Both were intent on the job of making a large
watering trough, and failed to see me standing at the
far end, with my hand on the moving wheels. Fortunately
the machine was hand operated and the wheel moved
slowly, but fast enough to catch my two fingers and mash
them badly. My cries alerted the men and they
immediately reversed the rollers.
They carried me, screaming, to the house, where
mother imagined the very worst had happened. The doctor
was called, but I'm not sure in what way, because we had
no telephone at that time. His office was at the far end
of town, and he had to walk the distance to our house.
Meanwhile, neighbors, grandparents and others had
gathered round, doing their best to quiet me until the
doctor arrived.
He was an elderly gentleman, who found
it difficult to work on a hand that was constantly
moving, so suggested that I be given a small dose of
chloroform, My grandfather was not willing for him to do
this, so he had to proceed without it. I was not aware
of this, but I do remember all the excitement I caused,
and most of all, the pain and long ordeal of healing. It
could be that I cried more than necessary, because of
all the attention and efforts to please me.
One day, a lady hearing me cry when the doctor was
dressing my finger, brought me a doll with a
hand-painted face, which I cherished for a long time.
The lady was Miss Leila Taney, from near Mt. St. Mary's
College. The doll's name, of course, had to be Leila.
This one incident makes me see again so many faces of
long ago, associated with my childhoods and a happy one
it was, the best of parents, five brothers and good
neighbors all around, who were almost a part of our
family. We knew almost everyone. To me, that was the
good part and why it is so pleasant now to recall those
early days. We are all married now, with children of our
own, and some grandchildren, too. But to this day we
love to recall with happy memory the fun and even the
trying experiences of our life together.
Speaking of good neighbors, the first ones who come
to mind are those who lived right next door, so near
that we could reach out the window and almost touch
their house. This was the Shuff family, Mr. & Mrs.
Shuff, three boys and three girls, all older than any of
us. I don't remember anyone else ever living in that
house. It seemed to me they were always there and just
belonged there.
They had a large porch in front where we were free to
sit and talk, especially on hot summer evenings. Many
times during the day, strains of music would reach us
from the cool parlor next door. It would be Ruth Shuff
playing the piano, and again we were welcome to come in
for singing or just listening. Some of their good
chocolate cake or cookies might come our way, until we
were called home to attend to our chores. For the boys,
it was usually weeding or other small jobs. I can't
imagine growing up without knowing the closeness of
these folks, always there, and interested in our doings
and so much a part of our lives.
Just across the street lived our grandparents,
Father's parents and sister. Later on, Aunt Weimer ( the
sister) married a long time friend, who lived there from
that time on. He was Basil C. Gilson. I suppose we were
bothersome to them, running in and out, but they were
always there and put up with us as best they could.
The old time living room, or as otherwise called a
parlor, with slippery horsehair covered chairs, provided
a kind of sliding board when we were small. Aunt
Weimer's long apron strings were make believe reins, as
we sat on her lap, rocking back and forth, pretending to
ride somewhere. She was a very small person, and could
bring the apron strings around back and then around
front and still have more left over. Occasionally, we
were asked to stay for supper, consisting of tea and
little rolls, homemade of course. A simple meal, but
something different, and special.
Across the yard from Aunt Weimer's were Mr. &
Mrs. Weant and their two children, Mary and Frank, who
grew up with us but were a little older. Mrs. Weant was
like a mother to us, calling us in for sugar cakes or
other treats whenever we were nearby. Once when Mother
was very ill, Mrs. Weant took my brother Sam, who was
then very small, and cared for him for a number of
weeks. When it was time to go home, he cried and wanted
to stay.
These families, I think, were as close as home
itself, but all around were others who influenced our
lives and in one way or another, and are remembered
fondly to this day.
Another friend and neighbor lived on our side of the
street, across the alley alongside our father's shop.
Mrs. Andrew Annan. Her daughter, Luella, was quite a bit
older than we were, but she didn't seem to be so. I
guess it was because of her cheerful disposition, but
best of all was her musical talent. A graduate of
Peabody Conservatory in Baltimore, she played lovely
classics, and often would let us sit beside her while
she played our favorites. My brother Jim especially
enjoyed singing the popular song at that time "A
Perfect Day," by Carrie Jacobs Bond, with Luella
accompanying him. Later, she became an organist at the
Presbyterian Church.
Our own children sometimes ask: How is it that you
can entertain us with so many funny stories about people
and things in your hometown, while we don't seem to have
those close relationships?' I'm not sure, but it could
be that our parents had always lived in the same town.
Few people moved away and we saw these same folks every
day in school, at church and passing on the street. At
work and play, we learned to know them thoroughly. Good
qualities as well as little idiosyncrasies often caused
us to have fun at their expense.
Work was always uppermost, from the time we were able
to do any kind of chores. Everyone was expected to be up
bright and early. No ‘sleeping in’ as the saying
goes. Father and Mother were always up very early, so
that was the pattern for us. Each of the boys had his
name called in turn, but I was excluded from the roll
call most of the time, just but the tone of my father's
voice, after calling several times, warned me that I,
too, had better be up.
