Sheep in Franklin Mills, 1847

 Sheep in Franklin Mills, 1847 by Alan Borer

I spent a year living in Kent, Ohio (Portage County) in the mid 1980s.  The town is host to Kent State University, and that was in fact what took me to Kent.  It was a part of Ohio I did not know, so I took advantage of my limited free time to see the local sites: Blossom Music festival, Cuyahoga National Park, the Jonathan Hale homestead, etc.  But I was there as a student, and most of my time was given to the labor that studying in pre-Internet days required.

I don’t remember how, but my short time in Kent led me to know that the town had a different name in the past, Franklin Mills.  The cover in Figure 1 thus was a link to my memory, and a link to my own past.  Town names, and their postal markings, are changeable, but I was surprised at the changes Kent/Franklin Mills has endured.

Franklin Mills was founded in 1805.  A village on the upper Cuyahoga River, it was famous/infamous as the site of Captain Samuel Brady’s leap across the river to avoid Native capture.  Brady’s twenty-two foot leap lives on in folklore, although later development widened the gorge.  There were actually two villages, Franklin Mills, or the “lower village,” and Carthage, or the “upper village.”  

[George] DePeyster was at this time appointed Postmaster of Franklin Mills, that being the official name of the office, although the twin settlements were known respectively as Upper Village and Lower Village. The name Carthage was afterward applied to the Upper Village. Postmaster DePeyster kept his mail matter in a cigar box, and 25 cents was the usual moderate fee of Uncle Sam for carrying a letter a reasonable distance.

The rural character of the neighborhood is emphasized in the contents of the letter the cover contained:

Franklin Mills April 13, 1847  

…My sheep look well   have 78 now   . . . I have 3 other [old?]]....with 16 Pigs [?]  1 Cow & two two years old heifers which will have Calves Soon….I would send you 100 Bushels Corn if you will pay the Express from here  at 35 cents   I think it will be a little higher here but all the funds that can be raised is invested in Wheat and flour …. corn plants keeping on from Next [?] year and plowing to sow [sew?] Spring Wheat. . . .

Your Brother

Charles Button

This somewhat garbled excerpt reinforces the pastoral setting of the area.  While the mills of “Franklin Mills” gave the protovillage an industrial cast, the town was in a rural area and a rural setting.  Keeping to our postal theme, was the “Express” mentioned in the letter a private express company? 

Franklin Mills kept its early name until 1864, when the village was renamed after railroad magnate Marvin Kent.  Mr. Kent was responsible for bringing the Atlantic and Great Western railway to Franklin Mills, and the new influx of business led to the change.  Kent’s last mill, the “Star of the West,” was destroyed in a major fire in 2022.  The mills of Franklin Mills have retreated further into the past, and is only the occasional reminder, like this postal cover, that survives.

A Swarm of Dogs, or, Clash of the Titans, Westerville, 1915

A Swarm of Dogs, or, Clash of the Titans, 1915       by Alan Borer

In a small town, residents can clash over the smallest things.  Of course, two feuding neighbors may not see things as “small.”  Petty nuisances, noise complaints, and minor spats can escalate into conflicts at the highest level.  One such spat occurred in the early spring of 1915, when two of Westerville’s most noteworthy names squared off over a dog running loose.

Let’s review the combatants:

In one corner, we have Mayor James H. Larimore.  J. H. Larimore was mayor of Westerville for two years, 1914 to 1915, and by coincidence, the last mayor before city-manager-style governance began.  Active politically throughout his life, Larimore was a member of the powerful Anti-Saloon League, and a dedicated journalist who worked on several newspapers including the Ohio State Journal, one of Columbus’s leading news sources.  Born in Pennsylvania, he moved to Sunbury as a small child.  He and his wife Phebe relocated to Westerville in 1897, where he also pursued a lifelong hobby of writing for fun.  He even created a literary alter ego, one “Hank Timmons,” who loved repeating cornball witticisms, such as, “Never look a gift auto  in the carburetor.”  These appeared here and there in the Public Opinion and several magazines for which Hank/J. H. wrote.

And in the other corner, we have Otterbein University president Walter G. Clippinger.  Familiar to most readers of this rag, Clippinger had been president for six years by the time of the “dog fight.”  He lived fairly comfortably in a house on Home Street, north of Saum Hall, where he could keep watch on his fiefdom.  North and west of campus was more or less open country at that time, and a great tease for a curious dog.  We know nothing of the dog’s breed or origin, but if it was like most dogs, it liked to follow its nose.

