INTRODUCTION 

In the 1838 Holman and Lucy (Davis) Marsh traveled from Connecticut and settled outside the small town of Bath, in the state of New York. They were settlers from New Milford, Connecticut who moved west to farm new lands.  One of their sons, Davis and his wife Harriet (Powell) had a son, Wilson, who like his father before him, took over the caring of the farmlands. 

Wilson married a widow from Broome County, NY, Laura (Hodges) DeLong.  She brought with her a son, Willie. Through an unfortunate accident, Willie was killed in 1876. In 1879, Laura gave birth to another son, Glenn Bartol Marsh. 

In 1977, in his 97th year Glenn, my grandfather, with the aid of Sadie Wedge and myself undertook the task of writing his memoirs. He related to us his life from his earliest memories to the present. He recalled events that took place over 90 years ago with little effort. 

We went to great lengths to write his memoirs as he told them. He wished that his descendants of this and future generations would read the following account of his life so that they may know Glenn Bartol Marsh.

Philip Marsh 
1977 (revised 2002)













MY MEMOIRS,



GLENN B. MARSH
















I, Glenn Bartol Marsh, was born on November 10, 1879 in the village of Bath, a farming community near Corning and Binghamton in the south central part of New York State. Three railroad lines intercepted Bath: The Lake Erie, the Delaware-Lackawanna & Western and Bath & Hammondsport (8 mile railroad). 

Wilson Daniel Marsh (my father) was predominately English. He was a quiet, ambitious, hard-working man of slender build, about 5'8", sandy complexion with a red mustache.  Diabetes told its toll on his health at about 40 years and he succumbed with the flu at about 48 years of age. 

My mother's maiden name was Laura Hodges. She was an attractive, fun-loving woman of Scotch-Irish and Dutch descent, with flecked brown eyes and dark hair. An avid leader in the Methodist Church, she organized the Bath Woman’s Christian Temperance Union in the early days of Frances E. Willard and succeeded in having an active and fairly large membership in the farm community. 

She was first married to William B. DeLong, who was accidentally killed when he set his hunting gun against the cutter (sleigh drawn by horses) and struck it with his coat when he turned around. Their little son, Willie, was only 3 months old at the time.

When Willie was about 2 years old, my mother married my father. Father dearly loved the little boy who was very winsome and bright. Owing to the tragedy of his father, Mother kept little Willie close at home and it wasn't until he was 5 years old that she let him visit the neighbor boys. 

A few days before the visit, the little fellow was sitting on her lap when he said, "Mamma, I wish I could go to Heaven." 

When she asked, "What, and leave your mother?" 

He answered, "Oh, but I'll send Jesus to get you!" 

One day Willie and the boys were playing in the barn back of the neighbor's house, when one of the boys found an old-fashioned musket which he didn’t realize was loaded and playfully aimed it at Willie.  Willie told them his mother said always to be afraid of guns. The neighbor child laughed, and shouted that he was going to shoot. Willie became very frightened and started running for home. His little cap flew off, and as he turned around to catch it, the gun went off and he was shot in the forehead. They said Father moaned fearfully when he saw the child, but when Mother came, he never made another sound, but tried to comfort her. They grieved terribly over his death. 

After little Willie was gone, my parents were very lonely and would invite children from the orphanage in Bath to stay with them for short visits. The orphans liked to get out in the country and enjoy farm life. 

Well, Mother heard of a German boy who needed a home. His mother died, leaving a family to be cared for by a drunken, desolate father who soon deserted them. They took the 10-year-old boy, Johnnie Bertrum, as a foster son. He was a handsome, intelligent boy and soon became a help on the farm and learned his lessons quickly, including lessons on temperance from Mother. Johnnie was popular and well-received by my relatives. Also, during the time of his stay, I was born. After John's sixteenth year, his father, professing reform, reunited his children under his roof, but it only lasted a short time. The children split up, each going his own way. John eventually became a successful businessman and I don't think he ever drank intoxicating liquor to his dying day. 


When I was about 10 years old, my parents took another child, my cousin Cora Foot. Her father died and left her mother penniless with the responsibility of raising 3 little daughters. She lived with us about four years. She was smart and a pretty brunette with a round full face. Did I have to study to keep up with her!
 
I used to tease and torment Cora. My father gave me strict instructions not to excite her, since she had heart trouble. One night as I was teasing Cora, she started jumping up and down. Father grabbed me with a jerk by the collar, took me out to the barn and gave me the hardest whipping (with a buggy whip) I ever received in my life before or since. I didn't tease Cora again! 

In 1889 my father built a new house. He had had two prosperous years on his farm and thought it wouldn't stop. Our home had eleven rooms: five bedrooms upstairs, a kitchen, dining room, living room, parlor and another bedroom on the main floor. It included a full basement that had walls of solid rock up to the sills. They were laid with sand and lime by a stonemason. The back porch was off from the kitchen. A utility room was separated from the back porch by a little room 'there there was the tank for the continuous flow of spring water. 

Off from the utility room was the toilet. It was like an old- fashioned outside two seater except ours had a removable box below that had to be removed by a team of horses and buried elsewhere.  It was not very satisfactory. Oh, how I hated to go out there on a cold night! 

The house was painted green with Sherwin Williams paint (I remember this so well), and it was trimmed in white. It had a thin iron roof instead of a tin roof which rumbled when the wind blew.  Many a night I went to sleep with that rumbling. 

A large spring of soft water was in the woods up in the south- east corner of the farm. Father piped it to the house in 3/8 inch pipes where it flowed by gravity into the tank in a little room next to the kitchen. The overflow was piped under the driveway to a watering trough which was available to the cattle in our pastures and for public use along the road. This water was constant and never dried up.  We also had a well which was hard water so we never used it. 

THE FARM AS I REMEMBER IT 

Father grew crops of grain, hay and potatoes. He had two acres in orchard with eight varieties of apples. Pigs, sheep, cattle, chickens and turkeys all helped fill the family larder. Grain was taken to the grist mill about four to five miles away.  Wheat, buck wheat, corn and barley were ground at the miller's who took his toll of flour for grinding the grain. 

Father loved to raise sheep, pasturing them in a nearby field with their lambs.  We could all watch them, especially at twilight. They would be playing, running and leaping over each other. I can almost see them even now. They were so cute. 

Before time for shearing, Father would drive the sheep (about 25 altogether) down to the creek. He would grab one after another, wade into the water up to his hips and wash them by squeezing the wool in his hands. Soon after the sheep were dry, he would shear them, tie the wool into bundles which were sold to a wool buyer in town.  


THE FARMYARD PETS 
Our Scotch Collie named "Collie" was a dear dog I loved above all pets.  He was my constant companion and helper. He would gather the cows in from the pasture on command and would also watch the house. In his eighth year, he was poisoned by bait that a neighbor put out for foxes. He just made it home and died in my arms. We all cried for Collie. 

Note: Blanche Loghry Hammond, who was four years younger than Glenn and lives in Portland, Oregon, is Glenn's third cousin and remembers her family visiting the Marsh family in Bath when she was a little girl. Her grandfather was Uncle Ike.  She recalls Cousin Wilson (young people in those days never called older relations by their first name without a title; it was considered disrespectful) as a very quiet person who when he spoke had something to say. 

The Loghry family had yearly family reunions and Cousin Blanche's family always stayed at Glenn's home during this time. She says that after dining in the large dining room, the whole family would go into the parlor, kneel down at the chairs and Cousin Wilson would say a prayer. Glenn had Collie with him. Collie would put his paws up on the chair seat with him, his head down and when the prayer was done, Glenn would whisper in his ear while the family said "Amen", and Collie would lift his head up and give a little howl. Glenn's father wouldn't say anything, but his eyes would twinkle and you could see he was amused and pleased. 

Our cat had a batch of kittens. One day while they were playing in the barnyard, I was sitting idly by.  We had been to a church baptism at Campbell Creek earlier that day and I had witnessed several people being baptized by the minister. I became aware of the gurgling water in the watering trough and decided I should baptize my kittens. One by one I dipped each of the kittens under the water again and again till I had solemnly intoned all the words as the minister had said them. My kittens were getting very limp and I noticed that their tongues were hanging out of the side of their mouths. All of a sudden, Mother was standing by me! 

Mother did not allow any more baptisms at our house, believe me! 

--------------------------------------------

When I was thirteen or so, I trained a gentle steer to pull a sled I had made. I would put a bit in his mouth, a horse collar - upside down on his neck and drive him all around the farm. He didn't like it too well, but I had a good deal of fun and felt pretty bad when my folks sold him to the butcher. 

--------------------------------------------

When I was quite small, I used to watch the turkeys and chickens in the barnyard. Our turkey was always "picking on" the rooster.  One day, I was afraid he was killing the rooster, so I grabbed the turkey by the neck and pounded him on the head. The old bird became so frightened and confused that he thought it was the rooster attacking him. He took off in great flapping leaps with the rooster right behind him. That rooster chased the turkey-gobbler all over the place. It sure made me feel good! 

Another time, I bored a small hole in a kernel of corn, tied a long string to it and placed the corn where the turkey would see it.  He cocked his head first one way, then the other, picked up the kernel, I pulled the string and jerked the corn from his throat. Finally after several tries, he didn't know whether to pick up the corn or not. My mother saw what I was up to and made me stop. She said it was cruel.


THE RAISING OF A BARN
The Marsh family had a carpenter, John Kirkham, who hewed logs with an ax so that they were about 14" square, then mortised together.  One side of the timber would be cut smaller to fit into the side end of the other timber. Then a wooden pin would be put through the timbers to hold them securely. The beams were very large and heavy. 

So after all the timbers for the barn had been hewn by the carpenter, a barn raising party would be announced by the family. Several men would have pike poles and get under the timbers and raise them to the proper level. The roof timber was notched and nailed in place. Roof boards were brought from a mill, and shingles nailed in place. Side boards were nailed on sides of the barn vertically. 

When Mr. Kirkham had the men lift the timber in place, he would sing out, "He-Ho-He" (Heave-Oh-Heave), and they would all lift together with him. 

Later Mother had a big dinner ready for all the men after the "raising" was done. 

I was only 5 or 6 years old when I attended this "raising bee" and thought Mr. Kirkham's "He-Ho-He" was very great stuff! 


BUTCHERING A HOG 
Because the animal was too heavy to handle alone, at butchering time, one neighbor would come over and spend half a day. They first would "stick" a hog.  Boiling water was made by putting a large kettle of water over a fire in the back yard.  A "hogsit" nearly full of hot water would be put on a platform tipped slightly. They would dip the hog, in the water back and forth until the pig  was scalded enough so that the hair would scrape off easily. The pig would be removed and placed on a special low platform by the hogsit and the hair would be completely removed. Then the hog would be hung up and slit open, and the entrails would be removed. Clean water would be thrown inside of the hog. It would be then left to drain till the next day. 

They usually took their beef cattle and lambs to the market and sold them by "live weight". As a rule, hogs were butchered at home and kept for meat. 







THE THRASHING MACHINE 
The day we had the thrashing machine come was a red letter day for me from early childhood. The engine and thrashing machine were each driven by a team of horses.  Later a steam tractor engine came along the road on its own power. Sometimes it hauled the separator. This big separator was pulled into the barn by a team of horses facing the engine and a long heavy belt connected the two. Three men always followed the machine. One fired the engine with wood at all times (we furnished the wood), the second man looked after the machinery or the separator. He had a wagon with a big tank on it which he used to haul the water to the steam engine from a big spring we had in the orchard. Sometime if the water was running low in the engine, they would toot the whistle to have him hurry up. 

The process would go something like this: 1) Two men would pitch from the mow (in the barn) to the table; 2) One man would cut the bands; 3) The hired separator man would put it into the grainary (big bins built into the barn); 4) The straw carrier would carry the straw to a straw stack that was made.  My job would be to stack the straw. 

While stacking I would become very tired and sometimes would place the end of my fork handle under the belt of the straw carrier to knock the belt off and the whole machine would have to stop while the belt was replaced! The men would always wonder what made that slip so. Well, I got my rest. 

Many of us would go to each neighbor and help through the harvest. At dinner time all the harvesters would go to the farm they were working on and the women would have a big dinner prepared.  They served their best preserves, baking powder biscuits, mashed potatoes, fried chicken and chicken gravy. For dessert there was lemon and apple pies, honey, etc. 

Oh, the dinners, how the men looked forward to them! 

When all of us boys would get together at school at harvest time, we would say we were going to have a traction engine and thrasher when we had our farm.  My friend, Ward Cargin, did and unfortunately had his arm mangled in the machine so that they had to remove it. He had lots of pain and had a rough time for awhile, poor fellow. 

In the winter when the snow was on the ground, Dad would hire a man and hay press machine to come to our house to press hay into bales to sell in New York City. The Timothy hay and straw were sold to New York City for feed because at that time there were many horses used in the city for transportation.  No automobiles! They were not in use yet. 

The hay press man and his hired man would stay overnight and press the hay the next day. He would go around the neighborhood, the same as harvesting time. 

I remember one time especially. The traction engine slipped off the road into the ditch because the road was hidden with snow. It was at night and very difficult to see the way. This man also had a team of oxen to help pull the hay press which was a big heavy machine on wheels. I had heard them from the house so I went to watch.  The oxen had a heavy wooden yoke which the men attached by a chain to the engine.  With the oxen and the engine pulling at one time, they were able to get out of the ditch. To me that was an exciting time I'll always remember. 


MAPLE SUGAR TIME 
In the southeast corner of the place, there was a "woods" where we cut the firewood from the water beech tree.  The hemlock and pine were made into lumber by taking it to a nearby sawmill, and chestnut was made into fence posts which lasted longer than any other kind of posts. There was a small grove of hard maple trees which I tapped for maple sugar and syrup for our own use. 

When I was about 16 years old, I tapped my neighbor's "sugar bush" on share basis. Along in early March when sap began to run (freezing nights and thawing days were best), I would take horse, sled and a 50 gallon can and go around among the trees and gather the sap. 

A hole was bored in the trunk of the hard maple trees about two feet above the ground, a spike was driven into the hole, and the bucket was hung on a hook that came with the spike. The sap poured down the pipe-like spike into the bucket. 

An arch was built of rock nearby (6 feet long and about 3 feet wide).  Iron bars were placed across to the two sides and a sap pan (6 inches deep, 3 feet wide and 6 feet long) was placed on the iron bars. 

A stove pipe was at one end of the arch to carry away the smoke and the other end was open to put the wood in (an old rotten hemlock tree was used for firewood). A. very small 3 foot shed at the end was handy to keep me warm while tending the fire which kept the sap boiling. I made the shed myself, and would sit in there and watch the fire burn. 

The sap pan was kept about half full so it wouldn't boil over. The sap was not stirred. The testing for the right consistency was to put a spoon in and let syrup pour down. If it was hair-like, it was done.  I had a barrel with a faucet sitting above the sap pan and I would adjust it so that sap would pour in and the syrup could cook all day without my turning the handle of the faucet. To remove the syrup, the pan would be pulled over to the edge and then dipped out with a dipper into a container. 

I would take it home and Mother would boil it some more on the stove in order to thicken it and clear it of foreign material. She would add a little milk and the twigs, etc., would boil up to the top and Mother would skim it off and pour the finished product into one gallon cans. 

One barrel (32 gallons) of sap would make 1 gallon of syrup. There were 11 pounds to the gallon.  One third of this would go to the owner of the sugar bush and of the remainder, we would take what we wanted for home use and sell the rest in town for $1.00 a gallon. 

THE CREAMERY 
On the porch, we had what we called a creamery.. It was a large metal-like cabinet and in the upper half were four oblong containers probably 18 inches high by 5 inches in width.  They reached down to the lower part of the creamery where they were attached to round glass containers in which you could see the milk. As it settled, the cream would come to the top.. Below that glass, was a faucet..  When the cream had risen, we would turn on the faucet and empty the skimmed  milk into buckets for the pigs.

Between the four of these containers was a wide space where we placed a block of ice. The ice cold  water would surround the containers and keep the milk cold for at least 24 hours. 

Dr. Pixley, who was a physician at the Soldier's Home in Bath, used to ride by on his bicycle and Mother would leave him a special glass so that he could always help himself to a nice cold glass of milk.
 
My, how he did enjoy this!

THE INCIDENT AT THE NEW YORK SOLDIERS HOME AT BATH 
I was a little boy still in short pants, when my parents entertained as guests my great aunt and uncle from Binghamton, New York, which was about one hundred miles from our home. 

Father, who was a "good dresser", reserved and well mannered, and Mother, much more relaxed and jolly than Dad, were eager to make a good impression on my rather haughty, middle-aged relatives. Short, stocky Uncle Alec was a prosperous dairyman and Aunt Cal was a tall, good looking, buxom woman. 

After our Sunday dinner, Father put his team to the high-springed Democrat wagon and we drove about four miles down the country road to visit the popular new brick barracks of the New York State Soldiers Home.  It was set among the wooded hills with the Cohocton River flowing in the near distance.  Lining the walks, summer flowers of every color were growing in great abundance. At the side of the building, a large green house was overflowing with flowers. 

