AMHERST IN AULD LANG SYNE

I am requested to recall a few memories of the days fifty and more years ago. If I incidentally tell you of a few things I don't remember, you must pardon me. Sixty years ago, Amherst was pathless and practically unknown, save by roaming Indians, who leaving the Wolf or perhaps the Wisconsin rivers, camped on the beautiful stream, Tomorrow, in their language, Waupaca.

Its hills and valleys, lakes and streams, shaped in the Ice age or glacial period, covered by soil and vegetation, the deposit of uncounted centuries, spread out a vision of beauty awaiting the hand of man, and many civilizing influences to make it the Amherst of today, the home of strong, happy, prosperous Christian people.

I recall Amherst as it was in its infancy, the hardy pioneers, who stroke by stroke brought its acres into subjection, erected homes and put in motion activities attending progressive civilization and the betterment of conditions for the generations who should succeed them. In 1858, or just fifty years ago, the mill was built by Bancroft and Grover forming a nucleus for the little village that sprang up about it, taking its name from the township in which located.

Its population was made up of New York, Pennsylvania and New England people, supplemented by Norwegian people from the Northland, of steady habits, industry and love of liberty, all making a people who believed in the school and the cause of education, as in their religion.

According to their means they built, and the little Red School House came into existence, standing near the bank of the pond and upon the site now occupied by your present modern school buildings. I remember the little red house, the memory of which we celebrate today, as the center of the religious, political and social life of the community. Therein for a time, people gathered to worship God. There Edmond Palmer taught the village singing school. There rustic voices sang, or attempted to sing:

‘Old John Cross kept the village day school,
And a queer old man was he, was he.”

Masculine voices whose training had mainly been urging forward the breaking team, and feminine voices, cultivated in sounding the dinner call across large fields were brought into harmony, all save the voice of your speaker, which the good old man ruled out as impossible. Palmer’s work in the little red house left Its impression upon the people of the time, and made opportunity for moonlight walks and whispered conferences, appreciated then and not unknown in this day.

The red house was also the town house; there political meetings and elections were held; there O. H Lamoreaux and other political would-be leaders aired their eloquence and told humorous stories; there the village court often met to settle neighborhood differences; there Myron Reed, then of Waupaca, made his first plea in court; there the resolute, patriotic men of Amherst met In the autumn of 1860 and almost to a man cast their vote for Abraham Lincoln, the grandest man of that or any age, for president of the United States; there again, within the walls of the little red house a chastened people, undaunted by war and sacrifice, In 1864 again voted for Lincoln and the prosecution of the war until an honorable peace could be attained; there in 1864, after having had an experience in the whirlwind of war, I cast my first presidential vote for Lincoln. To this little red house came in 1864 that grand old Democrat, Geo. W. Cate, who loved his party much, but loved his country more, cast his vote for Lincoln and the prosecution of the war. Into my hands he placed the open ballot and I had the honor of dropping It into the box. There Rev. Harmon Ellis, sustained by the Home  Missionary Society of the Baptist Church, preached to his family and the little red house for many years. There caucuses were held and affairs of state gravely discussed by the men who founded Amherst.

The little red house, its paint dimmed and its siding warped by fifty years exposure to the elements still stands in a back yard in your city and I have again looked upon it today. Visit it, - venerate it! Get an idea of its size and outline, for its history in in-separable from the history of Amherst’s pioneers in the days that tried men’s souls. The interior of the little house was, in the days of its usefulness, finished and furnished by a row of seats around three sides of its walls, a desk, a mere wooden box near the door, one chair and a big box stove in the center. The pupils were seated around the room, backs to the walls and facing the center or arena, where the teacher walked, ruler in hand, in striking distance of any culprit who experimented with discipline. There by the big box stove my friend Al. Cate stood and dried himself, having skated beyond the danger line and being very near ‘‘the other side of the river”.