The opening salvo of this fight came in a letter Mayor Larimore sent to President Clippinger with a complaint:

. . . . It has been reported to me that your dog is causing some annoyances to folks down that way.  I know, of course, that you do not want to have this occur.  There is an ordinance which forbids the running of dogs at large in Westerville, and I am sure that you will be pleased to know that such an ordinance exists.

Cool and sedate, the president fired back:

. . . . I have your note of the 1st. concerning our wayward dog.  We are all too conscious that the dog has been running at large too much, but he is being well cared for now, and the public need have no fear of molestation from him.

Clippinger then parried, as he went on:

You speak about an ordinance forbidding the running at large of dogs.  I know of no such ordinance.  Judging from the swarm of dogs that are at large in our village it would seem that there never was an ordinance to that effect.

Touche.

An interesting exchange of words, but we do not have much background or depth.  Only two days later, the Mayor sent a cordial letter to the President, praising Otterbein students for their civic-mindedness, and promising to “work together” to make Westerville “not only great but beautiful and attractive..  Larimore served on Clippinger’s committee to raise $400,000 for Otterbein in 1917.  No mention of discord between the two was reported by the Public Opinion.  It may have been a joke, with tongues firmly in cheek.

We will probably never know.  I am a cat person, so I won’t take sides!

Henry Wersell and his Bird Store

 

Henry Wersell and his Bird Store                                        by Alan Borer

 

Henry Wersell and a monkey outside his store. (Toledo-Lucas County Public Library)

            Newspapers used to offer suggestions for shoppers looking for Christmas gifts.  Such advertisements were a way for smaller shops to buy ad space in modest (and inexpensive) quantities.   For the newspapers it was a goodwill gesture that filled space while big advertisers made the newspaper profitable.  I was digging through the December 10, 1914, issue of the Perrysburg Journal, which offered a “Christmas Gift Suggestions” column in the back pages. when I spied a small advertisement at the bottom of the page: “When in Toledo Visit Our Bird Show:  Special prices beginning December 12.”  Two Christmas gift ideas items were suggested.  At the high end, shoppers could purchase a “Hartz Mountain“canary for $3.50.  It that was too pricey, one could buy a fish and a “globe” for a dime.

            Who was running a “bird show” or “bird store” at this early date?  The ad was placed by a retailer named  Henry Wersell, a prominent member of Toledo’s German-American community.  Born in Germany in 1860, he arrived in America in 1876.  He married an American born German girl, Mary Streicher, in Toledo in 1884.  The family resided at 34 Rockingham Street near Cherry Street and Central Avenue.  But unlike so many fellow Germans who worked in breweries and other industries, Wersell carved out a niche for himself: pets.

During the 1900s and 1910s, Wersell ran what he called a ‘bird store,’ first at 608 Summit Street and then at 328 Cherry Street.  Birds were bought and sold, but Wersell offered many other kinds of pet-related merchandise.  A 1914 ad listed imported canaries, Mexican parrots, dogs, cats, rabbits, goldfish, cages, bird seed, and veterinary supplies.  Ferrets and monkeys were occasional guests.  The shop also boarded animals.  When your pet passed away, Wersell offered taxidermy services for both birds and animals.[i]  With so many different animals all living in close quarters, one can imagine how noisy the shop must have been.

Wersell participated in a booming market for pet birds.  The popularity of caged birds in the first decade of the twentieth century made them the most popular indoor pet in the country.  Their singing and companionship was believed to cross social and ethnic lines, and while only a landowner could keep dogs and horses, birds were inexpensive, low maintenance friends.[ii]

The shopkeeper advertised heavily in the newspaper classified ads.  In some of the ads, Wersell seemed to speak directly to the reader: “Received a shipment of imported parrots, young had raised birds that I guarantee to talk.”[iii]  Another Christmas ad read, “Make Xmas merry by getting a good singing bird of Wersell.”[iv]  Other venues were pet sales.  In 1900, the Toledo [Pet] Fanciers had an exhibition just after the holidays.  Held at 129-131 Summit, the show featured many kind of pets.  Henry Wersell had an aquarium display:

The north window is occupied by the display of Henry Wersell of this city.  Gold fish and other handsome or quaint inhabitants of the waters are disposed in prettily quipped aquariums.[v]

Depending on the needs of the pet owner, birds were also livestock.  Wersell placed many ads in poultry journals.  He cooperated with other growers and breeders of birds.  An example was Legron’s Duck Farm, at the corner of Glendale and Detroit.  They offered incubators for rent or sale.  Customers could leave their eggs at either Wersell’s Bird Store or take them directly to the Duck Farm, which would incubate them for $2.00 per hundred eggs.[vi]

One example of other-than-pet merchandise Wersell sold was the “Mandy Lee” chicken incubator.  The George Lee Company of Omaha, Nebraska, did a big mail order business, selling every piece of equipment necessary for brooding, hatching, raising, and selling chickens.  Lee himself owned 2500 chickens.  He may have named the incubator “Mandy” after his daughter, Ivy May, but the elder Lee sold his incubators through the rapidly expanding combination of parcel post and the railroad system that delivered them

Henry Wersell died on May 11, 1920.  According to his News Bee obituary, he had been ill for several months.  He left his wife and six children, and was buried in Calvary Cemetery.[vii]  It may have been World War 1 and its disruptions, or failing health, but Wersell’s bird store was closed by 1920.

            There are still conflicting opinions over whether birds, especial fowl, are pets or livestock.  Millions of birds of both kinds live among us.  Henry Wersell was apparently satisfied selling any feathered animal, and many more with fur or fins as well.  Certainly he sold many of every kind – and stuffed a few as well.

(This was submitted to Bend of the River before the magazine ended in November 2023.)

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[i][i] New Bee, April 3, 1914.

[ii] https://daily.jstor.org/the-rise-and-fall-of-the-pet-bird/

[iii] News Bee,  July 25, 1906.

[iv] News Bee, December 19, 1913.

[v] News Bee, January 5, 1900.

[vi] News-Bee, February 28, 1914.

[vii] Toledo News-Bee, May 12, 1920.

Asking for a Wishbone from the President

 

Asking for a Wishbone from the President                                                by Alan Borer

           

            As a boy, I enjoyed Thanksgiving almost as much as Christmas, mainly because of the feast prepared and served by my mother and/or various female relatives.  For a small boy, it was pretty much a work-free celebration.  The only “work” I remember doing was carefully securing and drying the turkey wishbone.  I had read enough Thanksgiving story books, and seen enough holiday TV shows, that I was determined to follow that custom and receive whatever prize or luck came to the one who broke off the bigger portion of the wishbone.

            Lucky wishbones are an old custom.  The Etruscans of pre-Roman Italy thought wishbones brought luck.  In the Middle Ages, a goose breastbone was examined on St. Martin’s Day (November 11) for weather predictions for the coming year.  Turkeys were unknown in Europe before Christopher Columbus, but were soon part of “harvest home” celebrations.  Harvest Home, still celebrated in many American churches, marks the end of the growing season, when food was plentiful and easy to obtain.  Add in the presidential proclamations of a celebration the last Thursday in November, coupled with an avalanche of Thanksgiving galas, pageants, and greeting cards starting around 1900. It is no wonder that America developed a turkey-themed holiday, of which the wishbone played a part.

            Who was president when all this was developing?  Abraham Lincoln decreed the first national Thanksgiving, but the President at the time that the holiday really took off was none other than William McKinley.  McKinley (1843-1901), a native of nearby Canton, Ohio, proclaimed Thanksgiving a national holiday as was the custom.  It was no surprise therefore that McKinley declared Thursday, November 30, 1899 to be Thanksgiving Day.  McKinley was riding high in popularity that month.  The nation had won a brief war with Spain in 1898, and the economy was doing well.  He appeared to be a shoe-in for reelection with his even more popular running-mate, Theodore Roosevelt.

            Whether McKinley heard of a news story that appeared in the Perrysburg Journal the following spring is impossible to say.  But turkey wishbones were on the minds of many:

. . . . At least a hundred letters were received by President McKinley asking for the wishbone of the Thanksgiving turkey, and half as many more for the right drumstick.  Just think of it!  Asking for a bone at which the President has nibbled.  A bone from a common turkey, raised in a common barn yard . . . . served like any other old turkey, but to those worshippers of titles and aristocracy, made sacred by the lips of a member of the President’s household. . . . [February 9, 1900]

            We can assume that this was either written by, or was approved by, the editor of the Journal, one E. L. Blue.  Mr. Blue was outraged, at least editorially, that American citizens were “soft” enough to want a souvenir that smacked of royalty.  Whether the White House acted on these requests is unknown.  The idea of sending a greasy wishbone through the mail rather suggests it was not. 