My work was helping Mother with the household chores,
sweeping, dusting, running errands or doing any small
jobs, depending upon the time of year. The boys had all
kinds of work to do as they grew up. There were fields
back of the barn, a "patch" for corn and
potatoes where weeds were always present, and pulling
them was one of the jobs hated most. The boys stuck to
it as best they could, with encouragement from Mother,
and often handouts of cool drinks to make the tasks seem
easier.
I am sure my brothers would not have learned to work
and to stay close to home, without Mother's special
talent for making work seem like play and by working
along with us whenever she could. Sometimes, when we
were quite small, she would sit with us in the lawn
swing and mend socks, while we would pretend we were
going on a trip to some far away place of our own
choosing.
Mother was the one who provided fun, music and
fullness to our lives, while Father, with his
seriousness and discipline, helped us to know what was
expected of us. On rare occasions he would tell a funny
story about something that had happened in his life, and
since this was so unusual, we thoroughly enjoyed it.
Mother had grown up on a farm and was used to having
plenty of good fresh milk, so she always wanted to have
a cow. Most of the boys learned to milk, and of course
had to take care of the barn chores. There also were
chickens, which meant gathering eggs (a job I liked) and
cleaning the chicken house most unpleasant task, which
the boys tried to avoid. Mother would "set' eggs
under her hens and raised many little chicks in the
summer months. I well remember one unusual operation she
performed, when a little chick looked kind of droopy.
She would hold it in her hand and open its mouth and,
with a twisted horsehair, skillfully remove a small worm
that was causing the trouble. Soon the chick would
revive and run about like the others. Once a strange one
was hatched with feathers growing the wrong way. Mother
gave it the name of "Strubble," probably a
Pennsylvania Dutch expression, meaning it was all messed
up.
I'm writing now about our younger days. It was not a
case of "All work and no play," but play was
of our own making. The boys played marbles in the little
alley between our house and Shuff's. My brother Sam had
a string of stick horses tied up in the woodshed, each
one of which had a name. For fun and exercise, he rode
them around the yard, believing they were real. Sam's
great love was horses, and many times he would slip off
to go with a neighbor, who would let him ride or help
drive cattle somewhere. In those days, cattle were
sometimes driven quite a distance, and boys and men were
used to help keep the cattle in line. There was a great
thrill to this for Sam and he would go, even at the risk
of punishment when he came home.
My brother Jim, being the oldest, soon took an
interest in the shop, an interest that continued through
most of his life. This may have been partly because his
father no doubt looked forward to having his oldest son
succeed him in the business, and hence gave Jim more and
more responsibility. It soon became his regular job to
take the workmen to Mt. St. Mary's College, to do
extensive work in the various buildings.
We had our share of accidents, though none too
serious. We had a barn where the horse was kept and a
loft full of hay, where we loved to climb and play. One
day, Bill was sliding on a big pile of hay near an open
window and fell out into the alley below, breaking his
arm. That was the end of barn playing for us all.
There was another accident that might have proved
tragic. My brother John and a friend about his age had
the bright idea (or so they thought) of cutting quinces,
lying plentifully on the ground. They had seen the corn
chopper being used, so thought it would be just the
thing to do the job. John fed the quinces into the
chopper, while the other boy operated the knife. Down
the knife came and almost cut off his hand. By luck,
someone nearby was able to render first aid until the
doctor could be called and stitches could be taken in
his wrist. This happened while Mother was very ill, so
John was taken to our grandparents across the street,
who looked after him.
It was not always my brothers who got into trouble or
had accidents. I must admit to causing an almost tragic
accident to my youngest brother, Harry. I was about nine
years old, when Mother allowed me to take him in his
stroller for a little outing.
Another girl met me and together we walked almost to
the Town Square. In front of the Lutheran Church there
was a long sloping cement walk, which seemed to invite
us to go up and then sort of coast down to the street.
Esther, my friend, was supposed to stop the stroller as
it came down but we did not count on the increase in
speed and she was too frightened to do anything.
The
stroller overturned and Harry was thrown out. By chance,
the doctor lived next door (Dr. Stone) and he had seen
what happened. He took my brother into his office,
treated the slight cut on his forehead and then took him
home, explaining what had happened. I was terrified, as
I should have been, and ran home to hide under, or
rather in, a closet, feeling sure I would be punished
severely. As I recall, I was not punished, although I
surely deserved to be.
We all loved to go up to the third floor of the shop,
especially on rainy days, when there wasn't much to do.
We called it the "carpenter shop," because of
the lumber stored there. This lumber was there, to be
sawed up by a circular saw that was mounted on a table.
