The Quilts and Chive Dumpling Recipe of Aunt Carrie Ramer Bobb of Potlicker Flats

In 1961 my mom, brother and I went with my Grandparents Ramer  to visit Gramp's hometown of Milroy, PA. We visited his mother's sister Carrie Viola Ramer Bobb who had helped raise Gramps after the death of his mother and grandmother. She was a quiltmaker and my mother brought home this Dresden Plate quilt, which she gave to me in 1990.

Many of the fabrics date to the 1930s and 1940s. The quilt may have been made in the 1950s.

I love the stripes fabrics used in wonky ways.

Above: Aunt Carrie Bobb in her later years. Below: Aunt Carrie behind my Grandfather Ramer when Carrie was 52 years old and Gramps was 24.

Sidney Bobb, great-grandson of Aunt Carrie, has two of her quilts as well; a Drunkard's Path and Grandmother's Flower Garden.

Carrie was born June 14, 1875 in Milroy, PA, daughter of Joseph Sylvester Ramer and his second wife Barbara Rachel Reed Ramer. My great-grandmother Esther Mae Ramer was her younger sister. Carrie married John Edward Bobb. She lived next door to her daughter Pearl when I met Aunt Carrie and Pearl. Aunt Carrie still had an outhouse. And yes, there really is, or was, a Potlicker Flats in Mifflin County near Milroy! Its on Laurel Creek near U.S. 322. The 2010 census showed 172 residents.

Gramps wrote letters to Lewistown Sentinel columnist Ben Meyers. In 1960 he wrote, "We had our dinner at Cousin Pearl's (Mrs. Lobiah Gonsman) up at Potlicker--two roast chickens and all the fixins. Aunt Carrie was spry and talkative--at 85 years." In 1961 he wrote, "Overnight at 86-year-old Aunt Carrie Bobb's home and a typical Pennsylvania Dutch dinner at cousin Pearl's and Abe's home."

March 17, 1963 the We Notice That column was all about Carrie. She had asked Ben Meyer to share her letter:

Dear Ben:
Will you print this in your column? I am a guest at the County Home, and Mifflin Countians can be proud of their home.
Mr. and Mrs. Wagner run the farm and the home and they are wonderful people and I love them dearly.
And the nurses are all grand and I love them, also the women cooks and their helpers.
In this way I want to thank the fire companies and churches and all the other organizations for their lovely Christmas gifts and treats and services throughout the year.
Also the hairdressers for their gift. They are doing a wonderful job.
I am a little handicapped. I can’t see or hear very good. Too bad. I will be 90 years old June 14 and I am I fairly good health and I thank God for that. Love to all people.
Mrs. Carrie V. Bobb
c/o Mifflin County Home
P. S. Ben, I am going to send you a receipt for chive dumplings soon. Yum, yum! Wish I had three!

Ben replied in his column, 

Dear Carrie Bobb:
Thank you so much for your very sweet letter! It stirred us deeply. And we’re quite sure all the members of We Notice That family will enjoy it too. 

Just to read your letter, then reread it, maybe a couple of times, ought to act as a great morale booster for many who, though in a much different situation and environment from yours, have never learned to count their blessings, but gripe and complain about their lot. You set us all a good example by practicing the “contentment that is great gain,” as one inspired writer expressed it. Wealth, social prestige, power—none of these can be favorable compared to one’s being happy, content, and grateful just for the little things, the things that money can’t buy. 

And another, thing, Mrs. Bobb. You’ve learned how to overcome or rather how to combat loneliness which is one of the greatest problems among elderly folk. For those up in years, the most common cause for loneliness is neglect, even when living with relatives, but more often when living in an institution. Older people tend to feel outdated, deliberately cut-off by those from whom they expect love and friendship. Changed attitudes of families towards parents and grandparents in recent years has resulted in increased loneliness among the aged. But in your case, Mrs. Bobb, its evident you still enjoy the companionship and care of your loved ones. They come often to call and to take you out for a visit, yes, even for an overnight stay or longer.

