Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1918-03-23
GOV. PENNYPACKER
ENDS LIFE STORY
Last Words in Autobiography
Were Written With Left Hand
After Right Arm Had Been
Broken
rENNyrAcKER AUToBioGRAPHY--No. ios

climbed to the roof. | pointed to a man
about five feet four inches in height thin
and swarthy, what the French would call
'Chetif,' with dark eyes and handy legs,
who lounged against the fence.
His name vas Prown. lie Ifs In de
woods back of Reeds mill Dere he makes
paskets out of white oak and hickory.
Dere ain't any of dem olt pasket.makers
arount any more. lie learnt TO make pas
kets from his grandfather old George
Prown. Oft George has peen tead 1t vas
dirty years or more Ven he vas alife
yet he about de country wiss his
back all covered wiss paskets so ven you
look at him you could see noting but
paskets. lie makes all kinds of paskets
out of straw and hickory and de rount
pread paskets, Do you hafe rye pread at
your house,"
mo, John, We don't use rye bread"
We'll, ven vas poy it vas de only
kind of pread We had. It vas right goot
You can't get any rye flour now. De
millers Grind all de meal out of de flour.
But my mutter she sift it for herself.
Dere is no more such dimes as dem vas
Diese fellow want me to gife him an olt
pair OF poots Dere is an olt pair in de
parn vat is vore out and no goot any
more but he says dey is goot."
u suppose he finds life little hard"
1T is all his own fault. He Is too lazy
to work. And ven de huntn' season comes
along you can nefer catch him at home
He is off after rappits He Ifs cheap,
puys ot stale pread and eats rappits"
Brown carried off the old boots.
The homely arts which once supported
these people have been swept away by the
onward march of events, and those who
have only learned the crafts OF their
grandfathers have dwindled with them.
There were three of us-my brother
Isaac MY son Aubrey and myself, who
called on John the morning before Easter
In 1913. lie came into the room after a
short delay wearing a rough wooden Jacket
with bone buttons.
John, have YOU been in bed taking
| nap?" I inquired.
wen I sleeps in de taytlme | sleeps In
| de parn," was the answer
We drifted TO the profits OF farming at
| the suggestion of Isaac
Your brodder and I've both warns de
'"''S '"S "iiN VIC potI hllONS now We make
out. Ach, it all depends, sometimes We
gets soot fellow to work. and sometimes
IL is de udder way. ] vonce had fellow
and ven he came to me he had noddlng-
| maybe years wages. l nefer had TO dell
| him vat to do. lie chust do It, He looks
out vor me and vor himself. too. Ach, he
| cot along. Ven ! wants to gife him some-
ding lie say no, but ! makes It UP to him
| some odder way. Ven he goes away he had
| fifteen hundred tollars lie vas de right
kind but dere is no more now like he vas"
How long did he work for you, John?"
Nineteen years" Then he changed the
topic.
Isaac, you are chua like my Uncle Sam
! He vas a tall, slim fellow and vas a Great
| man to walk. lie said he nefer liked TO
ride in wagon because it made him so
tired"
July 8, 1918
We were sitting, my brother James and
l. on the green in the shade of a hickory
tree (ps nuo whose spreading and grace.
ful branches swung far out in search OF
air, when John came driving along. In
the field beyond the farmers loaded the
timothy hay on the wagon.
IVY don't you fellows get up and go to
vork?' was his greeting.
| And then he told us OF the time when his
| grandfather John, who had owned the
ground on which we were lying, had first
seen a railroad train II was about to
start on the Reading road and he drove
over. to Royersford five miles, to inspect
| the phenomenon.
We'll, vat did you sink of it?" wa. the
inquiry when he reached home
"It is nasty sing TO frighten horses"
he replied.
when We're you last in the city?" my
brother inquired. The city was Phladel-
phia, twenty-seven miles away.
"It vas apout dree years ago" said
John. Then, turning TO me, II hafe some
ding 7 want to glfe you. wish had seen
you before you vent to Gettysburg" and
| as he drove away, I heard come ofer
vonce.' The gift soon was sent to my
house and proved TO be pair of old leather
saddle bags in good preservation.
August I, 1914.
| This afternoon John rambled along with
very little consecutiveness of thought, but
ever entertaining.
| DO you want to puy a horse? Dere
vas man offered me a horse-dat vas yes
terday--for sixty-hve tolars. You don't
hafe to pay as much for horses chust
now as you did pefore harfest. But den
he vas seventeen years olt. Maybe you
don't want a horse so olt. Sometimes
desc olt horses is fiery goot on a warm.
hafe worked out a goot many olt horses
Put would nefer sell 'em. A man offered
me a hundred tollars for horse twenty.
two years olt but he did not get him"
MY grandfather, Chon Pannebacker,
built the stone house vat you own. He
vas blacksmith. The Ground vas nearly
all covered with woods. He used charcoal
Dere vas no hart coal In dose days, and
| dau had fn keen the fire half covared I'm