The Literature Committee arranged for subscriptions to Collier’s and Leslie’s magazines, and a member donated a copy of a book that had been a best-seller since 1901: Mrs.
Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch.
The Purchasing Committee then bought an invalid’s chair for $18—and a blanket for it, costing $2.25. The Work Committee kept on sewing: sheets, pillowcases, doilies for the sideboard, napkins, bedspreads, more towels, more bandages.
Meanwhile, the Ways and Means Committee bubbled with ideas. They considered selling postcard views of the hospital. They thought about publishing a cookbook, or a
“receipt book”, as it was called in those days. They staged a social affair called a “10-cent coffee” and cleared $12.70 for the treasury. An ice-cream social brought in $12. A Tag Day and a public supper helped support the hospital’s needs.
A crying need was a mangle for the laundry room, but it would cost $116—an enormous sum, it seemed. All ef-forts were then concentrated on the Mangle Fund. A Ju-
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Short & Tall Tales nior Auxiliary of eighty-six young people was formed to help raise money. On March 13, thirteen hostesses invited guests to thirteen “13-cent coffees” and realized $15.06.
The first charity ball in 1908 netted the princely sum of $72.89.
Meanwhile, committees had been organized in other towns. Their particular responsibility was the hospital pantry, and they worked hard at canning home-grown fruits and vegetables and making jellies for the pantry shelves.
Not only was the Auxiliary able to purchase that mangle, but they raised money for the first electric appliances: first, an electric iron for the laundry room, then in 1911 the first electric washing machine.
And the Work Committee kept on sewing!
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18.
Emmaline and the
Spiral Staircase
Both Have Been Gone for
a Hundred Years, But . . .
On every dark and stormy night, they say, Emmaline can be seen walking up the stairs that are no longer there. On one dark and stormy night, I was there!
—JMQ
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On the farm and adjoining the Goodwinter Farmhouse museum there is an old Victorian mansion with a tower built by Captain Fugtree, an American war hero of the nineteenth century. He had a daughter, Emmaline, who was in love with Samson Goodwinter. Her father, not thinking highly of the Goodwinters, forbade her to see Samson. Nevertheless, Emmaline would go into the tower and signal the Goodwinter farmhouse, and the lovers would meet on the banks of the creek.
Then Samson was thrown from his horse and killed, and two weeks later, their child was born. Considering the mind-set of that period in history it’s possible to imagine that the baby was taken away, and the young mother was shunned by family and friends. One thing is known: Emmaline went to the tower “on a dark and stormy night”, opened a window, and jumped to her death. Her infuriated 쑽쑽쑽
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Lilian Jackson Braun father responded by ripping out the spiral staircase and replacing it with a conventional flight of stairs.
Now flash-forward a hundred years or more. Emmaline’s granddaughter, Kristi, is living in the old house and raising goats. And on every dark and stormy night she turns off the lights and watches the shadowy form of her grandmother ascending the spiral stairs—the stairs that were ripped out long ago. “She’s so beautiful,” Kristi murmurs.
On one occasion the new museum manager and myself were honored by an invitation to the solemn event, and we agreed with Kristi that Emmaline was beautiful.
We said good night and left Kristi in a state of radiant transfixation.
On the way back to the museum, we walked in silence for a while until I said, “It was an interesting evening.”
“Yeah,” he said, “but the house was kind of damp and chilly.” There was another silence before he blurted, “Tell me honestly, Qwill. Did you see Emmaline?”
I took a deep breath and said, “No. . . . Did you?”
“Not really.”
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19.
The Curious Fate
of the Jenny Lee
Commercial Fishermen Think
They Know What Happened
John Bushland, a commercial photographer, was showing off his new cabin cruiser, the View Finder , and we anchored in a cove for a picnic lunch. I said, “For a landlubber, Bushy, you know your way around the lake pretty well.” He not only corrected me, but an en-lightening conversation ensued. As usual, I had a tape recorder in my pocket, and I let him do most of the talking.
—JMQ
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You’ve got me wrong, Qwill. I was born and brought up near the lake. I relocated in Lockmaster when I married. Believe me, it’s good to be back here. I have a passion for fishing and boating. You probably never heard this, but my family was in commercial fishing for three generations before my grandfather sold out to the Scottens. He was always telling me about the herring business in the twenties and thirties. They used wooden boats and cotton nets—
and no echo sounders or radio phones. You wouldn’t believe what fishermen went through in those days.”
“Try me,” I said, always curious about someone else’s business.
“Well, the Bushland Fisheries regularly shipped hundred-pound kegs of dried salted herring Down Below, salt being the preservative in those days, before refrigeration. And here’s the interesting part: The kegs went to Pennsylvania, 쑽쑽쑽
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Lilian Jackson Braun West Virginia, and other coal-producing states, and the miners practically lived on herring. They could buy it for four cents a pound. The fishermen got a penny a pound and worked their tails off to get it. They were up before dawn, out on the lake in open boats in all kinds of weather, hauling heavy nets till their backs nearly broke, filling the boats to the gunnels with fish, and racing back to shore to dress it. Sometimes they worked half the night—salting it, pack-ing it, and loading it on a freight car before the locomotive backed up and hauled the car away.”