Radio Script #295
Little Talks On Common Things
March 4, 1956
Thanks to Mr. Fred Morrill of Skowhegan we are reminded that no matter what kind of winter we get, there has at some time in the past been one that was worse.
After the bitter cold of a long December, this year we had a beautiful, warm, open, and almost snowless January. But even in the midst of that balmy month we remembered the stinging cold and the big fuel bi lis of December. So it is good for us to be reminded by Fred Morril I that nothing we are encountering this year can hold a candle to the winter of 1816. December, 1815 had been very cold, but January was very mi Id. Ice left the Penobscot River and frost throughout Cumberland County came out of the ground. The warm weather continued wei I into March, with day after day seeming like May. Farmers started spring plowing in February, and planted their gardens in March.
The change came on Apri I 11, which proved to be the beginning of what all down the years has been ca lied “The Year of No SummerY!. have told about that cold, almost plantless summer, both on this program and in “Kennebec YesterdaysfT. I have tol d you how on that 11th of Ap ri I there deve loped a b Ii zzard wh i ch covered the trees, ki I ling the too early blossoms of apple and other fruits, and snuffing out the life of corn, beans and other plants just breaking the ground. Many a farmer found he had been foolish to plant so early in spite of the prolonged warmth.
The cold continued al I summer, even June, July and August seeing ki I ling frosts. But on September 2nd, when it was too late to save the crops, came a tremendous change. For ten consecutive days the mid-afternoon temperature reached 100 al lover southern and central Maine. Warm winds rapidly dried the mud, and the befuddled farmers, thinking a belated summer had at last arrived, started planting again. But it was all futi Ie. On SepTember 15th came a ki I ling frost. On the 20th The mercury stood at only two above zero.
After Christmas the weather moderated, the opening rronths of 1817 were comfortably mi Id, and the summer turned out to be normal both in temperature and in rainfall. So, however erratic may be this winter of 1955-56, we are going to have normal seasons again. What is a normal season anyhow? suspect it is a nice comfortable one in the past that you have forgotten all about.
It’s been a long time since we’ve mentioned our good friend One-Eleven, but apparently he sti I I listens to this program and occasionally turns in some new information. Some time ago he paid his respects to that departed species, the pack peddler. He writes: ”They are gone now, I ike the umbre Iia mender and the scissors grinder — those hardy men who trudged along dusty roads under the burden of a black oi Icloth pack. Half a century ago they entered a Maine town from the nearest rai I road station or boat landing, and in most towns they picked up a pretty good living by dint of much talk concerning the merit of their wares.
One-Eleven goes on: “I recall one peddler who, among his Yankee notions, carried a complete line of hooks and eyes made by a reputable Phi ladelphia firm. Upon displaying his huge sample card he would remark, ‘Now these are the most satisfactory hooks and eyes made anywhere. know Mr. Hook personally, and he makes an excel lent product. Mr. Hook and Mr. Eye are not only business partners, but very close fr i ends. ‘”
One-E leven qui te correct Iy poi nts out that the ci tv counterpart of the rura I pack pedd ler was the house-to-house canvasser. One-E leven says, “Both male and female, these persistent purveyors of needed articles canvassed the cities at al I seasons of the year. Many became so wei I acquainted with their customers that they were asked to stop for dinner, or at least to have a cup of tea. Needles, buttons, shoe laces, and many other sma I I wares found a ready sale, and long before the day of the Larkin soap clubs, those canvassers sold soap, perfume, b lui ng and f lea powder.”
One-E leven remi nds us that, just as undertakers preferred to be ca lied morticians, those house-to-house canvassers called themselves direct sales peop Ie.
Besides the rural peddler and the city canvasser, there was in both areas the familiar rag man and nis cart loaded with tinware. Then there was the ladder man, with hay rack full of ladders, wicker chairs, and an occasional lawn swing.
One-Eleven also reminds us that the depression of the 1930’s saw considerab Ie return of the 0 I d house-to-house se I ling. He reca II s that the Kennebec countryside saw during those years a man who sold boxed alewives.
One of the last of the salesmen calling at rural homes was no pack peddler, but a former Watervi lie store clerk, who left the confi ned space beh i nd the counter and did a thriving business from his neat truck loaded with draperies, sheets, spreads, and dress goods. Many a’ ‘farm home in Centra I Ma i ne we I corned right up to within the last few years, the visits of that shining truck and its driver, Harry Vose.
It is to One-E leven that I owe i nformati on about an 0 I d ti me genera I store· sti I I doing business. It is not so famous nor so thoroughly stocked as the renowned Farwel I store at Thorndike, but it is worth a visit. It is located at Buckfield. There, in spite of modern times, the air of the horse and buggy days persists. One-Eleven says, “If you asked there for a hickory helve, either of the Norris Brothers would know at once what you wanted, and they could even supply you wi,th the proper wedge to hold the helve in the axe head.”
Just as in the Farwe II store, goods in the Norri s store at Buckf ie I d hang from cei lings and wal Is, and even from hooks in the show window. Youngsters sn i cker at the fet t boots and the red f lanne I drawers, but they go for the 0 I d time candies — red cinnamon drops, genuine stick licorice and brown sugar cakes.
One-Eleven is always coming up with examples of Yankee ingenuity. Here is one of his latest. A Maine sea captain departed for the Spice Islands of the South Pacific with several hundred warming pans in his cargo. Finding no use for an article so favored among New Englanders during the cold winters, he convinced the natives in the tropical Spice Islands that the objects were long handled frying pans designed so that the handle would be cool whi Ie the pan got hot. He sold out the whole lot at a profitable trade for native goods.