We believe you had lived alone for years in your little home at Potlicker Flats till advancing years and frailties made it impractical to continue going it by yourself as winter approached again. And so it was last fall, with your own choosing and consent, you welcomed and accepted the transfer to your present quarters. The basic human desire to be with a loved one, to be understood, to be loved, to feel wanted, needed and cared for—these needs you now find are furnished in your present environment. There you have your own individual room, too. 

Thanks again, dear friend, for your mighty welcome letter. It’s quite remarkable. But then you are quite a remarkable woman. Not only are you active, having a keen mind, but most of all the appreciation you feel for others, your zeal to enjoy things so much! We hear too your room was so filled with presents at the holiday season, it prompted you to say, “I never before had such a wonderful time—it would take me a whole year to consume all these goodies!” So the thankfulness you expressed to all the different groups who do much to lighten and cheer the County Home Guests, it comes bubbling out of your appreciative and grateful and loving heart, Mrs. Bobb!

As for the chive-dumpling recipe, we’re looking for it. We’ll keep working up an appetite for the feast. Meanwhile, as the Psalmist said, Mrs. Bobb, “Be courageous and may your heart be strong.”

In 1965 Lynne wrote about a family reunion with folks bringing Aunt Carrie scraps. He waxed philosophically about life being like a patchwork quilt.

Well, we have stitched on another vacation patch to the crazy quilt of life. At the Richfield Ramer Clutch several widely scattered cuzzins brought bags of patches for Aunt Carrie Bobb of the Mifflin County Home, who has another Postage Stamp Quilt underway. 

Aunt Carrie sews on this quilt between times devoted to folding sheets and towels for the guests and writing 10 letters each week. This year the patches came from Bethesda, Camden, Annapolis, Indianapolis, Sinking Valley, Allen Park and Berkley, etc., etc.-and a crazy assortment they were to be sure! 

Yet when a quilt is complete there is some manner of symmetry and form to the total, be it a Dresden Circles, a Field of Diamonds, a Double Wedding Ring or just a plain Postage Stamp. 

Such is life! Patches added willy-nilly, seemingly with no central purpose, yet the total displays an amazing degree of purpose. A quilt is hard to see because we look at the patches, just like it's said we can't see the forest due to the single trees. 

The way the patches are being added, daily and yearly, in the USA makes it very nigh impossible to see the 'quilt', which though never finished, may have some form and sense ultimately. We should not be too critical of ourselves or of our children since our grand-pappy's grandpappy sewed in some patches as 'crazy' as they came! The patterns never change, generation after generation.  

I am not sure if only Milroy Countians called the quilt I own Dresden Circles. I did find that Amy Smart of Diary of a Quilter has a post on Dresden Circles here. Field of Diamonds is made of hexagons like Grandmother's Flower Garden, but the flowers are a diamond shape.

In 1966 Ben Meyer wrote,

One evening there came a knock on the door. And who was there but a lady bringing some samples of her famous chive dumplings which we’d mentioned before in this column. She was Mrs. Pauline Saddler of Milroy. It seems that once a year she and Mrs. Carrie Bobb get together for a cooking spree. They spend a large part of a day to produce their favorite dish—fried dumplings seasoned heavily with chopped chives. The reason they turn out so many dumplings is because they’re not selfish. They like to share their good things with others. And the gift delivered to us was just one of many they distributed to their friends. If we’re not mistaken, Mrs. Saddler and Mrs. Bobb produces 90-odd dumplings in one batch which was enough to full their own needs and to share some with other folks. The 90-year-old, spry Aunt Carrie Bobb as all her friends call her) has given us the recipe for this intriguing dish. Here it is:

Aunt Carrie's Chive Dumplings Recipe

• Take two parts chives and one part parsley. A big colander full. Wash and cut up into small pieces. Fry a few minutes to soften with small amount of shortening and salt.

• Then break three eggs over it. Cook till eggs set. Take off stove. Put in a pan to cool. Then make dough as for pie crust only not as short.

• Roll out dough in squares about six inches long and three or four inches wide. Put the chive mixture in between two squares. Then turn and pinch the sides together so no water gets in. Make them kind of flat till they look like an oversize ravioli.

• Drop them slowly, one by one, into pot of boiling water, but not on top of one another. Like you do in dropping squares of home-made pot pie into the pot.