As we drove nearer, we saw a number of soldiers who were lounging on a long veranda which extended the whole length of the building front, enjoying the sunny afternoon in the fresh air.  

We drew up in front of the Home and Father held the lines while Uncle Alec helped us out of the buggy. First, he put me to the side of the road, then Mother to the side of him. Aunt Cal leaned toward him. As he reached for her, her skirt caught in the brake and she fell headlong onto him. Knocked off his balance, he bumped against Mother and they all fell in a big heap in the middle of the dusty road. Oh dear, I thought it was the funniest sight I had ever seen and started laughing!  Uncle Alec blamed Aunt, and Aunt Cal blamed Uncle. It seemed like there was a whole regiment of soldiers watching us, trying to hide the little smiles on their faces as we walked up to the porch entrance.  We couldn't help but notice the twinkle in eyes of the inmates as we toured the home and I think out of all of us, my poor uncle was the most embarrassed. 

In my old age, many years later, I wake up at night and start thinking of my childhood and burst out laughing again at the memory of the spectacle we performed for the soldiers at the New York Soldiers Home. 



SPECIAL OCCASIONS 
We always had aunts, uncles and cousins for dinner on holidays.  Roasts, dressing, gravy, preserves (pear was my favorite), vegetable oyster (I haven't seen any of these vegetables out here), pickles, pies and cakes were served during the holidays. 

Part of the time we went to the other relatives' homes for holiday dinners. On Easter we went to church and would have eggs when we got home. I cannot remember that they were colored. 

Mother would usually have relatives over for dinner on my birthday and have a huge chocolate layer birthday cake. The cousins used to exchange birthday gifts, but my biggest pleasure was having children to play with. One game we played was "hide and seek.  One person would be “it”, we all would hide and the one that was "it” would search out each of us.  We would call “coop” when we thought it was safe not to be discovered. I used to “skip”, that is, change hiding places so I could watch the person that was “it”.  My cousins would say that wasn't fair and that I cheated, but oh, how I loved to do that. Especially since we had three large barns to play in and I knew all the good hiding places. 






CHURCH EVENTS
At church, at Christmas time, there would be two trees, one in each corner of the church, decorated with lighted candles and gifts that were brought in by the church members.  Sometimes a wire would be stretched across between the two trees and gifts would be fastened to that.  Before the gifts were given, we had entertainment of recitation, songs and stories. The beautiful Christmas story stands out in my mind out of all stories told as the most unforgettable after all these years.  When time came to give out gifts, some of the young people would callout the names of the girls and boys.  We all received fruit, candy and a toy. I remember one Christmas I wanted a little toy steam engine, but I never got it. Oh, I was so disappointed! 





(The Marshes were talented, gregarious people who loved to entertain, so Glenn grew up singing and reciting more than most children.)

When my parents got together with friends and neighbors at church socials and community gatherings (which were our only outlet for entertainment), all would share with their songs and recitations. The children were taken along and took an active part in the programs. 

In the 97th year of my life, I still remember the stories, songs and poems that I learned from Mother when I was a young child, and I shall tell some of them as I remember them. 


Learned from Mother in about 1889
A DARKlE CIVIL WAR SONG 

Say Darkies, have you seen our Massey 
With a muthstach on his face 
Going along de road dis mornin' 
Lak he's gwine to leab de place? 

He saw smoke up de riber 
Where de Lincoln gunboats lay 
He was mighty skeered and ah speks 
De Massey runned away. 

De overseer, he made us trouble 
An he drived us around a spell 
We locked him in de smoke-house cellar 
With de key throwed in de well. 

Whip lost, handcuff broken 
De Massey gets his pay, 
Old enough, big enough to know better 
De Massey runned away. 

De Massey run, Ha, Ha. 
De Darkies stay, Ho, Ho 
Must be now de kingdom coming 
In de year of Jubilee! 

Sung by my parents in about 1889

THE OLD WOODEN ROCKER 

There it stands in the corner 
With its back to the wall
The old wooden rocker 
We all loved so well 

Eighty years had she sat
In that old arm chair 
She rocked us to sleep 
And listened to our prayers 

How well I remember
In the days gone by 
How we stood by that rocker
My sister and I 

Oh, the tales it could tell
That chair grim and tall
About poor aged grandpa 
Who in fierce battle fell 

Neath the stars and the stripes
He fought bravely and true
And cherished his freedom 
With the red, white and blue 

Chorus: 
As she sat by the fire 
She would rock, rock, rock
And we heard but the tick 
Of the old brass clock. 


Taught to me by my mother when I was quite small.  (Willie DeLong, my little half-brother, used to sing this song at gatherings when he was five years old.)

WHAT WILL GRANDPA DO? 

Oh, Mama, what will Grandpa do
He's gone away to heaven 
Without his silver spectacles 
That Uncle John has given him 

He cannot read the paper there
Or find his hickory staff 
He'll put his coat on wrong side out
And make the people laugh 

I know what I will have to do
So's everything's all right 
I'll put the ladder against the sky
And take them up tonight. 
Mother sang this to me when I was about 10 years old 

TELL ME NOT

Tell me not that time will sever
Fond affection's golden chain 
Tell me not that we will never 
Love as we have loved before. 
When I left my native bower
I could joy to thee impart 
How perchance another flower 
Casts its fragrance o'er thine heart

Are thy promises all broken? 
Is thine heart no longer mine?
Is affection's mystic token 
Offered at another shrine? . 
Then this heart that thou hast riven 
Trembling in its wild unrest 
Yet will breathe thy name to heaven 
Asking that thou mayest be blest. 

Chorus: 
Care nor toil could never move me 
Nor could others blame nor praise 
If I knew that thou didst love me 
As thou didst in other days. 



 
ANGELS 
When I was about 10 years old, Mother taught Charlie Sneider and me to sing this little song. She wanted to make an impression upon the ungodly people in the audience. We were supposed to look up to heaven while we were singing. Charlie Sneider, who was quite a little cuss, stumbled on the way to the stage and started to giggle.  All through the song while one of us was singing, the other was giggling. My mother was very disappointed in us, but I said ruefully, "You wanted us to make an impression, we sure did!" 


THE SONG

I want to be an angel 
And with the angels stand
A crown upon my forehead 
And a harp within my hand 

Dear Savior, when I languish 
And lay me down to die 
Oh, send a shining angel 
To bear me to the skies 

There I'll be an angel 
And with the angels stand 
A crown upon my forehead 
And a harp within my hand. 

 
Recited when I was about 12 years of age 
THE SMACKING SCHOOL 

A district school not far away 
Mid Birkshire hills one winter's day
Was humming with its wanted noise 
Of three score mingled girls and boys. 
Some few were on their tasks intent 
But more were on furtive mischief bent 
While the master's downward look 
Was fastened on a copy book. 
Suddenly, behind his back arose 
Sharp and clear a rousing SMACK! 
"What's that?", the startled master cried 
"That, thir", a little imp replied, 
"Was William Willith, if you pleathe, 
I saw him kith Thuthanna Peathe
With a frown that would make a statue thrill 
The master thundered, "Hither, Will!" (Wretch or taken in his tracks) 
Will hung his head with fear and shame 
And to the awful presence came 
A great, big, bashful simpleton 
The butt of all good-natured fun. 
With birch upraised, the master shouted, 
"I'm amazed that you, my biggest pupil, 
Should be guilty of an act so rude 
And before the whole set school to boot! 
What evil genius put you to it?" 
"It was she, herself, sir", sobbed the lad, 
"I didn't mean to be so bad. 
When Suzanna shook her curls and said 
I was afraid of girls and didn't dare kiss a baby doll 
I up and kissed her on the spot! 
I know, BOO, HOO, I ought to not 
But by her looks I kinda thought 
SHE WISHED ME TO!" 



Recited this when I was about 12 years old 


WHEN SUE AND I WENT SKATING 

One night not long ago, I thought 
I'd try and see if I could skate 
The night was fine, the sky was clear 
And the ice, they said, was first rate 

With someone clinging to your arm 
Dressed up extremely nice 
It isn't so bad a thing 
This skating on the ice 

We glided outward from the shore
 I didn't move a foot 
But one went back and quick as thought 
The other followed suit 

When one is clinging on your arm 
Whose face is very sweet 
It isn't quite so nice a thing 
Unless you're on your feet
 
Pretty soon I heard a fall 
The ice began to crack 
It isn't quite so nice a thing 
This skating on your back 

We righted up and tried again 
With many doubts and fears 
This gliding out upon the ice 
Is not easy as it appears 

My skates went back a foot or so 
I always shall suppose 
It isn't quite so nice a thing 
To go skating on your nose 

Since then I haven't dared to try 
The slippery treacherous ice 
Though when the boys and girls slip by 
It looks extremely nice 

My memory often tells me how 
Fond hopes may have a fall 
For Susan, since our skating time, 
Won't speak to me at all! 



A song sung by my mother in 1887 


THE SCOLDING WIFE 

There was a jovial blade 
Who married a country maid 
And safely he conducted her 
Home, home, home. 

She was neat in every art 
And she pleased him to his heart 
But, alas, she was 
Dumb, dumb, dumb. 

She could bake, she could brew
She could cut and she could bake 
She could sweep in the house 
With a broom, broom, broom. 

She could card and she could spin 
She could do most everything 
But alas and alas she was 
Dumb, dumb, dumb. 

A Doctor, he lived nigh 
And to him, he did apply 
To cure his loving wife 
Of the dumb, dumb, dumb. 

The Doctor, he cut the chattering string
And her tongue began to ring 
‘Till it sounded in his ears 
Like a drum, drum, drum. 

She filled the house with strife 
Made him weary of his life 
So he went to the Doctor 
Saying, Doctor, Oh Doctor 

I'm undone, done, done 
I'll give you anything again 
If you'll make her 
Dumb, dumb, dumb. 
. 
It is the easiest part 
That belongs to my art 
To make a woman talk 
That is dumb, dumb, dumb. 

But its past the art of man 
Let him do the best he can 
To make a scolding wife 
Hold her tongue, tongue, tongue. 


Learned from my mother, a negro temperance song in the days of Frances E. Willard 


A VOTING NEGRO 

I is a 'publican nigger, Yes, I is! 
And I votes dat ticket ebery time 
But de Massar he say 
I belongs to de heabenly clime 

So I votes for de man if he's all right 
And takes no liquor at de bar - 
But if for de whiskey side he'll fight 
I draws de line right dar! 

I votes for no party, I votes for no man 
If he for de whiskey side fight 
I puts dem down under de ban 
And leaves dem dar, all right! 



Sung by my parents at their organ when I was about 12 years old 

RIDING IN THE SLEIGH 

Snowflakes glistened in the moonlight 
Falling everywhere 
Sleigh bells rang their merry voices 
On the wintery air 

Every gallant had his lassie 
Going out that way 
I had mine and we were happy 
Riding in the sleigh 

We dashed off out the road to Brighton 
Crossing o'er a ridge 
I turned around and slyly kissed her 
As we crossed a bridge 

Then she asked, "How many bridges On our journey lay?" 
And I answered, "Count the kisses 
Riding in the sleigh." 

It won't be hip, harrah, hold your horses 
Or they'll get away 
Next time I'll have a preacher with us 
Riding in the sleigh! 

Chorus: 
Hip, hip harrah! Hold your horses 
Or they'll get away! 
Ain't it pleasant with your sweetheart 
Riding in the sleigh? 




A song sung after the assassination of President Garfield 

CHARLES GATEAU 

My name is Charles Gateau 
My name I'll never deny 
For the murder of James A. Garfield 
I'm now condemned to die 

It was down by the depot 
I tried to make my escape 
But providence was against me 
And it proved to be too late 

My sister came to see me 
To bid me a last farewell 
She threw her arms about my neck 
And wept most bitterly 

Said she, "My darling brother 
This day you'll surely die 
For the murder of James A. Garfield 
On the gallows high."






CHARLIE THOMAS
I had a friend, Charles Thomas, who had a very nice voice and who played the violin by ear (he was pretty darn good, too). He used to say, "Come on, Glenn, let's go in the house and sing."  My mother always played our organ and sang alto or soprano, Dad was tenor, and Charlie was bass. I was a clear boy soprano. Many were the happy hours we would spend together on an afternoon singing. 

Charles' mother said he would stop what he was doing in the field, clomp through the house with his dirty shoes, rush to his room, grab his violin and playa tune he was afraid he would forget if he waited. 

Charles Thomas' grandfather was a Union soldier in the Civil War.  He would show me his bible and a tin-type picture of his wife and baby that he carried over his heart while in battle there was a bullet hole through the center of the little bible and a sharp dent in the picture! 

There were many beautiful lakes in the state of New York with popular resorts interspersed with homes and large vineyards along their shores. Penn Yan Lake had a run of steamboats that carried both passenger and produce. 

The vineyard owners had private docks and if they wanted the steamer to stop they would put up a white flag. Passengers would go along for the excursion. "Holmes", "Halsey", "Urbana", and "Mary Bell" were the names of the steamers. All but the "Mary Bell" were side wheelers. She was a stern wheeler. She was also the largest boat and the most popular. This lake was split on Bluff Point, a promontory where there was a mansion lying in ruins.  The story goes that a very rich man built the place to isolate his wife there because she was a kleptomaniac. 


VISITING DR. PADGIM
One summer, when I was a young boy and cousin Cora was still alive, Mother wanted to visit a friend of hers, a Dr. Padgim, who some years ago had been a neighbor of ours and had moved to Farmer Village on Keuka Lake.  Mother took little Cora and myself along. 

Well, my father took us to the B & H train which took us eight miles to Hammondsport. From there we took a boat 22 miles to Penn Yan.  We then took a train (the Pennsylvania and Hudson) along the outlet of Keuka Lake to a little town by the name of Dresden on Seneca Lake where we waited five hours for another train that took us to Geneva. Then we took another to Farmer Village about 20 miles away.  The real distance was not more than 100 miles, but we had to make all those changes. It took us from early in the morning till late at night to get to his home! 

Dr. Padgim had three sons who were around my age. I had a very good time swimming in the lake and visiting with the neighborhood children.  One day, the boys and I went boating out on the lake and took their father up about 3 miles to see one of his patients. When he came back he said, "Well, boys, I made $ 3. What did you make?" 

I answered, "Ten dollars worth of pleasure! " I had a great time. 



VISITING THE LAKES
The people from the farm area of Bath often went on summer excursions to the Lakes for a vacation at one of the resorts there. 

I remember one summer when I was about sixteen years of age, several of the neighbors near our home decided they wanted to go down to Keuka Lake for a week's outing.  There were the Jones brothers, the Parkers with their families, Lavell Conine and his family, and my father and mother.   We had eight cows and it was out of the question for all of us to go, so I offered to stay home and do the chores. On Friday night, as the week came to an end, I took our team of horses and wagon and drove to Bath. Then took the Bath and Hammondsport Railroad to the head of the lake to the town of Hammondsport. 

I boarded a steam boat which carried me to the house along the lake where these neighbors and friends were with my folks. I stayed overnight there.  Among those present, including my mother and father, all had beautiful voices.  They sang and played (there was a piano in the house) and the music was enjoyed by everyone as far as a  mile away on the lake. One time while they were singing, Father stole away and started drumming in time to the music on a pan under the porch. Everyone was curious and couldn't figure out where the drumming was coming from. Father finally came out and gave himself up. 

Next day, we all took a boat back to Hammondsport, from there to home. 


THE STORMY NIGHT 
One Sunday early in the afternoon, when I was only about 16 or 17 years old, I drove my horse and buggy to the small town of Buena Vista where I had a date with a young lady named Nettie Burns. It was twelve miles away from our place (quite a distance in horse and buggy days). 

First, I drove over a hill near our home down past the Buck Schoolhouse just a short distance from a fairly good sized creek near my uncle George Williams' home. Crossing a bridge over the creek to the west, I went up and over the long MacCartney Hill, down along the Campbell Creek Road, then several miles to the Burns' residence. 

While I was visiting Nettie and her parents, a terrible storm came up. Thunder, lightening, hail and a cloudburst! Anxiously, I waited till the downpour was over and I started home about nine o'clock in the pitch dark. My horse stayed on the road up to the tip of MacCartney Hill, then down to the creek.  Suddenly he stopped right on the bank. I felt my way to the front of the horse and, to my horror, the creek was roaring by up to the brink of the bank.  The bridge was washed out! 

It was too steep to ford, so I turned the horse around and he took me back over the long hill down to Campbell Creek Road, then east, making a complete circle to a bridge that was not flooded out.  Just how I turned that horse and buggy around in that narrow road with the steep banks on either side and chose the right roads to the bridge further down that night seems unfathomable to me. 

I arrived home between two and three in the morning. Mother and Father had not had the cloudburst at their place and were wild with concern for me. Out at night with a strange girl!  When they heard about my night wanderings without an accident of any kind and that the young lady was in the safety of her home, their sharp words changed to sympathy and relief. 

My wise horse went to bed very tired, but well fed! 


