Valley Girl Views: Reminiscences of Milton by J.P. Kohler

In the 1920's, Attorney James Pollock Kohler wrote a series of letters about his early years as a boy in Milton Pa. The Miltonian published them under the heading "Reminiscences of Milton by J.P; Kohler".

This letter, published on July 27 1922 covers entertainments of the day, including Marbles, Mummblepeg, Honey Hunting, Fishing, Pigeon Shoots, and picnic spots

GAMES AND SPORTS

It may be possible, after so many years, to mention many of the games and sports of the Milton people before the great fire, but very difficult to convey an adequate idea of the individual or collective enthusiasm that enlivened the town during the spring and summer months. From the Inviting of the snow in April until the ice came on Thanksgiving Day there was always something doing outdoors to amuse and exercise the growing and grown-ups.

As soon as the walks ard other level spots had dried up and packed out came the marbles which occupied the boyish bent until the waters were warm enough for swimming.

"York" and "Alley" were the two games most played, though there as another where three holes were Jug for a sort of pool game in which the shooter "pocketed" his marble in the holes. York was played in the corridors of the Center street school before and after school and at recess. With a piece of chalk from the blackboard, a smaller circle was drawn within a larger. The marbles were placed in the smaller and shot at from the outer. The players were unlimited in number and the contests were earnest and vigorous. Apprehension and regret always accompanied these games as by were stopped instantaneously by the ringing of the school bell. Outside the circles were drawn with pointed sticks in the packed dirt.

In "alley," a small circle was drawn and each player deposited his marble and then from a distance the shoot-ers rolled for position. The one nearest, had first shot and if at all expert, he might easily win most of the marbles. It was common to see a group of marble players long after supper time at any of the many places picked to play the game. And the boy was not considered much of a sport, who did not have at least one of his pants pockets bulging with marbles, eager and anxious to win or lose more.

Of the many places where the game was played the three most prominent were on the north side of Center street at the corner of Front, where at that time the sidewalk was of cinders and ashes which packed hard and smooth. Another place was the entrance from Broadway into the Wilhelm livery stable, where the dirt was smooth and hard, and the third was alongside the brickhouse of John Houtz, at Broadway and the railroad.

I can still see the eager faces of John Wolfinger, John Houtz, Frank Jordan and Mont. Kunkle, who generally left the game with the most trophies.

This simple game had in it splendid training for the eye and judgment and while the element of chance, which is at the bottom of all the gambling games, entered into it, the winnings and losses were inconsequential, for at Cyrus Brown's, or at Burnman's drug store, marbles sold ten for a penny, while the bull's eyes (shooters) were two for a cent. Of course there were beautiful large glass marbles, varicolored, staring at you from the glass cases that might cost a little silver three cent piece, with a star on one side, or even more.

A very nice lady was religiously discoursing with me upon the wickedness of playing marbles for keeps (instead of for fun) and what it might all lead to if I kept the other boys I marbles, but as she wanted me to drive her cow to pasture far into the country in the morning and bring it home in the evening for a penny a day, her admonitions made such slight impression that I continued the game until I grew out of it, and I have been told by poker players that even a penny in the pot put life in a game that would otherwise have no attraction. And is not the philosophy of life based on the fact that we are willing to take charnes to increase our belongings or better our conditions. Something of the marble spirit must have moved Columbus to sail across the Atlantic to find the Indies, and Cook to circumnavigate the earth and prove, in the face of Scripture, that it did not rest on four legs like a table, but was round like a globe.

Another game that required some deftness, if not cunning, was '"mumbleypeg" (I am not sure of the real name or the spelling). But every boy who had marbles could fish out of his pocket a "Barlow" single-bladed knife -twenty-five cents at Haag's. I will not describe all the moves in the game, from the time you tossed your knife from the flat of each hand, grabbed your right ear tip in the left hand, and, with the other hand crossed, threw the knife by the blade into the sod, up to the last play where, with the knife blade in the sod, the handle was so hit that the blade landed in the sod many feet away. And then how the winner drove a peg into the sod another loser was made to draw it out, or dig it out, with his teeth. This game was played under the trees in the wider part of Upper Maricet street, by the brick' shops and elsewhere, but for the most part under the tall locusts, that stood and made delightful shade where the Pennsy depot now stands.

