A story, "The Gay Nineties" or "Me, Myself and I At My Worst" by HRG: "When I look back and remember things I used to do, it's a wonder I ever lived to tell the tale. I used to hang by my knees on a cherry tree limb and I used to skin the cat on the hitching rails. I climbed trees and I never understood why my mother constantly ordered me to walk instead of run for I never had time to walk. I was restless and full of energy while my brother and sister were very quiet and gentle. The contrast was too much for my father and mother. They didn't quite know what to do about me. My father used to lead the choir at church and sometimes Mother had to play the organ, so when they went to rehearsal, I had to go too for I was too much of a handful to leave home with my brother and sister. Sunday was the sore trial of my life, trying to sit still in church. With father and mother in the choir, I generally sat with two or three misses of my age and if we became too noisy, I could feel eyes on me and I was compelled to look at father whose eyes were fairly popping out of his head, they were popping at me with daggers in them. I freeze now when I think of them. "Those were the good old days of spare the rod and spoil the child. I was spanked ten times to my brothers and sisters once. Mother used to get a little apple switch and I will always believe that she had an appreciation of the beautiful, for she always left three or four pretty little apple leaves on the end of the stick. "Whenever father remarked to her, "Emma, I think you had better straighten Hazel out a little," sure enough, at the next offence, she would invite me to the kitchen where I invariably went in spite of myself. Then up would go my dress in the back and the fun was on. I never missed a week getting a dose of it. I soon learned that if I howled early in the game, it didn't last so long, so as a rule I started tuning up immediately, always being careful not to overdo it. "Talking of spanking, reminds me of the time my big brother was saucy to mother, something we were never allowed to do, but he sassed her and brought her wrath down upon his head and I can still see him rushing out the dining room door into the yard, and she right behind him with my particular apple switch in her hand. It was cherry-picking time and the ladder was leaning against the house by the cherry-tree, so brother climbed the ladder and before mother could get to it to pull him down, he reached the roof of the house and pulled the ladder up after him, sat down in the shade of the cherry tree, and grinned at mother, while she gave him the tongue lashing of his life. There he staid all day, eating cherries when hungry or thirsty and he didnt come down till dark and until mother finally saw the funny side of the affair and promised not to punish him. After all he was rather large to be spanked. I was the correct size and age for it and I had a coner on it. I remember once when an uncle and aunt and their little daughter came to visit us. The daughter was three or four years younger than I. Her main delight was to creep p on me and gather just a little of my skin between her thumb and fore finger and pinch! Oh how she pinched. I had black and blue spots all over me. One day she pinched me just once too many times and I turned and gave her the pinch of her life. Of course she ran shrieking to her mother, and of course my mother felt it was her duty to be polite and spanked me, but the spanking was very mild compared to what I generally rec'd, for she knew how many blue spots I carried under my clothers. Even now he often speaks of how I cured Gladys Reid of pinching."

A Story, "The Milkman," by HRG: "A long time ago, when I was a little girl with wide open eyes and two keen ears and a long pink tongue which wagged out chatter and questions without end< I loved to sit on the topmost step of those which descended to the side-walk on the other side of the white picket fence standing across our front yard. "That fence was the boundary line of my little world, for I was nver allowed to venture unattended through the gate onto that enchanting sidewalk outside. The penalty of such an act was a thorough and stinging spanking. How well I knew it, for my inquisitive nature often led me through that gate in spite of my conscience and my warning memories of past experiences. Thus it was, that the next best thing that I could do, was to sit on the top step in order to gaze over and through the gate and watch the world pass by. "In that procession were the grocery boy, the butcher-boy, the rag-man, the large van driven by two beautiful horses, belonging to the Roller Mills, the driver flour dusty from carrying sacks of flour and meal on his shoulder, the vegeatble and fruit-man calling out his specialties for the day, the fishman on his small cart shouting out his ever the same 'Fresh fish', then blowing his loud and resounding horn. How I longed to ride with him! My lungs were strong too for my father said so, and I was sure that I had plenty of blow. But the most important of all in that every day parade of all kinds of horses hitched to all kinds of conveyances and driven by all kinds of people, was that very necessary and interesting person called the Milk-man. "He sat in his little single seated wagon perched on four rattling steel tired wheels, so high in fact, that there were two steps to climb to his seat of honor instead of the customary single step. Inside the wagon, on the floor in front of his seat stood two large ten-gallon cans, both wrapped in wet rag- carpet to keep the milk inside sweet and cool, and on a small shelf in front of the cans, stood a large brass hand-bell which he jangled up and down to announce his arrival, if his customer or the lady of the house hadn't put down her bowl or pitcher or pan or pail or whatever container she used for the milk. "As a rule nearly every baby in the neighborhood was awakened from his morning nap by the sound of this bell, and angry mohers stomped out with blazing eyes to the wagon to the tune of a crying baby on one arm and her bowl to obtain milk from the horrible man who had awakened her baby in the other. For every Quart of milk she received, she handed to him a ticket she had purchased from him at the extremely high rater of six quarts, or rather six tickets for a quarter. "Usually every morning, the house-wife would place her bowl on the shady front porch or on the front door-step, drop a milk-ticket inside and cover it all with a plate or lid to keep the cats and dogs away. However sometimes the smart dog of the neighborhood did knock the cover off the bowl, and lapped up the stolen sweet milk with relish, gusto and speed. "Also the careless housewife would too often allow her crock of milk to stand out l morning until the creeping sun would be shining bright and warm on it for hours, and then the next morning when the Milkman came to her door, her complaints about milk that soured over night could be heard. "Then there were the friendly house-wives who enjoyed a moment of greeting and gossip with the milk-man who after all, was really s very respectable farmer, who owned his own dairy and peddled the milk himself. I'm afraid my mother was one of these who was inclined to be a bit nosey and I was glad she was, for I was always permitted to accompany her to the wagon to get our milk. And besides, I was sometimes invited to hold the beautiful bell while I was there and was always thanked most profusely for my kindness when I handed it back. "There stood my mother, young, pink-cheeked and with brown curly hair twisted up into a knot on her head with short tendrils curling moistly on the back of her neck; in a clean cotton dress covered partially by a huge gingham apron which was gathered around the waist and tied into a bow in the back holding the crock up high with her two hands to receive the rich sweet milk. "I used to stand in awe watching the procedure. First, off came the lid of the milk can, which the Milkman held in his left hand. This lid with a very wide brim, he turned upside down and used as a container. Then with his right hand, he grasped the long handled dipper which hung inside on the edge of the can, slowly dipped it down deep into the milk, and brought it carefully up, up, his hand nearly touching the ceiling of the wagon before the brimming cup of milk emerged from the can. This he poured into the waiting lid, hung the dipper back onto the edge of the can, then emptied the milk from the lid into the bowl which my mother so steadily held. He then put the lid onto the can, waved us a farewell, took up his lines, slapped them over the back of his lazy, fat horse, clucked him into a walk, and mozied on to the next house, ringing his beautiful noisy bell, and so on, and so on. "Mother had to walk, Oh! so carefully across the sidewalk, through the gate, which I closed behind her, up the steps and around the house into the kitchen; but before she carried the crock of milk down to the basement, she always poured some of the sweet fresh milk into a cup for me to drink. Never was a better drink to be had, and I always drank it in one breath, for I had no time to waste, for the homely procession was still passing by, and I must miss none of it as I sat on the top step watching over and through the gate."