THE EMERSON BROTHERS 
There were four Emerson brothers who lived on a farm in the community and amused many people with their ignorant odd ways.  Many stories were told about them and the surprising things they would do and say. 

One day, for instance, the boys were arguing about the strength of dynamite. While their father was in town, they wired several sticks of dynamite together, put a fuse to it, placed it under the corner of the barn and lit the fuse.  While this was going on, a big wind and rain storm came up, the barn was flattened by the blast and the father arrived on the scene!  The brothers told him that the wind blew the barn over. He believed them. 

Another time, friends brought word to Oren Emerson, one day while he was at work, that his father had suddenly passed away. “What," he said, “Is my father dead? That's funny, he never did that before!"  Oren wasn't trying to be funny.  He was dead sober and that was just his way. He and his brother were sadly looking at their father’s remains.  Oren said, "Poor dad is dead." 

His brother, Russell, answered, "Yessir, he is as dead as an ox." 

During the Civil War, Oren served as a soldier in the Union Army and gained quite a reputation for keeping the spirits of his regiment up by his open, uninhibited speech.   Once during drill, in front of the whole regiment, Oren made a scathing remark to a commanding officer. The officer barked, “I'm your commanding officer. I could have you court-martialed for that!"  Oren looked him in the eye and said, "Pay no attention to me, I talk just that way to every damned fool I meet!" 

The officer hesitated, looked at Oren's simple face, said no more and moved on. But the story got home, much to the delight of everyone. 

Frank Shattuck, who was in the same regiment of the Union Army as Oren Emerson throughout the war, tells this story about Oren: 

The regiment commanded by Captain John Little of Bath was given orders to go down a steep hill and drive the rebels out of the woods. The rebels surprised them and came out in force, opening fire. With bullets flying all around them, our boys turned and ran. Captain Little ran ahead of them all, shouting, "Halt, halt!" 

Oren, swearing horribly with every step he took, was out of breath and falling behind. Frantically he hollered, "The damned fool, why doesn't he halt himself?!"
 
Struggling up to a rail fence, all the boys made it over, except Oren. The top rail broke and he fell over backwards. While scrambling to get up, he screamed at the top of his voice, "Why in hell don't Gabriel blow his trumpet! "  (It was a common belief that the "good people" would go to heaven when Gabriel blew his trumpet.)

Well, they all made it to the top of the hill and the rebels turned back. 

Oren was the only brother that married, but they never had children. He married a very simple farm girl who he called "Robin" as a pet name. 

They became our nearest neighbors and were so for many years. I remember that Mrs. Emerson was very tight-fisted. She sold "hard" cider to the villagers for 5c a cup. Mother did not approve. Also, she loaned out money at 6% interest. When a neighbor would ask her for a loan, she would write the amount down on a slip of paper, which the borrower signed, and that was it. No one thought of cheating her.  When Oren died, they were well-to-do. 


THE WAKE OF OREN EMERSON
When Oren Emerson died, it was the custom for friends and relatives or the family to sit up with the body for a couple or days and nights before burial. 

Jenny (my schoolteacher) and James Little (niece and nephew of the Captain Little in Oren's regiment), Rena Loghry (my cousin) and I took a turn at sitting up with the body the second night.  We stayed in the parlor off from the front bedroom where Oren was placed in his bier. Every hour or so we would quietly go into the bedroom, take a fresh damp cloth from a basin of water and change the cloth over his face. 

Refreshments were usually left out for those sitting up, but stingy Mrs. Emerson, who was sleeping in a small bedroom off from the kitchen, left out only one dish of plum sauce in the middle of the table. 

As Jenny Little tasted it, she screwed up her face in a sour pucker. Sour sauce! We started to laugh. Needless to say we didn't stay long in the kitchen for fear of waking the widow. 

The night drug on, and in the early hours, the wind came up in gusts. The curtains puffed in and out; doors creaked.  As we were coming out of the front bedroom where Oren was, the door behind us slammed.  We jumped a foot, looked nervously at each other and started to giggle again. 

Morning finally came and my turn at the wake of Oren Emerson was finally over. 
 

UNCLE "IKE" 
I remember listening to the stories told about Uncle Ike by my mother's side of the family.  Uncle Ike, was a typical country-type around that time who displayed earthy, behind-the-barn humor. He married a very sweet woman and they had a family of unusually bright children of whom he was very proud.  The following are some of the stories told about him. 


THE BOARDING HOUSE
Uncle Isaac Loghry (pronounced Lockrey), my great uncle on Mother's side, lived in Bath in the mid 19th century. He was in the business of selling anthracite coal (brought in from the coal fields of Pennsylvania) and the local cord wood. Uncle Ike was a short, heavy-set man with a big belly who wore his old clothes most of the time.  When he failed to wash up, he did not make too good of an appearance. 

Uncle Ike stayed at a boarding house in town before he was married. He would turn up to dinner in his old work clothes much to the obvious disgust of a well-dressed, snobbish lady who sat directly across the table from him. 

In those days, salt pork was served frequently, and on one occasion of which I speak, Uncle Ike was busily pulling the meat off the pork rind by dragging it through his teeth, all the while keeping an eye on the hostile lady sitting across from him. Stretching the rind as far as it would go, he gave it a flip. It landed in the middle of the woman's plate. As she looked at the chewed pork rind in horror, Uncle Ike very soberly and accusingly said, "Madam, I thank you for my rind please!" 



THE DANCE 
It seems Uncle Ike's father told him he couldn't go to a certain dance.  A rough element attended those dances (quite a few got drunk). He said to him, "Isaac, I've seen the folly of those kind of dances. You can't go!" 

Uncle Ike replied, "I want to see the foIly of it, too." 

His father said, "Now, Isaac, you cannot go to that dance.  You must take your sister to an "apple cut" (Neighbors would peel apples, core them, slice them, and then dry them.)  They would have lots of clean fun. 

So Ike started out with his sister, got nearly there, when he stopped at a watering trough. He watered the horse and began to take the harness off. His sister said, "Isaac, what are you doing'?" "I'm going to ride the horse to the dance!  You can go to the apple cut if you like. I'm going to the dance!" 

So, sister walked the rest of the way to the apple cut alone. When it came time for his sister to go home, up rode Isaac. 
HE took his sister home and made her promise not to tell on him.  Many a time later, he used to wait until his father was asleep, walk the horse over the horse blankets in the barn to muffle the noise and go to the weekly dances. 
 

UNCLE IKE AT THE REVIVAL 
The congregation at the revival had to sit on rough boards in a barn, for there wasn't a church for them to use.  Uncle Ike and his friends sat up in the hay loft which was directly over the preacher. The preacher was very eloquent on the subject of fire and brimstone. One young man with Ike became very sleepy in the heat of the low loft close to the preacher's head. Uncle Ike and his friend gently nudged him toward the spot above the preacher's head. Then, with a quick shove, the unwary young man slipped off the loft and landed astraddle the poor preacher's neck, knocking him down. Bolts out of the blue! The young culprit was thrown out of the barn bodily very much surprised. He woke up in a hurry! 

Ike crawled back in the hay and laughed so hard he stuffed his handkerchief in his mouth so that no one could hear him. He stayed in the hay till everyone had left, then beat it for home.  No one knew how it happened, and the guilty young man never showed his face in that summer's revival meetings again. 


UNCLE IKE IN CHURCH
One Sunday evening, Uncle Ike attended church service and was seated next to Josey Dunlap, a quiet little man, who was leaning forward listening intently to all that the minister was saying. 

Now, Uncle Ike ,was in a predicament.  He was almost bursting with gas and was dangerously near the exploding point. Desperately, Uncle grabbed a large straight pin he had in his vest and stuck Josey nearly the full length of the pin.  Poor Josey leaped to his feet and hollered at the top of his voice, simultaneously with Uncle Ike's explosion. The congregation couldn't understand what was the matter and crowded around the poor man. He broke up the service with his outburst. 

While all this was going on, Uncle Ike slipped out, leaving Josey with a confused and rather angry congregation. Meanwhile, Uncle Ike got home in a hurry. When Ike pushed his way through the door of his home, he fell to the floor, rolling from side to side, laughing and gasping for breath. His sister asked, "What on earth is the matter? 

The only thing he could say was, "Oh, Josey, Josey, poor Josey!" 

SAM HOGLAND AND THE GHOST 
Sam Hogland believed in clairvoyance. He would attend séance meetings in the town and become exceedingly excited telling everyone about his experiences in a high-pitched, hysterical voice, which left no doubt about his easy-to-play-upon imagination.
 
Uncle Ike often listened to Sam's wild recitals of returning spirits. One dark night, after an especially long and spooky session which extended well after midnight, Sam started home through a piece of very thick woods. He heard a slight noise behind him. Was someone following him? 

Turning fearfully around, he saw in the shadows of the trees a white form which moved slowly toward him. He started to run, but the misty form came swiftly after him. Was it a ghost?  Sam, filled with terror, cried, "Who under the sun are you?" 

The white apparition, in a deep bass voice, hollowly answered, "I am the Devil and I'm after Sam Hogland!" 

Sam lost all control. Gasping, out of breath, he tore through the pitch black trees, till he stubbed his toe on a root and fell headlong into a watering ditch alongside the road.  When he struggled to his feet, the white thing was gone! 

When the villagers asked Sam why he no longer attended the séance sessions, he had no answer. But Uncle Ike grinned. 

It was a hilarious tale. Poor Sam! 































MOVING FROM THE FARM

Times were not good after the house was built and it was a struggle to keep up the mortgage payments on the farm. I felt as time passed that my father and mother were not too wise to have built such a large house.  My father had had about three or four years of very good prices on his produce and thought it wouldn’t end.

Well, in the fall of 1898 potatoes dropped to thirteen cents a bushel.  Dad would not sell his potatoes at such a price and having heard a rumor that the price was bound to go up in the spring, he carried by hand at least a thousand bushels and poured them on the concrete floor of the basement in the house thinking to keep them till the price went up. In the following spring, the price dropped to three cents a bushel!  We could not afford to haul them at such a price, so Father dumped the potatoes in the woods. 

Things got steadily worse. My folks thought they were getting $1.50 a barrel for apples. When the prices came back, they only got $.45 a barrel! And they had to pay for the barrel. The best hay was $10.00 a ton. I managed to help out by driving a bakery cart for my Uncle Erford in Bath for awhile. 

My uncle, Lloyd Woodbury, in Hornell, advised my parents to let the farm out and get work in Hornell. Mother rented a private house close to the business section on Genesse Street in Hornell and did very well with boarders.  They liked her cooking. Father worked for a man who owned a livery and he drove a team from the depot to the hospital and other places. I went to work in the silk mills. First I learned to weave different material like taffeta, chiffon, and warp for knitted silk gloves, and other material. The silk used was obtained from France and Japan.  I worked 10 hours a day for $10 to $15 a week after I had been there awhile. There, I met Leon Roy who became a very close friend. Neither one or us saw any future in the work, nor did we like it.  We worked from l to 2 years and quit. 

Plymouth, North Carolina
In 1905 when I was 26, I was invited by the family of Nate Travis, a friend, to their family home where I met his sister and her husband, Mr. Conklin, who were also visiting.  Conklin, who had sawmill in this area, was intending to go to Plymouth, North Carolina, and manage a lumber business for a couple of Northern men, one, a retired farmer and the other, a lumber man. They wanted to invest in southern pine timber. They knew I had graduated from business college and offered me a job with their company, the Plymouth Lumber Company, as head bookkeeper. I eagerly accepted the position and planned to leave almost immediately. 

While we were still living in the country, we often visited my Aunt Ruia who lived on Washington Street in Bath. There I met Lucrecia Moore, who was a lovely brunette Quaker girl. We became very good friends and always called on her when I came to town. Just before I started south in 1905, I called on Louie (that is what I called her) and gave her the address of my Uncle Peacock where I would be in New York City. She said she would write me at that address. Before I left, she gave me a letter, but for me to open it only after I was on board ship to the south. On ship, I read the letter. It was one of the most beautiful letters I have ever read. I do wish I had kept it! She seemed so wise beyond her years. She called attention to the fact that I was leaving home and friends and entering a new line of work in a new country and environment and that it was very important that I cling to the principles I had adhered to since childhood.  While I was at Plymouth, we corresponded regularly for a time. Gradually our letters became a little farther apart and then ceased between us. 

As I mentioned, while in New York I arranged to visit my Aunt Fanny and/Uncle Harvey Peacock. They seemed delighted to have me and were very cordial. I was impressed with Uncle Harvey as a ship carpenter. I was told he helped build the historic "Monitor” of the Civil War. 


NEW YORK CITY AND TRAVELING TO PLYMOUTH
During my stay, I climbed up the Statue of Liberty and looked out of her crown.  Also, I visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Museum of Natural History of the U.S., where I saw Ulysses S. Grant and his staff in full blue uniform in life-size wax. 

I rode on the elevated railroad about the city. Electric cars on the streets through the city appeared around this time and were of much interest. There was even a subway under the city at that time. 

After a week, I continued on my journey by an ocean liner, the Monroe, and went by sea to Norfolk, Virginia on Chesapeake Bay. I entered the bay between Cape Charles and Cape Henry. I arrived in Norfolk the following morning. 

The Jamestown Exposition was being exhibited in Norfolk that summer, so I eagerly attended. One exhibition was the Battle of the Monitor and Merrimac.  Over a pond of water was an amphitheater covered by a large tent, like a cheesebox. As we were sitting there, a small duplication of the t1errimac appeared followed by the appearance of the Monitor and a mock battle ensued. Then both ships withdrew. This was accompanied by a lecture which was very interesting and historic. 

I stayed overnight in Norfolk, then took a train next morning for Edenton located on the Albermarle Sound.  We arrived soon after noon. The train of two passenger cars and three freight cars was pushed on a large ferry which carried us for 12 miles across the I sound to Poper where a locomotive drew us off the ferry and took us 7 to 8 miles to Plymouth, North Carolina. 

Plymouth was a dreary little town of 2500 with a depot and a wharf covered with large bales of cotton. I was curious to know if my trunk which I checked at New York City had, or would, arrive after all the transfers I had made from railroad to ship. I was homesick, and after looking around some, v7ent back to the train, where to my great surprise, out rolled my trunk from the baggage car. And do you know, I just wanted to hug that trunk!  Here I was, a green country boy, a thousand miles from anyone I knew, in a strange town. The trunk looked mighty good and reminded me of home. 


MRS. LATHUM’S BOARDING HOUSE
I followed my instructions by going up a street to a store I owned by Tom Gaylord, a young man about my own age. He directed I me to go to Mrs. Lathum's boarding house. Among the boarders was a Methodist preacher by the name of Jones, a bachelor about my age, the Sheriff, a schoolteacher, and a few others. At meal time they sat at a long dining room table. They all were very friendly. It seemed like it was a big family. It felt good to be accepted by them and we had a lot of fun. 

Mrs. Lathum was a dear old lady. The southern food served family style was always excellent, except once. I got there late for supper and as I came in, they all said, "Here's Marsh, see if he can eat them." I said, "I can eat anything!" Well, they were chitlins (pigs intestines) which were deep fried. Well, sir, I had to back up on that! The flavor was bad. Oh dear, they were awful. Everybody laughed. I tried my best, but I could not eat them. It was the only poor dish I ever experienced at that table. 


THE PLYMOUTH LUMBER COMPANY
The timber purchase was on an island in the Roanoke River. The mill and our residence was in Plymouth. The logs from our timber on the island were brought by a short railroad, dumped into the river, rafted and brought across the Roanoke River about three miles to the mill on the bank near Plymouth.  The company owned the tugboat and railroad, all of which they paid $50,GOO for while I was bookkeeper. It was the largest check I have ever written. 

The Mill was run by a large steam engine with all the necessary saws and planers. There were three large boilers; one for the engine and two for steam that was used for the piped heat in the dryer.  Lumber from the mill was transferred by conveyer to the dryer and from the dryer to the wharf where it was loaded onto barges for delivery as the orders came in. When a barge came in, I had to go out on the wharf with the inspector who would call the grade and footage of the lumber as it was loaded while I checked it off. 

I had a very good friend in Tom Gaylord and also Joe Norman.  They warned me personally that there was not nearly as much timber on that swampy island as the Plymouth Lumber Company had thought they had purchased.  There were just small clumps of a few acres of excellent pine timber on the island. 

It seems a smart old darky, who knew the whole island like a book, was employed by each owner who wanted to sell it to take the prospective buyer out to cruise the timber.  After they had cruised a few good acres of timber and the prospect had become very tired in the hot humid weather, the darky would tell him it would be just like that across the entire island. He, the darky, told me he had taken a prospective buyer around the same tree 9 times and the man didn't know the difference but thought each time he was continuing farther into the woods. 