One-Eleven also tel Is me an incident which he insists ought to be added to my account in “Kennebec Yesterdays n of the steamer Ci ty of Watervi lie. He says that when the boat made its maiden trip up the river in 1890, its smoke stack was too tal I to pass under the bridge, and the top had to be removed before the steamer could proceed up the river. It is strange that the contemporary accounts do not mention this incident. The recorded recollections of Dr. J. Fred Hi I I, who was one of the Watervil Ie men who made that trip, say nothing about dismantling a smoke stack to get the City of Watervi I Ie under the Augusta bridge, yet Mr. George Giddings, aged citizen of Augusta, says that he personally was one of a big crowd who watched that incident from a point of vantage on the Augusta bri dge.
When I recently spoke about the picture cards and the premiums given with various kinds of merchandise half a century ago, One-Eleven was quick to pick up the scent. He wrote me as follows: “Do you reca I I the famous ‘yard’ chromos that were given for 50 labels from cakes of Fleischmann’s yeast? Once in a’while I see one of those low grade art attempts in some collection of antiques. There was the yard of kittens, the yard of roses, the yard of puppies, and the yard of baby chicks. Do you remember the Widow Jones boys’ suits, with a coupon in the pocket entitling the wearer to some petty premium? It seemed as if every product carried a coupon or prize of some sort. Mother’s Oats went in for china in a delirious blue motif. Cups, saucers, cereal dishes and plates were packed one in each package of oats. Nearly every cigarette and many packaged tobaccos carried a coupon which gave rise to humorous songs. Of course in these days of TV giveaways, those ancient means of promoting sales seem picayune and even stingy, but at the time literally thousands of people had a lot of fun swapping coupons and picTure cards.
Now let me ask One-Eleven a question. Does he remember the craze of collecting tobacco tags? Having the advantage of working in my father’s store, I was able to induce many a purchaser of plug tobacco to give me the tag, and it didn’t take long to collect a coffee can full of them. Now, fifty years later, can’t remember a single premium, but I did get several.
To get those tags I used to try some salesmanship of my own. A tag that had paper pasted on its back was good in the premium collection. One with a bright tin back, not covered by paper, could not be redeemed. When a customer would ask for a plug that lacked the paper-backed tag, I would do my best to persuade him to buy another brand — and, unlikely as it may seem, I sometimes succeeded. I sold over the scarred old counter in the Bridgton store a lot of grand old Battle Axe plug tobacco to men who had fi rst asked for another brand.
Now a word about the narrow guage road which was made up of track and roI I\ing stock from several of the old two-footers of Maine, and whose story I have to I din “Kennebec Yesterdays”. I refer to the Edavi lie Ra i I road at Carver, Massachusetts.
Here in Watervi lie, in the person of Lawrence Brown of Seavey Street, we have a man who is not only an authority on narrow guage roads, but who also was well acquainted with the late Ellis Atwood and his wife, who has been operating the Edavi lie property since Mr. Atwood’s death a few years ago.
Mr. Brown has ki nd Iy sent me the account whi ch Mrs. Atwood has recently written him concerning the passing of that interesting project out of the Atwood fami I y. The corporati on, Ell is D. Atwood, Inc., in wh i ch Mrs. Atwood was the principal stockholder, has sold its interests to F. Nelson Blount of Warren, Rhode Island, a seafoods processor and well known rai I road enthusiast. Mr. Blount is operating the six mi Ie circuit of narrow guage road over the cranberry bogs, not on Iy in the cranberry operati ons, but, j us1- as the Atwoods di d, as a novel ride for thousands of sightseers. The little road carries more than 50,000 passengers a year.
The unique Christmas holiday illumination, which Mr. Atwood started nearly twenty years ago, and which brings several thousand people to Carver in December, was continued this year with its usual crowds.
Mr. Blount has written several books and articles on railroads, and he hopes to assemb Ie at Carver an i ncreas i ng I y un i que co Ilecti on of hi stori c rai I road items.Lawrence Brown has for some ti me gone to Carver every September duri ng the cranberry festival and has had the pleasure of running one of the old narrow guage locomotives. In both 1954 and 1955 the engine which he operated was the old No.4 of the Monson, Maine narrow guage.
I haven’t asked Mr. Brown whether behind his engine was the passenger car Pondi cherry. That was my favori te car on the Sri dgton and Saco Ri ver, and I always ride in it, if possible, when I ride on the Edavi I Ie line at Carver.
Let us close tonight, as we have on other occasions, with reference to a few fami liar expressi ons. Why do we say “to draw a long bow”, when we mean exaggeration? It comes down to us through the years because of the tall stories Told about feats with the long bow by Robin Hood and his merry men of Sherwood Forest. So i mprobab Ie were these yarns that “to draw a long bow” meant to te I I a whopper.
Why do we te II an angry, exci ted fe I low to keep his sh i rt on? Because from Time immemorial to take off one’s shirt was preliminary to a fight. Did you know that the expression “don’t care a rap” has nothing to do with a blow? The rap was a small Irish coin that passed for an English haT penny, Though it was actually counterfeit. Since the rap was intrinsically worthless, it became a synonym for something one would care nothing about.
The expression “nigger in the woodpi Ie” originated in the pre-Civi I War days of the underground rai I road, when the woodpi Ie was a common place to hide runaway slaves. And with that we’l I say good night for old times’ sake.
Year: 1956