It is always fun to rummage around in the dark recesses of the closet and see what comes out. One of the relics John Herbert Laubach discovered in his father's closet was a series of recollections of Benton written by William Heacock about 1929. His writing was of Benton prior to 1870, as he remembered it.

Heacock started his writings with a few incidents "of the village" shortly after the close of the Civil War. We'll start there, too.

We do not currently have a map from exactly the right time frame, so the one provided below will be the one we'll use until we get a better one.. The year on the map below is 1876 and you will quickly note that quite a bit of building took place in the years following the telling of the following story.

We are unable to identify many of the houses and people he discusses, although we are separately undertaking a project to provide a description of each of the major homes in Benton from a standpoint of time somewhat later than he writes about. So far we have collected some information about virtually every house in the Borough, but we just haven't had the time to put everything together. As a result, we may have the information we need, but we are not smart enough to recognize it!

	Map courtesy of Joe and Betty Helwig
			"On the east side of Main street there were then only four or five houses: the Parvin Masters dwelling and barn which were the first below the red barn still standing above town, with the exception of a small one-and-a-half-story house occupied by Robert Manning, later on by Orlando McHenry. On farther down was Peter Oman's wheelwright shop and dwelling, then came, just below where the McHenry House now stands, an old-time country hotel and stables, run by Wesley Piatt, later on by A. Overholtzer and Hiram Hess. Below the hotel was the Geiser residence and then came the Rohr McHenry dwelling, (which later became the site of the Benton Post Office building for many years). Mrs. Rohr McHenry was a daughter of the Geisers, who for many years ran the hotel at the foot of North Mountain. She was a very beautiful woman and was noted for her many charities; the present Presbyterian Church was built mainly by her aid, and she always remembered the poor.

"The old North Mountain Hotel was a great hostelry in the early days, drivers with their cattle from Towanda over the old turnpike making it their stopping place. In the hunting season it was always well filled with deer hunters and it was while Rohr McHenry, then a young man, was on one of these hunting trips that he met and fell in love with the beautiful daughter of the Geisers. His hunting trips became frequent and were the excuse for his ardent courtship and marriage, and she and her parents quit the mountain and came to town. A private cemetery at the foot of the mountain is occupied by the Geiser family.

"The west side of Main street was more built up, there being at least nine dwellings. The store and residence, now the Methodist parsonage, of Samuel Heacock came first, then the Benjamin Warner house, the Samuel Rhone house, still standing just below the M. E. Church and perhaps the oldest house in town.

"Just below the Rhone house stood a one-and-a-halt story building occupied by "Grandpap and Grandma" Colley. Alexander Colley was a man of superior intelligence and an interesting talker and was much liked by us small boys, in whom he always took an interest. "Grandma" Colley always fascinated us youngsters as she walked back and forth at her old spinning wheel, the drone of which could be heard afar off on a summer's day.

"There were several children, Robert, the father of Dr. Greeley Colley; Scott and Alex, Jr., who lived up at what was then Kimball's mills on West Creek. I recall a peculiarity of a black coat worn by Alex., Jr., as he had it cut away on each side so that only the two long tails remained. Asked why he had it so, he replied that he did not want the coat to interfere with his ax when he was chopping.

Heacock said that in the "olden time of Benton" if a stranger came to town and greeted a person he had three guesses: "How are you, Mr. Appleman, Mr. McHenry or Mr. Hess?" and he would be bound to hit one of the three."

Heacock tells about an incident involving Peter Appleman. If you recall, Peter Appleman lived directly below Benton, and Appleman's Sugar Grove, called "Camp Fishingcreek" or "Appleman's Bottom," was the spot where 1,000 of "Lincoln's United States Troops, Cavalry, and Mounted Artillery posed for the arrest of about 70 local residents. Appleman attended the Christian Church, on the hill beyond the Market Street covered bridge and across the road from the cemetery where Dr. Andrew Pollock now lives. A "protracted" meeting at the Christian Church, similar to an evangelistic meetings, attracted the attention of the Appleman family.