I wanted to see for myself what was there. I asked Mr. Conklin for an experienced white man in our employ, a negro, a shot gun and a dog. we went over a large part of that island one day. The negro went ahead of us with a machete so that he would not get tangled with a snake in the overhanging brush that might be in our way.  As we traveled through a patch of overhanging brush, the dog ahead became very nervous and was barking sharply at something in the grass.  All of a sudden a large snake raised its ugly head threateningly.  The white man became very excited and begged me to go no closer.  The snake was a copper bellied moccasin and very deadly poisonous.  As the dog danced around, I got a bead on the snake and with one shot, blew his head off. I was so thankful that I had the dog, the man and the gun!  The negro cut the overhanging brush and watched very carefully for tree climbing snakes.   We saw no more that day, but believe me, we were looking for them! 

We came in that night very tired men, as we had covered a large part of the island, but we were thoroughly convinced there was no such stand of fine timber there as we were led to believe. When Mr. Ashbaugh, a retired farmer from New York, who was furnishing the money for the Plymouth Lumber Company, came down to Plymouth to check into his investment, I told him about my suspicions and he soon was of the same mind.  Immediately, he went home up north and got in touch with some other northern lumbermen and sold off all of his holding to them, including the mill. He hired the same darky to take them around.  They fell for the bait and relieved him of his white elephant. 

Conklin, who had stock in the company, wouldn't listen to a word of it.  But another businessman of our town of Bath, who was one of the new prospects, took a launch around the island, talked to the people of Plymouth, got acquainted and came to the conclusion that it was not what it was cracked up to be, and did not purchase it. 


MOTHER COMES TO VISIT
After I had been in Plymouth as a bookkeeper for six or eight months, I invited my mother to spend her vacation with me. She followed instructions, changing from rails to boat and boat to rails several times, arriving in Plymouth one afternoon rather tired and dusty. I engaged a room for her at Mrs. Lathum’s boarding house. She was very well received by a number of the ladies in town who had heard of her arrival and she soon was having the time of her life.

Early one Sunday morning, Mr. Conklin, my superintendent, suggested to me that he and his wife, my mother and I attend a service in the colored people’s church. We arrived at the small church and were immediately conducted to the balcony.  There we looked down on the congregation. It was very interesting and at was quite amusing, as there were many “Amens" and "Glory Hallelujahs which accompanied a sermon of hell, fire and brimstone. 

It came time for collection and instead of passing the plate, it was placed on the table in front of the pulpit, guarded by old Harrison Fittle, a church official who happened to be one of our employees. The congregation would march up to the table and place their contribution in the collection plate.  Mr. Conklin always enjoyed making me the butt of his jokes.  He dared me to place a dollar in the collection, if he supplied it. I accepted the challenge. I held the dollar up so Old Harrison could see it.  Harrison immediately brought the plate over and held it as high as he could so I could drop it in from the low balcony. Conklin was disappointed because he wanted to see me march up with the rest of them. I was very pleased with the operation. 

A few days later, Old Harrison came in my office and said, Mr. Marsh, I see you and your mother’s names in our colored paper."  I asked hi~. to bring me the paper. The article read as follows: 

"Mr. Marsh, Plymouth Lumber Company bookkeeper, and his esteemed mother, also Mr. and  Mrs. Conklin, manager, attended service Sunday a.m. in our church. Mr. Marsh placed $1.00 in our collection. We are always glad to have our white friends attend our services." 

Mrs. Norman, a southern lady, mother of my best friend Joe, came over to Mrs. Lathum’s boarding house in a nice phaeton (a fashionable buggy) and introduced herself to my mother.  She drove her about town and into the country where the cotton fields were in bloom.  My mother, being a northerner, naturally espoused the negro cause.  Mrs. Norman, a very fine lady, explained her belief.  She said treat the negro kindly and fairly, but do not fraternize with them; let them live among themselves and have their own churches and schools.  I was very glad that Mother got to see the southern viewpoint in relation to the black race in the south the same as I did. 

Southerners as well as northerners were guilty of very radical ideas. Mother took a great liking to all the southern ladies that she met and really enjoyed her visit. 


THE COMPANY MILL POND
Many logs were collected in the company mill pond nearby which was operated by Joe Norman's father, who was an old timer.  There were surface logs in the pond, kept there by logs that were tied together. Some of the logs were heavy and would sink and as there were many other mills along the river, these sunken logs were free.  The negroes became expert in raising them with pike poles and selling them to one of the mills. 

One negro became avaricious.  Sometimes on a dark night, he would open the pond and free loose logs and tie them to his specially made boat, which was two boats built about four to five feet apart.  The logs would be fastened firmly between the two boats and maybe they would be sold to the same mill they were stolen from. 

Mr. Norman, who was a dead shot with a rifle, knew that they were losing logs, so he hid in a concealed place nearby and saw this negro stealthily approach the pond one night, open the log gate and float the logs out to his boat. He took deliberate aim with his rifle and shot the man through the head. The body fell in the river. The next day it was discovered and of course according to law, they had to have an inquest and make a report of any marks on the body.  The inquest report read as follows: 

"This man fell in the river and was drowned. There was a little hole in his head caused by a pike pole that helped get his body out of the river. " 

TOM GAYLORD AND THE TRAIN
One day my friend Torn Gaylord said to me, "Glenn, my girl from Raleigh will be in on the Atlantic coast line train Sunday night about 9 p.m. The train has to come to a dead stop a couple miles cut of town where they have to cross the Norfolk & Southern tracks.  I'd like to have you go with me to the junction.  We will grab onto the last car, which will be a passenger car, and we'll go in and I'll introduce you to my girl.  And for God's sake, don't miss the last handle on the passenger car!" 

We walked out during the edge of the evening, met the train, but the engineer saw us and started up very suddenly and fast.  I had all I could do running with the train and grabbing on the last hold. It threw my feet and legs straight out, but I made it! 

Tom missed it on his side!  I saw him chasing down the tracks back of us as the train rapidly advanced on ahead. He had no chance. There I was! I had forgotten the girl's name, but I had to find her.  As I went down the aisle, I saw a very fine looking little lady and thought it must be she. So I asked, "Pardon me, are you the lady Tom Gaylord was to meet at the junction?" She said, "Yes, where is Tom?" 

I told her, “I just saw Torn racing down the tracks behind us. He must have missed his hold."  

She laughed and said, "Poor Tom."  I sat with her until we reached town. Sure enough, there were a number of her friends, a minister and Tom's friends to meet her.  Many were asking where Tom was and I told them. Everybody laughed. Poor Torn! 

It was a pleasant summer evening, so we all marched to the house where the minister had his rooms. We all visited together on the long front porch overlooking the Roanoke River. Nearly an hour had passed before Tom came rushing up the walk. Out of breath, hot, wet with perspiration, he was a spectacle to behold. He tolerated the jibes of his friends with much embarrassment, but finished the evening with us. 

There was a happy ending to this tale. Years later, when Donna and I went to visit our son, Donald, at boot camp at Fort Bragg, he took a side trip to Plymouth and found that Tom had married Miss Huddler - the same little lady that I met on the train that evening! 



This story was told to me by one of the white natives of Plymouth. 

FENNER WILKINSON, THE BEEF MAN
A white Yankee peddler used to come to Plymouth occasionally and he was well-liked among the people. One morning they found him outside of the city, murdered and robbed.  A vigilante was organized at once and search was made for the guilty party. They got a hold of a black native butcher by the name of Fenner Wilkinson and thought he was the man. Fenner was very scared. His eyes rolled as he said, "You's boys is sho making a mistake. You's got the wrong man! I's the beef man. I's sell you's beef!" 

He finally convinced them of his innocence. The vigilantes (who used mob tactics) found the guilty party and hung him to a large tree nearby.  I used to go by the little market where Fenner sold his beef and I would kid him and ask, "Fenner, are you the beef man today?" 

He would laugh, roll his eyes and say, "I sho is. I's a live one, too!" 

GREY HAIRS
One amusing anecdote I fondly remember was concerning an old white friend I had, who worked down on the wharf. His name was Alec Bateman and we used to kid each other a great deal. One day I said to him,  ”Alec, I should give you a darn good licking only for your gray hairs."  

He turned his hat back, scratched his head and said, "'Len, these gray hairs have kept many a young man about your size from getting a hell of a good lickin'!”  
 
THE COMMISSARY
One of my duties as bookkeeper was to go to the bank every Saturday and draw the correct amount of cash, put it in envelopes to the amount of the wage for the past week and distribute it to each employee. The help would march in front of the office and pick up their wage as I would callout their names. 

I had a small commissary along with my bookkeeping position and was allowed to sell a few personal things as well. It was the custom for the whites to sell their old clothes, in fairly good condition, for about half price to the negroes and they, in turn, expected it. 

One day, Zion Janet, a colored logger, came in and said, "Mr. Marsh, when are you going to sell me that nice blue serge you are wearing?"  We agreed on the price of about $10.00 and he allowed me to take $ 2.00 out of his pay every Saturday night. 

After I did that 2 or 3 times, one of the foremen came in and asked if Janet was owing. I replied, "Yes.”  "You had better take his whole pay this next week, because he was laid off," said the foreman. 

When Zion came after his pay, I said, "Zion, I will have to take your whole pay this week as I understand you've been laid off." Zion immediately said, "Mr. Marsh, didn't you and I have an agreement? "  I said, "Yes, Zion, we did." 

"And didn't I pay you every week $2.00?" "Yes, Zion." 

"I've got a job at another mill at $1.25 a day. Instead of your taking it out of my envelope every Saturday night, I will leave the payment at Tom Gaylord's store.  Is that all right?  Didn't we make an agreement?  Won't you trust me?" 

Every Saturday night, he was at the store the payment until it was all paid. As he made his last payment, Zion squared his shoulders and said, "Now, Mr. Marsh, ain't I lived up to our agreement? " 



One of our employees, Tom Batchelor, a handsome young negro, came to my office and bought a few small things out of my commissary and said, "Mr. Marsh, I want to buy your revolver. I'll give you seven dollars for it." That was more than I had paid for it in New York, so I sold it to him. 

A day or two later, to my horror, I learned that Tom had shot another negro in a colored brawl and was in jail. (It was rumored that the man was trifling with his woman.)  I had visions of a trial and maybe my name would come up and I would be in real trouble with a colored law suit.  I immediately got in touch with the sheriff.  He thanked me for the information and told me I had nothing to worry about.  Later he had a long talk with Tom.  Tom gave him all the money he had and said, "I owes this to Mr. Marsh. Would you give it to him?" I had the sheriff return it to Tom  Also, I furnished him some cigarettes.  Fortunately, Tom just wounded the man, and since it did not involve whites, Tom was soon set free. But I sold no more guns, believe me! 


ENTERTAINMENT IN PLYMOUTH
Entertainment was slim for people in the little town of Plymouth with its dirt streets and wooden sidewalks. "The Belle Haven", a freight and passenger boat, used to tie up on the river shore at night and take them for pleasure rides on the river, but other than that their fun was mostly at home. 

Just above the main street of town, there was an artisan well which supplied the population with a continual flow of water that was slightly tinged with sulfur. The well was protected with a high wall of lattice framework and a roof. The lattice was criss-crossed wooden. laths that were arranged decoratively and painted white.  Many a summer evening, the young men would congregate there and sing in harmony such songs as "In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree”, "Sweet Adeline" and others that were new and popular at this time. As I remember, some of the boys were good singers, too! 

On one Fourth of July, my friend, Joe Norman, borrowed his father's launch and took me with several others along a historic route to the sound. Knowing the history of the heroic act of Captain Cushing, it was especially thrilling to me. 

OLD SOUTHFIELD
It seems, at one time during the Civil War, on a dark night, a Federal navy boat quietly steamed south along Albarmarle Sound and up the deep Roanoke River a few miles toward Plymouth. When they got, perhaps, within a mile or two of Plymouth, they let a canoe down to the river with Captain Cushing and several sticks of high power dynamite.  He paddled up the river very stealthily in the dark until he reached the rebel gunboat, “Old Southfield", which was tied up at the wharf, with a small festive party in progress on deck.  He placed the dynamite strategically at about the center of the boat, lit the fuse and slipped away to his comrades down the river. With. a large explosion, a big hole was blown in the side of the boat, just below the water line. The people rushed off just in time, as “'Old Southfield” sank to the bottom of the river.  A little ripple which appears in the river to this day denotes where the gunboat sank. 


MALARIA
On the sound, we beached on the lovely white sands. It was a very warm day and we swam and played in the cool clear water about five and a half hours. 

Soon after this outing, I came down with a very severe case of malaria fever.  The local doctor treated me with Calomel, which did not alleviate my symptoms, but gave me severe diarrhea. He did not give me Quinine (not used much at that time). 

Since I steadily became weaker, he advised me to go to my home in the north immediately.  I went to Norfolk, Virginia by train, then by ocean liner to New York City and from there by riverboat up the Hudson to Albany. From there, I took the D & H Railroad to Binghamton, New York where I stayed with my grandmother one night. From there, I went home a very sick. young man. 

Dr. Truman, who lived across the street from us, put me to bed.  My mother, Aunt Cora and a special nurse took care of me for about four weeks around the clock. During that time, Dr. Truman reduced my red corpuscles to the very minimum he dared by blood-letting (phlebotomy) and placed me on a very bland fat-free diet. I weighed less than 100 pounds and was terribly weak. Gradually, I began to improve. It took me 3 to 4 weeks after I was up to gain back enough strength to get around and for years I had mild recurrences of malaria when I would catch colds. 

Dr. Truman warned me never to return to that malaria-infested swamp in the south again.  He didn't realize how much I loved the south and my friends there. However, I knew that the company I worked for was going broke very soon, so it made it easier to accept my doctor's advice. 

I heard later that poor Conklin had a heart attack a couple of years later and died. 


MOVING TO HOOD RIVER

In 1906, we moved to Dr. Sweet's house on Main Street in Hornell.  It was there, in 1907, I eventually recovered from malaria and got a job at the silk mill again and began associating with Leon Roy.  Leon had a girlfriend by the name of Emma Olson.  One night, Leon and Emma arranged a blind date for me with her girlfriend, Donna Ward, to listen to the band concert in the park. I called on Donna many times after that and finally we became engaged to marry.
 
One day I said to my Mother that I must go over to Bath to see Louie and tell her of my Engagement.  So one Saturday, I took the train and called on her.  How I did dread to tell her.  She seemed very glad to see me.  We had a nice visit.  Finally, she said, "Glenn, I have something to tell you. I'm engaged to be married."  I asked her his name. She said it was Bob Fuller, who I had met.  I congratulated her as I knew him to be a very fine person. 

Then I said, "Well, Louie, I'm also engaged to be married." She said, “Oh, are you'? What 's her name?"  I told her, "Donna Ward."  I remember so well what she said: "Oh, what a pretty name. Is she dark like me'?" 

I said, "No, she is light with chestnut hair.”

"How I would love to see her," she said. 

I told her that very soon after we were married, Donna and I were going far west. 

While I was courting Donna, my father became very ill and died. Soon after, Mother met and eventually married one of her boarders by the name of William Green in 1908.


Mother and her new husband had purchased land near Hood River, Oregon. They encouraged us to settle there, giving glowing account by letter of its beauty and promise. 
 

NEWLYWEDS 
Donna and I were married in the Methodist Church, in the 5th ward, at Hornell, New York where they attended. The immediate family were all that were invited to our wedding. Afterwards, we went to her house where her mother had prepared a lovely wedding dinner.  Later we, with our party, left for the Erie Depot to board a train west. 

While were waiting for the train to arrive, there was a sudden rush through the station doors and in trooped my "silk mill" friends, calling good wishes and scattering confetti all over.  Our bags were filled with it!  We were glad to see them come; also, we were glad to see them go.  Confetti spilled out of our luggage all the way to Denver. Everyone in our car knew we were newlyweds.  


DENVER
When we arrived in Denver, we planned to stay till the next day in the hotel. In those horse and buggy days, "Horse for Hire" was the sign you looked for. A man drove up with a nice team of horses and wagon.   We asked to be driven to the hotel, but he persuaded us to take a nice ride through the Garden of the Gods, where we saw the Balanced Rock, and then to the Cave of the winds.  He was very friendly and as he drove us back to the hotel, we told him we were newlyweds.  He arranged to take us, free of charge, the next morning to the Mid-Land Terminal railroad station where we began our beautiful, picturesque trip up to the Cripple Creek Gold Mine. 


Donna's former classmate friend, Florence Crosby, met us at the Cripple Creek depot and took us to her home. Her husband, a mining engineer, took me down in the company gold mine (nine hundred feet by elevator) and showed me little veins of gold in what appeared to be solid rock. I even used the pneumatic drill, which included the job of getting drenched with dirty water (much to my bride's displeasure). Also, I was fascinated that in the Cripple Creek district there where deep prospect holes that people had dug and abandoned during the great gold rush. 

After we had been there three wonderful days, Donna's friends bid us good-bye as we started back to Denver by yet another railroad called the "Short Line". It was the wildest and most interesting ride I have ever experienced. I kept thinking, "well, hundreds of people have ridden on these same rails and made it, why should we worry?"  The "Short Line” would go forward on the steep hillside past a switch that was the length of the whole train. The switch would be turned and the train would be let back down the grade to the next switchback, and so on down the mountain. Before descending we looked for miles and miles at the high craggy ranges of the Rockies with Pike's Peak showing in the distance. I still have pictures of the Cripple Creek area (in folder form) where the rail- roads climbed the mountains of colored rock. 

