John Charles Weaver (1884 – 1969) was my wife’s paternal grandfather. Fortunately, he left us with an autobiographical sketch, richly filled with family stories and genealogical information. Recently my wife re-read her grandfather’s story of his life. She had remembered him as a somewhat stern and aloof person. But that is not what comes through in his writing. “I wish I had know these aspects of him,” she mused. In order to preserve and share the multi-textured person that was John Charles Weaver, I am sharing his writing in 6 posts.
**********
MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY BY JOHN CHARLES WEAVER (Part 3)
The first few years of my childhood are very vague to me. I can only recall a few scattered episodes. Such as the time I was peeved at something and decided to leave home. I would hike over to my Aunt Bessie’s who lived close by. Aunt Bessie O’Connor was just over from Ireland and I remember my mother telling how she would never go to church because she thought that the priest should come to the house and say Mass as they did in Ireland. Her rosary was always in her hand. (Incidentally she was the aunt of Officer Grover O’Connor of the Dayton police force and my fourth cousin). Then I remember going to the drug store with a note to get a bottle of whiskey for my Uncle Jim – my mother’s brother who was ill with tuberculosis. He would mix the whiskey with Phillips Emulsion of Cod liver Oil as a tonic. Uncle Jim was living with us at the time. My mother was deathly afraid of the disease and I was constantly being dosed with a spoonful of the medicine without the whiskey.
Then I remember a Christmas Eve when Santa Claus came – only be wasn’t dressed like Santa – just some old clothes and he brought along his wife, Snicklefritz, who was wrapped in a sheet and looked more like a ghost. Scared to death I stammered out some prayer at my mother’s knee – but I got a tricycle.
I remember it was good for a spanking if you referred to your father as “my old man” or your mother as “my old woman”. It had to be Papa or Mama.
There was a road that ran through the field and at quitting time those who had bicycles would race down the road to Dietrick Street. One evening I was coming home from a fishing trip. It was quitting time at the factory and the men on their bicycles were racing down the road. I was walking backwards as I watched them racing and I did not notice the farmer driving a team of horses hitched to a wagon. He was evidently dozing and did not see me. The nose of one of the horses knocked me down as I backed into them and the horses and wagon passed over me. My father racing down the street saw what happened and was soon on the scene. But horses and wagon passed over me without my receiving a scratch and the farmer drove complacently on – the only damage was a broken fishing pole. Guardian Angel must have been on the job.
The open field in front of the houses on Dietrick Street was the ideal spot for carnivals and circuses. I remember the occasion when the Barnum and Bailey circus came to town. In those days they had advance crews come and prepared the field in advance of the circus date. The three rings were formed out of mounds of dirt forming a ring. They dug a deep hole to make a pool for the diving act. Once when the advance crew came I was watching the workers put up the tents and the head man asked me to carry water for the workers. For two days I carried water and on the day of the circus I was given a ticket to the main show and the side show and a dollar spending money. I was the envy of all the kids. That hole in the ground remained full of water for years and became a breeding spot for frogs and the mounds that made the rings were the nesting spot for yellow jackets. The rings were honeycombed with their nests. We kids would tease them out of their nests and then with faces covered with netting we would kill them off with paddles. Then when all the bees were killed we would rob the nest of its honey.
I recall a song we used to sing called the “Birdies’ Ball” and went like this:
Spring once said to the nightingale
I mean to give you birds a ball.
So the nightingale asked the birdies all
The birds and the birdies great and small
Soon they came from each bush and tree
Singing sweet their songs of glee
Soon they came from each cozy nest
Each one dressed in his Sunday best.
The wren and the woodpecker danced for life
The awkward owl and the bashful jay
Wished each other a very fine day.
They danced all day till the sun was low
And the mother birds prepared to go
When one and all both great and small
Flew home to their nests from the birdies ball.
Another song was about the fingers and went like this:
(Holding the thumb) Thumbkins says I’ll dance, thumbkins says I’ll sing
Dance and sing ye merry little men.
Thumbkins says I’ll dance and sing.
(Holding index finger) Pointer says I’ll dance,
Pointer says I’ll sing
Dance and sing ye merry little men.
Pointer says I’ll dance and sing
(Holding the middle) Tall man says I’ll dance,
Tall man says I’ll sing
Dance and sing ye merry little men.
Tall man says I’ll dance and sing.
(Holding next finger) Middle man says I’ll dance,
Middle man says I’ll sing.
Middle man says I’ll dance and sing.
(Holding little finger) Little man says I’ll dance,
Little man says I’ll sing and dance.
Dance and sing ye merry little men.
Little man says I’ll dance and sing.
(Holding up all fingers) All men say they’ll dance.
All men say they’ll sing.
Dance and sing ye merry little men.
All men say they’ll dance and sing.
These and many other songs of a similar nature we sang as we gathered about the piano almost every evening. Papa was forever composing music and many of the songs we sang were of his composition and he was forever writing poetry.