Delightful. Thank You! ----- Original Message ----- From: <[email protected]> To: <[email protected]> Sent: Saturday, March 22, 2003 10:21 PM Subject: [MOIRON] More Mainstreet Memories - Part 1 > This is a Message Board Post that is gatewayed to this mailing list. > > Surnames: Charlton, Chase, Ebert, Lewis, Scoville, Russell, Austin, Medley, Ryan, Speck, Markham, Hunt, May, Emerson, Schultz, Baldwin > Classification: Biography > > Message Board URL: > > http://boards.ancestry.com/mbexec/msg/rw/zMB.2ACI/851 > > Message Board Post: > > > IRON COUNTY REGISTER, Ironton, Iron Co. MO, Thurs. Feb. 14, 1935. > > MORE MAINSTREET MEMORIES > PART 1 > By Cora Chase Charlton > Oh, these wonderful, wonderful, minds of ours! So superficially understood! At the touch of memory come whole reels of movies with perfect sound and color effects. That great Judgment Book? Will it be this very mechanism, geared to work perfectly? > > One can imagine the different pictures "released" in various minds by those recent reminiscences of Old Main Street days. I thank the writer and the publisher in behalf of my sister and myself for the pleasure experienced in reading them. I have been given the privilege of commenting on the scenes and memories touched upon. The greatest temptation will be to overtax the space and time of the printers. I beg to be allowed to be human, natural, intimate. > > I am going to begin at an incident here in Seattle, which I recount as one of many strange coincidences in my life. I took a street car for the city one evening, and, as one will, rapidly chose to sit with a sweet faced old lady who had saucy little gray curls all around a quaint bonnet. As is the Western custom there were no formalities to her beginning a conversation. "What do you suppose is in that bag?" she said. I said I couldn't guess. "It's manuscripts," she said. "I'm a writer." She told of just having received a $700.00 prize for a story from Collier's. I told her I was on my way then to the Seattle Writer's Club, but that I had no such success as that to point to. > > We talked along easily and while doing so I noted a young colored woman who came in and sat ahead of us. I noted that she had lightish frizz-hair with reddish tones in it, freckles and blue eyes, a type rarely seen, especially out here. I was thinking to myself, I never saw just the same type except one of Aunt Phoebe's girls. After a silence the old lady said, "Have you noticed that girl? I never saw but one like her." Then after a pause she added, "That was in a little town in Missouri." I said, "what little town in Missouri?" and she replied, "Ironton. I used to spend my summers there." And we were thinking of the same identical girl! The old lady is dead now. Her name was Ebert. She has sons here or had. So much for that movie of the past. > > Our writer began at the bridge between Arcadia and Ironton. It is terrible to skip Arcadia and all south of it. Maybe I won't, for memories come surging. For instance the time my mother consented for me to wander what seemed then to a foreign country to Arcadia to visit with a daughter of the Lewis family. Mr. Lewis was then president of the old college, a Methodist institution. You may imagine a hot and flustered little girl timidly stepping up on the porch and a raucous voice screeching out, "Hello, Cora." But I think you will fail to grasp that little girl's consternation at discovering the words coming from a green bird such as she had never before seen or heard of, in a large cage overhead. It might be well to explain that there was a Cora in the Lewis family. > > Commencement day at that old college brought out the highest talent the Valley boasted in those days. I can remember Kate Scoville in piano solos. Marie Russell singing the duet "A Poor Gypsy Maid" with someone, and at a picnic on the grand old lawn a young chap from St. Louis giving the first rendition ever heard by me of "The Flying Trapeze." Yes, it is that old. Old romances and their thrill, not referring to any of my own, come back. Who can remember when Jim Austin ran away with the Belle of Arcadia, Sally Medley? Who can remember Tom Ryan's handsome eyes? The "smugged in" Irish eyes. Who can remember the grand balls at the old Arcadia house? Even before my dancing days. > > First Speck's. With their grounds so carefully laid out and kept, copying earlier days spent in England, and the bridge, one of the accepted destinations for all strollers. I have the unpleasant memories of close encounters with water moccasins around there. Once I picked up a little perfectly round stone, we will call it, which was velvety black, the size of a small pea, and very hard to the teeth. It lay around for years among trinkets, then I got interested in what it could be. No jeweler or anyone could tell me. I had it