The annual Labor Day weekend in my hometown was very special. It served as the official end of summer. The day following the holiday, the hundreds of kids and young people who lived in our area would head off to school and another nine months of classroom drudgery.
But that weekend, starting on Friday evening, was one for celebration. It was an opportunity to get away from the house, to literally mingle with the crowds who attended the many events, and to share in the laughter and excitement.
In those days the two main streets of town – Sycamore and Maple – were closed off to vehicular traffic in the downtown area of the community. Although they were officially state highway routes, wooden barricades were emplaced, and the area roped off to pedestrian traffic only. (It wouldn’t be possible to get away with that now; the state highway folks would object strenuously).
All along the streets could be found various games of chance, booths with products for sale, great places to purchase snacks and treats. Kids and adults alike gathered around the ring-toss game, attempting to win one of the colorful wooden canes with the decorated heads by tossing a wooden ring over it. A huge wheel, with images of dice in various configurations generally stood on one of the street corners. The man running the game, as often as not was Wayne Henry, the local volunteer fire chief. He would entice folks to step up to the railing, and to place their bets on the various markings provided for that purpose. Coins and currency would be laid on the counter, Wayne would step to the wheel to give it a vigorous turn, and anticipation would be heavy in the air as the huge wheel went ‘round and ‘round. Eventually it would stop, and some lucky patron doubled or tripled his bet. Most however walked away, empty-handed to find some other avenue of entertainment.
There was a tent or sheltered area with tables and chairs, and a host of volunteers who scurried back and forth taking food orders from patrons. There were thick slices of luscious fresh-baked fruit pies, still warm with juices oozing out of the crusts. Apple, cherry, peach, berry, lemon, and even rhubarb pies were available for purchase. There were also inviting slices of cakes – chocolate, white, yellow, marbled, each with thick layers of icing and cream fillings. To top it all off, there were canisters of home-made ice cream – vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry – just waiting to be dipped and served. Nothing tasted better than a slab of white cake with rich, creamy icing, covered with hand-packed, homemade vanilla ice cream! Needless to say, the area was one of the favorite parts of the weekend’s festivities.
The Loveland cousins, Ronnie and Kelly, would bring their home-built go-carts to the festival. They would set up their concession on one of the pedestrian paths, and charge kids and adults alike for the privilege of driving their speedy, plywood constructed, gas powered cars up and down the street.
One of the old fire engines would be pulled out of the garage where it was stored, and put into service as a static exhibit for kids to climb upon and over while exploring all of its many features. Once several kids and assembled, the old truck would be fired up and driven up and down the street, the bell clanging or the siren wailing its warning to “get out of the way!”
The Firemen fast-pitch softball team would generally play a game or double-header at the local ball park. These young adult-to-middle-age men were known throughout the state for their skill and expertise on the ball diamond. Back in the day, fast-pitch softball was one of the many sporting events enjoyed by the public. North Lewisburg was happy to host the Firemen, state-level champions.
Friends, family, and neighbors would gather in small groups at various places around the Festival grounds. Conversations ran rampant about the events of the past summer, the highlights of vacation trips, sons and daughters going off to college, and plans for the coming holiday season. There was a lot of hand-shaking, back-slapping, laughter and loud talk. There was bragging, and questioning, lying, and just plain nonsense. But, it was a fun time to gather and to renew acquaintances after the summer’s work and activities.
The old festival, now known as the Fall Festival, is still an on-going annual event in North Lewisburg. Highways 559 and 245 are no longer shut off with traffic rerouted to side streets. The downtown area is no longer reserved for the many, many activities which once bustled there. Most events and activities today have been relocated to the community ball park. The old, familiar faces of the townsfolk which used to make up the crowds have been replaced with younger faces. So very many of the “old folks” are gone – the years have taken their toll. New people, who have no real idea of the fun and games which used to be so vital a part of this community, stroll by the park to “see what is happening” primarily just to get out of the house and away from the television for a few minutes.