Shortly after we arrived in Denver, we boarded the Union Pacific to Hood River. First, we entered the Royal Gorge with narrow passage along a swift Colorado River. On each side of this narrow high gorge were solid perpendicular walls rising hundreds of feet above. We crossed what was called "The Hanging Bridge" which was fastened by cables over the Colorado River rapids.  We saw many spectacular sights (Mount of the Holy Cross, Echo Cliffs, etc.). 


ARRIVING IN HOOD RIVER
On May 1, 1909, we came in on the early morning train to Hood River where we expected my mother and stepfather to meet us, but they were an hour late.  We all had breakfast at home and a picnic dinner at Tucker Bridge.  We thought it was the most beautiful valley we had ever seen.  Mount Hood in one direction and Mount Adams the other. It was a beautiful day. (George Wilbur, a future Hood River lawyer, came in on that very train that morning and neither of us knew it till years later.) 

Many people were buying small acreage, but times were hard and my stepfather, William Green, had land with young trees with no immediate income. I still had some money from the sale of our farm in Bath, New York, so I bought 5 acres of young 3 year old orchard from him and my Mother.  It was good land and the trees were strong and of good variety. They were good productive trees for years later. I paid about $3,500 for the place ($2,000 in cash and a $1,500 mortgage). 

SQUARE DEAL REALTY
After assuring that our orchard would be cultivated and cared for during our absence, we left my mother and stepfather’s place and went to Portland in order to gain an income. I obtained a position as a partner in real estate.  We had an office in the Board of Trade Building in Portland under the name of "Square-Deal Realty". One day a man, Mr. Oliver, came into our office in the Board of Trade Building in Portland, saying that he was an experienced timber agent and had some timber land he would like to show down along the coast in the Onion Peak area. I remembered a wealthy neighbor of mine back east who had asked me to keep an eye open 
for good timber. Also, this agent, Mr. Oliver, informed us that timber claims were to be had. I talked to my friend and neighbor, Mr. Maybough, and we decided we would go to the coast to investigate about timber claims. (A person had to live on a timber claim - 160 acres - for two years, then pay the Federal government $240.00 and the property was his forever.) We also went to inform ourselves about a large block of timber that might be available and accessible for operation. 



Mr. Oliver, Mr. Maybough, a timber cruiser, and myself, were all outfitted with a backpack containing some bedding and food.  We journeyed by train to Seaside and then by open stage, drawn by a team of horses, along the coast past Cannon Beach and Elk Creek. we reached our starting point for hiking at Hug Point, then up through the proposed timber claim to Onion Peak where there were two cabins. 

Hug Point was well-named.  When the tide was out, a person could walk around it on the beach.  But when the tide was in, as it was then, we inched our way along a foot-wide gray solid rock path that had been cut in the cliff side years ago. Twenty feet below us the waves were splashing and roaring.  Mr. Oliver was ahead of me.  He had both arms stretched out as far as they would go, with his back to the ocean.  He had a pretty good-sized belly and rear, so he just barely balanced with his pack.  My, I was scared, but I thought if he could make it, I could too!'
 
After we got off the rock, we traveled on a narrow, upgrade trail through the beautiful huge timber for four miles. It was raining, the brush was wet and we were cold and hungry when we finally reached the cabins at about dusk.  It was a one room log cabin with an old stove, table, stools, and one bed with rusty springs covered by a moldy blanket.  (We were supposed to have a comfortable furnished cabin with beds, stove, etc.)  After building a fire, having our food, and getting nice and warm, our predicament was how to sleep! 

Well, all four of us crawled on the one bed with our clothes on and lined up all in the same direction with a tarp pulled over us for warmth. Along the middle of the night, I awoke suddenly hearing loud groaning noises. Then, Mr. Oliver yelled out in the night, "Oh, my god! I want to turn over!"  We all awakened and turned over. No more sleep that night! 

Next morning after a light breakfast, we hiked back through the rain down the mountain around Hug Point to where the stage was waiting (with no top).  We rode with wind blowing cold and wet until we arrived at Elk Creek Hotel where the stage stopped to rest and feed the horses.   We got off the stage and went into the sitting room where a hot fire was burning. 

After we warmed ourselves, Mr. Oliver, who seemed to know just what to do, motioned us to follow him in the back room where there was a long bar.  He ordered drinks for the four of us.  They were fairly good-sized glasses. Mr. Oliver ordered a second drink of "the same" as the rest of them.  We each had four good-sized drinks of "the same".  I don't know what "the same" was, but the other three seemed to handle it better than I. They walked out on their own power to the sitting room where the hot fire was. I was the last one left. Everything seemed to be whirling around. I put my back to the bar and slid along to the door. I opened the door and got myself into the sitting room somewhere near the hot fire. I found a chair and sat down. I know I was plastered. The others were not quite as bad off as I was. They found chairs, too. 

Soon, a bell rang for dinner. I asked Mr. Oliver where the dining room was. He said I would have to go out on the porch, it would be the first door. I waited until the others left. Somehow I got out on the porch.  I had my back against the outside wall and I kind of slid along until I came to the first door. I managed to open it. There seemed to be a long table in front of me and as it was swinging around and around, I made a grab at it and sat down at the end of the table next to Mr. Maybough. I managed to drop my knife and fork on the floor. I bent over after them but thought I would never get back! I took three or four hitches at it. I looked up and saw Mr. Maybough had a sort of grin on his face which started me laughing.  Then all four of us started laughing.  We kept up our silly laughter, silly remarks and silly behavior till we noticed some ladies at the other end of the table looking thoroughly disgusted.  They made us laugh all the more! 

We had a very good dinner, at least we thought it was. The stage announced their readiness to take us back to Seaside. By the time we reached Seaside we were sober. There, the other three had another drink. I didn't, I had had all I had wanted!
 

When we returned to Portland, Mr. Maybough and I decided against the timber claim deal.  We concluded that the timber was inaccessible at that time and there was no possibility of putting in roads to that area in order to get the timber out. Also, I knew Donna could not stand to live in such primitive isolation. 

HOMESICK FOR HORNELL
Donna was very homesick, so we went home to Hornell on Thanksgiving Day and spent the winter with her parents. I worked there for the Express Company until the end of March 1910.  While in Hornell, I obtained the rest of the money from the mortgage on our farm. My uncle, E.B. Hodges, had it discounted!  A perfectly good mortgage, at 10%! I was so incensed that I swore I would never come back until I was in much better financial circumstances.  (The next time I went back years later, I rode up in a Packard that was paid for.  My uncle thought it was a Cadillac. He was proud of me!) 

In the spring of 1910, Donna and I made the trip back to Hood River with enough money to stay on our own place. Irrigation of the orchard was established. The irrigation water was delivered to the east end of the place by a flume and was distributed by the rill method (little ditches along each side of the trees). It was quite a job, with hoe, to keep the water going in the right places. 

BUILDING OUR FIRST HOME IN HOOD RIVER
Donna and I had to have a place to live, so we furnished a tent and lived in it from April till the following October.  A man downtown, who was selling his land for commercial property, gave me all the lumber in an old house if I would remove it within one week. I took it all apart, hired a team, and took it where I had decided to build. I used all the rough lumber for the sides and roof boards. I even used some of the floorings and put it in my house. Outside, I covered the rough boards with building paper and shingles. Inside, I covered the studding with rough boards, then cloth lining (something like cheese cloth they used in houses) and then it was covered with very nice wallpaper. 

The house was covered by a hip roof overhanging to the west, forming a porch. When completed, the house had a kitchen, dining room, living room and a bedroom. I had a man help me build the brick chimney and I wired the house myself for electricity. Later, I built a wide porch on the back. It was a pretty good little house even if I do say so, and it is still standing well after all these years as part of the home of Fritz vonLubken. 

The only hiring I did was the making of the chimney and the hiring of a man one day to help raise the rafters. All in all, I paid $400.00 for the house.  While I was building our house, close by I also completed a woodshed, chicken house and dug a well 30 feet deep. 

I started the well east of the house. After I got down about 10 feet, I used 1 inch flume lumber, placed perpendicular, in order to hold the dirt back from caving in. Later, I used that lumber to build flumes as it hadn't been cut.  I borrowed a windlass with rope attached and a pail which was let down by someone at the top. I would fill and they would wind it up again and dump it. I struck a good stream of water less than 30 feet. Then, I cemented well curbing about 2 inches in diameter, and let it down in its grooves and it provided to be very satisfactory. We put in a handle primer pump. The water was soft and pure and never ran dry. 

We kept the place for about one year when I sold it to a Miss Klindsmith in 1911.  We then purchased six and one-half acres nearer to town on Sheperd Lane (now Brookside Drive). This place had Royal Anne cherries, a number of full-bearing Bartlett pears, about a half acre of full-bearing Newton apple trees and a very promising young orchard of Newtons which weren't bearing yet. In the back there was about an acre of black muck land along the creek on which I raised quite a lot of cabbage and sold them downtown.  I tried my luck at strawberries, too, but they became infected with the strawberry weevil and I had to give up. 




STANTEN’S GROCERY STORE
When we first came here to Hood River, we charged our groceries at A. C. Staten's Grocery Store and paid our bill at the end of each month. (It was a very common practice then.)  We had to be very careful of spending.  I would buy the groceries from Donna's list and bring the duplicate grocery slip home with the groceries. 

One time, I bought cigars. I decided it didn't look good on the grocery list (Donna didn't think much of smoking), so I had Mr. Staten put down soap instead.  When I got home, it seemed the first thing she saw was "soap" and said she didn't order any and didn't even get any!  Soon after that, she went with me to the store and told Staten that she hadn't ordered any soap. Poor Staten! He looked at me and didn't say anything - nor I for awhile. Finally I told her; she apologized to Mr. Staten. 

Well, Donna got even. We had an unfinished side on our out-door toilet.  While I was sitting there peacefully one day, she grabbed the irrigation hose and gave me a thorough soaking with cold water through the unfinished side. It didn't take her long to get even! 

DONNA
On another occasion, after the children were born, we were out for a Sunday drive. I drove up a steep and narrow road. When we reached the top of the hill, I turned around and was about to go down the road when she said she was not going to ride back.  So she walked all the way down the hill in front of the car. I would speed the engine, and blow the horn, but of no avail! How the boys did laugh! 

When we reached the foot of the hill, she climbed in and we drove merrily along. (Bob now lives in sight of that very hill.)  Whenever she got the best of me, I was inwardly pleased and loved her dearly. I didn't want it all one-sided.  Donna backed me in all of my undertakings. She was an excellent cook, housekeeper and a fine mother to my boys.  During these early years of my marriage to Donna, we had many hard times, but I managed to scrimp and save so that she could go home and visit her family while I stayed in Hood River.
 
She suffered much from home sickness at first, but the third time she came back from her family visit, she said she didn't think she would go back again. She said she was fed up with family bickering back and forth, and she didn't have to put up with that here. Donna wasn't homesick any more.  In later years, we did go back East together and enjoyed our visits with all the folks. 





















LEARNING THE FRUIT BUSINESS

During 1911,1912 and 1913, I learned the fruit business - planting, spraying and packing. I worked for different people in the neighborhood doing odd jobs. I made a stab at growing onions from seed with great optimism, but didn't get as good a crop as I expected. Donna worked right along with me. 

In about 1913, a year after I sold my first place to Miss Klindsmith, a man by the name of Sam Armstrong purchased and built a house across from our house with 14 acres of Newtown apples on young trees. There was also an older orchard of Spitzenburg apples, Bartlett and Winter Nellie pears for which there was good demand at that time.  I was hired by Mr. Armstrong to care for his place since he was offered a good position with the Fisher Flowing Mills in Seattle and left Hood River to fill this position. 

THE PACKING HOUSE
I harvested the first crop the old-fashioned way. It was picked by pickers, put in boxes, and then sorted by three of us (Donna, Mr. Armstrong and I) in the Armstrong's basement.  It was hard work to get the apples down there and out again.  Mr. Armstrong had a contractor build a packing house with dimensions of 30 feet by 60 feet across the street from the old Glaze place down from his house. I moved an old barn across the road and placed it on the east side of the packing house which was used as a nailing room for the packed boxes of fruit. We also built a lean-to on the south side of the packing house and nailing room which made the building nearly 80 feet long.  I had to buy a grader and place it in the lean-to with the main part of the packing house for sorting fruit as it came in. 

We used power-driven brushes to remove spray, but it did not remove it to the required amounts. (We were required by the government to put all the fruit through a washer with a certain amount of hydrochloric acid as a solution to remove the spray we used on the fruit in the orchard.  Later, we were required to heat the water to higher temperatures and also attach a pre-wash.)  So I bought an old sawmill steam boiler that had about 20 horse power. I built a concrete base to place it on since it was very heavy. It took about 3 seasons to get that part of the operation in working order. 

We found it necessary to install a different kind of grader so we had to junk the first one. The second one was the Guinyard Model (little pulleys with rubber bands attached and raised at 2 levels which would knock the biggest apples off first into the bins) that was supposed to bruise the fruit less. The next year we used the Cutler Model, which sized the fruit by weight, dropped the big ones off first into the bin. The heavier the fruit, the sooner they would tip into the bin. 

All of this was at my own expense and what profit was made was mine. I charged cost plus 10%. There were 15 different orchardists that brought their fruit to me to be sorted, packed before being delivered to the Apple Growers Association (AGA). Most of the whole operation was done on borrowed money from the bank. One discouragement after another, but I had to make a success or go down and I was determined not to fail. I ran two crews, one during the day and one at night; 7 a.m. to 6 p.m. and 7 p.m. to 6 a.m. 

THE APPLE GROWERS ASSOCIATION
In 1913, the Apple Growers Association was being organized and I was a charter member. The AGA started with a loan from the Butler Banking Company of $10,000. Independent growers, like myself, joined to form it. The general manager, A. W. Stone, was a corporation lawyer and set us up as a cooperative in such a way that it has stood when other cooperatives failed. By paying out of each box of fruit, the finance was obtained to pay for all of the facilities we had been renting.  At the present time, these facilities are worth many millions of dollars.  The AGA (later Diamond Fruit) turned out to be one of the most successful co-ops in the Northwest today.  Apples were the only fruit at the beginning, but there got to be so many pears it was decided to change the name to Diamond Fruit Growers. The mark of a blue diamond is on all the wrappers and containers from this co-op. 
MOTHER
In 1918, William Green brought Mother back to Portland, Oregon. He had sold out previously in Hood River and bought land in Calgary, Canada where they had lived. They had lost everything up there. 

She had developed "creeping paralysis" (multiple sclerosis) and was in a private home that was made over to accommodate roomers. The landlady was a very kind person who took a personal interest in Mother.  One night, the landlady overheard William Green plotting with a pal of his. It seems he was needing money to buy horses. He told his pal that he thought he could squeeze some more money out of his wife's son. The lady phoned me in Hood River and warned me about what was said. I was very glad that she did.
 
A week or two after that I was in Portland to see Mother. He approached me, and in his most persuasive manner he asked me to let him have some money. I absolutely refused (also in my most persuasive manner). He was angry, and before I got through with him, he left for parts unknown. Neither Mother nor I saw him again. Once, after she had passed away, he contacted us not knowing she was dead, said he had had a religious experience and wanted her to rejoin him. I answered his letter in detail. I told him my mother had passed away and I was surprised at the large funeral and the amount of flowers that came since these neighbors and friends knew the circumstances of his desertion. Sentiment ran high against him and warned him if he ever came back to Hood River, he would be run out on a rail. He never came back! . 

I took Mother home to Hood River where she stayed until I found an elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Kates, who rented her the vacant parsonage of the Methodist Church on Belmont Road. They gave her excellent care.  Mother lived for several weeks longer, bedridden. I walked over to see her nearly every day. The Methodist Church people in town were very kind and took me over many times to see her in their car. 

Dr. Broshus told me her days were numbered.  When she became critically ill, I sat by her side, held her hand and said, "Mother, do you hear me and understand what I have to say?" 
She couldn't speak, but nodded. 

"The doctor says you have only a very short time to live, do you understand? I want you to know that I will stay right with you from now until you pass over."  

Such a bright light shone on. her countenance. She closed her eyes, and she was gone. 

BOB
Since Donna was expecting our first child very soon and was physically unable to care for Mother, I was blessed to have such friends at that time. 

Robert Ward Marsh, my first son, was born January 14, 1919 shortly after Mother's funeral. I took Donna to Mrs. Shea, who was a popular midwife in Hood River. Donna and the baby received excellent care. 

Our hospital was not set up for maternity care and the doctors were glad to have such a place for their mothers-to-be. Robert had severe convulsions when he was about 2 days old.  The only thing that would bring him out of it was when Mrs. Shea would place him in a pan of warm water. Dr. Broshus was very anxious and attentive. 

After about three to four days, Bob recovered, never to have any more convulsions. 