set in a handsome gold mounting and called it my black pearl. Indeed it was not impossible it might have been one, a fresh water pearl. It excited admiration for years. I never sought to protect it from water or in any way. Then I noticed a roughness in it and a coating, like a hard outer skin started to peel off. We decided then it must have been a very unusual and hard seed of some kind. It was my intention to plant and watch it, but about then it came! > out of the setting and was lost. I would have liked to have raised more "pearls" like it. > > Each of the Markham family might well have been considered an institution in that Valley. Mr. Markham, a very pedantic institution, though he was at times quite human. I recall the bible he presented to me as I lay with my first new born baby in my arms, and the really choice things he said to me as he presented it. He was colportering at the time in Wayne County. I also remember when Fred Hunt, Mrs. Dr. May's brother, given to being carried away with great enthusiasms, was first converted and looking about for someone to "save" hit upon Mr. Markham. Mr. Markham, a life time student of the Bible and religions, but not quite demonstrative enough to suit Fred, listened patiently, then quoted in a mild voice, "I would recommend that you work out your own salvation with fear and trembling," then resumed his deep studies. What an institution was Fanny. It is one of the pleasantest recollections of my girlhood, being, seemingly, always welcome in "Fanny's room." A room where one g! > limpsed things of the outer world, little touches of aesthetic beauty. A room where nothing was too good for common use. A room where plants outdid themselves, and where the sun made free every hour that it was shining. I remember in days of illness when far away in a prairie region with scanty and poor water supply, how my mind taunted me with recollections of Addie's ice cold well in solid rock, and Emerson's spring! Please, won't somebody go and get a good drink for me at those two places! He doesn't deserve to get into print but I'll mention Mr. Markham's old horse Pete. He had the distinction of having the only horse that ever threw me, and he "repeated" the third time before I got home. He could flip his tail in such a way that anyone on him took a tail spin off ahead of him. > > I would like to mention in passing that Fred Hunt would have ranked with our known humorists if he had bent his energies to making his witticisms permanent. I recall many of his "sayings." He came to our house one Sunday afternoon and my sister, then about six, hastened to show him a new plaid dress which was mostly a bright red. She informed him, "This is my new redinggote," that being a sort of draped tunic fashionable then. "Ah," he said. "I see the red, but where, may I ask is the goat?" > > Few people knew that Addie, in a shy way, was also a humorist. He was peddling in his canvas top vegetable wagon once in Pilot Knob, and happened to see a woman's hand reaching slyly under the side cover with the intention of purloining. He calmly reached back and gave her hand a good friendly shake, and she never tried that again. > > Addie was a friend to the community when he began to ship in and peddle articles of diet such as celery, barrels of dill pickles, kraut. I had first enjoyed the boon of tasting sauerkraut at the Schultz home. I discovered that it was a delicacy I must have been starved for back through generations of ancestors. My own family thought it a most vitiated taste, and I never had any unless I could beg a dime and with a small tin pail, go to the Schultz's after some. > > Skipping the Emerson place which is a whole article in itself, I cross the road to recall a phenomenal hail storm which left the iron roof of the old Baldwin mill looking like the top of a salt shaker. If people had not been able to see clear around the cloud that produced it, it would have been a time of terror indeed. The hail stones sounded on the houses as if they were being bombarded with large rocks, a scattering several, then more and more and finally a fusilade. The stones were peculiarly shaped, looking most of all like those old fashioned pincushions made to imitate a tomato, flat and pinched in on both sides at the center. Most of them weighed over a pound. They hit the earth and rebounded as high as tree tops, in every direction. I can also remember a brief snow storm there which snowed not flakes but snow balls. I hope some "oldest inhabitants" can be trotted out to substantiate my stories. >