"The good wife of Peter was getting ready to go to the meeting and suggested to Peter that he clean up before he dressed and also wash his feet. He demurred at the last suggestion, but got ready and went to the service with the rest of the family, the men sitting on one side of the church and the women on the other. The subject of the preacher on that occasion was the Feast of the Passover and his text was taken from the gospel of St. John, the 13th chapter, and when he read the 8th verse: "Peter sayeth unto him,, thou shalt never wash my feet," it was as much as Mrs. Appleman could do to restrain her sensibilities all through the sermon."

The Ikeler Hotel was for many years a landmark with its large stables and its "Travelers Rest" sign atop a heavy pole or post.

Note: The "Little Red Hotel" at one time was located at the corner of Main and Church Streets. The hotel was known through the years as the Benton Hotel and the Ikeler Hotel. On the spot where the hotel set, Charles Seely, father of Grace Hosler, built Benton's first brick house in 1904.

"Drew" Ikeler was a hunter and he always kept several hound dogs and the baying of these hounds was sweet music to the sports of those days as they chased the foxes, which were plentiful. On one occasion "Drew" Ikeler, George Hirleman the blacksmith, and the 14-year old writer went on a hunting trip to a clearing near Mud Pond on the North Mountain.

A heavy rain set in with fog so thick that one could scarcely see a rod away. There was no sign of clearing up, so it was decided to quit. A corduroy road led out to the old turnpike, but just a short distance from the pike the wooden front axle broke off just at the hub. Here was a dilemma as it was raining in torrents and no house within miles, but George Hirleman was equal to the occasion and cut down a young sapling, and shaped it to fit the hub. This part was very easy, but how about a hole for the linchpin? I would not like to vouch for the accuracy of this statement, but "Drew" Ikeler, in telling about it afterward, said that George Hirleman took his rifle and shot a bullet hole right through the end of the sapling that extended through, inserted the linchpin and they came on down the mountain. There were some good shots in those days!

"An amusing incident I here recall in which John Heacock had a share. John was then the village undertaker and he had a funeral for the next day at Union Church. It was winter, and he decided that he would take the "rough box" up to the grave the evening before. Now, this Alex Colley had a young colored man working for him, the only Negro in the county north of Bloomsburg, I think, and this Negro was down to town that afternoon and as John Heacock stopped at the Heacock store to get a cigar, the Negro, in order to get a ride home, lifted off the lid of the "rough box" and crawled in without being seen, as it was getting dusk. He would lift up the lid once in a while, peek out to find out how near home he was, and when he got to his crossroad John Heacock got the scare of his life when he looked back in his sled and saw a dusky form emerge from the box.

Alex Colley was quite a character. He worked for a long time on a perpetual motion machine, using leaden bullets to make the thing go. He was demonstrating this invention to several of his friends one day. They were skeptical, but he had plenty of hard cider which he was handing around in a tin cup. "Doc" Butt, the lone Republican of Jackson township, was one of the group. As Alex handed him a cup of the cider he said to "Doc," "I think it would run if I had heavier weights." "Doc" replied, "I don't believe it would run if you used pumpkins." "All you get," says Alex, as he jerked back the tin cup of cider he was just handing him."

Just across from the Benton Park there had been a mill dam and traces of the mill race could still be found in 1929, according to William Heacock. The mill race lead down to the Parvin Masters shingle mill, erected in 1870 as a planing mill and furniture factory. A few years later it was changed to a buhr process flour mill by A. W. Wilkinson and John P. Chapin. In 1898, John G. Kimble and John J. Mather bought the property and changed it to a fifty barrel roller process mill. In 1904, they installed another unit for buckwheat flour and that year Mr. Mather became the sole owner. He ordered new machinery which was ready to install when the mill burned in 1918. Mather rebuilt the mill and resumed operation in October, 1918. He continued ownership until his death in 1928. At that time, his son, R. Bruce Mather, succeeded him. When Bruce Mather died, the mill was operated by his widow until his son John took over in 1947. John operated the mill until 1986 when the mill was sold. For additional information on this subject and for pictures of the early mill, go here.

