WALLINGFORD
was composed of Main Street (now called the Ethan Allen Highway), River
Street, School Street, Depot Street, Sabe's Hill, Mill Lane and a half
dozen less important lanes leading hither and yon, affording
out-of-the-way places where some folks could live and others could make
snow shovels, or bows, cheese, cider, etc. Grandfather's house was on Main
Street.
The most interesting place in
Wallingford for boys having nothing to do was the railway station, which
we termed the "depot." Interest arose to great heights twice a day, once
around a quarter past eleven in the morning and once at half-past four in
the afternoon, when the north-bound passenger trains went through. The
morning train was sure of a goodly number of passengers from Wallingford
to Rutland nine miles north. While it was not called, "the shoppers
special," generally speaking that was what it was. Most everyone living in
Wallingford had to go to Rutland once in a while. "Up to Rutland" was the
expression used though Otter Creek obstinately continued to flow from
Wallingford to Rutland and never from Rutland to Wallingford, as far as I
know.
Local grocery stores enjoyed most
of the patronage of the village, but Rutland dry-goods stores, boot and
shoe stores and clothing stores captured the best of the trade in their
respective lines. Mail order houses were unknown. Passengers on the
quarter past eleven train, could return on the three o'clock freight
train, which carried one passenger coach, otherwise they were compelled to
wait for the night train leaving Rutland at ten thirty in the evening,
which was considered a giddy thing to do.
The afternoon train north was
known as the mail train and it was patronized by few of the villagers.
Something unusual had to happen to justify going to Rutland so late in the
day. Scandals arose very easily in our valley. People going to Rutland on
the quarter past eleven morning train planned to get to the depot ahead of
time in order to make certain that they did not miss the train. Early
arrival also gave them an opportunity to exchange shopping news and
tidbits of gossip on Wallingford affairs.
A bench ran the full length of the
south side of the waiting room which was warmed in winter by a coal stove
and, My goodness! how that stove could heat. Harlie Morgan was the station
agent; he and his wife lived in comfortable quarters between the waiting
room and the freight warehouse, all being under one roof.
In addition to free living
quarters, Harlie was paid a salary of six hundred dollars a year and
permitted to make whatever he could on the sale of coal to Wallingford
folk. In return he was supposed to be on the job day and night, to receive
and send telegraph messages for villagers, and more particularly, to
receive instructions from the train despatchers, which were communicated
by him or his assistant to the conductors of trains passing through. The
Bennington and Rutland Railroad, having a single track only, the lives of
its passengers depended upon the accurate work of the dispatchers and of
station agents along the line. Harlie customarily had an assistant who
worked without compensation other than the privilege of learning the
railroad business including telegraphy. Upon his assistant fell the duties
of keeping the station warm and in good order, delivering telegraph
messages to villagers and bags of mail to the post-office, assisting
trainmen in the loading and unloading of freight and express, making out
waybills and otherwise making himself useful. When he had become
sufficiently proficient, the assistant also received and sent messages.
There was always an air of
excitement about the station just before the arrival of the two most
important passenger trains and the excitement increased to a grand
crescendo as the locomotive hove in sight around the curve. We knew the
names of all the locomotives, "Green Mountain Boy," "Green Mountain Girl,"
etc., etc., and many were the speculations as to which one could run the
fastest but they all presented brave fronts, as, rocking from side to
side, they rounded the curve and dashed across the bridge spanning Roaring
Brook. The engineer sitting jauntily in the cab window seemed to
experience justifiable pride in the stir he was creating. Anyhow, with a
clanging bell and tooting whistle, the "quarter after eleven" and the
"half-past four" dashed in, paused a moment or two for loading and
unloading and dashed out again, leaving Wallingford folks to their own
devices in the matter of finding ways to pass the time.
Of the two mentioned trains, the
half-past four was the most interesting because of three personalities
presented to our enraptured view. One was the engineer heretofore
mentioned. Another was the resplendent John J. Parrish, conductor, who, in
his immaculate gold-braided uniform and white double-breasted vest,
presented a figure; he did indeed. In a popularity contest had the choice
been left to the unmarried ladies in villages along the line between
Bennington and Rutland, "John J." as he was familiarly known, would have
led in a walk.
To us boys, however, the most
scintillating personality was a slim young brakeman by the name of
Thompson, who gave us daily thrills in an exhibition of consummate grace,
agility and in skill in throwing himself, sometimes with lantern in hand,
aboard the last car of the swiftly moving train as it left the station.
