DEAR FRIEND Letters 1913

Pine Mountain Settlement School
Series 17: PUBLICATIONS PMSS
DEAR FRIEND LETTERS 1913
October and November

029 Rittenhouse – “The Masonic Lodge.” [D2_06_rittenhouse_catherine029_mod]

TAGS: Dear Friend letters 1913 from Ethel de Long and Katherine Pettit, fundraising, building the school, in-kind donations, community assistance, planning, needs, industrial training, boarding school, Uncle William’s leaflet, pledge form

DEAR FRIEND LETTERS 1913

October and November

CONTENTS: 1913 October

Dear Friend letters 1913 ; building the school on 234 acres ; Cyarter Coots ; Solomon Day ; gardens ; hog-proof fencing ; donation of sawmill ; need for schoolhouse ; wilderness ; requests by neighbors for school ; neighbors’ sacrifice to send children to school ; 800 school-age children within seven miles of school ; children are handicapped and isolated, but keen-witted and eager ; how donations have already been used ; preparing land for farming ; building log house ; planning a reservoir and sewer system ; schoolhouse is greatest need ; currently using Masonic Lodge ; want to provide industrial training and a boarding school ; need for $10,000 for several projects ; Uncle William’s leaflet enclosed ; use pledge form ; from Ethel de Long and Katherine Pettit, Executive Committee ;

GALLERY: 1913 October

TRANSCRIPTION: Dear Friend Letters 1913 OCTOBER

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PINE MOUNTAIN SETTLEMENT SCHOOL
INCORPORATED
PINE MOUNTAIN, HARLAN COUNTY
KENTUCKY

BOARD OF TRUSTEES

EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE
Miss Katherine Pettit
Miss Ethel de Long

TREASURER
C.N. Manning
Security Trust Co.
Lexington, Ky.

SECRETARY
Miss Elizabeth Hench
2145 Talbott Ave.
Indianapolis, Indiana

Mrs. J.R. Morton
Lexington, Ky.

Miss Viola Sullivan
Winchester, Mass.

Dr. Calvin N. Kendall
Commissioner of Education
Trenton, New Jersey

Miss Elizabeth Moore
St. Louis, Missouri

Mr. Samuel M. Wilson
Lexington, Kentucky

Dr. Elizabeth Campbell
Cincinnati, Ohio

Dr. Willis M. Butler
Old South Church
Boston, Mass.

October 1, 1913.

My dear friend:

I wish you could be here today, in the midst of this wilderness where we are building a settlement school, and see the beginnings of things. It takes a long time to get two hundred and thirty-four acres of neglected land in shape for a model rural school but if we grow a little discouraged now and then we have only to go and watch “Cyarter” Coots and Solomon Day working against the weeds and underbrush along our creekbanks with the love of battle plain in every stroke of the scythe, — the true pioneer’s joy in getting the best of nature. With such a spirit we feel sure wonders can be accomplished. If our neighbors’ hogs annoy us because they consider our first modest attempt at a garden a pigs’ paradise, with no St. Peter to guard the rickety stake and rider rail fence, we listen to the woodmen far up the Mountain, cutting locust posts for the five-foot “woven wire, hog-proof” fence we want to put around our paradise this fall. When we have not so much as a plank for a tiny bookshelf in this country of wonderful trees but no sawmills, we think of our splendid mill, given us by a friend who well understood our needs, waiting and ready for the great chestnut and poplar logs that are being cut from the School forest. When we long for room to take in the children (and just how irresistible they are you can judge from our summer kindergarten teacher’s testimony that in all her ninety-two enrolled in Cleveland she has none so winning as her little Pine Mountain Brit — the same who, mindful of a past punishment, one day said to her, “I reckon you’ll have to sot me on the Lonesome Seat, I ain’t aiming to hurry this morning”); when we feel with the fathers and mothers hereabouts that a year is a right smart spell to wait for a schoolhouse we can write you, our friends outside, of our great need for one and ask you to help us build it!