If we had a magical time machine, it would be fun to hop aboard, and to set the dials for a trip back to 1958, 1959, or 1960. It would be fun to hear the machine go through its process and to eventually transport us back to that simpler time. It would be fun to walk the area around the intersection of Maple and Sycamore Streets, to see the familiar faces, to hear the familiar voices and sounds, to smell the pies, cakes, ice tea and firecrackers. It would be fun to hear the barkers calling our attention to the games of chance or the special exhibits. It would be fun to experience all of these wonderful things, and to be a kid once again.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Sunday, September 5, 2010
In Memory of Dave Woodruff
I am always deeply saddened when I receive word of the death of an old friend from the North Lewisburg area. Although I have lived away from the community for the better part of 39 years, my roots are still there. I look forward to the occasional trips “home” to walk the familiar streets, and to visit with familiar faces. As time passes, and death takes its toll of those I knew, I am deeply moved.
John David Woodruff -“Dave” to his family and many friends and who died just recently - was one of those familiar faces in our hometown. In the 1960s I had worked with him as an employee of the Champaign County Highway Department. He had a great sense of humor, and a knack for pulling pranks. Sometimes I bore the brunt of his jokes and pranks, but I knew it was always in fun. His laughter could light up a room. And his wisecracking was legendary.
One night around Christmas 1962, the weather had turned very severe. The wind was blowing and the snow was falling. The county road crews were called out to clear the fast-falling snow from the highways. I was attending a holiday party at the home of Tom and Evelyn Arthur, owners of the town’s I.G.A. grocery store, along with some of the other store employees. One of them happened to be Don Woodruff, Dave’s brother, who was also a county employee. When Don received the call to report to the county highway garage in Urbana, I asked him if I could tag along. He said yes, and we were soon driving around town gathering up other snowplow drivers. The trip to Urbana was slow and hectic because of the accumulating snow.
Upon arrival at the garage, the men spread out to check their trucks, to fuel up, and to prepare to head out to their assigned roadways. I followed along with Clarence Foster, and was granted permission to ride “shotgun” in his truck. The next several hours were tedious and stressful as we traveled the roadways clearing them for vehicular travel. It was dark, it was cold, the snow was still falling heavily, and we seemed to be making little progress in defeating it. Other drivers were experiencing the same monotonous drudgery. It was a tiring process, seemingly without much reward.
Suddenly, Dave’s booming voice could be heard over the radio system which united the trucks with headquarters. “I don’t care what your name is,” he shouted, “get those damn reindeer off the road!”
I don’t recall exactly where we were on one of the county’s roads when I heard that radio message. I will never forget it, or the laughter it evoked in me. In my mind’s eye, I could easily picture Dave shouting at Santa to move his sleigh and reindeer so he could clear the roadway. It was a bright and shining moment during the storm, and brought laughter to a lot of men who were performing a lonely duty that night. It broke the tension and gave us all something to talk about later in the morning.
I saw a great deal of Dave over the next several years before I moved away. He was a familiar sight at the ballpark. His son Derek played on a little league baseball team which I coached, and Dave was always there to show fatherly support. Sadly, Derek passed away earlier this year.
To Dave’s wife Karen, his large extended family, and to his many friends, I offer up my most sincere sympathies. He will be sorely missed.
John David Woodruff -“Dave” to his family and many friends and who died just recently - was one of those familiar faces in our hometown. In the 1960s I had worked with him as an employee of the Champaign County Highway Department. He had a great sense of humor, and a knack for pulling pranks. Sometimes I bore the brunt of his jokes and pranks, but I knew it was always in fun. His laughter could light up a room. And his wisecracking was legendary.
One night around Christmas 1962, the weather had turned very severe. The wind was blowing and the snow was falling. The county road crews were called out to clear the fast-falling snow from the highways. I was attending a holiday party at the home of Tom and Evelyn Arthur, owners of the town’s I.G.A. grocery store, along with some of the other store employees. One of them happened to be Don Woodruff, Dave’s brother, who was also a county employee. When Don received the call to report to the county highway garage in Urbana, I asked him if I could tag along. He said yes, and we were soon driving around town gathering up other snowplow drivers. The trip to Urbana was slow and hectic because of the accumulating snow.
Upon arrival at the garage, the men spread out to check their trucks, to fuel up, and to prepare to head out to their assigned roadways. I followed along with Clarence Foster, and was granted permission to ride “shotgun” in his truck. The next several hours were tedious and stressful as we traveled the roadways clearing them for vehicular travel. It was dark, it was cold, the snow was still falling heavily, and we seemed to be making little progress in defeating it. Other drivers were experiencing the same monotonous drudgery. It was a tiring process, seemingly without much reward.
