A Candidate For The Nut Factory?

 

The softer side of "Golly" from 1943.

The writer has a sense of guilt. He has had that feeling since along in the fall.

Maybe, when you have read the "why," you will think he is really possessed of a sense of justice, or maybe you will think him a well-qualified candidate for a nut factory. Judge him as you see fit.

Last fall - probably in November - we made a trip to the shack in the Nine Mile. Sort of a farewell trip until such time as the snow and ice melt and the buds begin to swell.

A cupboard door was slightly open, enough so mice could get inside. When the door was opened wide, down came a shower of black cherry pits.

The pits were scraped out (fully three quarts of them) and dumped in the fireplace. Never had we seen such a store of pits although we had often seen the halves of the pits scattered around

Later we were thinking about the family of white footed mice or deer mice. It was then we were troubled - still are.

Here was a family that had worked long and faithfully to lay aside a food store for winter. How many hundred trips had been made from the black cherry trees just outside to the storehouse, one could not even guess, but many hours must have been spent in the work.

No doubt the White Foots were proud of their labors and felt secure against the time when snow and ice would hide what pits might still be left on the ground, when food of any kind would be hard to find.

Suddenly, when the family was dreaming of peace and plenty for the long winter months, along comes a giant – a monster – an ogre. He scrapes up all that food and destroys it, almost in the twinkling of an eye. The more we thought of that act of thoughtlessness the more it has troubled us.

Suppose for a moment we had made a garden and worked hard to plant, to cultivate and harvest the food crops. Suppose we had stored the potatoes and turnips, and canned the beets and beans and corn. Suppose suddenly a giant appears, scoops the whole supply and wantonly destroys it!

To our mind the cases are parallel. We regret deeply having robbed so insignificant a living creature as a tiny white foot mouse.

No trial do we ask. We plead guilty and throw ourselves on the mercy of the court.

Little Mechanical Bandits

National Public Radio had a piece on the air over the weekend about parking meters and it reminded me of these snippets I've collected from my grandfather's "Golly" column over the years.

January 1947, Week One:

Parking meters in Coudersport  – horse feathers!
Now let's build a subway for two or three blocks!

January 1947, Week Two:

Paying $79.50 for a parking meter worth at the most only $14.50 is the height of damphoolishness. If you buy 125 of the pesky things that would make a grand total of $8,125 thrown down the sewer.  

P.T. Barnum was right when he said there was one born every minute

.January 1947, Week Three:

Think of it – $10,000 worth of meters! The Council proposes to have 125 (approximately) of the meters installed. The cost is $79.50 each.
The meter consists of a little machine, less complicated than a cheap alarm clock, a piece of iron pipe four or five feet long and a box of cement on the lower end. The whole cost of supplying and installing should not be over $14.50.
But the price is $79.50 each.
Why $65 profit for the meter concern on each machine – even if the blooming things were needed at all which we seriously doubt.

It just doesn't make sense regardless of how many cities and towns have been suckers.

The fact that so many municipalities have installed meters is evidence of quantity production and makes the outlandish price just that much more ridiculous.

May 1947

The parking meters are working in Coudersport. They were particularly conspicuous Monday morning. The town looked like a deserted village, but there were plenty of parking meters visible.

Later May 1947

The meters are installed and operating. Most people cuss 'em. Occasionally a ticket is handed out by Officer Paul Richert. One of the first tickets went to Street Commissioner Chilson. He had gathered up the collected coins and was making a count. The meter at the stall where his car was parked showed red. He received a ticket.

Officer Richert is off to the right start. If Coudersport is to have meters – and i sure does have them – the regulations should be enforced to all alike.

There must be no favoritism shown to a borough employee or any official regardless of his rank.

January 1948

Parking meters exit from Coudersport. Golly is glad the borough council has acted and settled the matter. It has been a controversial subject for some eight months. That's long enough!

February 1948

The heads of the parking meters have been removed. You no longer have to pay for parking a car in Coudersport. As soon as the weather condition permit, the iron pipes that held the meters will be removed and parking meters in Coudersport will be only a memory.
Golly cannot have sympathy for those who champion those little mechanical bandits.

August 1952

Like 'em or not, looks like the borough council is going to stuff parking meters down the throats of the public even though 78 percent have indicated they do not want them.
Who says this is a glorious country where the majority rules?
Of all the nerve! Pure unadulterated nerve! Members of Coudersport's borough council have it.
In face of the fact that 78 percent of the people in and near Coudersport are opposed to parking meters, the council voted to install them.

It takes guts to do a trick like that. It should also be remembered that parking meters were installed here some years ago on a trial basis and, after a few weeks, the public arose in righteous indignation, attended a council meeting and demanded the meters be removed.

THEY WERE REMOVED.

