Columns
Jim Atwell: The latest in a long line
First, an apology: Last
week, I chopped two inches
off Reid the Fly Creek barber’s
height. He is not a
towering six-foot-six, but a
stratospheric six-foot-eight.
Watch out, low-flying aircraft.
Reid’s Fly Creek shop
shows every sign of continued
success. It reminds me
that, before a recent hiatus
of about fifteen years, Fly
Creek had probably had an
almost unbroken line of
barbers back to its earliest
days. Such was the way
with hamlets like ours,
which met most of their
needs with shops and stores
right at hand.
And we had industry,
too. Through the 19th century’s
second half, Fly
Creek was noisy, six days a
week, with the steady
clanks and bangs coming
from the Badger Ironworks.
Badger’s poured and assembled
all manner of castiron
objects, including a
handsome woodstove now
on display in our Historical
Society. I’m guessing even
the Sabbath must have
been fairly noisy around
here, at least on toward
eleven o’clock. That’s when
the bells of all three flourishing
churches vied to lure
the devout.
The 1872 Fly Creek
boasted, beside Badger’s, a
general store, a machine
shop, three blacksmiths,
two wagon-wrights, a cobbler,
a creamery, two hat
shops, a hotel, and, of
course, a barber shop. I’m
not sure where that barber
was located, but I do know
where his lineal successor
did business in the 1930’s.
It was right where Reid has
set up shop.
My source for that fact
was Arrie Hecox, who lived
Fly Creek history from his
1914 birth till his death after
the century’s end. Arrie
patronized that barber and
had colorful tales about
him, some downright bizzare.
The man, for instance,
never could find a set of
false teeth that pleased
him. When he got a new
set, he added the rejects to
a collection in the barbershop.
In the barber chair,
said Arrie, a customer faced
all of the barber’s former
china choppers, grinning at
him from the four shelves
of a glass-front cabinet.
Card games went on in
that shop constantly, with
the barber almost always
involved. He’d leave his
hand face down on the table
and watched the play while
he clipped away on a customer.
(More than a few
earlobes got snipped in the
process.) When his turn
came to play, he’d abandon
his customer and sit at the
table. Then he’d go back to
his clipping with no apology
to customer, who’d likely
been following the game,
too.
That barber, said Arrie,
had victimized himself with
drink, to the point that delirium
tremens made his
hands shake violently.
When he’d lathered up a
customer’s neck and around
his ears, he’d have to gather
himself before wielding
the straight razor. ``Men
who never prayed anywhere
else,’’ Arrie said
grimly, ``would pray in that
barber chair.’’
Sadly the barber’s D.T.’s
got so bad that they produced
awful hallucinations,
usually while he was alone
in the shop. He’d feel ants
crawling up his pants legs,
see giant spiders scooting
up the walls and dropping
from the ceiling. Neighboring
storekeepers would
hear him screaming in terror
and rush to his aid.
Like an EMT unit, they’d
run into the barbershop,
grab the hysterical man,
and throw him face down
across three chairs. Then,
as one sat on his back, a
second pulled off his shoes
and socks, and a third
fetched a wide pine board
kept in the corner for such
emergencies. The third
man would haul off with
that board and, WHAM!,
slam the barber across the
bare soles of both feet. I
guess it was a kind of primitive
reflexology that set
synapses sparking all
through his brain.
The effect was instantaneous.
They sat the nowcalm
barber up. He thanked
them, pulled on his shoes
and socks and limped over
to the barber chair, ready
for the next customer. Not
a biting ant to be felt, not a
giant spider to be seen. Until
the next time.
I hope to convince Reid
that, next Fly Creek Day,
we should stage a re-enactment
of his predecessor’s
rescue from his delusions.
This would show hundreds
of bargain-hunters (here
for the yard sales) one of
our hamlet’s great traditions:
We look out for each
other.
I figure the reenactment
should be staged at least
four times during the day.
We’ll close off the Four Corners,
and that would be the
signal for Reid, inside the
shop and dressed like a
‘30’s barber, to begin whooping
and bellowing about
ants and spiders. In turn,
that would signal staff from
Portabello, the general
store, and Harmony House
(all dressed in Depression
garb) to rush towards the
barbershop.
At that point, Reid would
burst forth, brushing imaginary
spiders from his head
and slapping his pants legs
to squash the ants, his face
a twisted mask of terror.
(The reenactment can’t be
inside the shop because the
crowd wouldn’t see.) So
Reid will burst forth, still
bellowing, halfway collapse
down his front steps, and
fall to the sidewalk on his
face. (Shuddering moans
would be good at this point,
but we’ll leave Reid to improvise.)
What drama!
Now his rescuers will be
at his side. Dirk of Harmony
House will sit on Reid’s
back. I’d thought of having
Josh of Portabello’s do that,
but we don’t want broken
bones. Instead, Josh will
yank off the shoes and
socks.
By then, Big John of the
general store, almost as tall
as Reid, will have run in
and out of the shop, bringing
with him the big pine
board. Stationing himself
south of Reid’s feet, John
will drop into a batter’s
stance (an homage to Cooperstown),
then haul off
and slam Reid’s feet. I’m
thinking we can count on a
realistic scream from Reid.
But then, wondrous to
behold, he will sit up, looking
dazed. His helpful
friends will get him to his
feet, then hand him his
shoes and socks. And a
grateful Reid, after shaking
hands all around, will hobble
up the steps and into
his shop. The cheers, the
whistles, the applause will
be deafening.
That’s when we pass the
hat.
