Paul Miner

Delving Into Yester~Year

Local historian and writer Paul Miner uses items from The Republican’s Yester- Year column to develop an interesting, informative and often humorous article.

To the Editor:

The Avon school house magic lantern show in mid-February 1896 pleased the kids and “some of the older inhabitants were caught laughing out loud.”

Pittsboro’s Squire Jordan, “a gifted cachinnation,” with a newborn boy had just cause that month to laugh. The correspondent hoped he wouldn’t injure himself.

The good squire was known for raucous and immoderate laughter, and possibly inappropriately loud chortling.

But would that hurt him? The greater risk was awakening the infant from a nap, plunging him into a paroxysm of wailing.

Someone I knew sneezed so loudly it scared a visiting child of 10. I feared the boy would cry so I assured him the sneezer was highly skilled in the art of sternutation, and may have been in the military.

I don’t think the paper’s writers and correspondents realized when they inadvertently amused.

William Brown, candidate for county prosecutor, in June 1882 attended the Old Settlers picnic. Brown, who won the election, was “a man in every sense of the word.” Were his vanquished opponents less manly? Was he equal to those old settlers who had conquered virgin land? Manly Justice, resting in Amo Cemetery, had a more fitting prosecutor’s name. Around then, a wealthy county farmer was seen stepping from the courthouse at noon, whereupon he drew “from the yawning depths of his coat pocket” two slices of bread, a cold potato and an onion. He feasted while his horse, hitched to the rack, looked up at the tower clock, “apparently longing for a cold potato or anything else.”

I have tended horses, doling rations as instructed, but never have I been required to feed steeds at lunchtime. Yet the paper reproved the man. Did horses enjoy three squares back then? Could they tell time? Do horses like potatoes?

An unscientific check revealed potatoes and onions aren’t good for horses, but don’t take me to veterinary court over this. They shouldn’t drink coffee or be fed meat, although I read about a pony that ate chickens.

Horses can eat peanut butter, but I’ve never accorded one a dollop even as a snack. They can eat mangoes, but only in season.

Collecting autographs was a local man’s hobby. By December 1881, he’d amassed quite a few from “our most noted soldiers, statesmen, etc.,” but “great man” Frank Landers had “failed to comply.”

Who? I unearthed a photo of a dour older area farmer in a cowboy hat, sporting a bandanna bandit-style, cradling a shotgun, and with what appeared to be a sledgehammer at his side. If that was the guy, I’d not press the issue. Could have been former Congressman Franklin Landers, but I’d prefer a rejection from the first fellow.

An August 1886 article described a German professor’s laborious method of turning wood into bread. Wood fiber and sawdust are mixed, pounded and then boiled to remove impurities.

An alternative is placing the mix in a sling sack, immersing it in a cold stream, and beating it with a stick or repeatedly stepping on it. That sounds indecent bordering on cruel.

Perhaps The Republican in a later issue revealed how to make wine from lawn clippings. Perhaps the paper also explained whether a sling sack is a rucksack or backpack or something else.

The sack or kettle contents, once fully dried by sun or fire, were then repeatedly ground at the local mill.

Baked in cakes, the ground wood was “rendered slightly mucilaginous by the addition of some decoction” (think gooey) from a selection of choices. I chose leaves, as I never venture into unknown territory when it comes to diet.

Those cakes were then beaten and ground some more. The harder the wood, the more beating and grinding.

Tree species was not mandated, but I suppose some might prefer sturdy oak bread while others take a shine to poplar.

After a dog and two pigs survived his concoction, the professor served it without seasoning to his family as gruel, dumplings and pancakes, but not bread. They pronounced it “palatable and wholesome.”

I’ve decided why certain people back then used all those big words. It was to sell quackeries, patent medicines and sometimes crazy notions to ninnyhammers and fopdoodles. And dictionaries. Big ones. These days, shorter and simpler words, emphatically employed, are just as effective in fooling people.

Paul Miner Lizton

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