A Story, "Going Down Home" by HRG: A long time ago, when I was a little girl, I remember that my mother was a long time becoming accustomed to what she called 'city ways/ and whenever possible, she went down home to visit for a day or so in order to overcome her unhappy homesickness. "Going 'down home', in those days wasn;t the simple task of whizzing there in an automobile in twenty minutes as it would be now, but meant a long two hours drive over narrow roads sometimes wet and muddy, and sometimes with gravel piled so high in the middle, that the back of our horse would be on the level with the top of our surrey. Also we had to drive for several miles thru deep dark woods which grew up entirely to the sides of the road, or so it seemed, although to be exact, the road was originally cut through the woods, beautiful dense woods where grew many of the enormous virgin trees, such as oak, cotton-wood, walnut, hickory, maple, beech and many other varieties native yo our locality. The experience of seeing even one such tree in the present day is so rare, that we can only stand beneath and stare up at the awe inspiring beauty above us and we cannot conceive of the enormity and grandeur of an entire forest of such living dignity. "Such were the so-called woods of my young days, but unhappily, I was much too young at that time to realize the spendor through which I rode so often and which all too soon for me to appreciate, was coveted and destroyed by the unscrupulous wood-cutters of those times. "Actually, I dreaded this part of our trip thru the woods, for nature had endowed my big brother with a terrible imagination, and the awful things he could see peeping out of those woods used to make my flesh creep and my hair stand on end, things with staring eyes, and long swishing hairy tails and long sharp claws, and yellow grinning teeth, all after me, so that the closer I could huddle to my mother, the safer I felt, and I was always glad when we rode out into the bright sunshine again. "In the summertime, this trip to my Grandparents home was one continual thrill for at each turn of the road, there was displayed before us, a new view even more beautiful than the one preceding. "While we did most of our visiting in the summertime, since, in the wintertime, the uncertain condition of the road prevented our venturing on them for weeks on end, still, even, after long intervals, my mother managed to be with her people 'down home'. When on a snappy cold clear sunny Saturday, early in the morning, my mother put the soapstones in the oven to heat, we children all knew that she was planning to go home and we would caper with joy and rush to finish our chores and to dress in our best that we might be ready to depart, whenever father came home from his factory, where he had gone to get his early morning mail. "One of my sad regrets is-- that none of my children can experience the wonderful thrill of riding in a beautiful fringed, rubber tired surrey, behind a young frisky dapple-gray horse, through the woods, and up, over, and down the hills, on the way to visit their beloved Grandparents as I used to do so many years ago. "As my father always allowed my brother to drive part of the way, they sat in the front seat of our surrey, each wrapped in a robe and with a hot well wrapped soap-stone at his feet. My mother and sister sat on the back seat, I of course being tucked between them, squeezed but warm, although my feet couldn't touch the piping hot soap-stone on the floor below. These soap-stones in spite of the grateful heat they supplied at first, invariably became only luke warm before we had reached our journeys end and we were almost frozen after twelve long, slow, winter miles. "Now our horse Flossy, always put on a show when we were ready to start, and I believe to this day, that she always knew when we were going 'Down Home' to Grandfather's for she always seemed to be extra coy and full of pep as it were, at that particular time. She was a strong healthy young, dapple-gray horse, inclined to be skittish, and she shied at anything that afforded her any possible excuse to be shy, and, when she shied beautifully. First she would snort loudly and long, prick up her ears, raise up her tail, and head, snort again, rear up onto her hind legs, paw the air with her fore legs, come down onto her fore legs, immediately give a kick or so with her hind legs, come down onto all fours, and start to turn around in a circle doing all this before my father could grab the lines quickly enough to avoid this happy caper. Although I will say that she never accomplished the feat of turning in a circle for by that time Father had gripped the lies a little tighter, braced his feet against the iron bar at the base of the dash board, and had pulled Flossie's chin back so tight against her neck that she was unable to turn. Thus finding her game nipped in the bud, she always compromised by galloping off down the street as fast as she could go, with Father holding back on the lines and with the rest of us holding on to the sides of the surrey for dear life, mother vowing all the time that she would never ride behind that frisky colt again. I know that we always presented a very thrilling if not impressive sight to our neighbors, during those start-aways, for they always made it a point to be on hand to wave us a fond farewell, and incidently to wish us a safe arrival at our destination, which courtesies we always appreciated, for confidentially, we all felt just a little uneasy behind Flossie until after she had run a few miles and had become quite winded and was ready to subside. About the time she had come upon the road passing in front of the old Cooper Farm, she was generally quite docile. "On the east side of this Particular Cooper Road, a noisy Brook flowed swiftly along on it's way to Elliot's Falls and mill which was situated at the end of this road about a mile away. After traveling a short distance along this Brook, we came to a large tree at the base of which, bubbled a clear, cool spring. On a branch of the tree overhead, hung an old bent and rusty tin-cup, inviting all who passed to stop and drink. Stopping here was always a part of our regular routine, and I remember that Father always passed the lines across to my brother, climbed out of the surrey, and lifted down the tin cup from it's hanging place, stooped and rinsed it thoroughly, then filled it to the brim with sweet, ice-cold crystal-clear water from the spring and handed it to us for to drink. We all drank clear water from the spring. We all drank our fill religiously, mother all the time admonishing us not to touch our lips to the cup. No water has ever tasted so refreshing and delicious since. Now the trees are all gone, the brook is brackish and unclean and if the Spring is still there, one dares not drink. In the summertime we children always hopped out of the surrey, and while Father was watering his flock, as it were, we picked handfulls of fresh green grass for Flossy who honestly know enjoyed these trips as well as we did. "Starting on our way again, we rode to the end of the Cooper Road, turned left onto the Elliot's Mill Road which became a rough rocky road climbing up over a long steep hill to the east. At the base of this long hill, Father always ordered my brother to pull the horse to a stop, then taking the lines himself, told my brother and sister to hop out on to the road an walk up the hill, in order to lighten the load for Flossie, for the hill was too long and steep for her to pull such a heavy load. "I always hopped out with them and it was always to my everlasting grief, for I was so very much younger then either ny brother or my sister and it was such a long hill. By the time I was half way up, they would both be at the top where father and Mother were waiting. Into the surrey both would climb, and my brother would take over the reins, slap them on the back of the horse, cluck to her, and shout loud enough for me to hear, 'Giddap' and Flossie did. Of course I would begin to scream, and call for him to wait, all the while trying to make my short tired legs move faster so I would not be left all alone on that lonesome and strange country road. My father always scolded my brother about this prank, and warned him never to repeat this offense, but on every succeeding trip, the same performance was enacted.. I was always so relieved to squeeze into my warm nest next to my mother again, after all I was only about five years of age. "The time from then on always began to hang heavy, for we rode almost continuously through the afore-mentioned woods, which if not on both sides of the road were at least on one side, and except for the sight of an occasional rabbit, or squirrel or a rare opossum or woods-pussy, our trip became very monotonous indeed, and our interest began to wane while we rode and rode. When we finally made the last turn onto the road going past Grandfather's Home, we invariably experienced the ever new thrill when his home came into view." [continued at No. 50, Hannah Goodlander)

A Story, "The Rag-Man" by HRG: "I remember when I was a little girl, my mother used to save her sewing scraps and old worn-out clothing which she kept in large burlap bags and sacks toward the time when the Rag-man came by. Sometimes she would have three or four of the bags ready. "I remember that I would sit out in front on the steps almost every day in the summertime and watch up and down the street for the Rag-man to come. Day after day would go by, and then weeks would pass and then suddenly, away down the street, I would see ambling along toward me, an old bony run down plug of what was once a respectable horse, pulling an old rickety wagon, the front end of which was about two feet lower than the back end, and which was piled high with bags and sacks of all descriptions and sizes and colors. "I would run screaming and calling to my mother in the house. She would first schush me, and then we three, my mother, my sister (until she became too dignified) and I, would carry out the heavy bags to the edge of the curb, to be ready for the Rag-man when he finally drew up in front of our hitching-post and stop. We really need not have hurried so fast, for several stops were made before he came to us, and my mother always worried for fear her neighbors would bargain for something she might want and be unable to get. "On the low seat in front of the wagon sat the Rag-man, a frouzy, dirty little fat man, wearing an old straw hat, which was torn and also dirty, through which stuck out in shaggy tufts, hair red with streaks of grey, and which seemed to grow down his face into a bristly beard half way down his shirt front. He smiled when he greeted my mother, and as he did so, several yellow crooked snags of teeth came into view, holding onto an old unlighted corn cob pipe in the corner of his mouth. I used to shiver and tremble and hold onto my mother's skirts at the sight of him until I happened to look into his twinkling blue eyes. The I knew that I had nothing to fear and I crowded eagerly up to the wagon to watch his goings-on. "Down would jump the Rag-man and go to the back of his wagon where was hung a set of scales with a large hook at the bottom. On these scales he weighed each bag carefully, then when finished threw these bags up on top of the wagon along with all the other sacks and bags, and how they ever said up there was always a mystery to me. "Then (and this was always the nicest of all): the Rag-man would let down the side to a large box hanging on the back end of the wagon and there we would see exposed to our view, a wonderful assortment of the most beautiful shiney tin-ware you ever saw, including everything from a little tin-cup to a more stately stew-pan. There were dish-pans and buckets and dippers and graters and funnels, in fact there were so many lovely things, that my mother was always at a loss as to which article to choose, and invariably she was always sorry she hadn't chosen something different, after which she had gone back into the house and the wagon was gone. On one occasion, I remember she chose a beautiful pail which she said she wanted my brother to use when he picked our apples and I couldn't for the life of me understand his lack of enthusiasm when she showed it to him. "After my mother had made her selection with the help of her two or three neighborhood friends, who had gathered around the wagon, the Rag-man presented me with a beautiful shiny tin-cup which I had coveted in no secret way, gave me a smiley wink, shut away and padlocked his tin treasures, bade my mother a goof-day, climbed up into the wagon seat, took up the reins which he slapped on the back of his nag, clucking to him at the same time, and slowly ambled along to the next group of women a little further up the street. "So ended one of the red letter days of my childhood, in the good old horse and buggy days of long ago."