How can men in the right minds, servants of the public go so strongly against the wishes of the people who had sufficient confidence in their honesty to elect them to office, act as the council members acted Tuesday evening.
Can you answer that question? We cannot.

April 1953

Parking meters! That troublesome old subject keeps popping up to give a headache to at least 75 percent of the people of Coudersport and vicinity.
Right now some 60 businessmen have signed a petition protesting the installation of the pesky things. It will be presented to borough council at its next meeting.
Something like a year ago the Enterprise carried a survey with coupons published in this paper. The returns were 78 to 22 percent opposed to meters.
A parking meter salesman  stated to this writer: "Coudersport has no parking problem and does not need meters. However, if the town wants them, I'll be glad to sell them."
In the face of all this the old problem keeps showing its ugly head. It should also be remembered that meters were installed here at one time and when the trial period expired they were taken out.

The people do not want them. Why must we be plagued with the same old problem?

July 1954

Had to laugh a little at a Genesee man who had his troubles with parking meters Monday. He deposited a dime. Nothing happened. He produced another with the same result.
The man was worried. He did not want to violate the law.
At long last he found the meters work only with pennies or nickels. he could put dimes in the pesky things all day and they would be like water in a sieve.

And finally, this published in December 1956

Golly fought parking meters in Coudersport . They came after a while and Golly later made up his mnd that he had been wrong – as usual.

You see, our own people were at fault for their being installed. Merchant, clerks and office workers all had to park their cars on the main business streets. They left no space for shoppers.
The meters came. All those business people, clerks and what have you, could then find parking space in side streets or back of their places of business.
Now there is room for shoppers and strangers. The parking cost is negligible.

I fed a a quarter into a mechanical bandit in downtown Coudersport and smiled!

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far ...

Anyone who knew my mother might recognize her voice from this piece written by her father "Golly" when he was in his late 80s.

What a disposition Golly has!

He bought an electric blanket. The card to be mailed to the manufacturer to make good the two-year guaranty, riled his disposition.

"What called this blanket to your attention?
"From whom did you buy it?"
"Where?"
"Do you have any other automatic blankets?"
"Single or double control?"
"What did you pay for it?"

    Etc., etc., etc.

Golly had to give his life history – how many children he had and do they go to school? Probably he should have told the firm that he burns natural gas and he is not delinquent on taxes.

The next purchase we make will not be from that manufacturer!

 

 

Good Morning

More happy, charming writing from another age - post World War II America.

"Good morning."

How differently different people say those two words!

Good morning from
Crandall Hill
January 11, 2026

There's the person who puts sunshine in a voice regardless of how dreary or stormy the weather, and there's a crab who emits the words as though he might be in agony and wants all mankind to suffer the bitter depths of despondency.

Between these two there are all accents and shades of voice including the bored person who speaks with an effort and the one who tries to be pleasant with no very marked degree of success.

Some accent the first word, "GOOD morning," and some the last, "Good MORNING," and others both words, "GOOD MORNING."

How do you say Good Morning?

-- written by W.D. Fish for his "Golly" column, circa 1945

His "Cheesy" Memory

I need something charming to take my mind away from the dark place it's been this year - this 2026 when we're instructed not to believe our eyes.  This piece, written by my grandfather in 1947 (when he was 71), fits the bill. 

A few days ago the Golly guy munched fresh, crisp crackers and some excellent snappy cheese. Nothing very strange about that.

The point was that it brought back over the years a memory – an exciting experience – exciting for a country boy of nine or ten years of age.

This little lad resided where there was no railroad and even the thought of a train of cars made his blood tingle. He was invited by a neighboring farmer to journey to a town nine miles distant, the trip to be made on a load of hemlock bark being hauled to a tannery. That tannery passed from the industrial scene long ago.

The lad's mother gave her consent and early the next morning Calvin Jones said Giddap to "Kit" and "Ned" and the adventure began, the boy stocked with coin of the realm to the amount of one thin but precious dime.

The trip up through the long winding Hazletine Gully, over the rolling farm highlands and down Quigg Hollow, took hours that seemed almost interminable. The roads were all of earth, well seasoned with sand and cobble stones of various sizes.

Farmer Jones entertained with stories and commented on the crops of oats, corn and potatoes, and at one point along the way by an orchard there was a box mounted on the fence. It bore the legend "Hungry Box – Help Yourself."

Harvest apples, Golden Sweets and Red Astercans* The last variety may not be spelled correctly but that how it sounded to the boy. The apples were ripe, mellow and delicious. They helped to pass the dragging time as the heavily loaded wagon jolted over the long miles.

At last the village of Andover (N.Y.) could be seen in the distance with its several church spires pointing toward the zenith.

A thrill surely!