Suddenly, Dave’s booming voice could be heard over the radio system which united the trucks with headquarters. “I don’t care what your name is,” he shouted, “get those damn reindeer off the road!”
I don’t recall exactly where we were on one of the county’s roads when I heard that radio message. I will never forget it, or the laughter it evoked in me. In my mind’s eye, I could easily picture Dave shouting at Santa to move his sleigh and reindeer so he could clear the roadway. It was a bright and shining moment during the storm, and brought laughter to a lot of men who were performing a lonely duty that night. It broke the tension and gave us all something to talk about later in the morning.
I saw a great deal of Dave over the next several years before I moved away. He was a familiar sight at the ballpark. His son Derek played on a little league baseball team which I coached, and Dave was always there to show fatherly support. Sadly, Derek passed away earlier this year.
To Dave’s wife Karen, his large extended family, and to his many friends, I offer up my most sincere sympathies. He will be sorely missed.
That Old Time Religion
When the Reverend Raymond Gram and his wife Evelyn came to North Lewisburg in the 1950s to take over the spiritual and social leadership of the congregation which composed the Friends Church, there was little fanfare. They were just another young couple, tasked with the duties associated with their calling in the old church.
They moved into the parsonage on north Sycamore Street, their old blue Ford automobile parked adjacent to the street. They were welcomed into the community by the members of the Society of Friends, and went about their responsibilities with dedication. Raymond supplemented their meager income working as a bus driver for the local school district.
Sundays became somewhat special in that part of the town when the members of the congregation met for services. Word soon went throughout the community that a new, vibrant pastor was manning the pulpit. His melodious, booming voice could be heard as he led the people in song, or as he preached a sermon with fervor. His wife, Evelyn, added to the new spirit within the little church as she told stories from the scriptures, visually creating them with characters and scenery on a large flannel board.
Attendance at the church increased as young people, attracted by the youthful minister and his family, arrived for services. Curtains were strung on wires and pulled into positions to separate the large sanctuary into smaller, more intimate classrooms. A youth program was established, which included Friday night trips to the Y.M.C.A. – in far away Springfield – for swimming sessions. The summer’s treat was Vacation Bible School, with activities, crafts, and treats to welcome each of the young participants.
Few of us knew the history of the old church building, and of the people who contributed to that history. We simply enjoyed attending there – singing the songs, listening with rapt attention to the stories, and participating in the fellowship.
That fellowship stretched into the distant past, long before most of us were even born. The early pioneers who had traveled from Virginia, Pennsylvania - and even as far away as North Carolina - were members of the Society of Friends – Quakers. Their simple rites of worship were held in members’ homes until the first meeting house was erected in 1842.
That old, frame building stood on the same ground which was later occupied by a much larger, brick building, erected in 1879. The old records show that the cost of the building (about $4245) was borne by Joshua Winder, one of the early settlers of the area. He left the money as one of the provisions of his last will and testament.
Hiram Pierce contracted to build the new meeting house. By 1879, it was fulfilling its purpose. Worshippers would travel by foot, horseback, and buggy to attend the regular meetings.
Another pastor even made area history – In 1890, Reverend Hannah Parvis, female minister of the Friends Church, was granted authority to perform marriages by the Judge of the Probate Court for Champaign County. She was the first female pastor in Champaign County to be given such authority.
Services ended in the old building in 1997, after nearly 120 years of use.
From time to time, members of the old congregation died and were buried in the little cemetery which was created on church property. One of the earliest burials was that of Phebe Winder on March 14, 1842. Many others followed over the course of the next forty years or so. The last burial was probably that of Caroline Pim on May 18, 1885. Surnames of those interred in the cemetery, which can still be found among the current residents of North Lewisburg and the area, include Berry, Brown, Cowgill, and Gibson. Some of the town’s streets bear other familiar names such as Townsend and Winder.
Harmon Limes, Jr., (1791-1861), the town’s first marshal, a lawman, is buried in the little cemetery.
Over the years, Linda Limes Ellis, a descendant of Harmon Limes, and a volunteer, has led the effort for preservation of the cemetery. She and her husband have spent hours of effort in cleaning up the burial ground, resetting stones, and recording the inscriptions before they vanish with time and decay. Today, the cemetery grounds are regularly maintained by Bob Davis, Jr., a dedicated village employee.
