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Subj: Old letter
Date: 3/13/2003 2:02:34 PM Eastern Standard Time
From: rpboyden@npacc.net (Rieta P Boyden)
To: JoyceTice@aol.com
I have just come across a most interesting letter written to my gg-grandfather
Oliver Benjamin Blanchard. Is it anything you would be interested in?
I would love to share it with everyone. It is from a
Wm. S. Cop. Mr.Cop lived at 542 east 134th Street in NYC., NY. Does
anyone know what Mr Cop's connection may have been to Nelson. This letter
is not dated, but mentions many people of Nelson. Who are they?? If I were
to guess I would think this was written in the early 1900's, to maybe about
1915.
Dear Ben,
Thank you so much for the prompt and efficient reply to my request.
I have already forwarded it to the Cival Service Commision. I am making
three copies of this letter and mailing one to Aunt Ada, one to Arnie and
Mabel and one to you. For what I will say to you would be essentially the
same if I wrote seperate letters to them. I am enclosing one dollar each
for each of you. You were too kinda to send any bill. If this is not sufficient,
please let me know the correct amount.
And now, as to the future and marriage. I am afraid thar is largely a state of mind. It is rather a difficultmatter to get a divorce. And I have always had a horror of courts, every since I spent a few days in the county jail at Wellsboro.
Then too, I may still be young in body, but I am rapidly growing old in mind and spirit. As a man thinketh so he is, Christ said. And my thoughts are more often with the past. I would like a home. I was always a home man. And there is no home where there is no kind, good woman.
I have met a number of ladies since being in New york the last four years, but none of them are quite like Marion was. But of course, she never cared for me. She had no reason to. But still, that doesn't prevent me from comparing her with others.
So, although I am invited hither and yon, and in business ways also, most often find myself sitting alone in my own place of an evening looking back in my mind's eyeto the blue hills of Pennsylvania.
And I am not alone. I see Hen Goodrich coming up the street as plain as I did thirty years ago. Charlie Cole is talking with Ed about their pigs. Kate has her old black shawl over her head and is going over to see Sime and Mrs. Aldrich. Jane Kelly is carrying water & John smiles and walks back & forth under the maple trees.
Aldy Bates whisks by with the gray team and the new rubber tire buggy. Bertha & Frank Hoyt walk by in the cool of the evening. Hank Ronalder comes up to talk with my father about work in the tobacco. Mark and Sue are in the store, and Lena is looking at her rose bush.
Emily is practicing on the piano and George Baker stands out front of his store and tells Kenneth not to throw stones at the dogs. Bert Rawley is busy shaving and unpacking men's winter work clothes. You are in the old post office, and I can still hear the stamp, stamp, stamp of the letters. I don't think there was ever any one as fast at it as you. Even Hen Goodriche's funny stories didn't stop you.
And was there ever a better man and woman than Dave and Mrs. Bowers? And I sort of lost something out of my lifethat I never found again , when Fre_ and Edna died. Mrs. Wilbur always made every one feel happier with her witty sayings and jolly disposition.
Charlie Meritt and his wife were A number one folks. And Ed Hazlett had rare qualities. I can remember Dave Goodriche's funeral in the old church and the tears streaming down Mr. Colclough's Face. He was a grand old man.
As a boy I thought Lime Hall the perfect man physically. I just bought a gallon of sweet cider. But it doesn't tasate like that which Clarlie Blackwell used to make down at the old red mill.
I can see Lena and the three boys riding through the lane at a wild pace followed by the tree dogs. Lockwood has been away so long, I wonder if he has forgotten when he and I used to get up winter mornings and go and look at the traps?
I remember when Dan Van Dyke built the big barn. The fire that burned
the old covered bridge and the one that took you away from the corner.
I can still see the square pillar of the old hotel. There was a time in
my life when they were bigger than the Empire State.
I used to like to go into Doc Park's office to smell the drugs
Do you remember what they used to call Mrs. Doctor Stevens?
And do you remember the night they held up Rundall Knapp when he was on his way home from courting Doody Beech?
I've seen quite a few Broadway productions here in New York. But I swear to you, there wa never a one of them quite so magnificent as THE OLD MAID"S CONVENTION.
I remember when Denny Savey died.
No one could play checkers like Doctor Baxter. We were all young when Ben Chamberlain had his barber shop. And Fred Skelton taught school. And Professor Dannsang at the town gatherings. JD Campbell never had but one corn cob pipe in all his life. How Buck Mourie like to go down on the Tioga River fishing.
Nan Pepper was a good Methodist. Charlie Lugg a good school director, Jim Losy a good mill hand. Barney Luther a hard worker. Lee Hoyt was never sad.
And there were so many others. So you see, I am never alone.
Well, good bye, and God Bless the people of Nelson.
Always,
Wm. S. Copp
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