• Boil four or five minutes. Then remove from pot and fry them in a pan with shortening till both sides are nice and brown. When they are browning, you can refill the pot with another round of dumplings and be ready to repeat the process. After they are browned, the chive dumplings are ready to eat.

They may be eaten hot or cold. Some like ‘em hot, some vice versa. If you like ‘em hot and there are some left over, warm them in a pan over slow heat and a little shortening and a small sprinkling of water. Makes them as good as new! 

In 1967 Carrie again wrote to Ben Meyers, a long letter full of remembrances of people from Reedsville's past. She concluded,

I am almost 92 years old, but I have a good memory. As I said, you can print what you want. I am almost blind and awful hard of hearing. Otherwise I am good. I can go up and down stairs and I help a laundress fold sheets at the County Home. You reported those chive dumplings I made last year with relatives and friends in Milroy. Well, it’s the chive season again and we cooked up some more. With best wishes to all the readers, 

 Sincerely,

Mrs. Carrie Bobb, Mifflin County Home

P. S. I used to live at the foot of Seven Mountains, alongside the Lakes-to-Sea cabins. Excuse poor writing, Ben.

Aunt Carrie died in 1971, six months before my grandfather died.

*****

My Ramer Family Tree

Mathias Roemer, born September 1746 in Wesphalia, Germany and arrived in America in 1765. In 1756 the Greenwich Twsp, Berks Co. tax lists show Mathias Reamer. By 1790 he settled in Maxatany, Berks Co, PA and appears as Matthew Rehmer. He appears as Maths Reimer in Upper Mahontongo, Berks Co PA in 1810 and  in 1820 as Mathias Remer. He dies in 1828 and is buried in Pitman, Eldred Twsp, Schuylkill Co, PA,  listed in the Abstract of Graces of Revolutionary Patriots. Mathias married Maria and they had children Catherine, George, Issac and Nicholas.

Nicholas Roemer was born in 1791 in Greenwich, Berks CO., PA. In 1814 he married Maria Mattern, whose father was in the Revolutionary War. Maria's ancestor Peter Matthorn came from near the Matterhorn in Switzerland and arrived in America in 1751. Nicholas died in 1831 and is buried in Pitman, Eldred Twsp, Schuylkill Co. PA. He may be the Nicholas Roemer who was a Union soldier during the Civil War. They had children Salome, Caroline, George, Joshua, William, Issac, Madelena, Catherine and Joseph Sylvester. Nicholas died in 1867.

Joseph Sylvester Ramer was born in 1832 and died in 1900. His first wife was Anna Kramer and they had children Daniel, Anna Sarah, Robert, Joseph Karner, William E., Oscar William, Ida B, and John. Anna died in 1870. In 1871 he married Rachel Barbara Reed. They had children Anna Verona (married Charles Smithers), Clyde Oliver, Howard Jacob, Carrie Viola (married John Edward Bobb), Emma J, Esther Mae, Charles Perry, and Marcia Etta.

Joseph and Rachel Reed Ramer

Believed to be Rachel Reed

Esther Mae Ramer

Esther Mae Ramer was born in 1880. She had child Lynne Oliver Ramer in 1903; Harry Shirk was the father.

'Essie' and son Lynne

In 1908 she married Lawrence Zeke Harmon. By 1910 the census showed they were divorced. My mother told me that her father was not allowed to call Esther "Mother." Since the above photo shows a proud mother, she may have hidden that she was Lynn's father from Lawrence and when he discovered the truth their marriage failed. But that is just conjecture.

Lawrence Zeke Harmon

Esther Mae died in 1912. Her mother Rachel Barbara Reed Ramer also died in 1912. Lynne Oliver Ramer was raised by his aunts Anna Verona Ramer Smithers and Carrie Ramer Bobb. Lawrence went on to marry two more women, both recently widowed.

Lynne married Evelyn Adair Greenwood (see My Lancaster Greenwood Family) and their children were Joyce Adair, Nancy Jean, and twins Frederick Donald and Lynn David.

Joyce, Nancy, Don and Dave, 1945 in Milroy, PA

Joyce Adair married Eugene Vernon Gochenour and their children are Nancy Adair (me) and Thomas Eugene.

