My friends - When I began to prepare today's posting, I checked my outbox and found that, for reasons I do not know, my posting that should have been sent last Thursday was placed in queue and never sent on its way. I apologize for that error, and shown below is this belated message. Today, we are reviewing another of the delightful little essays by Dr. Gordon Wilson, from his book, "Fidelity Folks". Dr. Wilson was born and grew to adulthood in Fidelity(better known as New Concord)in Calloway County, and went on to become the chair of the English Department at Western Kentucky University. He was known as a superb storyteller, and these essays that he wrote about aspects of living in Fidelity in the late 1800's and up to about 1909 confirm his talents in that regard. Our subject today is The Fidelity Literary Society. -B ======================================================================== THE FIDELITY LITERARY SOCIETY -Dr. A. Gordon Wilson "Fidelity Folks" We were so far away from other centers of population that we had to provide our own entertainment, except for the rare tent shows, magicians, or circuses that came to us or to the county seat. Political campaigns furnished some warm events in late summer, when the numerous candidates spoke at the union church and were cheered or hissed according to the affiliation of our people. In the blazing hot weather the various churches conducted their annual protracted meetings at Sulphur Springs, and Mount Carmel, and the union church. Late in the fall we had an exhibition at the Fidelity School, sometimes with a generous treat for everybody, though the treat was usually given the children at school before the evening program. And there was always the Sunday School through the spring and summer and until Christmas or nearly that time, with preaching on second Sundays except in raw winter weather. Once and only once while I lived at Fidelity was there a community Christmas tree, for that idea had hardly had time to reach our little outlying area. Though there were parties for the young people, right through the winter, there was little for older people to do but go visiting or sit till bedtime. For one brief period we had what was a distinctive institution, the Fidelity Literary Society. Parent-teachers associations were then unknown, but this society in many ways took the place of such an organization. Some of the younger people, including the local teacher, perfected the organization, which met once a week from house to house, ultimately reaching nearly every section of our corner of the county. We had some good programs, too, for Fidelity had talent that needed only some encouragement. The society began to function after Christmas, after the school had closed and the Sunday School had frozen out, No home had enough chairs to seat the crowds that would come, in spite of cold or snow. We would place a long plank between two blocks of stovewood turned up on end and then fold a quilt lengthwise to pad this seat. In that way we could take care of many people. A big fire would be built in the living room, another one in the kitchen fireplace, and another in the Wilson heater in the front room. It took all or most of this space to seat our guests. The program started off with quotations on some subject that formed the nucleus of the entire serious program. Poor Richard and the Bible were drawn on heavily, as were also the schoolbooks that we studied, particularly Mc­Guffey's readers. Then followed speeches, debates, pantomimes, breakdowns, community singing with the band accompanying, and nearly everything else that you could think of. The youngest performer that I recall was a boy who still wore boy dresses but who had a voice like an auctioneer, even at that early age. The oldest performer was an elderly lady from up the creek who read well and could do good imitations. My best known contribution was a reading called "I Stole Them Breeches," a mournful story of a colored brother who wanted to be baptized in style and had to steal a pair of breeches because his "onliest pa'r was clean worn out and gin up the ghost when I gun to shout." Sometimes the program ended in refreshments: cake and pickle or popcorn. Our postmaster-druggist did for us many of his best numbers, from playing trick numbers on his fiddle to acting numerous parts. I admired him almost to the point of worship, so eager was I to grow up and be able to roll them in the aisles. And he could do the sentimental things so well that dozens of hardened men would pretend that their colds had suddenly become worse. From the sublime to the ridiculous was an easy grade for the entertainer, and we sometimes found ourselves shedding tears from hearty laughter within a few minutes of being ashamed of our sniffling at some pathetic line. Just why this good neighborhood custom had so brief a life I cannot remember. It should have lasted until the days of the high school and its gymnasium/auditorium, which became the community center that replaced the old union church some twenty-five years ago. ==========================================================================