FARM WORK
We all had white native workers in the early days preceding the 20's and during the 20's. They were mostly young local people, and were happy to have work and very conscientious. 

On the last day of harvest, everybody brought a dish and we had a pot luck dinner. Chicken, potato salad, baked beans, cake and coffee were offered. After working together for five or six weeks, we felt pretty well acquainted and always had a good time.  I paid everyone off that day, so everyone went home happy. Those were great days. I enjoyed them very much. 

PACKING FRUIT
I not only packed my fruit, but that of other growers, too. Some of these were: Ed Poirer, Borchard vonLubken, E.F. Bloss, Mrs. Oxley, Bill Edling, Ralph Hendricks, and Dr. H. D. W. Pineo. 

In our packing shed, the warehouseman was the one who received the fruit from the growers and gave them a receipt for the boxes of fruit that the grower brought in. Each grower had his own stall and his fruit was placed there.  The man who tended the apple washing machine would pour the apples into the machine and see that they got out on the belts in a steady flow. 

The sorters sorted the apples from the wide belt to the narrow belts according to "extra fancy", "fancy" and "C" grade. The apples could have no 'stings' or defects for "extra fancy", two stings and a little bit of rust was permissible for "fancy". Small apples, imperfect, and with stings were the "C" grade. r-Io grade would permit a worm hole or inferior fruit. They were culls. 
The packers would place the fruit in boxes which would then be sent to the nailing room. The nailer was kept very busy nailing and stamping the variety and grade of fruit on each box with the number of apples in each box. They were piled on their sides waiting for the truckers to haul them away to the AGA cold storage rooms. 

HIRING HELP FOR THE ORCHARD 
During World War I, we had a hard time getting pickers for our fruit. I had a retired Methodist minister working for me. This minister, by the name of Brown, said he knew a number of people in his congregation in Fairview who were good workers and he thought some of them needed work. 

Well, I sent him down to Fairview and he gathered quite a group and brought them up to Hood River. These men and women stayed the whole season and proved to be fine pickers. They camped in tents that year, and had wood-burning stoves just inside the tents.  

At another time, later when we were very short of help in  Hood River, we advertised for help in the Oregonian. Quite a number of people responded to our ad in Portland. I came up on the train early in the morning. Our agreement was that all who picked a certain number of boxes had their fare paid to and from Portland for that day. 

One Jewish man came with his school class of young men. I took them home and set them to picking at once. There were three of these young men toward the end of the afternoon that were behind and had not picked the number of boxes required. The Jewish man saw three other experienced pickers in their cabin and begged them to help out the three young men so they might get their fare paid for back to Portland. The regular pickers weren't working Sunday, but they willingly helped the Jewish teacher out and the group went home with their quota picked and everybody's fare was paid and they were quite happy. (I didn't know anything about this until the foreman told me later.) 




NOT A BAD FELLOW AFTER ALL
Another time, I went down to the employment office and found four men who were buddies. One was a cook (he cooked for the four of them). They all seemed clean and good workers. However, at night they all went to town and got drunk and were slapped in jail. The leader, an Irishman, phoned me and asked me to come into town and bail them out. So I got them out and brought them home to the cabin at the back of the place, made them coffee and got them sobered up. They wanted me to buy them some beer. I refused. I told them they'd have to drink coffee.
 
Early the next day, one buddy, the cook, fell out of a tree and I had to take him to the hospital. It happened he was shook up, but not badly injured. The other three wanted to go in and see their buddy. The cook that night told the injured man he was having a hard time with the boss. He wouldn't give them anything to drink but coffee. "He watches every move we make,” he says, "Look, he is sitting right outside of the door. He don't let us move outside at all!" 

I started with them for home. I said, "Boys, would you like a drink?" They all hollered, "Yes, oh yes." We went inside an ice cream parlor and sat up to the bar and ordered all of us a milk shake. The Irishman nudged the fellow next to him and said, loudly, "My God, John, milk shake for you and me. What are we coming to! I don't know when I've ever had a milk shake before. It's always been bourbon. I don't know what we are going to do with that boss of ours!" 

Well, when these men were sober, they were good workers, but without their liquor they were edgy. In three or four days, they wanted to go to town, so I loaded them into the pickup and took them to town and left them there at "hobo jungle" by the river.  The last thing I heard them say was, "Well, he isn't such a hell of a bad fellow after all." 

THE 23RD PSALM
I remember one time I was needing pickers badly as usual. I went to the labor office along late in the afternoon and picked up two fairly good-looking prospects, brought them home and gave them a cabin.  A little later in the evening, I remember so well, came a rap at the kitchen door. It was one of these men. He said, "Mr. Marsh, have you a bible that we could borrow?" 
That was a real surprise to me. He seemed to be really in earnest. I told him yes and gave him my bible. He said, “My friend and I have been arguing and we wish to make our decision by reading a scripture in the bible." Then he said, "Can you repeat the twenty- third Psalm to me?”
 
I was really surprised then. I was able to repeat the 23rd Psalm to him in full. He thanked me very kindly and said he would return the bible early in the morning. He returned the bible as he agreed and said he needed some groceries and would I please advance him $5.00. He and his buddy would start picking that afternoon. 

I told him that would be all right with me. He left for parts unknown and I have never seen him since! 


BROOKSIDE ORCHARDS
It seemed like everything came at once. Mr. Armstrong and a friend of his, Mr. W.W. Richardson, (a wheat rancher from Pomeroy, Washington) came to Hood River to organize a corporation. Since I was preoccupied with Mother and Donna, I had Truman Butler, President of the Butler Banking Company, represent me.  Mr. Armstrong, Mr. Richardson and I formed a corporation for $50,000.  Armstrong and I put up our property and Richardson put up the bulk of the money. It was called Brookside Orchards. I was asked to be manager, secretary and treasurer of this new corporation. I was given a salary of $100.00 per month with one-fourth of the net profit of our organization. I also had a new house to live in (Mr. Armstrong's). (I rented out my house which was just across the road.)   We had good prices the first year, and the corporation made money. The next year, we had very good fruit, but poor market prices.  We barely broke even. 

About this time, we were trying to incorporate the Shepard place into Brookside Orchards. The Shepard place was located west of our orchards and is where I moved to in 1928 and is where I live now.  Mr. Armstrong and I did not see eye to eye on many issues. 

He did not like the way that I was running the orchards (he only visited here every few years, and even then he stayed just a couple of hours). Mr. Richardson became the go-between. Well, during the late twenties and early thirties, there were many hard times and between the years 1933 and 1937, I was either given or I bought out Armstrong's and Richardson's remaining interest in Brookside Orchards. Because of lack of money, I was not paid and to compensate I gradually was given control and ownership of the corporation. 


"A DAY AT GLENN’S” 
(written around 1918-1919 - author unknown) 

That old steam whistle high and clear, 
       The sound is echoed back. 
The sun obliquely 'crost the hill 
       Shines round each worker's shack, 
And down each fresh, fern bordered trail, 
       Where woodland pheasants drum; 
In ones and twos and broken crews, 
       Glenn's willing workers come. 
Each to his own accustomed place 
       With will to do or die; 
Come on! Ye Ortley demons; 
       Come hither!  Northern Spy. 


“The Sorter”

Here comes those blooming apples, 
       Like Cattle down a chute; 
With a dumper at the other end
       To rush them down to boot. 
Limb-scarred and bruised, stem-punctured. 
       'Tis enough to make us old, 
For 'tis starting prematurely 
       "Silver Threads .Among the Gold". 
And our optics cease to function; 
       Till we don't know what to do. 
But we hear the pack a howling, 
       So we have to rush them through. 

Mrs. Lofts picks out the knot holes 
       So she can look down in the bin, 
We think she is watching Traves 
       With his rough and ready grin. 
But who is this just entering? 
       This short handsome guy! 
Oh! that is G.B. Marsh, 
       Of the stern commanding eye; 
He oversees the sorting 
       Investigates the culls, 
For he’s our main adviser 
       Our chief of high moguls. 

“The Packer”
My soul! but this is restful 
       Are the sorters all deceased? 
If I could get one box you bet 
       I surely would be pleased. 
Stay - here's a tiny pippin, 
       An apple paper quick! 
A simple twist of thumb and wrist 
       'Tis done the simple trick. 
Then the lids are nailed in place. 
       They're stamped and labeled neat, 
And shipped across the water 
       For the Englishmen to eat. 
Newtowns, Spits and pippins, 
       All falling in the bin 
Ye Gods! but it's monotonous 
       Just toiling here for Glenn, 
In dust and perspiration, 
       In mud and rain and spray; 
With one eye on the boss' clock - 
       The other on our pay. 
But in the dusk of evening, 
       When the air is soft and still, 
And you hear old Hood River 
       Rushing swiftly down the hill; 
Where the drowsy birds and nestling, 
       And an owl says hoo, hoo-hoo, 
And the North Star from the heavens, 
       Smiles serenely down at you; 
You forget your daily crabbing 
       And the naughty words you've said, 
And feel glad that you are working 
       Here at Glenn's apple shed. 


THE NIGHT OF THE BIG FREEZE 
In 1919 along about the first of November, my packing house was full of apples belonging to several growers.  We were packing every day, hurrying to get fruit packed, as it was all under cover but the house was not frost proof. Suddenly there came a very cold night (20 below zero).  Well, I hurried, did all I possibly could. I bought all the oil stoves I could find in town. I had 16 stoves in all going full blast and I sat up all night long to see that they were safe and properly adjusted. 

The next night was even worse.  I had to replenish all the stoves during the day and rearranged some of the fruit. That day Professor Gibson brought up a three-burner oil stove on a sled.  The second night I was still up. On the third night, I found that some of the fruit was getting pretty cold, especially on the floor which had started to freeze. I called F.H. Blogg and his son, Earl.  They came over and we re-piled the apples so that the top ones which were warm were on the bottom and the bottom ones on top. 

The freeze lasted three days and not one box was frozen. 


APPLE GROWERS ASSOCIATION - DIAMOND FRUIT GROWERS 
In 1921 I became a director of the AGA, and my second son, Glenn Wilson Marsh (Wilson was my father's name), was born October 30,1921. In 1928 I was elected President of the AGA and held that position for 5 years until I was elected General Manager in 1933. 

When I was General Manager of the AGA, it was during the Great Depression. The price or fruit was very low and as a farmer, was not sure how long I could hold onto my place. All in all, it was a stormy time for everyone. In 1934, I helped organize a Citizens' Emergency League to identify communists in Hood River Valley. 

Also in 1934, I turned in my resignation as General Manager of AGA.  I had received much criticism and had heard many unfavorable rumors about the way AGA was run.  

W.Q. Bateman took my place as General Manger. He had been manager of Montgomery Wards.  He had such a terrible time that he was let go in a short time. Jim Klhare was then elected and was the best manager that AGA ever had. By this time, the economy started picking up.  

I served four more years on the board, from 1938 through 1941. 
 
HOOD RIVER SCHOOL BOARD 
In about 1926, I was on the Hood River School Board and remained on the board for 6 years and was chairman for two of those years. I was chairman of the board during the time the high school was being planned and built (currently the Hood River Junior High). 

There was a principal (who I shall not mention his name) of the old high school who had a friend who was an architect and builder.  They had plans for the new school and presented the proposed cost which was to be accepted by the board members. After checking around, I found out that the principal was dishonest and had been fired from his last school. Also, I found that the proposed cost was too high. It would appear that the principal and the contractor had a deal going under the table. 

Through friends, I found another architect who gave a better plan and at a better price.  We fired the principal and built the high school with the new plans.  The people of the district were very pleased with the new high school and found it very satisfactory.  Also, we were very fortunate to obtain a fine man for our new principal, who became a close personal friend of mine as the years went by. 

The new Hood River High School was finished in 1927.  That same year, my third son, Charles Donald Marsh, was born (November 10, 1927). It so happens that he was born on my birthday. He was named after Donna's father, Charles Ward, and the Donald is from Donna (he was expected to have been a girl), but we have always called him "Donald". 

OWNING A SAWMILL
While driving through the Parkdale area, I pointed out to Sadie areas where Joe Smullin, Joe Pifer and myself once purchased timber and ran a sawmill. 

I told her in about 1928 or 1929, we had an opportunity to buy some timber and a mill. Pifer worked at the mill and I paid the help, kept the books, and sold side cut in Hood River.  We started near the Gene Euhr place and purchased some standing timber in that locality.  We made railroad ties for the Union Pacific Railroad.  We sold these ties at $28.00 per thousand square feet. Suddenly, when the Depression struck us, railroads cut the price to $14.00 per thousand square feet, which was about our cost.   To compensate, we bought several pieces of timber and moved our mill to the timber. We also changed from gasoline to steam which was more practical. 

PARTICIPATION IN VARIOUS GROWER ORGANIZATIONS
In 1930, I was chosen to represent the AGA (largest apple co-op in the state of Oregon) and Mr. Duckwall represented the Independent Shippers of Hood River, at the Northwest Tree Fruit Conferences.  We were to administer the law enacted during President Roosevelt's early administration and we were composed of representatives of all the fruit industry of Oregon, Washington and Idaho. The requirements of that law were for the industry to unite into one organization and vote for or against proposed marketing agreements of set minimum prices.  All the growers in the three states were to vote for or against the proposals, and two-thirds majority was necessary for it to pass. After this was done, the representatives were to sign it and send it to Washington, DC.  Then the agreement in the law would be ratified by the Secretary of Agriculture of the Federal Government. 

The reason for all of this was that the industry was in a very serious condition at that time, especially in Yakima and Wenatchee, Washington.  There would be men who had contact with certain brokers in the city that knew some of the growers who were in very hard circumstances. They would go to these farmers and offer to get them a cash buyer if they would sell, for say, a dime below market price. That would break the market. There were all sorts of prices about, thereby, destroying the real market. 

This marketing agreement stabilized the market and made the brokers' actions illegal. There was strong opposition to this law by the minority before it was passed, but later after it became law and was in operation, they became some of our most loyal members. 

In 1931, I, as a representative from P.GA, went to Corvallis to the Oregon Cooperative Council which consisted of all the Co-ops in the state of Oregon. At that time, the council elected me as President. George Gatlin, the marketing specialist at Oregon State College, was elected Secretary.  There were many discussions regarding the cooperative movement and many valuable speeches were made from men in that work which was a guide to many new co-ops. 

We took a vote in regards to appointing a state secretary of agriculture at a high salaried job. The Portland Chamber of Commerce was in favor of the high salaried job.  We opposed it. We were afraid the Portland Chamber of Commerce would make it a political football and would not be helpful not knowing anything about the farmers and their problems. 



STATE AND COMMUNITY ACTIVITIES 
I tried to become involved in public activities. I have been a life-long Democrat and have never failed to support my party. During the 1920's, I was appointed to the Election Board of the Center Precinct and remained there for sixteen years. 

At various times through the first World War, I was active in local relief work and have a letter of commendation from the late Governor Withycomb for the work I accomplished. And for many years was a member of the Rockford Grange.
 
I have served as President of the Oregon Cooperative Council during 1930-1933, President of the Pear Research Foundation in 1934, and in 1933 I became President of the Hood River Traffic Association that represents all of the fruit shippers of Hood River. 

I am exceptionally proud to have been a Mason since 1915 (32nd degree) and a Rotarian for many years.  The Hood River Rotary Club decided to honor me by celebrating my ninetieth birthday in 1969.  My three boys were invited to attend. My very good friend and fellow Rotarian, Jim Klhare, gave a little speech of commendation for my past activities and efforts, and concluded by saying that he and I were the only remaining ex- general managers of the AGA. 

In response, my reply was that I was really looking forward to the future rather than living in the past. I went on further to say, "Now, fellow rotarians, I don't believe I have an enemy in the world as I look about this room." Then I stated, "I've out-lived every damn one of them!" 


Letter to an old friend, Charlie Thomas 

Hood River, Oregon 
December 26, 1933 


Mr. Charles R. Thomas 
Bath, New York

My dear Old Friend: 

I have been thinking a whole lot about you during these Christmas holidays and was wondering if I would get a letter or even a Christmas card from you. 

I noticed your letter in the mail this morning and was just thinking, I wonder if Charlie is turning me down with just a card," but was very glad to get your letter instead. 

I note what you say about Frank Thomas and how he was during his last days, also the enclosed copy of account of death of Edward Mason. I also note with interest the way the Jones families have been broken up. It hardly seems possible. I would like to have Frances Jones' address. You say that she and her mother live somewhere in California. 

Yesterday I spent the day at home with the family, most of the time with the boys. Robert has a little work bench and quite a number of tools, to which I added some. 

In looking over some of my papers in an old trunk, I found a whole lot of cards from Hammondsport, New York, and other places of interest in and about Lake Salubria, etc.  It carried me back to the days when you and I were rather active, and many of the memories of the good times we used to have seem very vivid to me at this particular Christmas time. 

I am wondering if Johnny Bertram is in Bath and what his address may be.  I also would like to know about Ward Jones and Ward Carrigan.  Who is living on the Jones place on the hill?  