A Story, "Fiddle-dee-dee!" by HRG: An old tradition in our Family, handed down for generations has been- "any one with Reid Blood in his veins, can sing."-which has proved some what true from observation, for every generation has produced many above average voices, although I grant you I know many of the Family who haven't been able even to carry a tune. Perhaps some of those who can sing have concealed the fact from the outside world, however you know and I know that if one has that Heaven-sent gift, he is singing wherever and whenever he may and the outside world will find out. "My father had a beautiful tenor voice. When only in his late teens according to his Diary which I now Possess, he attended singing school and was often called upon to be the leader. Even at the early age of four I can remember when he directed the choir of our church and he enjoyed that position close onto forty years. "Mother was often called upon when the emergency arose, to play the organ in the choir and she played not in the genteel and sedate manner befitting the occasion, but with a fervor that changed the dignity and the tempo of the entire choir for she kept time with a bounce and a rhythm, a bobbing of her head that would have pepped up a dance-band of the present day. "Thus it was that I was raised in the ever-present atmosphere of music, I was always performing in all church entertainments, reciting pieces or poems, singing in cantatas or what have you, typical of those days when we depended upon the church festivities for our family entertainment. A wonderful and happy life we lived...[etc.] "While teaching at country-school and before he was married, father purchased for himself a violin from Mr Clark in Richmond who made very splendid violins. It was Quite an honor to own a Clark violin, for it was an instrument of beautiful tone quality. No doubt even to this day many violinists are proud possessors of Clark violins. "I remember it was quite a treat when father allowed me to hold his fiddle, as he called it, and by the time I was six years old I was able to scratch out one of the very simple hymns, "Lord Dismiss Us," omitting to use my forefinger for the reason that it was too short to reach the strings. Being my father's child, he was delighted and henceforth whenever we had guests I always had to perform. I must have been a sight, trying to play a full-size violin with my too short arms and too small fingers. I realize now that my performances pleased him more than any one else. Eventually on the Christmas after I was eight years old, I found a violin under my stocking. There lay a three-quarter size violin small enough to fit my short arms and fingers. Father had purchased it from a young man who owned a music store and whose name was Oliver Knode. "My life was changed from that time. Music lessons were to be the bane of my life for every day for years on end, I had to practice music lessons. My mother and sometimes my father sat beside me and counted time with a 1,2,3,4 1,2,3,4 or 1,2,3 and a 1,2,3 rest. "Eventually, I was playing solos and my father often played little duets with me. Can you imagine me playing solos on a little three quarter size violin? I played at school entertainments and always to company or guests at home as it were. Our company always invited me to play my latest and best and always my father beamed when they applauded. "Then the time came when the wonderful and talented Prof. Will Earhart took me under his wing as it were. Every Saturday morning I studied with him, using my new violin for I had outgrown my little one and when I entered the new Garfield School on north eighth street for the seventh and eighth grades, he put me into the orchestra. Words cannot express my happiness and joy when he told that I was to play first violin in an orchestra. My cup was running over. All my work and sacrifice and practicing had paid off and I was beginning to live a life of enjoyment with, and love for my violin. It seemed to me that from then on I was constantly carrying it under my arm and I can remember my father and his pride in my humble performances. "It wasn't long before High School days began, and Professor Earhart promoted me to the High School Orchestra which can now be called the Pioneer Orchestra of High School and which developed into the important and enormous institution it is today. Little did I realize then, that my second son would be solo Clarinetist in the A orchestra of Richmond High School, years later. Our Orchestra included 4 first violins, 4 seconds, 1 viola, 1 cello, 1 bass viol, 1 cornet, 1 flute, 2 clarinets, 1 bassoon, 1 tuba, 1 timpani and drums, and the piano. I was surely in Heaven as it was the most beautiful orchestra in existence. We played for every event, meeting or gathering that came to R.H.S, Senior Publics, Junior Publics, Commencements, or whatever entertainments happened to be in the old Auditorium or anywhere else in Richmond where we were needed or invited. Those times were before the days of Petrillo and his Musician's Union. "We also accompanied the Ladie's Chorus which Prof. Earhart personally conducted and which included about forty of the best voices among the young women in High School, and whenever the two groups were in perfect voice and skill, we gave concerts which were very popular and a drew large audiences whenever and wherever we performed. "Once, I remember, we hired the old famous Tallyho drawn by its many horses and drove all the way to Cambridge City to give a concert. My mother made me promise to sit near Prof. Earhart or I couldn't go, so we sat up front facing the group. Anyway, I enjoyed the trip there and back, watching and listening to the older ones talking laughing and singing. "We gave a wonderful performance to the extremely large audience of twenty-two. Quite a surprise! What a blow to our ego! Cambridge City didn't know what they missed. Either our advance agent forgot to advertise, or Cambridge City didn't realize our expert talent, for sure. "Another time, our orchestra drove in hacks (you remember what hacks were), to Campbellstown, Ohio, to play at their High School commencement. We were to be served a chicken supper by a resident there so we left immediately after school in order to arrive there by five-thirty in time to eat. true to their promise, we were served a wonderful meal and we did full justice to it as you can imagine the number of hollow legs in our group, there being only two young women in the lot, the pianist and I, and we were all starved after having ridden so far. "The large school room was packed with people and we made the welkin ring with our music. I remember that we played the overture from William Tell, some marches, and whatever else was put before us. After it was all over, and we returned home, and all was another happy memory, we were all shocked by the news that the School-board had received a letter from the woman who had served us our chicken supper, demanding remittance for our meals. It seems that Henry Bulla our crack bull fiddler had made the arrangements for our orchestra to play for this Commencement, at the request of his uncle Wm. Bulla who resided in Campbellstown and who was also a member of the school-board there, and also for the meal which we so thoroughly enjoyed. The whole affair was finally settled after much correspondence, the County finally paying for the meal. What a let-down! "Another time, we went by interurban to Dublin to play at their High School commencement. The affair was much more elaborate than most commencements and we had an unusually large attendance; also our Orchestra was there to a man. The program was long and we became restless and tittery particularly after the valedictorian, a very shy and frightened miss who used as the subject of her speech: "We have reached the Bay, the Ocean lies beyond!" using this phrase so many times that it became more and more difficult for us to mind our manners. Also I remember that the quartette which sang included one man who possessed a very lovely low bass voice and we all quieted down to listen to it. However they sang so many songs that we again began to fidget and became somewhat noisy until Prof. Earhart had to tap his bow on the rack to quiet us. "Finally it was over and we were all packing our instruments ready to leave and I had just finished with my fiddle, when drummer and trap artist, Fred Gennett by name, grabbed my arm and told me to hurry and pulled me along so fast that I had much to do to keep up with him. He dragged me outside onto the Interurban and pushed me up to the front seat and told me to stay there with him, for if I didn't I was sure to get arrested. It seems that whenever I took time off to listen to the low down bass and his quartette they thought I was laughing at them so they complained to Prof. Earhart and threatened to get the Sheriff. He, as soon as he could, buttonholed Fred and told him to hurry and take me onto the Interurban while he pacified the men. I really wasn't ridiculing these men for the bass had a lovely voice but I admit I was one of the fidgets and I apologized profusely to Prof. Earhart when he came into the Interurban. I think we all learned our lesson then and there, for we were much better behaved after that unhappy experience. Confidentially, I was frightened. "We played at more affairs, but the one that I will always remember was during my Sophomore Year when our entire Orchestra and Ladies Chorus was invited to perform at the State Teacher's Convention in Indianapolis in 1903. We were there for one day, playing in the afternoon and again at night. We did ourselves proud and I know that Prof. Earhart was proud of us too. That was the afternoon of the tragic Iroquois Fire in Chicago and we heard the sad news after the afternoon meeting. One of our own Orchestra boys, Eddo Kline who played cello and played it so well, that after he graduated from High School, procured a place in the Iroquois Theatre Orchestra. He was one of the last persons to leave the stage alive. His sister Hazel was a member of the Ladies Chorus and was in Indianapolis with us at the time. She was notified immediately upon receiving word from Eddo that he had escaped from that horrible calamity. "In my Junior year at High School, Prof. Earhart again through his goodness and extreme kindness, enabled me to become a member of the Gennett Orchestra, which was the acme of performance and excellence in its day. It's membership included not only several members of our own High School Orchestra, but all the best and older talent of Richmond. I can remember only a few of their names now, and there were about fifty members. Our director was a very able and competent artist indeed. "We rehearsed on one evening each week, unless for last rehearsals before each concert, when we met two or three nights as the case may be. The concerts were held in the Old Coliseum on north Seventh Street. We met and rehearsed in the ball-room on the third floor of the Gennett home on 19th and Main Sts. and we generally held forth until 10:30 or eleven o'clock. I used to shake in my shoes every time I had to walk home alone. I fairly stepped on the heels of some of the men as they walked west on Main St. and in spite of my fright, I was too shy to ask to walk along beside them. Anyway I was safe where I was, until I reached home in the new Wayne Apts. at 12th and Main Sts. "I remember that the last concert for which we presented, included Grieg's Peer Ghynt. We were sitting in the center of the main floor of the Coliseum and the house was crowded, everyone arrayed in their Sunday best. We started to play our first number as scheduled, but something was not as it should be, and the longer we played, the worse we did. Finally Prof. Earhart who was concert-meister, in First violins took over the directing from where he sat and gradually all trouble vanished and the concert was saved, as it were, and finally came to a successful conclusion. What was wrong? Our director was inebriated, in fact just tipsy enough, for his mind to be so woosy that he could only go through the motions of directing. His cornet solo was a pathetic demonstration. "That ended the Orchestra, for Mr. Earhart was the only person in Richmond capable of directing such a large group of musicians, but unfortunately didn't have the time to accept the responsibility. "About two years later, I received a phone call from Prof. Earhart who remarked that another Orchestra was being organized and that I was invited to join the Firsts--Oh! how I wanted to be one of them! but I had married the bell player and kettle-drummer in he meantime and I was expecting a Bundle from Heaven in only a very few weeks and I knew that henceforth it would have first place in my scheme of life so I had to refuse. "This ended my career as a violinist. "As the years have passed by, I have become only a fiddler. Three or four times a year, I take out my violin, tune it, replace the broken strings when necessary, fondle it a little, thump it a while, wind up my bow and then start to play an old favorite tune, only to discover my stiff crooked fingers wont go the way they should, and that my stiff bow wrist just makes my beautiful violin, saw out a poor miserable Fiddle-Dee-Dee!"