IS THIS A RERUN???????? LC Linda Fox wrote: >Delightful. Thank You! > > >----- Original Message ----- >From: <[email protected]> >To: <[email protected]> >Sent: Saturday, March 22, 2003 10:21 PM >Subject: [MOIRON] More Mainstreet Memories - Part 1 > > >>This is a Message Board Post that is gatewayed to this mailing list. >> >>Surnames: Charlton, Chase, Ebert, Lewis, Scoville, Russell, Austin, >> >Medley, Ryan, Speck, Markham, Hunt, May, Emerson, Schultz, Baldwin > >>Classification: Biography >> >>Message Board URL: >> >>http://boards.ancestry.com/mbexec/msg/rw/zMB.2ACI/851 >> >>Message Board Post: >> >> >>IRON COUNTY REGISTER, Ironton, Iron Co. MO, Thurs. Feb. 14, 1935. >> >>MORE MAINSTREET MEMORIES >>PART 1 >>By Cora Chase Charlton >>Oh, these wonderful, wonderful, minds of ours! So superficially >> >understood! At the touch of memory come whole reels of movies with perfect >sound and color effects. That great Judgment Book? Will it be this very >mechanism, geared to work perfectly? > >>One can imagine the different pictures "released" in various minds by >> >those recent reminiscences of Old Main Street days. I thank the writer and >the publisher in behalf of my sister and myself for the pleasure experienced >in reading them. I have been given the privilege of commenting on the scenes >and memories touched upon. The greatest temptation will be to overtax the >space and time of the printers. I beg to be allowed to be human, natural, >intimate. > >>I am going to begin at an incident here in Seattle, which I recount as one >> >of many strange coincidences in my life. I took a street car for the city >one evening, and, as one will, rapidly chose to sit with a sweet faced old >lady who had saucy little gray curls all around a quaint bonnet. As is the >Western custom there were no formalities to her beginning a conversation. >"What do you suppose is in that bag?" she said. I said I couldn't guess. >"It's manuscripts," she said. "I'm a writer." She told of just having >received a $700.00 prize for a story from Collier's. I told her I was on my >way then to the Seattle Writer's Club, but that I had no such success as >that to point to. > >>We talked along easily and while doing so I noted a young colored woman >> >who came in and sat ahead of us. I noted that she had lightish frizz-hair >with reddish tones in it, freckles and blue eyes, a type rarely seen, >especially out here. I was thinking to myself, I never saw just the same >type except one of Aunt Phoebe's girls. After a silence the old lady said, >"Have you noticed that girl? I never saw but one like her." Then after a >pause she added, "That was in a little town in Missouri." I said, "what >little town in Missouri?" and she replied, "Ironton. I used to spend my >summers there." And we were thinking of the same identical girl! The old >lady is dead now. Her name was Ebert. She has sons here or had. So much for >that movie of the past. > >>Our writer began at the bridge between Arcadia and Ironton. It is terrible >> >to skip Arcadia and all south of it. Maybe I won't, for memories come >surging. For instance the time my mother consented for me to wander what >seemed then to a foreign country to Arcadia to visit with a daughter of the >Lewis family. Mr. Lewis was then president of the old college, a Methodist >institution. You may imagine a hot and flustered little girl timidly >stepping up on the porch and a raucous voice screeching out, "Hello, Cora." >But I think you will fail to grasp that little girl's consternation at >discovering the words coming from a green bird such as she had never before >seen or heard of, in a large cage overhead. It might be well to explain that >there was a Cora in the Lewis family. > >>Commencement day at that old college brought out the highest talent the >> >Valley boasted in those days. I can remember Kate Scoville in piano solos. >Marie Russell singing the duet "A Poor Gypsy Maid" with someone, and at a >picnic on the grand old lawn a young chap from St. Louis giving the first >rendition ever heard by me of "The Flying Trapeze." Yes, it is that old. Old >romances and their thrill, not referring to any of my own, come back. Who >can remember when Jim Austin ran away with the Belle of Arcadia, Sally >Medley? Who can remember Tom Ryan's handsome eyes? The "smugged in" Irish >eyes. Who can remember the grand balls at the old Arcadia house? Even before >my dancing days. > >>First Speck's. With their grounds so carefully laid out and kept, copying >> >earlier days spent in England, and the bridge, one of the accepted >destinations for all strollers. I have the unpleasant memories of close >encounters with water moccasins around there. Once I picked up a little >perfectly round stone, we will call it, which was velvety black, the size of >a small pea, and very hard to the teeth. It lay around for years among >trinkets, then I got interested in what it could be. No jeweler or anyone >could tell me. I had it set in a handsome gold mounting and called it my >black pearl. Indeed it was not impossible it might have been