You ask about crops and conditions in general here in Hood River. Last year we had 18,000 boxes of apples, pears, and cherries. It was a very fine crop and was harvested in good condition and graded exceptionally well. However, general conditions were so bad that we lost very heavily. 

This past year the crop was light all over the Valley and, in fact, in all districts in the Northwest. The apples were exceptionally small due perhaps to short growing season.   However, prices have very materially improved and we feel quite sure we will break even this year. This coming season we expect one of the largest crops.  Hood River has ever harvested. Even though our losses for the last three years have been very heavy and prices are just fairly good at the present time.  We are all hopeful of the future and believe that with next year's big crop that it will pull many of us out to some extent. We have learned to economize and to operate more economically than in the past and with improved methods, by reason of the necessity of economizing, we believe that all of our fruit will be raised and harvested more efficiently than in the past. 

You would hardly know my boys.  Robert is nearly fifteen. This year he took charge of fourteen pickers during the entire season, kept account of their picking, had their accounts all worked out then we came to pay them and handled the job very efficiently, of course, under his mother’s supervision.  We had one man with a truck haul direct from the orchard to the association.  Robert also helped load the truck each time, so you see I am getting some help in my old age. 

Junior is twelve. He is not very much enthused over work. He usually passes his part onto someone else, if possible.  Hope he will snap out of it some day. The Iittle fellow is boss of the whole works.  He is six now, very active, tries to do everything the big boys do. 

We had a very pleasant Christmas this year so far as our activities were concerned, although it was very rainy.  We have many floods here in the Northwest.  I am reminded many times of your visit here and wish that you and Maud would come out and spend some time with us.  I am sure it would do you both good. 

I have been wondering about some old friends of who I have lost track and I am asking about Dorey Chase, Julian Clock, and Ed Boulby. I have occasionally received a paper from Bath in which I have seen Julian's name, so I suppose he is at the same old place on the hill. I have not heard anything about Anna Bond for a number of years and I am wondering if she is still living in Bath or if possibly she is in Almira. Last, and I might say least, how and where is our old friend, Gertrude?  Just casually interested to know. 

Remember us to Jim, Alice, Clarence, and Nell and any other inquiring friends. 

Wishing you and Maud a Happy New Year. 
Sincerely yours, 




MILK CONTROL BOARD 
Donna and I were invited to a large banquet in Portland for Governor Martin at the Multnomah Hotel. I noticed him at the speaker’s table whispering to the general manager of the Dairy Co-op. They seemed to be looking my way. To my great surprise, the Governor walked down to our table, introduced himself and shook hands and wished me well on my new appointment to the Milk Control Board that he had recently made. The Governor had personally called me at home in Hood River by phone and asked me if I would accept the appointment. I felt honored by his special way of acknowledgment. I told him I would give the best I had. 

The law required that three members be appointed by the Governor to administer the law. Also, that the chairman of the Milk Control Board should be from Multnomah County.  The bulk of the milk industry was in Portland and surrounding counties. Edgar Smith was Chairman of the Board while Mr. Engelbritson represented Astoria and a number of surrounding counties. I represented Hood River, The Dalles, and all of Eastern Oregon. 

We found the whole milk industry in a very chaotic condition with cutting of prices, secret rebates and no stable market. We immediately began to hold hearings in Multnomah County and through- out the state. As a result of these hearings and outside study, we learned the cost of production and distribution of milk in all of these areas. We established minimum prices and did away with the secret rebates by employing private detectives who discovered many infractions of the law by the processors and distributors themselves. 

We had some pretty hot sessions at times. We three on the commission had many experiences and became especially good friends as we worked together in hearings around the state. 

One rather amusing occasion was in Baker where we knew positively that one distributor was giving secret rebates and taking customers from other distributors in his city, but no one came forward with incriminating evidence. He was a great big Swede named Ole. Our chairman asked a question of him in the hearing. "Ole, why is it, if you were complying with the law, that you took many customers away from your competitors?"  

With a nice smile on his weathered face, he replied, "Ay tank it must be my personality." 

We were stunned. And we could do nothing! 




DIARY OF 1938 

The following is an excerpt from Glenn's personal diary. It gives an account of his daily life during the late 30's. He was involved in a wide range of responsibilities (running an orchard, sawmill, Milk Control Board, etc.) and was away from home a good deal. But upon returning, he would make a special effort to include himself in chores around the house. 

At the time this is written, Bob is married (to Rete Thomas), Glenn (Junior) is in high school and Donald is in grade school.  Note: Donna is frequently called "Don" and Glenn Jr. is "Junior". 

Saturday, January 1 
We were invited to Joe Smullins for New Years. Donald and Junior went with us. Nancy Bowe and her brother were there with Charley and Mrs. Bowe. Leon Rose and wife were also there. We arrived home about 8 p.m. Had a fine time. On December 28, the Cascade Packing house burned. I was at Grower's Club and Donna was at Eastern Star. The fire started about 9 p.m. It was a hot one. I went home and got Junior and Donald and they were quite excited. It rained all night. 

Thursday, January 6 
Went to Marble's office and acted on a committee, representing the Hood River Economic Conference until noon.  At 1:30 p.m., took Jim Lill and his mother to Portland and saw The Dalles City Steamer just after it went through the Bonneville locks. I called on Mrs. Pifer and Florence gave me a nice piece of pumpkin pie. I saw "Wells Fargo" (the movie) at the Paramount. It was tine. I stayed at the Imperial as usual. 

Friday, January 7
Had a Milk Board meeting at 10 a.m. (in Portland).  Mrs. Lill came home with me.  We arrived home at 7 p.m., just in time to go to the basketball game. Donna, Donald and Junior went. Willamette U. played Hood River High. Willamette U. beat, 24-42. 

Saturday, January 8 
O.B. Nye and I took six boys to Portland this afternoon to play basketball with the Sunnyside De Molay.  In the evening, they had a banquet and later a Seattle team put on the De Molay "degree". Glenn Junior, with four Sunnyside and four Seattle boys, took the "degree".  We took the boys over town to the Paramount where "Wells Fargo" was being shown with the "Jones Family", a double feature. We got out at 1:15 a.m. and went to the Jolly Joan's for eats.  Arrived home at 4:30 a.m. at Crown Point, (we) ran over loose rock and heard a very peculiar noise, but car seemed OK. 

Tuesday, January 11 
Went to Grower's Club tonight. We held a Farm Bureau Federation Board meeting before the regular meeting with Mr. Renolds, the state organizer and national organizer. After the meeting, (I) attend (the) Eastern Star installation. 

Wednesday, January 12 
I went to Portland, taking Dr. and Mrs. Guttery (also J.K. Carson) . K. Templers and I attended the funeral of William Sherman. (It was) held at the Portland Crematorium at 1 p.m.. Dr. Pineo, Truman Butlar, Earnest Smith, Dr. Guttery, J.K. Carson and myself formed at K.T. (K. Templer) guard during the funeral service. I attended a board meeting at the Milk Control Office in the morning and gave Smith $50.00 for Governor Martin's campaign fund. 

Thursday, January 13 
Took my Dodge to Volstorff's and found that the loose rock we hit at Crown Point Saturday night had caused a leak in the crank case and bent the housing covering the balance wheel so it had rubbed against it. That is what caused the noise. My oil had nearly leaked out and one rod and a main bearing had burned out and had to be replaced. They put in new rings. 

Friday, January 14 
I borrowed Johney Murrey's V-8 and went to Parkdale and got Joe Pifer and took him to The Dalles and saw Roy Howell about putting in a mill at Parkdale. He is interested. Joe said for me to charge for my time and car ( ½ day, 120 miles).  Went to the basketball game: Hood River and Pendleton.  H.R. won, 24-38. 

Saturday, January 15 
Worked on Bob's house today and finished siding up his den. Ed Steele called this morning and told me Mr. Hausbrouck (county judge) had died and would I accept the appointment. I said no. I went to Hood River about six o'clock and saw Joe Smullin. He and Ralph Perry had just returned from a conference with the governor. Joe asked me if I would accept an appointment of county judge as the governor had offered to make the appointment if I would take it. I said NO again. 

Sunday, January 16 
I left Hood River for Pendleton this morning on the 9:40 a.m. train. I finished Miss Bell's letter and I believe I answered all of her questions. Arrived in Pendleton at 2 p.m. Edgar (Smith) came down to the hotel and we talked over the evidence we would present the next day concerning an automobile wreck we had last October 26 close to Pendleton. 

Monday, January 17 
I spent the whole day today with Mr. and Mrs. Smith in court. It was the first time Mrs. Smith was ever in court and she made a very good witness.  Smith was plaintiff against one Charles Moore. He was asking for damages in the amount of $105.00 to his car. The testimony was all in at four o'clock. Both sides rested until the following day. Mr. and Mrs. Smith and I drove home that night and arrived at 10 o'clock. 

Tuesday, January 18 
Went to Hood River today. Had a long talk with Mike Udellius about condition of our apples in storage. I told him it was a shame that they crammed our storages with hot fruit, causing so much damage and etc. Also, had a talk with Vae Follinius about the bad condition our fruit was in, especially Anjou pears.  Had a nice talk with Mr. Leurs. Also, Doc Baldwin. 

Wednesday, January 19 
Helped Donna wash this morning. Joe Smullin was here to dinner and this afternoon I took my own wife to see the "Hurricane". It was very good.  We bought some floor paint for the dining room and Junior had the car this evening to go to the show.  Last night, Charles Bert's wife presented him with a fine boy.  Thursday. January 20 

Thursday, January 20
Have been painting floors today all day long.  Ran out of paint so had to drive in and get more. Will finish tomorrow.  Rete is not feeling well today and her grandmother is staying with her tonight. Dr. Hamilton is expected home tomorrow. 

Friday, January 21 
Finished painting dining room and living room floors. Drove into Hood River this afternoon. Had quite a talk with Dexter. Apple market is bad. Learned that MacIsaac, Plog, Udelius and Struck are inspecting cold storage plants.  It has rained most of the day and is raining tonight. Hood River is playing at The Dalles tonight.  Steele is unable to play on account of sickness. 

Saturday, January 22 

Helped Don (Donna) arrange rugs and furniture in living room and dining room. Hood River beat The Dalles 20 to 16 last evening. Took Donald in to his practice this afternoon. He has to have a make-up lesson next Saturday at six o'clock.  Went to the Hood River - Astoria game and it was a hot one. Score tied several times. Steele played two quarters. Final score 26 to 28 in favor of Astoria. 

Sunday, January 23 
Bob and Rete were here to dinner. The leg of mutton was tough. Don (Donna) called on Mrs. Wendling this afternoon and Junior and Donald went to the show. O. B. Nye and wife called this afternoon. Was sorry Don (Donna) was away. 

Monday, January 24 
Went to Portland this morning. Attended Milk Board meeting. Three producers from The Dalles were cited for price violation. Selling 5% for 4% price. They were Wright, Jamison and Smith.  Will Henry is using daily sample test and filling distribution on that basis instead of a composite test of 5 days according to Board's order.  We wrote him a sharp letter.  Spent the evening with George Narthal of the AAA. 

Tuesday, January 25 
Spent some time with Smith and Adams in the Board office.  I saw Mr. Bicker at noon and ate lunch with him at the Imperial Dining Room. He had been very sick. He had a serious operation and soon after he got out of the hospital, his wife was operated on. They are doing quite well now. My wife paged me after lunch at the hotel and asked me to get Jim Lill from the hospital as he could come home according to the doctors. Jim was very much pleased to get away. 
Attended Grower's Club tonight. Small crowd.  Mr. Bateman gave a talk of grower's cost of production. Hugh Ball has the next program. 

Wednesday, January 26 
Went to Marble's office meeting with the Soil Conservation committee and finished at noon.  Took Don (Donna) and Mrs. Lill into town and had an interesting talk with Charles Sletton about his California trip. He found apple market in very chaotic condition. He also believes in control of distribution of apples and pears. Said there were as many as 90 cars of apples in Los Angeles market in one day! Junior, Donald and I went to the basketball game. Hood River All-Stars played Oregon University freshmen during intermission. Hood River High played Oregon freshmen. Result: H.R.H. - 6, Oregon U. - 3. HR All-Stars 29, University 73. 

Thursday, January 27 
This morning met with Smullin and Joe Pifer and considered the purchase of the Rumbaugh timber. Also found that part of the Rumbaugh timber has been transferred to Myres and we found that there were quite alot of back taxes. We went to John to have the papers drawn up and gave him all the information and then decided that I was to take Pifer up to the Rumbaugh place and find out where the lines were and consider buying the timber on both places.  Pifer and I looked both tracts over quite carefully. I consider the Rumbaugh place will have about 200 thousand and Myres about 700 thousand and the Porter's timber, we estimate about 1 million feet. I spent 1/2 day and drove my car 32 miles. 

Friday, January 28 
I helped about the house. Washed the breakfast dishes, dinner dishes and also SUPPER dishes.  Dr. Pinio called in the afternoon and I presented him his bill for packing apples. Junior, Donald and Don (Donna) went to the show. 

Saturday, January 29 
Helped about the house. Washed dishes three times today. Donald took his violin lesson this afternoon. His mother went with him.  Junior hauled rubbish to the dump this morning, also helped Bob clean out the shed so he could stack boxes.  I took Donald to the library for a make-up lesson at six p.m. Came home and got Don (Donna), Junior and we stopped at the hospital to see Delpha Slonaker. She was looking fine and then went to the basketball game. Mac. High and H. R.   At the half, the score was Mac. High and H.R. 13.  At the end of the game, Mac. High 13, Hood River 24. 

Sunday, January 30 
Donald got up this morning and built both fires. I got breakfast as usual and washed all of the dishes. This afternoon Junior took his mother and Donald to the show.  It was the "Jones Family".  Junior came home, and he and I had a quiet afternoon reading. Bob took Rete over to her folks and Junior went after her.  It came over the radio that Jim Braddock was going to retire. I finished reading "Dust on the Range" in the "American". 

Mondav, January 31 
Helped get the boys to school. Took Bob in today noon.  There is about two inches of snow on the ground today. Temperature is around 20 degrees. Got a couple of boxes of Spitzenburg at the cold storage plant and gave one to the Thomases. I picked up Donald and Bob and we went over to the Thomases after Rete. I went in after Junior at six p.m. 

Tuesday, February 1 
Temperature 20 above at about 8 a.m. Has been snowing most all day. There is about four or five inches on the ground now.  Bob took the car to school today. Commandery meets tonight.  I am supposed to take Dr. Pineo. Hope they call it off on account of snow.  Just got a letter from Paul Adams calling a meeting of the Milk Control Board for tomorrow. I don't know whether to go down by car, stage, or train. Guess train would be safer anyway. 


BUT YOU WOULDN'T KNOW KENNETH ABRAHAM
In early 1948, I took Bob with me to pick up my new Packard in Detroit.  While back east, we took a side trip through Washington, D. C. and down to Newport News, Virginia.  We stayed near Newport News in a hotel in the town of Hilton Village.  

We arrived at the hotel at about 6 p.m. and heard singing, which we traced to the ground floor. The singing was good in places and not so good in others, and decided it might be coming from a Rotary Club in session. Sure enough it ~vas, and Bob and I were introduced to the president and secretary, and were invited to eat dinner. 

The president introduced myself to the Rotarians and said the visiting Rotarian was late because he had driven about one thousand miles of icy roads and came from Hood River, Oregon. In response to a call for ‘the good of the order', the song leader said, "On account of it being the birthday anniversary of Robert E. Lee, the members will sing 'Carry Me Back to Old Virginny'." He further suggested that the "two yankees" should help with the famous southern song, which we did. 

At the conclusion, the song leader asked me if I lived anywhere near Portland, Oregon, for there, he said, "I have a friend who was with me in service in World War II. His name is Kenneth Abraham, but of course you wouldn't know him." 

I replied, to his surprise, "I have known Kenneth Abraham ever since he was a little boy, and today he lives in Hood River, but is a member of Hood River Rotary Club." I then had a fine visit with Captain King, who was commanding officer to Kenneth .Abraham during the war. Both of us agreed that, "It's a small world!" 


MY RELIGIOUS LIFE 
When I am able to, I go to Riverside Community Church on Sundays. I like Rev. Fick's sermons and enjoy the coffee hour afterwards visiting with my friends. Recently it has revived my early memories of my religious life. 

I was told when I was born my father and mother tried to find a name that was not easy to nickname. So they gave me the name Glenn. Two Sundays after I was born, my mother took me to church.  The minister came by to see me, tickled me under the chin and asked what my name was. Mother told him Glenn. 

He said, "Hello, little Glenny." Mother didn't like it. 

A few Sundays later, after she had talked to the minister, I was baptized. Rev. Bartol spoke my name loud and clear, "Glenn Bartol Marsh, I baptize thee" (I was named after the Reverend Bartol.) 

I was on the cradle roll in Bath's second charge Methodist Church. A few years later, I became a member of this church and was active in youth groups for 25 years.  When we sold our farm and moved to the city of Hornell, we were transferred from Bath second charge Methodist Church to Park Street Methodist in Hornell, New York. I belonged to that church until I went south, where I attended the Southern Methodist Church for all the time I was there. I really enjoyed the warm-hearted southern welcome and fellowship at Plymouth, North Carolina. 