A story, "Praise d' Lawd!" by HRG: "It was a cold, gloomy, depressing afternoon in December many years ago that I was sitting in front of the fire in the living-room, feeling as gloomy and discouraged as the weather outside and for very good reason indeed, for my good cook Ida had become ill with an incurable disease and had been forced to give notice, in fact she had already gone, leaving me with two small boys, both hollow legged, aged seven and three and-half years respectively, and their always hurrying, never time to wait and never home when you need him father, to feed. and I was a terrible cook, in fact to tell the truth, I didn't know how to cook--much. Besides, that busy, long-legged, long-necked, Knobby-jointed, and ageless Mr. Stork had left his calling card along with a note stating that he would return about Ground-hog Day with another of those precious bundles which he must shove out of his already over-crowded nest, And Ground-hog Day was only two short months away, and I had no cook. "As all the past applicants for the position as cook in my household had proved hopeless as far as their desirability was concerned, it was with the usual misgiving that I answered the determined knock which resounded on my kitchen door, late that cold, gloomy afternoon. "When I opened the door, there before me stood Mary, Mary Brown, a large brown skinned colored woman, her shining face wreathed in a smile that warmed me to my heart. In she walked, shut the door, turned to me and announced she had come to help me out and would I want her to come Monday. Would I want her! Oh blessed relief! Of course I wanted her, and proceeded to show her her room and bath. She gazed at the bath with awe, exclaimed, 'Praise d' Lawd'! I'll be here Monday Mawnin,' and after a few arrangements and agreements as to pay, time off etc. she left me without even looking into the room where she was to sleep. "Sure enough, at seven O'clock on Monday morning in answer to a long buzz of the bell, I opened the door to Mary who came loaded with suitcases, boxes, and bundles tied up in newspaper. With her face beaming she announced, 'Heah I is, Praise d' Lawd'. 'Now dont you bother about breakfast cause I'm comin' down to git it right away, soon as I puts these bundles in my room. "She was just too good to be true. I always will be convinced that the good Lord sent her to me in my time of need, for from that day on for nine long years Mary not only cooked for us but in a true sense of the word, she was one of us. We planned around Mary and at times, she did most of our planning for us if she didn't like our ideas, whether we were in accord or not. As a rule however, life generally jogged along at a fairly reasonable pace, considering. "I have always regretted that I didn't record the various and pointed remarks of Mary which were so numerous, for they would have filled a large volume. The stories she told of her experiences in her early days, her experiences, her visions, for she was intensely religious, her superstitions and they were many, but now that so many years have gone by since those hectic but happy days when she was with us, I can only relate the very few incidents that have staid with me. "Mary was born in 1865, during the last year of the Civil War, to her mammy in a cabin standing in the end of the yard of hr Missus, whose plantation was near Lancaster, Ky. When just a little girl, she was put into the kitchen to learn to cook and she slept in a trundle bed in her Missus' room. After the war was over, she was given the name of her Missus. As she explains it, "I never had no schoolin, what I know about readin' I picked up myself. I've had to work all my life, but I did have it better than the rest of the childern at the back end of the yawd, for they worked in the fields and I lived up in the big house, and I learned how to cook all kinds of fancy dishes for rich folks. Now I'm gettin old, for I'm goin' on sixty-one and I cant work hard forever, but I likes it here and I'm goin to stay as long as I kin. "What food that woman could prepare! cakes, pies, all kinds of breads, Sally Lun, egg-bread, hoe cake, muffins, soda biscuits, batter-cakes, meats. She cooked all kinds of food, desserts, andy kind that you might think about, in fact anything in the way of food that you might mention, she knew how to prepare. And the amazing fact of it all, she carried her recipes in her Haid. My mother-in-law loaned us her beaten biscuit roller, but only on condition that she be given a plate of biscuits every time they were made. Every Monday evening when pops like a cap-pistol resounded from the kitchen, we knew Mary was rolling beaten biscuits back and forth, fold over, roll back and forth until huge blisters of air formed in the dough and when these went between the two steel rollers, they burst with a loud pop. When this dough became light enough, Mary rolled it out on the board and cut out small biscuits each of which was pricked twice on top with a four tined fork. When these came out of the oven they were light and flack and crunchy too, very delicious and a special treat. "Her light breads were just as delicious, and perfect, and every Wed. and Sat., the odor of fresh baked bread perfumed the entire house, I say perfumed, for what smells better than freshly baked light bread, hot from the oven? "Most of the neighbors on the block became Mary's good friends and Wed. was the day when she called on them. I can see her now dressed in her clean uniform- she loved pink, even if cullud folks didn't wear it- her white cap with its lace ruffle all around and a boy in front, and her long white apron tied around her huge waist, into a large bow in the back, go traipsin' down the street or across as the case my be, with a loaf of fresh light bread, wrapped in a clean tea-towel, as a token of friendliness for whomever happened to be the lucky on to welcome her call. Every woman on the block loved Mary- and her bread. "As predicted, on Ground-hog Day, in the early morning, the advance notice of the stork's arrival was sent and received. My husband awakened Mary who put the tea-kettles on to boil. In those days most babies weren't born in hospitals, and the first duty to perform in preparation for the blessed event was to put the tea-kettle on to boil. Young three and a half year old Dick was also awakened for the party, and insisted that his father help watch for the stork, out the front living-room window, and after asking all kinds of questions regarding that noble bird, protested violently when his harried father picked him up and dumped him into Mary's lap, promising him emphatically that he would call him when the stork arrived. Thus it was, that Mary was still sitting in front of the fire in the nursery, after Dick lost out on the wait, going to sleep, and being dumped back into his bed. Yes, Mary was there to receive into her warm, gentle arms, the brand new baby boy. She looked into his tiny red face, smiled, and burst out with 'Praise d' Lawd', and from that moment forward, he was Mary's Freddie baby. He was first in her heart, not occasionally, but first, last, and all the time, and also first in every other way as well, if she could manage it, which she generally did, if she could be there to see to it, and I don't mean maybe. If Freddie happened to be hurt and was crying out in the yard, immediately Mary would drop everything she was doing and go stomping out to him, pick him up and carry him into the house and sit him on the middle of the kitchen table where she was working, all the time mumbling to herself, 'They better not hurt my Freddie baby'. She would give him a spoon o help her 'stir', sometimes even allowing him to crack the eggs. The first time he successfully broke an egg into her cake, she sang out, 'Praise d'Lawd'"

A Story, "Mary and Her Religion" by HRG: "Mary was intensely religious and she belonged to the Apostolic Faith Church in Indianapolis, and as there was no church of her faith here, it was agreed and iunderstood thatshe be allowed to attend her church for a week's duration every three months, and this plan was followed all thru the nine years she lived with us. She had a tattered and torn Bible which she read and studied every night, without fail, after her day's work was done and the familiar drone of her voice sounding out her words as she struggled through chapter after chapter gave one a true realization of her deep and sincere faith in her religion and her untiring patience in her daily struggle with the reading of the Word. Many, many were the times that I sat with her and helped her with her reading and pronunciations, She knew her new testament from front to back, and was familiar with every character in it. "The boys loved to listen to her read out of her Bible and with Freddie against her knee and Bob and Dick sitting quietly on her bed she would tell about the good men and about the sinners too. "I am as certain as I can be sure of anything that Mary went to thatHeaven about which she read so much. "As I remarked before, Mary almost ruled the roots during the latter years of her stay with us. The following incident stands out in paticular in my memories of her: One Sunday morning when I should have gone to church but didn't, and had read until I was no longer interested, I wandered up-stairs just to nose around, I chanced to pick up a piece of embroidery on which I had been working and which wa nearly completed. I started to sew on it, and became so interested in it, that I failed to hear Mary come up the stairs, until she was coming down the hall. That she was heartily against sewing on Sunday I was aware, and too late I realized my mistake, for I should have allowed her to pass by, and kept on on with with what I was doing, and nothing would have been said, but, instead, I tried frantically to hide my sewing under me before Mary arrived. I failed miserably and laid myself wide open, as it were. She saw the whole sorry performance and thereupon planted herself in the doorway, placed her hands on her hios, and spake thusly: 'You needn't hide that form me, Mrs. Gennett, I can't do nothin' 'bout your soul! That's between you an' your Maker! You have to talk that out with him! No need to hide your sin from me cause I can't do nohin' about it! Praise d'Lawd!' And off she went, leaving me with a face as red as red, partly because I had let myself in for it, but mostly because mostly what she said was true. And that was that. "I remember well the time she went to Indianapolis to her church. It was Sat. on the 11th of June in 1920 that she left with a suitcase full of clothing, enough to last the entire week as she was to return on the next day week, and she ws so delighted to be going, that we all waved her good-bye and wished her a restful and happy week. (My cleaning woman Bertha was to come for us while Mary was gone, so everything appeared to be under control at home.) "Early the next day on Sunday, my Father became suddenly ill and late that evening, he passed away. My mother needed me, and Mary was away (and that afternoon word was received that Bertha was ill with tonsilitis). On Monday morning, while finishing my duties in the kitchen as hurridly as possible, in order to go to my Mother, I saw someone pass the window. Istepped out onto the porch, opened the door, and there before me stood Mary. with her suitcase in her hand. I rushed down the steps, threw my arms around her neck and hugged her. To me she was the grandest person I had ever seen, and I asked her how she happened to come home. This is what she replied: 'Mrs. Gennett, I had a vision. I was sittin' in church and suddenly someone said to me, "Mary, you go back home. You're needed." I tried not to pay attention, but I couldn't enjoy the meetin'. I staid all night, and when I woke up early this mornin', again somethin' said to me "Mary, you take the first train home, your folks are in trouble and you're needed." So I done it an' here I is. Praise d'Lawd.' And I replied, 'Mary, you are right, Praise the Lord, Amen.'

A Story "Mary and Her Music" by HRG: I never think of Mary, that I don't think of her Religion, and as I have remarked before, she loved her church so well that she lived for it, planning fromthe time she returned home from it, to the time when sh could go to it again. "She demonstated her faith first, by reading and studying her Bible, and second, by her songs and humns and spirituals. Oh, How I loved to hear her sing! "Many times I used to say to her, "Mary, what a pity your voice wasn't discovered and trained while you were young. You have a God-given voice!' to which she always replied, 'I sings to the Lawd and he hears me the wayI sings now.' To those of you who have heard the glorious voice of Marian Anderson, you can understand me when I say to you that Mary's voice was such as hers. Mary was a large woman and she had an enormous voice. Her notes came rolling out of her throat and heart like reverberating organ tones, full mellow, and beautiful. She sang her best when at her work, and she sometimes became so absorbed in her singing, that the louder she sang, the harder she banged her pots and pans and I was constantly buying new ones, particularly 'aluminie' ones as 'them granite ones bust up so fast, they gets into the cookin'. Don't none of them last long anyhow.' "I always permitted Mary to sing to her heart's content. How she never overstepped her liberties or manners when there were guests in the house. She knew her raisin', as it were and was politeness and manners personified when the occasion demanded. "To be perfectly honest, I dreaded those days when sh didn't sing, and on those days we all kept carefully out of her way, all except Freddie, for he was the only one who was welcome. Yes indeed she had her bad moments. "On one of these days I remarked to her, 'Mary, why aren't you singing today?' to which she replied, 'Don't feel like singin' I gets tired workin' and slavin' for white folks.' "Then as a rule on the next day, the sun would be shining again, and so would the sun be shining again in Mary's heart, for the rythm of her pots an' pans, Mary's voice was lifting to the blue skies above, and Praise to d' Lawd. in one grand spiritual. "And when I would say to her, 'Mary, I love to hear you sing,' she would answer, 'Praise D Lawd and I likes to sing when I'm feelin' good, for I knows the Lawd loves his poor colored folks, Bless His Name + Amen."