 

But down the valley as far as could be seen there was smoke. It was appearing great back puffs and then – a train of cars!

It was a long freight train. A locomotive headed the train, and as it neared, a pusher could be seen at the rear laboring mightily up the grade.

Farmer Jones explained that pushers were stationed at Wellsville to help the heavy trains over Tip Top Summit four miles east of Andover.

At long last our heavy load arrived at the tannery and the boy was on his own for the period of time required to unload the bark. Timidly he wended his way toward the railroad station. nearing that destination he heard an approaching train, and he ran with all the speed he could muster to be at the depot when the train arrived to get a close view of the smoke-belching iron monster and cars that it hauled down the western grade.

To his later regret he was winner of the race and was on the station platform when the locomotive came thundering along, followed by that great string of clattering cars. The noise and din were frightening. The youngster crouched against the locked door of the freight room terrified. He would gladly have given up that thin dime he treasured in the pocket of his knee pants to have been elsewhere – anywhere.

After what seemed like hours to the frightened lad, the train passed and faded into the distance, much to his relief. After he had recovered from his fright he realized he was hungry and he must find a place to make a purchase of crackers and cheese. A kindly grocer by the name of Beebe must have been generous in serving his small and timid ten-cent customer as the paper bag was well filled, and later munched to the entire satisfaction of the customer.

The memory of that repast lingers even to this day. Never does the Golly scribe nibble crackers and cheese but he thinks of that distant day of boyhood. 

The long homeward ride on the jolting lumber wagon is not so well remembered but home was reached just at nightfall after a day that was exciting and eventful. That night a tired kid drifted quickly to sleep to dream of iron monsters, snorting black smoke and white steam, while he feasted in his dreams on ripe red apples and crackers and cheese in huge quantities.

It is a delightful memory to this day.

*Red Astrachan (a Russian variety) made its way to North American via Sweden and England and arrived in North America in 1835, soon recognized for hardiness, vigor, quality and early bearing. Because of its short season and keeping qualities, it is not widely grown today.

North and South

"In the rugged hills of northcentral Potter County, lies a spot so southern it seems like some weird anachronism of the past. It is the old feudal estate of Henry Hatch Dent on which stands Brookland's All Saints Church... a perfect gem of the South, a church of England, pure in Gothic lines, with medieval buttresses, nave and arch, exquisite with its stained glass windows.

Henry Hatch Dent with his stubborn Southern pride had carried this charming conception from the Colonial South into the North in Civil War days and dispelled it to his children that they too might transplant some remembrance of the land of their youth." - from an article in The Potter Enterprise, 1949

All Saints Episcopal Church
July 2025

It was one of those hot, sunny days last summer and we were in search of a grave marker we thought we might find in the churchyard at All Saints Church in Brookland. We didn't find the grave we sought but did renew our acquaintance with Milton Jeffery and Strathmore Kilkenny, Episcopalian friends from another time. But the Dent family - the ones who built this chapel - who were they?

On these cold stay-inside kind of winter days, I have spent some time with Henry Hatch Dent and his history. First stop is a charming personal history of Coudersport "Early Families That I Remember and Old Homes of Coudersport" written in 1942 by Eva D. Thompson*, widow of W.W. Thompson, noted Potter County Historian and founder of The Potter Enterprise, the newspaper that passed into my family's ownership in the 1920s. She writes: "At the age of 89, I am making a list of the families that I remember in the late 1850s and 1860s. . . When I was a child, I knew every family in the town. Now, while I love good, old Coudersport, and am interested in everything connected to it, I do not know one family in ten."

Thompson writes of Henry Hatch Dent:

"Henry Hatch Dent came to Coudersport from Maryland in 1853 with his mother and four children: Kate, Adlumia (later Sterrett), Will, and Anna (later Hull), to look after lands owned by his deceased wife and himself, lands of William Bingham. Mr. Dent was a finely educated man and did much for the town and the Academy. He gave the town clock.

The Potter Enterprise, 1963

"During the Civil War when party feeling was high, his sympathies were naturally with the South and he suffered many indignities from the townspeople. His barn and fine horses were burned and he was practically driven from the town." 

Mrs. Thompson's memories are validated in The Potter Pioneer Newspaper account from 1858.

A fine barn and three horses belong to H.H. Dent, Esq. of this village, were burned at three o'clock this morning. Supposed to be the work of an incendiary. We are not informed of the probably amount of the loss – but it is mightly heavy, the horses being valuable.

And below the news items was the following:

Card Of Thanks – Friends, neighbors and through those whose exertions preserved some of my property from the torch of the incendiary, have my heartfelt thanks. - H.H. Dent.

