necessary funds (to complete the church), settling the date of repayment at 15 months. Whether he had an ulterior design will never be known, but the parishioners had to accept the loan on his terms or lose everything they had striven for.
The first 14 months rolled by and the volunteer workers had completed the church. Hanging over their head was the Sword of Damacles. If the money wasn't paid in another month the church would be taken and turned into a sawmill. The young minister, the Rev. Charles Thrope, spent days recanvassing the valley, everyone had given to the last farthing. There just wasn't any more money. Only a few days remained.
Numbered amoung the congregation was one of the earliest communicants, a man of stern disposition. He was obstinate and would never join the church, but gave towards its support as best he could. He was a man most of the community disliked to approach, although he was strickly honest, yet unapproachable. He had utterly refused to give any more than his original contribution, saying he frankly he had no more.
The young minister kept riding the valley in an ever-widening circle, but when the final eve of payment came the church still lacked $65. The money lender was adament: unless the mortgage was lifed by noon on the morrow, he would take the property. The minister made one last ride.
As passing the farm of stern old John Stoddard he saw the owner working in the field, plowing with a pair of oxen. Uttering a prayer, he stopped at the gate. Then, gathering his strength, he rode in and to the field. John Stoddard greeted him civilly. The clergyman told his story. Only $65 lay between the people and the church. Stoddard lsitened and then told the minister to remain where he was. The old man silently unhitched the team of oxen and drove them away. The clergyman waited, not knowing what had come up. In an hour the farmer came back, but without his team. Walking over to the minister the old farmer placed $65 in his hand. He had sold the oxen to a neighbor and had contributed his all to save the church.
The next Sunday, the church was crowded to the doors as the minister told of the generosity of the silent Christian who lived a mile down the road —the man nobody liked. Never before nor since has the old Doxology rolled to the roof of the old structure as it did that warm Sunday in 1818. The church had been saved!
John Stoddard joined the church a short time after that and became a deacon. Two years later he died, but his act in saving the old meeting house at Coventryville —a meeting house that is still standing and in fine repair today —will live in history long after the historic building is gone.
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Children of John and Sarah (Woodward) Stoddard:
1. Curtis (July 14, 1786-October 13, 1838). Born in Watertown, Litchfield County, Connecticut
2. Merit Stoddard (January 1, 1789-Oct. 12, 1820). Born in Watertown, Litchfield County, Connecticut
3. Polly (September 22, 1792-1876). Born in Watertown, Litchfield County, Connecticut
4. John (July 15, 1794-January 20, 1855). Born in Watertown, Litchfield County, Connecticut
5. Sarah (January 26, 1796-June 30, 1825). Born in Watertown, Litchfield County, Connecticut
6. Elijah Woodward (May 28, 1799-January 21, 1838) . Born in Watertown, Litchfield County, Connecticut
7. Abigail (September 1, 1802-August 7, 1830). Born Coventryville, Chenango County, New York
8. Wells (April 10, 1806-November 22, 1853). Born Coventryville, Chenango County, New York
9. Abiram (March 12, 1809-September 1, 1839). Born Coventryville, Chenango County, New York