On my return to Hornell, I continued with the Park Street Methodist Church until I met Donna who belonged to the fifth ward Methodist Church in Hornell.  We were married in her church. 

At first upon arrival in the northwest, we visited churches, but after awhile we settled down in Hood River where we joined and attended Asbury Methodist Church on State Street in Hood River for a few years. 

Ray Atchison and others, who were members of the Congregational Churches of Hood River, worked hard to get the Protestant churches of Hood River to unite in a community church. Churches at that time were very hard pressed financially and poorly attended.  We were persuaded to take our letter from Asbury Methodist Church and join the newly built Riverside Community Church. 

Looking over my 97 years, while I have made many mistakes, I have few regrets, because I have honestly tried to live as an up- right Christian. Wherever I went, I found that if I sought out the church first. Christian fellowship was available, encouraging me, and guiding me to the best and happiest life.  My faith has carried me over many a rough and trying period. 


MY WIFE AND THREE SONS 
My boys had a happy childhood in Hood River Valley. They had opportunities of fishing, skiing, hiking, swimming and mountain climbing. (Glenn and Donald are both members of the Crag Rats, a mountain rescue club that was organized here in Hood River during the 1920's.) 

When World War II came, Glenn Junior served 3 years in Patton's army in Europe, and Donald served one year in Japan during the occupation by our army there.  Robert tried to enlist, but was turned down because of his health.  My sons were patriotic. Also, they all married lovely girls. 

After the war, Donna and I took a trip back east to see our family, and old friends.  While we were there in 1949, Donna informed me she had cancer of the breast.  When we returned to Hood River, everything was done for her that could be. I was with her all of the time. The boys did all the work on the ranch. I did most of the cooking and cared for her at home. After she had surgery at The Dalles hospital, we had two special nurses. I was with her during the day and boys visited her about every other day. 

We had a sword hanging over our heads for two years and three months before she died. Dr. Bowles was the surgeon, and Dr. Stevenson took wonderful care of her otherwise.  I learned after Donna's death that she wrote to her friend  in Porterville, California, whom we both visited on our way back from the East.  She told Lavina to come up soon or it would be too late. Lavina arrived the day after she had passed away. She stayed here a number of days visiting her relatives in Hood River and while she was here she comforted me. 

Six months later, we were married with the encouragement and blessing of my boys. 




A letter to Lavina just before we were married. 

Hood River   
December 11,1951 

My Dear Lavina, 
I met with Dr. Hutchinson today. Guess I surprised him a little although he kept a poker face. As soon as I gave him a chance to say something, he said "Glenn Marsh, I think you are doing the right thing. It isn't right for you to live alone, and I am sure you would not take anyone but the best." 

He was not sure about just what the procedure would be about the California health certificate, also three day waiting period. But he has influence with the county judge at The Dalles and he can have the time limit waived. He is sure as we are Quite Mature so tomorrow he will have all of the information for me in the morning. 

I have company tonight, Donald, Carol and Ricky. They have been here most of the day with Junior and Polly. You see their gas tank is empty and they will have it filled tomorrow. They had to have it (the tank) empty because it had to be repaired. It seems good to have a baby in the house. 

Bob was down today. I think all of them are getting a little excited and anxious for the lady from the South to get here, but they have nothing on yours truly, 

Later 

Wednesday morning, December 12,1951,10:30 a.m. 

I just saw Dr. Hutchinson and he said the enclosed form had to be completed with your doctor's certificate. He had been to the county court's office yesterday afternoon and got the information. Complete it if you don't have time to make a change (if it seems to be required). Don't worry for Dr. Hutch will go with us to The Dalles Monday afternoon and get a three day waiver and 'He will proceed with plans as they are for Tuesday afternoon. 

I must hurry and get this in on its way. 
Yours, Glenn 




Lavina was a wonderful wife in every respect. The boys and their wives loved her dearly. She was a thoughtful and close companion. She was well-received by all of Donna's relatives when we visited Hornell. Lavina and I had several vacation trips. One to Hawaii, two to Canada, and many trips to see her Porterville friends, Lee and Justice Zimmerman. While the Zimmermans were in Hood River in 1963, Lavina was hospitalized with a heart attack and never recovered. She passed away in November of that year.



WANNA CLUB 
Donna and a few of the farmer's wives organized this little group for social get-togethers once a month. She was a charter member and the women were finally called the "Dirty Dozen" in later years. 

Because of Donna, I became an honorary member of the group in these last few years.  We enjoy being with Donna's few remaining friends and talking over old times. 

One member who has been a wonderful friend to me is Emily Edling.  She comes by very often to check on me, and take me out for rides since I can no longer drive my car.  We often go out to dinner, sometimes with Johanna Dethman and Goldie Richardson who also belong to the club. 

Emily was a German girl who married Bill Edling and moved to Shepard's Lane (Brookside Drive) and had an orchard during the very early 20's. She worked in my first packing shed. Donna took a great liking to Emily and called her "that poor homesick little German girl", perhaps because she, too (Donna), was homesick. They became close friends.




OTHER CLOSE FRIENDS 

I first knew Borchard vonLubken as a little boy in a high chair. Donna and I would play cards with his mother and father. His mother would put him in' his crib in the bedroom and he would go to sleep (such a good-natured little fellow). I have known Borchard all these years. Before my stroke, he would occasionally pick me up and we would have clam chowder down at "Elsie's" together. He would tell me all the news and would hash over old times. He is like a son. 

Another pair of old friends were Joe and Caroline Smullin. The Smullin family were Scotch people who came from Clarion County, Pennsylvania. Donna and I met them at the Asbery Methodist Church in 1913. In 1914 they moved to the Mt. Hood Community in the upper valley and he became an orchardist while she taught there in the small Mt. Hood school. They both worked very hard and made a success of their orchard. Joe and Caroline had children (Joe Jr. and Katharine) close to the age of mine. So we would get together and have Sunday dinners together.  My boys exclaimed about Mrs. Smullin’s homemade ice cream. She always had an ice cream freezer full of it. 

People used to get Joe and I mixed up. He said once, "I don't know why, I'm so much better looking than you are.”  Donna and Caroline disagreed on so many things (mostly politics), but always remained friends. 

After Joe died in 1953, Caroline moved to an apartment on Oak Street in Hood River.  When I was able to drive, I took her and other ladies, who were widows of my old friends, out for a drive. Those who went with us were: Mrs. McClain (a very fine cook in her day), Johanna Dethman, Emily and Goldie. 

One time I took Caroline for a drive (when we were both 94 years old) to Sherwood Campgrounds above Parkdale.  We went down to the river to a little camping area where I parked the car and enjoyed the scenery. After awhile I noticed it was getting late and I thought we had better be starting back for home. As I was turning my car around, I slipped into a patch of loose sand. The more I kept working to get out, the deeper the wheels kept sinking. I got out of the car, but couldn't work it out. I shouted to Caroline, who was still sitting in the car, "If you don't get out and help me, you'll have to spend the night here with me!" 

Well, she got out of that car that minute and helped get boards and brush to put under the tires. We got out in no time.  Caroline and I are the same age, but 8 days apart. (She's older by those eight days and never ceases to remind me.)  In recent years, we have tried to celebrate our birthdays together.  My son, Donald, was born on my birthday, November 10th.  When he was younger, we would, along with Truman Butler and Delia Alexander, celebrate our birthdays together because we all had the same birthday.

EMMETT AND EDNA FITZGERALD 
Of all of the people who worked for me on the farm, Emmett and Edna Fitzgerald come to mind as those who I had the closest regards for.  They came to Hood River from Oklahoma on my birthday in 1937. I felt sorry for them for they had nothing but what they were carrying on their backs and put them up in a cabin. As it turned out, Emmett proved to be a "jack-of-all-trades" around the farm, while Edna did much housework for Donna around the house. 

They took care of Donna and the boys; Donald in particular. They took him to the beach one time. Because at that time Donald walked in his sleep, Edna tied her foot to his so he wouldn't step into the ocean. During World War II, they were my only steady and competent help and later provided encouragement during Donna's lengthy illness to carry on. 

In 1950, they left with my blessing to find work elsewhere. Emmett is now retired from carpentry and they live in Portland.
INDEPENDENT LIVING
In the summer of 1976, I was still independent and cared for myself. I did most of my own cooking, enjoyed working in the yard and orchard a little and still cut wood for the fireplace.  When the fruit for that year began to mature, I could see we were going to have a wonderful crop and Glenn Junior, who leased my orchards, was pleased. 

I decided to take a walk as I frequently did and look at the crop. I started climbing up and down the hills through the grass. Suddenly, I felt very tired and a little sick. I made it back to the house and went to bed. After the nap, I went into the kitchen, there Junior found me in a dazed condition. I was taken to the hospital by ambulance and diagnosed as having had a stroke. Several days after I could not speak, but had terrible nightmares. Finally, I started to recover and wanted to go home. 

It was fun teasing the young nurses' aides. One night, one of the girls sneaked into the room when she thought I was asleep, turned on the TV and sat down by my bed to watch it. Suddenly I sat straight up in bed and said, "BOO!" She leaped up and bolted out of the room. My, did I laugh and kid her about it the next day. 

Another time, two of the nurses were walking me in the hall. I said to them, "Did you see the two scars on my chest?" They seriously replied, "Yes." I answered dolefully, "Oh, dear, I'll never get to be a topless dancer!" (The nurses thought that was funny.) 

I got one of the scars when I was sixteen. I had a tumor growth on my breast. Doctor McNett said that the growth could turn to cancer if it was not removed. They placed me on the dining room table at home. My father and Mr. Thomas, our neighbor, held my hands. Dr. Lawrence (the doctor's assistant) gave chloroform. A tumor the size of an egg with the gland it was connected to was removed. The wound was sewed up with cat gut (ten stitches). Oh, how I used to brag at school about my operation. I was healthy and it healed well. 

Then, after Donna passed away, I developed another tumor on the other side which the doctor removed at the hospital. 

Dr. Edmundson said I could not go home and be by myself as I was before. My boys arranged to have Sadie Wedge (my grandson, Rick's, mother-in-law) who was a nurse take care of me at home. Sadie enjoys my stories and takes me on many car rides over the roads in and around Hood River that I have known for 68 years.  How many old homes of my friends still stand, yet nearly all that once lived there are gone. 

TAKING THE OLD DALLES ROAD – TRAVELS WITH SADIE
Sadie wanted to go over the old road to Mosier one day. She found this old road a little rougher than she anticipated. I like steep hills with views of the beautiful Hood River Valley and I never tire of showing it off to interested people. Although I am legally blind now, I do have peripheral vision and out of the sides of my eyes, I can take in the scenery and sights fairly well, so that it still is a pleasure to see Mt. Adams or Mt. Hood. 

Well, we were going around a sharp curve in the road and I said, "There, that is where Junior fell out of the car." Sadie wanted to know what I meant by that, so I told her about the time Joe Pifer and I thought we'd take the boys over to Mosier on the old Dalles road which starts about a mile or two from Hood River. 

It was a very steep narrow road. (I hadn't been driving very much and was a little nervous.)  At that time, Bob was 10 and Glenn Junior was only 8 years old, and they sat in the back seat. Those boys would sing, laugh, and they would fight. This made me very nervous. When we got to the top of the hill, I turned around, grabbed hold of both of them, shook them and said, "We're not going to Mosier!  We' re turning around and going back. This is a narrow dangerous hill and I want you boys to shut up! Do you understand?" About all they could do was to nod their heads after the shaking I gave them.  

We started back down the hill. I never heard a peep from either of them. About halfway down, the hill had a very sharp narrow curve in the road. We went around that curve very slow and soon after, everything was too quiet in the back seat, so I looked around. There was no one there but Bob! 

I stopped the car, raised up in my seat and said to Bob in a loud voice, "Where is Junior? " His answer was, "Oh, he fell out on the curve back there." Said I, "Why didn't you tell me?"  He said, "You told me to shut up, didn't you?" 

I looked back and there poor little Junior was in the middle of the road. The back door of the car sprung a little on the curve, opened and dumped him out. I immediately went back and picked him up. He was a little dazed and very dusty, but we decided he didn't need a doctor however. 

When Bob told me that I told him to shut up, and he did --- what could I say? 

FISHING 
While Sadie and I took the drives up in the mountains, I would see again some of the places along the rivers where down through the years I had fished. All of my boys grew up fishing with me, but Donna never cared for it. 

When I was a youngster and living in Bath, I used to fish in a creek that ran nearby our house. I would take my fishing pole, hide it in the bushes and as soon as school was out, I would go to my favorite rock down by the creek and catch trout (chubs). They were so small and tender after Mother had dried them, I would eat them bones and all. 

Soon after Lavina and I were married, I learned that she enjoyed going with me fishing. (More than likely, she went along just to keep an eye on me.) I had saved many wooden containers in the root cellar that I filled with worms for bait. I even used to pour milk on them to feed them. Many times we drove up to the East Fork of the Hood River or to Evans Creek to fish. 

One time Lavina and I went way down Evans Creek and along the irrigation ditch where there was an old bridge over the creek that was almost submerged.  I dropped my hook in and let it sail under the bridge. Lavina was reading on the bank of the creek. While walking along the bank to position my line better, I ran into the' stub of a tree which punctured my ear. It didn't hurt very much, but it bled profusely. I decided to keep on fishing. After awhile, Lavina looked up and saw the blood and decided that we must leave immediately. She took me to the hospital to have it sewed up.  

Dr. Thompson who was on duty at the hospital took care of me. He told me that he'd cut off the dangling part of my ear so I could use it as bait! (I never realized that he had a sense of humor.) I declined the offer and told him to sew it up. 

On our way home from fishing, Lavina and I would always stop at the Hudson Restaurant located above Parkdale and have a snack and good tomato sandwiches Mrs. Hudson did serve! Those were very happy days for me. 

 

LOOKING BACK 

Since 1909 when Donna and I arrived in Hood River over the Union Pacific line, things have changed very materially.  

Where the Hood River Inn is now, there was the landing place for the ferry boat. Commodore Dean owned and ran it. Sometimes he used a sail boat for passengers, other times he would put teams of horses in his ferry. 

Cottonwood trees grew along the shore line just north of where the UP depot is now. Just beyond, was a long sandy shore line. Now the trees are all out and manufacturing plants are in their places. 

Coberg Beach was owned by John Coberg. He developed a very nice resort and later we had many picnics there, but now since the Bonneville Darn has backed the water up, it is not used any more. There was a nice dance hall extending toward the shore with high rocks in the background. Part of his property was a pear orchard. 

Along west of where the depot is now, there were 2 or 3 small cold storage plants owned by four different shippers of fruit. Now there is a long line of cold storage places belonging to Diamond Fruit with many times the capacity.  In town, quite a large theater building has been removed. Hood River Bank is now there. 

A rather small Congregational Church stood where the Riverside Community Church is now. Just above that and across the street was the old Asbury Church which has been completely rebuilt and dedicated. When we reached the top of the hill known as the Heights where Barclay's Pharmacy now stands, there was an ice cream parlor and Staton's Grocery Store. 

Down the street to the south, was an old hotel known as the Hart Hotel which has been removed and on the corner was a feed store. 

Many times I have walked from Brookside Drive (what was then called Shepard's Lane) down to the National Cold Storage Plant by the bridge that goes across to the east side of Hood River. From what is known as the Heights south was a high and rough wooden bridge across Indian Creek which has been replaced by a dirt fill. I remember catching many fish there. 

Where there was heavy timber, orchards grew well. In the upper valley, many areas which Pifer and I logged, are now beautiful orchards. In caring for our orchards in 1909, we had codling moth, scale, anthragenous to contend with. Sprays mostly were arsenic of lead for codling moth and copper sprays for the latter two. Large spray tanks drawn by tractors have taken the place of the hand pumps and long bamboo spray poles. Then, we clean cultivated our orchards 
and now weed killer is used down the tree rows. The grass in the aisle between the trees is mowed. Pickers used to live in surplus army tents from the first World War. It was like camping out. Today, the health and safety regulations for the cabins are in many ways more stringent than some motels along the highway. 

In conclusion, I have three boys that I feel proud of. I believe they are respected and known throughout the valley. I owe no man, I never knowingly defrauded anyone in Hood River. I have no enemies that I know of. I've had my sorrows and my joys here in this valley for the last 68 years and look forward when I finish this home to go to another. 


EPILOGUE 

On May 30,1977, Glenn passed away at the Hood River Memorial Hospital a little after 10 in the morning. His services were held June 3rd, and were officiated by the Masonic Lodge, an organization that he devoted nearly 60 years of service. He was buried next to his first wife, Donna. 

It has been nearly a year since he has passed on, yet the memory of him remains with us even now. He was not a great man of accomplishment, or widely known outside of his home in Hood River. But, of those who knew him, his individual greatness will be remembered. And, by the aid of his memoirs of the previous pages, his memory will be known by others, now, and those of future generations.