            When William McKinley was assassinated in Buffalo, New York in 1901, he was succeeded by Roosevelt.  In an odd bit of coincidence, Roosevelt used the symbol of the wishbone in his 1904 reelection campaign.  He used the wishbone to proclaim the good times that country continued to have in the new century, and thousands of pins and buttons featured Roosevelt surrounded by the twin arms of a wishbone.  This time, the wishbone brought him the luck it symbolized.

            As Americans eat more and more processed food, fewer of us sit down to a home cooked or home carved Thanksgiving turkey dinner.  Restaurants big and small entice customers with buffets and prepackaged meals that, while featuring turkey, have eaten away at the home processed repast.  I‘m sure the symbol and tradition of the wishbone will survive for many for many years to come, although in fewer homes.  Check with your grocer or butcher if you are not doing the whole extravaganza this year.  They may be able to help.

Iler Farmer Celebrated the End of World War 1 in Fostoria

There is not much left of Iler, Ohio.  Sitting roughly between Fostoria and Bettsville in Seneca County, Iler is a tad south of State Route 12 on County Road 592.  Unincorporated now, Iler lived (and died) by its location on the Nickel Plate railroad.  The village gained a post office in 1885, and offered most of the amenities that hamlets needed.  A brick and tile factory, general store, and telegraph office could be found in Iler at the turn of the last century (1900).  Never mind that the Iler railroad station was a converted boxcar; if one needed big city comforts, Toledo or Cleveland could easily be reached by rail.

A taste of Iler in its heyday can be found reading the 1918 diary of resident Robert F. Keller.  Keller (1888-1961) was a 29 year old farmer with a wife (Rose), a son and two daughters.  His father, Uzziah N. Keller, was a prominent citizen of Iler, helping organize the local Farm Bureau and teaching school for many years.  We are not sure why Robert Keller began a diary that year.  It might have had something to do with World War I.  Other than the backdrop of war, his life seemed to go on pretty much as normal (for an early twentieth century farmer). 

Let’s sample some of the entries Mr. Keller made in the pivotal month of November”

 

November 2  Saturday

We hauled in two bags of fodder.  Cleaned out horse stable.  I husk 5 shocks of corn this a.m.

++Corn was shocked earlier in the autumn.  Each individual stalk of corn was cut and propped up against a “gallus,” or a framework of four unpicked stalks.  Left to dry for several weeks, the ears of corn were husked, or the removal of the papery covers of the ears.

 

November 5 Tuesday

We helped Newcomer finish shredding [corn] at noon   Frank took us to vote   we husk this P.M.

++ Possibly Levi B. Newcomer (1843-1920)[i], a neighborhood farmer. 

 

November 6 Wednesday

We finished husking corn to day. . . . we hauled in big load this eve.

 

November  11 Monday

Garry & I husk corn for Ed Morrison to day.  I went to town tonight to march in Parade

++November 11 was the day of the armistice, or the day that Germany surrendered to the Allies.  Now celebrated as Veterans Day, crowds of patriots cheered the news, and many were the parades and celebrations in the chilly November air.  This parade was likely in Fostoria.

 

November 14 Saturday

Garry helped Ed husk corn & done chores.  I plowed.  I went to sale.

++We cannot be sure of the identity of “Garry.”  Was he a hired man, or a shirttail relative?  His name appears often in the diary; so does Ed, for that matter.  Husking corn was a tedious job, only partly helped by corn husking tools.  Keller took time off to go to a farm auction while Garry husked and husked.

 

November 18 Monday

It drizzled rain about all day.  I went up town.  I went to Lodge.  Got 50 nails.

++Keller belonged to the Knights of Pythias, a fraternal organization, and “secret society.”  Founded in 1864, the Knights still do charitable work, especially with victim of cystic fibrosis

 

November 20 Wednesday

Done chores    Garry went to town   got meat bbl.   We killed hog this pm,  Jay helped us….