These locusts once surrounded a church that stood there when the canal was built, and which was moved when the railroad came in. The church building may now be seen at the corner of Walnut street and Academy avenue, where upon its removal as aforesaid, it was changed in to a two family house.

A highly adventurous, painful and profitable sport, indulged in by bare-footed boys during the summer months, was the hunting and routing the bumble bee. I am writing now of a time when there very few houses east of the railroad, excepting on Walnut street. On Broadway, the only house from Kohler's lane to Housel's (near the present city line) was the Mackey house, later Schreyer's and now Dr. Tomlinson's residence. Across Broadway were the Marsh, Horn and Evan's houses, and then nothing till you came to the Simonton farm house. So that on both sides of Broadway were open fields, the lower or southern side belonging to the Kutz farm, whose farm house was down the lane about where the Hepburn street school now stands. There was no Center street east of the railroad and no other streets had been cut through. In short, it was all farm, where wheat and rye and hay was raised and cut as they are today on the farms farther out. It was in this territory, as described, that the bee hunting was conducted by the boys with now and then a girl.

All along the fences was a strip of unplowed and uncultivated field, covered with thick mossy grass. Any_ where in this grass, but especially alongside the fence posts, the bees made their nests. I am not able to say how many bees were in a nest, nor how the nests compared in size, but, as the Chinaman remarked, the bees therein had "velly much hot feet." And it was their hot feet and their honey that gave added charm to the chase.

Not with guns, or bows and arrows, nor with spears, did we approach these nests, but with shingles, Barlow whittled at the thick end into a handle, and with a square hole in the thin end, in one hand and with a small branch of a tree in the other, went we forth, fully armed. I doubt if hunting tigers in the jungle is more exciting. The modus was to proceed along the strip by the fences and with shingle to lightly tap the thick grass. When a nest was tapped the sentinel bee or bees gave the alarm-a hissing sound, momentarily increasing, with emerging bees, told us "The battle was on once more!" (Sheridan's Ride, National Reader, 4th Series).

The skilful hunter, with his shingle, was to hit the bee as he (or she) came from the door of the nest, and if they came to fast, with his tree branch he was to keep them from his face, hands and neck. When they surrounded him in such great numbers that the foot heat became unendurable the hunter gave way, took to the woods, the road or the field with the bees after him; and this was the exciting part of the sport-when the hunter, instead of the bee, was being chased. Swollen lips, noses, ears and closed eyes were the price of the honey, for the bees nearly always lost out and after lifting the moss top from the nest we found honey in wax cells and young bees in various stages of development. The honey was sweet and the 'wax rolled into a ball became a part of the hunter's acquisitions.

At almost any time during a hot day a bunch of boys could be seen, running in either direction on the Broadway road. And while the honey bee was always protected by the wooden or other hives from juvenile curiosity the field bumble bee gave him much to think about and, at times, after the fight, to worry over.

There was too, as there is now, a great deal of quoit pitching. The favorite and most frequented spot being opposite the Pennsy depot in some vacant lots.

On Back (now Elm) street at the rear of Frymire's store was a brick stable, or warehouse, which presented an almost unbroken elevation from ground to roof. Against this brick wall, hand ball was frequently played by full grown men, some of whom were known to be experts and match games were announced.

The church festival of the winter, with its "one oyster in the soup," was offset by the picnic of the summer, and of these there were many, though never enough. From the Lutheran Sunday school room on Mahoning street, with our baskets in our hands, we were led by our teachers, (Mrs. Roat and Mrs. Marsh) across the bridge to the lower island. On the island was a frame house (perhaps Goodman's toll house) and the frame work of a building that in earlier days might have been a mill. The island was dotted with large cotton-wood trees, with sand and grass between and with bathing beach on the far side. It was an ideal place for children and adults, and when the swings were put up and. the games began it was not long before the "eats" were spread. All will admit that the , best part of the picnic is the "spread," unless, perhaps, and I am speaking without experience-a better part might be sitting on the bank of the river with one's best girl.

Up to the great flood of 1865, which carried the bridge away, this island was Milton's picnic ground. After, or during the latter part of the Civil War, a different sort of gathering, perhaps a celebration, was held on ' the upper island, reached for the occasion by pontoon bridges, and light_ ed at night.

