The Church of Bacchus

ALTHOUGH IT HAS been more than a hundred years since the evaporation into legend of Eastford's "Church of Bacchus," time has not completely dimmed the folk memory of this unusual "congregation" and its eccentric founder, Ephraim Lyon. According to tradition, about the year 1820 Lyon hit upon the idea of "organizing" into a more or less formal association all of those citizens of Eastford who were known to worship -- as Lyon himself obviously did -- Bacchus, the Roman god of wine. Patrons of the grape (or "drunkards" as they were called by believers in the temperance heresy) from such other area towns as Ashford, Chaplin, Pomfret and Hampton were also said to have been enlisted in the mother church by the remarkable Lyon.
Membership in the Church of Bacchus came neither by invitation of the founding father nor even by the voluntary requests of prospective worshippers. Rather, Ephraim Lyon took it upon himself to enter eligible members on the church rolls, kept elaborate (but secret) records of the congregation and proclaimed to all who would listen that he was totally immersed in his work. He also maintained that his own capacity for leadership could only be proved by demonstrating his capacity for liquor, and he dedicated himself religiously to that task as well.
Since the only qualification for membership in brother Lyon's church was a reputation for excessive drinking, it was said that he had a brimming bowl from which to dip new members. There were some reports that as many as a thousand people from Eastford and surrounding towns swelled the church rolls during its peak years. While most of the members were said to be male, the leader of the Bacchanalians must have been an early believer in affirmative action. They say his aggressive searches for qualified candidates uncovered enough women to quiet any charges of sexual discrimination against the church. Once entered upon Lyon's church record, a member could only be removed by going on the wagon. An excommunicated member who had been stricken from the roll was immediately reinstated, however, if word reached the minister that he or she had resumed the habit.
As might be expected, residents of the community were not particularly pleased with the presence in their midst of Ephraim Lyon and his den of inebriate communicants. Active temperance people were outraged, ordinary non-drinkers were scandalized and those citizens inclined to an occasional sip from the cup that cheers were fearful of having their names added to the rolls of the Church of Bacchus. Although the universal dislike and dread caused frequent threats on the life of Ephraim Lyon, nothing deterred him from his purpose (whatever that was), and for a period of some twenty years he managed to escape assassination and dedicated himself to his priestly duties. At one point, they say, his wife became so alarmed over the repeated threats on her husband's life that she discovered and burned the church records. However, the clever Lyon soon reconstructed the rolls from memory and hid them so well that neither his wife nor anybody else ever found them again. It is said that during the life of the church, Lyon revealed the official records to a selected few members of an inner circle of bonafide alcoholics. After all, even in such an unorthodox church, something must be kept sacred!
The Church of Bacchus went out of existence when Ephraim Lyon died in 1840, but not before its founder was memorialized in appropriate ceremonies. According to one member of the church in very good standing who attended, the celebrants and their posterity would probably never forget the stirring occasion. And while it is ironic that the name of Lyon (not Ephraim but General Nathaniel) is revered today in the town of Eastford, it is even more ironic that the town is one of the few in Connecticut to remain steadfastly "dry."

from Legendary Connecticut by David E. Philips / ISBN 1-880684-05-5 / $17.95

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