one, a fresh >water pearl. It excited admiration for years. I never sought to protect it >from water or in any way. Then I noticed a roughness in it and a coating, >like a hard outer skin started to peel off. We decided then it must have >been a very unusual and hard seed of some kind. It was my intention to plant >and watch it, but about then it came! > >> out of the setting and was lost. I would have liked to have raised more >> >"pearls" like it. > >>Each of the Markham family might well have been considered an institution >> >in that Valley. Mr. Markham, a very pedantic institution, though he was at >times quite human. I recall the bible he presented to me as I lay with my >first new born baby in my arms, and the really choice things he said to me >as he presented it. He was colportering at the time in Wayne County. I also >remember when Fred Hunt, Mrs. Dr. May's brother, given to being carried away >with great enthusiasms, was first converted and looking about for someone to >"save" hit upon Mr. Markham. Mr. Markham, a life time student of the Bible >and religions, but not quite demonstrative enough to suit Fred, listened >patiently, then quoted in a mild voice, "I would recommend that you work out >your own salvation with fear and trembling," then resumed his deep studies. >What an institution was Fanny. It is one of the pleasantest recollections of >my girlhood, being, seemingly, always welcome in "Fanny's room." A room >where one g! > >>limpsed things of the outer world, little touches of aesthetic beauty. A >> >room where nothing was too good for common use. A room where plants outdid >themselves, and where the sun made free every hour that it was shining. I >remember in days of illness when far away in a prairie region with scanty >and poor water supply, how my mind taunted me with recollections of Addie's >ice cold well in solid rock, and Emerson's spring! Please, won't somebody go >and get a good drink for me at those two places! He doesn't deserve to get >into print but I'll mention Mr. Markham's old horse Pete. He had the >distinction of having the only horse that ever threw me, and he "repeated" >the third time before I got home. He could flip his tail in such a way that >anyone on him took a tail spin off ahead of him. > >>I would like to mention in passing that Fred Hunt would have ranked with >> >our known humorists if he had bent his energies to making his witticisms >permanent. I recall many of his "sayings." He came to our house one Sunday >afternoon and my sister, then about six, hastened to show him a new plaid >dress which was mostly a bright red. She informed him, "This is my new >redinggote," that being a sort of draped tunic fashionable then. "Ah," he >said. "I see the red, but where, may I ask is the goat?" > >>Few people knew that Addie, in a shy way, was also a humorist. He was >> >peddling in his canvas top vegetable wagon once in Pilot Knob, and happened >to see a woman's hand reaching slyly under the side cover with the intention >of purloining. He calmly reached back and gave her hand a good friendly >shake, and she never tried that again. > >>Addie was a friend to the community when he began to ship in and peddle >> >articles of diet such as celery, barrels of dill pickles, kraut. I had first >enjoyed the boon of tasting sauerkraut at the Schultz home. I discovered >that it was a delicacy I must have been starved for back through generations >of ancestors. My own family thought it a most vitiated taste, and I never >had any unless I could beg a dime and with a small tin pail, go to the >Schultz's after some. > >>Skipping the Emerson place which is a whole article in itself, I cross the >> >road to recall a phenomenal hail storm which left the iron roof of the old >Baldwin mill looking like the top of a salt shaker. If people had not been >able to see clear around the cloud that produced it, it would have been a >time of terror indeed. The hail stones sounded on the houses as if they were >being bombarded with large rocks, a scattering several, then more and more >and finally a fusilade. The stones were peculiarly shaped, looking most of >all like those old fashioned pincushions made to imitate a tomato, flat and >pinched in on both sides at the center. Most of them weighed over a pound. >They hit the earth and rebounded as high as tree tops, in every direction. I >can also remember a brief snow storm there which snowed not flakes but snow >balls. I hope some "oldest inhabitants" can be trotted out to substantiate >my stories. > > > > >==== MOIRON Mailing List ==== >HERMES Surname List coordinator >WENSTROM Surname List coordinator > >============================== >To join Ancestry.com and access our 1.2 billion online genealogy records, go to: >http://www.ancestry.com/rd/redir.asp?targetid=571&sourceid=1237 > >