After the flood, the picnics were held further from home. By canal boats, crowds were taken from Nagles and Murray's wharves at Broadway to a woods below the Lewisburg cross-cut, and still later to a woods and field at Thornton's, above Kemmerer's mill. No merrier crowds ever went picnicking by steamer thin went out of little old Milton on the decks of these mule pulled boats.

During several summers, a grove at Rupert, below Catawissa, was very popular for picnic purposes and the little old Catawissa railroad took yellow carloads of picnickers there.

The two cemeteries, while I think of it, were much frequented on Sunday afternoons by the younger set. Parts of the upper cemetery were well shaded and it had benches and attractive grass spots that lured the young on hot afternoons. I have found it in later years to reach with a book, by the back road, stopping at the spring where I slaked my boyish thirst, and from which flows the little run that cooled my bare feet. Once, while taking the aforementioned cow out to the pasture over this back road, the cow suddenly shied and stopped and when I came up I saw a snake as long as the road was wide slowly crawling from the woods out over the road. Perhaps it was going for a drink in the brook. And now that we have a society for the study and protection of snakes, as the farmers' best friend, I must feel kindly towards that reptile, though at the time it gave me quite a scare. But I never saw it the second time. Perhaps the poor thing was scared more a than the cow or I was. From these woods where dwelt the snake, we cut our Christmas trees.

And was there any hunting and fishing in those days? Yes, lots of it Black bear and deer, killed in the mountains across the river, were sold in Milton. Rabbits were very plentiful. They were often seen, when the snow fell, being chased by dogs and hunters between Kohler's Lane and Mackey's. And wild pigeons, during the winters of deep snows, flew southward in clouds. One winter thou-sands were caught under nets back of the woods of the Follmer farm east of the lower cemetery. Young as I was, I was the proud possessor of a double barreled pistol and a single barreled shotgun. My pistol lacked the ordinary hammers, so, when I loaded it and put on the caps, I held it with my left hand and with a small hand hammer, I managed to produce the explosion (noise) so dear to every boyish heart. Of course, I never hit anything. With my gun, however, I managed to miss some pigeons and hit a small boy, (Thompson Marsh, Esq., will confirm) with slight damage.

My deepest chagrin came just after a deep snow when the wild pigeons were flying thick. Hundreds were out with their guns, and I with mine in a woods east of the lower cemetery. A flock stopped on a big tree to survey the net set for them. I cocked my single barrel and in moving towards them I fell over a tree and into the snow and wet the powder in my gun. These Pigeons saw me and wanted. They were apparently dis-cussing whether 'twere best to be caught in a net or shot by a gun. Food I was scarce and they probably were tired tram traveling sand didn't care which happened. I stood under the tree with loaded gun, a pigeon for every shot. I aimed and pulled; but the powder was wet. They waited. I took off the cap dug out the powder, put in dry powder and put on the cap and again ,aimed and pulled. Nothing doing! Imagine my disgust. Several times I tried, and failed, And they turned their heads and looked right down at me and still waited. But finally, disgusted as much as I was, they flew over into the field, where the net was set, and became pigeon potpie later. For several successive , winters, wild pigeons flew in great numbers, and we also heard wild geese and ducks going south in the fall.

The fishing was tolerable. I have caught trout with red worms at Whetham, near Renovo, but we had only catfish, eels, suckers, sunfish and now and then a perch around Milton. My father had little tolerance for my piscatory propensities. He did not forbid, but he discouraged. He held that men who liked to fish never amounted to much. Perhaps he was right in my case. Nevertheless, Cyrus Brown had the rods, lines, hooks and sinkers, and bait was plentiful. Sitting on the canal back, above the upper pool, after a good rain, a good big catfish would bite at- every worm, They came from the pools where they seldom bit, out into the canal to get into the muddy water during and after the rain and there became victims of numerous fishermen who knew their habits. Parties went in those days to Muncy Darn and did well. Frequently with my rod and bait, would I walk up the track or towpath after breakfast and sit on the bank of Kemmerer's dam till the sun went down and then walk back home without a bite to eat. I must have been some fisherman, if my luck did not repay my zeal.

And here, before me, is an invitation from a then "Milton boy" Dudley T. Mervine) to go with him to Colorado to fish for trout in the headwaters of the Colorado river, where trout can really be found -but I can't get away. What luck!

JAMES P. KOHLER.

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