Those Were The Days When Men Were Men

My father's maternal grandfather -- my French grandmother: Meme's Dad -- Peter departed this existence about a  decade before I was born, many years ago now, but while he was here, he made a big impression on everyone in the area.

He was one of those legendary French-Canadian strong men, a big, burly, bear of a man who was born in Quebec, Canada and made his way down south to Massachusetts, like the cold northern Canadian winds.

Along the way, it was said, he accumulated a small fortune. How? Those truths are hidden among the occluded mysteries of the past, but one likes to romantically think, he was involved in deep, smoke-filled gambling halls, drinking up a storm and playing the poker he loved, and winning! Oh, the French men, they do love to gamble and drink! And he seemed to have been very successful at it, as he passed his way southward through the lush forests of Canada, Maine and New Hampshire, logging his way to riches, before he finally reached southeastern Massachusetts.

Due to his new found wealth, when he finally arrived in Plymouth County, he was a bit choosy where he wanted to settle down, and had moved around to several local towns, not being satisfied with conditions in any of them, before liking what he saw in the North Middle-Boro area and staking a big claim there, where Old Center Street is located today.

His fortune went to proper use as he purchased many acres of land, miles of it even, and put in a general store to satisfy his entrepreneurial cravings. He established a farm, a huge "Bonanza" expanse of fields, a barn, a tool shed, anything that was necessary to raise many crops and farm animals and support a big family. From what I remember/been told, he had two sons -- sadly they were both said to be alcoholics -- and two angels of daughters: my lovely Great Aunt Leah and of course my Meme.

And Peter was a very talented man, of great benefit to the Middle-Boro community. He was a skilled mason, craftsman and foundation builder, who put in the foundations and basements of several of the "Cranberry Millionaires" mansions: those stately homes  on  South Main Street, which were built by the wealthy of the "Cranberry Capital", who made their fortunes from ownership of shoe factories or acres and acres of cranberry bogs.

And legendary... legendary... legendary he was. It was said he could lift up and carry a full grown cow. Now, that's strong! And when his family wanted ice cream in the winter time, he would go out to the pasture, and pick up "Sweet Bessie" by the legs and whirl and twirl her around, until Presto! Out came some of the most delicious ice cream, this side of Boston. And sweet it was, no sugar needed to be added, because Bessie was after all a sweet cow.

And yogurt, well that staple of the American diet today wasn't as popular back then as it is now, but it's good for what ails you, so when Peter's family needed yogurt, he would take the Edison Phonograph -- this was even before they had 78s ( which predates 45s and never mind LPs) -- out into the field, hook up the wax cylinder with the rumbas on it, and rumba with Sweet Bessie all over the farm grounds, shaking her left and right, up and down, all over.

Now some people will think this is a bit cruel, but Bessie loved it, mooing contentedly as the time passed, and apparently the rumba vibrations were very good for fermentation as Bessie produced some of the best yogurt around. It certainly worked out perfectly for the family's health needs, which is all you can ask for.

Great-Grandfather's Peter most monumental feat of a legendary nature was the time he was out in the barn/tool shed either sharpening his axe or splitting wood with it and he slipped or missed the wood, and with his prodigious strength, the axe came down on his boot, slicing cleanly through the tough leather and severing his toes!

Now this was a big problem! The time period when this story takes place is the very early Twentieth Century, and forget mobile phones, many families didn't even have landlines back then, to say nothing of indoor plumbing -- everyone used an outhouse in the "Boony Areas" -- or electricity. And cars, lol, this was very early in the dawn of the automobile era, so no vehicle for Great-Grandfather either. To be honest, life was pretty rural, undeveloped and sparse for many in the Southeastern Mass communities and it was this way for Great-Grandfather's family. They had no phone and a doctor was urgently required.

Peter did the best he could and wrapped up his bloody foot and loose toes in some cloth to try to keep things together and stop the bleeding, but he needed that doctor, and he remembered that his neighbor down the lane had a phone, so off he went on an urgent mission to reach the house.

This was a struggle. A big time struggle. It was a winter's day, cold and raw as ice, snow was falling, and the neighbor's property was a mile or so away. Well, of course, everything was much more spread out during the early 1900s, as folks tended to own large swathes of land and houses were few and far between.

But gosh-darn it, through great will and strength, Great-Grandpa, struggling with many a mighty heave and sigh, chattering teeth amidst the frost cold, and trying not to pass out from the excruciating pain and loss of blood, did finally make it to the neighbor's home and got that Doctor on the phone, who made the house call out to treat him.

This tale ends in a sort of a mystery. It is not known if the traveling doctor could save his toes? The medicine and surgical procedures of the time were obviously not as proficient then as they are now, and hospitals were so far away, but we do know that Peter recovered from the ordeal and kept on working and walking, so he may have just gritted things out and gone forward in life, sans a few toes. He was that tough of a man, and they made them tough back in those days.

And that's how legends are made...


Image Credit: https://www.reddit.com/r/pics/comments/1bpavn/i_see_your_boy_holding_a_goat_and_raise_you_a_man/