Why did trainman Thompson wait for the last car before boarding the train?
He might of course have boarded one of the others with little or no
danger; in fact, he might have boarded any of them before the train had
gotten under way but where would have been the glory? Even fat and pompous
John J. could do that much; as a matter of fact, he did. No, trainman
Thompson had no intention of letting John J. capture the show. Besides he
owed something to the open-eyed hero-worshipping youngsters of the
villages along the line.
Almost any of them would have
rather stood in the shoes at trainman Thompson than to have been President
of the United States.
I forgot to mention that the
four-thirty carried a Pullman Palace Car (palace car, mind you) and we
derived considerable satisfaction in studying the faces of the strange
creatures who rode in them-millionaires perhaps. Later I knew a Middlebury
college student who had ridden in one of them from his home in Ludlow.
When he landed at Middlebury, he yelled to the assembled collegians, "Hi
fellers, I came down in the palace car," after which he was always known
as "Palace Car Dick."
Once we saw a strange looking man
and we all wondered who he could be. George Sabin said that he guessed he
must be a Democrat, at least he looked like one. We wondered how George
knew what Democrats looked like, for, with the exception of Danforth
Hulett, our one Democrat, he had never seen any, but George was a great
reader of Popular Mechanics magazine and we never questioned his judgment
on anything.
After the drop of the final
curtain in the daily drama at the Wallingford depot, a reverential silence
possessed the youthful audience. To have broken the spell at once would
have been desecration. Slowly and silently we turned our faces eastward.
One privilege only remained; that of carrying the mail to the post-office
and awaiting the distribution of the same. Anti-climax? Yes, but someone
from somewhere might have written a letter, or possibly some kindhearted
advertiser may have responded to the earnest and oft repeated appeals for
advertising picture cards. Possibly the Youths Companion might have come
with its continuation of the story of "Indian Pete" which ran serially in
that magazine. All of these things failing, there was still the comforting
thought that the train would come through on the morrow at half past four
and once again the curtain would rise on Wallingford's daily "movie" to
the increasing wonder, inspiration and envy of boys.
The stores of Wallingford were
good places to fall back on for rapscallions having nothing to do. There
was always something going on in Danforth (Dannie) Hulett's store; it was
the emporium of the village. At Hulett's a little of everything could be
found. Farmers' overalls and jackets, agricultural implements, leather and
rubber boots, galoshes, umbrellas, household utensils, crockery and a
limited line of dry goods and other odds and ends occupied the front part
of the main floor. A huge coal stove, surrounded by chairs and a generous
cuspidor, cheered and warmed the entire first floor.
The rear part of the main floor
was given over to groceries, sugar, flour, crackers, cheese, butter, eggs,
molasses, vinegar, pickles, prunes, raisins, sardines, mackerel, oysters,
herring, apples, oranges, California grapes packed in sawdust, etc., etc.
In the store room in the rear, there were barrels and bags and boxes of
bulky goods which could be rolled or trucked or carried into the main
store as needed. Piles of codfish, salted to a degree that they could
easily have stood on their tails if they could have preserved their
balance, lined the rear of the storeroom.
Along one side of the store were
the scales where wagons, loaded or empty could be weighed, and in later
years a butcher shop was opened in the basement. Hulett's was, in fact,
the one indispensible store in the community. It did not exist by virtue
of the personality of its owner. Danforth was a strange, silent man. Big,
handsome, swift moving and polite Fred Stafford was the front man but even
he had no time for banter with customers. The store was a successful
merchandising establishment. From it developed the big Combination Cash
Store of Rutland, in which Fred Stafford was partner.
One of the most memorable features
of Hulett's store was the variety of pleasant odors which greeted our
nostrils; the molasses, the vinegar and pickle barrels, and the boxes of
prunes all shed delightful aromatic aroma throughout the store and even
the rubber boots and cracker barrels had their own distinctive though less
pleasing odors. The codfish and the boxes of herring in the store room
kept up the odoriferous tradition.
Oh, yes! we rapscallions in common
with the regular patrons of Hulett's helped ourselves from time to time to
crackers with a thin slice of cheese, prunes, etc., etc., as the idea
occurred to us. I do not remember ever having been chased away from the
cracker barrel, the prune box or the other places which we patronized; it
must have been the policy of Huletts to figure rapscallions as necessary
nuisances.