The old planing mill brought back many memories to William Heacock, since he once worked there "bolting" logs and frequently got dunked trying to run the slippery logs. The shingle sawing was "quite an industry, as timber was plentiful and it was not an unusual sight to see the "sugar camp" well filled with logs waiting their turn to be sawed." Sometimes the delay caused complaints by the owners of the logs.

Heacock recalled when "the tail-race below the mill had become filled up with the sawdust and silt and it was necessary to dig it out in order to get the necessary "fall" for the turbine wheel. One farmer who had a lot of logs awaiting to be sawed into shingles rode by on horseback and complained to Parvin Masters, who with his helpers were shoveling out the race. The argument became quite heated and the farmer dismounted to carry it out still further, until Parvin Masters finally lost his temper, and with theremark: "William, I think thee needs cooling off," (he used the Quaker language) he caught William ———— by the slack of his trousers and drew him into the water. It is said there was a very angry farmer at this proceeding, but Parvin Masters was a powerfully strong man though small and in the feats of strength such as wrestling or throwing the heavy crowbar there were few to surpass him.

"His sons, Howard and Alas Masters, were also athletic and Howard especially was able to take care of himself against all comers, and would travel miles to see a good scrap, and in those days there were some good scraps—-no Queensberry rules, but rough and tumble.

"His love for sports finally caused the death of Ellis Masters. After leaving Benton he drifted to Pittsburgh. He did not make it go there, so went to Philadelphia and arrived there with but twenty-five cents to his name. He landed a job with N. W. Ayer & Son, advertising agents, and was with them several years. He then went to New York City and became advertising manager of the New York Tribune. He was very successful but his health failed and he was advised to take a sea trip. He sailed for Europe about 25 years ago on the old "City of Rome" and they had a tug of war for exercise on shipboard. The exertion of this sport was too much for him and he died on the ship. His body was brought back to America and buried from his beautiful home at East Orange, N. J. Rising from poverty, his estate at his death was probably at least $100,000."

In the following section, Heacock describes the red school house on Market Street. For the location of the school, consult the map above. When you read the narrative, you will think that the school was actually closer to the covered bridge than it really was. The school actually was about where Rod VanPelt lives in 2002. Remember Heacock is writing about 1848 or thereabouts...

"When the teacher, to a hand held up, would ask what was wanted and the answer was "I want a drink," the pupil in the old red school house would go to the one water pail and quench his (or her) thirst from a common dipper that all the school used, returning to the pail the water not drunk. No such thing as germs or microbes were even thought of in those days. And sometimes there were as many as 80 pupils in the school room and only one teacher to grades running from the A, B, C, class to the Fifth and Sixth Readers. The teacher in such a public school had his hands full.

"I can only recall the names of two teachers when I attended: Silas and Alex McHenry. The former believed in the old adage that to "spare the rod would spoil the child," and many an unruly lad would be taught this lesson. But there were some boys that when they knew a "lickin" was coming would deftly stick some green twigs down their pantlegs or under their coats and the force of the rod was very much minimized. I do not recall that Alex McHenry used the rod at all, but perhaps he did. The red schoolhouse with its elevated desks and benches, all on the boys' side being elaborately (?) carved with jackknives by the occupants: the desk for the teacher on a raised platform so that he could command a view of every pupil; the map of the "Solar System at One View" that hung on the west wall; the big stove that heated the room in winter and the bench on which the water pail reposed—-all come vividly to memory.

At recess many joined in games or played Anthony Over (or antiover) over the schoolhouse. (The game of antiover is played like this, sayeth my reference book: students would get on each side of the schoolhouse and they threw a ball over the house to the other people. Then whoever caught the ball ran around the house and tried to tag one person from the opposing side.) There was another game played with a woolen ball which was called sock-about, hitting a player with the ball, and when the ball became well soaked up in wet weather you knew when the thrower hit you. Long Tom or town ball was another diversion, as baseball was then unknown here. The Market Street covered bridge on a rainy day also made a good place to play.