A Story, "Yes-maam"! sez Mary" by HRG: "Years and years ago when life was grand and also full of many surprises that happen while raising of boys, our cook and mother's helper, was chief bosserino of the entire family for as long as she staid with us. "She cooked and baked, ordered the food and taught her religion to whomever would listeng and she took upon herself the task of minding the baby who was born just a few weeks after she arrived at our back door with her bags and baggage for a short time only. "For nine long years she lived with us, and as one of us, for wherever we went on vacation, Mary went and whenever we rode inthe afternoon, Mary rode also, holding her precious baby, our third son in her arms. Always she kept him with her, watching him, feeding him, fighting for him, even to paddling the other boys for teasing him. He was her 'honey chile' and let mo one say he wasn't, for wasn't she there when he was 'borned'? Yes-maam! "Afternoons, while Freddie napped, Mary rested. Then, dressed in her clean uniform, generally a blue or pink gingham dress size 44 over which she wore a long white lawn apron with bib and straps and a bow in the back and a ruffled cap on her head. "Then off down the street she waddled, pushing the baby in his cab with Jack the bull dog, also a member of the family, trotting ahead to keep off marauders, for Freddie belonged to him too and wasn't Mary his best friend! I should say so! She fed him well! too well sometimes! "Generally, when my husband went on business trips to Indianapolis or Dayton or Cinn, I would go with him, leaving the boys with Mary, but always I brought back a gift to her. something which had been gently wished in advanced: a new uniform, anapron, a cap or hose or gloves, or new arch supports or sometimes just anything I thot she would like and she was always pleased. "Once, however, when I asked her what she would like, she startled the wits out of me thusly. "'What do you need this time Mary?' "'Now aint that nice! Thank you maam'! 'Yes maam there is something I want awful bad.' "'Alright, what is it Mary'? "'A straightenin' comb.' "'A straightenin' comb,' I gasped. "'Yes maam, if you please maam.' "'But whatever for?' I enquired. "'Well! - My goodness dont you know what a straightenin' comb is? It- er- well colored folks comb the nap out of their hair with 'em. They makes their hair straight like white folks.' "'Oh, so thats what they are!' "'Yes maam.' "'Mary I'll do my best to find one but dont expect too much of me.'

"SNAKES": "Mary's pet aversion was snakes and still there was that fascination about them which she could not resist. She had or rather knew a dozen or more hair-raising tales about snakes,all of which were experiences of some of her kith or her kith's kin and in spite of all my pleading, and my drastic punishment of Bob and Dick for askin her to tell them, she always fell from grace, and glorified in the shivers she herself experienced in the telling of them, and Bob and Dick were afraid of the drk for days afterward. I remember only one of these stories after all these twenty some years, and it goes something like this. 'Sister Maria's husband's brother Sam lived in a little cabin down at the end of his Marster's yard, and one night after he went to bed, it turned cool toward mawnin' and Sam with both eyes shut reached down for his kiver, pulled it up over him, and slept till plum daylight. When he woke up, he felt a turrible weight on his legs. Yessuh he did, and he thinks to himself, "Whut's that on my legs?" and he riz up onto his elbows that racer lifted up his mean lookin' head and looks right at Sam and Sam was so skeered his eyes bugged out and he turned cold. Then he laid down real easy and pulled the kivers clean over his head, so that the old snake wouldn't poison him to death with his fangs. Yessuh, that snake got chilly during the night and crawled up on Sam's legs to get warm. Sam laid there till that snake crawled down of the bed and out the door, and Sam all his life after that, Sam slept with his doors and windows plum shut, no matter how hot the weather wuz. Yessir thats what he done and thats true as sure as I'm a sittin' here.' "I remember one Friday night that my husband And I went to the theatre leaving the children in Mary's care. Threy were allowed to stay up until eight thirty o'clock, as it was Friday night and there would be no school on the next day, and as they were playing a game which they wanted to finish. Freddie was already in his nightie and half asleep on Mary's lap. Bob at that time was about eleven and a half years old and Dick was eight. "When we returned home about eleven-thirty the house was dark and everything was apparently quiet on the Hudson as it were, until I happened to glance into the sleeping porch to see if the boys were properly covered. There were no boys there, and their beds were neatly turneddown, just as I had left them. Neither was Freddie in his bed. Mr. G looked at me and I looked at him, then we both made a be-line to Mary's room. There they all were, Mary sitting by the radiator with Freddie bundled up in her lap, Bob and Dick sound asleep on Mary's bed. When Mary saw us, she exclaimed, 'Praise D' Lawd, youse finally come: my arms is nearly broke and I'm so tired and sleepy I cant see'. 'Mary, I'll wager you've been telling snake stories again, havent you.' 'Well, yes'm, jus' a little one'. 'Mary, what am I going to do with you? You've suffered just what you deserve. At least you could have put Freddie in bed!' "'Me let him sleep in there all by hisself! NO MAM!' "Then Mr. G laughed heartily, picked up Freddie and carried him to his bed, then went back for Dickie, while I steered Bob both his eyes tight shut, to his bed, tucked all three in for the night and went back into the room where my husbnd was standing. Then we stood and looked at each other. Then, 'Snakes!' said he; "and 'Snakes!' said I"