Lynne met the man who was to become my husband at a Fourth of July picnic at my family's home. Six days later we lost my grandfather.
He is

The Rilke of Ruth Speirs: New Poems, Duino Elegies, Sonnets to Orpheus & Others

I fell in love with the poetry of Ranier Maria Rilke nearly forty years ago. We were living in Philadelphia and going camping in Maine. I brought along the Duino Elegies. I read the poems while sitting on Otter Cliffs in Acadia National Park, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean and the trawlers checking their lobster traps. The endless sea, the summer sun and unclouded sky, the fresh salt breeze, the rugged cliffs, and the raucous cries of the gulls were the backdrop.

Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the order 
of angels? and even if one of them took me
suddenly to his heart: I should fade in his stronger 
existence. For beauty is nothing but the beginning
of terror which we can scarcely bear,
and we marvel at it because it calmly disdains
to destroy us. Every angel is terrible.
The First Elegy, translated by Ruth Spiers


To this day, the remembrance of reading those opening lines in a place of such rare beauty sends a shudder down my spine.

I was thrilled to receive The Rilke of Ruth Speirs through NetGalley. Speir's translations of the poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926) was considered "lucid and pure as water" by Lawrence Durrell in his 1943 review of her Selected Poems.

After his death, Rilke's German publisher authorized one translator, J. B. Leishman, limiting rival translators from publishing in book form. Now the translations by Speirs (1916-2000) have been collected  into one volume, edited by John Piling and Peter Robinson.

The introduction of this book explains quite nicely how Speir's translation compares to the original, and to other's translations. It makes an impression.

The poems are a delight to read, clear, sharp, and accessible. The forward notes that Speirs aimed at exactness and to make the poems 'a little less forbidding'. She wanted to make Rilke's poetry sound as if written in English.

My book was published in 1978 by Norton and translated by David Young.

Here are the last lines of the Eighth Elegy translated by Young:

Who has turned us around this way
         so that we're always
                       whatever we do
in the posture of someone
          who is leaving? 
                       Like a man
on the final hill
           that shows him
                       his whole valley
one last time
         who turns and stands there
                    lingering--
that's how we live
           always
                  saying goodbye.

And Speirs:

Who had thus turned us around that we,
whatever we may do, are in the attitude
of one who goes away? As he,
on the last hill which once more shows him
all his valley, turns and stops and lingers--
we live, for ever taking leave.

For someone like myself who flunked out of high school German it is wonderful to have another translation available, another avenue that just might bring me closer to Rilke's original voice.

from the publisher's website:

Here for the first time are all the surviving translations of his poetry made by Ruth Speirs, a Latvian exile who joined the British literary community in Cairo during WWII. Though described as 'excellent' and 'the best' by J. M. Cohen on the basis of magazine and anthology appearances, copyright restrictions meant that during her lifetime, with the exceptions of a Cairo-published Selected Poems (1942), Speirs was never to see her work gathered between covers in print.

Her much-revised and considered versions are a key document in the history of Rilke's Anglophone dissemination Rhythmically alive and carefully faithful, they give a uniquely mid-century English accent to the poet's extraordinary German, and continue to bear comparison with current efforts to render his tenderly taxing voice.

I received a free ebook from the publisher through NetGalley in exchange for a fair and unbiased review.

The Rilke of Ruth Speirs
John Piling, Peter Robinson
Inpress Books, Two Rivers Press
Publication October 5, 2015
ISBN:9781909747128

The 2015 Annual Quilt Walk in West Branch, MI: Art Quilts and Old Quilts

I returned to my brother's cabin outside of West Branch, MI so I could participate in the 31st annual Quilt Walk which raises money for Hospice of Helping Hands. The quilts are displayed throughout the downtown area and includes locally made, antique, traditional, and art quilts.

I enjoyed seeing quilts by Jan-Berg Rezmer last year. This year I got to meet her! Her quilt Blue Season was in the American Quilt Society show in Grand Rapids this past August.

Jan-Berg Rezmer with Blue Season

  

Jan told me she was a painter before she started quiltmaking. Her quilts include abstract as well as representation art.

