Chapter 6

THE WELSH MOUNTAIN

 

In eastern Lancaster County, between the Pequea and the Conestoga Creeks there is a ridge of hills called the Welsh Mountain, running northeastward into Chester County. In the area where Route 897, the road from Blue Bell to White Horse, crosses the ridge there was, at the turn of the century, a colony of Negroes living in near poverty. They were largely shunned by the community and existed mainly by thieving and begging from the farmers in both valleys. In 1898 a few concerned Mennonites organized a local board to assist these people economically and spiritually. Some buildings ware erected and an Industrial Mission was started. Besides giving work and teaching these people to farm the acreage, there was also opportunity to learn crafts and trades such as broom making, carpet weaving, etc.

 

The Welsh Mountain Mission

By the 1920's the industrial part of the Mission was phasing out, but there had been a small Church Community started. About 1924, since there was a large building there and some appointed workers attending the place, the local board agreed to accept two old people for temporary care. That was the beginning of the idea to convert the institution from an Industrial Mission to an Old People's Home.

 

Soon after my parents return from Florida In the spring of 1926, Samuel P. Musselman, the chairman of the Board, came to see them. They were asked to move to the Welsh Mountain Mission, Papa to be Director. Since he was a carpenter, he was also to make some renovations in the buildings to accommodate more old people. It is now called the Welsh Mountain Samaritan Home.

 

So about the time I was finishing my Sophomore year in High School we closed our house on Bethany Road and we moved to the Welsh Mountain. Grandpap Landis went along to work, as did Mabel. We were to spend about fifteen months there; two summers and one winter.

 

There were two old people in residence when we moved in. Emma Montgomery was a gentle old lady who was bedfast by reason of a broken hip. She made no trouble. Old John Cavanaugh was just the opposite. He was a stubborn old man. It soon became evident that he hadn't taken a bath for weeks or even months; not even removing and changing his underwear and socks. By no amount of persuasion could Papa get him to change his ways. So Papa took the problem to Sammy Musselman. He asked, "Can you carry him upstairs and put him in the tub?" Papa said, "Yes, Landis and I can put him in the tub, but what if he gets so frantic that it kills him?" Sammy answered, "Well that's one of the hazards, you can't go in this way." So we did it. It was pretty awful. He fought and screamed bloody murder, but after that he was very docile.

 

The house was huge with a large attic. There were three double gable windows. One of these windows was in the room that Mabel used and one other was in my room. That was the first time in my life that I had such a large room for my own.

 

Grandpap and Jack

We had a mule named Jack and some old one-horse farming equipment. The first summer Grandpap did most of the farm work while I helped Papa renovate the house and barn; but again there was much hay to be made and I was getting tired of that. I was never inclined to farming or gardening.

 

My only recreation was walking in the woods and reading. In exploring the accumulated junk in the corners of the attic I found a pile of twenty to thirty-year old "Atlantic Monthly" magazines. I read them all.

 

There were no electric lines to the mountain, but we had a thirty-two volt Delco plant. A one-cylinder gasoline engine generator charged a stack of wet cell storage batteries. It became my chore to keep the batteries at full charge. That job I enjoyed.

 

Many of the Negro neighbors were culturally repressed. There was much drunkenness and fighting. One Sunday afternoon we heard a lot of screaming and running down the road in front of the house. The road was full of people crying, "Somebody is cutting up Billy Anderson." Right after them came this big black man staggering, and waving a bloody knife. The people were all afraid of him. Papa walked up the road and found the wounded man with deep gashes on the face, neck, and body. He came back to the house and called a doctor in New Holland.

 

Making Hay at the Mission

He would not come without a constable. So Papa called the constable at Blue Ball. He was not too enthused and said he would be up in about an hour. Papa was afraid the man would bleed to death so he took our Ford and brought the man down to our front lawn. He put him on an army cot under a tree and waited. In about an hour or two the doctor and the constable arrived. It took about an hour for the doctor to stitch all the cuts. One cut on the face was all the way through the cheek. Another cut under the left kidney was into the abdominal cavity. The man was so drunk that the doctor used no anesthesia. The fellow recovered but Papa was shook up. The former director, Arthur Moyer, had been shot and killed when he surprised a thief stealing corn from the Mission barn. There were other shootings while we lived there, but no fatalities.

 

Now the plan was that I should attend the White Horse High School for my third or junior year. The school was about four miles away in the Pequea valley. I was to drive Papa's 1919 Ford to school.

 

Well school started and I went one week, but I became ill and homesick for my class at Ephrata. Papa went to see his friend Sammy Musselman again and the Board agreed to pay for the gasoline for me to drive to Ephrata if Papa would pay the tuition and would supply the car. The Ephrata schools were opening one week later than the White Horse school, so the next week I started school the second time; with my class at Ephrata. As soon as the arrangement was approved I recovered my health.

 

That term I drove that old Model T twenty-four miles round-trip, every day.