A story, "Travel Talk of 1920" by HRG: "Years ago, a vacation in my family meant only a change of scenery, a vast transportation of clothes, bed linens, supplies, dog, and everything necessary for the house-keeping operations of a family of boys. A moving from a modern electrically equipped home to a less convenient summer cottage, in which kerosene lamps, a single cupboard, a coal or oil-stove the worse for years of wear and careless use were it's modern utilities. Did I say vacation? And for whom? Not for Mother! However, even such a so-called vacation was sometimes a welcome change at that. "One of my most hectic experiences came about years ago, in 1920 in fact, when my ever original husband had the happy idea of sending us to Shelter Island which was the small Island tucked away between two extreme eastern Points of Long Island, a good 100 miles from New York City. "As the Cumberland Trail (Route 40 to you and me) had just been improved all the way to Fredericksburg, Md. and as we had a brand new Peerless Touring car with all modern equipment including shiny curtains with new style fasteners, to be used in case of bad weather, just waiting for such a trip, that was to be our means of transportation. As for a cottage, we decided to take a chance on procuring one on our arrival, for we would have a better chance to obtain a more satisfactory site and house by personal inspection rather than by renting one thru correspondence. "In due time, after sending several piano bench cartons full of bed-linens, blankets, and all kinds of necessary supplies by express, and engaging rooms at the various hotels where we planned to spend our nights during our journey, and after putting our home in order for closing, we were at last ready to load up our car in preparation for our trip east. "We had no trunk or storage space in our car. To have such a convenience was unheard of, however on one of his trips to New York, my husband had purchased a beautiful cow-hide chest about 40" long to fit our left running board. Of course we couldn't open the car door on that side but small matter, for it solved a very serious problem of storage space and we felt quite important riding along with such a wonderful possession. "Finally the morning arrived to start. Up at 5 A.M. for an early breakfast and the final last duties to perform. Then out to our car. First onto the back seat went Mary our maid, all dressed up in her new suit and hat and all; then of course where Mary was, there was 5 year old Freddie also, so he sat in the middle next to her; then Bob our eldest at age 12, with a book under his arm, next to freddie. Dick, our 8 year old sat on one of the folding seats, and Jack the Boston-Pit-bull-dog sat on the other. Then the robes, sweaters, a pair of Thermos-bottles in a leather case and three or four suit-cases were tucked in where-ever they would fit. My husband climbed into the driver's seat and finally I, all togged out in a brand new and elegant travelling outfit, sank into the other frontseat, spent and breathless, with my knot hanging over one ear, wondering if I had forgotten anything. "Toot, toot went the horn and off we started, calling farewell to the neighbors who came out to wave us God-speed. It was a beautiful balmy June day and we were a happy family headed we knew not how or where, but headed. "As the highway was new and the car was new, we were able to keep at a good average speed of 25 to 30 miles per hour which was wonderful and almost daring. In fact the rush of wind was so strong that I was forced to keep the Boys' faces thoroughly cold-creamed, under protest, of course, for they were burning terribly from the wind and sun. "By changing seats and stopping several times to exercise our cramped muscles, we finally arrived in Wheeling, West Va. that first evening about 7 P.M. tired, dusty, and hungry. When father applied for his reservations at the Windsor Hotel, they had none available due to a convention being quartered there, however gazing at our weary family and as we supposedly had reservations, the clerk very generously offered the ball-room to us and said we could have it all, which we accepted pronto. Enough beds were set up for the family along on end and everything was hunky-dory. Mary was taken by a porter to spend the night at the home of a colored family, and Jack the dog was relegated to dog-town in the basement. The ballroom proved to be a God-send, for the boys ran off their stored up energy chasing each other around and up and down, and then finally slept soundly all night. "The next morning we had difficulty getting quick service in the dining room due to the crowds of convention guests and I remember that we were fortunate to get orange-juice, boiled eggs, too-brown toast and milk, all luke-warm and very unappetizing. "After breakfast, the porter went after Mary, and the boys with another porter went after Jack, then, when we were all together again and were in the car and on our way, we compared notes. "Jack had a torn ear. It seems that on first sight, he and another bull dog rushed at each other and had a noisy and damaging fight, ie, damage to the other dog as he, according to the boy's version looked fierce. His master hadn't seen his plight when we took Jack away and of course we were riding further and further away before we even found out about it so---What! "Mary told us that she had slept in a nice clean bed and had fried chicken, fried potatoes, hot biscuits and jam and coffee for her breakfast. And she was below the Mason and Dixon Line! "While we were wending our way toward Washington, we were gradually climbing higher and higher into the hills until finally we realized we were climbing up and rushing down nothing but hills. When we arrived in Uniontown, we had our lunch, walked the children for a few blocks, then settled ourselves in the car to climb the Uniontown Hill, the highest hill of all. My husband and I took turns driving during our journey, one driving in the morning the other in the afternoon then changing again if we rode at night. It was my turn to drive that afternoon so I climbed into the drivers seat, adjusted my specs, pushed my knot to where it belonged, put my foot on the pedal and away we went. Up, up, and up we climbed until suddenly my car jerked and hopped and sputtered and then stopped. Again I started it and off we went- for about thirty feet, then stopped. Over and over and over I tried, and always after a few feet, it stopped. Then my sweet and loving husband came forth with this and I quote: 'I thought you were a good driver. What on earth is the matter with you?" Unquote. I turned to retort when I happened to glance down the hill. "Look, look at the road down the hill," I said. Almost straight down it was and I had been trying to drive in high gear on what appeared to be an almost perpendicular road. What a relief to find everything under control after I had started again and had shifted into second, and found ourselves climbing steadily upwards. Live and learn. As we drove around dangerous curves, we read such signs as, "If you want to meet your God, drive fast," or, "Take your eyes off the road and drive down hill," or "Drive in the middle of the road and see what happens here.' Also very frequently we saw the sign, "View ahead, photograph as you go." We always took advantage of the opportunity to stop whenever there happened to be a stopping or parking place, to view and enjoy the colorful wonderful scenery before our admiring gaze, and we were awed by all the changing panoramas of beauty and color. "I remember that we came into Cumberland, Md., at 9 P.M. and we had three boys sleeping in all kinds of positions in the back seat and even Mary's head was bobbing up and down with the movement of the car. I don't recall much about Cumberland, only that we staid there that night, and that we took a long walk on the hilly streets. "All the next day we rode until we eventually entered Washington D.C. relieved that the first half of our journey was ended. The children were bathed and tumbled into bed, happy that we were not riding on the morrow. "I don't recall much that had happened in Washington, other than the usual sight-seeing, that could be done while driving from place to place, except that we visited the Museum. Then on the next day, we went to Mt. Vernon. I remember that distinctly, because my husband had expressed the desire to see Mt. Vernon, as and I quote, "That is one place where I have never been and I would enjoy seeing it.' Unquote. To my notion, there were few places in the United States where he hadn't been. "I remember that when we finally arrived there, the boys were out of the car before it was scarcely parked and were hightailing it down to the sea-wall along the Potomac River, without so much as a by your leave, and of course their father being a better sprinter than I, ran after them for the water was deep and we wanted no accidents. Consequently, the set-up was grand for Mary and me standing there alone by ourselves, so we immediately hurried to view the beautiful home of George and Martha Washington. "We spent hours going from room to room not only once but over and over again, enjoying every detail of that famous home. Mary was especially interested in that old kitchen and slave quarters for she was born into slavery in the last year of the Civil War down in Lancaster Co., Kentucky. She lingered over these sights and I enjoyed them with her. Several times while viewing the upper rooms of Mt. Vernon, I glanced out the window toward the River to see what my family was doing and at last I saw them coming toward the house, so shortly afterward, Mary and I being quite weary went back to the car to rest and wait for the boys and their father. On the way back to Washington and the hotel, as we remarked about the many things we had seen, my husband was quiet I thot, and a little glum. "Didn't you enjoy that beautiful home?" I remarked of him. "Mt. Vernon is one of the places I've never seen," he replied. I looked at him aghast. "But I saw you coming toward the house with the boys," I exclaimed. 'We didn't go into the house at all,' he replied. To this day he has never seen Mt. Vernon and to this day I feel guilty. I should have been more attentive. "Early on the next morning we were again on our way, headed toward Trenton, New Jersey the on the way to New York City if possible. That word possible had a greater significance in those days than now. Almost any destination can be reached on schedule now, what with the wonderful cars and good roads, good hotels and motor courts, good restaurants, and inns available to the restless traveler. However it was not to be so with us on that day, nor the next, I remember, for after we left Baltimore, the bumps and chuck-holes in the road were so terrible that we were able to travel at the rate of only 1 to 15 miles per hour and thru dust several inches deep, for there had been no rain for days. That wonderful substance called tarvis which covered the Cumberland Trail, was never to be seen again on any of the roads during our travels that summer. We were the sorriest and dirtiest and weariest looking pioneer tourists ever beheld, stopping in front of the Old Trenton House in Trenton New Jersey that night. I don't believe that we had ever enjoyed a bath since as we all did that night. Even Jack squirmed with delight during his brisk brushing. "Not much enthusiasm was shown the next morning as we packed up and headed for New York City as we had been informed that the road to there was even worse than terrible. Such truer words were never uttered, for we jostled and jounced against each other until our dispositions were tuned to fit, and over and over again, we vowed never to travel in a car again. Then to make matters worse, our poor new car which heretofore had behaved so well could stand the strain no longer. When it bumped into the worst hole yet, the wind shield support on the right side, broke away from the car. From there on we not only jostled and jounced but jiggled and rattled into New York City. It was one o'clock when we found the Peerless Service Station near the East River and as they of course had no new side-arm for the windshield, we had to wait until the broken one could be removed and welded. "The children played on the side-walk in front of the garage, and chairs were placed outside in front of it for the rest of us so the waiting wasn't too bad. About 4 P.M. while we were still waiting, a police patrol car came rushing up, and stopped, the policeman jumped out and ordered us to go inside the garage and stay. They had been ordered to the water-front to arrest some sailors who were carrying on a mutiny on board an Italian boat, and they the police wanted no one catching a stray bullet. Later, several police-patrols came clanging up the street past us, each fairly running over with sailors. They evidently had completed their mission. As for us, at least we didn't lack for excitement while waited. "Our car was finally ready at 6 P.M. and as we had had no food since morning, my husband promised the boys that we would stop at the first presentable eating place outside of New York City, so after crossing the Queensboro Bridge onto Long Island, then driving onto the South-shore Highway towards Southampton, we stopped in the parking place of a clean, presentable eating place. After we were seated amid some confusion and startled glances, we enjoyed delicious T bone steak dinners, cost to poor father, $16 dollars and tips. Afterward, we discovered that we had eaten in one of the then swankey road houses on Long Island. No wonder they didn't know what to do with us. I know that we all looked like I felt, and I felt like I looked, tired, dusty, dressed for the road, and hungry. Their food was delicious and we all did justice to it. That should have been complement enough for them. As usual Mary came out on top. She and Jack ate in the kitchen and she entertained the crowd while she ate. She told about Indiana and about her trip, where she had been, and where she was going. She told it all, and they were from Harlem "When we were at last on our way again, it was my turn to drive. It had turned to dusk as we headed east and in a short while we were riding on a lonely road between villages, thru sand dunes filled with bayberry and blueberry. The further east we drove, the darker it became, and the closer to the Atlantic Ocean we were, the louder sounded the pounding and the beating of the surf as it roared up onto the beach. It was a lonely narrow road on which our dusty 1920 model Peerless full of tired adventuresome Hoosiers rode that dark, lonesome night, for we could only see a short distance ahead, on that road lit by the not too bright lights typical to the cars of those times. "It was late when we pulled up before the Southampton Hotel, but our rooms were ready, three rooms, two baths, and a dog-Villa. "I was proud of my family when we all sat down to breakfast the next morning, after comparing us with the other guests, and they behaved very well for them too. Do you know what I mean? Even Jack didn't look too bad! $36 plus tips for the night! "After passing thru West Hampton, then East Hampton the home of Paine, the composer of 'Home Sweet Home', and another village or so, we arrived at Sag Harbor, an old whaling village, where we drove onto the ferry and floated across to Shelter Island. We were there at last! We registered at the Hotel, ate our lunch and then hunted up the real estate man. We finally chose a cottage with three stories, twelve rooms, a rusty old cook-stove and in a good location, owned by a little old lady named Miss Susie Small. The house was fairly well furnished,we agreed to take it if a new oil stove was furnished and if it be cleaned and made ready for our occupancy in two or three days which Miss Small agreed to do for the monthly rental of two-hundred dollars. Imagine! We returned to the hotel feeling somewhat disgusted, to say the least. We then hunted up our boxes and made arrangements for them to be sent to the house at the end of the week, after which we were willing to call it a day. "Very early the next morning, we were awakened by voices in the corridor of the hotel, and realized that the guests were being urged by the bell hops to arise and dress as one of the largest cottages across the street was afire. My husband never understood why we weren't called also. He still considers it an insult that we weren't called. Nevertheless, notwithstanding the fact that we weren't called nor weren't supposed to arise and dress for safety sake, we arose and dressed and rushed to the yard. As is customary with most summer resorts, practically all the houses on Shelter Island were old and built of wood, hotel included, and a fire out of hand could be very serious indeed. "We sat ourselves down on one of the yard benches, close enough to see that the house afire evidently belonged to a very wealthy family as it was huge, well-kept, and very attractive in an early Victorian sort of way. We could see a woman in her night-gown, and her hair hanging down her back, running around with her maids screaming at them at the top of her voice. The town fire dep't arrived shortly afterward. It included a bright red fire engine and several men who soon had the water pouring onto the blazing home. People were carrying out furniture and belongings and some were rushing frantically here and there to help, while some were decidedly underfoot. For some reason or other, the fire in the fire engine was allowed to burn out and too late it was discovered, consequently, by the time the pumper was in working order again, the house had burned down to the ground, and the fire was over. Mary who afterward became friendly enough with the maids, for them to visit her on the curb under our huge tree in the sideyard nearly every afternoon, was told that the madam had lost a chamois bag full of jewels in the fire which explained why the maids, butler, and chauffeur took turns poking around the ashes and debris with long sticks. Luckily these jewels were found several weeks later apparently none the worse from the heat and rough usage. "A day or so before we became established in our cottage, and we were ready to settle down to a regular routine, my husband decided to be ill enough to call in the doctor of the Island. He was long and lanky, with a newly sprouted mustache, and not long out of Medical school. He made an examination, left some medicine and said he would be back. The next day he announced that my husband had typhoid. I would' believe it, didn't believe it; I felt like some silly women I'd heard about, and remarked that I just wasn't going to have it so, away out on that God forsaken Island, so after the doctor left I promptly gave him a huge dose of the childrens medicine composed of phenolated pepsin & bismuth, which I had brought with me, for knowing how he reacted to fatigue and indigestion, I felt he had had too much travel for his own good so I dosed him up and did some real honest to goodness stiff praying which must have done some good both ways, for he was better the next morning. After a few days he was himself again, bade us all a fond farewell, left that desolate place and returned home again, leaving me with my family to rear and care for, for two months of the dreariest existence I ever experienced before or afterward. It was fortunate that we had to far to drive about two miles into the country every day to buy our gallon of milk, besides it gave us a chance to get away from home. "Mary eventually learned to boil live lobster which we were able to buy at the fish-market at all times, though she was never able to drop them into the water unless she shut her eyes. I don't believe she would have cooked them at all if she hadn't enjoyed eating their sweet delicious pink meat. "My husband returned to us about the middle of August accompanied by my mother who remained with us until we left Sept. 1 to return home. I was so delighted to have her with us. "One early morning we all drove to Monatuk Point which is the last jumping off place on Long Island. While now a beautiful hotel stands on this point, in 1920 there was only a tumble-down deserted old hotel two-thirds of the way there. At the extreme end of the Point stands the beautiful Montauk Light-house. To me Light Houses are awe-inspiring, symbols of Brotherly Love, Sacrifice. and of course for what they really are, beacons of Safety and assurance & I stand to watch their ever turning lights with solemn Reverence. "To the north of Montauk Light was a small fishing village. Everywhere on the sand-dunes grew blueberry bushes, loaded with their luscious juicy fruit and the aroma of bay-berries filled the air and I brought home several branches of their smooth fragrant leaves. "On another day, we packed our basket of food, to picnic on the beautiful beach at Amagansett. While passing thru the town, we spied a table of freshly picked sweet corn in front of a market. Of course we stopped and purchased plenty of the luscious fresh sweet ears, and then bought a large new kettle in which to cook them. I think that day was the most enjoyable day of our visit, for the coolness of the air, the warm sunshine, the broad and spotless beach, the pounding of the surf, & the happiness and contentment of our all being together, made for a perfect Day of Living. We loved Amagansett. "My mother and I on another occasion went to New York City to shop for two or three days, staying at the old Waldorf Astoria in order to be near the best shopping district at that time. We took the train at Sag Harbor, and rode along safely enough, until we started thru the tunnel under the East River. The lights on the train decided to go out so we sat in the darkest dark we had ever experienced holding onto our valuables until we arrived into the station in New York City. What a relief to see the blessed daylight again! "There it was that I saw women with bobbed hair for the first time, and then it was, that I knew that my slippery and unruly knot was doomed. We were two tired and happy women, when we returned to Shelter Island. On the next day I began to pack our belongings in preparation for our return home, for the two older boys had to be back in time for school.