 This quilt was very cool!

 Her felted wool quilt won recognition at this year's American Quilt Society show in Syracuse!

Jan belongs to a local quilt guild. She made this lovely Sunflower quilt as their raffle quilt.

 The simple pieced background sets off the golden flowers nicely.

Antique and vintage quilts were displayed in several areas. 

The West Branch Historical Society had several interesting quilts. The top of the  quilt below was found in the basement of the Rose City, MI Methodist Episcopal church in 1991 and finished.

The Historical Society is in an old house that is nicely being restored.

 There were several crazy quilts.

 And a functional quilt made of wool.

The building has a nice wide porch with a rocker and a quilt. I would like to spend my evenings there!

I got to bring home my own old quilt! I found it at a thrift store for $10.00!

The top is in acceptable shape with a few tears, wear along several edges, and shifting cotton batting. But overall the fabrics are in good shape. I am guessing it was a kit quilt since it is not scrappy but uses a limited number of fabrics. The yellow calico seems transitional since the other fabrics have definite Depression era colors and prints.

There is a large sale of books, magazines, patterns, fabrics and other paraphernalia--all donation and all for Hospice. I brought home some old magazines and books myself.

Grandfather's Memories of Boyish Play, Pranks, and Paddles

My grandfather Lynne O. Ramer wrote articles for his hometown newspaper, the Lewistown Sentinel of Lewistown, Mifflin Co., PA. In one article he recalled that from 1900 to 1920 the Brock family boys of Milroy, PA were loaded with play things:

circa 1911: Gramps at play, about 8 years old, with cousins. He is pretty well dressed in a 'middy' sailor inspired suit.
 A year later he was an orphan dependent on aunts for his care.

Play Things around 1910

"First they had a home-made merry-go-round with a grand organ that produced music. It was all hand operated, much to the delight of the teens and preteens who flocked, some invited and some not, to come and enjoy the fun.

"The play room—we’d call it the recreation room nowadays—was the storage room off the kitchen. There among the pies and cookies cooked for the family use, but shared with the youngsters who came calling between meals, were the home-made playthings.

"There were hand-carved spreading fans inside of Mason jars, continuous chain links carved from one billet of wood*. There were two spinning cylinder wire cages housing chipmunks who chattered gaily all day long.

"Besides these and dozens of other games to play there were stacks of comic strips from the Williamsport Gazette and the Philadelphia North American. These consisted of the adventures of the Katzenjammer Kids, Jiggs and Maggie, Enoch Periwinkle Pickleweight, John Dubbalong and the like.

"On a rainy day there would be no less than 10 or 12 little boys deeply at their work-play reading the old “continued funnies,” grinding the hurdy-gurdy carousel and intently watching the chippies race around the insides of their wire cylinders.

"There were stacks of paperbacks of adventure characters, such as the Liberty Boys of ’76, Jesse James, Fred Fearnot, A No. 1 and every known Horatio Alger tale, Andy Grant’s Pluck, From Rags to Riches.

“And so it went for many happy hours or boyhood daze. So once more, it’s thanks to Robert, Albert and Luther Brock, not forgetting their doting mother and a kind father [James S. and Minnie Melissa Maben Brock] who realized how to keep kids happy and busy, making and using their playthings.

"The lessons learned well by the youngsters of that time. Long since grown to manhood and womanhood, is this:

“It isn't necessary to buy one’s children expensive and attractive mechanical toys, but something requiring participation. And never forget children are fondest of things they improvise themselves---cooking pans and saucers, empty thread spools, old tin cans, a handful of bright, shiny horse chestnuts.”

The Brock family included parents James S. and Minnie Melissa Maben Brock and sons Oscar Ream (b. 1890), Luther J. (b. 1902), Albert (b. 1894) and Robert (b. 1903).  Dad was a carpenter, which explained the wonderful contraptions the kids had.

Pranks around 1910

As to trouble, boys a hundred years ago had all kinds of options. Gramps wrote,

"This little story verifies the truism that “there is no perfect crime.” Somehow or in some way the wrongdoer always leaves tell-tale evidence at the scene, which betrays him. The tell-tale evidence on the occasion given herewith was a certain color. A maroon color. Not too bright. Not too brilliant, but still a dead giveaway for the wearer of it.