 

November 21 Thursday

We cut up meat.   Tinkered around barn.  Garry went to Iler to Plow at noon.

 

November 25 Monday

We hauled in rest of corn & load of fodder   loaded up hay & Garry went to Iler to plow   I helped Masoner kill hog. . . .

++Butchering was the big chore in late November.  Rural families were still bound by the weather in 1918; butchering had to wait for freezing temperatures to preserve the meat.  Then the whole family worked as a group to kill the pig, scrape off the hair, drain the blood, and cut up the sections.  Smaller families often had help from friends and neighbors at butchering.

 

 

November 28 Thursday

We was home all day.   H. Wade B. Lord & Garryers [?] came down to hunt.  It rained   Garry had company

++By long standing tradition, Thanksgiving is a day for hunting.  You will notice that Keller and his friends did not even use the word “thanksgiving,” but this was the day appointed by president Woodrow Wilson for the holiday in 1918.  Thanksgiving falls squarely in hunting season, and given a federal holiday in late November, hunters took advantage of the day to pursue a favorite outdoor pastime.  It was also a god day for cold weather meat preservation, as mentioned above.

           

            Robert Keller ran the Iler farm until 1939, when his son, also Robert, took over.  The family stopped farming in 1948.  Robert Keller died in 1961 and is buried in Fostoria.  Iler slowly perished as the years went on.  The post office closed in 1923; the tile factory closed, and workers found jobs in Fostoria and elsewhere.  Such has been the story of many rural hamlets that could not survive in the twentieth century.           

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[i] https://www.familysearch.org/tree/person/details/9MKZ-CJT

A Native American Favorite: Raccoon Pot Pie

 

by Alan Borer

 

            When you have new neighbors, you must be careful if they come from a different culture.  They may dress, speak, pray, and especially eat things that are not familiar to you.  This is as true today as it was 50, 100, or 200 years ago.  Certainly in the pioneer days of the Maumee Valley, two groups of people, the Native Indians and the white European settlers, had to learn to get along with each other.  Part of this effort was to learn to eat each other’s food.  And depending on the individual dish, that took some doing.

            Some of the very earliest settlers of Wood County’s Milton Township were members of the Hutchinson family.  Originating from Ohio’s Summit County (Akron), they were numerous:  James Hutchinson, the father, three daughters, and two adult sons.  Andrew Hutchinson and his wife had twelve children.  James Jr. brought his wife as well, but the couple had no children.  Five yoke of oxen and a team of horses rounded out the party of settlers.  It took ten days for the newcomers to travel from Summit County to Perrysburg in Wood County, in 1834.  The Hutchinson brood traveled along what was then called the Maumee and Western Reserve Pike.  Then an “almost bottomless” sea of mud, the oxen came in handy, because if a team got stuck in the mud, the rest of the teams could pull them out! 

Once in Perrysburg, the family proceeded to Bowling Green, which had been established and named, but not much else.  Following the (still visible) sand ridges, they slogged their way southwest  toward Milton Township, their new home.  Once arrived, the Hutchinson family raised a log cabin, reputedly taking only 48 hours to build.

Milton Township at that time was a total wilderness.  “Not a tree had been cut in the township, unless by hunters, and everything was in a state of nature.”  The exception was a large Native American community.  Andrew Hutchinson’s children quickly made friends with the native children, each group learning the other’s games.  Meanwhile, Andrew the father set about clearing ground for a pioneer farm.  He was also a very active hunter, and would often sell wild game to newcomers in exchange for farm work.  Like his children, he learned hunting skills from his native neighbors.

The cultural exchange continued apace, and dietary exchanges were no exception.  The native people enjoyed the white settler’s hominy, in addition to their own native game such as venison, raccoon, muskrat, and groundhog.  Andrew Hutchinson noted that the Indians owned copper kettles, each holding eight to ten raccoons, each of which would be “skinned and quartered, then thrown in the kettle head, feet, claws, and all.”  Mixed with hominy, the raccoons cooked down into what the Hutchinsons called “pot pie.”

