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Memoirs continues:
Before we arrived the sky became overcast, the sun was blotted out, it became dark as night, and the lightning flashed and thunder rolled and we were scared to death. Suddenly the wind struck us just as we were driving in our gate. We were able, however, to rush under cover to the cyclone cellar where we found our mother, sister and servant huddled and frightened. I do not recall much of this storm, but later in life my father told me it was a cyclone, and that we did not get the full force of the storm, but Commanche did. And that place was wiped off the map completely, not a building left standing, even trees and grass were blown away. Nothing remained of our schoolhouse except a pile of stone.
Due to death of Mr. Emerson Stafford, my father was compelled to return to Canajoharie, and so in 1879 we returned to that village.
We lived for a time in the Spraker House, a large old colonial stone house with big white pillars facing the village square. Later on we moved to a house on Cliff Street at the top of a very steep hill road, which ran down to the road on a level with the railroad. About half way down this steep hill road lived Grannie Wiles.
Grannie Wiles was a most remarkable woman whom everybody knew and who knew everybody and everybody's history. She was the town nurse and caterer. If there was sickness, she knew just how to take full charge, and if there was a wedding or a party Grannie Wiles provided the feast, made the coffee, cooked the chickens and the hams, baked the bread and cake, and made the ice cream. Grannie was present at the "first appearance" of a good many of Canajoharie's prominent people, and she also assisted in the final acts when they departed this life. No one knew her age. She must have been close to a hundred years old when she died. She was my nurse when I was a baby and she nursed me through fever when I was twenty-one, and I saw her and bid goodbye to her when she was blind years afterwards. (Last time I saw her?)
I can still hear the hum of the old steam mill, the grind stones milling the wheat and the corn, one big round and flat stone whirling on the top of another, making a chuckety-chuck, chuckety-chuck sound, and the other machinery joining in a humming chorus like zum-zum, zum-zum. It used to make me feel sleepy to hear this sound, and many times I fell asleep waiting for Father to come downstairs from the dusty somewhere when waiting for him in the delivery wagon to take me home to noonday dinner.
On a summer's morning there used to be a line of farmers' wagons waiting to unload their grain and take on in exchange flour, seed, lime and groceries. On those days Father's store and mill were the liveliest places in town, and on Saturday morning when free from school I used often to sit on the porch in front of the store, where there were several easy chairs for customers to rest themselves, and watch the wagons load and unload, and hear the farmers discuss crops and politics, and many an amusing conversation I well remember.
My brother David was with my father helping him in the store, and he bought a high bicycle, one of the old-fashioned 56" Columbia full nickel kind that you rode way up in the air, and the farmers were scared whenever they saw him riding down the street, as their horses did not like the machine, and often bolted when he rode by. One farmer said, "If one of them darn things comes by me, by God, I git out and unhitch."
Another time a short, fat individual came into the store, and greeting Father with "Howdy, Dave," said, "What's oats to-day?" Father said, "Thirty cents." "Well," said the fat man, "I be a Christian, Dave, a damn good Christian, but by God, you can't buy my oats for no thirty cents." This remark was intended as a slur on Father, who was very religious and an elder in the church.
Besides the heavy wagon used to deliver coal and grain, there was a light delivery wagon used to deliver light groceries and flour around the village, and whenever I got the chance I made it my business to drive this wagon, and maybe it wasn't fun on a glorious morning in summer to drive over the hills and deliver a sack of flour or a bag of meal to some distant house. Canajoharie, like Rome, is built on several hills, and the views from these high points up and down the Mohawk Valley are wonderful.
Another favorite place for me was on the canal bridge which was along side of the store. Here I used to sit often and watch the canal boats glide slowly by underneath, drawn by a team of mules that slowly meandered along the towpath driven by a boy, who was called by the boys in the village "Hoggie." We used to call after the Mule boy:
"Hoggie on the towpath, can't count seven;
Put him in a feather bed, and send him up to heaven."
I have not the remotest idea where this originated. It was evidently an old jingle used by the town wags to tease these boys. One day our school teacher told us not to insult these boys, as we might be insulting a future president, as President Garfield had started life driving mules on the Erie Canal towpath.
In the autumn of 1886, I was sent to Poughkeepsie, New York, to attend the Riverview Military Academy. I remained there until the spring of 1888, except for my summer vacations.