Read about Jim Atwell’s
book, From Fly Creek--Celebrating
Life in Leatherstocking
Country, at JimAtwell.
com
- Columns
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From Fly Creek: Passing fronts and settled weather
(I owe the first part of this column to an informal writers’ workshop sponsored by the Smithy Pioneer Gallery. The small group, led by Gallery Director Danielle Newell, meets Sunday afternoons and is open to anyone interested in the writing craft. As a warmup exercise on that very rainy afternoon, we each wrote a few paragraphs on the weather and emotions. Here’s what that keen group prompted me to scribble down) The dour old Scotsman, the one featured in jokes without number about buying lottery tickets, pinching pennies, scorning worldly ways, etc., once silenced a friend who was praising the beautiful weather.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: We're back from Michigan ...
Unfortunately, we once again find ourselves stuck in a time warp. When we look at the calendar, we realize that Labor Day is fast approaching. Yet, we seem to be operating under the misconception that it is still early July due in large part to the fact that we spent the almost five weeks from July 15 to August 17 in Grand Rapids, Michigan. We feel the summer has sailed by and we, unfortunately, have not kept pace.
Continued ... -
Otsego Herald: Censorship?
All those indebted to John Lawrence, Post-rider, and do not settle the same IMMEDIATELY may rely upon having to pay cost!! Otego, Aug. 24.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: 1984 comes to a close ... finally
As we continue traipsing through 1984, we realize that even though we were supposed to be covering the comings and goings of Cooperstown, we actually were able, even then, to touch on a number of pressing community, as well as personal, issues. Of course, much to the relief of the powers that were at CCS, the school was not among them. The he-we ran for the school board in 1984 and was elected. Thus the school was deemed off limits by the powers that were at the paper. But we discovered there was still a wide range of issues upon which we could write.
Continued ... -
Otsego Herald: New school book
From the Otsego Herald for Saturday, Aug. 18, 1810
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Books offer tennis insights
Professional tennis sometimes seems to be the ultimate life. Where else could you travel the world, earn gobs of money, get in great shape, and have groupies from the opposite sex chasing you all the time? And you get all your equipment free to boot (which may explain why players smash racquets without remorse). Quite a glamorous life, isn’t it?
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Continuing our 1984 musings
Now that we have undertaken the beginnings of this column, we fear we find ourselves unable to stop our review of the early writings. In fact, we seem to be completely addicted to the project. And thus, we will continue to explore the very foundations on which this column has been built.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Burnett's book recalls 'Golden Age'
It’s a shame that today’s young generation missed the golden age of television from the 1960s and 70s. The fact that Hollywood studios with their ``original’’ ideas of constantly remaking hit TV shows from that era into new movies and reunion specials is quite telling. Even Fox with its ``That 70’s Show’’ is a reminder of that whimsical time.
Continued ... -
Home Notes: A place to cherish
As we enter into the middle of summer, let us pause and relish in the fact that we have been blessed with such lovely weather.
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From Fly Creek: Hurray for Mother Bassett!
Just back from my annual week at Lake George’s Silver Bay, in company with about 600 other Quakers. As always, it was a great time: Friends shared silence in the early morning by the lake and during the day in the big brown-shingled tabernacle. (Silver Bay is an old YMCA camp.)
Continued ...
Plenty of fine stringed music and singing in the evenings; lots of daytime rocking-chair stints on the deep veranda, facing across rolling lawns and lake to green mountains and skies of startling blue. -
In These Otsego Hills: In the beginning
Our remembering Jerry in last week’s column has now lead us to muse about our early days of writing a weekly newspaper column.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Prohibition should not be ignored
I was an American history major in college and one topic that my professors never discussed was prohibition.
Continued ... -
Otsego Herald: Elopement
From the Otsego Herald for Saturday, July 21, 1810 Compiled, with comments BY HUGH C. MACDOUGALL
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Home Notes: Personal Care is a rewarding occupation
When I was a young girl in the early 50’s my family would often take rides through Cooperstown and the Cherry Valley area.
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In These Otsego Hills: Remembering Jerry ...
Difficult as it is to believe, we have been a widow for eleven years this week. And yet it seems as if our late husband Jerry just died yesterday. The memory of it remains most vivid in our mind. We suppose there is much that we don’t remember about July 20, 1999. But we do remember just how much that day changed our life forever. We lost not only our spouse of 28 years, but also our best friend.
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Otsego Herald: Celebrating the 4th
From the Otsego Herald for Saturday, July 14, 1810 Compiled, with comments by
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Our Opinion: What’s good for the goose...
The board of trustees has decided to hire an engineer to review the work of CLA Site, the firm hired to do the site assessment and design work for the Village Gateway Project _ now known as the Cooperstown Intermodal Transit Project. That review will cost up to $12,000.
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From Fly Creek: ‘Thump-thump, dum-lum’
Since I last wrote to you I’ve been several times embraced to Mother Bassett’s bosom.
Continued ...
(Oh dear, I hope that’s not a disrespectful metaphor. But if you’ve seen photos, you know she was a handsome, dignified woman with an ample superstructure.) This time, for variety, the hospital visits at first seemed to have little to do with Parkinsonism. But a new problem had turned up that had me tested in every part of the hospital except obstetrics. -
In These Otsego Hills: Travels with The Widge...
We have decided that the role of grandmother is quite to our liking. As we have been told any number of times, as a grandparent it is perfectly acceptable to hold, play with and fawn over the grandchild until such time as said grandchild becomes fussy. And then, and this is the best part, it is completely within the purview of the grandparent to return the fussy grandchild to the parents. We love it.
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Otsego Herald: Shocking accident, American arrested
On Wednesday last, as Joseph Faulkner, esq. of Middlefield, was returning home from Cherry-Valley, a gust of wind arose up suddenly, a large Elm was blown across the road, directly on Mr. Faulkner, who, together with his horse was instantly killed.
Continued ...
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From Fly Creek: Passing fronts and settled weather