Eliza Loring taught the first school in Amherst village, gathering the first flock in the little red house. In 1860 it was my fortune to preside as teacher in the now historic building, and after an examination by Town Supt. Ellis was pronounced qualified and duly installed. Teachers of today may be interested in the examinations of that day - one question and only one I remember. The old gentleman rather pompously asked me, “How many letters in the alpha-bet?” Having recently counted them I knew the right answer and told him so and got my credentials. “Race suicide” was unknown in those days and the red house was filled to overflowing. I struggled all grades and no grades from A, B, C to physics, giving them the best I had and as I remember it, the term was called successful. At least my failures were forgotten so that the board engaged me several years later, and after I had taken lessons in war, and perhaps  - was thought that I from experience was better fitted as a disciplinarian. The red house filled its brief mission as an educational center honorably and sheltered educators whose names are widely  known in the educational field. Here Hutton, Brainard, Lucas and  Alban taught from its walls strong men and women who went forth armed with the three “R’s” and made a successful fight in life's battles.

I remember that the people of the time were sober, honest, patriotic and all used to manual labor. I remember that through honest effort, frugality and industry all made a comfortable support and so lead their children that they have filled honorable positions in life.

I think I remember that the cost of a girls wardrobe for a twelve month in those days, about equaled the spring millinery bill of the girl of today.

I remember that people often cooked and ate substantial meals in the kitchen and that napkins never figured in the weekly wash.

I remember that the dress suit for summer wear for young man in those days was made up about as follows: trousers and shoes from the store, a ‘boiled shirt’’, over which a hickory shirt was worn, the collar and bosom so turned in, that the aristocratic white shirt might show at the bosom, this with a straw hat that Mother made, constituted an outfit for the Fourth of July dance or any festive occasion.

I remember that the girls looked very pretty in those days, though somewhat unapproachable from the Crinoline habit of the time. As I remember it the boys of that time were awkward amid somewhat afraid of the girls, but I seem to recall that when the ice was broken, they were ardent wooers.

I remember that the boys about my age that often gathered at William Rices to eat watermelons were Charlie Een, John and Dan Hillstrom, William and James Rice, Edgar, William and Eugene Allen, Stanton and Charles Bangle, John VanSkiver, John Webster and Charles Darling. Names nearly all now recorded on tombstones.

I remember that William Fleming and brother, Ben. killed more deer than anyone in the township.

I remember driving from Amherst to Waupaca one night fifty-one years ago, the winter of the deep snow, for a doctor: snow in the road to the horses’ knees, I, wrapped in a horse blanket and sitting on a bob-sled, reached the doctor about midnight and was then told by him, that it was too far, the roads too bad and so damned cold that he wouldn't go. This long drive I made, 24 miles, through the worst night of the worst winter of our history, and never thought to use the telephone.

I do not remember that people in those days grumbled when the train was late and the mail delayed. Can't remember an instance of horses being cut on wire fences, or automobiles frightening the horses in the highways. Can't remember that prospective brides had “showers” showered upon them, or that the bride and groom spent their substance in a wedding tour, but that they went quietly at work the next morning, building and perfecting the home nest.

I do not remember that the industrious habits of the pioneers of Amherst ever worked against their success.

I do remember that the debates and discussions of the people of that day were sometimes rambling and tedious, and that amenities were not always in evidence. That Capt. Gasmann, somewhat autocratic from his long service on the quarterdeck, would, when his turn to talk had seemed to have been overlooked, shout “stop now”, so emphatically that he was usually heeded and his turn to talk conceded. I feel that his words would be appropriate now, but before closing I desire to pay tribute to the patriotic spirit of the pioneers of Amherst in the time of the Nation's peril. Amherst from ‘61 to ‘65 sent nearly every able-bodied man to the front in its boundaries. Men, who offered themselves freely for the achievement of fuller liberty and the perpetuation of the Nation. The Nation, the proudest, the strongest, the freest, the richest and the most intelligent Nation in the world today. The Nation that is now sending “Old Glory” around the world, guarded and protected by the strongest armament that ever awoke the echoes with the guns.