"The incident itself happened not a few years ago, but there are many who will still remember it when we recall it to their attention. We recite it here especially for today’s dads who are wont to claim, “Now when I was a boy, we didn't do things like you kids today!”

“We were all old enough to know better, but just old enough to think we knew best. The scheme arose from nowhere and ended in nothing—luckily—when a small band of Reedsville lads idly watched a fall threshing from Cow Field Hill.

“As the wind blew the chaff, and some grain, farther and farther from the barn, the hungry chickens kept advancing under cover of the barrage, to gobble up the banquet. Well, the poultry advance edged nearer and nearer. An idea began to form in the minds of the boys---fresh stewed chicken, mingled with tender, unripe field corn from some farmer’s fields.

“One quick grab and we had a plump, squawking Rhode Island Red rooster. His neck was quickly twisted to stop his racket. Up Cow Field Hill we scrambled fast, but not fast enough to escape the ire of the farmer whose rooster we were snatching.

“Unbeknownst to us, the farmer had obviously been watching us—and the rooster. He had taken time to arm himself with a shotgun. When we were slowed down by a barbed wire fence, the pellets began to rain mightily close, it seemed. So it was that wisdom outscored valor and we left the rooster and fled to the near-by woods, finally returning to town by a detour, around the upper end of the mill dam at Tea Creek.**

“The irate farmer guessed our devious route and he met us head on, on Main Street, and easily he spotted the maroon sweater that one of the boys was wearing. It was a case of his being known by the color—and the companions—he kept.

“It seemed the farmer had failed to see us* close enough to identify any of the boys, but he did manage to catch a good view of the maroon-colored sweater. Which proved our downfall—the one clue that showed this was no perfect crime.

“The chicken costs only one dollar. But the lesson could have been more painful if the shoguns pellets had landed you know where.

“One of that group, but this time a highly-respected Reedsville citizen, carried this experience to the grave recently. But there are others in the village who will recall it. Simple moral seems to be avoid wearing colored sweaters on escapades. But here’s a better moral: Stealing is breaking one of the divine commands—so refrain from it always.”

Maroon boy's sweater circa 1900

* Here, using the word 'us', Gramps betrayed that he was one of the culprits!
**The dam was built in 1870 by the Reedsville Milling Company. It was 14" ft high and 47 ft. long, creating a duck pond.

****

As a teacher Gramps found students could be troublesome. Actually he WAS one of those troublesome students. Later he got back what he had given. Gramps recalled,

Hartwick Seminary

"At old Hartwick Seminary in Otsego County, New York—near Cooperstown—where I taught from 1926 to 1930—about mid-June the student sneaked squibs into their rooms. Then at night they lit these firecrackers and tossed them out the window. Imagine how it startled the faculty, including me.

"There was a fire law against such things, so I watched windows one night. I caught a Philadelphia dentist’s two sons in the act. As soon as I saw one of them light a squib I yelled, “Hold it!” He did just that. It exploded in his hand. It wasn't hard to find who it was next day, for he had his hand bandaged.

"That wasn't the end of the incident. In the wee, small hours of a later night, I was suddenly aroused by a six-inch squib exploding on my chest!

"Nasal reactions to the “sulfur and brimstone” lent the impression I wasn't on earth. Needless to say we could never prove who did it. It’s very likely that he too is a Philadelphia dentist, or doctor, by now.

"The student had climbed on a ledge outside my dormitory window and tossed in the fire cracker. Before I could gather my wits, he had climbed away.

"But school boy sport was going over on long before old Hartwick days. In 1917 at Milroy High School [in Milroy, Mifflin Co., PA] some energetic boys would apply snowballs to the thermometer and Prof. Stanley Morgan would excuse the school when he read the mercury read 29 degrees at the time we called his attention to it.

"You can image the prof’s chagrin when the temperature leaped back to the 70s after everybody was on the way home. But I can’t recall we ever played with matches or explosives of any sort in MHS.