A Poem, "Five-boys-five" by HRG..."My First (1926)": "Have you seen my tiny boy?

His face is round and full of joy.

Eyes are brown and full of twinkles

Dirty knees and clothes full of wrinkles

He rides his bike, all blue and shiny

His mind is great his body tiny.

2

Have you seen my little boy?

Is his mother's pride & joy

His eyes are blue & his hair light too.

He's quiet and kind, any way will do.

Bath-tub and tooth-brush, no friends of his

Nor hair brush & clean clothese you know how tis.

3.

Have you seen my little man

Plays in the Morton High school band

Fourteen years have given him an air

Nobody's right but he's always there.

Hair all slick, clothes all mussed

Smiles at the girls but he's easily fussed.

4.

Have you seen my great big man

Six feet tall, reach me if you can.

Eighteen years, afraid of a girl,

---m, Chem & Calculus, keep his brain a whirl.

Loves to play golf and tennis makes him.

But best of all Is how he chews gum.

5.

Have you seen my oldest child?

His four young sons near drive him wild.

His pockets leak dollars, his pockets leak dimes

To him, poor man, it's always hard times.

Lost all his hair, from worry and care.

Can't stay at home, always somewhere.

6.

Five boys to mend, five boys to patch,

Five boys to make behave, when they fight and scratch.

Scrub & clean, darn & sew.

Always feel like running when it piles up so

7.

But when they're all asleep

And I can rest & rest

I know my own dear Lord

Knows what is always best

I would not trade a single boy

For any girl I see

In spite of all the leak of dimes

Im rich as rich can be.

A Poem, "Elkhorn Rock" by HRG:

When the mid-day Summer sun

Glares down with wavery heat

When my tasks for the day are o'er

And my house is clean and neat:

Then I take my pillow and book

Down to my rock to dream,

By a deep and shadowy pool

In Elkhorn's murmering stream

2

The song of the wildbirds trill

And the locusts tune rasps nigh;

The black crows wing above,

And chicken hawks sail high.

Wild birds are feeding their young,

Mid sycamores shady green;

And the squirrel's summer nest

Rides high o'er willows clean.

3

Small boys in birthday clothes,

Swim neath the Fall's cool deep

Their dog lies in the shade,

Sees bunnies in his sleep.

A burly ground-hog near,

Eats raspberry leaves so sweet.

Then in his den in the bank

He sleeps away from the heat.

4

The cows their young calves near,

Lie calmly in the shade;

With hanging heads hung low, the horses rest,

In shadows of the glade;

The rooster and his wives

Take dust baths in the road.

Then seek the coolness and quiet,

Of their afternoon abode.

5

Deep down in the pool below;

Darts a silvery minnow school

And fingerling bass with waving tails

Hide in the shadows cool:

While I on my favorite rock,

Just sit and rest and dream:

By a deep and shadowy pool,

In Elkhorn's cooling stream.