I called this a wilderness from the phrase of a conspicuous literary man who visited us this summer and said he thought us the most fortunate of people with such a chance to build a school in the wilderness. His enthusiasm sprang from the fact that our mountains, remote,…

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…undeveloped, and rough though they are, are full of children. Up and down Greasy Creek neighbors live scarcely more than a “sight” apart and Lick, Rockhouse, Laurel, and Sang Branches are not mere lonely streams girt with magnificent rhododendron thickets but have each its own homesteads and hearth fires. We go over to Line Fork, or the head waters of Cutshin (only two years ago eighty miles from a railroad) and as we sit by the evening fire people drop in from houses way up on the heads of “hollers” to ask when we will open school and take — not one child, but five or nine, all they have in their family! Nothing more truly shows the intense wistfulness of the people for opportunity than the sacrifices implied in sending the whole family away to school, for no people are more clannish, more devoted to their kinfolk than these in the Kentucky mountains. There is also great economic sacrifice in sending the children away when even the least young-un can do his share on the farm.

The best figures that we can get tell of eight hundred children of school age within seven miles of us. They are not stupid children or heavy minded, for “blood will tell” and the best proof of their excellent ancestry is the fact that after a century of isolation they are keen witted and eager. Consider the immense handicap of this region in its tragic percentage of hookworm and trachoma cases, to say nothing of its remoteness, and the intellectual calibre of the people becomes one of the most astonishing facts in American life. With such children to work for, we ask only for a chance to fit them to be intelligent homemakers in their own mountains, so like themselves in rich, undeveloped resources.

We have tried to make good use of the money already given us for this new work. We are getting the land in order to raise food for the large School family we hope to have soon, as well as for farming experiments of value to the community. The log house, for which every piece of timber was given by our neighbors, is going up as rapidly as possible. The State University has completed a survey of the grounds from which data a sanitary engineer (also giving his services), is preparing plans for a reservoir and sewerage system that will be adequate for the completed plant. We feel that it is intelligent economy to plan with a view to the future and soon we hope to have a plat made of the grounds locating every building which we shall eventually need.

But now, our greatest need is a schoolhouse. We are teaching the neighbor children in the Masonic Lodge, located at the head of Greasy; but we want to take in from far and near the young people who need not only book learning but training in the common arts of the home and farm. If town and city schools find it necessary to provide industrial training, think how much greater is the need where geographical conditions have made the pioneer form of life the permanent type of one hundred years. For many, many reasons — not the least among them the parent’s view that if whiskey gives him pleasure he should not deny it to his tiny child — we know it is wise to keep the children in our school home for eight or nine months out of the year. If we have a schoolhouse, using some of its rooms temporarily for bed rooms, with our log house and tents to help out, we can begin to work for the community in a large way. We need its ample rooms for neighborhood uses also — young peoples’ and mothers’ clubs, Bible….

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…school, Berea and State College extension work, etc. Do you not agree with us that we ought to begin work on its foundations this fall and get the timber sawed ready for spring building? We do not want to lose ground already gained; we do not know how to dishearten an entire countryside by long delay.

We want ten thousand dollars for the immediate construction of our central building, for setting out orchard trees, for going on with our forestry work, and for preparing the timber already on hand. If you still question the need for this school, read Uncle William‘s “reasons” on the leaflet enclosed. It was his own idea that he should write them, and they tell far more frankly than we do why there should be a settlement school here. When you have pondered them and read beneath the words to the thought and felt the thrill of this great old man’s visions for his country, tell us what share you wish to have in this work. Will you let us know before Christmas how much you will give, even if you cannot pay till later? No sum is too small to be of use.

Please cross the amount you will give and send the slip right away to The Pine Mountain Settlement School, Pine Mountain, Harlan Co., Kentucky.

Sincerely yours,
Ethel de Long
Katherine Pettit
Executive Committee

GALLERY: 1913 NOVEMBER

0 – Dear Friend Letter, 1913-11-13, cover letter. [dear_friends_1913-11-13_001.jpg]

TRANSCRIPTION: Dear Friend Letters 1913 NOVEMBER

November 13, 1913

My Dear Friend:

The problem of a fence is confronting us now. Our kindergarten teacher who was here this summer was so diverted by our efforts to protect our garden, our crop and our grounds from the hogs that she wrote the enclosed account of the pig that interested her the most. Just how pronounced a pig’s personality is, you can guess from the fact that she even had to name them.

We are anxiously questioning just how long we must wait until “Sammy” and “his brothers ad his sisters and his aunts” are excluded from their paradise.

