The West Virginian. [volume] (Fairmont, W. Va.) 1914-1974, 1917-09-06
Evening Chat
REMEMBERING.


The writer is not quite gray and de-
crepit, yet memory carries some
vivid childhood recollections Of flour.
ishing Fairmont as country village
Very wonderful is the transition of a
village to city; almost as quickly
accomplished in these times as the
deception OF magician's wand, and
much more fascinating to observe. 1t
also stirs to humor when the realiza'
ton strikes home that village never
under any provocation will admit be-
ing a village. 1t is always our thirty
ing and hustling town or commun-
ity" until its city charter hangs in a
halo of glory upon the wall of the
municipal hall. Then with a long
breath of joyous relief, some one i'm.
mediately begins to refer to the time
when "our city was but small vii.
lage" enhancing the splendor of the
present, by bearing down little
hand on the conditions Of the past,
Always was" never sis"
Even as the magic Of "once upon
D time!" was wrought amid rosy
clouds OF mist and flames, to dazzle
the eyes Of the beholder, so, to the
writer, the evolution Of Fairmont was
emphasized and spaced by its meth
DDS Of illumination. Nothing is so
attractive to child as light. This
is why these particular impressions
remain SO distinct and clear. Like
a picture on a scren there appears
Fairmont's Main street at the closing
in of a winter evening; with no tall
buildings to obscure, the western sky
shows a thin line Of cold, pale, vel,
low, and the thick purple shadows are
rapidly advancing out Of the small
valleys, then so distinctly converging
through the site Of the city, toward
the river.
Down the length of the street a
strong young father is making rapid
progress, bearing a child in his arms.
There is the swift crunch, and scat.
tering fragments Of frozen slush as
he seeks footing on the icy sidewalks,
and, there, preceding them in the dis
lance, goes the lamp-lighter! He
bears short step ladder. Pausing,
he mounts beside the lamp post, there
is a moments fumbling with a door,
or slide, in the lamp, the sputter and
sparkle of a match, and then the soft,
clear radiance bursts out like the
sudden opening of primrose. One
by one they bloom under his touch,
and the child watches breathlessly.
The question often arises, who was
the lamp.lighter? His movemnt were
the easy, assured motions OF youth;
some where in the city he may yet
be living, indeed, should yet be liV-
ing-this man who hurried through
the shadows leaving trial OF light
behind. All through this memory
there dwells the silvery music of
sleigh bells-near and far, loud and
faint, a confused accompaniment of
those winter days which made the
snow covered streets of the village
a Joy never to come again. There
would be the grinding sound Of the
sled runners as some belated farmer
was making speedy way out of Fair
mont to his own home miles beyond.
A shouted greeting returned in kind
by the recipient comes again through
the ears Of childhood. The great,
sofet, red and green lights of
Christy's drug store, caused the child
to twist in the fathers arms. That
mysterious, bottled, splendor! Not
for years afterward did that infant
discover that those wonders were the
production of sordld every day lamps
cleverly concealed in the rear. No
to childish eyes that colorful liquid
radiated its own brilliancy, and the
longing to possess such marvel lin
gered over till the day of disillusion
The memory of the street lamp
ends with a grand fandango danced
on the door step OF little brown
house which stood just below the site
Of the Hippodrome.
Thus, freed of the clinging snow
and slush, there was the sudden en-
trance to warmth and welcome, after
one last, backward look at the mel
low, mounted glow. against the dingy
blackness of the "old shot tower
across the way.
And then to an extended and noisieI
town came the fare OF the gas lights
Either the observation was not made
under happy circumstances, or they
really were the bobbling, uncertain
unbeautiful objects that memory pre-
seEts them. Perhaps they represent
that phase of city development wher
growth and industry so pressIngly
claimed the attention OF the govern
ing influence, that beauty and sym
metry were ignored or forgotten. The
writer recalls an awkward child fol