Not all the settlers enjoyed this fare.  James Hutchinson found his wife by traveling back to Summit County, where he met a “rather fashionable young lady” willing to share the rigorous life of a Wood County pioneer:

About the first Sunday she was there, they went to visit their neighbors – [Native] neighbors, and of course were invited to stay for dinner.  The young Summit county bride took a look into one of the kettles and got a full sniff of the steaming coon pot-pie, which so sickened her that she had to be taken off home which amused the Indians very much.[i]

We don’t know the specifics of this story, not even the tribe to which the natives belonged.  We can guess by their residence near the Maumee River that they were Ottawa or Wyandot.  The last generation of Natives living in Ohio, they were forced to relocate to what is now Oklahoma by 1843.  Milton Township has lost almost all its forests to clear cutting, with the bulk of the land now given over to intensive agriculture.

Only the Hutchinson family was given the time and space to settle down.  Their land was near a now vanished hamlet called Groff’s Corners, “on the edge of the Jackson prairie.”  Andrew Hutchinson sold meat from his hunting, and when last heard from, was 74 years old in 1883.  Perhaps even then he missed the taste of raccoon pot pie.

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[i] Charles W. Evers, Pioneer Scrap=Book of Wood County Ohio (1910; rpt. 2008), pp. 96-97.

Chinese Laundryman in Westerville

[The Chinese laundry was part of the urban scene in the early twentieth century.]

Browsing through an old issue of the Otterbein College Tan and Cardinal, I saw an advertisement for a Chinese laundry in Westerville. From approximately 1917 to 1925, a certain “Hop Lee” ran a laundry at 12 North State Street. That conjures up all kinds of images, from the “No tickee, no shirtee” stereotype to laundries as fronts for opium dens. But I’ve married into a Chinese family, so I decided to look deeper.

Unfortunately, Chinese laundries do not lend themselves to research. Chinese immigrant men who ran laundries often were the victims of American mainstream prejudice. They kept very much to themselves, and thus appeared secretive and mysterious to outsiders.

Not surprisingly, Hop Lee mostly defies historical recovery. He was probably from southern China probably from near Guangzhou (Canton) or Hong Kong. His real name was probably Li. Many a Chinese man adopted the spelling Lee, closer to the pronunciation of Li to American eyes. Or, Hop Lee may not have been his real name. The Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 was still in force, and men coming to this country sometimes used the names of dead relatives or friends who had been granted permission to enter.

The census of 1920 showed a 55 year-old Hop Lee living on Third Street in Columbus, with his younger cousin, Wing Haey (The spelling is probably phonetic). But this was not the same Hop Lee, a common name in the Chinese immigrant community.  Most Chinese laundrymen lived in or above their laundries.  Westerville’s Hop Lee appears to have done so.

Unfortunately, the most informative document on Lee is his 1919 death certificate.  “Our” Hop Lee was born in 1861.  His father was named Ching Lee.  We do not know the date of his emigration.  He was married, but his wife stayed in China.  Hop Lee was 58 when he died in Grant Hospital in Columbus, “following an operation for appendicitis.”  He was buried in Green Lawn Cemetery.

As I was just about to give up hope of finding anything more about Hop Lee, I spotted a quotation from him in a 1917 copy of the Public Opinion. Lee was quoted as saying he liked hot weather because it meant more laundry business. Unfortunately, he was quoted in stereotypical Chinese pidgin English, and we can only guess what wording he really used.

Whoever he was, Mr. Lee probably worked long hours for little pay. We can guess that he was lonely – the male female ratio among Chinese immigrants was 90% male to 10% female.  There is no evidence that his wife ever came to the States, even for a visit.  It was only postmortem that Hop Lee found companionship, of a sort.

In 1936, 17 years after his burial, Hop Lee and eleven other Chinese men were disinterred from Green Lawn.  According to the Columbus Dispatch, permission was granted to William Woo, a Columbus consular agent connected the Chinese consul in Cleveland.  Green Lawn Cemetery also approved the request.  The Chinese Consolidated Benevolent Society in Columbus helped pay for the trip, and a similar charity in China would also help pay once the dead men arrived in China.  The twelve dead men from Columbus would eventually join 200 other dead men of Chinese birth who had died in Ohio.

Traditional Chinese burial customs have radically changed since the 1949 revolution.  China’s population is such that most residents are cremated.  But in Hop Lee’s time, 3000 years of tradition was firm and prescribed burial near to one’s respected ancestors.  Hop Lee’s wish was granted too late for him to see, but his family, I hope, derived comfort from his bones resting in China, and that his time in Westerville was relatively short.

[Revised 2022]