We need a mile of fencing for the part of our 234 acres that we must fence. We can get a discount of from a generous manufacturer of the best hog-proof fencing, but even so, counting the cost of locust posts gates and post holes dug on steep ground, we need $700 before we begin. If you can’t be a “flying figure in bluejeans yelling ‘Suey!, Suey!,” can you be a substitute in the shape of some rods of woven wire, five foot fence?

Faithfully yours,
Katherine Pettit

enclosure:

SAMMY

Did he not possess cravings and unsatisfied longings for better things; did he not come to the close of each day hungry for the unattainable; and had he not heard that this School existed for the sole purpose of fulfilling needs?

The word “Settlement” but added charm, for to Sammy it gave visions of permanency and far reaching satisfaction. Yes! It was certainly good to be alive, and a member of this community, and he firmly resolved to be on hand every day, rain or shine in a receptive mood, ready to embrace every opportunity. To be filled to the utmost was his great ambition.

He and his brothers and sisters and immediate forebear grunted the subject over pro and con i their rock house under the cliff. Mammy Pig wise in the ways of humans, flopped her ears in doubt.

“It may prove to be an excellent school, it may fill every unsatisfied gnawing, but, I have my doubts.”

“One and all I warn you to let them alone, for I have not only heard, but absolutely know, that humans eat little pigs.”

A tremor shot through the group, they glanced at one another with beady eyes, and uncurled their tails in horror.

Maternal advice did not cause Sammy loss of sleep, or deter him from making a personal investigation of the School.

The next morning, slipping quietly away, he trotted down the road, his tail curled tight in anticipation, and emitting grunts of keenest pleasure. With hope, confidence in himself and humanity at large, he made his way up the stepping stones toward a very large hole in the fence.

He was about to enter, when a voice rang out—

“Walter! Walter! shut the gate, there’s a pig coming in.”

“Ugh,” grunted Sammy, “That must mean me, but why shouldn’t I enter the Land of Promise, I’d like to know?” and determinedly he trotted on.

Suddenly he wheeled and flew down the steps a flying figure in bluejeans after him, wildly waving its arms, throwing stones, and yelling, “Suey! Suey!” which interpreted by Sammy meant “Move on! Move on!”

“What highly excitable creatures humans are, ” thought Sammy as out of harm’s way he turned to view the “Land of Plenty.”

The hole in the fence had disappeared. “Guess I’ll reconnoitre,” thought Sammy. “Perhaps there’s another hole.”

Cautiously he worked his way along the fence, touching it here and there, hoping a large hole might somehow mysteriously appear. Perseverance usually succeeds, and so it proved in Sammy’s case, for under the fence he found a hole just large enough to squeeze thro[ugh]. Elated, but a little doubtful, he made his way around the house. Not a human in sight. Hope beat high. A bucket near the kitchen door wafted most tantalizing odors to Sammy’s nostrils. What could it be? He must find out what that pail contained.

In another moment it was over, and Sammy gorging himself with all possible speed, for at any moment a dreaded human might appear. Never had he found anything quit so palatable. A few bread crumbs, potato peeling, beet parings, apple cores odds and ends of various delicious things hastily thrown together. So busy was the beneficiary of the School that he failed to hear approaching footsteps, but did not fail to hear another voice rending the air with “Allafair! Allafair! here’s that pig again. he’s eating the chicken-feed up.”

Around the corner shot a vision in flaming red, going through wild gymnastics.

“This is too much, I’m done for,” thought Sammy, and turned and fled.

“I wonder if I can ever find that hole again.”

Up the hill and down again, around the hose, and back of the tent, flew the pursued Sammy, wondering if that human’s attention would never cease. It was simply awful! Horrors! another flying figure blotting the landscape shrieking ad passing through dreadful contortions. Stones and sticks rained through the air. With dreadful cunning Sammy’s every move was maneuvered. Before him appeared the big hole he now knew to be a gate. He made for it with all speed, and shot through breathless but unharmed.

“Well! I never,” quoth Sammy. “I trust this will not occur often or I shall certainly lose flesh.”

He found a secluded spot, within hearing and paid strict attention. A voice explained —

“Well! Our troubles have begun. I expect we’ll be pestered all summer with those pigs.” Another voice chimed in —

“Everyone must be careful to keep the gate closed and the boys must look at the fence and fix any holes.”

“Oh dear! I do hope they won’t get into the garden and eat the tomatoes and corn up.”