"Now to update this matter: Last Thursday at Lawrence Institute of Technology [in Southfield, MI] in a calculus class, I began to make an erasure. Suddenly the eraser exploded into a thousand Roman candles in my hand! Some energetic student had fitted a row of match heads in the felt. Friction did the usual.

"Only a few hours before that one of our college chemistry profs had a piece of chalk light up when he wrote H2O on the board. It was a match head (old fashioned kitchen kind) which had been fitted into a hole in the chalk end.

"That was quite a surprise for him and so was mine. Needless to say a good laugh was had by all and sundry, including me. But had the burning felt fallen behind my specs I likely would not be seeing so clearly—as in a mirror.

"When I was a kid we boys used to ‘find’ chickens and sweet corn for our dough bakes, but we never demolished rural mailboxes on KV’s [Kishacoquillas Valley, Mifflin Co, PA]back mountain road or stole $100 from an 80 year-old-widows.

"The State superintendent of schools in New York remarked (and that was back in 1950): “They are not bad boys and they aren't good boys either. They are just busy!” To which I add: Ain't we all! Except the ‘busy-ness” is getting to acquire some funny new formats.

*****

In another article on 'pranks, Gramps wrote about punishments no longer in use.

"The old school teacher listened patiently while the ancient mill worker related the tales of pranks that misfired in the industrial world. Then he spoke up: “And that reminds me of the pranks which boys in schools and colleges used to do and in which the present generation still indulge. Some of these happened in Mifflin County, others elsewhere that I taught.”

"In Burnham high school, the first principal to serve there punished six boys alike, whipping them for pulling one girl’s pigtails. One boy was very angry and remained so for over 50 years, because he was innocent. He was just “doodling along behind, minding my own business,” he said. In fact, he died holding the grudge. And the principal died too, never knowing one boy was still angry at him. Moral: Don’t walk behind naughty boys, said the narrator of this tale.

"This happened in the fifth grade of the Armagh Township school. A certain boy provoked the anger of the teacher, who instead of waiting to apply her oak paddle at the right spot and at closer quarters, let it fly at his head as he sat in his seat. He ducked. His companion who shared the desk in common with the other boy got whanged with the missile. Said his sympathetic grandma: “You shouldn't set with him anyways.” Moral: Be careful whom the teacher assigns you to sit with.

"In another fifth grade the text asked: “What amount of dirt is in an excavation 100’ x 100' x 50’?” One boy wrote on his slate, “None.” Said the teacher: “You’re the only one who got the wrong answer.” He replied, “I’m the only one who got the right answer. There is no dirt in an excavation.” "The book answer says 500,000 cubic feet, which proves you’re wrong,”declared the teacher. She sent him home until he could learn the correct answer. He must have never learned it, for he never came back.

"It was the custom among the older students to check their traps both before and after school. One found a skunk in his trap. Contents of the animal’s cologne sac were placed in a standard empty perfume bottle. This he proudly displayed to all the girls and then visibly hid it in his school desk. At recess he left it unguarded. Three maids who lingered shared the contents on the front of their waists. School was let out, not just for a day, but till the stench was eradicated. The lad was beat up by the girl’s males relatives—brothers, fathers, uncles. Also by his own mother, the teacher, and the principal, all using their paddles. He never forgot it. He learned his lesson. But then the girls never forgot it either.

"But paddles weren't the only weapons used on boyish pranksters. Some boys had told teacher a fib. Said she, “If you lie to me just once more, I’ll put red pepper on your tongues.” It’s human to err. Came the time to administer the punishment. There was a lot of scrambling and bawling. But that all ended abruptly, for the hot stuff turned out to be merely ground cinnamon. Proving that imagination is stronger than realization. But the kids didn't forget. Teacher got straight answers after that.

"The exam question was, “What is 6 feet wide and 1 feet deep?” One boy wrote on his slate, “It's an outhouse.” Teacher sent him home, “until you learn to be respectful.” Days later she readmitted him. Came another exam. Same question. Seeing the lad reach for his hat and jacket, she said “Where are you going?” “Home,” he replied, “I still believe it was an outhouse.” He never returned to school.

Read more Grandfather stories:

Hog Butchering

Steel Mill