Through the efforts of many folks in the community, the old church building has been recognized as an Ohio historical site in recent years. A memorial to that effect now stands on the church grounds. The preserved, and updated building is also serving the community as a branch of the Champaign County Public Library.
If you should visit the site some quiet afternoon, just before the sun sets beyond the western horizon, you might be fortunate enough to hear the sound of gospel music, the laughter of children, or the booming voice of one of the many pastors who once pointed the way. Or maybe – just maybe – you will only hear the sound of a gentle breeze as it works its way through the trees near the cemetery. Hush, and be still – you are standing on holy, historic ground.
They moved into the parsonage on north Sycamore Street, their old blue Ford automobile parked adjacent to the street. They were welcomed into the community by the members of the Society of Friends, and went about their responsibilities with dedication. Raymond supplemented their meager income working as a bus driver for the local school district.
Sundays became somewhat special in that part of the town when the members of the congregation met for services. Word soon went throughout the community that a new, vibrant pastor was manning the pulpit. His melodious, booming voice could be heard as he led the people in song, or as he preached a sermon with fervor. His wife, Evelyn, added to the new spirit within the little church as she told stories from the scriptures, visually creating them with characters and scenery on a large flannel board.
Attendance at the church increased as young people, attracted by the youthful minister and his family, arrived for services. Curtains were strung on wires and pulled into positions to separate the large sanctuary into smaller, more intimate classrooms. A youth program was established, which included Friday night trips to the Y.M.C.A. – in far away Springfield – for swimming sessions. The summer’s treat was Vacation Bible School, with activities, crafts, and treats to welcome each of the young participants.
Few of us knew the history of the old church building, and of the people who contributed to that history. We simply enjoyed attending there – singing the songs, listening with rapt attention to the stories, and participating in the fellowship.
That fellowship stretched into the distant past, long before most of us were even born. The early pioneers who had traveled from Virginia, Pennsylvania - and even as far away as North Carolina - were members of the Society of Friends – Quakers. Their simple rites of worship were held in members’ homes until the first meeting house was erected in 1842.
That old, frame building stood on the same ground which was later occupied by a much larger, brick building, erected in 1879. The old records show that the cost of the building (about $4245) was borne by Joshua Winder, one of the early settlers of the area. He left the money as one of the provisions of his last will and testament.
Hiram Pierce contracted to build the new meeting house. By 1879, it was fulfilling its purpose. Worshippers would travel by foot, horseback, and buggy to attend the regular meetings.
Another pastor even made area history – In 1890, Reverend Hannah Parvis, female minister of the Friends Church, was granted authority to perform marriages by the Judge of the Probate Court for Champaign County. She was the first female pastor in Champaign County to be given such authority.
Services ended in the old building in 1997, after nearly 120 years of use.
From time to time, members of the old congregation died and were buried in the little cemetery which was created on church property. One of the earliest burials was that of Phebe Winder on March 14, 1842. Many others followed over the course of the next forty years or so. The last burial was probably that of Caroline Pim on May 18, 1885. Surnames of those interred in the cemetery, which can still be found among the current residents of North Lewisburg and the area, include Berry, Brown, Cowgill, and Gibson. Some of the town’s streets bear other familiar names such as Townsend and Winder.
Harmon Limes, Jr., (1791-1861), the town’s first marshal, a lawman, is buried in the little cemetery.
Over the years, Linda Limes Ellis, a descendant of Harmon Limes, and a volunteer, has led the effort for preservation of the cemetery. She and her husband have spent hours of effort in cleaning up the burial ground, resetting stones, and recording the inscriptions before they vanish with time and decay. Today, the cemetery grounds are regularly maintained by Bob Davis, Jr., a dedicated village employee.
Through the efforts of many folks in the community, the old church building has been recognized as an Ohio historical site in recent years. A memorial to that effect now stands on the church grounds. The preserved, and updated building is also serving the community as a branch of the Champaign County Public Library.
If you should visit the site some quiet afternoon, just before the sun sets beyond the western horizon, you might be fortunate enough to hear the sound of gospel music, the laughter of children, or the booming voice of one of the many pastors who once pointed the way. Or maybe – just maybe – you will only hear the sound of a gentle breeze as it works its way through the trees near the cemetery. Hush, and be still – you are standing on holy, historic ground.
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