Sammy had had excitement enough for one day, so wended his way slowly home to the rock house, under the cliff, there to consult further with his family and plan his summer’s campaign. If there was benefit to be derived from that school, he would get it.

The next day he unselfishly invited two of his brothers to accompany him. They arrived just in time to see a human in blue cross the road with a dish in her hand, and to hear,

“Bertha, where are you going??”

“I’m going to fee the chickens” replied the blue human, and proceeded on her way.

“Chicken-feed,” mused Sammy. “Ugh! that’s what I ate yesterday and found good.” Aloud he said —

“Watch that human, fellows, and see what she does with that chicken feed.”

Quietly they watched her pass through a gate, and disappear around the corner of a building. Then began a hurried running to and fro along the fence, in quest of a hole.

“Ugh! Ugh! Eureka! Eureka!” called Sammy. This way fellows to the chicken-feed,” and in another moment the feed was disappearing with surprising rapidity, but not in the direction intended.

“I thoroughly approve of this School, for the benefits it bestows are, —- ” Sammy’s remarks were cut short, for another shrieking human in a blue skirt and flapping collar, bore down upon the trio. They scattered, and fled in confusion.

“Well! ” quoth Sammy from a safe retreat, “I am both surprised and horrified at the actions of these humans. had heard they possessed calm, and were dignified. I have also heard that they sometimes go crazy. I wonder if that is what the trouble is. It does seem strange that just the sight of me should throw them all into convulsions?”

“Perhaps there is something wrong with me.” Carefully he looked himself over, and found to his entire satisfaction his tail properly curled, and himself a fair looking specimen of razor back pighood. Therefore no blame could attach to him because of those queer human antics.

Day after day, week in and week out, he visited the School accepting of its benefits as the occasion presented itself.

Day after day, week in and week out, the same wild commotion resulted among the humans.

He overheard someone say the back yard needed cleaning up. He concluded here was a chance to return good for evil, found an entrance, and went to work, beginning on a basket of apples. For his efforts he received a stone, and a hurried “Suey! — Suey!” with emphasis.

He brought his whole family down and strove to put the chicken yard in order even here the ungrateful humans interfered. Nothing daunted he retired to the barn and invited his brothers to help him clean out the mules’ feed boxes, and so save them the trouble. But even in that remote spot peace was not to be found.

Go where he would, do what he could, the situation was spoiled by the sudden appearance of a wild and exclamatory human.

One day he bethought himself of the remarks he had heard earlier in the season, of a garden and tomatoes, corn, etc.

He would investigate immediately.

He consulted his mother. She knew where said garden was, but warned him to let well enough alone, but perseverance being Sammy’s strongest characteristic it fairly pushed him into that garden.

It is wholly unnecessary to linger long upon the consternation and sorrow created among the humans; the havoc wrought by Sammy and his immediate relatives, or his own personal inner satisfaction, at this his latest venture.

Could he have heard the sadness and longing in the vices of the humans, whose sole vegetable diet for weeks had consisted of string beans or beheld their woebegone countenance as they contemplated the work of his mouth, and thought upon the cool, green vegetables that had disappeared into the stomachs of his family, Sammy might have been struck with contrition for the havoc of his summer’s campaign.

As it was, the garden was far from the School proper and only occasionally did a peculiar human wander through, and Sammy was happy.

All good things come to an end sometime, and one sad day Sammy heard that a brand new wire fence that pigs could neither get over, through nor under was wanted.

A consultation of the Pig family resulted. Sammy’s only comment was

“Well This certainly has been a strenuous summer for me and from a pig’s standpoint I question the wisdom of that School. Personally I do not care to come into close contact with those humans and certainly hope I have caused them fully as much trouble this summer as they have caused me.”

Turning over on his side he went to sleep to dream of a fenceless garden, filled with every known vegetable, rich pans of chicken-feed here and there, and whole boxes of mule feed just waiting for him, and best of all this pigs’ paradise utterly devoid of humans.

Evangeline Bishop

SAMMY.

Just why Pine Mountain Settlement School should not benefit himself and family, as well as the humans of the community, was quite beyond Sammy’s comprehension.

The word “Settlement” but added charm, for to Sammy it gave visions of permanency ad far reaching satisfaction. Yes! It was certainly good to be alive, and a member of this community, and he firmly resolved to be on hand every day, rain or shine in a receptive mood, ready to embrace every opportunity. To be filled to the utmost was his great ambition.