I'm surprised we were not injured by that saw, but we
were probably told to stay away from it, and were warned
of what might happen. Anyway, for our amusement there
were piles of sawdust to play in, and curls of shavings
to be put behind our ears. Somehow we felt away from
everything while we were there. There was always a smell
of wood, a nice clean smell, as we made our way up the
stairs.
All through the summer, if we could think of nothing
better to do, we conceived the idea of selling something
to earn a few cents for buying candy. Each of us would
take a paper bag and search the yard and grounds for
stray bones, sometimes easily seen', but sometimes
hidden under porches and out of the way places. Bones
could be sold at that time for use in making fertilizer.
All were put together in one bag and off we went to the
grocery store. The friendly, long-suffering grocer would
weigh them up and pay us two or three cents. Today that
would be nothing, but then it was enough for us to buy a
good sized bag of candy.
In order to increase our purchase, we liked to go to
another store, a small one up town, where there was a
kind of slot machine on the counter. I remember a little
stool or box we had to stand on to reach the top. We put
a penny in the slot and down it went through a maze of
pegs. If it landed at a certain place, our one penny
became two.
Wonderful! We could now buy more candy. How patient
that shopkeeper was, as we stood and looked in the case,
trying to decide what kind we wanted. The storekeeper
and her husband lived in rooms behind the store, so her
work was interrupted many times as customers came in.
Her husband was a big man with a big black mustache. He
was rather gruff in manner, so we always hoped it would
be his wife, "Miss Nonie" who would wait on us
Most of our family buying was done at the grocery
store across the street, where most shopping was done in our
end of town. There one could buy most anything that was
needed. There was a whole counter devoted to sewing
supplies, with bolts of cloth on shelves behind the
counters, to be rolled out and measured according to
order. In those days, most of the clothing was sewed by
hand, so there was a complete line of thread, laces and
trimmings for everything needed. Miss Bessie Hoke,
sister of the owner, was in charge of this section. She
was always there, as she lived right across the street
from the store, and had only to run across for meals and
back again. I do not remember that anyone else was ever
behind that counter.
When Christmas time drew near, all the holiday goods
would be carried up to the second floor and made ready
for display. No one could go up until it was announced
that the door would be opened. Of course we were all
getting excited by that time and could hardly wait to go
up those stairs. From the end window at home we could
see what was going on, so we watched and waited. At last
the word came, and going up those stairs was almost
equal to Christmas itself. The dolls were arranged on
one wall, and I mentally picked out one that I liked.
The boys spied the sleds and skates and toys that seemed
like something magical. Compared to the variety and
abundance of today, these simple things were small
indeed, but big to us. Most of our gifts for giving, or
for under the tree, came from this store. Our parents
seldom went to a larger town or city, so what could be
bought here, or made at home, would have to do.
Our tree was never put up before Christmas Eve, when
we were all asleep. It came mysteriously and was quietly
trimmed with simple ornaments, some of which we
remembered from year to year. There was no large array
of gifts underneath. One or perhaps two for each, and,
of course, a long black stocking filled with candy, nuts
and an orange in the toe. The orange was a real treat,
because we did not see any at any other time of the
year.
On Christmas Day the tree held special enchantment,
because it had appeared as if by magic, not purchased
days before and trimmed ahead of time, as we do today.
Of course, things are different, and there are reasons
why this must be done. Perhaps it is good to let the
children have a part in making ornaments, helping to
trim the tree and in general being allowed to have a
part in the preparations. Customs have changed over the
years. I might mention another change. Christmas was not
over at the end of Christmas Day. We could look forward
to a week or two, set apart for various kinds of
celebrations. There were still some celebrations in the
churches, radio music featured many beautiful carols or
special choir selections, such as The Messiah. There was
no school, so there were many parties here and there,
and if the weather happened to be cold, skating and
sledding were enjoyed. A holiday spirit continued to
prevail.
One custom not commonplace everywhere was that of
Kris Kingling, or, as it was sometimes called, Bell
Snickling. Some time after Christmas, groups of young
people liked to dress up in old clothes or costumes,
wear false faces and go from house to house. They
knocked at the door and were invited in. At once there
was guessing as to who these visitors were. Masks were
then removed and most proved to be well known friends or
neighbors. Much fun followed and treats were passed
around.
Bell Snicklers were different, They were mostly older
boys or men who rode horses through the town, shouting
or singing and jingling their bells as they rode along.
I was always afraid when I heard them coming, and would
run into the house. They rode mainly to nearby farmers
and were warmly received by the ones they visited.
Country people were very glad for a little excitement,
and this was all part of the holiday season. Very often
it turned out that some of the callers were from a
nearby farm, out for a little fun and a chance to visit
their neighbors. There was much friendly talk and
laughter and, of course a chance to hand out all kinds
of good treats, prepared weeks before visits such as
these. Then they were off to another farm for more fun.
This custom may have been carried out in other
places, but to most peoples it seems to be unknown.
Today, dressing in costumes and visiting around is done
on a similar scale at Halloween.
Read
Margaret's brother, William's memories of Emmitsburg
