Sunday brought two Old Home Days. In the morning I told stories in South Sutton at the Old Meeting House. In the afternoon, it was North Wilmot (see previous entry) where some of my folks come from. A bunch of them were there -- Chet, Althea, Mike, Betty. They came from far away to visit the old place on Old Home Day.
FYI in 1899 Gov. Frank Rollins declared Old Home Week for New Hampshire, exhorting those who’d heeded the call of Horace Greeley (also a New Hampshire lad) to “Go West” to return for a visit at least. A lot of people did, and still do.
In South Sutton a man told this “true” story. (Ain’t they all?)
Friend Johnson was a logger and retired railroad man who lived in Colebrook. One day, as Friend was enjoying a Moxie on the porch of the general store, a shiny car with New York plates pulled up out front.
“Say, Friend,” said the slicker, “do you know how to get to Errol.”
“How’d you know my name was Friend?” Friend said.
“Wild-ass guess,” the slicker said.
“Well,” says Friend, “why don’t you take a wild-ass guess about how to get to Errol.”
In North Wilmot, three hours later, a man told me this “true” story. (If they ain’t exactly true, they’re true-ish.)
Slim Robbins from, of all places, South Sutton, was a tall, lanky, quiet kind of guy. One day Slim was out mowing his lawn, when a big Buick with Massachusetts plates pulled up. “Hey, Slim,” the outta-stata says, “Do you know how to get to Warner?”
“How’d you know my name is Slim?” Slim says.
“Wild guess.”
“Well, why don’t you take a wild guess as to how to get to Warner.”
Which just goes to show, a good story is like a head cold, it’s contagious.
In South Sutton, town folk dress in vintage clothing for the Old Home Day celebration.
That’s Jody Wells on the left, his dad George in the middle, and the Rev. Henry W. Fleming Sr. on the right. Reverend Henry officiates over the goings-on at the meetinghouse, delivers the sermon, leads the prayer, and heckles the guest speaker (i.e., me). George uses his feather duster, a.k.a., tickler, to keep the congregation awake. Jody collects the offerings. If the offering offered by certain congregants seems stingy (a wooden nickel, for example), he holds it up for all to see, and Reverend Henry writes the offender’s name in a little book, for future reference.
The photo above shows George, Henry, a fella I don’t know, and a headless lady. Note her ghost face in the mirror. Note that in her ghostly incarnation, her head’s on backwards.
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