Returning home in the spring of that year, accompanied by another Canajoharie boy, Ed Frost, who also had been a pupil in the school, was an epoch in my life. Ed and I were both glad to get home away from the rigid rules of the school, and needless to say, we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves that summer. There were a great many young people in both Fort Plain and Canajoharie at this time, a crowd of pretty girls, and a fine lot of young men; and these towns were famous for their social activities. Many girls brought friends home from school, and likewise the boys who were attending college brought home their chums. Canajoharie had a social club called the Teko. Every year the Teko Club gave the Annual Grand Ball in the Wagner Opera House, which was part of the Hotel Wagner, not an annex, but an integral part of the hotel, and presided over by the hotel management. The Teko Club ball was one of the great social events of the Mohawk Valley, and it was patronized by the social elite of the towns of that section from Albany and Troy to Utica.
The floor of the Opera House was crashed, upholstered furniture installed, the walls and stage decorated with palms and flowers, the finest orchestra furnished the music, and no expense was spared to make this the great event of the season.
Uncle Henry Joy was the caterer of these affairs, and it was some repast he furnished at midnight, creamed oysters, chicken salad, hot biscuits, Saratoga potatoes, pickles, olives, sandwiches, cakes and ices, not omitting the delicious hot coffee.
Among the younger set who were active in these affairs I recall George H. Smith, Will Bain, Elmer Finehout, Will Finehout, Jim McDarmaid, Harvey Stafford, Walter and Raymond Lipe, Randolf Spraker, B. F. Spraker, Harry Swartfigure, Albert Hatter, Willitt F. Cook, W. H. Van Steenburgh, James Cook, William, Edward and Leslie Smith, Bartlett Arkell, W. J. Arkell, Bernhard Gillam, John Vosburgh, Edward (Doc) Burnap, George W. Van O'Linda, Will Allen, Sam McCabe, Frank Ilse, Frank Allen, Will Van Alstyne, Will and Leslie Burton, Bert Hiller, John Shaper, David Craige, Fenton J. Sickles; and from Fort Plain, David Dunn, Andy Dunn, Edward Stichel, Will Hackney, De Lancy Gregory, Frank Smith, Charles G. Zielley; and from Little Falls, Ned Gilbert; and from Fonda, J. Leslie Hees, Leonard Fish and Jerry Sitterly. There were a number of others besides these, including my brother David, and myself, who always attended these gala functions.
Among the young women were Bertelle Arkell (then Mrs. Bernhard Gillam, now Mrs. Frank Barbour), Mollie Arkell Burnap (Mrs. Ed "Doc" Burnap), Miss Laura Arkell (Mrs. John Ilse), Mrs. William J. Arkell, Mrs. Edward S. Smith, Miss Vennett Stafford MacDarmaid, Miss Jessie Finehout, Miss Jessie Cook, Miss Nina Spraker, Mrs. John Shaper (Hortense Spraker), Miss Bertha Lipe, the Misses Clara and Gussie Lewis, Miss Therese Sterling, Mrs. William H. Bain, Mrs. Elmer Finehout, Mrs. Harry Swortfigure, the Misses Florence and Mable Smith, Mrs. A. G. Richmond, Miss Sadie Burton, Miss Lulu Smith, Miss Anna Kittle, Mrs. Gertrude Kittle (Mrs. F. I. Stickles), Miss Maude Vosburgh (Mrs. Raymond Lipe), Miss Henrietta Smith; and from Fort Plain, Miss Nellie Dunn, Miss Lucia B. Gregory, Miss Ella Zielley, Miss May Edwards, Miss Mame Hockney, Miss Eula Weiting, Miss Mattie Allen, and Miss Sadie Williams.
From Palatine Bridge and Fonda: Mrs. Ledlie Hees and Miss Mamie Mills, a beautiful girl, Mrs. George W. Van Vleck, and Mrs. James Taylor.
As I look back on those days it seems to me they were the most joyous, happy days of my whole life. Carefree, young and full of spirits, I certainly did have a wonderful time. I knew everybody around the town and they all knew me and were very nice to me. How this has changed can best be demonstrated by stating that recently I visited Canajoharie, and walking around the town I did not meet a single person whom I knew or knew me. Most of my old friends lie asleep in the cemetery on top of the hill overlooking the town.
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