I went next to the Victor Beebe History of Potter County with its red binding and checked the index for references to H.H. Dent. Beebe writes:

"Another man came to Coudersport in 1853 who became a prominent figure during the period of excitement preceding the Civil War. This was Henry Hatch Dent, who came from Charles County Maryland... He married a daughter of John Adlum, who was one of the heirs of the Bingham Estate. She died in 1849. A dispute arose among the Bingham heirs, involving the ownership of much land in Potter County, and Mr. Dent, owing to his interest in these lands as his wife's heir, came to Coudersport in 1853. ... Mr. Dent was a kind hearted man, possessing much public spirit, and scrupulously honest. But he was a Southern aristocrat, with the manner and bearing of titled nobility, and a strong pro-slavery man. 

These circumstances were very damaging to his reception by the people of Coudersport. This town then contained a station of the Underground Railroad, and was led by a group of some of the strongest Abolitionists to be found anywhere in the Northern states. Mr. Dent's good qualities were overlooked ...

Mr. Dent was nominated for Congress on the Pro Slavery ticket in our district in 1854 but was defeated.

By 1862, Mr. Dent and his family had relocated to Brookland according to this report from the Potter Journal and News Item.

This village owes quite all of its improvements to our townsman, H.H. Dent, who has expended a large sums of money in the physical development of that section – his smooth roads, fine fences, evenly cultivated fields and neat buildings attest the success of his efforts.    

Again from the 1949 article:

"The Dent home itself was a long rambling home southern in architectural design that stood where the John F. Stone home stands." (Now Oak Hall Bed and Breakfast).

"The Dents, living in their northern wilderness, could not live in harmony with Yankee ideals. It was enough to cope with a ruthless environment without the Abolitionist hatred. There was always political strife and their southern loyalty would not permit them to take sides with these hard-fisted Yankees of the North.

Back to the newspapers I found many references to Mr. Dent's efforts to bring rail service to unserved areas of Potter County. He writes this in 1869:

"I am very often surprised at the manifest want of information relative to the resources of this (Potter) county, and the counties adjoining, even among many to whom better knowledge in this aspect would be of great value. It would give me great pleasure to receive at Brookland any inquisitive gentlemen from Rochster or elsewhere, in search of facts to justify the construction of the Buffalo, Rochester, State Line and Jersey Shore Railway. ... No part of Western New York will in the end exceed this region in adaptability to grazing, dairying and wool growing and growing potatoes, oats, rye, etc., etc. I am not unacquainted with the productions of Western New, and can say with rigid truthfulness that I have never seen the staple vegetable of that region growing in higher perfection than in my own garden here; nor have I seen better grass fields than my own, around my dwelling here. But it is certain that up to the present time our people have been so addicted to lumbering, that they have not as farmers done justice to themselves or the soil they own."

Henry Hatch Dent died in November 1872 in Baltimore, Maryland where he had returned for health reasons. His son, Willam, remained in Brookland and ran the family business. He departed in 1902. The Enterprise reports "Potter County people regret the departure of the highly respected family."

"The church, its parish house and the ground enclosed by the gray stone are the only landmarks left of the old Dent estate. The Dent family has long since moved back to the south and visits to their once northern home have ceased." 

But the fine All Saints Church isn't the only memorial monument erected for Henry Hatch Dent.

Evening Star, 1893

"It was his intention to build and create conditions peculiar to his ideas of aristocratic seclusiveness; but being compelled, however, from financial considerations, to engage in business pursuits, his executive ability was not equal to
the stern northern conditions with which he was surrounded and
thus failed in a measure to achieve much that his mind had conceived."
 Brookville Republican, 1907

*Eva D. Thompson is the great-grandmother of Coudersport's Dennis Goodenough and Gretchen Goodenough Songster. She died in late 1942.

Bringing Back Good Memories...

A teenage Barbara Fish reading in bed

What brings Christmases past to mind so vividly? For some it's the memory of a special Christmas gift.

My mother wrote this is January of 2024:

"Another memory: the small square stand by my bed, made in the late 1930s by my Dad as a Christmas gift for sister Pat and me.

"We had modified four-poster twin beds and Dad copied the turning pattern of the bed posts to match for the table legs. He included a drawer and a shelf so it was very serviceable and – icing on the cake – also included was a small radio that brought in many shortwave stations.

"One of our favorites was WQXR out of New York City that played many classical music programs - symphonies, opera etc. as well as soap operas and mystery shows. A wonderful Christmas that year!

Barbara and sister Pat. The nightstand is seen on the right.

"Not sure where those beds ended up - I think they got a good home - but I kept the nightstand and now it's with me at Cole Manor, bringing back good memories."

Mom had written this piece in a notebook she kept in the pocket of her recliner. The pictures I came across in an old photo album - the kind with heavy black construction paper pages, the memories secured with little maroon corners.