One wonders sometimes at the amount of instruction an eager pupil did acquire under such crowded conditions; but the foundations for the future of many Bentonians were laid in this red school house and the academies at New Columbus, Orangeville and Millville afforded a further opportunity for learning that many availed themselves of. We "sang" the multiplication table and capitals and rivers of the United States and "spoke our pieces" Friday afternoons. I recall only two of the reciters: Owen McHenry had a piece entitled "I Wish I Had a Little Wife" and the last verse ended with: "And if she'd die I shut my eyes, Lie down and roll right over" and then "Oney" would lie down on the floor and roll over, to the great enjoyment of the school. Holland McHenry also recited: "All is action, all is motion In this mighty world of ours" and would make the poem more realistic with gestures of his arms and hands.

Spelling bees were also popular and some excellent spellers would make these contests very exciting and caused rivalry among; schools in the other school districts, notably Stillwater and the Karns school, and I can now remember contesting at both places. The little Quaker school house held a private school for the two Quaker families, but it was also a pay school for others, especially in the summer season when the public school was closed. The teacher here was generally a woman and having such a few pupils was able to give them more personal attention than in the crowded public school.

The beautiful new school building and the modern appointments and methods of teaching at the Benton school of today are in great contrast to the old times when "readin', ritin', and rithmetic," the three R's, comprised the groundwork of an education sufficient, it was then thought, to get along on.

The old red schoolhouse lingers in memory. Few of my old schoolmates there are now living and these widely scattered. The "eeny meeny miny mo" of Father Time has tapped the most of them.

In these days of air mail one can send a letter from New York City to San Francisco in 36 hours. Sixty years ago a letter mailed at Benton on Monday would reach Bloomsburg Wednesday morning. The mail was carried by the Cambra stage every other day to Bloomsburg and return. A Star route from Laporte to Forks served Benton. The carrier started from Central Monday PM, stopping at Coles Creek, Benton, Stillwater and at Forks waited for the Cambra stage up from Bloomsburg and in the spring of the year when roads were very bad, sometimes he would not reach Benton until near midnight and then had to go on to Central and make the trip to Laporte and back to Central the next day. The down mail from Benton Monday PM, would lie at Forks until picked up by the down stage Wednesday morning.

Postage was 8 cents and I was once told by an old farmer that in years before the time I am writing of (1848) postage could be collected from the one receiving the letter. He added: "I didn't mind paying 3 cents for the letter, but it made me mad when I paid 3 cents and only got a comic 'volentine'."

Sixty years in retrospect! In those days the women of Benton were discarding hoops and the bustle then came in place. In the hair "rats" were worn to produce the "waterfall." It took 10 yards of calico to make a woman's housedress. There was no barber in town, so many of the men wore full beards and the mothers cut their children's hair with the aid of a bowl. But in the early 70's Samuel Krickbaum made an instrument of torture that served for a barber's chair and on Saturday afternoons he would cut hair and trim beards. I do not think he did shaving.

All of us children went barefoot in summer and got our share of stubbed toes and stone bruises on our heels and the tub of water in the woodshed was our bedtime story. We wore coppertoed boots when weather got cold. In the early spring we all knew which trough in Clem McHenry's sugar camp held the sweetest sap and we drank all we could. We picked mayapples later on and stored them in bran to ripen up. In the fall we gathered butternuts where Benton Park now is, as there were lots of these trees there and in the manor above town chestnuts were plentiful.

Fishing in Fishing Creek in those days was a popular diversion. I shall not attempt to tell any fish stories here although as a boy I heard the old men tell about their wonderful catches with seines and in my own time we went gigging by torchlight and also used the snare. The dam which was across the stream at the lower end of the park was a favorite place to fish and at the old stump above the dam was a great place to snare suckers.

John J. McHenry was one expert fly fisherman and "Bent" Cole ["Bent" Cole refers to Thomas Benton Cole, son of William and Elizabeth (Laubach) Cole. They lived in the stone house next to the Mill Race Golf Course at one time] was another. I remember once I was fishing with worms for bait a short distance below Cole's dam and not catching anything when "Bent" came along and with his fly landed half a dozen big trout, much to my own disgust at my own hard luck, and from the same place where I was fishing.

When Izaak Walton more than 250 years ago wrote his book, "The Compleat Angler," he said: "God never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation than angling." He had "fishing and philosophy, poetry and nature study all in one mixture," and it was only a few weeks ago that President Hoover in his speech at Madison, Va., said: "Next to prayer, fishing is the most personal relationship of man—and all men are equal before fishes."