---May 1st '45

A Story, "Never a Dull Moment (at Elkhorn), or Elkhorn Blues" by HRG: "My husband and I moved to Elkhorn Falls with that feeling of completeness and fulfillment of those plans and dreams which come into the minds and hearts of the somewhat weary and ready=to-slow-up parents of middle-age, approaching that time of life of which they dislike to think, old-age. "We planned to spend the balance of our days in peace and contentment, to take pleasure trips to those places we had always wanted to see but couldn't because we had four sons whom no one wanted to baby-sit, and besides, we wouldn't have had time to see anything while keeping four squirming boys in line anyway. "How can one think up such ideas! Why one month before we moved into our new little house, our 4th and youngest son was drafted and sent to England within four months after he started his Basic Training and shortly afterwards our eldest son, who had no children, was drafted out of Birmingham, Ala. and was finally sent to Oahu H.I. thence to Guam and finally to Okinawa as an Engineer. Were we worried? Wouldn't you have been? "After three years of anxiety and dread, Bob arrived home from Okinawa having been through 2 enormous typhoons, was shot at by Jap snipers and suffered two attacks of Dengue Fever. Shortly after, Henry arrived from Czechoslovakia and the battlefront. He was with Gen. Patton and his 3rd. Army in the Battle of the Bulge and drove one of the first jeeps to cross the Rhine into Germany. "It was only by the Grace of God that our two sons were returned to us for which we are forever grateful. "After these three hectic years were over and we had begun to settle back to normal, we again started to think of peace and quiet, rest, and the joy of living. How little we knew! "One of the nuisances of which we were ignorant when we moved to Elkhorn Falls was the swimming pool under the Falls. This is a natural pool about 6 to 8 ft. deep and quite large enough for a pleasant swim on hot summer days. Incidently- it was officially opened this year by three skinny shivering boys on a balmy sunny day during the last week in April. The children of the neighborhood were given permission to swim here and they still enjoy that privilege, but incidentally dozen of others, children and grown-ups took that privilege of using our pool for their pleasure and week-end baths with soap. In fact, when the airport was being constructed, several men asked for permission to bathe every evening under the Falls, and they went away muttering to each other when I told them I didn't care to watch them take a soap-suds bath every evening from my living-room windows. "At first in the hot July and August days, as many as 40 cars were parked along the highway and down our lane and the pool and the entire valley were full of campers, swimmers, and picnicers, noisy, shrieking people, some building fires and cooking hot-dogs or hamburgers or what have you? The majority of these people left at dark, but always there remained those couples who brought their beer and liquor and they were the worst nuisances for they would stay far into the morning, sometimes as late as 3 or 4 o'clock oftentimes cooking their breakfasts before leaving. Of course we couldn't sleep. A few times but not many during all these 8 years, we have been compelled to call on the sherrif for help to order these people out. "Fishermen are also a bother, particularly at night for they have their lanterns or lights and are sometimes very independent and refuse to leave when ordered to do so and stay quite late into the night with their beer and friends. After all we do need sleep. "In extremely hot weather, fires in the valley aren't safe as the weeds and undergrowth are too rank and cause fire hazards. "We posted our grounds with no-trespassing, no fishing or hunting, private property, and keep out signs, but they have all disappeared, have been shot down, destroyed, or been thrown in the pool. Three signs were recovered last spring from under the Falls, and one day last Sept. two No parking signs erected by the State Highway workmen were found in the water also. One large sign which Henry had made out of stainless steel so it couldn't be destroyed by target practice was pulled up and carried away by a man whose auto license number was copied and presented to us by a swimmer who saw him steal it. "Swimmers, fishers, campers, hunters all trespass and the majority have no regard for the owners property. Ask any farmer or person who owns land in the country if I am not correct. "Also cars containing 7 or 8 people in bathing suits stop along the highway, then send one or two of their children back to our door to beg permission to swim, thinking that the children will get them all in, but now, I always ask how many are with the youngsters. I recall one instance when a small boy came back to the door and wanted to swim. I enquired as to who was with him, 'My brother', 'And whom else?', 'My other brother'. 'Anyone else?' 'Well my dad'. 'And?' 'Hm-My 2 sisters and my uncle and my mother and my aunt' Needless to say, they went on their angry way. "On one early Sunday morning, a taxi driver emptied his cab of a dirty unkempt woman, a soldier boy, two men and for children & two large baskets one of which was full of rattling bottles, all out here at my front walk then drove away. The people then gathered up their belongings, walked past me on around the house and down the bank without even so much as a Howdy! When I recovered enough to talk, I called to them and enquired as to where they were going. They replied that they were going to spend the day. 'But this is private property and you aren't allowed to be here", I exclaimed. 'We'll be here alright', they answered. 'But you have no permission' I said, 'O yes we have, the taxi man always lets us come and he even brings us. Besides, he won't be back until 4 o'clock". I thot fast, for my husband was gone and I was alone with too many against me and they were too belligerent for me to stand against so I agreed that they could stay this time if they would promise to picnic out of hearing of the house, but they must not come again. I immediately called the taxi Co. and ordered them not to bring any more people to Elkhorn Falls for picnics as we were now living there and consequently the grounds were now posted against trespassers. 'Well, but we've brought people there for years', he retorts'. 'Im sorry but you will have to make that money somewhere else'. And that was that. "As I was crossing the bridge at Elkhorn one time while returning from a shopping bout i town, I saw a man on my terrace with one of my blankets on his arm and removing the other one from the line where they were airing. I rushed down the lane and came upon a car standing in front of the house. In it were several dirty children and their mother. She called to me and spent some time begging to go swimming, in fact, until the man came from the creek-side of the house, blanketless. Later I found them pinned onto the line somewhat crooked, but at least they were there. "On another day last summer, while I was sewing upstairs, a car drove down the lane and stopped at my front walk and the horn began to sound. I rushed down the stairs to greet my callers, and when I reached the car, two insolent young chaps stated that they were going swimming, while blowing clouds of tobacco smoke in my face. Contemptuously I said, 'Indeed, you are not going swimming and what is more, you two chaps get yourselves out of and away from here as fast as you can, and if I ever see you here in my pool, I'll have you arrested as sure as you live. The idea! You didn't even have the decency or manners to come to the door.' "Last July 3rd. in the evening about 6 o'clock until 4:30 A.M. on the glorious 4th, as it were, several persons were shooting guns, fireworks, swimming in the dark, while girls were screaming for help from being chased among the trees. At 3 A.M. the noise was so terrible that we finally called the sherrif for relief. HE remarked that if he sent anyone out to help, he would have to awaken the deputy out of a sound sleep. It was 3 A.M. I'll admit. SO we continued to suffer until 4:30 for we just couldn't bear to bother the deputy even if his pay does come out of our pockets. After all, all we wanted was just a little sleep. "One summer Sunday evening while sitting in our lower yard, I smelled smoke and heard voices. I went to the edge of the cliff above the creek and looked over. There sitting in a circle on my favorite rock on which I enjoy so many restful hours, were two young men and two young women cooking, mind you cooking hot dogs on sticks over a fire made in the middle of my rock, and I could hear the fat sizzle as it dropped into the flames. I admit that I was upset. and seething but calmly I called down to them, 'Good afternoon' What are you doing?' They, 'Cooking hot-dogs' ME, 'Did someone give you permission to do it?' They, 'Why we're friends of Mrs. B. She told us we could come.' Me sarcastic like, 'Now how can she give you permission to cook on my favorite rock?' They, 'She always gives us permission to come here whenever we like.' Me, 'Now what do you know about that!' "Now wresting with the problem as it were, for nearly eight years, the beer parties and picnics have ceased almost all together, however in spite of our orders and postings, swimmers still jerk down the signs, ram the gate, and take undue liberties. We are continually called un-neighborly, even when someone picks our berries. However, I must admit that conditions are much improved, & occasionally when some nice youngsters come to the door and ask to swim, I give consent. "Once when my husband, while passing by on the way home saw a group of boys in the pool, he stopped and asked how they happened to be there. One chap answered him thus 'Why that little old fat woman with the grey hair back in that stone house said we could swim- "I think beyond a doubt, that the worst nuisance and excitement we have had at Elkhorn was the Varmit. As I remember correctly, there had been rumors of a wild animal roaming over the country here and yon for several weeks but no one had been able to either capture it or destroy it even tho several posses had tried to track it. "Several farmers had found tracks on their premises, in corn-fields, i barn-yards, or by streams in woods. "Newspapers started to call this creature a varmit and people started to carry guns. Then someone saw it around Elkhorn stream although further south than the Falls. Came a few days of quiet and forgetting. "Then one night, about 8 o'clock after my tasks for the day were over, I walked down the lane to the home of our son who lives close by in a little white house by the highway. On my way I noticed that several men and women were fishing at the Falls. I staid for about an hour, then calmly walked back the land home again. When I opened the door, my husband came rushing from the phone and asked if I were alright. 'Why yes, why not,'? and then he explained that 'Henry just called and said that he heard screams down at the Falls. The sherrif told him that the varmit had appeared out of the dark, before the fishermen at the falls. The women screamed thus frightening the animal which then leaped over them to he top of the cliff and vanished into the dark, evidently in my direction. Henry asked if I had gotten home alright and if I hadn't, he would get his gun and start to hunt for me. Which shows that what you dont know wont hurt you. I felt fine. "From then on, for weeks, life was one hectic day after another. People came from all parts of Indiana and Ohio with their guns hunting 'The Varmint'. WE became afraid to sit out in our lower yard because every man who could beg, borrow, or steal a gun came to Elkhorn and just for the devil of it, would shoot 3 or 4 times whether he knew how to handle a gun or not. The bullets would come zinging past or over our chairs for we were 40 ft. from the valley. "Three or four men at a time came to ask permission to roam our grounds. "One morning while eating breakfast, we heard a child crying, and upon investigation, we found at our door a soldier or G.I. in his army uniform and with 2 guns on his hips, one a German lugar which he had brought home from the war. He had his wife and seven year old daughter with him and the little girl was sobbing with fright. Of course he wanted to shoot the varmit. We both tried to convince him that there was none, but on promise that he wouldn't shoot, we allowed him to nose around. He was such a nice boy. "In contrast to this little family, I am reminded of this incident. Usually whenever I heard a varmit hunter pop off his gun near our house. I would call to him that no hunters were allowed on our grounds and would he kindly leave. Generally he would reply, 'Alright' and that would end the situation, but of course there are always exceptions to the rule, for instance, on one Sat. morning, I heard one gun shot after another down in our valley, so I went to the edge of the cliff by the creek and called to him to please not shoot his gun on our property. 'Why not?' he asked. 'Because it isn't safe around our house', I replied. 'Oh it isn't is it', he answered, 'Well how about this/' where-upon he raised his shot gun and fired it in my direction, the bullets ringing over the house' I'll shoot it whenever and wherever I want and what can you do about it,' 'Well, alright', I replied, 'I've called the sherrif before and I guess I can do it again and now'. 'Oh yeh?' comes back 'O.K., if that's the way you feel about t, O.K.' and he raises his gun and sends 2 more bullets whistling over my head & house as a parting farewell and leaves. "As usual my husband was never around when these incidents took place so--I handled the situations to the best of my ability. Sometimes I wondered about myself--- and my disposition & my faith inhumanity- "Hunters flocked here constantly and finally one night our patience was really gone for when we came home from a movie about eleven o'clock and was crossing the bridge at Elkhorn we saw lights down below at the Falls. My husband investigated and found 6 or 8 men fishing, each with a rifle at his side, ready to kill the varmit if and when it appeared. They had enough lighted lanterns to calm their own fears and the fears of the varmit to boot, plus plenty of good, strong you know what, to build up their nerve. "Again we called the sherrif who actually came and ordered these people away, explaining that it wasn't exactly fair to keep us awake all night, night after night. "Thus it was for the entire summer. Some people said the tracks were those of a mountain lion. There were large tracks by our pool at the Falls, but we think they were the racks of a huge Great Dane which belonged to a neighbor close by. He roamed the country around at night and being so large, he could have been mistaken very easily by the varmit. Incidentally, this dog was found dead. He had been shot. "By autumn the excitement had blown over as it were, and Life once more settled down to a regular routine. "In spite of all our nuisances which of a sort comes into every man's life. my husband and I are really enjoying to the fullest our so called declining years here at 'Elkhorn Falls'. "We take trips together and we do just as we please as nearly as we can. Sometimes each for himself & the devil take each other. "Now perhaps I'm not as fierce as I sound or seem to be in these pages- and- then again perhaps I'm even fiercer--- "Goodness knows and How!!!"

A Poem, "A Rhyme" by HRG: "Four old dames sit weekly at a table

Trying to play contract, but never able.

The deafening sound of their noisy clatter,

Always telling each other what's the matter.

Clara the Clever with a far reaching brain;

Gentle Marguerite, follows close in her train;

Dear blonde Elva who makes lots of noise,

Plays cards with a bang and not much poise.

Last is old Hazel, rightly named for a nut,

For she never knows what card should be put.

Two bits each pays at every meet,

And they save it up for something to eat,

A hard time they have to get together;

Things do happen in all kinds of weather;

If one of the dames just cannot play;

The other three wont! loyalty, say!

Now enough of money is tied in a sack,

And poor old Clara lies flat on her back.

No one can eat till she gets well,

And soon t'will be, all hope to tell.

The other three dames, they thot and thot,

What to do for poor Clara, so a flower they bought;

To tell her they love her, to hurry and get well,

So all could play cards and chatter like ------."