PERRY STREET

An update on previous Potluck articles is long overdue.

Many readers have expressed their interest in the series about Perry Street. Some have reported they had photos. Ray Myers, Elm Street, one of Fostoria's senior citizens, remembered the library is now...the one illustrated with the advertisement "Chew Honest Scrap" painted on it. He also remembered some of the buildings occupants.

Veterinarian Charles Huber, remarking about the article, recalled the interior of the old Perry Street House. He said he had been in it many times and that it was always kept in good condition and clean.

Dorothy Wiktorski remembered that when Mira Ebersole still lived in the old Skinner/Ebersole property, her husband, served as Mira's handy-man, keeping things in repair around the place. Carrying a key to the house he came and went as he wished, keeping his eye on the property in general. When the property was sold, but before it was emptied and dismantled, Rev. F.T. Fuge wrote the following poem about the old landmark property, and here it is:

THE OLD REED MANSION BY THE INDIAN TRAIL

The old land-marks are marching on
They are going one by one -
They are passing like the honored dead,
With a life-long work weel done
The grand old Bank, Center and Main
The Triangle in Time's Square
The little green Church on West South Street
The under-pass to clear
And now an acre and half of land,
The grandest site in town -
With the old red mansion of '77
Built on the highest ground
For nearly three score years and ten
through blizzard, wind and hail -
It has held its place by the side of the road
The pride of the Indian Trail
With a tinge of sorriw U wak\lked across
the lawn-like open field,
To view the treasures of the long ago,
The beds and spinning wheel.
The furniture of spacious rooms -
Back there among the best,
When the Skinners and the Ebersoles
Made merry with their guests.
there was a spinning wheel driven by foot
And a lot of curious jars,
A waffle iron like a pair of tongs
With three-foot handlebars.
There was a fine old spinner that worked by hand,
A contraption for apple peeling,
And a bed of choice mahogany,
that almost reached the ceiling.
There were marble-tops and antique jugs,
Choice vessels from away back there 0
There was walnut, cherry and maple wood
And a rose-engraven chair.
An ox yoke, and a butter churn,
A writing chair with wings,
There were fancy bowls and pitchers rare
And a lot of other things.
I hate to see the old place go
For a sentimental cast
It seperates another link
That binds us to the past.
Farewell to the old red mansion
That stood by the Indian Trail,
When life was young and the world was gay,
And Friendship did not fail

BRICK LAYER WILSON...Several readers reported their rememberance of Gene Wilson, the champion layer of paving street bricks and his skill at the trade. Stanley Scales, Culbertson Street, remakred that Wilson was particulary built for his profession...with short legs he didn't have to stoop too much, and he was very muscular.

L E AND W STORY...When Willis Wyle of The Fostoria Historical Society saw the story about the last passenger train to run on the L E and W., he hastened to provide me with some additional data about the early days of the L E W and the activity which that rail line added to the villages along it. Charles Foster was involved too. Wylie knows his history about the Kansas area. That's another story...later.

BICYCLE...The bicycle story brought back memories to many readers. A letter from former Fostorian Virgil Connor, now living in High Point, N.C., volunteered the information that the unindentified man in the top row of the photo which showed members of the Bicycle Club, extreme right was his father Charles Connor, who was in the grocery business in Fostoria many years ago.

A TRUE STORY...One of the readers of Potluck...and an old friend of mine... telephoned recently to say he had been reading the column ever since it started, but never got around to telling me how he appreciated it. Especially, he said, the one about the old interurban days. His father and an uncle both worked for the T F and E that ran from Fostoria to Tiffin. The person who telephoned was Al Dolch, retired...and that's the reason he had never had time to telephone...retirees have little time.

Well, anyway, to get to this true story. Al worked at the Willys Jeep Plant in Toledo for many years, driving back and forth every day. To make the driviing more pleasurable, Al often turned to the Detroit radio station that carried the Bud Guest program. Bud Guest was the son of the famous poet Edgar A. Guest.

The story goes like this...one day, back in 1962 when Dolch tuned in the Guest program he started off by saying...Wouldn't it be terrible if we discovered that there weren't any listeners out there tuned in to our program.

A few days later when Al was driving home, and he had turned in the program, this is how it started..."Well I guess we got our answer about listeners". They had deluged him with several bushels of mail, telling Guest how they liked and appreciated the program.

One of the letters in the pile was written by Dolch himsel, and this is what Guest said about it..."And here's a letter written as poetry by one of our listeners, Al Dolch, who works at the Jeep Plant in Toledo and lives in Fostoria. I've been exposed to enough poetry in my lifetime that I think I know a good poem when I see it, so I'm going to read it to you". And he did, and here's what it said:

MY TRAVELLING COMPANIONS

Many times when you're on the air,
I'm driving toward my home.
And for all of the forty-eight miles,
I always ride alone.
Your program is so helpful,
to the many friends you've made,
but my drive becomes a pleasure,
and my nervous tensions fade.
Many times that I can recall,
when events of the day went wrong,
I started home in a nasty mood,
but it changed when I heard a song.
Sometimes a song would remind me,
of beautiful memories of the past.
And tears would fill my eyes,
and I couldn't drive so fast.
I'd dread to hear your sign-off song,
for that meant that you all were thru.
I must wait 'till the following nite,
to hear "ole bud" and his crew.
You have humor and an air of humility;
and while I like it as I do,
there are thousands of other listeners,
that are being made happy too.
I'm sorry that I waited so long,
to say thanks, for something that free.
So I thank you now for the pleasures,
that your program has given me.

But the story doesn't end there, as far as I am concerned. You've heard the old adage..."Don't wait to send flowers to your friends when they are dead". If you have reasons to honor them when they are living...DO IT!!! Tell people if you appreciate them and what they do. It will not only cement the friendship, but it will mourish and strenghen it.

People need people!

As I go about town, people stop to tell me how they enjoy Potluck. I thank them for their kind words and tell them I enjoy writing for their pleasure. Their words urge me to continue to explore the myraid of subjects available in Fostoria to write about.