Worcester Democrat and the ledger-enterprise. (Pocomoke City, Md.) 1921-1953, 1935-09-13
~
from the
Democrats Pen
from the

Well, Sir, every time I hear the
whistle in certain canning house in
Pocomoke, l feel like starting in a
bee line for the steam boat wharf.
And. by the way, whenever hear the
blasts of another tomato factory.
feel like starting cussin'. This one
has a sort of soprano and alto COM
bination and they sound like voices
that have seen better days. Some
times one whistle plays solo; then
the other one goes it alone; then the
two screech out duet and there is as
much harmony to it as seventy-year
old maid tuning up with seventy
five year old bachelor. And this all
takes place just when the morning sun
is making preparations to show itself
above the eastern horizon; just when
a morning nap does the most good.
But business has to go on, tho the
heavens fall.
But to get back to the other whistle:
Any you people remember when the
steamers Maggie, Helen, Tangier,
Eastern Shore, Pocomoke and the rest
of 'em, used to blow for the town
wharf, foot of Market Street? That
was great event in those days. The
x,,Lo1o &ox,,x, JrsF&aJ Jox,,, ~ fha P;uar
to watch the big boats side up to the
wharf very gently, and soon begin to
discharge its cargo. And there were
several things composed that cargo,
too, along about the time the country
thought people were drinking too
much gin for their good. Remember
those jugs, during the gallon-a-month
law?
And can you recall the bearing of
that military looking captain? Man!
he was some pumpkin in that era. He
looked like a brigadier general in his
blue coat, brass buttons and gilt
braid. And to be commander-in-hief
of one of those bay steamers was al
most the same as being governor of
the State. He was big man.
Did you ever take trip from POGO
moke or from Crisfield to Baltimore?
Remember the good eats you used to
get and an appetite you worked up
when you tasted the salt air of the
Sound and Bay? Blest if that boat
company ever made any money out Of
me. ate fifty cents worth (the price
at that time) and then some. Then
after the evening meal was slowed
away, you enjoyed sail up Cor DOWN
the Chesapeake; then climbed into a
berth in one of the cutest little state
rooms you ever saw, and slept till
about 5 o'clock next morning.
About that hour things were not
so pleasant specially when the steve
dores began unloading potatoes. If
anything could make racket, one of
those boat trucks was cit" And those
black boys knew how to handle one of
those rollers. They'd sling a barrel
Of spuds or a 5O0-pound goods box,
just about as easy as I could fork
full Of food to my mouth. 1t was fun
to watch 'em.
But "them days is gone forever"
These old Eastern Shore rivers hard
ly know what the keel of a steamer
feels like. The old whistle, the beau
tiful white steamers, the impressive
captain, the rushing trucks, the bay
trips, the good eats, the coy state
rooms,-all passed into discard. And
why? Because somebody thought out
the gasoline engine. That little put
put-put-a-put affair has increased
speed, reduced costs, catered to mans
convenience, driven the steamers from
the small rivers, and almost made rail
road passenger travel a forgotten
usage.
And with it all has gone a great
deal of the romance of life. The
human race has too much in life to
grasp; it is too complex; inability
to satisfy craving is bringing unhappi-
ness. The former simple existence is
despised. Home life is broken up;
veneration of parents is esteemed
weak. Morals are degenerating. Mod
ernity, in all it's forms, is creating
new man and a new woman. Old
things are despised, and people Of a
back generation are considered just
too awfully, awful slow.
Well, maybe the pendulum will
swing back, but it's made tremen-
dous arc, and it may be years.
C~-~&~. c.