And then there were those
tobacco-juice sharpshooters who frequented some of the stores. Of course,
the great majority of gentlemen of leisure in our valley knew nothing of
the joys of tobacco chewing; they made up for the lack in some other way.
Those who were addicted to the filthy habit had a strange attraction for
rapscallions. Bull's-eye shots at distant cuspidors by those who could
handle a quid of chewing tobacco always won the admiration of
hero-worshipping boys. I have seen some fine examples of such
marksmanship.
So-called Indian tobacco grew in
abundance in the pastures and we rapscallions used it as a substitute,
thinking that we might possibly educate ourselves up to the point where we
might use the genuine article, but all efforts failed and I never knew of
any high record of marksmanship achieved by users of Indian tobacco,
though one of our gang could expectorate quite a distance by squirting the
juice between his teeth. Unfortunately, he came of a family that was not
highly respected and we considered his chance of shedding lustre on our
community rather slim.
Wallingford had its quota of those
who made their living without the aid of factories, stores, offices or
other tangible evidences of their existence. In other words, we had some
who made their living by the exercise of their wits.
To the traveler along the creek
road between Wallingford and Rutland, Galusha Haversham, with his flowing
sidewhiskers was a familiar sight. His nose was so wondrously long that it
constituted a picture in its own right, and on his black silk neck-tie, he
sported a diamond cross of dazzling brilliancy. No, Galusha was not a
millionaire as some might suppose; he sold pianos occasionally, but,
according to the best obtainable evidence on the subject-Galusha
himself-what pleased him most was to soak the other fellow in a trade. No
one ever outwitted Galusha. Call him a slicker and his eyes would twinkle
with pride; call him a hypocrite, well that was another matter; such
characterization would have been a reflection on his professional pride.
The blood of the Yankee trader
surged in his veins; wooden nutmegs and basswood hams were not in his
line; that worthy enterprise was monopolized by Connecticut Yankees, but
Galusha was with them in spirit, the idea being to do the other fellow and
to do him first.
Galusha had a flair for
horse-trading. It mattered not to him whether defects were latent or
patent. Galusha could get away with murder when it came to trading horses.
His smile and easy assurance dispelled doubts; it was an honor to be
hornswoggled by the Great Galusha. Oh yes, he was strong on pedigrees. The
more dejected a nag was the greater the need of an impressive pedigree.
Galusha could always fill the need and he did so with convincing
solemnity.
Galusha knew all of the
horse-traders up and down our valley. One after another, he took them all
on, and one after another he took them all in. In the highest degree, he
was resourceful. When seemingly cornered, he could always find a way to
squirm out. For instance, when one of our best known citizens charged
Galusha an outrageous price for a fine colt he had been raising and
refused to take less, Galusha closed the deal at our well-known citizen's
figure on condition, however, that he be permitted to make payment by his
promissory note.
Our well-known citizen chuckled
with glee when he saw Galusha leading the colt out of the barnyard. He
experienced a thrill of seemingly justifiable pride. He had hornswoggled
the Great Galusha and he would be considered the shrewdest horse-trader in
Rutland county henceforth. When, however, he examined the promissory note,
with thoughts of discounting it at the bank, he discovered the fact that
it was made payable "at the maker's convenience" and our well-known
citizen realized that payday on Galusha's promissory note would never,
never come. He had made Galusha a present of a colt, Among other
accomplishments he possessed Galusha was a wizard in doping ancient horses
up so they acted like colts. The only inhibition he had was against
trading horses on Sunday. Being of Puritan stock, he customarily observed
the Lord's Day by refraining from trading horses, unless perchance, too
good an opportunity presented itself; in such event he sometimes
restrained his piety within reasonable bounds.
Though he never operated in gold
mines or gold bricks, he firmly believed in the principles which the
"get-rich-quick" gentry espoused. Some folks from other parts wondered how
it could be possible for descendants of the Pilgrim Fathers to be so
heartless and deceptive in the course of horse-trading; the point is, that
folks from other part do not understand the spirit of such transactions.
Trading horses and other
commodities was a sport relished by both parties however the deal might
turn out. In horse-trading, deception is a natural and honorable part of
the game. When a boxer feints in order to throw his opponent off guard, no
one worries about the deception; it is a part of the game. The horse
traders and the boxers are both interested in one thing-administering the
final wallop; that's what counts.
So Galusha continued in his own
inimitable way, soaking this one and that one but always apparently as
guileless as a new born babe.
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