When Theodore Roosevelt wanted to give a little emphasis in his talk he would use the term, "By Godfrey!" Above Benton a little there lived a farmer who had as his cussword "B'Gees'n!" I think it was about the early 70's that Dr. J. B. Laubach came to town and started dentistry. In those days a dentist traveled about the country and would "fill 'em, pull 'em or make 'em" at your own home. There was an epidemic of distemper that affected nearly all the horses in the county. "Britt" was starting out on one of his trips one day when he met this farmer and stopped to talk with him. The farmer was rather illiterate, but noticed that the horse was ailing. "Britt," says he, "your horse has got the disintempin (distemper); you go and get some assinfetin (assafetida) and give him and it will cure him, B'Gees'n!"

The winters I think were more severe in those days than now and frozen or frosted feet were quite common. A farmer who lived up the Welliver Hollow came to town and said that he had found a remedy for frostbite, by wrapping up his feet in a poultice of sauerkraut! He was 60 years ahead of the dietitians who now recommend so highly the homely kraut; but he used it in another manner.

In writing these random sketches of more than a half century ago it is surprising how many little things revert to one's mind. Benton in those days was a prosaic place; about the only event we looked forward to was the Sunday School Fourth of July celebration with the tables loaded with goodies; camp and bush meetings were also well attended. Not much account was taken of other holidays. Not many pleasures.

Yokes of oxen hitched to wagons were a common sight on the main street; we had our flappers then also, but they were some dear old ladies ("grannies") who smoked their clay pipes with great enjoyment and comfort at the open hearth or beside the kitchen stove; a trip to the county seat at Bloomsburg was considered quite an event before the stage line was started; the men wore paper collars and in cold weather blanket shawls instead of overcoats; heavy long flannel petticoats were worn by the women and girls, with red as the prevailing color scheme; the housewife baked her own bread and did the family knitting of woolen stockings and socks and often her own dressmaking and sewing for the children, and when a helping hand was needed for a family in distress the response was quick and service cheerfully given. It was a Christian community and each one tried to obey the Divine command to "love thy neighbor as thyself."

In the latter part of the 60's there was an outbreak of scarlet fever or diphtheria, I forget now which, that was very fatal to the children on the outskirts of Benton. Funerals were of almost daily occurrence and nursing help was sorely needed. The women of Benton never hesitated in this work of mercy and willingly responded to the care of the dead and dying.

A most pathetic case was the family of Mr. and Mrs. Lowery Cole [Lowery and Phoebe Bostian Cole) at Edsons. Three children were stricken and all three died so closely together that their little bodies, in three separate coffins, were at the same time interred side by side in one grave [Their names were George B., Ella M. and Walter E. Cole. They died in March of 1870], at St. Gabriel's cemetery, and despite the fact that the women of Benton, many of whom had small children, had gone among many of these stricken families, it was looked upon as an act of Providence that not one child in our town caught the epidemic, the nearest approach being in the family of Daniel Hartman near West Creek, where the disease stopped. It is also with a grateful heart that I personally acknowledge the whole-heartedness of the people of Benton at a later time.

One more item of recent date. Perhaps the first bicycle in Benton was owned and ridden by the late Dr. H. G. Colley. It was of the crude high wheel type and of course was quite a novelty then. This was some time in the 80's.

There have been many changes here in the years subsequent to the times I have been describing. Many have long since gone to their reward; others have moved away and are now scattered about in many different States in the Union as also in foreign climes.

I have no doubt that some mistakes have crept into this series of articles. I trust they will be overlooked, as one's memory sometimes is faulty. In these notes I have tried to relate the little things of life in this community as they were in the days of long ago in a manner that would not dull the reader, and to do so I have brought in the names of a number of individuals.

This has not been done to make fun of anyone but to furnish some possible humor in describing events that would otherwise have made dull reading. In conclusion let me have you apply to me in retaliation the words of Oliver Wendell Holmes: "And if I should live to be The last leaf upon the tree In the Spring, Let them smile as I do now At the old forsaken bough Where I cling."